Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow

by S. J. A. Turney

  The others shrugged, but Fronto nodded to himself. He remembered the tale from his studies of the Gallic tribes when they’d first come north of the Alpes. The Arverni had no royals now, but this man could easily have been a King.

  The big Gaul strode into the room in a relaxed manner, nodding to his men and to the tavern keeper, before turning and making directly for their table. Without being bidden, one of the warriors nearby pushed a chair across the floor with a jarring scrape until it sat at the end of Fronto’s table.

  The big man wandered over to the chair and indicated it with a large, powerful hand, an unspoken question in his expression. Fronto nodded and gestured back to the chair in answer. Whatever was happening, he found himself curious as to the powerful Arverni warrior’s intentions.

  ‘Do you speak Latin?’ he asked conversationally, taking a sip of his wine.

  There was a pause and the big man toyed with his moustaches for a moment, and then nodded.

  ‘I learned your tongue young. My people trade with your merchants across the border, and Latin is widely spoken in my tribe.’

  ‘Good, ‘cause frankly I’ll never be able to get my tongue round your language.’

  The big man gave a humourless smile and sank into the chair. A low murmur of ordinary conversation arose across the room. Fronto was not fooled by this apparent ordinariness. As far as he could see the general drone would nicely mask any of their own words and prevent the two remaining local patrons and the tavern keeper from hearing whatever they all had to say.

  ‘You are a Roman officer, I understand,’ the Gaul smiled, ‘despite the good Belgic torc around your neck.’

  ‘A complex question right now, given my lack of command, but I’ll settle for a simple yes. I ride for Samarobriva to rejoin the army.’

  ‘And your companions?’

  ‘Friends of mine. Two from Roman lands - an ex-soldier and a warrior from the southern deserts, and Galronus here is a nobleman of the Remi.’

  ‘The Belgae are here too?’ the big man mused. ‘Fascinating, though it perhaps explains your decorations. I must apologise for interrupting your evening, and I will not keep you long, but I find myself in Bibracte at the most fortuitous moment when Roman officers pass through, and I would be wasting a great opportunity were I not to come and speak to you.’

  Fronto gave the warmest smile he was capable of right now and took another sip of wine. ‘I have to admit to wondering what the Arverni are doing so far north and in the guise of warriors?’ he asked pleasantly.

  The Gaul gave a low, throaty chuckle. ‘We are simply passing through, much like you, on our own business. But enough of this duel in which we slowly circle our opponents, Roman. I see from your tunic that you are a nobleman yourself?’

  ‘My wife might argue, but I suppose that’s a fair assessment.’

  ‘You are acquainted with Caesar?’

  Fronto scratched his chin. It was a humorous tendency among non-Romans to assume that any nobleman would know any other nobleman. Ridiculous assumption, really, given the population of the city and the size of Rome’s noble houses. And yet, it so happened that the man had selected someone who was closely acquainted with the general. What was he up to? What was the man trying to learn?

  ‘I have been, yes. I’ve not seen him for over a year, but I have served with him.’

  ‘Tell me of him. I wish to know of this Roman ‘Brennus’ who would conquer all the lands of my peoples. What is he like?’

  Fronto shrugged. ‘His reputation is well known and well-founded. If you are as bright and as well-informed as you appear to be, then I doubt I can tell you anything that you do not already know.’

  ‘Humour me.’

  Fronto shrugged. ‘He is brilliant. A tactical mind like no other, charismatic and loved by his men, capable of the most astoundingly rash decisions - and brutal ones, too - but tempered by the knowledge of his abilities and the certainty that he is capable of succeeding in everything that he attempts. He is not a man to cross, for he has a short temper and a long memory, but those who deal fairly with him he holds in high esteem.’

  He laughed. ‘Gods, that sounds like a eulogy! But it’s true, nonetheless.’

  The Gaul nodded. ‘I hear he is also a shrewd negotiator and a clever speaker.’

  ‘I’d say so.’

