"Yes."
"Rome will want me, but it won't want Labienus."
"Yes."
Caesar began to pace. "Then I have some thinking to do."
Hirtius cleared his throat. "There is another matter."
"Oh?"
"Rhiannon."
"Rhiannon?"
"She's written to Servilia."
"Using a scribe, since she can't write herself."
"Who gave me a copy of the letter. Though I haven't let the courier take the original until you approve it."
"Where is it?"
Hirtius handed it over.
Yet another letter was reduced to ashes, this one in the brazier. "Fool of a woman!"
"Shall I have the courier take the original to Rome?"
"Oh, yes. Make sure I see the answer before Rhiannon gets it, however."
"That goes without saying."
Down came the scarlet general's cloak from its T-shaped rack. "I need a walk," said Caesar, throwing it round his shoulders and tying its cords himself. Then he looked at Hirtius, eyes detached. "Have Rhiannon watched."
"Some better news to take out into the cold, Caesar."
The smile was rueful. "I need it! What?"
"Ambiorix has had no luck yet with the Germani. Ever since you bridged the Rhenus they've been wary. Not all his pleading and cajoling has seen one German company cross into Gaul."
Winter was nearing its end and the pan-Gallic conference was looming when Caesar led four legions into the lands of the Nervii to finish that tribe as a power. His luck was with him; the whole tribe had gathered at its biggest oppidum to debate the question as to whether it ought to send delegates to Samarobriva. Caesar caught the Nervii armed but unprepared, and accorded them no mercy. Those who survived the battle were handed over to his men, together with enormous amounts of booty. This was one engagement from which Caesar and his legates would see no personal profit; it all went to the legionaries, including the sale of slaves. And afterward he laid waste to the Nervian lands, burning everything save the fief belonging to Vertico. The captured tribal leaders were shipped off to Rome to wait for his triumph, kept, as he had said to Aulus Hirtius, in comfort and honor. When came the day of his triumph their necks would be snapped in the Tullianum, but by then they would have learned the measure both of their glory and of Rome's.
Caesar had been holding a pan-Gallic conference every year since his coming to Gaul of the Long-hairs. The early ones had been held at Bibracte in the lands of the Aedui. This year's was the first to be held so far west, and a summons had gone out to every tribe commanding it to send delegates. The purpose was to have an opportunity to speak to the tribal leaders, be they kings, councillors or properly elected vergobrets—an opportunity to persuade them that war with Rome could have only one outcome: defeat.
This year he hoped for better results. All those who had made war over the past five years had gone down, no matter how great their numbers and their consequent sense of invincibility. Even the loss of the Thirteenth had been turned to advantage. Surely now they would all begin to see the shape of their fate!
Yet by the time that the opening day of the conference dawned, Caesar's expectations were already dying. Three of the greatest peoples had not sent delegates: the Treveri, the Senones and the Carnutes. The Nemetes and the Triboci had never come, but their absence was understandable—they bordered the Rhenus River on the opposite shore to the Suebi, the fiercest and far the hungriest of the Germani. So dedicated were they to defending their own lands that they had almost no impact upon thought within Gaul of the Long-hairs.
The huge wooden hall hung with bear and wolf pelts was full when Caesar, his purple-bordered toga glaringly white amid so much color, mounted the dais to speak. The gathering possessed an alien splendor, each tribe in its traditional regalia: the basically scarlet checks of the Atrebates in the person of King Commius, the orange and emerald speckles of the Cardurci, the crimson and blue of the Remi, the scarlet and blue stripes of the Aedui. But no yellow and scarlet Carnutes, no indigo and yellow Senones, no dark green and light green Treveri.
"I do not intend to dwell upon the fate of the Nervii," Caesar said in the high-pitched voice he used for orating, "because all of you know what happened." He looked toward Vertico, nodded. "That one Nervian is here today is evidence of his good sense. Why fight the inevitable? Ask yourselves who is the real enemy! Is it Rome? Or is it the Germani? The presence of Rome in Gallia Comata must go to your ultimate good. The presence of Rome will ensure that you retain your Gallic customs and traditions. The presence of Rome will keep the Germani on their own bank of the Rhenus. I, Gaius Julius Caesar, have guaranteed to contend with the Germani on your behalf in every treaty I have made with you! For you cannot keep the Germani at bay without Rome's aid. If you doubt this, ask the delegates from the Sequani." He pointed to where they sat in their crimson and pink. "King Ariovistus of the Suebi persuaded them to let him settle on one-third of their lands. Wanting peace, they decided that consent was a gesture of friendliness. But give the Germani the tip of your finger and they will end in taking not only your whole arm, but your whole country! Do the Cardurci think this fate will not be theirs because they border the Aquitani in the far southwest? It will be! Mark my words, it will be! Unless all of you accept and welcome the presence of Rome, it will be!"
