“Ariovistus is no fool. There has to be a reason for this cowardice. When the camps are ready, summon my council to me.”

CHAPTER 29

Building fortified camps under the very noses of the enemy was a new experience for the six legions.

Every man who could be spared dug the outer trenches, throwing the loose earth up into great ramparts, shifting many tons of earth to the height of three men. The extraordinarii patrolled the perimeter, and twice during the long afternoon, small groups had ridden hard at them, sending javelins flying before racing back to their own lines. It had been no more than young men showing their courage, but Julius could make nothing of Ariovistus’s plans. His warriors seemed eager enough, but still the main army kept their distance, watching as the Romans raised earthworks and felled trees. Julius had smelled spices on the breeze as the day wore on and knew the Suebi were busy preparing food for their own men as he was about to do for his.

By the early evening, the huge camps were finished and the legions marched inside gates as solid as anything in Gaul. The legion carpenters were old hands at turning heavy trunks into shaped beams, and the earthern ramparts were spiked solidly enough to resist the most determined attack. Julius could sense a mood of optimism amongst his men. The sight of a retreating enemy had raised their morale enormously, and he hoped it would continue.

He gathered his council in the generals’ tent inside the walls after a hot meal had been prepared and eaten. The Aedui horses had munched their way through a good part of his grain supply, but there could be no grazing outside with the Suebi so close. As night fell, Julius waited for Brutus to come and join the others. Lamps were lit and the first night watch went on duty without their shields, climbing wooden steps to the ramparts to scan the darkness for an attack.

Julius looked around at his council with a quiet satisfaction. Octavian had grown into a fine leader of men, and Ciro too had justified his promotion to the position of centurion. Publius Crassus was a fearless commander and Julius would be sorry when he was sent back to lead his father’s legion. Renius continued to train the men in gladius technique, and Julius never hesitated in promoting those he recommended. If Renius said they were able to lead, they were. Domitius was capable of commanding a full legion, and the men loved the silver armor he now wore constantly. At that time, in that place, they were in their prime, and Julius was proud of them all.

As Brutus joined them, Cabera brought out a ball of clay he had wrapped in damp cloth. It shone in the lamplight as he massaged the brown ball into a semblance of a face, pinching out a nose and poking eyes with his fingernails.

“If ropes were placed in this way, you could alter the shape of the skull,” he said, winding a piece or cord around the little head and tightening it with a stick that he twisted until the clay began to bulge.

When he had created a heavy ridge above the eyes, he repeated the process above it, until a copy of the odd Suebi features stared back at them.

“But the skull would break, surely?” Octavian said, wincing at the image.

Cabera shook his head. “For a man, yes, but for a newborn child, when the skull is still soft, such a binding would produce the ridges. No demons, these men, for all the gossip in camp. They are brutal, though. I have never heard of a race that could mistreat their young in such a way. The first year, perhaps two, of their lives must be spent in agony, with these things pressing against their bones. I doubt they are ever fully free of pain. If I am right, it would mean they mark their warrior castes almost from birth.”

“You must show it around the camps if they are talking, Cabera,” Julius said, fascinated by the contorted head. “The Suebi need no other advantages with their numbers, and our men are superstitious.”

A commotion outside the tent brought the council to their feet in an instant. The guards who were stationed there snapped muffled words at someone, and then the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle could be heard. Brutus strode to the flap and flung it back.

Two of the Gaulish slaves taken by the Suebi were writhing on the ground.

“Sorry, sir,” one guard said quickly as he saluted Brutus. “Consul Caesar said he should not be disturbed and these two ignored my warning.”

“You did well,” Brutus replied. He reached down and helped one of the Gauls to his feet. “What was so important?” he asked.

The man glared at the guard before speaking, but Brutus didn’t understand a word of the torrent that came in reply. Raising his eyebrows, Brutus exchanged glances with the guard.

“I don’t suppose he understood your warning, either. Adàn? Would you come and translate for me, please?”

With Adàn there, the man spoke even faster. By then, his companion had risen to his feet and stood sullenly rubbing his stomach.

“Are you going to stand out here all night?” Julius said, coming out to them.

“I think you’re going to want to hear this, sir,” Adàn said.

“It explains why we couldn’t bring them to battle, at least,” Julius said. “If this Ariovistus is fool enough to listen to his priests, we can only benefit from it. I make it three days until the new moon. If he won’t fight us till then, we can push him right back to the Rhine and hammer him against it.”

Julius’s mood of worry and anger had disappeared at the news brought by the Gaulish slaves. His riders had rejoiced to find some of their own people amongst the rest, and the crucial piece of information explained a great deal of the Suebi king’s behavior.

Julius listened as Adàn translated the man’s torrent of words for his benefit. Ariovistus had been told he would die if he fought before the new moon. It meant the angry meeting had been a bluff of sorts, and Julius had called it when he ordered the Tenth into battle formation. Julius remembered the glimpse of fear he had seen in the king’s eyes and understood it at last. It was a weakness in a leader to allow his priests so much sway over his army, Julius was certain. The Greeks had been crippled by their reliance on oracles. Even Roman generals had been known to delay and lose positions if the entrails of birds or fish showed disaster waiting to fall. Julius refused to bring such men to his battlefields, convinced they did more harm than good.

Julius had his rough map of the area held with lead weights on the table. He pointed to the black line that marked the winding Rhine to the north, less than fifteen miles away. Even with the heavy carts of the baggage train, it was a distance they could cross easily before the new moon, and he blessed the gods for delivering Aedui slaves into his hands.

“We will break camp an hour before dawn, gentlemen,” Julius told his generals. “I want the ballistae, onagers, and scorpions with us as far as the ground will allow. If they fall behind, they are to be brought up slowly for the final battle. Octavian will command the extraordinarii, Mark Antony will take my right flank. Bericus on the left and all the scorpions to be brought to the front of any halt. The Tenth and Third Gallica will hold the center. The men are to have a good breakfast tomorrow and fill their waterskins from the casks. Let them all know what we have learned tonight. It will give them heart. Make sure each man has his spears and weapons in good order.”

He paused as Mark Antony filled his cup, the Roman flushed with pleasure at the position he had been given. Mark Antony had heard about the arrogance of Ariovistus at the meeting and accepted that the friendship with Rome was at an end. No doubt Caesar’s enemies would make much of it in the Senate, but that was a problem for another day.