S. Turney - The conquest of Gaul

Probably.

Velius finished the briefing and gave the others permission to withdraw. As Fronto was about to come out and declare himself, the centurion turned toward him and called out softly enough to be heard by only the two of them.

“It’s bad enough for a legate to be absent for an entire afternoon of fighting, but it really makes him look like a prat when he skulks around behind tents like a teenage girl listening at a door.”

“Nice to see you too Lucius.” Fronto came out from behind the tent and walked into the circle of light.

“I see you’ve had fun” he said, gesturing at the flower of red blooming on the white bandages around the centurion’s chest and shoulders. “A new scar to show the ladies?”

“I don’t think anyone was prepared for this fight, and it shows. They were distinctly cunning and tactical. They used rafts, bridges and bows. I think we lost about a hundred men. Doesn’t sound many, but it certainly bloody felt like it.”

Fronto nodded, moving toward the command tent.

“You should have seen it a few miles upstream. They actually managed to get to the wall, and the Eleventh were stuck fast trying to cope with them. They were under fire too. As soon as I reached the Twelfth, I sent a detachment from Herculius’ century to give them some support. He had archers stationed down there, so they should hold, especially if the Eighth send someone too.”

Velius nodded. “I suppose I should give you a report.”

“Save the bulk for later, just the important facts. I can guess most of it anyway. Important thing is that you’ve held firm and everything’s under control. Would you like to explain that now?” Fronto pointed meaningfully at the bandaging.

“Arrow. Pretty deep. Capsarius fixed me up and I’ve been told I’m not allowed to leave the medical tent. I told him to stick it up his arse. Too much to do to convalesce.”

He sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear it all now, but suffice it to say they used missiles to cover the building of a raft bridge. We picked quite a few of them off and then dropped heavy rocks on the rafts when they were crossing in bulk. I don’t think they’ll try that again.”

He frowned at his commander. “Anyway, what the hell kept you so long? Longinus passed us on the way to the cavalry a few hours before you got back.”

Fronto glowered at his training officer.

“Caesar wanted a ‘quiet word’ with me and it took ages. He seems to be under the disturbing impression that you’re very competent and able to run a legion without me. There’s a whole long-term plan unfolding here, Lucius.” He lowered his voice again as they passed within earshot of a couple of legionaries stacking shields. “This doesn’t go anywhere else but between us two, alright?”

Velius nodded.

“I kind of wish Priscus was here for you to confide in. It makes me nervous when you confide in me. I’m more used to you shouting at me.”

Fronto smiled. “You should learn to filter some of what you say through your brain first, then I wouldn’t need to tell you off so regularly! Anyway, the general’s quite sure that the Helvetii will give up soon and go through the other pass into Gaul instead. He’s way ahead of us on that score. All three legions will be moving out as soon as he’s sure the Helvetii are gone. He’s taking us west, Lucius, into Gaul itself. That’s why he brought all this huge force with him. Not to frighten a few barbarians, but so that we’re mobile and ready to act. The Eighth, Eleventh and Twelfth will be coming with us and we’ll be meeting back up with the Seventh, Ninth and Tenth at Vienna. Anyway, that’s a job for after we’ve dealt with the immediate problems.”

The centurion stood, deep in thought and staring into the middle distance. Fronto’s voice pulled his mind back, and he shifted his eyes again to the legate.

“Has there been any news from the end of the wall?”

Velius grinned. “Occasional reports filter down. I gather the Sixth and Seventh Cohorts of the Eighth Legion are holding their own, and babysitting the outlying units of the Twelfth. Our far flank’s been under the general command of the primus pilus of this legion, a man called Baculus.”

“I’ve heard that name. He’s a good man from the Ninth, if it’s the same one.”

“Well anyway, this Baculus has managed all the work down there so far.”

Fronto sighed. “Where the hell’s Longinus been then?”

“Longinus, if you believe it, has been running a skirmishing group of cavalry beyond the end of the wall, keeping them from flanking us.”

Fronto frowned and scratched his ear.

“Longinus is an idiot when it comes to command and strategy, but I remember him in Spain, when he was just a military tribune. He was a good horseman. One of the best actually. Good place for the man to be. If he keeps running things like this, he might actually be a benefit, not a liability.”

The command tent appeared out of the gloom, burning torches lighting the front, and the flap pegged open.

“Let’s get inside, Lucius. I need a drink, and if the doctors catch you out here, they might forget about convalescence and just have you put down.”

The two made their way inside and a short while later the noise of concerted drinking was joined by the sound of laughter. Outside in the night, Gaulish voices whispered along the bank of the Rhone.

The first anyone knew about the second attack was when it was already too late. One of the legionaries on watch along the top of the palisade suddenly burst into flame and dropped like a falling star, bouncing down the bank and into the ditch.

By the time the alarm had been sounded, others had been struck. Several had fallen, pierced and on fire, into the stake-filled ditch. Others had gone backwards, rolling down the bank and into the camp. A couple who had been unlucky enough to survive the initial blow from the arrows now blundered, blind and on fire, igniting tents and ropes. Chaos reigned.

Fronto, still dressed only in his tunic, breeches and boots, came running around a corner and into the central space, unsheathing his sword as he ran. Velius appeared from a side alley, also unarmoured.

“When the hell did they start using fire arrows? What’s it going to be next? Ballista? Catapults?”

Velius unsheathed his own sword. “Up to the wall, sir.”

Throwing a glance over his shoulder as he ran, the centurion cried “someone get water and put those fires out.”

Running up the slope to the wall, Fronto almost fell headlong over a smouldering body. He grabbed an optio by the arm. “Get everyone back behind cover, and make sure they all have a shield with them.”

The rain of blazing missiles had subsided a little, with the occasional arrow whistling over the wall, and a lot more hitting deep into the outer face of the palisade with a ‘thunk’.

Velius and Fronto reached the top of the bank and climbed to the parapet, keeping their heads down. A quick glance over the wall gave a clear view of the situation.

Velius shrugged. “What can they be hoping for? They’re not going to burn the wall down, and they know that once they reach this side, they’ll be in close with at least one legion.”

“Shit.” Fronto grabbed Velius by the shoulders, his eyes blazing like the fires surrounding him.

“It’s a diversion. It’s got to be. The troops will see this miles away. It’s a dazzling bloody distraction. I’ll give you ten to one they’re about to hit the Eleventh where I left them yesterday.”

He grabbed a passing legionary.

“Get a horse and ride down to the Eleventh straight away. Warn them they might be in trouble.”

A young optio appeared at the top of the ramp. “Sir, we’ve just seen a whole mass of the enemy moving upriver on the other side.”