Druids (52 page)

And that of the grove.

The Romans threw up siege hooks to gain purchase on the timber walls of Avancum; the defenders atop the walls caught hold of the hooks with nooses and hauled them inside by means of windlasses. The Romans built siege towers to allow their spear-men and archers to shoot over the walls, but the Gauls erected their own structures inside the fort, matching the Romans tower for tower so they could gain no advantage. Meanwhile, the attackers were constantly assaulted by spear and stone and boiling pitch—as well as by brutal weather.

Instead of singing the song for the sun, each morning I sang tile song for the rain and sacrificed red cockerels.

At a great cost in lives, the Romans finally succeeded in constructing a huge siege terrace that almost touched the walls. Their plan was to send wave upon wave of warriors up this ramp, protected by a ‘ ‘turtle’s back” device of interlocked shields held over their heads. But the Gauls included among their number miners from the iron mines in the region. They understood tunneling. They opened a tunnel beneath the siege terrace and then set fire to it, causing the whole thing to collapse. As the Romans were trying to extinguish the fire, the Bituriges poured from the gates of Avaricum to attack them, joined by the forces Vercingetorix had sent.

At first it seemed we must win. Caesar himself, as was his practice, had been supervising the work parties, and some of the tribal warriors set themselves the task of personally catching and killing him. But he managed to elude them—and to call up reserves from the Roman camp.

A terrible battle was waged around me walls of Avaricum.

The Romans moved a large siege tower up to me main gates of Avaricum, and used it to hurl down a deadly barrage that kept many of the defenders penned inside. One of our own men—a Parisian, we later learned—placed himself in front of the gates and flung a torch at the base of the tower. Then he stood calmly throwing lumps of tallow and pitch to feed the flames. When an arrow from a Roman catapult killed him, another Gaul stepped

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over his body and took his place. When he died, another. And then another. They died free men. But they continued the doomed defense of their position until the Romans succeeded in putting out the fire on the siege terrace and pushed the Gauls back at every point.

The ashes of defeat were bitter and cold.

“Send a message to the defenders inside Avaricum to bum the stronghold and come to us,” I urged Rix. “Deny Caesar their stores, at least.”

“I’ll deny him victory,” Rix grated, refusing to listen to me.

In the night some of the Bituriges did try to escape, but there was a panic and they were captured. The next morning Caesar renewed his assault on the stronghold. Using every art and skill I possessed, I invoked a rainstorm of massive proportions. Even that was not enough to deter Caesar. The approaches to Avaricum were drowned in a sea of mud, but wherever there was a way through, he stationed troops to block our attack force from com-ing to the rescue. Then with one mighty, concerted, and very well-organized effort, he overcame the last defenses of the fort, entered, and massacred the inhabitants.

Women and children were indiscriminately slaughtered along with the men. To his credit, when Ollovico took a final stand it was on the side of the Gauls. He died a courageous death on the point of a Roman thrusting sword, but he died a free man.

Of the forty thousand Bituriges who had sought shelter within the walls of Avaricum, only eight hundred escaped to Vercingetorix.

“Those deaths were unnecessary,” I told Rix bitterly. “We lost because the sacrifice that would have saved us was incomplete. You should have had Avaricum burned before Caesar arrived. Ollovico would have done it, you could have forced him.”

The next day Rix called a council of war. “Do not be disheartened by this setback,” he urged. “People who expect everything to go their way in a war are mistaken. The Romans did not win through valor, but because they have more skills in siegecraft than we do. If Avaricum had been burned as I originally urged, this never would have happened, but we will cast no blame now; we will go on to victory instead. Our greater success will wipe out this stain!”

They cheered him; they clashed their weapons.

The eight hundred refugees from Avaricum huddled together, eating our food and trying to forget the nightmare.

Cotuatus lold me, “Some of the princes thought Vercingetorix

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would be afraid to show his face after a defeat. His courage has impressed them. They think more of him than ever.”

“It’s generous of you to say so.”

Cotuatus smiled without humor. “We’re generous people.”

