Chapter Twenty One

 

LUCTERIUS of the Cadurci straightened himself and brushed down his stained, torn and generally ruined clothes. He did his level best to trim his straggly facial hair with the dagger from his belt and retied the braids in his hair. He was a chieftain – a man of property and authority. He might look like a vagabond…

The ramparts were still high and despite all that had happened in recent months, there were curled plumes of smoke rising from houses. Of course, the Romans had never had cause to come here with their legions and machines of war, so the township had continued on with their lives as though the war had not happened, despite the loss of many of their folk of fighting age in that last great battle.

Nemossos was no Gergovia. It had neither the size nor the prestige of that great place where they had almost defeated Rome. But it had two benefits. Firstly, it was home to the highest ranking surviving Arvernian noble. Secondly, because it had been untouched, there was no Roman resettlement officer here. This was a town of the Arverni with no outside influence. And the Arverni were the last people – the only people – who could still hope to raise and field an army against Rome. Caesar had exempted the Aedui and the Arverni from his rulings after Alesia, and so those two tribes alone in the land could still claim a sizeable population. And the Aedui, the duplicitous and treacherous Aedui, would never lead a revolt against their Roman masters. But the Arverni were still true to their past and if they could be persuaded to rise once more, which might be possible if they knew their king was on his way back to them, then perhaps the treacherous Aedui might join, and the tribes of Aquitania might throw in their lot.

With a long, slow breath, he began to stride up the slope towards the gate. Two Arverni warriors stood there, looking bored. With distaste, he noted that the two men wore very Roman style belts to hold their knives, possibly even Roman-manufactured and purchased from a Roman trader.

‘What is your business,’ asked one of them harshly as he approached.

Despite the state of his clothes and appearance, Lucterius still had the torc of leadership around his neck and the arm-rings of a warrior on his biceps. The sword he bore was a good quality one. He tried to exude authority.

‘I am Lucterius of the Cadurci.’

‘And I am Julius Caesar,’ the guard sneered. ‘Piss off.’

Lucterius drew himself to his full height, pushing out his chest, his lip twitching in irritation.

‘I am Lucterius, chieftain of the Cadurci, as the torc should confirm. My appearance is so poor as I came here from a fight with the proconsul’s men.’

‘So you won then,’ grinned the guard, and his companion sniggered.

‘I have no time to argue with idiots who stand silent while good men of the tribes die on Roman spears. Your magistrate Epasnactos knows me from the councils of Gergovia and Bibracte. He will confirm who I am.’

The two guards shared a look and shrugged. ‘If the chief doesn’t know you, then I’ll be taking those stolen arm-rings and torc and the rest while you get whipped through the streets. Still want an audience?’

Lucterius clenched his teeth angrily. When he was back in command with Epasnactos at his side these two men would be buried up to their neck and left for the scavengers. ‘Take me to Epasnactos,’ he snapped.

Nemossos was quiet and peaceful as they moved through the streets to the headman’s house. Lucterius had to stifle a sneer at every turn, noting with disgust how many Roman belts, pots, cloaks and the like were in evidence. The Arverni had once been Rome’s greatest trading partner among the tribes until Caesar came and it seemed that since discarding their arms, they had returned to their old ways. That would have to stop. The Roman merchants could be the first casualty of the new revolt – a fire arrow in the sky to begin the conflagration, as Cenabum had been in its time.

He strengthened his resolve to execute these mindless brutes as they none-too-gently guided him around the corners with the butts of their spears. Hissing his anger, he otherwise restrained himself. Now was not the time to cause trouble. Finally, the great long house came into view.

The last time he had been here had been with Vercingetorix. Then, of course, it had been Critognatos and Cavarinos who had held the true power in this place behind their ailing uncle, and Epasnactos, their younger cousin, had been little more than an observer. Since Critognatos’ death at Alesia and Cavarinos’ subsequent disappearance, Epasnactos, who had taken part in all the rebel councils, and yet had been too young to be granted a command of men, had taken his rightful place as head of Nemossos and a chieftain of power among the Arverni.

The world missed men like Critognatos and Cavarinos, true warriors of the tribes and leaders of men who had led the fight against Caesar. Still, Epasnactos had been in awe of his cousins. He was still young and impressionable. He could be moulded into a new rebel prince under the wing of the great king.

There was some sort of court session being held in the house and as they entered and stood to one side, an argument over land boundaries was settled by the young man on the carved wooden dais-chair. Lucterius examined the boy as he waited, only half listening to a judgement that seemed wise enough and fair enough to prove the new magistrate had a mind at least, if not the muscles to lift a sword.

Epasnactos looked a lot like his cousins. Like Cavarinos, anyway, lacking the bulk of Critognatos. His facial hair was still rather fuzzy and youthful, but would soon bloom into a full beard. His hair was neatly braided. He wore a torc and arm-rings, even though he could not ever have had cause to draw a sword. Lucterius would let that one pass – the boy was almost a king, after all. The young man’s face was serious and his eyes clear, even inflected with a sparkle of wit and wisdom. One day, Lucterius decided, Epasnactos might make a fine king. Now he must make a great decision.

