Colleen McCullough - 5. Caesar

The Fifteenth left Narbo without any wagons at all. The centurions' tents were deposited upon mules; so were the extra pila, the tools and heavier digging equipment. Everything else, including Caesar's treasured artillery, started out the long way up the Rhodanus valley, its arrival time anybody's guess. Each legionary member of an octet carried five days' supply of food, with another eleven loaded onto a second octet mule together with the heavier gear out of his pack. The lighter by fifteen pounds, each soldier marched with a will. And Caesar's fabled luck went with him, for the great snake coiled its way north in the midst of a thin fog which reduced visibility to a minimum and allowed it passage undetected by Lucterius or the Gabali. It entered the Cebenna in light snow and began immediately to climb; Caesar intended to cross the watershed to the east side as soon as possible, then remain within the higher crags as long as he could find reasonable ground to traverse. The snow quickly deepened to six feet, but had stopped falling. Each century among the sixty was rotated in turn to the front of the column to take its share of digging a clear path; for safety's sake the men moved four abreast instead of eight, and the mules were led in single file over what seemed the most solid terrain. There were accidents from time to time when the path collapsed into a crevice or the mountain fell away taking a man with it, but losses were rare and rescues many. So much snow rendered tumbles easier on the bones. Caesar remained on foot for the duration of the march and took his turn with a shovel in the digging party, mainly to cheer the men on and enlighten them as to where they were going and what they were likely to find when they got there. His presence was always a comfort; most of them had turned eighteen, but that was not the full measure of a man inside his mind or his body, and they still suffered from homesickness. Caesar wasn't a father to them, because none of them could imagine in their wildest fantasies having a father like Caesar, but he emanated a colossal confidence in himself which wasn't tarnished by a consciousness of his own importance, and with him they felt safe. "You're turning into a moderately good legion," he would inform them, grinning hugely. "I doubt the Tenth could go very much faster than you are, though they've been in the field for nine years. You're only babies! There's hope for you yet, boys!" His luck held. No blizzards descended to slow them down, there were no chance encounters with stray Gauls, and always a thin mist hovered to conceal them from distant sight. At first Caesar had worried about the Arverni, whose lands were on the western side of the watershed, but as time went on and no Arverni appeared, even a lost one, he began to believe that he would get to Vienne without a single warning flying to Vercingetorix. A very thankful Fifteenth came down out of the Cebenna and moved into camp at Vienne. Three men had died, several more had sustained broken limbs, four mules had panicked and plunged over a precipice, but not one soldier had suffered frostbite and all were capable of marching onward to Agedincum. The four hundred Ubii Germans were in residence, had been for close to four months. So delighted with their Remi horses that, said their leader in broken Latin, they would do anything Caesar asked of them. "Decimus, take the Fifteenth to Agedincum without me," said Caesar, dressed for riding, Gaius Marius's smelly old sagum over his head. "I'm taking the Germans with me to the Icauna. I'll pick up Fabius and his two legions, and meet you in Agedincum."

Ninety thousand Gauls had set out from Carnutum to enter the lands of the Bituriges, Vercingetorix at their head. Progress was slow, for Vercingetorix knew that he didn't have the skill at siegecraft to attempt an investment of Avaricum, the main stronghold of the Bituriges; he had therefore sought to terrify the people by plundering and burning their farms and villages. It had the desired effect, but not until some time after the Aeduan army had returned home without crossing the Liger. The bitter truth took days to sink in, that there would be no relief and no help from the Romans sitting safe and sound behind their formidable fortifications. At the middle of April the Bituriges sent to Vercingetorix and submitted. "We are your men to the death," said Biturgo, the King. "We will do whatever you want. When we tried to honor our treaties with the Romans, they failed to keep their end of the bargain. They did not protect us. Therefore we are your men." Very satisfactory! Vercingetorix led his army past Avaricum and advanced on Gorgobina, the old Arvernian oppidum which now belonged to the Helvetian interlopers, the Boii. Litaviccus found him before he reached Gorgobina, and paused atop a hill to marvel. So many men! How could the Romans win? One never really had much idea of the size of a Roman army because it marched in column, winding into the farthest distance at about a mile to the legion with the baggage train and the artillery in the