Marius' Mules: Prelude to War by S.J.A. Turney

settlement scrambling to defend themselves, but there was plainly no hope. With the gate already in the hands of Vercingetorix and his army seething towards them, there was nothing the people of Gergovia could do but capitulate. Besides, most of their strong young warriors were with the rebel.
    ‘I think the elders have lost their control over him,’ Fabius hissed.
    ‘Again with the skills of observation!’ snapped Priscus irritably.
    ‘What now? Do we run?’
    ‘Soon. It’s not over yet.’
    Fabius turned his disconcertingly disparate gaze on Priscus and frowned. The prefect pointed at the woodland and the two tribunes peered out at the trees and furrowed their brows further. Though the sizeable army - probably five hundred men at Priscus’ estimate - had already cleared the woods and begun the seizure of the town, Vercingetorix and his companions among them once more, another small party had emerged from the treeline. This group wore the long robes indicative of druids and Priscus felt a thrill of loathing run through him.
    ‘Never a good sign.’
    Priscus wished his eyesight was better as he squinted at the group. They were strolling across the grass towards the gate of Gergovia, and as they entered, a small group of warriors remained outside on guard, the gate still invitingly open.
    The sounds arising from the centre of the oppidum were horribly familiar to the three men watching from the woods. The noise of a city falling was a mix of shouts of alarm and those of rage, screams of fear and of pain, the crash of weapons and smash of doors thrown open. For what seemed an age, the three men watched the empty walls of Gergovia and listened to the sounds of its fall. Eventually, with a sigh, Priscus broke the spell.
    ‘Normally I’d be overjoyed to learn of a civil war breaking out among these bastards,’ he mumbled. ‘But if it ends with that man in control of the city, I’m less of a fan.’
    ‘Worse than that,’ Furius added, ‘if he controls Gergovia, he probably controls the whole tribe.’
    ‘And with the Arverni behind him he’ll be in the position the Aedui said he couldn’t achieve. Those with a grudge against us could flock to him. What we saw with Ambiorix and Indutiomarus would be nothing. They were Belgae spoiling for a fight. This man has the druids behind him and has been building towards something for at least two years.’
    Again, Furius nudged Priscus and pointed.
    Atop the ramparts of Gergovia, figures were appearing. Men and women, young and old, were brought up and positioned at the edge of the rampart in a line. Even from here, Priscus could see the twinkle of jewellery, torcs and arm-rings. These were the nobles and leaders of the oppidum.
    ‘Don’t much fancy their chances,’ grunted Fabius.
    The others nodded, watching impassively as Vercingetorix appeared on the walls along with a druid. Steadily, with a powerful stride and his head high, the young warrior-noble started down the line of his opposition in the city, pausing at each figure only long enough to slit their throat with his long, sharp knife and shove them over the parapet and down into the ditch outside the city.
    ‘I don’t think we need be in any doubt as to who’s in control now.’
    As the three watched the grisly executions, Priscus shuddered. ‘If he’ll do that to his own tribe, I hate to think what he has planned for us… and worse still, for those native tribes who are loyal to us!’
    ‘I think we need to get back to the farm,’ said Furius quietly. Fabius nodded his agreement, but Priscus shook his head. Though it seemed extremely unlikely they would learn anything more of use, that strange sense that sometimes told him things were not what they seemed told him to stay still.
    ‘We wait.’
    ‘What for?’
    ‘I don’t know. Trust me and sit tight.’
    Fabius shrugged and took a swig of the water again, passing the skin to Furius, who joined him.
    ‘Do you think the Aedui will support