Free Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow by S.J.A. Turney

still arriving from the northeast.
    Wincing with effort, he held tight to the reins until he bore down on the party at the gate, and then slowed. Never a natural horseman, his current condition made his control of the skittish beast less than impressive. The tribunes had gathered at the gate with Labienus and a number of standard bearers and musicians, and their horses were being led out by the camp equisio from the intervallum road that wound around inside the wall. Labienus and his lesser officers looked up at the sound of the approaching horse and the commander’s eyes rolled.
    ‘I thought you were confined to your cot, centurion.’
    Baculus made to slide from the horse, but Labienus waved him to stop. ‘Stay in the saddle man. At least you won’t fall over up there. Besides, we’re mounting up, ourselves. I presume you’re aware of what’s happening?’
    ‘The Treveri have arrived. I thought my presence might be useful, sir? I should be in full armour I know, but there was not enough time to find it after two weeks of convalescence.’
    ‘Never mind that. Just try not to look as though the ferryman’s standing in your shadow and make sure you don’t pass out and fall off the horse. It would not convey the right impression.’
    Baculus gave a weak salute and waited patiently as the officers mounted and the gate swung ponderously open. The number of warriors arriving across the open grassland to the north had fallen off, and it seemed almost the entire enemy force was here. As the small party of officers rode out of the gate, an honour guard of regular cavalry - along with a few carefully selected local volunteer noblemen - at their back, the centurion peered at the enemy ranks.
    He had fought in almost every engagement of any worth in the five years since they’d first stepped into Gaul and felt he knew enough about Gallic warbands to form easy and fast opinions concerning their strength, morale and capabilities, but this was unlike any force he had laid eyes upon in that time.
    Since every army they had faced had been formed by one or more major tribe, along with their lesser neighbours, the armies tended to have more than one knot of ‘royalty’ where a chieftain would direct the battle, surrounded by his close kin and personal bodyguard. The main force would be infantry, gathered around and in front of the leaders, usually with the more bloodthirsty or desperate for recognition at the front, jostling for position and itching to get into the fight. Behind them would be the lesser warriors: the older men who had nothing to prove, the farmers who had more to gain by staying alive than by winning prestige, and so on. The equipment would vary according to the wealth of the individual, and there was no rule to say the best armed and armoured would be at the front. In basic terms, it was barely-controlled chaos. The only disciplined force would be on one or other of the wings - the cavalry, mostly manned by noblemen, though again rarely armoured.
    Such was the general makeup of Gallic forces.
    Not so here.
    Only one knot of leadership was in evidence, and that was at the rear, where Indutiomarus and his cronies ‘commanded’ the force. There was precious little evidence of cavalry and what there was seemed to be kept at the rear, in reserve. The bulk of the army, as usual, was formed by the infantry, but they were clearly organised in an unusual fashion, with the typical force - likely the Treveri themselves - at the rear, and the front ranks filled with slavering mercenary killers. These men were heavily armed, for Gauls, many bearing captured Roman equipment. These then would be the criminals and rebels that had flocked to the chieftain’s banner. The Treveri seemed not to be putting themselves forth for the chance of prestige, leaving the front with its dangerous initial clashes to the volunteers who had joined up either through pure hatred of Rome or more likely for the chance of loot that would follow the