Preparing for any eventuality, Vercingetorix ordered his troops to set about seriously fortifying their camp with walls, earthworks, log buildings—the strength and solidity the Romans brought to their own camps.

Unlike the Romans, however, our warriors were not laborers. They had not been trained to dig ditches and build walls, and the suggestion shocked them. But there was no one else to do it, so, driven by the sting of defeat, they undertook the work with more good humor than one would have expected.

Our scouts watched Caesar in his own camp and brought frequent reports to Rix. Winter was over; Caesar would not remain where he was for very long. But we had suffered sizable losses and Rix was reluctant to engage him in another battle until we were back up to strength. For that reason he was greatly heartened by the arrival of a large number of cavalry led by Teutomatus, king of the Nitiobnges, husband to a daughter of the late Ollovico.

Teutomatus had even recruited additional troops among the tribes ofAquitania, and was eager to avenge the death of his wife’s father.

Another arrival cheered me. The Goban Saor rode into our camp as if trained to the horse, followed by a driver with a wagon

covered in leather.

I ran to meet him. “I greet you as a free man. How are you?”

“How is everyone, you mean. They’re all well at the Fort of the Grove, Ainvar, and the vines are growing again.”

I hugged him.

“Briga and Lakutu send you special greetings,” he went on.

“Is there any news of … ?”

“No, Ainvar, I’m sorry. We’ve learned nothing about your daughter, and no one’s seen Crom Daral.”

It is as it is, then, I thought. “Did you bring it as I asked?”

He followed my gaze to the wagon. “Ah yes, it’s in there. Though what you mean to do with it I can’t imagine. Briga was upset; she said she could have come in that wagon instead.”

“She would. I trust you didn’t let her.” I peered hard at the leather covenng, watching for moving bulges.

“I prevented it with the greatest difficulty. That’s a stubborn woman you married.”

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“If she wanted to come with you, I take that to mean she’s forgiven me,” I said hopefully.

TheGoban Saor considered. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Several warriors had sauntered past us to get a good look at the Goban Saor, whose size was impressive, and to cast curious glances at the covered wagon. I appointed one of the Camutians to stand guard over it at all times and let no one see the contents. Then I took the craftsman to my tent.

That night we ate with Rix and discussed the techniques of siege. The Goban Saor made several ingenious suggestions. Rix told him, “If we’d had you with us at Gorgobina, we could have taken the fort quickly and intercepted Caesar before he did so much damage. Will you stay with us from now on?”

The Goban Saor’s blue eyes met mine. “That is my intention,” he said.

Enriched with the supplies and plunder of Avaricum, Caesar now had nine legions within half a day’s march of our army. From their actions Rix deduced they would either attempt to lure us out of the marshes or blockade and attack us where we were. The Goban Saor built a number of clever traps for unwary invaders around the perimeter of our encampment, but it was increasingly obvious we were in a dangerous position.

Then, from a messenger we intercepted on his way to Caesar, we learned that dissension had once more erupted in the land of

the Aedui. Following Diviciacus, a succession of men had been elected for annual terms as chief magistrate of the tribe. Current contenders for the office were two ambitious princes, each of whom had been educated by the druids, and each of whom had a large partisan following. The argument between the two sides was becoming violent. It was predicted that whoever lost would throw his entire support behind the Gaulish confederacy out of spite, thus dividing Caesar’s Aeduan alliance. The elders of the tribe urgently requested Caesar’s presence to resolve the issue and appoint one man as sole magistrate while appeasing the odier.

Seeing an advantage in this for us, I advised Rix, “Let the messenger go on to Caesar with this news.” The Roman reacted with alacrity. He prepared to go to the Aeduans by dividing his forces, sending four legions and part of his cavalry to the territories of the Senones and the Parish in hopes of luring the warriors of those tribes away from Rix to defend their homelands. The rest of his legions he left in camp awaiting his return. Then he set off.

Rix refused to let the ruse divide the army of free Gaul. The

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Senones and Parisii argued vehemently, clamoring to go home, but he stood firm.

Through sheer force of personality, Vercingetorix held his army together. Deep in his spirit, however, the recent setbacks had shaken him more than he would let anyone know.

