‘What of the rest?’ Litavicus muttered.
‘Dispersed,’ his brother breathed. ‘Our brother back to the south, Viridomarus and his friends to Cabillono, Eporedirix back to Decetio. They will disappear for now. Caesar has Gergovia under siege, but there are still many ways in that are not watched by the legions.’
Litavicus nodded and smiled. ‘You have all done well, brother. Your injuries are most convincing. I will require you for only a moment, and then you can visit the healers and tend your wounds.’
The man sagged slightly, and Litavicus patted him on the shoulder, then straightened and stepped forward to address the assembled warriors.
‘See now to whom we have chained ourselves. Our bravest and most noble hurry to Caesar to tell him we come to his aid, and all they find is violence.’ He paused for effect. ‘For Caesar blames them for our tardiness and accuses them of treachery and consorting with the Arverni!’
Gently, he turned his brother to display his dishevelled appearance and bruised skin to the masses.
‘Where are the rest?’ called out a voice from the crowd. Litavicus gestured for his brother to speak up and the beaten young man cleared his throat with apparent pain. ‘Dead. All dead. Eporedirix. Viridomarus. Even our poor brother. Murdered and tortured by Caesar for some perceived treachery! Three of us escaped with our lives. Three alone of eight.’
‘What would you have us do?’ one of the warriors asked darkly. ‘Break our word? Renounce a vow given before the Gods and make war on Caesar?’ Cavarinos recognised him as one of the more noted pro-Roman nobles, and he held his breath. Much hinged on this exchange.
‘What has Caesar done?’ Litavicus replied, gesturing to his bruised kin, ‘if he has not just broken that bond for us. Caesar declares war on us for some false treachery. I have lost a brother!’ Cavarinos was impressed to see a tear leak from the young noble’s eye. He was nothing if not convincing. ‘A brother! And another beaten and sentenced to the same fate, yet protected by the gods to bring us news of this horror.’
A susurration issued around the crowd. Cavarinos could almost feel the hatred seething among the assembly, could almost sense the anger against Caesar tipping the scale. It was done in a masterly fashion. In a stroke of genius Litavicus had not only managed to turn the tide against Rome, but he had managed to turn himself into a hero and his brother into a martyr in doing it. So long as the supposed victims of Caesar remained hidden away, all would prove well.
‘We should return to Bibracte!’ someone shouted. ‘Abandon Caesar.’
‘No,’ Litavicus said, in a quiet, snake-hiss of a voice, unfolding to his full height. Cavarinos had not realised the man was hunched until he suddenly seemed to grow. The man was a born actor.
‘No,’ the young noble said again, slightly louder. ‘This slight was not levelled at my brothers alone. Nor even at the men of Bibracte. It is a slight made against all of the Aedui. Caesar has in one cowardly, craven and paranoid move, tarred the Aedui as traitors. What now? Should we sit at home and wait for him to finish with the Arverni and then turn his anger on us? Let him beat and torture the rest of us?’
He took a single step forward, his hand coming down to rest on the hilt of his sword. ‘No. Caesar has decided that we are with the Arverni. Let us turn this falsehood into a cause. Let us ride for Gergovia and revenge ourselves upon the Romans who beat our brothers!’
The crowd held its silence for a moment, until a lone voice suddenly called out ‘Gergovia!’
As Cavarinos and Litavicus watched, the word was taken up as a chant by half a dozen voices, which then spread until it became a rhythmic roar across the hillside.
‘And what of them?’ demanded the man who had initially resisted, gesturing across the hill, the chant dying away as the crowd turned their attention to this new conversation.. Cavarinos followed the man’s gaze to the Roman supply wagons on the crest, their civilian crews sitting nervous atop the benches, the meagre guard of legionaries with hands on weapon hilts, preparing for trouble.
‘Caesar tortures and kills our nobles…’ Litavicus snarled. ‘Let us return the favour!’
