S. Turney - Sons of Taranis

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Varus swatted at an insistent bug that flitted around his chin and neck, watching the cavalry elements of the Tenth and Eleventh legions moving across the wide grassy valley of the tributary river which encircled Uxellodunon’s northern slopes, hooves pounding the earth. Perhaps eight hundred horsemen all told, their standards having been reported by the pickets.

The officers were out ahead, riding in a small knot with a guard of Aulus Ingenuus’ Praetorian cavalry and a few native scouts, and that vanguard even now climbed the lower slopes to Fabius’ camp, where he, Varus and Caninius waited. A thin grey blanket of cloud was rolling in from the south as if to meet the new arrivals, blotting out the blistering sun, but replacing it with an oppressive muggy heat that brought incessant clouds of insects from the low-lying land.

‘The rest will be following on, I presume. Two more legions, then,’ Fabius murmured. ‘Six might even be adequate to crush this place.’ He sounded unconvinced, and with good reason, Varus mused, given their attempts so far at an action against the fortified town. ‘I presume the others have been distributed in garrison,’ the legate went on.

‘Perhaps the general lacked confidence in our ability to put an end to this,’ Caninius sighed.

‘He’s right to do so,’ Fabius replied. ‘We are no closer to a conclusion now than we were two weeks ago.’

The three men stood silent for a moment, contemplating the truth of that. Though Fabius’ arrival had doubled the Roman numbers, the few minor forays they had attempted at the vertiginous slopes of Uxellodunon had been costly and abortive. Even with information beaten out of the captives, none of the intelligence had proved useful. Uxellodunon was sealed tighter than a Vestal’s underwear.

‘Quiet now,’ Varus hissed as the newly-arrived officers closed on them, reining in atop the slope, their horses sweating and whickering, tired from the long journey. Caesar sat astride his white mare, calm and collected as usual, lacking his ubiquitous red cloak and foregoing a cuirass in deference to the stifling heat, yet still resplendent in a linen arming jacket with white and gold pteruges. His aquiline face, however, looked slightly more drawn than usual, and his hair thinner and greyer – to Varus’ eye, anyway.

‘Gentlemen,’ the Proconsul of Gaul inclined his head as he came to a halt and the waiting legates and cavalry officer saluted in response. ‘You have found me another Alesia, it seems. This land appears to be full of them. And is this Lucterius a facsimile of Vercingetorix, too?’

The two legates exchanged a look and Caninius cleared his throat. ‘It would appear not, general. He and his fellow chieftain Drapes made a lunatic attempt to deprive us of a grain store and in the process both men were defeated. Drapes sits in chains in my camp and Lucterius took to his heels during the fight and fled, we know not where.’

The general frowned. ‘Into the oppidum, perhaps?’

‘We think not, Caesar,’ Varus replied. ‘It would have been exceedingly difficult for him to do so, and since that scuffle we’ve observed none of the posturing or cunning we had seen in our earlier days here. It seems that the tribes up there are somewhat directionless, sitting tight in their stronghold and holding us off, but nothing more, as though they are awaiting a command to do something.’

‘Good. Then we will take advantage of the situation. Wherever Lucterius has run, he cannot hide for long. Just as Commius’ days are numbered, so are this rebel chief’s. Particularly without his army. Walk me through the situation,’ he commanded, dismounting and squinting at the ‘upturned boat’ shape of Uxellodunon.

Fabius scratched his chin. ‘According to the prisoners, interrogated separately and therefore with no reason for doubt, the oppidum has adequate grain, veg and livestock to see them through until next spring, even with an army that size encamped there. It would seem that Lucterius had been intending to use Uxellodunon as some sort of gathering point or staging post. Starving them out will not be as easy as it would have been at Alesia.’

Caninius nodded. ‘The slopes are treacherous and well defended. There are strong walls even atop the cliff stretches, and the flatter slope to the northeast, which is the natural assault point for infantry, is extremely well protected by a high wall pocked with towers that create an impressive arrow-reach from the parapet. We’ve probed the defences from every angle, and there is no guaranteed method. Indeed, I see any approach as being extremely costly and with remarkably little chance of actual success.’

Caesar nodded, tapping his chin as he strolled back and forth, looking over their objective. ‘The water supply? If assault and starvation are unfeasible, that is the only remaining option.’

Varus pointed down into the valley. ‘Apart from a narrow stretch to the northwest, the entire oppidum is surrounded by two of the tributaries of the Duranius River. Interrogation has also revealed the location of a fresh-water spring that grants them a permanent supply. The spring is close to the walls on that north-eastern slope, too close to assault without coming under concentrated attack from the walls. We looked at cutting the water supply, but it’s just as unfeasible.’

Caninius gestured around them. ‘And without the potential for assault or starvation, we have settled in for a long siege. Since Fabius arrived we have had adequate manpower to carry out siege works and, as you can see, have achieved a circumvallation almost comparable to your Alesia example, general.’

Caesar nodded absently, still squinting down into the valley beyond the Roman lines. ‘A cursory glance at the terrain tells me you did the right thing. Pointless wasting men on fruitless assaults, and we cannot overwhelm them by force. Only poor morale or starvation will win this for us. Could we get a traitor into the walls to burn their granaries? Are the artillery capable of launching fire missiles that far?’

‘Neither, I’m afraid, Caesar,’ replied Caninius. ‘Since the debacle that lost them both leaders, nothing has passed that wall in or out and it is carefully guarded. They withdrew any pickets on the slopes at that time and sealed themselves in. And it’s too far for the artillery.’

The general blinked a couple of times and peered off into the distance, towards the confluence where the fight in the marsh had taken place.

‘Can we divert the rivers?’

Varus frowned. ‘The engineers had a dreadful time just draining the marsh area. Apparently the tributaries are both fed by hundreds of tiny streams coming down from the mountains themselves. It is an immense job. I asked about it before we heard of the spring, and the senior engineer just looked at me as though I’d asked him to lower the sky a little.’

Caesar gave a low chuckle. ‘Engineers are the same the world over.’

‘Besides, the rivers are inconsequential while the enemy control the spring,’ Fabius noted.

Caesar’s nod was noncommittal. ‘Alright. You have auxiliary archers and slingers, and I have more following on with the Tenth and Eleventh. Arrange all your missile troops and artillery to cover the approaches to the rivers. Concentrate on any position where a natural descent from the oppidum might bring a man with a bucket to the water.’

The three defenders were frowning in bewilderment.

‘General,’ Caninius said quietly, ‘the rivers are immaterial while they can draw from the spring.’

‘They are indeed. That is why we must remove the spring from the equation. The spring is the clear target. But once we have done so, they will use the river instead, unless any Gaul who comes within twenty paces of it is pinned by arrows.’