Chapter 202 Smile of Death

The Roman legions suffered a major defeat along the Rhodanus!

Even without the signal towers to transmit the dispatch, the news tore across the hills and forests of Gaul like a wildfire.

Every chieftain and tribal council in Gaul was forced to reconsider its position.

"The Helvetii bested Rome?"

"A stroke of blind luck, surely. Rome is not a beast that curls up and dies after a single blow. The Helvetii will pay dearly for this."

"But what if they crush them again? If the Helvetii can do it alone, what if our tribes joined forces...?"

The Lemovices, Pictones, Veneti, Senones, Aedui, Arverni—countless tribes carved up the land of Gaul. Each tribe was further divided into smaller districts, or pagi, where rival noble factions constantly wrestled for internal supremacy.

Faced with the same information, they split into sharply opposing camps.

"This is a formal dispatch from Rome!"

Dumnorix watched his elder brother, Diviciacus, wave a fine sheet of papyrus. The high quality Roman-made material was unmistakable.

"They are requesting reinforcements for Geneva from all tribes allied to the Republic. Naturally, that includes the Aedui." Diviciacus turned to the assembled elders. "How many warriors should we commit?"

"We must tread cautiously," an elder warned. "Rumor has it the Helvetii wield a terrifying weapon unknown even to the Romans."

"A new weapon?"

"They say it is a powder that commands thunder and lightning... Though none can speak to the truth of it. Others whisper Rome wields the exact same sorcery."

"Even so, we cannot simply disregard Rome’s summons." Diviciacus frowned. "As you all know, our tribe holds its preeminent position in Gaul precisely because Rome stands behind us."

"Yet we have grown strong enough to stand on our own," Dumnorix cut.

All eyes swung toward him as he continued in a measured tone. "And Rome’s demands grow heavier with every passing season."

"What are you insinuating, Dumnorix?"

"That we might reap the benefits without soiling our hands," Dumnorix replied with a faint smirk. "If the Helvetii drive the Romans out of Geneva, Rome will be powerless to meddle in Gallic affairs for years to come."

"And if Rome prevails?"

"Then all of Gaul—the Aedui included—will be brought to its knees under Roman sandals. Would it not be far wiser to let the Helvetii and Rome tear each other to pieces?"

"Rome is a great bear," Diviciacus countered sternly. "No matter how many times a fox nips at its heels, a fox cannot slay a bear."

"I agree with you, brother. But a fox can certainly drive the bear back into its den. Would that not benefit the deer and the wolves of the forest just as well?"

Diviciacus fell silent, scanning the chamber. Most elders still favored Rome, but the support for his younger brother’s anti-Roman stance was steadily growing.

"Leave us. All of you, except Dumnorix."

The elders exchanged guarded glances before quietly filing out. Once the heavy oak doors shut, Diviciacus let out a long, weary sigh.

"What game are you playing, Dumnorix?"

"I think only of our people, brother. And of you of course."

"By openly undermining my authority at every turn?"

"I fail to see why you take my counsel as an insult..."

"I have heard whispers that you visited the Helvetian camp, Dumnorix," Diviciacus snapped, stepping closer. "Just before they began this cursed migration. Is it true?"

"My father-in-law resides among them. I went merely to visit my family. I had no knowledge of their ’grand’ migration."

"And this mysterious powder of theirs? You knew nothing of that either?"

"Had I known, wouldn’t you have been the very first person I’d have told?"

"Yes... one would hope so."

A suffocating silence hung between them before Diviciacus spoke again.

"We march to Rome’s aid. Petty schemes will only drag us into ruin. For better or worse, our fate is chained to the Republic."

"I always bow to your wisdom, brother."

Dumnorix inclined his head. Yet the moment he stepped out into the courtyard, his supporters hurried to his side, whispering urgently.

"Are we truly sending horsemen and grain to the Romans? Will you simply let this stand?"

"Drag your feet," Dumnorix murmured coldly. "Buy time. The Romans are pinned down at Geneva, and Geneva is a city of the Allobroges."

"What do you mean?"

"The Allobroges will not sit quietly. They rose in bloody rebellion against Rome only a few years ago. Would they truly let an opportunity like this slip through their fingers?" He added, "We shall have our answer soon enough."

***

"They’re coming again!"

"Fire the scorpiones!"

Horns blared across the perimeter as waves of Helvetian warriors, carrying crude wooden ladders, charged the Roman palisade.

"Keep firing! Don’t let up!"