With a roar, the more rabid of the incensed warriors ran for the carts, weapons raised. The legionaries prepared desperately to sell their lives dearly, for they were clearly doomed, and everyone knew it. Cavarinos lost sight of the terrified Romans amid the rush of the raging Aedui surrounding them. With a shake of his head, he stepped close to Litavicus.
‘This is not the way,’ he whispered. ‘They are mostly merchants and farmers, even if they are Roman ones. They do not deserve death, let alone torture. We’re warriors, not murderers.’
‘The army has its blood up,’ Litavicus replied equally quietly. ‘They will kill them anyway. Let them sate themselves in Roman blood. Every cut they deliver makes them more mine.’
Cavarinos stood with his cold glare locked on the man. ‘I fight to free our lands from mindless and hateful death under oppressive rulers, not merely to change who those rulers are.’
‘And I fight to kill Romans. If you have not the stomach for this, Cavarinos of the Arverni, then you are no use to me.’
Litavicus stomped off towards the agonised screams of Roman civilians, and Cavarinos closed his eyes. Did the rebels deserve to win, if this was how they were to act? What was he doing fighting this war for men like that? Shortly, he would ride for Gergovia with them, and they would join Vercingetorix. But there would be no more such unjust, cruel and unnecessary acts, or he would have to take action himself.
Grinding his teeth at the stupidity of their allies, he patted the curse tablet in its pouch at his belt and strode back to his horse.
* * * * *
Caesar scratched his chin.
‘Then it’s dealt with?’
‘As best I could without pulling both men out of the fight. They are too experienced and strong - and even popular - to risk keeping out of battle. They’re now serving as centurions in the Eighth. There they can work to make up for what they’ve done and still be useful to us.’
‘They killed another soldier, Fronto. That’s a serious offence, not cause for a mere transfer.’
Fronto sighed and folded his arms. ‘Respectfully, Caesar, we both know that things like this happen from time to time. It was unfortunate, and Furius was clearly at fault, but you know it was not an intentional killing. I know the pair of them. They will fight all the harder to recover their reputation.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Caesar replied, rising with a creased brow and crossing to his tent’s door. Leaning forward, he pulled open the flap and gestured to the praetorian soldier outside. ‘What is all the noise? I am attempting to hold a meeting in here.’
The trooper saluted. ‘There’s a man here demanding to see you, Caesar. A Gaul. Says he has important news for you. I was about to knock.’
Caesar looked past the man to see a travel-worn and tired Gaul, dressed in rich, if dirty, clothing and with the gold and bronze accoutrements of a noble, his grey hair and moustaches matted but braided well.
‘I know you,’ he said.
‘Eporedirix, Caesar,’ the man replied quietly. ‘Of the Aedui. Formerly your factor in Bibracte and erstwhile magistrate of Decetio.’
‘The Aedui,’ Caesar breathed a relieved breath. ‘It’s about time. Come in, then, man.’
The Gaul followed Caesar in and Fronto turned in his chair to look the man up and down. ‘You ran into some trouble, I assume?’
Caesar returned to his desk. ‘I trust you bring news of my supplies and reserves?’
‘I do, Caesar, though the news is not good.’
Fronto felt his heart sink.
‘Go on,’ Caesar said quietly.
‘Treacherous men among the Aedui rise up against you, Caesar. Litavicus and Convictolitanis among others. Even now, Litavicus takes seven thousand horsemen to the Arverni’s aid, along with your latest supply wagons now in his possession. The Aedui are breaking their bond with you Caesar, and ev
en those of us who maintain our vows and trust to you and to Rome are at risk from this rising vocal minority. If they are not checked, they will turn the whole tribe against you.’
Caesar took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing.
‘Where are these seven thousand men now?’
‘Less than thirty miles from here, on the road to Bibracte.’
Caesar turned a questioning look on Fronto.
‘If they can be stopped, then they should,’ the legate replied. ‘To prevent the extra manpower for the enemy, and also to recover the much-needed supplies.
The general nodded. ‘You and Fabius maintain the siege from the two camps. I’ll take the rest across the new bridge and intercept this rebel Aedui army. They need to be reminded of their vows.’
