Marius' Mules VII: The Great Revolt (76 page)

Cavarinos frowned. The king sounded as though he were about to admit defeat.
Cavarinos
knew they were beaten, of course, and that there was no fight left in the tribes, and the king had said as much before that disastrous battle, but he had never truly believed that Vercingetorix would stop just because there did not seem to be a way out. As long as the reserves on the hill kept the Romans bottled up in their camps, the king that Cavarinos knew would not admit defeat. One of the younger warriors in the square seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion, for he braved the crowd.

‘Next time fortune will favour us, and the gods will watch over us’ the young man shouted into the abyss of silence.

But Vercingetorix was shaking his head.

‘While you, my brave and faithful, lay abed recovering from your wounds and exertions, preparing to take the fight to the Romans once again despite our weakness and hunger, I stood on the western gate this morning and watched the relief force depart.’

A collective, disbelieving groan rippled through the fanum, and an air of hopelessness and despair flooded in, melding with the silence. A lone crow cawed somewhere nearby - one of the few who was not busy down at the battlefield, feasting. The Arvernian king nodded.

‘It is true. Our brothers have abandoned the war. Even after our defeat, last night we outnumbered the Romans by almost two men to one. This morning, we are but a third of their number, and we starve to death with every passing hour.’

‘There must be a way…’ an older warrior with a bandaged arm shouted out.

‘No.’ The king shook his head. ‘This battle is lost and with the withdrawal of the reserves, so is the war. We have reached the end, my friends. All that remains now is to decide how we greet our fate.’

The groan rippled around the square again, and Vercingetorix straightened.

‘Even though Caesar and his wicked politicians are men of cruelty and power, there are honourable souls among the Romans. Perhaps there are ways in which we can reduce the plight of our people.’ The king gestured to the space beside him. ‘My commanders are gone. The chiefs and kings of your tribes. All dead on that field below us. I alone remain as a figure of the will that has brought us to this precipice. I alone stand to atone for our actions that have ruined you, our people.’

This time the groan was disbelieving and refuting. They would not hear such words, clearly.

‘It is true. I alone remain. And I submit to you, the people of the tribes. There is no future to be made in a desperate charge to oblivion on their sharpened stakes and spears. You must bend your knee to Rome and speak their oaths and hope that the honourable men among the serried Roman ranks accept your obeisance in faith.’

Again a negative murmur, but again, Vercingetorix shook his head.

‘I offer myself to Rome in penance for what has happened. I will offer myself to Caesar, to be bound a slave or butchered as a beast at his whim. For in my sacrifice, I may be able to fulfil the general’s lust for blood and divert his fury from you.’

The groan rose once more, but the king was adamant.

‘I have failed you as a leader. I will not fail you as a sacrifice.’

Cavarinos shook his own head now and realised that he had stood unexpectedly.

‘You are not the only chieftain who failed the people, my king.’

Vercingetorix focused on Cavarinos with a frown, and the Arvernian noble saw the dawn of recognition on the king’s face.

‘Who are you?’

The nobleman’s brow furrowed. ‘I am your servant - Cavarinos of the Arverni, chieftain of Nemossos.’

But Vercingetorix was shaking his head, a sharp look directed at him, which dropped to the leather pouch at his belt for a fraction of a moment. ‘I saw Cavarinos of Nemossos fall at the walls. Whoever you are, you’re mistaken and addled.’

Cavarinos opened his mouth to argue, but the look in the king’s eyes was enough to silence him. Vercingetorix was making more than one sacrifice today. The king was unaware that the curse of Ogmios had been used - perhaps he was saving Cavarinos to preserve the curse, and with it a hope for a Gallic future. A vain hope, for the tablet wrapped snugly in the pouch lay in two useless pieces.

‘We must send a deputation to the Romans,’ the king went on, addressing the crowd, ‘baring the shoulder in a sign of peace. Our deputation will offer my life or death as they see fit and demand of Caesar his terms.’ The king fixed Cavarinos with a stare. ‘You, who so wishes to sacrifice yourself alongside me. Will you lead the ambassadors?’

