S. Turney - The conquest of Gaul

Numeius in turn bowed and gave a Roman salute.

Caesar glanced at Balbus for a moment, then at Fronto. Very quietly; far too quietly for the Helvetii to hear, he said “If I said Gauls to you, what would your reply be?”

Balbus and Fronto looked at each other. Balbus spoke first. “The Gauls destroyed Rome. They cannot be trusted.” Fronto nodded, adding “defilers and vandals.”

Caesar smiled at them both. Fronto had seen that smile once in a Northern Spanish winter, on the face of a wolf starved half to death, and coming upon an injured legionary. He shuddered. Caesar was gauging his officers before his reaction.

The general stood for the first time since the emissaries had arrived.

“You call the Gauls your brothers, and well you might. The Gauls once destroyed our city; defecated in our holy places. Kinship with these people is unlikely to advance your case, barbarian.”

The two ambassadors glanced at each other for only a moment before Numeius came back with a formulaic excuse.

“That was centuries ago, Roman, and different tribes. We are not Gauls, and even those Gauls that now live are different, after centuries of peace, to the ones you speak of.”

Caesar laughed. Laughed so hard he sat back down in a carefully positioned command chair.

“Peace? You dare speak to me of peace? Rome had a Consul named Lucius Cassius. Are you familiar with the name?”

For a moment, the two conferred, a look of worry passing between them.

“This name is not familiar to us, Roman.”

Caesar stood once more, the colour rising in his cheeks.

“Damn you barbarian for a liar. Of course you know him. It wasn’t that long ago your people killed him and tortured and enslaved many a Roman in his army! Cassius was beloved of the Roman people, and you murdered him. You claim you are a peaceful people. Pah! I have no time for this.” Standing, Caesar made to walk away, winking at Fronto as he turned away from the speakers.

The two conferred again, but only for a second.

“Roman, there have been many confrontations between our peoples in the past. We are here now only in peace. We request only the time to pass through to our allies.”

Caesar wheeled on the spot.

“Go through the Jura pass, through your other allies. Begone!”

The increasing desperation of the ambassadors was evident not only in Numeius’ voice, but also in the speed with which the reply came back.

“We cannot pass that way because of many tribal differences and the difficulty of the route. We vouchsafe Roman lands and would cause no trouble or mischief upon our crossing.” With an urgent tone, Verudoctius spoke up for the first time, earning him an evil glare from his counterpart.

“Great general, we have brought with us on this journey everything we have; everything we are. For your assurances of safe passage, we can give gifts to the Roman people that would earn you a place in their heart.”

For a moment, and just for a moment, Caesar was actually speechless. Fronto could understand. He was under no illusion. This plan of the general’s was not greatly for the good of Rome, or even the legions, but for the good of Caesar. What he wished to achieve with a war was being handed to him on a plate by the barbarians, but he would lose face if he came this far and relented. The other officers held their breath.

Caesar turned to the officers, gave them a meaningful look, and then addressed the Helvetii once again, this time loud enough for the whole tribe to hear.

“Chieftains, I will deliberate on this matter. Go away from this place, where trouble will brew between our two armies, to a place of refuge and return, if you still require passage, on the day before the ides of April, which is the twelfth day to you.”

With that the general turned away from the ambassadors and marched down the embankment. The officers turned and followed him, leaving only sentries on the raised earth.

“That should give them something to think about, and give us time to train the new legions and complete the defences gentlemen, yes?”

Longinus’ jaw dropped.

“Caesar, you cannot be suggesting we refuse their offer? Think of the booty we can take back to Rome for a simple two weeks’ escort duty!”

The general gave Longinus a distasteful look. “You would bargain with the murderers of a Roman Consul, Longinus? I thought you had more about you than that. Pull yourself together and stop thinking of money. Revenge is the order of the day.”

The general turned to look up at the sentry who was still standing atop the mound. “Soldier! What is happening among the Helvetii?”

The sentry turned and saluted. “There’s some heated conversation going on sir. I think they’re confused.”

“Good. Keep an eye on them. If they move away, send someone to inform me and have the scouts placed back in position. If they move in this direction, sound the alarm. Fronto? Balbus? Come with me.”

(Along the bank of the Rhone)

“ Primus Pilus: The chief centurion of a legion. Essentially the second in command of a legion.”

“ Capsarius: Legionary soldiers trained as combat medics, whose job was to patch men up in the field until they could reach a hospital.”

“ Vienna: Latin name for the modern town of Vienne, in the Rhone Valley.”

Fronto and Tetricus surveyed their handiwork. The green embankment continued nineteen miles to the west from here. The height inevitably varied, but was generally around fifteen feet. Only a yard lay between the wall and a ditch six feet deep which, itself, was only five or ten yards from the river bank. Such was the defensive system that Caesar had ordered. Fronto and Tetricus had gone a step beyond with their handiwork. The ditch was lined with a deadly carpet of sharpened points, and the lilia, small concealed pits each housing a pointed stake, were strategically placed between the bank and the ditch. On the top of the bank, an eight foot palisade covered the entire length of the system, with only three gates, set five or six miles apart. Fort-like structures lay at regular intervals along the wall, small redoubts in which a large number of soldiers could be based. All in all it was a system any Roman commander would be happy with. Any commander except Fronto, at least. He turned to Tetricus.

“What happens if they come across the lake in boats?”

Tetricus sighed. He was getting a little sick of Fronto’s pessimism.

“Sir, there aren’t enough boats in the whole province to get a tribe that big across a lake this size.”

“And if they go round the lake?”

“Through territory hostile to them? Then the Third Cohort can earn their pay, can’t they sir.”

Fronto cleared his throat with an irritated twitch and stamped his feet. The morning was cold, and weeks of chill had penetrated so deep into his bones that he felt he might never be warm again. He was already wearing his thick woollen tunic, scarf and cloak. His breeches were the special heavy and slightly longer ones than he usually wore, and he had taken to wearing the heavier of his pairs of boots.

A soldier came running up the embankment, the frosty grass crunching under his feet. At the top he came to attention, breathing heavily.

“Sir, centurion Velius requests permission to bring a detachment onto the defences.”

Fronto eyed the soldier, one of Velius’ raw recruits, surely. He was correctly equipped and well turned out, had come to attention very formally, and only his accent betrayed him. He could easily have been a soldier from the Tenth. There was no doubt; Velius knew his job and had performed it excellently.

“Very well soldier, tell Velius his unit has permission to approach.”