S. Turney - Sons of Taranis

What in Hades?

And now the mouth of the spring itself was sputtering, odd gouts of brown water leaping from it into the empty pool. And then nothing. The spring was gone.

There was another rumble and the ground bucked like an unbroken horse.

Hands were suddenly beneath his arms, helping raise him to his feet. ‘Time you were away from here, centurion,’ announced the unseen helper. Atenos could not agree more, baffled as he was. As he struggled upright, the ground gave another ominous creak and groan and in a moment that almost stopped his heart, a swathe of woodland vanished into the earth in a long avenue down the hill.

As he boggled at the sight, the capsarius at his side helping him down the slope, he spotted the water seeping and saturating the ground down at the end of that flattened avenue. With a slightly painful grin, he spotted the figures there and finally understood.

Engineers, one officer, and perhaps two centuries of legionaries, all covered in earth and muck. Sappers.

All the time the tower at the top, the desperate fight of Atenos’ men and even the general advance had been keeping the defenders busy, the general had been undermining the hill. And finally, all at once, the tunnels had broken through to the spring’s underground source and diverted it way down the hill. And then the tunnels had been collapsed as the miners left them.

The only readily accessible source of water for the oppidum had been denied them. Where the water now came up from various places it would be undrinkable for some time, but would regardless be too close to the Roman lines for safe use and too far from the walls of Uxellodunon for the locals to defend.

The old goat had done it.

Atenos was grinning from ear to ear all the way down the slope and the appearance of the limping Decumius carrying his fallen phalera only made it all the wider.

* * * * *

Antonius glared at Caesar.

‘Isn’t it bad enough that you keep your surprises even from your senior officers without being unbearably smug about it as well?’

The figure of Aulus Hirtius was busy striding up the hill towards them, his lean, gaunt figure gangly and ungainly, as though he had too many knees for one human being. The pinched face had an odd expression that might be a mix of satisfaction and abhorrence. He’d somehow managed to get himself drenched, and the sopping white tunic and cloak clung to his frame making him look all the more like a crane fly.

‘All goes well, then, Hirtius?’

The man stopped and saluted. While Antonius and Caesar stood in the shelter of the porch of the general’s forward observation tent, Hirtius remained in the torrential downpour, sheltering his forehead as though that made the slightest difference in his soaked state.

‘The engineers and men of the Fifteenth acquitted themselves well, Caesar. The nearest accessible flow to the walls now is around a third of the way up the slope,’ he turned and pointed. ‘Somewhere near that large elm. We can cover the site with both artillery and archers with little difficulty from our lines. The enemy will not be able to get within fifty paces of water.’

‘Excellent.’ The general turned to Antonius. ‘Might I be allowed just the slightest hint of smug, now?’ he winked.

Antonius rolled his eyes. ‘If Fronto were here he would be standing a foot from your face, bellowing by now.’

‘If Fronto were here, Antonius, he would have been the one at the mines.’

Caesar peered up through the torrent and spotted Varus wending his way down the hill towards them. Turning, he spotted an older soldier, unarmoured and with a voluminous, hooded oiled-skin cloak wrapped tight around him against the rain. His favoured sacerdos. The priest of the Tenth, with the knowledge of ritual and some skill at divination. With a crooked finger, he beckoned.

‘Sir?’

‘Can you tell me what Jupiter Pluvius has in store for us?’

‘Of course, General. Despite the current downpour, I expect the sky to clear before sunset and lead to several days of dry heat. The ass’ manger last night was bright and unobstructed, and that speaks of good weather. Also a crow gave three distinct calls above the camp at dawn, which I thought to be at odds with the coming deluge, but now I see presaged a good period to follow. In the…’

‘A simple ‘good weather’ would have done, man. Thank you.’

The old soldier nodded and retreated five steps and into his hood once more.

‘We have to assume that they have good residual water supplies in the oppidum, and every cistern and reservoir they have will be uncovered to catch the storm rain. Still, they have many thousands of warriors up there in addition to the general population and the large number of animals to provide sustenance. They cannot have been expecting to lose their water supply, and this will be a very final blow to them. Their water will soon run dry in fine weather.’

Varus approached and saluted rather soggily, his face tired but satisfied.

‘What’s the lie of the land, Quintus,’ asked Antonius.

The cavalry commander stretched and rolled his shoulders. ‘We took serious losses near the spring. It was a good call assigning the Tenth under Atenos. That man would hold the gates of Hades itself against Cerberus if you asked. I hear he took a place in the front line and suffered a head wound, but is in no danger. The general estimate is somewhere around eight hundred dead. Wounded are few. Nearly anyone who engaged the enemy is gone, rather than injured. As soon as the spring disappeared, the enemy lost heart and pulled back. The other varied assaults suffered minor casualties, but never really got the chance to involve themselves before the mines did their job.’

He gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. ‘The enemy are already starting to come down the slopes in twos and threes, testing our resolve and trying to get close to either the new spring spouts or the tributary rivers. They’ll get a nasty surprise. I watched one of the scorpions finding their range and the artillerist put three bolts into the same tree way beyond the water, so unless our men fall asleep there will be no water for Uxellodunon.’

‘Shame we can’t get anyone inside to ruin the water supplies,’ Antonius mused, and Varus nodded his agreement.

‘No matter, gentlemen,’ Caesar smiled. ‘In my experience, Gauls are impetuous, and only a strong leader can impose any true order, in the Roman sense, over their forces – they are too individual in their ways. They have no leaders, for Lucterius is fled and Drapes is ours. The Gauls will drink their water in desperation, without thought for a long-term plan. Where their supplies might be made to last weeks, in current conditions I would expect it to manage only days.’

Somewhere behind Varus, in the trees at the lowest slopes of the oppidum, the distinctive sound of artillery at work cracked and thumped and echoed, their victims adding counterpoint with screams and cries of alarm. The Cadurci were learning a hard lesson, it seemed.

‘There will be a night and a day of such attempts, I think,’ Caesar mused. ‘They will want to try the cover of darkness, and will hope that we become complacent the next day. We must continually rotate the units of archers and artillerists on watch and make sure we plug any gaps, and then the day will be ours, gentlemen.’

‘Will they not make an attempt to break out?’’ Antonius mused.

‘No. Not without their leaders to drive them. They are surrounded by our defences and outnumbered, with six legions here. And their life expectancy in the oppidum has just been reduced to almost naught in a matter of hours. Tonight there will be desperate last attempts, and throughout the morning, especially if it remains misty in the valleys as seems the norm. If we continue to deny them water, I will expect their first emissaries after noon tomorrow. By the kalends of the month, we will be dividing the spoils and the slaves, reducing the oppidum and assigning winter quarters.’