Avaricon
Vercingetorix looked around at the assembly of chieftains. A number of faces were painted with bleak hopelessness - mostly those closely tied to the Bituriges, of course. Others showed signs of anger and a thirst for violent revenge. None of the nobles or high-born of Avaricon had made it out to the camp, of course, and only a few hundred survivors had arrived through the endless marshland, including - to the king’s lasting gratitude - Cavarinos and Critognatos, both sodden and mud-soaked, the latter sporting a shoulder wound that put him in no danger but in a miserable mood.
‘Why the sour expressions?’ he asked, a hint of steel in his voice.
Two of the Bituriges nobles exchanged a look. ‘Avaricon is fallen,’ one said as though the world should be in mourning.
‘And so did Vellaunoduno, Cenabum and Novioduno. What makes your city more worthy than they that you expect the Senones and the Carnutes to commiserate with you, yet you speak nothing of their losses.’
He straightened in the strained silence that was their only reply.
‘Avaricon was never my prime concern. It could never have been the prime concern of any man who planned this war with forethought and care. Remember, when you pin me with harsh looks, that I did not wish to come here. I did so because of your hounding. I assure you that had we stayed at Gorgobina, that city would now be ours and the Aedui would be with us. In fact, by now we would outnumber Caesar two to one, and would be ready to come west and avenge what has happened here. Instead, because you insisted that we came so soon, we are weaker than we were, not stronger, and we still have nothing to show for our efforts.’
Again, the stilted silence echoed across the hilltop, given bleak counterpoint by the post-storm rain dripping heavily from the leaves, the world giving off that metallic tang of rain’s aftermath.
‘But those Bituriges among us need not be dispirited. Remember as you watch that city burn,’ - the king gestured to the high walls a few miles distant from which rose a hundred columns of smoke - ‘that Rome did not win this day by valour or right. They won because of their own deviousness and your deceased leaders’ carelessness. We will not allow such an event to occur again. Avaricon should have been burned by us to prevent Rome using it. No. Rome won here because they are treacherous of mind and have surpassing skill at overcoming walls, while we are too noble for such guile and have little knowledge of siege, given that we prefer to meet an enemy on the field of battle and look him in the eye while we stab him in the heart.’
There was a general murmur of appreciation at that succinct - if not quite accurate - summation.
‘I will, however, now reveal to you the one positive piece of news that I have received over these few dark days.’ He waited for the expectation to build and when the room almost vibrated with tension, he smiled. ‘My contacts within the Aedui tell me that we are on the verge of success. Despite our withdrawal from Gorgobina, my spies and agents have done their work well. The Aedui are in a power struggle, with the faction that supports our war on the ascendance. As soon as that decision is made and our man is put in control at Bibracte he will bring to our cause both the Aedui and a dozen other strong tribes. While Caesar still hungers and his army languishes, our army hovers on the verge of becoming an unstoppable force.’
He gestured at the burning city again.
‘Despite our proud warriors’ burning of the city’s granaries, be assured that Caesar will find enough food in the city to feed his army for a week or more. The Aedui need a little longer to foment, and Caesar’s army needs to be made to starve once again, despite this brief respite. It is my intention, therefore, to fortify our position such that the Romans cannot conceivably consider attacking us, yet sit a mere five miles from them, threatening them. We will continue to deal with any attempts to resupply their army, aiding them in their starvation. They will not be able to attack us, but nor will they be willing to leave, given our strength and proximity. As I had originally advocated before I was drawn off to this place, we will continue to starve the Romans while pursuing the Aedui as an ally. Do I hear any dissent on this matter?’
He was greeted again by stony silence. The defiance of his will had proved disastrous once. None of the assembled leaders was willing to risk disobedience again.
‘When the Aedui are with us, we will convene the Gallic Assembly, as the Romans call it, at Bibracte, and every state and nation will throw in their lot and swear their allegiance to us. This will be done at Bibracte, the very centre of power.’