The Arvernian delegates occupied a whole row, for the Arverni were an extremely powerful people. The traditional enemies of the Aedui, they occupied the mountainous lands of the Cebenna around the sources of the Elaver, the Caris and the Vigemna; perhaps because of this, their shirts and trousers were palest buff, their shawls checkered in palest blue, buff and dark green. Not easy to see against snow or a rock face.
One of them, young and clean-shaven, rose to his feet.
"Tell me the difference between Rome and the Germani," he said in the Carnute dialect which Caesar was speaking, as it was the universal tongue of the Druids, therefore understood everywhere.
"No," said Caesar, smiling. "You tell me."
"I see absolutely no difference, Caesar. Foreign domination is foreign domination."
"But there are vast differences! The fact that I stand here today speaking your language is one of them. When I came to Gallia Comata I spoke Aeduan, Arvernian and Vocontian. Since then I have gone to the trouble of learning Druidan, Atrebatan and several other dialects. Yes, I have the ear for languages, that is true. But I am a Roman, and I understand that when men can communicate with each other directly, there is no opportunity for an interpreter to distort what is said. Yet I have not asked any of you to learn to speak Latin. Whereas the Germani would force you to speak their tongues, and eventually you would lose your own."
"Soft words, Caesar!" said the young Arvernian. "But they point out the greatest danger of Roman domination! It is subtle. The Germani are not subtle. Therefore they are easier to resist."
"This is your first pan-Gallic conference, obviously, so I do not know your name," said Caesar, unruffled. "What is it?"
"Vercingetorix!"
Caesar stepped to the very front of the dais. "First of all, Vercingetorix, you Gauls must reconcile yourselves to some foreign presence. The world is shrinking. It has been shrinking since the Greeks and the Punic peoples scattered themselves around the whole rim of the sea Rome now calls Our Sea. Then Rome came upon the scene. The Greeks were never united as one nation. Greece was many little nations, and, like you, they fought among each other until they exhausted the country. Rome was a city-state too, but Rome gradually brought all of Italia under her as one nation. Rome is Italia. Yet the domination of Rome within Italia does not depend upon the solitary figure of a king. All Italia votes to elect Rome's magistrates. All Italia participates in Rome. All Italia provides Rome's soldiers. For Rome is Italia. And Rome grows. All Italian Gaul south of the Padus River is now a part of Italia, elects Rome's magistrates. And soon all Italian Gaul north of the Padus River will be Roman too, for I have vowed it. I believe in unit
y. I believe that unity is strength. And I would give Gallia Comata the unity of true nationhood. That would be Rome's gift. The Germani bring no gifts worth having. Did Gallia Comata belong to the Germani, it would go backward. They have no systems of government, no systems of commerce, no systems which permit a people to lean on one single central government."
Vercingetorix laughed scornfully. "You rape, you do not govern! There is no difference between Rome and the Germani!"
Caesar answered without hesitation. "As I have said, there are many differences. I have pointed some of them out. You have not listened, Vercingetorix, because you don't want to listen. You appeal to passion, not to reason. That will bring you many adherents, but it will render you incapable of giving your adherents what they most need—sage advice, considered opinions. Consider the state of the shrinking world. Consider the place Gallia Comata will have in that shrinking world if Gallia Comata ties herself to Rome rather than to the Germani or to internal strife between her peoples. I do not want to fight you, which is not the same as unwillingness to fight. After five years of Rome in the person of Gaius Julius Caesar, you know that. Rome unifies. Rome brings her citizenship. Rome brings improvements to local life. Rome brings peace and plenty. Rome brings business opportunities, a system of commerce, new opportunities for local industries to sell their wares everywhere Rome is in the world. You Arvernians make the best pottery in Gallia Comata. As a part of Rome's world, your pots would go much further than Britannia. With Rome's legions guarding the borders of Gallia Comata, the Arverni could expand their business ventures and increase their wealth shorn of fear of invasion, pillage—and rape."
