Throughout yesterday the rebel force had sporadically grown, with three fresh groups coming in to bolster their numbers, bringing them to an estimated twelve or thirteen hundred now. Moreover, each group that came in had brought with them captives. Roman merchants were seemingly the prime choice, though they had brought in Aedui civilians and farmers who had refused to bow to the rebels and had professed themselves still allies of Rome. Another prime choice seemed to be civilians from the hovels and farmsteads in the surrounding mile or two, who were officially residents under the aegis of the council of Rodonna.
And over the day, more of these were dealt with, beheaded and put on display before the walls. A few who particularly angered this Brennus and his cronies were brutally tortured, their cries of agony ringing out over the oppidum through the dark hours.
Escape had seemed impossible for the trapped Romans, and Priscus had expressed more than once his exasperation at the very good chance that he would have to sit out the war in this place, for he would only be free to leave when Caesar had beaten the rebels.
Aristius stood leaning on the window, watching the plain below, and waved Priscus and Brutus across. ‘Something is definitely happening.’
The three men squeezed into the space to achieve a view, Priscus still chewing his apple.
The camps of the enemy outside the walls were bursting into life, men grabbing weapons and armouring up. It took only a moment for the three men’s ears to catch the distant rumble of horses, and they watched intently as a small column of riders emerged from the woodlands to the northeast, perhaps four-hundred strong and displaying boar and wolf standards common to the Aedui.
‘More allies?’ Aristius murmured?
‘Doesn’t look like it,’ Brutus breathed. ‘Would they rush to arm themselves for allies?’
‘But they’re not lining up for defence, either.’
The three men watched with interest as the column of riders approached the camp, reined in briefly to speak to a warrior at the edge, and then rode for the central tents where the rebel leader Brennus stood, unarmoured but with his sword belted to his side and the plain blue of his tunic offset by gold torcs and other rich jewellery.
The leader of the cavalry stepped his horse forward for a moment, and spoke in their strange tongue, addressing Brennus. The three Romans could not hear the conversation and even if they could, they would have found the language incomprehensible, but the effect was fascinating to watch.
Whatever the new leader had said, Brennus reacted as though he had been slapped in the face. The tidings spread out from that reaction like ripples across a pond, the encamped rebels seemingly stunned as they heard this news.
‘Interesting,’ Priscus noted. ‘Might be a good idea to get over to the walls.’
It was only a short jog from the house to the oppidum’s ramparts, the house chosen for its proximity as well as its view, and the three men were climbing the earth bank only moments later. Aristius moved to the front as the default spokesman for the group, the two more senior officers keeping slightly back to remain out of the limelight.
The officers blinked in surprise. They had been mere heartbeats out of sight of the enemy, yet they had seemingly missed something important, for now Brennus had retreated to the doorway of his tent, his sword drawn, his close kin gathered around him protectively. The newly-arrived horsemen had surrounded the leader’s tent, and spears had been levelled.
‘I like the look of this,’ grinned Priscus.
A man among the riders shouted something at the defensive knot of warriors and perhaps half of them threw down their weapons and stepped aside in surrender. The rest bristled. Eight men, including Brennus, now faced off against more than a score of cavalry. Whatever had happened, the rest of the rebel camp seemed disinclined to rush to their leader’s aid and sheathed their weapons swiftly, bowing their heads to the horsemen who were now filtering throughout the elongated camp. Another noble among the horsemen shouted out an order and half a dozen of his men moved along the ditch, gathering up the spears and the heads they bore and taking them to the central area.
An argument seemed to have broken out there and was raging between Brennus and the leader of the horsemen. Something that was said acted as a trigger and suddenly the warriors around the rebel raised their swords defensively.
The new arrival raised his hand, barking out an order, and almost casually, the horsemen around them cast their spears at the defenders, killing or maiming all but three instantly, drawing swords to replace their spears even before the bodies had hit the ground. Realising their plight, the remaining two of Brennus’ guards cast down their weapons and while they attempted to step away, the trapped rebel chief gave an angry shout and stabbed one of his former guards in the back.
With a contemptuous snarl, the cavalry leader took advantage of the rebel’s posture, his sword low and still in the fallen man’s back, and rode his horse forwards, knocking Brennus aside. As the shocked former-rebel hit the ground, yelping in pain, the new arrival took to riding his horse back and forth across the prone form almost in the theatrical manner of a Roman cavalry display team, each time the hooves smashing the bones of the beaten man.
Priscus watched in amazement as the man who had trapped them here was swiftly turned to pulp, his men staring in horror, the grisly trophies they had taken yesterday cast into a fire where they rendered down in the heat and stank out the plain. As the Romans waited with bated breath, the riders began to dispose of all the poor captives’ bodies in the flames.
Once the camp seemed to have settled, the new horsemen’s leader stepped his mount forth, leaving glistening red hoof prints across the grass, and approached the causeway before the gate.
‘I wish to speak to the magistrate in charge of this oppidum.’
Priscus nudged Aristius, who frowned back at him.
‘I think this is yours,’ the prefect replied, and Aristius shrugged and stepped to the wall.
‘My name is Marcus Aristius, senior tribune in the army of the Proconsul of Cisalpine Gaul and Illyricum, Julius Caesar. If, as seems to be the case, you are an opponent of Brennus, then that makes you a friend of Rome, am I correct?’
The horseman bowed his head.
‘I am Iudnacos of Bibracte, Cotus’ man and a loyal ally of Rome. I come to remove this pestilence from our lands and to affirm once more our friendship with Rodonna and the noble magistrates here who held tight to their oath despite the danger to themselves. Rumour circulates concerning the Aedui pledging support to the rebel Vercingetorix. I come to quash those rumours. Ignoble elements among our tribe seek to bring this situation about, but the vast majority of the Aedui maintain our oaths in good faith. That force of thousands claimed to have defected to the Arverni are, in fact, now bound for Caesar’s camp.’
‘I am pleased to hear this, Iudnacos, and your arrival is timely, so say the least.’
The nobleman nodded his head in acknowledgement.
‘I had not thought to see soldiers here, only a few merchants. I am pleased, however, to find this. Now that this scum are under control, I would ask a boon of you, Aristius, tribune of Rome.’
‘Ask away, though I have little to give at this moment.’
Iudnacos straightened in the saddle. ‘We wish to send an embassy to Caesar, confirming our oath and denouncing those among us who would fall in with the rebel Arverni. Such ambassadors would likely be better received coming to the general in the company of such an officer. Would you accompany our nobles to your commander’s camp at Gergovia?’