He rolled his shoulders. ‘In the meantime, take your lead from the Roman engineers. Each of the nations present on this hill will be assigned a sector to defend. I expect ramparts that even the Romans would envy. Anywhere not too swampy will have a ditch. There will be a palisade with towers. And inside, other groups will construct timber buildings to shelter us from the weather. We may be here for weeks yet, and we may be tested by the Romans. I wish us to pass every test thrown at us.’
He gestured to Vergasillaunus, who stepped forward. ‘My noble cousin here will assign each leader here his respective area of duty and responsibility. Obey him as you would me.’
With a nod to the assembly, the king stepped out of the centre, striding across to the rear of the gathering, where Cavarinos and Critognatos stood, weary and filthy and wet.
‘Cavarinos, if you would join me?’
The leader of the Gallic army walked off through the throng to the tent raised for him and pulled aside the flap, shrugging off his damp cloak inside and warming his hands over a brazier. As Cavarinos stumbled in behind him, he reached into a bag on the table and pulled from it a handful of glinting coins. Turning, he grabbed Cavarinos’ hand and twisted it palm-up, tipping the coins into it.
‘Roman coins, and not provincial ones, either. No fakes, no clipping. They are worth their face value to any trader. There are enough in this bag to buy a dozen good horses and hire riders for them.’
‘You wish me to hire cavalry?’ frowned the younger man, peering at the coins in his hand, each one showing unfamiliar gods and short-haired men with hooked noses.
‘No. I wish you to take them, along with half a cart-load more, to our friends among the Aedui. You have been among them before. You know our people there. Among the supply carts we took from the north was a wagon carrying the fortune and personal effects of one of their senior officers. It contains armour, weapons, jewellery and furnishings befitting a king, as well as enough money to equip a small army. It is a gift for our people among the Aedui to use to help tip the balance. Cultivate friendships with those most important and play and twist those most gullible or susceptible. Your goal is simple: bring the Aedui to me. They are as close as can be, but I cannot march on Caesar until we have them.’
Cavarinos sighed. He was in no rush to scurry off into the clutches of the Aedui again, but the importance of the task could hardly escape him, and the fact that he was the man Vercingetorix had chosen of the entire gathering was not lost, either. But then there were other issues preying on his mind, too.
‘Is it not time to reveal the curse tablet to the chieftains, my king? The weaker ones waver and knowledge of its existence would bring them fresh heart. The value of the thing is in its effect on the army, not as some mystical weapon. You know that.’
Vercingetorix shook his head. ‘Its prime value for me is that the druids believe in it, and as long as we continue to accede to their wishes, when it is not damaging, they will continue to lend us their support, which brings to our cause the more credulous of the tribes. You say they told you to keep it until the time came to use it? Then that is what you must do. I will not risk pushing away their support.’
Again, Cavarinos sighed. At least he would be given a breather from being under attack by the Romans. To be among friendly tribes and not looking out at siege towers might be quite nice for a change.
‘I will leave in the morning. Will I have a guard with me, considering the cargo?’
‘Pick five men and take them. Any more will draw too much attention to you. And here is an extra carrot to dangle in front of the Aedui: my scouts tell me that Teutomarus of the Nitiobriges is riding to join us with two thousand Aquitanian horse, defying his tribe’s longstanding allegiance with Rome. Teutomarus completes our southern complement. Now, all the tribes who border Roman Narbonensis and once paid service to the Roman senate - the Ruteni, The Nitiobriges, the Cadurci, the Volcae and others - have all flocked to our banner. The Aedui are among the last of the people who still submit to Roman control.’
Cavarinos nodded. If, as Vercingetorix believed, the Aedui were swaying in their allegiance, the knowledge that almost all of the tribes stood against them would certainly go some way to persuading them. A feeling of curious peace crept across him: a week or more without Critognatos’ endless belligerence and stupidity would be more refreshing than anything else.
‘And my brother?’
‘I have other tasks in mind for your brother. As soon as we have clothed, fed and consoled the survivors of Avaricon and taken them into our forces as appropriate, Critognatos will ride to all those tribes within a hundred miles that have committed to us with orders to levy new quotas of warriors, including infantry, in which we are currently a little lacking, and every man who owns a bow and can use it. When we next meet, I will have bled our strongest tribes dry of their warriors. The end of this war is drawing nigh, Cavarinos, and I will not be found wanting when the last battle comes around.’