  The Gaul leaned forward and steepled his fingers. ‘Many fleas are biting the back of his army in these troubled times. Might the great Proconsul be persuaded to an advantageous peace which will bring him glory and gold to take back to Rome, if the price is just that: that he takes you all back to Rome?’

  Fronto felt a sudden easing of his pulse. This was the nub of the matter. A potential negotiation? No, surely not for such a man. And if he had no interest in a negotiation, why ask?

  ‘You would offer Caesar money and glory to get him out of Gaul?’

  ‘It has been suggested before,’ the big Arverni shrugged.

  ‘I am not sure whether the general would ever accept such an offer, though this war does drag on, while Rome seethes in his absence. Two years ago I would have laughed in your face. Now, I am not so sure. But two things occur to me.’ Fronto took another drink and placed his empty cup on the table. ‘Firstly, you are Arverni, who are allied with us and under no threat, and yet who have no royalty who could legitimately make such an offer. That is why we don’t see you at the annual assembly of the Gaulish chiefs. And I have to point out that no tribe - no matter how big - could manage to gather enough gold and slaves to buy the general off. Even the Arverni and the Aedui together. It would take a meeting of the chiefs at the assembly to do something that big.’

  ‘But you think it would be possible?’

  Fronto tapped his lip in thought. ‘Perhaps. But the more your ‘fleas’ bite the Roman back, the less the general will be inclined to negotiate. I understand from reports that the Eburones under a man called Ambiorix destroyed a whole legion this winter. Not a good first step in negotiation.’

  The Gaul laughed again.

  ‘It seems to me very reminiscent of Roman negotiations. The Arverni have languished half a century in the shadow of tribes that were once our lessers because of what your General Ahenobarbus did to us.’ As Fronto narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, the Gaul held out a placating hand. ‘But I concede your point. Ambiorix is a troublesome pest for your general, but he is something of a difficulty for those who would see our lands free of your iron-nailed boots also. He has too much avarice and need for acclaim and recognition. His failings pushed him into launching his own petty war and he damages both Rome and his own allies, but most of all he damages himself.’

  ‘How so?’ Fronto asked, genuinely intrigued.

  ‘His tribe are now fragmented and scattered and he is sought by the Romans and all their allies for what he has done. His time is past. Worry not over Ambiorix for he is naught but a fly and will soon be swatted. Indeed, if you took his head, you would do all the peoples of the land a great favour.’

  He laughed again.

  ‘Look, Roman, how my simple questions have led to my being interrogated by you instead. Such is often the way when my people talk to yours, I find.’

  Fronto nodded slowly. ‘I presume you will not tell me who you are?’

  ‘It is of little matter. I am a warrior of the Arverni, friend of druids, and a wanderer of the ways with my small band. You would not know my name, nor that of my father.’

  ‘I suspected as much,’ Fronto replied, noting the reference to the druids and connecting it with the potential for peace negotiations. It sounded unlike them, too. ‘Then is there anything else I can help you with, or are we done here?’

  Slowly, the warrior stood, stretching.

  ‘Thank you for your time and your honesty, Roman,’ the big Gaul smiled. ‘I trust we will meet again under happier circumstances.’

  ‘Somehow I cannot see that being likely,’ Fronto replied quietly, ‘but only the Gods know the future.’

  ‘P
erhaps with your people,’ the man laughed. And, turning to the nearest warrior: ‘Come Vercassivos. We have much to do.’

  With a final nod at the four men, the big Gaul strode from the room and the man he had last addressed - a wiry warrior with flame-red hair and moustaches - nodded in turn and followed him out. Slowly the bar emptied until only the four of them remained, along with the tavern’s owner.

  ‘Now what do you make of that?’ Palmatus asked quietly in the suddenly empty bar.

  ‘There was so much being conveyed there without words that it’d practically fill a book,’ Fronto sighed. ‘I would say that man is a man to watch carefully if we had the opportunity. I’d give good money to know who he was, but you saw the reaction of everyone when his men entered. No one in Bibracte’s going to tell us. An Arverni nobleman seeking information on the army and its general.’

