Another flicker and Fronto almost laughed at how easy the man was to read. ‘And you broke southwest. I suppose the riders could have gone anywhere once they passed from our view, but my money’s on them staying on that very course. Because if I opened up a map right now and drew a line southwest from Alesia, where the riders went, it would pass right through Bibracte, where the tribes so often gather to sort things out.’
Again the man flinched slightly at the name of the Aeduan capital. Fronto chuckled and looked up at Caesar. ‘That’s it. Vercingetorix sent his cavalry out to Bibracte to raise the rest of the tribes. And over the years we’ve more or less made that place the political focal point for the whole of Gaul. By noon today, if they ride their horses into the ground, the survivors will be there.’
Caesar took a deep breath. ‘Then we have days — weeks at the most — before a relief force gathers here. Potentially a very large one.’
‘It seems likely.’
‘And currently we are already slightly outnumbered. If a sizeable second force comes, we could find ourselves in dire straits.’
‘Quite.’
As Caesar stood in silence, Fronto turned back to the Gaul. ‘Thank you for your silence.’ Quickly, he ripped his blade from its sheath and used his left hand to push the Gaul’s head forward, placing the point between two vertebrae at the bottom of the neck. The Gaul put up no resistance and Fronto took a deep breath and jammed the blade down. There was a crack and a spray of blood and the body jerked and then slumped beneath him.
Nonnos passed from the world of men with honour and Fronto tore a strip from the man’s discarded bloody tunic and rose, wiping his sword thoroughly and sheathing it once more.
‘What do we do? We cannot afford to abandon this place. If his force builds again and we let him go, we’ll end up on the run.’
Caesar nodded. ‘It has to end here, no matter what. The siege works must be enhanced. We have eleven miles of circumvallation planned already: a ditch and rampart connecting the redoubts and camps all around Alesia. This is clearly not going to be enough, however. The rampart will be raised to a height of two men and then topped with the palisade and towers. Instead of one ditch, we will have two. I will have lilia pits, sharpened branches, spikes and caltrops in the flat ground and more branches at the bottom of the palisade, and any other measures our engineers can come up with. And the flat lands will need an extra hurdle for the enemy. The engineers will drive a wide, deep ditch across the entire plain at the base of the hill, connecting the two rivers and flooding it.’
Fronto whistled with a frown. ‘Juno, but that’s some work, general. I’m not sure we’ll have time to carry all that eleven miles before a relief army gets here. Besides, I don’t understand how that helps us against a second army.’
Caesar straightened.
‘That is because I haven’t finished, Fronto. Eleven miles facing inwards will keep Vercingetorix and his hounds caged. A second line of fortifications — identical ones — will be drawn outside the first. It will have to be several miles longer and will face outwards to protect against any relief force.’
Fronto’s eyes widened. ‘Another? That’s weeks of work even if we use every man we have. Can it be done?’
Caesar smiled. ‘You should spend more time reading your histories and less time cavorting, Fronto. Scipio built a stone wall six miles long around Numantia, with added defences and towers, and all in a few short days. Our line may be a lot longer, but I am not asking for stone. Just earth and timber. And we have a much larger army than he to do it with. It can be done, Fronto. It will be done. And when it is done, we will draw all the army and supplies between the two circuits.’
‘Caesar, if a large enemy force arrives, we’ll essentially be under siege ourselves.’
‘But so will the rebels on the hill, but they will become hungry and we will have time to gather plenty of supplies. We do not have to be able to last forever. We only need to outlast the rebel king.’
Fronto stared, still shaking his head. As the general nodded, satisfied, and walked away, the Tenth’s legate looked down at the peaceful, still form of the rebel horseman, released from pain.
‘I have a feeling that in the coming days, I might envy you.’
Chapter 18
Atenos stormed across the ruined turf, torn by hundreds of nailed boots, vine staff gripped in his white-knuckled hand. The legionary wiped his sweat-drenched face with his scarf and then carefully tucked the material back beneath the edge of his mail shirt to prevent chafing and fastened it with a bronze pin. He was reaching up with his helmet to put it back on when the vine staff caught him a fiery, sharp snap across the back of his thighs. The helmet fell from shocked hands, rolling away across the grass as the soldier turned, his hand going to the pommel of his sword.
As he spun, his eyes fell upon the harness across the big Gallic centurion’s mail shirt, hung with medals and torcs, and his eyes slid slowly, full of dread, upwards to rest upon the hard, angry eyes of the legion’s most senior centurion. His hand left the pommel of his sword, trembling slightly. The men of the Tenth had been in awe of this huge centurion since he had first joined, years ago, and his training regime was said to be the most punishing in all the army. No man had ever had the guts to cross him. One brave fellow — the legion’s inter-unit wrestling champion, built like a bear — had taken him on in a ring during the Saturnalia celebrations a year ago. His elbows still ached in the cold and wet and he had accepted a demotion in order to transfer a long way from his opponent.
But since the huge former Gallic mercenary had moved up from being the legion’s training officer in the wake of Carbo’s demise at Gergovia, he had taken on a yet harder dimension. Any softness about him — which had been difficult enough to find anyway — had apparently vanished with his appointment as primus pilus.
Atenos glared, and the legionary quailed.
‘What part of full kit escapes you, soldier?’
‘Sir… I just… I couldn’t see for the sweat in my eyes.’
‘Then sweat less. If I see your helmet come off once more, Glaucus, I will have the smiths weld a spike to the inside before you put it on again. Now get kitted up properly, pick up that axe and take down one of those saplings, and when you get back to camp, report straight to the latrines for clearance and extension duty.’
The soldier saluted, still trembling. As he stood waiting for Atenos to move away, the centurion blinked and brought his vine stick down on the man’s head, quite hard.
‘GET GOING!’
The legionary scrambled away, grabbing his helmet.
‘Centurion? I think we’ve got company,’ shouted one of the excused duty legionaries standing watch on the hillside. Atenos jogged over to the man and followed his pointing finger.
‘Well spotted.’ The big centurion squinted. ‘Can’t be more than a couple of hundred of them.’ The running Gauls had somehow descended the hillside from the oppidum unseen from the forage party’s position on this hill to the south of Alesia. Given the undulation of the plateau’s slope at the eastern end, the scrub and small coppices and thickets that covered the hillside, and the somewhat obfuscatory nature of the terrain the party worked in, it was hardly a surprise. But the Gauls must be idiots to think they would get anywhere close before they were spotted.
‘What are they doing, sir?’
‘We’re only three centuries, so they match our numbers, lad. They think they’ll take out a forage party. Picked the wrong bunch, though, eh?’