‘And their leaders?’ Eporedirix asked.
‘This Litavicus will pay for his treachery. Convictolitanis and the rest will have to wait for now. Be assured, though, that I will free your people from these traitors and return them to Rome’s side.’ He turned back to Fronto. ‘Can you hold for a day or two without us?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
Chapter 13
Twenty miles from Gergovia
‘There is to be no killing unless I specifically order it,’ Caesar said, his voice jarred by the gait of his horse. The four legions were perhaps an hour behind, making an impressive pace unencumbered as they were, but once the scouts had announced a sighting of the Aedui cavalry force, Caesar had ridden forth with his own horse which, bolstered beyond the pitiful regular cavalry units by huge swathes of native levies, would at least slightly outnumber the enemy.
Varus nodded his understanding and agreement, casting up a private prayer to Minerva - she who embodied both war and wisdom, that the German unit, who he had deliberately positioned towards the rear, not take it upon themselves to start killing random Gauls.
‘We’re at your command, Caesar.’
With a wave of his hand, the three wings of cavalry began to move, the standard bearers waving their burdens to direct the columns. The first wing, under the young but talented Volcatius Tullus, remained at the valley centre with the commanders and the praetorian guard, splitting into two distinct streams to skirt the large pool that had collected where the valleys met, and then seamlessly forming up again at the western side. The second wing under Silanus moved off along the southern-most of the pigeon-foot-shaped conjunction, riding hard to block off a potential path of retreat towards Bibracte. The final third wing under trusted Quadratus - a man who had proved himself time and again, rode off to the north to barricade the other viable route to Gergovia.
The main force slowed their pace fractionally to allow the other wings to move into position and then, at a signal from Varus, began to move up the valley side, along a wide trail that displayed the ruts caused by years of passing wagon traffic, where the scout who had spotted the enemy sat, just below the crest.
As the commanders and the van of the first wing of cavalry neared the crest, the scout fell in alongside, gesturing with an arm to show where the enemy now were. Without waiting further, Caesar rode over the crest and onto the hillside, Ingenuus, Varus and Volcatius immediately behind him and hundred upon hundred of horsemen in their wake.
The Aedui were an impressive sight. They looked more like an army than Varus had expected. Though he had ridden alongside native cavalry for years, they had been levies fighting with Rome. Those he had encountered who opposed them had almost always been disorganised - a gathering of individual horsemen rather than a unit. This force exhibited the signs of a well-trained army, not a warband.
The foremost Aedui reined in, the army coming to a halt behind them, perhaps confused by the sudden appearance of their enemy with apparently very few men. Then, as more and more cavalry poured over the crest and took positions behind and beside Caesar and his officers, the enemy began to look slightly less smug and certain. By the time someone among the Aedui had registered the approach of Silanus’ wing from their rear-left and of Quadratus to their rear-right, they knew they were hemmed in and it hit them that Caesar was anything but alone.
The general rode forth - closer than Varus approved of - and the senior cavalry officer joined him, as did Ingenuus and half a dozen praetorian riders. At a distance of perhaps thirty paces from the nobles at the head of the force, the general reined in and sat for a long moment, weighing them up.
‘Litavicus of the Aedui is hereby ordered, on the authority of Rome and its proconsul - namely myself - to step forth and answer a charge of treason and usurpation. Will you straighten your spine, betrayer, and answer for your actions, or must you cower cravenly among those you have misled?’
A murmur of angry resistance rose from the enemy mass, and a young nobleman rode out to the front of the force, his head high and proud.
* * * * *
Cavarinos watched, his heart in his mouth. It was almost impossible to believe. Once again, they had achieved their goal smoothly and with minimum fuss, albeit with unpleasant civilian bloodshed, and once again, Caesar had come, seemingly from nowhere, to swipe their victory out from under them. How in the name of all that was reasonable had the Romans learned of this so quickly?
And yet Litavicus still looked smug and proud.