  ‘But you said the Arverni were allies of Rome.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ll note how he said he was a friend of druids, and a ‘wanderer of ways’. I’ve heard that last expression before, more than once, and usually in relation to an exile. Whoever that man is he’s noble-blooded and in with the druids. And he’s here among the Aedui who have stepped up their defences.’

  Masgava leaned forward. ‘He spoke of peace? Of negotiation?’

  ‘Those were his words, yes. But not his intent. He and his men are warriors and ‘free’ Gauls to the hilt. And the way he talked of his people and Ahenobarbus, it sounds as though a grudge is still held. I think he needed to ask the question on behalf of his druid friends or someone else. But that man had no intention of settling peacefully.’

  He shivered. ‘Suddenly I am extremely uneasy among the Aedui. I can hardly wait to get going in the morning. Caesar is going to be interested to hear all of this.’

  ‘Would it not be worth the detour to follow these Arverni and see where they go?’ Masgava asked.

  ‘No. We’d not find anything out, and we need to head north as quickly as possible and make up time. I have been slow and dawdling, but it seems there is more urgency required in our arrival than I had previously anticipated. We’re only half way to Samarobriva yet, with a long journey still ahead. Let’s have one more drink and then head up for some shut-eye.’

  As Galronus strode across to the bar for another jar of wine, Fronto’s eyes slipped once more to the door. Trouble was brewing, and it was far larger even than a revolt that had wiped out a legion.

  He shivered again.

  Chapter Five

  Priscus drummed his fingers irritably on his chair arm as he listened. The more he argued, the less the general listened to him, it seemed.

  ‘There are reports coming in from a number of my scouts concerning minor unrest and isolated incidents across a number of Gaulish tribes. I have considered calling the assembly of Gaul earlier this year, but I fear that once we make our fears and intentions known we will lose any edge upon which we can currently rely. It is still winter and all Gaul knows that Romans do not campaign in winter.’

  ‘Respectfully, General,’ Plancus gestured, ‘there are good reasons for that. Rotten feet in icy swamp water. Mildewed and stinking tents. Snowdrifts. Floods. The list goes on…’

  Priscus’ fingers stopped drumming. What could possibly be happening to the world when Plancus of all people became a font of common sense?

  ‘Sometimes hardships must be endured and risks taken to achieve grander goals.’

  ‘And,’ Priscus added ‘we’re still waiting on your new officers and replacement troops.’

  ‘Regardless,’ Caesar replied, casting a cold glance at Priscus, ‘I am planning on campaigning before the spring thaw, while the Gauls think themselves secure. Tell the officers what you know,’ he said, gesturing to three native scouts standing by the map at the room’s rear.’

  ‘Ambiorix has all-but vanished,’ the taller of the three said in good Latin but with an accent everyone was beginning to recognise as Remi. ‘After the battle in the winter, he went to ground with his personal band of warriors. There have been reports of his being seen at the court of his brother King, Cativolcus, though it is common knowledge that there is no love between the two rulers, and none of the reports can be substantiated. Equally uncertain reports have placed him in Nervii lands and in Menapii territory.’

  ‘Cativolcus,’ the second scout cut in, ‘has made it known that he is not willing to join any rising against Rome in the wake of what happened in the winter. He sits on his throne in the near-empty Eburones lands and trembles.’

  Caesar nodded. ‘Then he is no current threat.’

  ‘There have been rumblings among the Nervii and the Menapii recently,’ the tall scout said, pointing to those lands on the map. ‘There is no overt sign of a rising, but there is the very real possibility that Ambiorix’s anti-Roman venom has spread wide through their lands, and that might give us a hint as to his current location.’

  ‘And what of the Treveri?’ Caesar asked.

  ‘The Treveri are involved in their own private war against your legate Labienus, General,’ the third scout, a short and wiry man in a Roman-style tunic and native trousers replied in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘There is a rumour that they have suffered a sound defeat at the hands of the legion in their territory, but I am waiting for confirmation from my own people of that. As yet there is no record of Ambiorix treating with the Treveri, but given the latter’s current activity, if he has not yet been in contact with them, rest assured that he will be.’

  Caesar nodded.

