Gallia Invicta

“Six to one?” hazarded Galba as he addressed his commander. Sabinus shrugged.

“Probably. It gets worse.”

“Much worse, general.”

Sabinus raised an eyebrow at the centurion. “Go on?”

“I heard mention of the Durotriges.”

“Durotriges?” Sabinus frowned. “Not heard of them.”

The centurion nodded.

“They are from across the water in Britannia, sir. Not sure what was said about them, because Viridovix silenced the man at that point.”

Sabinus nodded unhappily.

“I hope, for the sake of Mars, that we’re not facing an invasion of British Celts in addition. This could be a disaster.”

He turned back to the centurion.

“Thank you for your help, centurion. I am most grateful. You had best return to your unit.”

As the centurion saluted and strode off, Sabinus sighed and looked around at the three legates.

“We cannot run, but besieging an oppidum that holds such vast numbers could be considered tantamount to throwing ourselves on our swords. Anyone have any better idea than simply fortifying and praying very hard?”

The three men sat silent and glum until Rufus spread his hands and shrugged.

“There’s no better plan, general. We might be able to come up with something but, given the fact that in five or six hours we could be under attack by half a million Gauls, we should get fortifying as fast as we can.”

Sabinus nodded.

“At least we have good high ground here, with a nasty approach to all sides. If we’re going to be trapped rats, we couldn’t pick a better trap.”

He took a deep breath.

“Alright… break out the trenching tools. Let’s get ourselves dug in.”

Volusenus, senior tribune of the Twelfth, leaned across and muttered something to his legate, who nodded sagely and turned his serious, dark features on Sabinus.

“We are in very grave danger of repeating the disaster with which our year began in Octodurus.”

He tried to ignore the noise going on outside, but it was difficult. The three legions had constructed a large camp with all the standard defences during the afternoon following Viridovix’s ultimatum, but had barely had time even for that, let alone any extra measures, before the first attack came.

Since then the Gaulish assaults had come at regular intervals, three pushes a day for the last three days, each different from the last, as the enemy tested the Roman defences and capabilities. Each attack was carefully planned and slowly executed, a necessity given the long and steep slope atop which the Roman fort stood, between which they would retreat to the comfort and safety of the oppidum. While Sabinus had been unwilling to make any foray outside the defences, the Gauls were equally disinclined to commit a large force to the wholesale slaughter of a charge up the steep hill, across the ditches, and against the defended walls of the fort.

However, they never tired of finding inventive new ways to put the legions to the test, wearing them down and picking off as many as they could without fully committing.

Even now, the morning attack had been under way for half an hour, enemy archers lurking among the trees at the bottom of the northern slope keeping up a steady volley that forced the defenders to remain low behind the parapet. Lacking strong auxiliary missile support, Sabinus’ force was unable to return fire, and tried to keep themselves as safe as possible from the deadly shafts, only appearing above the wall when the occasional small forays of brave Gaulish warriors made their way up the slope to the defences to attempt to pull the palisade down.

It was, in short, a war of attrition.

Galba raised his voice to be heard more clearly above the commotion outside.

“We’ve got to do something. The Gauls are trying to provoke us into making a mass sortie, and these nit- picking scuffles are hardly huge and noteworthy, but we can’t go on this way forever. Baculus estimates that we’re taking down three of them for each man of ours that falls, but there are perhaps seven or eight times as many of them to begin with. You don’t have to be a mathematician to work that problem out to its unpleasant conclusion.”

Sabinus nodded.

“I’m just grateful that we happened upon such a damn good position for the camp when we first arrived. If we were on low ground, they’d probably have wiped us out by now. It’s at least bought us the time to work out our next move.”

Volusenus cleared his throat.

“This may not be a very popular idea, general, but I think we need to give serious consideration to the possibility of using one of the lulls to withdraw. It was irritating having to do that at Octodurus, but if we hadn’t there would no longer be a Twelfth legion.”

Sabinus shook his head.

“We can’t run, tribune, no matter how sensible it might be. Caesar gave us specific orders: we’re to stop the tribes here from joining up with the Veneti. Even if the only way we have to keep them occupied is to let them chop bits off us, we have to stay and do that. No, we need a better solution, I’m afraid.”

Standing in the doorway, arms folded and a grim expression on his face, Plancus, legate of the Fourteenth, grunted.

“We should be launching the attack the barbarians keep asking for; meet them on the field like a real Roman army. Seven to one is nothing when a shield wall is involved.”

Sabinus glared at the man.

“Not a stroke of genius, man. We have little support of auxiliaries, artillery or cavalry, a lot of half-trained soldiers and a serious deficit in numbers. I think you underestimate the enemy.” He sighed. “But there is some validity to the fact that we need to change our approach and make our strengths work for us. While the enemy’s provision status is unknown, ours is somewhat limited.”

The officers in the room fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment.

“What we really need to do” Rufus said, scratching his chin, “is to somehow goad the enemy into making a full scale assault on this place. Do to them what they’re trying to do to us.”

Sabinus frowned.

“It’s a nice idea, but the question is: how would we get them to commit to such a ridiculously suicidal act? They’ve been unwilling to commit to a large scale attack for three days because they know how costly it would be. That’s why they’re trying to get us to come out and meet them.”

Again, the officers fell into a silence that only served to emphasise the need for a solution, as the sounds of combat ringing on the distant west rampart intruded upon the meeting.

Slowly, Sabinus began to smile.

“You have an idea?”

The commander turned his smile on the speaker and it widened.

“What could provoke the enemy into launching such a dangerously reckless attack?”

Galba shrugged.

“Either desperation in the face of likely defeat, or the certainty of victory. Sadly, neither is true of Viridovix’s Gauls.”

“At the moment, yes. But what if we could plant the seed of one of those notions among them?”

Galba tapped his lip.

“How are you proposing to do that, general?”

“Plancus?”

“Sir?”

“Do me a favour and send for that centurion of yours that helped us with their leaders.”

The Fourteenth’s legate, frowning with a lack of understanding, saluted and ducked out of the tent door, issuing quick orders to one of the guards outside before returning.