Iron bolts and arrows sliced through the air. As the ladders thumped against the ramparts, legionaries braced Y-shaped poles against the rungs, heaving outward in unison. The ladders toppled backward, sending screaming warriors crashing into the dirt below.

"They’re hauling a battering ram!"

"Focus on the ram crew! Bring down the log!"

A vicious melee raged along the wooden wall, but the Helvetii could not punch through. A deep ditch ringed the entire rampart, and any warrior who approached was shredded by scorpio bolts long before reaching the base.

When the barbarian horns sounded the retreat, the Helvetian war bands broke off, dragging their dead and wounded back to the camp.

As the weary legionaries roared in triumph from the walls, another day of siege warfare drew to a close.

"They never seem to tire of throwing their lives away."

"They want to wear down our resolve while probing for gaps in our line," Metellus said, lowering his telescope. "They are testing where we are weakest."

"They will deploy their catapults soon. We must drill the men on how to counter them."

I sheathed my gladius with a metallic click.

Even with traction catapults and gunpowder, cracking our fortified perimeter would not be easy.

People often labored under the romantic delusion that catapults could magically flatten fortifications in an afternoon.

In reality, the weight of their crude projectiles was strictly limited; light jars packed with black powder were simply incapable of toppling thick earthen ramparts.

We had already reinforced the wooden palisades with packed dirt and placed water troughs at regular intervals and kept soaked animal hides ready to smother fires. Behind these fortified earthworks, their artillery was nowhere near as terrifying as it had been on the open riverbank.

There was a reason historical sieges dragged on for months, sometimes even years.

"I am more concerned about sapping," I noted.

According to Father’s Gallic War commentaries, the Gauls were surprisingly adept at digging tunnels beneath defensive walls. That angle needed guarding.

"We can dig counter-mines," Metellus replied. "Our engineers are far faster than their sappers."

"They might also try filling the trench with fascines and earth under cover of darkness. We should form dedicated sortie parties to harass them if they attempt it..."

We stepped down from the ramparts, conferring on the details.

The men’s morale had rebounded dramatically over the past few days. Successfully beating back repeated barbarian assaults had restored their confidence.

Yet it wasn’t just battlefield success that kept their spirits high.

"By the way, Lucius, shouldn’t the distribution of silver wait until the campaign concludes?"

"No. It must be done after every single engagement. That is how we keep their spirits up."

After every clash, I distributed rewards and commended men based on merit. The recipients were praised openly, and presented with silver and military decorations.

To those who performed exceptional acts of valor, I awarded special medals—decorations that guaranteed them an enhanced pension through the Veterans’ Fund upon their discharge. If a recipient fell in battle, the stipend transferred directly to his surviving family.

Awarding military decorations—dona militaria—was an ancient Roman tradition, but tying those honors to an institutional pension fund was my new contribution. The moment the men realized their families would be taken care of no matter what, their willingness to fight rose dramatically.

Naturally, slackers and cowards faced the opposite treatment.

Public flogging.

I took no pleasure in ordering men scourged, but iron discipline was the only thing standing between these green legions and a barbarian slaughterhouse.

"I will take nominations at the command council this evening, then." Metellus said with a nod. "We can distribute the silver at morning muster."

"Thank you. Personally, I would like nothing more than to sleep like a corpse tonight."

When I reached my command tent, Faustus came bounding up, his tail wagging furiously. This fellow had grown substantially larger since we left Rome a few weeks ago.

I wondered how the family back in Rome was faring. Ever since the Helvetian cavalry raided our signal towers, our communications had been effectively severed. We were back to relying on horse couriers.

It was frustrating not being able to correspond daily, but it was an unavoidable reality of warfare.

Just as I unbuckled my armor, a runner hurried in and saluted.

"What is it?"

"There is trouble in Geneva, Tribune."

"A trouble?"

I frowned. What could possibly go wrong inside the city?

Our legions held a line of earthworks topped with a wooden palisade encircling the base of the hill where Geneva sat. In essence, our camp served as the outer wall, while Geneva itself was our inner citadel.

"The Allobrogian council has refused to release the grain supply. Antony rode in to resolve the matter, but..."

"Antony went?!"

My voice jumped an octave.

Damn it all. Antony was the last person on earth you sent for delicate diplomatic negotiations. I hurriedly grabbed my armor and cloak.

"We ride to Geneva immediately."

***

The atmosphere inside Geneva was hostile, to put it mildly.