‘Then I will bring you the Aedui if they can be brought.’
‘I know you will, my friend. There is no one else I could trust to do this. Good luck. Teutatus watch over you.’
* * * * *
Marcus Antonius belched long and loud and, with a chuckle, tried to form the name of Bacchus from the deep resonance. The other officers in the tent snorted their humour, apart from Varus, who had been asleep for an hour now.
‘But seriously, Fronto, your man Samognatos is to be congratulated. He saved enough grain to feed a legion for a week. If he were a Roman he’d be up for a decoration. Caesar wants me to find out what we can do for him to show our appreciation.’
Fronto closed an eye in order to see only one Antonius and shrugged. ‘He’s been very modest over the whole affair, but I imagine a few coins wouldn’t go amiss.’
Samognatos had returned to Fronto’s singulares following the fall of Avaricon, bringing with him the details of two Arverni leaders - Cavarinos and Critognatos - who had been sent to the oppidum by Vercingetorix and who had been instrumental in the impressive attempts at holding off the legions. No one knew what had happened to them, but their bodies had not yet turned up among the dead. Remembering the pair from erstwhile encounters, Fronto felt sure the two had safely fled Avaricon before the appalling aftermath. Despite the order to take no prisoners, a few slaves had been roped up and sent northeast, back to Agedincum. They might starve on the journey, of course, but if they reached the Roman stronghold they would fetch a few coins for the men. Perhaps three hundred Bituriges there in total. And an estimated hundred escaped into the swamps. And that out of many thousands of inhabitants. One could hardly count the dead for the piles awaiting burning were so huge.
Also, the Condrusi scout had brought back estimates of the Gallic army’s numbers in terms of cavalry, archers and infantry, which tribes constituted the force, and even rumours that had filtered through the army of Vercingetorix’s long-term plans. The scout had performed so well in his task that Fronto had taken him directly to Caesar for debriefing, and the general had praised and lauded the man. The meeting had only been made funnier when Plancus had stormed in, spluttering with complaints that his personal baggage had been lost along with the latest supply train, only for Caesar to chide him through a sly smile for being careless.
Additionally, the city had delivered up a goodly amount of financial gain for Rome, and to please his tired and hungry men, Caesar had given up every part of the reward to the army in plunder. More importantly it had supplied not only one and a half filled granaries, but also an extra grain store from a merchant’s halls, masses of other foodstuffs, and a sizeable haul of livestock. The army had eaten better in one evening than in weeks previously, stuffing their faces and washing down roasted boar meat and mutton with wine and beer.
And a small, select gathering of the officers had retired to Fronto’s tent to recover from the exertions of the day and from their belt-straining guts following such a grand meal. Now, as Priscus loosened his belt another notch and poured himself a cup of wine without missing too badly, Antonius frowned. ‘Where were we, anyway?’
‘Palmatus, I think.’
Antonius turned a serious face on the singulares officer and Fronto grinned. ‘Beware. He’s good at this.’
Antonius narrowed his eyes.
‘You, Palmatus of the Pompeian Roman slums, are a festering, disease-ridden pus-sack of a filthy whore’s crotch after a bad dose of the clap!’
Priscus choked on his wine and as the man coughed liquid through his nose and snorted in the background, Palmatus fixed Antonius with a steady glare.
‘You, Marcus Antonius, are an inbred, Curio-humping, dissolute and profligate knob-end, with the grace and charm of a sheep’s rear end after a Sicilian farmer’s enjoyed himself too much.’
Priscus, still recovering from his choking, suddenly exploded in red-faced laughter and, as Fronto caught the look on Antonius’ face, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud. ‘I warned you,’ he grinned.
‘Curio-humping?’
‘Oh come on,’ Palmatus shrugged, ‘everyone within a thousand miles of Rome heard that rumour!’
Antonius’ eyes bulged. ‘Inbred?’
‘All patricians are inbred,’ Palmatus said flatly, his eyes slipping sideways to Fronto, who simply grinned. ‘Nice if you’re aiming it at me,’ the legate replied, ‘but Antonius’ family are plebs, my friend. Like you, but with more money.’