  ‘You see, gentlemen? Unrest in the Belgic tribes and open warfare from the Treveri. And all linked by rumour to Ambiorix, despite there being no solid evidence as to his location or current activity. This supports my ongoing suspicion that Ambiorix is the man behind all the trouble we have faced these past few years. His tendrils snake among the Belgic peoples, inciting them against us while he flits around in the shadows like a ghost, hidden and untouchable.’

  Priscus’ fingers began to tap again.

  ‘Ambiorix is an agent of chaos,’ the general went on, ‘stirring up rebellion wherever his oily hide slithers. He has destroyed one of my legions and killed two of my most trusted and most senior officers, and he almost did the same for another legion and for Cicero, leaving me short many men and officers. He has clearly spent the last month rebuilding his web of power and influence since we stopped his advance. I will not, under any circumstances, allow him to repeat his treacherous successes into the spring.’

  ‘And what of these rumours of which you speak, of minor unrest coming in from other parts of Gaul?’ Priscus asked pointedly.

  ‘The rest of Gaul can wait. Minor unrest is trouble, of course, but when weighed against the danger posed by that madman Ambiorix? I think it is clear where our primary concern should lie. If small fires break out here and there, we will contain them as required. Our two new legions that should be here soon will give us ample manpower to deal with small unrest here and there while still concentrating a major force on Ambiorix.’

  ‘But what of this Esus?’

  ‘Your mythical rebel, Priscus?’ Caesar asked quietly. ‘If he exists, what makes you think that he is not Ambiorix himself?’

  ‘Gut feeling, General.’

  ‘I will not risk our entire presence in Gaul on your gut, Priscus. Ambiorix is my concern now. I have vowed his death to Rome - the senate and the people - and to Venus herself, and that vow I will not break. Ambiorix must…’

  The general’s voice trailed off as his eyes rose from Priscus to the rear of the room. The gathered officers turned and followed his gaze to see Fronto standing in the doorway. Priscus could swear Caesar was actually growling as he stepped back to his campaign table and folded his arms.

  ‘Marcus Falerius Fronto reporting, Caesar.’

  Priscus squinted. Fronto was silhouetted by the pale watery light from outside the door, and the gentle drizzle pattered down around and behind him. Something about the man was odd. As his eyes adjusted, Prisc
us sucked his teeth in surprise. Fronto had apparently been on a fitness regime. The trim, muscular figure standing in the doorway looked like the Fronto who had served under the searing sun of Hispania all those years ago, not the older, overweight officer he had been recently. The difference was quite startling.

  Caesar narrowed his eyes dangerously and Priscus realised that the general was fighting for control of his anger. When he did say something it would likely be highly acidic and might drive an ever-greater wedge between them. In a moment of fuddlement, he tried to think of something to say that would defuse the situation and calm the atmosphere without rubbing either man up the wrong way. The words would not come.

  ‘Fronto!’ announced a pleasant, warbling voice. ‘You took your time. Did you manage to get lost even with a Gaulish guide by your side?’

  Marcus Antonius stood and beckoned to Fronto, gesturing to a chair beside him. Caesar looked for a moment as though he might explode when the newly arrived officer, still in his travelling clothes, strode across to the proffered chair and bowed momentarily before sinking into it.

  ‘You smell like a dead bear,’ Antonius laughed. Noticing the silent form of Caesar, Antonius fixed his commander and old friend with a look that conveyed far more steel than Priscus had realised he was capable of, and then smiled easily. ‘Do go on, General.’

  Caesar stood silent for a long moment - trying to recall what he was saying, Priscus suspected.

  ‘If I might venture some new information for your consideration, General?’ Fronto said quietly and with a surprisingly calm and controlled voice. ‘I overheard the tail-end of your conversation. Seven days ago, my companions and I stopped off at Bibracte - I’m assuming everyone here is familiar with the place - and there are signs there of unrest or uncertainty. I wouldn’t necessarily put it down to the Aedui themselves, but it seems they were playing host to a bunch of warriors from the Arverni, with a nobleman of that tribe in command.’