Vercingetorix straightened and brushed out his drooping moustaches. ‘You did me a great service in bringing us warning of Caesar’s plan, my friend, and the Aedui are ours now. But we still need to bring them physically to our side before we can crush Caesar, and so I must send you back once again.’
‘Banishment, my king?’
‘Hardly. We need the Aedui, and you are the man who can bring them to us. You know our people there and have seen the workings of their leaders first hand. Go and bring them for me, Cavarinos.’
The tired Arverni chieftain stood with a bow of the head. ‘Very well.’
As he turned and made his way out of the king’s tent, Cavarinos gave a heavy sigh and sagged. Back to the Aedui. And whatever Vercingetorix said, he was sure that the principle reason for his being sent once more was to keep his seditious opinion of his king’s motives far from the ears of the other chiefs. For the sake of his pride, Vercingetorix was willing to submit to a Roman siege rather than burn his own house. With luck that pride would not destroy them before Cavarinos could return with the Aedui.
Damn the man.
* * * * *
Caesar sat astride his horse in the faint mist, beneath clouds that intermittently soaked them, peering at his surroundings. The slight rise gave a good line of sight in almost all directions, with the exception of directly south, where scattered copses and woodland largely obscured the land. To the north, some half mile back, the army approached by the fading sunlight, heading for this strong position to make camp for the day’s end. To the east, the slope disappeared down towards now-untended and burned farmland. And to the west, the land fell away gently to the Elaver River, where twin dark lines of timber fangs marched out across the water, marking the latest destroyed bridge on their journey.
‘Good land for a camp,’ Antonius noted, sitting astride a fine grey mare. ‘Excellent view.’
‘Yes,’ Caesar replied with a bitter tone. ‘We will have a wonderful view of yet another burned bridge, but this time we will also be able to see those responsible.’
Antonius sighed and fixed his gaze upon the sprawling mass of the Gaulish army encamped perhaps a mile from the river on the far bank, almost taunting the Romans with their proximity. ‘We are close to Gergovia now. He no longer trusts us to small scouting parties. Now the whole army readies for us. He knows that we cannot afford to follow the river up into the mountains and cross it at the narrow point. He knows we must cross here or at the next bridge, but we all know that there will not be a next bridge by now.’
‘Yet cross we must, as you say.’ The general shifted his gaze to take in the advance party of legionary engineers with their gromas, pegs, ropes and plumb lines, laying out the basic plan for the army’s massive camp atop the hillside, large enough to accommodate six legions and more. It was an impressive sight. What must the Arvernian rebel think as he watches this massive force day after day?’
A slow smile spread across Caesar’s face and he turned to the gathered staff officers and legates who sat ahorse behind him. His eyes settled on the nearest of his legates. Both were good men — the best for what he had in mind.
‘Fronto? Rufio?’
The two men stepped their mounts forward a few paces to address the general.
‘Sir?’
‘What is your opinion of making camp for the night down there amid the copses and trees instead of here on the hill?’
‘It will be evil to put in adequate defences,’ Fronto said, peering at the wood-dotted landscape.
‘But considerably less windy,’ smiled Rufio.
‘We could fit six legions in there?’
‘Well, yes. We won’t be well-defended, mind.’
‘The enemy are not likely to cross the river tonight. They would be suicidal to do so.’ Caesar gestured to the engineer officer with the transverse crest, who was busy guiding the works.
‘Centurion? Have your men take up their measures and move down amongst the trees. I want the camp down there tonight.’
The centurion turned a respectful, if baffled, expression on his commander. ‘But sir, that land is dreadful for a camp.’
‘Nevertheless, I would like it so. See to it.’
The centurion, still perplexed, saluted and started to call his engineers in to change location down to the copse-dotted plain. As he did so, Caesar turned back to the officers next to him.
‘Antonius? Have the legions fall in down there once the camp is marked out and have them get to work. I want all six legions working on it, since we’re in no immediate danger. Fronto and Rufio? I want the Tenth and Eleventh, as soon as the works are complete, to camp on the eastern side of the camp, far from the river and in the most wooded area you can. We are about to deceive the enemy, gentlemen. It is time we crossed that river. And with any luck we will surprise the Gauls enough that we can thrash them on the plains without having to move on Gergovia after all.’ He smiled darkly. ‘Antonius, fish out your best red cloak.’
* * * * *
Fronto sat in the cover of the trees, the first heavy raindrops of the downpour that had been threatening for hours falling from the leaves and dinging off his helmet, blotting his cloak. In the early post-dawn glow, he could just make out Antonius on Caesar’s white horse, red cloak whipping in the breeze as he led four legions and the baggage on south along the Elaver’s east bank, the force carefully spread out to fill as much space as six legions normally would.
He glanced back at the Tenth and Eleventh, who had taken advantage of the darkness and moved out before dawn, slightly north and east, where they now lurked behind the hill, barely visible from this position and entirely hidden from the army across the river.
Caesar and Rufio stood close by, the rain battering them as they all watched, tense.
‘Now to see if they take the bait,’ Caesar huffed and pulled his cloak tighter about him to keep off the worst of the rain. The three men stood in edgy silence as the muted sound of the legions receded across the grassland to the south, soon to be lost from sight among the trees.
‘The men the Aedui were supposed to send us are taking their time,’ Rufio sighed as he watched.
‘If they come at all,’ muttered Fronto darkly, earning a piercing look from the general. He was about to add something in his defence when he clamped his jaws shut again and strained his eyes in the dim light.
‘I think they’re moving,’ he said, finally.
‘’Yes,’ Rufio agreed. ‘Large units of horse are heading off south.’
‘And the rest of the army is decamping, also,’ Caesar smiled. ‘It appears they fell for our little ploy.’
Fronto took a breath and rolled his shoulders. ‘With permission then, Caesar, I’ll move into position.’
* * * * *
Numisius flexed his arm muscles and checked the knot of the rope around his military belt.
‘Are you sure you can do it?’ Fronto asked, shivering and folding his sodden arms across his chest for the pitiful warmth they provided. Though the weather was fairly temperate, and still warming daily, the deluge dragged down the temperature of those out in it.
Numisius, one of Fronto’s remaining ten singulares, grinned. ‘Bit late to question me now, sir?’
‘Look, I know you can swim. Masgava tells me you used to hurtle around that pool in Massilia like an eel, but it’s less than a year since that arm of yours was smashed to pieces. Are you strong enough for this?’
‘Piece of piss, sir.’
Fronto opened his mouth to question him further but before he could speak, Numisius gave a wink and then threw himself backwards into the water, having carefully selected a deep section to enter. Fronto glanced back at the tree, and Palmatus was there, checking and tightening the knot at the other end of the rope.
Turning back, he watched the pale form of Numisius break the river’s surface and begin to make for the far shore, his arms coming up and over, slicing down into the dark like some sort of machine, tearing him through the choppy water at surprising speed. His head came up to the side rhythmically for breath, and he somehow continued to adjust his angle so that he was pushing into the current rather than across, with the net result that he was making directly for the tree opposite.