Could he pull this off? He was a consummate actor, for sure, but for Caesar to be here already, the man had to have at least some idea of what had happened, and even the most unobservant enemy would wonder about the wagon train with no Roman personnel around it
The young Aedui noble cleared his throat.
‘Proconsul. It is most gratifying that you ride out personally to meet us, though entirely unnecessary, I can assure you. We are quite capable of finding our way to your camp and we are in no danger on the journey.’
The Roman general kept his face stony, and in the single moment that Cavarinos looked into the man’s eyes, he realised several things. Firstly that Litavicus was doomed and the Aedui here would not be joining the rebel army. Secondly, that the general was everything that was said of him and more. He was easily a match for Vercingetorix who, to this point, had been the most astute commander Cavarinos had ever met. And thirdly - most important of all - that whatever they did, there was almost no chance that the rebels would win this war and free the tribes from Roman control. Even if they crushed the legions utterly, this man would not give in. He would be back the next year with ten more legions. Or twenty. Or a hundred.
In that moment of realisation, even before Caesar had begun his reply, Cavarinos was edging his horse out to the edge of the crowd, where he had a good line of sight to the gully they had just passed and which led north, towards Decetio.
‘You deny your treachery, Litavicus of the Aedui?’ Caesar said quietly.
The young noble looked around at his warriors, clearly weighing up the chances if the two forces came to blows. They were more or less evenly-pitted.
‘You are known to have tortured and murdered our ambassadors, proconsul of Rome. If anyone on this hillside should be accused of treachery, it is the mighty Caesar.’
The general’s mouth turned up at the corner as he watched the gathered horsemen nod.
‘While you weigh up your chances of success, Aeduan, be aware that although your cavalry might be the match of my own, four legions move upon you less than an hour from here, spread out and blocking your route to the rebel leader. You will never reach Gergovia.’ The general looked back over his shoulder and nodded.
Cavarinos, who had neared the edge of the mass of warriors, noticed for a moment that somehow Litavicus’ personal force of guards had gathered here, close to both the edge and the front where the leader conversed with the Roman. The Arvernian watched the Roman column and felt his heart sink as two figures rode forth from the mass. Eporedirix and Viridomarus. Two men trusted by the rebels and who had been intimately involved in their influence over the Aedui. They had not gone into hiding after all, but had instead run to Caesar to keep h
im informed.
His mind running through all possible avenues of escape, he barely listened as the gathered Aedui began to shout their anger and disgust of Litavicus, who had so clearly duped them into betraying an oath they had long held sacred. The fury at Litavicus changed fluidly, barely-perceptible, to pleas for mercy and understanding aimed at the general.
The mass began to fragment, the more notable of the Aedui renewing their oath to Rome and stepping their horses out from the crowd to submit to Caesar’s judgement. The army was now a lost cause… by the end of this day, everyone on this hillside would either be dead or serving the proconsul. As the Aedui appealed in a clamour, Litavicus nimbly stepped his horse backwards into the tumult, disappearing from direct sight into the press.
Fortunately, while the Aedui were strangers here and relied upon the main trade and droving roads, and the Romans forged their own way in the most direct line, regardless of terrain, Cavarinos was a child of the Arverni, born to these lands and intimate in his knowledge of them. There were a dozen ways or more with which he could reach Gergovia without the Romans finding him. So long as he could get away from the mass of men, he would survive. That, of course, would be the hard part. Cavarinos found he had his hand resting on the pouch at his belt. The curse! How would the war change if Caesar were to die here on this hillside? Everything he had just realised about the inevitability of defeat might be overturned.
His logical mind came down heavily upon these hopes, reminding him that all that he bore in the pouch was a slate tablet etched with spidery text by some mad druid. It may appear sacred and magical to the credulous, but he was absolutely certain that if he used it here and now, nothing would happen… except that the tablet would then be gone. And somehow he felt that the ‘curse’ had a part to play yet.
Still his fingers were beginning to undo the straps on the pouch.
The Great Revolt Page 29