‘And cleaner,’ laughed Antonius, the slight apparently already forgotten by the unpredictable officer.
‘Alright. That’s one to Palmatus, I suppose. Your turn then, man. Try Priscus.’
‘Too easy.’
Priscus narrowed his eyes, as his body still shook with dissipating coughs. ‘Go on, then.’
‘You, Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus,’ Palmatus began, and then grinned. ‘Inbred patrician,’ a pause for Fronto and Antonius to chuckle, ‘are a stinking hog’s pizzle with…’
He was interrupted by a clatter at the tent’s door.
‘Come,’ called Fronto over the sounds of officers snorting with laughter.
The tent flap was pulled aside to reveal the intimidating shape of Masgava, Fronto’s other singulares commander - a former gladiator of Numidian birth, the man was huge and dangerous.
‘Good,’ Fronto grinned. ‘I told you to join us earlier. You’ve a few rounds to catch up on. Don’t take anything too personally, or it’s going to be a bad night for someone.’
Masgava shook his head. ‘Not here for a social, I’m afraid, sir. Message from the general. He’d like to see you in the command tent. Same goes for commanders Antonius, Varus and Priscus.’
Fronto rolled his eyes. ‘The general never bloody sleeps, does he?’
‘I’m not sure I can stand,’ Priscus said quietly, and Antonius rose to his feet steadily, crossed the tent and reached a hand down to help the prefect from the ground. ‘How can you stand too, Antonius? You’ve put away at least two mugs to my one, and I never saw the water jug pass close to you!’
‘Strong constitution,’ Antonius chuckled. ‘Plebeian, you see? Look at Palmatus over there. He’s sober as a iudex, too.’
Priscus glared at Palmatus, but the bodyguard simply shrugged and rose steadily.
‘Bastard. And I’ve yet to meet a sober judge.’
‘Any idea what this is about?’ Fronto asked Antonius as he wobbled to his feet, throwing out an arm to Palmatus, who grabbed it and held him steady.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ the senior officer replied. ‘Though earlier he was debating our next move. Perhaps he’s decided. He was noting the fact that the frost and the cold seemed to have finally given up and told me that rain was no impediment to a campaign. Maybe he’s planning to march us on the rebel army, or draw them out to us, for preference.’
‘I don’t think we’re ready to take on Vercingetorix yet,’ Fronto replied. ‘The odds are still too uncertain.’
As Palmatus and Masgava roused Varus from sleep as gently, yet quickly, as they could, the other three officers stepped out into the fresh air, which hit Fronto like a cart full of amphorae, filling his head with thumping and thought-strangling fuzziness.
‘I fear I may have to be rather sick,’ he announced.
‘Then try and do it on the way and not in the general’s tent,’ grinned Antonius. The three stood breathing the night air deeply, waiting for Varus. The storm had passed just before sunset, leaving the world breathing a sigh of relief, with fresh, cool air beneath the first clear sky they had seen in weeks.
‘He might be right about the weather,’ Priscus noted. ‘Campaigning in this will be a breeze after the last couple of months.’
The other two nodded their agreement as the bleary, yawning form of Varus appeared through the tent’s doorway. ‘I was having a nice dream about a young woman.’
‘Shake it off, then. Time to go see old beaky.’
The four officers traipsed across the wet, muddy hillside towards the large tent, whose doorway glowed with flickering golden light, illuminating the two cavalry guardsmen standing outside. The pair nodded their recognition at the four officers as they arrived and gestured for them to enter.
Inside, Caesar sat in his chair with Labienus and Plancus facing him. The general nodded to free seats, and the new arrivals wandered over and sat. As they took their places, Roscius and Calenus, the other officers on the staff, arrived, bowing, and took their seats.
‘I have made my decision about our next move, gentlemen,’ Caesar announced, rubbing his temple. ‘Despite my desire to bring war to the enemy at our earliest convenience, I received a deputation this evening from the Aedui, and I find my hand forced and the decision made for me.’
‘What news do they bring?’ Plancus asked, urgently.