Townsfolk lined the narrow dirt streets, glaring coldly at me and my legionary escort as we marched past.

This smells dangerous.

At the central square stood the grand timber hall used as the chieftain’s residence. And right outside the heavy doors were...

"Are you telling me you intend to stab us in the back?!"

Antony was jabbing a finger directly into the chest of an Allobrogian elder.

I knew it.

Letting out a tired sigh, I shoved my way between them.

"What is the meaning of this commotion?"

"Good timing, Lucius!" Antony barked, his face flushed with fury. "These bastards are dragging their feet on the grain supplies they swore to deliver! They mean to starve us outside their walls! How else do you explain this, unless they’re in bed with the Helvetii?!"

"We are merely..."

I cut the elder off before the exchange could escalate.

"Let us take this inside. Too many eyes are watching."

We couldn’t afford a shouting match in front of the people of Geneva. With dozens of suspicious gazes boring into our backs, we filed into the timber hall.

"Is it true you are halting our grain deliveries?" I asked calmly once the doors were shut.

"Caesar, as you must understand, this conflict erupted without the slightest warning," the elder replied, dabbing sweat from his forehead. "We had no time to gather provisions. And feeding three full Roman legions... such a burden is..."

"No easy feat. I am well aware."

I locked eyes with each of the elders in turn.

"However, Geneva already has more than enough grain to sustain us."

Before marching north, I had done my homework. I had gathered extensive intelligence from Roman merchants operating throughout Gaul, which included estimates of the grain reserves in every major settlement.

According to my ledgers, Geneva had more than enough grain to feed our army for months.

"Furthermore, this siege will not drag on indefinitely," I continued. "The Helvetii launched their migration before the harvest was gathered. They are living off finite supplies."

I stepped closer to the council table.

"They cannot maintain a protracted siege. The moment we break their lines, grain will flow in from the south. Geneva only needs to support us until that moment arrives."

The elders exchanged uneasy glances, looking almost frantic as they searched for a counterargument.

"Winter is nearly upon us. We must preserve our own stores to survive the frost—"

"Any deficit incurred by the city will be reimbursed from my personal coffers. In full."

"Still..."

"Are you suggesting," I said, dropping my voice, "that the legions of Rome should be left to starve outside your gates?"

I knew exactly what game they were playing. To them, this wasn’t their war.

Rome and the Helvetii were tearing at each other’s throats. If both sides battered themselves bloody, or better yet, if the Helvetii drove Rome out of Gaul entirely, the Allobroges would regain their freedom.

They had rebelled against Roman rule only a few years ago, after all.

"Caesar, you are famed throughout Rome for your mercy and boundless generosity," an elder pleaded. "Surely you can understand our plight? We wish to cooperate... perhaps if we provided half the requested rations—"

"Famed for my generosity and mercy, am I?"

A strange irony prickled my chest. That was exactly the reputation Father had in the original timeline.

The irony felt strangely familiar.

"Then you must also know that the citizens of Rome hold me in exceptionally high regard."

I leaned forward, resting both hands on the wooden table.

"If I, along with three Roman legions, am slaughtered outside your walls because Geneva withheld grain from its granaries... how do you suppose the Senate and the People of Rome will react?"

"Well, that is..."

"The Allobroges once supplied Hannibal when he crossed the Alps to invade Italy, did they not?"

"That was almost two centuries ago!"

"And you raised banners in bloody rebellion against the Republic mere years ago."

The elders bristled, their eyes flashing.

"What are you implying? If this is a threat—"

"This is not a threat. It is a statement of fact." I stared the lead elder down. "If word reaches Rome that you had full granaries while Roman soldiers starved outside your walls, our citizens will conclude that the Allobroges have betrayed the Republic once more. Even if you swear by your gods that you intended no betrayal."

A heavy silence gripped the room.

They understood my meaning perfectly.

"And Rome never forgets a betrayal."

Had Geneva genuinely lacked food, I wouldn’t have wasted my breath on threats; I wouldn’t have retreated here in the first place.

But I had no intention of indulging their little rebellion.

"Conversely," I added, softening my tone just enough to offer a lifeline, "Rome never forgets those who stand by her in times of peril. Once this war is won, the Republic will reward your loyalty handsomely."

Carrots and sticks. If I pushed them into a corner and they bolted the city gates against us, we would find ourselves sandwiched between the Helvetii in front and the Allobroges behind.

"Years of tax exemptions. Lucrative trade privileges across our provinces. I will personally secure the Senate’s support and bring the measure before the people. I stake the name of Caesar on it. But everything depends on the choice you make right here, today."