middle. Somehow less frightening and certainly less awesome than the sight which spread itself out before Litaviccus's dazzled eyes: one hundred thousand mail-shirted, heavily armed Gallic warriors advancing on a front five miles long and a hundred men deep, with the rudimentary baggage train wandering behind. Perhaps twenty thousand of them were horsed, ten thousand bracketing either end of the front. And out in the open ahead of it rode the leaders, Vercingetorix on his own, the others in a group behind him: Drappes and Cavarinus of the Senones, Gutruatus of the Carnutes, Daderax of the Mandubii. And Cathbad, easy to recognize in his snow-white robe atop his snow-white horse. This was a religious war, then. The Druids were proclaiming their commitment to a united Gaul. Vercingetorix rode a pretty fawn horse blanketed in Arvernian checks, his light trousers bound around with dark green thongs, his shawl draped across his mail shirt. Though he had insisted that his men be helmeted, he wore none himself, and his person glittered with sapphire-studded gold. Every inch a king. Biturgo was not among the privileged just behind Vercingetorix, but he was in front of his people, and not far away. When Litaviccus approached, he drew his sword and charged. "Traitor!" he howled. "Roman cur!" Vercingetorix and Drappes rode between him and Litaviccus. "Sheath your sword, Biturgo," said Vercingetorix. "He's Aedui! Traitors! The Aedui betrayed us!" "The Aedui did not betray you, Biturgo. The Romans did. Why do you think the Aedui went home? Not because they wanted to. It was an order from Trebonius." Drappes persuaded Biturgo to draw off and accompanied him, still muttering, back to the ranks of his people. Litaviccus reined his horse in beside Vercingetorix. Cathbad joined them. "News," said Litaviccus. "Well?" "Caesar appeared out of nowhere in Vienne with the Fifteenth Legion and left again immediately, heading north." The fawn horse faltered; Vercingetorix turned startled eyes on Litaviccus. "In Vienne? And gone already? Why was I not told that he was coming? You said you had spies from Arausio to the gates of Matisco!" "We did," said Litaviccus helplessly. "He didn't come that way, Vercingetorix, I swear it!" "There is no other way." "In Vienne they're saying that he and the Fifteenth marched through the Cebenna, that Caesar entered up the Oltis, crossed the watershed somewhere, and didn't come out until he was almost level with Vienne." "In winter," said Cathbad slowly. "He means to join Trebonius and his legions," said Litaviccus. "Where is he now?" "I have no idea, Vercingetorix, and that is the truth. The Fifteenth is marching straight for Agedincum under the command of Decimus Brutus, but Caesar isn't with him. That's why I've come. Do you want the Aedui to attack the Fifteenth? We can just manage to do it before they leave our territory." Vercingetorix seemed subtly to have diminished a little; the first of his strategies was going to fail, and he knew it. Then he drew his shoulders back, took a deep breath. "No, Litaviccus. You must convince Caesar that you're on his side." He looked up at the surly winter sky. "Where will he go? Where is he now?" "We should march for Agedincum," said Cathbad. "When we're within a stone's throw of Gorgobina? Agedincum is over a hundred miles north of here, Cathbad, and I have too many men to cover that distance in less than eight or ten days. Caesar can move much faster because his army is used to working together. His men wear a drill field out long before they see an enemy face. Our advantage is in our numbers, not in our speed. No, we will go to Gorgobina as intended. We'll make Caesar come to us." He drew a deep breath. "By Dagda I swear that I will beat him! But not on a field of his choosing. We will not let him find an Aquae Sextiae." "So you want me to tell Convictolavus and Cotus to go on pretending to help Caesar," said Litaviccus. "Definitely. Just make sure the help never comes." Litaviccus turned and rode off. Vercingetorix kicked his pretty fawn horse in the ribs and put distance between himself and Cathbad, who fell back to inform the others of the news Litaviccus had brought, his fair smooth face grim, for he misliked this news sorely. But Vercingetorix didn't notice; he was too busy thinking. Where was Caesar? What did he intend? Litaviccus had lost him in Aeduan lands! An image of Caesar hung before his fixed gaze, but he couldn't plumb the enigma behind those cool, unsettling eyes. Such a handsome man in an almost Gallic way; only the nose and the mouth were alien. Polished. Sleek. Very fit. A man who had the blood of kings more ancient than the history of the Gauls, and who thought like a king, for all his denials. When he gave an order, he didn't expect it to be obeyed; he knew it would be obeyed. He would never turn away for politic reasons. He would dare all. None but another king could stop him. Oh, Esus, grant me the full strength and the instinct to defeat him! The knowledge I do not have. I am too young, too untried. But I lead a great people, and if the last six years have taught us anything, it is to hate.