Cavarinos could feel the many layers of depth in the request. It was a task the king would only ask of a man he trusted. It was a way of perhaps securing Cavarinos’ path to freedom as an ambassador or maybe hostage. Was it because the king already knew that Cavarinos had spoken to sympathetic Romans? Or did he expect Cavarinos to have a chance to use his spent curse on the general. He felt sick.

‘If it is your wish, my king,’ Cavarinos sighed unhappily.

He had been there at the beginning, and now it appeared he would be there at the end.

* * * * *

Fronto stood with the other officers as Caesar leaned over the table in the glorious sunlight before his tent. The general was business-like as usual, and despite the common belief that the battle was truly over, the legions had been moved into garrison positions once more, repairing and replacing damaged and broken defences. But the sight this morning of the vast relief army on the hill beyond the plain departing had sent a collective sigh of relief up all across the army.

‘How long do we have?’

The messenger that had interrupted the briefing swallowed nervously. ‘They are just crossing the Osana, general. They will be here in perhaps a quarter of an hour. They are all on horseback.’

The general nodded. ‘When they reach the gates have them wait there if I have not arrived.’

He turned back to the staff as the messenger ran off again.

‘Tell me of the Gallic reserves,’ he asked, gesturing to Varus. The cavalry commander smiled wearily. ‘My scouts say the army split apart into more than a dozen tribes on the far side of the hill and went their separate ways, scattering across the land.’

‘Then we stand little chance of rounding them up,’ Caninius noted.

Caesar brushed the idea aside. ‘They are of little consequence now. Within days they will be nondescript farmers and craftsmen in their own villages. The heart and soul of this rebellion is trapped in Alesia. So long as the reserve have scattered I am content to let them be. Had they remained unified, we might have been forced to deal with them. But…’

He turned to Antonius.

‘What of noble captives?’

‘Twenty three tribal leaders have been identified among the prisoners, including the Arverni king’s cousin, and numerous more among the dead. We’ve taken a total of seventy-four enemy standards, which has to be some kind of record. Better make a big noise about that when you inform the senate of what happened.’

Caesar nodded absently.

‘Make sure the enemy dead are howed up the same as ours and that their nobles are given appropriate honours in the same manner as our deceased officers. We have obliterated Gaul, but let us not anger their Gods any further while we still walk their soil.’ He breathed in deep lungfuls of fresh air. ‘It has been a costly siege, gentlemen. Let us pray to all our patron deities that it is the last such cost we shall be called upon to pay in Gaul.’

‘We’ll find that out soon enough,’ Antonius noted quietly, and Caesar seemed to shake off the cloak of weariness that had covered him this morning.

‘Absolutely. Let us meet the wretched crows from Alesia and see what they have to say.’

The general took a meticulous moment to tidy away his tablets and lists on the table, leaving them guarded by half a dozen of Ingenuus’ praetorians, and then strode away down the slope of the camp atop the
Gods’ Gate
hill, the officers at his heel and another dozen Praetorians all around.

The north gate of Caesar’s camp gave an impressive and unrestricted view of the oppidum across the Osana valley. Today, for the first time since the Roman ramparts had gone up, not a single column of smoke arose from the roofs of Alesia. A party of perhaps a dozen men rode towards the north gate. They didn’t look particularly powerful or wealthy to Fronto. They looked like peasants.

‘I am here to speak to Gaius Julius Caesar, Proconsul of Gaul and Illyricum, on behalf of Vercingetorix, king of the Arverni.’

Fronto frowned at the familiar tone and it took a moment for him to recognise Cavarinos. The man was not adorned with the usual noble accoutrements - just a serpent arm-ring. And he’d shaved off his beard. Much better. Made him look like the civilized man Fronto knew him to be.