"Hollow words, Caesar! What happened to the Atuatuci? The Eburones? The Morini? The Nervii? Pillage! Slavery! Rape!"
Caesar sighed, spread his right hand wide, cuddled his left into the folds of his toga. "All those peoples had their chance," he said evenly. "They broke their treaties, they preferred war to submission. The submission would have cost them little. A tribute, in return for guaranteed peace. In return for no more German raids. In return for an easier, more fruitful way of life. Still worshiping their own Gods, still owning their lands, still free men, still living!"
"Under foreign domination," said Vercingetorix.
Caesar inclined his head. "That's the price, Vercingetorix. A light Roman hand on the bridle, or a heavy German one. That's the choice. Isolation is gone. Gallia Comata has entered Our Sea. All of you must realize that. There can be no going back. Rome is here. And Rome will stay. Because Rome too must keep the Germani beyond the Rhenus. Over fifty years ago Gallia Comata was split from end to end by three-quarters of a million Germani. All you could do was to suffer their presence. It was Rome in the person of Gaius Marius saved you then. It is Rome in the person of Gaius Marius's nephew who will save you now. Accept the continued presence of Rome, I most earnestly beseech you! If you do accept Rome, little will actually change. Ask any of the Gallic tribes in our Province—the Volcae, the Vocontii, the Helvii, the Allobroges. They are no less Gallic for being also Roman. They live at peace, they prosper mightily."
"Hah!" sneered Vercingetorix. "Fine words! They're just waiting for someone to lead them out of foreign domination!"
"They're not, you know," said Caesar conversationally. "Go and talk to them for yourself and you'll see I'm right."
"When I go to talk with them, it won't be to enquire," said Vercingetorix. "I'll offer them a spear." He laughed, shook his head incredulously. "How can you hope to win?" he asked. "There are a handful of you, that's all! Rome is a gigantic bluff! The peoples you have encountered until now have been tame, stupid, cowardly! There are more warriors in Gallia Comata than in the whole of Italia and Italian Gaul! Four million Celtae, two million Belgae! I have seen your Roman censuses— you don't have that many people! Three million, Caesar, not a person more!"
"Numbers are irrelevant," said Caesar, who appeared to be enjoying himself. "Rome possesses three things neither the Celtae nor the Belgae own—organization, technology and the ability to tap her resources with complete efficiency."
"Oh, yes, your much-vaunted technology! What of it? Did the walls you built to dam out Ocean enable you to take any of the Veneti strongholds? Did they? No! We too are a technological people! Ask your legate Quintus Tullius Cicero! We brought siege towers to bear on him, we learned to use Roman artillery! We are not tame, we are not stupid, we are not cowards! Since you came into Gallia Comata, Caesar, we have learned! And as long as you remain here, we will go on learning! Nor are all Roman generals your equal! Sooner or later you will return to Rome, and Rome will send a fool to Gallia Comata! Another like Cassius at Burdigala! Others like Mallius and Caepio at Arausio!"
"Or another like Ahenobarbus when he reduced the Arverni to nothing seventy-five years ago," said Caesar, smiling.
"The Arverni are more powerful now than they were before Ahenobarbus came!"
"Vercingetorix of the Arverni, listen to me," said Caesar strongly. "I have called for reinforcements. Four more legions. That is a total of twenty-four thousand men. I will have them in the field and ready to fight four months from the commencement of the enlistment process. They will all wear chain mail shirts, have superbly made daggers and swords on their belts, helmets on their heads, and pila in their hands. They will know the drills and routines so well they could do them in their sleep. They will have artillery. They will know how to build siege equipment, how to fortify. They will be able to march a minimum of thirty miles a day for days on end. They will be officered by brilliant centurions. They will come wanting to hate you and every other Gaul— and if you push them to fight, they will hate you.
"I will have a Fifth—a Sixth—a Seventh—an Eighth—a Ninth—a Tenth—an Eleventh—a Twelfth—a Thirteenth—a Fourteenth—and a Fifteenth Legion! All up to strength! Fifty-four thousand foot soldiers! And add to them four thousand cavalry drawn from the Aedui and the Remi!"