I read his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

He arranged for the refugees from Avaricum to be fed and clothed. Nantua the chief druid was among them; Hanesa and I took him into our own tent, which made it crowded but warmer, so a balance was struck.

After the losses suffered at Avaricum, Rix was anxious to bring his forces back to mil strength and to expand them. I suggested, “Nantua and I between us have friends in the Order of the Wise in every tribe in Gaul. Let us use our persuasion to win those who have resisted you until now. After Avaricum it will become obvious where their self-interest lies. They just need gifted tongues to bring them to you, weapons in hand.”

‘ ‘How many men have your druids brought to me already, Ain-var?” Rix asked shrewdly.

I gave a modest answer. “We have done what we could.”

His reply was typical of him: “Do more.”

Being careful to attract no attention from Roman patrols, Nan-tua and I quietly left the Gaulish camp. He was going to visit fellow druids in the southern territory, while I rode north to use my druid network to enlist the last stragglers.

I rode north to see with my own eyes that the grove still stood, that Briga and Lakutu were still safe.

I took only six warriors with me as bodyguard, and I suspect Rix begrudged me even those.

We traveled through land brimming with incipient spring. I wished there were time to dismount from my horse and walk so I could feel the earth hum. A cold high wind blew, but the sky at last was cloudless, the days crystalline. We were two moons from Beltaine.

My intention had been to marry Lakutu at Beltaine.

Where would the season find me?

In the swiri and stink of war, the earth is ravaged. She is scarred by galloping hooves and wagon wheels and tramping feet and leaping fires. Campaigning with Vercingetorix, I had for a time forgotten the beauty of a land at peace, but as I rode toward home I saw it and remembered. Skirting the swath cut by Caesar’s army on its way from Cenabum to Avaricum, 1 rode through quiet meadows where the first brave blossoms of spring were beginning

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to peep through the awakening grass. I passed a hazel coppice, one seventh of its wood harvested every year for basketry and thatching and fish traps and bean poles, and saluted the trees as receptacles of knowledge. At a stand of alders, I paused to reverence the water spirits that protect alder trees. Everywhere I saw those things that tied me to the land, to Gaul.

To free Gaul. My land. Our land.

A painful lump rose in my throat.

Invaders have no right to this place. It is ours by love; they shall not take h by conquest.

That was my vow as I rode for home.

My head was filled with images. My land, my grove, my home, my hearth. Mine. My place.

I hated Caesar. Inside myself I discovered a cold and bitter hatred I had not known was there, a hatred intensified by my grudging admiration for the genius of the man. Caesar meant to enslave us, even to exterminate us, but worst of all was his desire to claim our land, the soil that nourished us and held the bones of our ancestors, the earth to which our bodies would be returned when our spirits were freed.

Earth, link between Man and Otherworid. Earth, whose every tree and bush and blade of grass and river and mountain and flower-starred meadow showed us another face of the Source. Our earth. Our Gaul. Beautiful Gaul.

I rode in a haze of love and pain. Something essential within us would be forever changed if the foreigners captured Gaul.

Then the sacred, grove-crowned ridge rose in the distance like a promise that nothing would ever change. I rode toward it with

tears in my eyes.

Even before I went to the fort, I went to the trees. Leaving my bodyguard waiting, I walked alone among the oaks. Being.

We are, they reassured me. The Source is.

Relieved and comforted, I rode down to my people.

My two women met me at the gates of the fort, each with a child. For a moment my heart twisted before I realized the little one in Lakutu’s arms was her own son, Glas, and the much older boy with Briga was the smallholder’s son who had once been blind.

“I greet you as a free person,” my wife said to me as I slid down from my horse. Then, more softly, “I am glad to see you, Ainvar.”

“Glad!” echoed Lakutu happily.

Before we could say anything else to each other, my people

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crowded around me, begging for news of the war. Almost everyone had relatives at Cenabum, and demands for information came at me from every side: “How many did Caesar take as slaves?” “Where have they gone?” “Who was killed?” “Is Oncus the Beautiful still alive, do you know?” “Is Becuma?” “Is Nantos-velta?” “Or… ?”