‘Their state is in chaos, according to our friends. They have two men vying for control, splitting the Aedui in two. They have entreated me to adjudicate and heal their state.’
Antonius gave a loud cough, drawing all eyes. ‘Is that really more important than the enemy, who are encamped not five miles from here?’
Caesar fixed his friend with a level look. ‘Frankly, yes. The Aedui are the most numerous, richest and most powerful of the tribes of Gaul. Over the past seven years, no matter who we have fought, we have been allied with the Aedui. They have sent us men and supplies, and we have made them rich and powerful in return. If we cannot control what happens to their government, I foresee at least half of their tribe running into the waiting arms of Vercingetorix. If you think his army is strong now, wait ‘til the Aedui join him and bring a dozen other tribes who currently owe their allegiance to us. No. We must deal with this immediately.’
‘Can they not send their trouble here for you to adjudicate, Caesar?’ asked Calenus.
‘I’m afraid that’s not an option. By their laws, the chief magistrate of their people cannot leave their tribe’s lands. A sensible law, in my opinion, for all the difficulties it might currently be causing me.’
‘And are you planning to uproot the army and take them along with you?’ Fronto asked, ignoring the pounding of his head. ‘Because I’d not recommend marching off to the Aedui poorly-accompanied. What happens if they’ve already thrown in their lot with the rebels before you get there?’
Caesar tapped his temple knowingly. ‘That had occurred to me. Also, Bibracte is eighty miles from here, which means a side-trip of more than a week even at full pace. So I have compromised. Two legions will accompany the baggage back across the Liger River. The other four, unconstrained by baggage, will accompany the staff and myself to Decetio, which is the nearest Aedui oppidum with a forum space where the council and the rival candidates can attend. I sent the ambassadors back with instructions for the parties concerned to meet us there.
‘You mention only six legions,’ Fronto frowned. ‘What of the other two.’
Caesar turned and pointed at the large map hanging on the back wall. ‘According to the information gleaned from your scout while he was among the enemy, Vercingetorix is expecting a large number of reinforcements from the northern tribes and their absence thus far is largely what has stopped him moving against us. While we move east to negate the Aedui danger, Labienus will be taking the Seventh and the Twelfth to the north, collecting the First and the Fifteenth from Agedincum and the cohorts from Vellaunoduno and Cenabum. Armed with four good legions, he will crush the rebel spirit from the Carnutes, the Parisi and all the other northern tribes.’ He turned to Labienus. ‘You can do this with four legions?’
‘With those four, I could depopulate most of Gaul,’ nodded Labienus.
‘Good. Make a spirited attempt to do so.’
‘And what do we believe Vercingetorix will do while we concentrate on his allies again?’ Antonius mused.
‘He will sit tight in his swamp and wait until we are tired and hungry and he outnumbers us. Thus, once we are done with the Aedui, regardless of what Labienus’ situation is, we will have to draw the rebel out of his camp. As soon as we have the Aedui securely under the Roman flag, we march on his hometown.’
Silence fell across the tent.
‘Thoughts, gentleman?’
‘Even as the crow flies, Gergovia is a hundred miles from here,’ Priscus murmured. ‘That’s a long way. And we might find the place empty. Can we be sure that the rebels will follow?’
Caesar nodded. ‘Would you countenance Vercingetorix reaching an undefended Rome? No. He will chase us, and we will turn and bring battle to him once he is in the open. And if we reach Gergovia before he shows his face, we will have the added advantage of his own oppidum to use against him.’
‘It’s dangerous, Caesar,’ Fronto said quietly. ‘The Gauls can move faster than us unless we leave the carts behind. And if Labienus takes a quarter of the army north, he will outnumber us, too.’
‘Not if we draw new levies from the Aedui while we are there…’
The general turned his gaze on Priscus. ‘And the good prefect here - who already knows the region well from his last year - rides with a small party to find Brutus and Aristius and bring their forces back from Arverni lands to add their numbers to ours. They will bring us back up to our current strength, and they should not be more than fifty miles from Gergovia at the moment anyway.’
‘It is bold and dangerous,’ Antonius said in a low voice, which then cracked as a smile spread across his face. ‘I like it.’