Vercingetorix crowed, capered. "What a fool you are, Caesar! You've just told all of us your strength in the field this year!"
"Indeed I have, though not foolishly. As a warning. I say to you, be sensible and prudent. You cannot win! Why try? Why kill the flower of your manhood in a hopeless cause? Why leave your women so destitute and your lands so vacant that I will have to settle my Roman veterans on them to marry your women and sire Roman children?"
Suddenly Caesar's iron control snapped; he grew, towered. Not realizing that he did so, Vercingetorix stepped backward.
"This year will be a year of total attrition if you try me!" Caesar roared. "Oppose me in the field and you will go down and keep on going down! I cannot be beaten! Rome cannot be beaten! Our resources in Italia— and the efficiency with which I can marshal them!—are so vast that I can make good any losses I sustain in the twinkling of an eye! If I so wish, I can double those fifty-four thousand men! And equip them! Be warned and take heed! I have made you privy to all of this not for today, but for the future! Roman organization, Roman technology and Roman resources alone will see you go down! And don't pin your hopes on the day when Rome sends a less competent governor to Gallia Comata! Because by the time that day comes, you won't exist! Caesar will have reduced you and yours to ruins!"
He swept from the dais and from the hall, leaving the Gauls and his legates stunned.
"Oh, that temper!" said Trebonius to Hirtius.
"They needed straight speaking," said Hirtius.
"Well, my turn," said Trebonius, getting to his feet. "How can I follow an act like that?"
"With diplomatic words," said Quintus Cicero, grinning.
"It doesn't matter a fig what Trebonius prattles on about," said Sextius. "They've got the fear of Caesar in them."
"The one named Vercingetorix is spoiling for a fight" from Sulpicius Rufus.
"He's young" from Hirtius. "Nor is he popular among the rest of the Arvernian delegates. They were sitting with their teeth on edge and dying to kill him, not Caesar."
While the meeting we
nt on in the great hall, Rhiannon sat in Caesar's stone house with the Aeduan scribe.
"Read it," she said to him.
He broke the seal (which had already been broken; it had been re-sealed with the imprint of Quintus Cicero's ring, since Rhiannon had no idea what Servilia's seal looked like), spread the little roll, and pored over it, mumbling, for a long time.
"Read it!" Rhiannon said, shifting impatiently.
"As soon as I understand it, I will," he answered.
"Caesar doesn't do that."
He looked up, sighed. "Caesar is Caesar. No one else can read at a glance. And the more you talk, the longer I'll be."
Rhiannon subsided, picking at the gold threads woven through her long gown of brownish crimson, dying to know what Servilia said.
Finally the scribe spoke. "I can start," he said.
"Then do so!"
"Well, I can't say I ever expected to get a letter writ in rather peculiar Latin from Caesar's Gallic mistress, but it's amusing, I must admit. So you have Caesar's son. How amazing. I have Caesar's daughter. Like your son, she does not bear Caesar's name. That is because I was married to Marcus Junius Silanus at the time. His distant relative, another Marcus Junius Silanus, is one of Caesar's legates this year. My daughter's name is therefore Junia, and as she is the third Junia, I call her Tertulla.
"You say you are a princess. Barbarians do have them, I know. You produce this fact as if it could matter. It cannot. To a Roman, the only blood which matters is Roman blood. Roman blood is better. The meanest thief in some back alley is better than you, because he has Roman blood. No son whose mother was not Roman could matter to Caesar, whose blood is the highest in Rome. Never tainted with other blood than Roman. If Rome had a king, Caesar would be that king. His ancestors were kings. But Rome does not have a king, nor would Caesar allow Rome to have a king. Romans bend the knee to no one.
"I have nothing to teach you, barbarian princess. It is not necessary for a Roman to have a son of his body to inherit his position and carry on the name of his family because a Roman can adopt a son. He does this very carefully. Whoever he adopts will have the necessary blood to carry on his line, and as part of the adoption the new son assumes his name. My son was adopted. His name was Marcus Junius Brutus, but when his uncle, my brother, was killed without an heir, he adopted Brutus in his will. Brutus became Quintus Servilius Caepio, of my own family. That he has preferred of late years to return to the name Marcus Junius Brutus is due to his pride in a Junian ancestor, Lucius Junius Brutus, who banished the last King of Rome and established the Roman res publica.
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