S. Turney: The Belgae

The primus pilus crawled across the small hut and peered out through the cracks in the battered wooden door. Behind him, Galronus shivered.

“Warriors?”

Priscus nodded.

“They’re still there. There’s only two now, but I think that’s because they’re posting pairs of lookouts around the hill. We’re not getting out that way.”

Galronus hunched closer to ward off the chill.

“Then we die here. No way out.”

Priscus shrugged.

“There’s always a way. You’ll learn this about Rome, my friend. We’ll rule the world one day because we never give up; we just find the way that no one else has noticed.”

Galronus looked unconvinced.

“But,” the centurion said, squaring his shoulders once more, “we won’t find a way out cowering in a pig-keeper’s shit shed. We need to head down into the main town again.”

The Remi officer blinked.

“Back? You mad . We die there!”

Priscus grinned.

“Look at it this way: they’re watching the cliffs now. They know someone got in that way, so we won’t get past them. But they won’t be looking for anyone back in the town. Our friends must have gone to Elysium without mentioning us, or there’d have been more commotion. And they only noticed the other two ‘cause they had bodies over their shoulder. We’re inconspicuous, and you speak the language.”

“But where we go when we get to centre?”

Priscus shrugged.

“Who knows, but we’ll work that out when we get that far. It’s easier breaking out of a place than breaking in.”

Galronus rolled his eyes.

“You mad as Fronto.”

“We’ve known each other a long time.”

The primus pilus smiled and pulled his Celtic tunic up, allowing air to circulate round his armpits. There was an unpleasant waft of strong body odour.

“Come on.”

Galronus scrabbled to his feet and Priscus shoved the partially-rotten door open as quietly as he could. Glancing between the tree trunks, he could see the pair of warriors at the point of ingress the night before. Taking a deep breath, he slipped out of the hovel and around the side, out of sight of the lookouts on the cliff edge. Galronus was out and at his heel mere moments later.

Taking a deep breath, Priscus strode from the shed, past the main farm building. There was little point in sneaking here. Two men running around the oppidum, crouched and ducking from alley to doorway would be far more likely to stand out than two men dressed as locals and strolling calmly along the street.

“Where we go then?”

Priscus shrugged.

“I’d like to get close to the walls. Let’s try and skirt the very centre and make our way to the end of the defences.”

Galronus nodded unhappily and fell into step beside him, glancing around nervously at the empty street as they left the farm yard.

“For the love of Venus, will you stop looking so bloody suspicious?”

* * * * *

Caesar frowned.

“What do you mean nowhere?”

Tetricus shrugged.

“Just that, sir. The whole camp’s been searched, and everywhere along the ramparts. Varus has got scouts out now behind the camps, checking the woodlands, but I don’t think they’ll turn anything up. If Fronto and Priscus were in the woods getting drunk last night, I’m sure they’d have come back under cover once the rain began.”

The general growled.

“Where are they, then? Fronto’s nothing if not direct, and he never misses the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’ to me. It’s a vexing and worrying development.”

Tetricus nodded.

“There is another possibility, of course” Sabinus interjected.

Caesar raised an eyebrow.

“That he and Priscus went to spy on the Aduatuci.”

The general frowned.

“I know Fronto can be impulsive, but…”

He turned to Tetricus.

“Have Varus send out scouts toward the oppidum; right up to the cliff if necessary.”

The tribune nodded and left the tent to find the cavalry commander and relay the orders. Once they were alone again, Caesar turned to Sabinus.

“Something is going on here. Fronto was right. Have the first cohort from each legion assembled. I’m not waiting until noon. We’re going now, and the rest of the army should stay on high alert.”

Sabinus nodded.

“A sensible idea, if I may say, sir.”

Fronto groaned and rolled over.

Grass. Confusion flooded his mind. Wet grass. And red. Lots of red. Sticky. Smelled like tin.

For a horrible moment, his memory took him back a year to that night when he’d found the body of Cominius in his tent. But no. As his brain swam slowly into focus, he realised the thumping and pain in the back of his skull was from a wound. He prodded it tentatively, and something moved. ‘Not good’, he thought, as he almost blacked out from the pain.

He strained, thinking back to last night.

The cliff!

“Shit!”

Hurriedly, he began to push himself to his feet, but slipped in the blood and came down with a bang, almost knocking himself out again. He waited a moment for his head to clear and then, very slowly and carefully, he arched his back and began to pull himself into a seated position.

Yes, something was definitely wrong. Priscus and Galronus and their companions were gone. Were they dead? Did the Aduatuci hold them prisoner? Something had to be done.

Ignoring the warnings of his body, the legate pulled himself upright. Staggering slightly, he turned to take in his situation. He was only a hundred yards from the cliff… Within throwing range!

Suddenly, desperately, he began to run, floundering slightly, away from the oppidum. Behind him he heard shouting on the cliff edge in that guttural tongue. Uttering a prayer to Nemesis, he ran like the wind toward the ramparts.

And then he noticed all the activity. Legions were marching from the gate in the palisade toward the slope. What the in the name of Pluto were they doing? And small groups of horsemen were scattered across the plain, riding slowly.

His mind began to swim again. The activity and adrenaline, along with the pumping blood thumping through his brain, threatened to floor him once again. He stopped, woozily, and put his hands on his knees.

Just ahead, and as his legs gave out, he heard a comforting voice.

“Here he is! Tell the commander we’ve found one of them!”

Caesar gazed thoughtfully at the oppidum as the army approached the outer line of defences. The command party, led by the general himself, along with Sabinus and Cicero, was mounted, while their accompanying cohorts were afoot. Ingenuus’ guards rode in a protective cordon around the officers, while Varus’ regulars supplied extra support. In all, the general was as well protected as a man on a horse entering an enemy stronghold could be.

What in the name of the Magna Mater were the Aduatuci up to? Damiacus sounded so tremendously reasonable, and the Belgae were a proud people, so there was really no reason to suspect a problem. The tribes they had dealt with all summer had either submitted without the need for battle, or fought to the death.

He craned his neck to look up as the riders passed at a walk through the great open gate of the oppidum. Outside and in both directions along the wall, piles of weapons discarded in good faith told a story. Caesar’s imagination told another.

Behind the gates was a square unlike those Caesar had seen in most Gaulish or Belgic oppida. The ground was paved with flush stones in a style more reminiscent of Latium than the barbarian north. The buildings around the edge of the square were of familiar style, with stone courses to shoulder height, surmounted by timber and either wooden or thatched roofs. Here, at the square, they were tightly packed, almost in a Roman style, fronting the street though, as he looked up the main thoroughfare, also paved, toward the centre of the town, the buildings seemed to become more randomly placed.