Caesar nodded. ‘Labienus, you will ride in the morning with your two legions. You have brought me unprecedented success with every command I have assigned you thus far. I wish to see the same from this season.’
Labienus nodded professionally.
‘Priscus, select a turma of cavalry and ride for Arverni lands. Find Brutus and Aristius and bring them to Gergovia to meet with us. If we are not there, then travel north along the Elaver River until you find us.’
Looking somewhat less thrilled with his mission than Labienus, Priscus nodded and folded his arms.
‘Plancus, you will take the Eighth and the Fourteenth and resupply at the Boii oppidum of Gorgobina. Await our return there.’
Plancus nodded, apparently not fazed at being given the unexciting baggage duty.
‘So the rest of you, along with the Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh and Thirteenth, will accompany me to Decetio to settle the leadership of the Aedui.’
‘Distributing the army around Gaul,’ whispered Varus, leaning close to Fronto, ‘what could possibly go wrong?’
* * * * *
Cavarinos shrank down into himself, attempting to appear as nondescript as possible. The young warrior Litavicus, who had been in the pay of Vercingetorix since the winter time at least and had ridden with Cavarinos months before, had apparently risen in status somewhat, along with Convictolitanis, who now claimed control over the tribe as a whole. Litavicus now commanded a personal retinue of warriors and other young nobles, and it had been a simple matter to insert Cavarinos into his party without attracting any attention. Thus in the day and a half since he had met up with the young Aeduan warrior, he had been at the very centre of events without raising an eyebrow.
It would have been absolutely perfect barring the fact that a stuffy old pro-Roman named Cotus had challenged Convictolitanis’ control and had brought the matter to Caesar’s attention. Thus instead of the entire tribe slipping into Vercingetorix’s army unnoticed by the Romans, the great and the good of the Aedui had been compelled to leave Bibracte and ride for Decetio to have Caesar give his judgement. Cavarinos had been under no illusion that the Romans would be there in force and would exert their control over events, and almost certainly Caesar would come down in favour of the old man, who had influence, connections and an ancient family. Hell, his brother had been the previous magistrate.
The cause of the rebellion had come so close, and then one old fool had opened his mouth, divided the tribe and brought Caesar into it.
And it seemed likely that wherever Caesar went, Fronto would be with him… not that that would be a bad thing. Cavarinos had looked into the legate’s eyes more than once now and had seen not only the steely resolve of the soldier, but also wisdom tempered with understanding. A man like that might be the only hope for a future of peace alongside Rome when they finally drove Caesar out. But the fact remained that just as he would recognise legate Fronto a mile away, so the same could be said the other way around. That being the case, and knowing that the Aedui column would pass under close Roman scrutiny, Cavarinos had subtly altered his appearance over the past day, trimming his moustaches a lot shorter, braiding his hair back away from his face and donning a more voluminous helmet. He had even used some of the white clay mud from the river bank to lighten his hair colour as he dunked his head this morning.
Most importantly, he had removed his tell-tale Arverni arm-ring upon arrival among the Aedui and had removed the leather bag containing the curse and hidden it among his pack. Still, despite those measures, he felt Roman eyes boring into him and hunkered down, keeping his face and eyes lowered.
Decetio was far from the largest of the Aedui’s oppida, but it was certainly one of the more impressive. Scarcely a quarter of a mile across - against Bibracte’s mile and a half - it lay on a very defensible island in the wide and fast Liger River, reached by a strong bridge from either bank, and rising on a natural hill, dominating the river and the plain surrounding it. Its walls were not tall or heavy, but the river gods had given it defences that far outstripped the capabilities of mere walls.
Moreover, it bore more resemblance to a Roman settlement than an Aedui one. The Roman trade along the river had brought it wealth and goods, and with the Aedui formerly being such staunch allies of the republic it had gained a great deal of finance and support from Rome. Some of the houses even had columned frontages, visible over the walls as the streets rose to the central summit.
As he kicked his horse to move slightly faster across the wide, long bridge, Cavarinos felt the attention of the legionaries lining the road on either side.