The elders traded frantic glances.

"Will you grant us a moment? We must confer privately."

"By all means."

It did not take them long to reach a consensus.

"If our winter stores run dangerously low..."

After some minor haggling over details, I walked out of the hall with a signed guarantee that full grain rations would continue without interruption.

As we stepped into the crisp Alpine air, Antony fell into step beside me, letting out a whistle.

"How in Pluto’s name did you bend those stubborn bastards to your will?"

"I simply explained the consequences of an empty stomach."

And every word I spoke was the absolute truth. Had the Allobroges starved us, Rome would have mobilized every legion in Italy to reduce Geneva to ashes along with the Helvetii.

Roman vengeance was relentless like that.

"Still, I never imagined logistics would be one endless migraine." I muttered, rubbing my temples.

Back in my twenty-first-century life, I had assumed war was all about grand tactical maneuvers and shouting heroic orders on a battlefield.

In reality, about ninety percent of a commander’s time was consumed by wheat-counting, grain deliveries, and supply lines. Small wonder Father had spent so much of his Gallic campaign fretting over grain supplies in the history books.

"The Helvetii have it far worse than us," Antony remarked. "They rushed their migration. There’s no way they brought enough grain to feed that massive horde for long."

I nodded. Keeping hundreds of thousands of people fed while besieging a fortified city required a monstrous amount of supplies every day.

Wait.

A spark ignited in my mind.

Why were we sitting back and relying on passive defense? Was there really no way to actively exploit their logistical nightmare?

I turned to look at Antony.

"Perhaps we should follow Scipio’s example."

"Scipio? You mean Publius Cornelius Scipio?"

"The very same. The man who broke Hannibal."

Two hundred years ago, Hannibal had invaded Italy, smashing every Roman army sent against him and bringing the Republic to the brink of total annihilation.

Then came a young Roman general named Scipio. Instead of banging his head against Hannibal’s invincible army in Italy, Scipio sailed across the Mediterranean with an army and struck directly at the heart of Carthage. Threatened in their own homeland, the Carthaginian senate had no choice but to recall Hannibal from Italy.

Father used to drone on about Scipio’s strategic genius so often during my childhood that I could recite the campaign in my sleep.

"The bulk of the Helvetian host is still stuck on the far side of the river," I said, my voice quickening. "Without a proper bridge, moving hundreds of thousands of civilians and wagons across the Rhodanus will take a long time. There is no simpler principle of war than striking a divided enemy."

Antony rubbed his chin, his eyes lighting up.

"You want to hit the Helvetian main body that hasn’t crossed the river yet?"

"Exactly."

"A brilliant thought... except we smashed every bridge across the Rhodanus."

"That is indeed the snag."

Crossing an Alpine river without a bridge was nearly impossible.

However, a very specific group of men had just arrived in Geneva. They were men I had been recruiting and training ever since I established my enterprise in Rome.

"Rome’s engineering prowess is the greatest in the world right now," I said, a slow grin spreading across my face. "And I happen to command the finest engineers Rome has to offer."

***

The Combat Engineers.

Composed entirely of handpicked volunteers from Caesar’s Technical School, this specialized detachment had ridden day and night, swapping horses at post stations to reach Geneva with blinding speed.

Although Spurius had remained in Rome to supervise weapons development, the men dispatched to Gaul were the school’s most seasoned field veterans. Many had prior legionary service, expertise in rapid entrenchment, land surveying, and the construction and operation of siege engines.

Riding hard, they had slipped past the thin Helvetian picket lines by the skin of their teeth to reach the safety of Geneva.

"We finally made it..."

"Praise the gods, I feel like my spine has turned to dust. Finally, a chance to rest."

Yet fate—or rather, the young Caesar—had no intention of letting them sleep.

"I am so grateful that you volunteered to travel so far into the wilds of Gaul." Lucius greeted them with a warm smile.

To anyone from the Strategy Office or the Technical School, that particular smile was known by a terrifying moniker: ’Caesar’s Smile.’ It was an omen of a catastrophic amount of work.

"You must be exhausted from the grueling ride, but there is an urgent task that requires your unique expertise."

And as expected, his demand defied all mortal reason.

"You want us to build... a bridge across the Rhodanus?!"

The problem wasn’t what he wanted built.

It was the deadline he gave them.

"How fast do you need it done?!"

Caesar answered their horrified question with his usual... dazzling smile.