The plaintiffs over the border dispute backed out of the room and in the gap before another case was brought, one of the older warriors at Lucterius’ side escorted him to the centre of the hall. Around the edge stood the magistrate’s own warriors, members of his veteran bodyguard. Their age, clear experience, and fine armament confirmed his thoughts that the Arverni could still raise a strong army.

‘Epasnactos,’ one of the two guards said with a bowed head.

‘Evicaos?’

‘This man approached the west gate, claiming to be Lucterius, the chieftain of the Cadurci and demanding to speak with you.’

The young leader leaned forward in his seat, squinting in the gloom. ‘Bring him closer.’

Lucterius strode across, not giving his escort the satisfaction of driving him forward with their spears.

‘Magistrate, I know you will be able to vouch for me, despite my appearance. You have seen me many times, and heard my voice in councils along with your cousins and our king.’

Epasnactos leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers on the chair arm. ‘I know you, Lucterius. What brings so honoured a Cadurci chief here in such a condition?’

‘I come from the siege of my home at Uxellodunon.’

‘I hear tell of this. Caesar has six legions there, does he not, along with sundry auxiliary forces?’

‘He does.’

‘You were fortunate to evade them, clearly.’

Lucterius frowned. This was not how he had imagined this going. ‘My army in Uxellodunon matches Caesar’s and can hold out for a year if they have to. But even now agents of our two tribes free the great king from Rome to return to our shores and command a new revolt that will sweep Rome into the sea. I bring you an opportunity, Epasnactos of the Arverni. Raise your tribe to our banners and help break the siege of Uxellodunon. Our combined forces will be able to raze Caesar’s army from the land. And when my tribe are relieved, we will move south and free Narbo and the southern tribes from Rome’s fetters – a gift to Vercingetorix when he returns.’

‘You bring this opportunity to me alone, Lucterius?’

The Cadurci’s frown deepened. ‘Yes.’

‘In other seasons I might be tempted to grasp your proffered opportunity, but sadly I must decline on this occasion. You see, I simply cannot raise enough men to be of use to you.’

Lucterius shook his head in confusion. ‘You have the manpower. Of all the tribes, you and the Aedui still have the manpower. Caesar left you your warriors.’

Epasnactos nodded as he leaned forward in his seat again. ‘He did. And I have to say we were more embarrassed than grateful at the time, for our standing with the other tribes suffered dreadfully. But since I took this throne and watched the whole land suffer, farms going untended, fields dying with mouldy crops for want of men to harvest them, I have come to see our embarrassment as more of a boon. Alone among the tribes, the Aedui and the Arverni will not starve this winter.’

Lucterius stared in disbelief.

‘And this is why you cannot spare the men to finally defeat Rome? Because they tend your farms?’

Epasnactos sighed. ‘Not so much. I mean, they do, but at the moment most of my warriors are absent on campaign.’

Lucterius stared in bafflement. ‘What?’

‘They are to the west, forming an auxiliary force in Caesar’s siege of the last rebel stronghold.’

As Lucterius goggled in shock, his mouth flapping open and closed, Epasnactos gestured to the warriors in the room. ‘Seize the traitor chief.’

Lucterius started to move, but the two warrior escorts were there instantly, grabbing his arms, relieving him of his sword and pushing him down to his knees.

‘No! This is not right. I am the last chance for freedom. I bring you an opportunity! I carry the hopes of our future…’

Epasnactos shook his head sadly. ‘Like my cousins and father before me, I must look to the future and the good of the Arverni before some crazed doomed hunt for glory with a man who doesn’t know when his world has ended. We are part of the Pax Romana, Lucterius. So are you, if you would just sit down and accept it. Rome is the future, man.’

Fury pounded through Lucterius and suddenly he jerked free of the warriors’ grip, bursting forth and running at the young magistrate. His ire drove him on, but as he closed on the young man, Epasnactos rose from his seat and drew a heavy sword from the side of the dais, levelling it in a surprisingly steady hand. Lucterius skidded to a halt, the blade’s tip levelled at his face from the raised dais. His hand dropped to the dagger at his belt, which had not been confiscated.

‘I would strongly recommend you leave that where it is, Lucterius of the Cadurci,’ sighed the young leader. ‘I am quite familiar with a sword’s use.’ He tapped an arm-ring with his free hand. ‘They don’t give these to people for making decisions, you know?’

Slowly, Lucterius raised his arms from the knife, backing away. The warriors were on him again in a trice, this time a dozen of them. He felt several kicks and punches as he was dragged down. Submitting to pain and captivity reluctantly, he heard the young magistrate addressing his men.

‘Careful not to kill him. Bind and secure him and deliver him to the proconsul with my compliments. And make sure he gets there intact. If he slips past you the way he did past the legions, I’ll have a new set of spiked heads decorating Nemossos’ gates.

As blackness claimed him, Lucterius felt the future melting like wax on a hot day, dripping through his fingers and disappearing forever in the dust.

He had failed.