And then, thankfully, finally, they passed beneath the gate of Decetio and into the city, where they slowly rose through the city’s curved streets to the stone-and-timber forum and temple at the top. At the entrance to the monumental complex, many of the Aedui were directed aside by Roman officers. None of the men, Cavarinos noted with relief, were Fronto. Like the other important nobles that had attended, Litavicus was given permission to enter with a guard of six, and he carefully selected Cavarinos among that number.
The forum had already been arranged by the Romans, who had clearly been here a day or more, waiting for the Aedui. Caesar sat like a king on a heavy oaken throne beneath the tile-roofed gallery that ran around the outside of the temple of Cernunnos which dominated the civic centre. Other less ornate chairs spread out to either side, each containing a Roman officer. And the centre of the square, bounded by a monumental colonnade, held row upon row of crude log benches and two unadorned wooden chairs. There could be no doubt who was the ascendant power here.
A small knot of Roman soldiers without their armour or weapons busied themselves taking the reins of the new arrivals’ horses and walking them across the rear of the space, where they were tethered beneath the colonnade and in sight of the gathering. For a moment, Cavarinos felt the wrench as he dismounted, allowing a Roman to walk off with his horse and all his worldly goods, including a leather pouch containing purportedly the most valuable item the rebel army controlled.
Giving each other appropriately cold stares, bristling with unspoken anger, Convictolitanis and Cotus approached the two wooden chairs and took their seats, their closest companions gathering on the wooden benches behind them, the rest of the attendees filling the space in their small groups. Cavarinos followed Litavicus and sat next to him, his eyes picking out with no surprise the form of legate Fronto a few chairs to Caesar’s left. He pulled the brow of his helmet slightly lower.
After perhaps quarter of an hour, the Aedui were settled, the horses tethered and fed, and the forum filled with a calm quiet as the gates to each side were shut by soldiers.
‘It is no easy matter,’ Caesar announced, ‘to settle such a dispute. I have spoken to the leaders of this oppidum, and they inform me that the choice of your priests is Convictolitanis, who is young and perhaps as yet untried by the perils and treacherous tides of politics. We cannot overlook a choice backed by your priests purely on a matter of age and inexperience, however.’
Cavarinos rolled his eyes, unseen. Caesar was clearly ill-informed. Cavarinos had seen Convictolitanis the politician at work months back in Bibracte. The man was more than able, and probably not as young as he looked, either.
‘Cotus, on the other hand, seems to have the perfect background and experience for the role, though lacks the general backing of your priesthood.’
The Roman general cradled his fingers and for a moment Cavarinos wondered whether he had been remiss. Had he kept the curse of Ogmios with him, he might have been tempted to use it on Caesar. After all, there seemed little chance he would ever be this close to the Roman commander again. Yet something pushed that thought down and away, something Cavarinos chose to believe was his common sense. The curse was of much more use as a talisman to the army, preserved until the time it was needed to drive them on, than as a weapon, which he was fairly sure was an enormous pile of secretive druidic horse shit anyway.
‘I have not made a decision,’ Caesar announced. ‘I considered it to be highly insulting to form an opinion either way without hearing you both out, as well as any of your kin and allies that might have pertinent information for this matter. Perhaps you would each care to enlighten me as to why your case is the strongest?’
Cavarinos looked across at Fronto, whose own gaze passed across the ranks of the Aedui for a heart-stopping moment without settling upon Cavarinos at all. The Arvernian had to cough to stifle a laugh as he watched Fronto surreptitiously scratch himself in a private place before folding his arms again.
For perhaps another quarter of an hour, he sat and half-listened to the politicking going on in the forum. Both men were clearly astute and persuasive, and their reasoning was strong, if long-winded, self-aggrandizing and repetitive. Finally, Caesar held up a hand.
‘Enough, I think. Clearly your cases seem evenly matched. This may require some deliberation.’
‘I suspect he means bribes,’ Cavarinos whispered sarcastically.
‘Time to swing the vote,’ Litavicus whispered back and flashed him a grin before standing. Cavarinos looked up in surprise as the young man cleared his throat and addressed the general and the crowd, sweeping his arms wide in an oratorical manner.
‘Tell the proconsul how you were elected, Cotus.’
The old man spun, throwing a furious glare at Litavicus, who simply shrugged and waited.
‘Explain that remark, Cotus,’ the general commanded.
The old man cleared his throat, sounding slightly uncertain. ‘I was chosen by my brother, who had ruled before me, in a duly-selected gathering of nobles and priests in the sacred sanctuary of the cold fountains at Bibracte.’
‘How many priests can you find to substantiate that claim, Cotus?’ Litavicus grinned, clearly enjoying himself.
‘You dare call me a liar?’ snarled Cotus.
‘Oh I do, old man. I do. You see my uncle is the attendant priest who maintains that very sanctuary, and he states flatly that no such gathering took place. In fact, I have it on good authority that your supposed election took place over a mug of beer with three friends, as well as your brother. It may well have been his will that you follow him, but you flouted the laws and ignored all precedent in your haste. Moreover, since that was two days before your brother’s demise, even if you had been legitimately elected, that would have made you both magistrates at the same time, which, as I’m sure you’re aware, is against the law. One very reason we are here today. That is why the priests favour Convictolitanis.’
‘Is this true?’ asked Caesar with a sharp edge to his tone.
‘Watch and appreciate,’ Litavicus smiled as he took his seat once more. Around the square, nobles rose to their feet angrily, almost all shouting and demanding things. As Cavarinos listened, a number of views were espoused, but the overriding tide was clearly turned against Cotus. He tried not to smile as a Roman officer called for silence and the general spoke once more.
‘It becomes clear that there can be only one candidate for the magistracy of the Aedui. Convictolitanis was elected in a manner that follows your legal and ritual guidelines and, despite his youth, he is the rightful leader of the Aedui at this time. Since Cotus has ignored and twisted the laws to gain position, he cannot be accorded success. It is the rule of Rome that Convictolitanis be appointed sole and legal magistrate of the tribe.’
Cavarinos allowed a shuddering breath to leak from him as he contemplated how close they had come this day to the rebel force losing all influence with the Aedui. Instead, because of a little wicked politicking, Caesar had been manoeuvred into choosing the one man to lead the tribe who would love nothing more than to tear their bonds with Rome asunder. After all the work Vercingetorix had put into the matter, Rome had finally tipped the scales for him and beautifully, cunningly, wonderfully, remained completely ignorant of that fact.
He was smiling happily to himself over the next half an hour as Caesar made further arrangements with Convictolitanis, ordering Cotus to stand down with no further ills befalling him and demanding that the Aedui heal this division and put aside their differences under their one new leader. He barely cared when Caesar asked the Aedui to prepare for war against the rebel forces. He almost laughed aloud when Caesar demanded all the Aedui cavalry and infantry move out to take part in his campaign, manning the Roman strongholds, cities and supply depots, controlling his provisions that he himself might be free to concentrate on the business of conducting the war. But his brow creased at the mention of the next target of that war. Gergovia?
By the time the assembled nobles were dispersing to the accommodation that had been assigned to them in Decetio for the night, leaving only the two Aeduan leaders with the Roman officers, Cavarinos was stripping his goods from his tired horse at the rear of the complex. His steed would still be weary from his earlier ride, and the news that the Arverni capital was to be Caesar’s next target was something that had to reach Vercingetorix’s ear as fast as a man could ride, if he was to save Gergovia.
* * * * *
Fronto watched the crowd disperse and performed a sudden double-take. As his suspicious gaze played once more across the gathered Aedui, he failed to see the man a second time. He couldn’t swear to it, for the man had looked different somehow, but at a push, he’d have been willing to put forward the view that a certain Arverni chieftain who seemed to crop up in the most unusual of places had been among that gathering somehow.
As the warriors and nobles made their way out through the gate and into the city, he watched intently until the last man had gone, but still caught no further sight of the ghost that might have been Cavarinos of the Arverni.
Antonius made him jump with a slap on the back.
‘Nice job here, eh Marcus? Now for a night of rest and then on to victory.’
Fronto stared out of the gate at the dispersing mob.
‘I suspect we did not just make the deal Caesar thinks we did.’