Caesar stepped to the parapet above the gate and looked down at the band of mounted peasants below. ‘Are things so bad in the camp of my enemy that he must send the lowest of his men to treat with me?’

Fronto saw Cavarinos struggle for a moment, clenching his teeth. The Arvernian noble’s eyes met Fronto’s almost challengingly, and then he straightened. ‘The lion’s share of our noble blood lies on the plains and at Mons Rea with Roman spears in its chest. The king would hear your terms for his surrender. He hopes that the Romans, who consider themselves noble, and to be the pinnacle of civilization, will agree to terms that will allow for mercy and leniency among the common people of Gaul, who wish for nothing more than to return to their farms and repair the damage this year has done to their livelihoods. Vercingetorix entreats you to exact your vengeance upon he alone and to grant clemency to the former army of the Gaulish tribes.’

Fronto noted the looks of confusion on the other rebels’ faces at the phrases
Gaul
and
Gaulish
. None of them thought in such terms. It was a mark of how far ahead Cavarinos’ mind was working. The man was couching the terms in language that would suit the Romans. He turned to Caesar.

‘General, if this is to be the last battle for Gaul, it might be time to start building bridges rather than burning them down.’ The general gave him a sharp look, but he shrugged. ‘Next year, if the land is to become a settled province, then we need the economy to move back onto track. What happens here will carry a message to the whole of Gaul, whatever you decide. It could be a message of oppression and control, or it could be one of encouragement and collaboration.’

Still the general stared at Fronto, and the spell was only broken by Antonius, who leaned close to the general and murmured something quietly that Fronto couldn’t catch but soon had the general giving a curt nod. Caesar leaned forth over the parapet once more.

‘Here are my terms. Any leaders of the tribes that revolted who are not already in our custody will personally deliver Vercingetorix to this camp at noon. They will all take a new oath of allegiance to Rome, though the enemy commander will not be required to do so and will remain my prisoner indefinitely. We have in captivity a number of your warriors, both here, back in Agedincum and Noviodunum, and already at Massilia. I cannot recall the precise number, though it is a high one. Those men were taken in battle and will return to Rome as slaves. I will require that number of captives to be supplemented from the population of the oppidum such that every man in my army who survives this siege will take home the profit of one slave sale. That is, to be clear, each Roman - and each Gallic auxiliary who has served me loyally - will take one slave apiece. Precise numbers will be confirmed by my officers before noon and a messenger sent to you with the details.’

Fronto clenched his teeth. Hardly what he’d been pushing for.

Caesar seemed to note the resentment emanating from his legate and cast a quick sharp glance at Fronto before addressing the enemy again. ‘This is the clemency of Caesar. I had privately vowed that none who fought from that oppidum would live as a free man for their part in the rebellion, so consider this a boon. I will not allow my men to return home empty-handed after all their blood and sacrifice, and so your people will supply the captives required. However, above and beyond that number, the rest of the population atop the hill are free to return to their villages and to till their fields and raise their children safe in the knowledge that Rome will protect them from any further danger.’

He paused. ‘Am I understood?’

Fronto cleared his throat, but Cavarinos flashed him a look and answered quickly. ‘Your terms are acceptable, Caesar. We shall return at noon.’

Antonius leaned close to Caesar again and another brief confab occurred, following which the general cleared his throat again. ‘Furthermore, my terms are to be applied to all tribes barring the Aedui and the Arverni, who will not supply further captives.’

Cavarinos and Fronto both looked across at the general with uncomprehending frowns and Caesar smiled.

‘The Aedui have been tricked into a betrayal that was not in their nature, and they shall not suffer as do the other tribes who willingly placed their trust in the rebel king. The Aedui were long friends of Rome and I hope they will be able to step into that role once more. And the Arverni, we feel, have been unjustly led into a rebellion that would have appalled previous generations, for a handful of years ago that tribe executed one of their own for attempting just such despotism. That they followed Vercingetorix to this war suggests to us that the rebel king and his druid accomplices were duplicitous and conniving and betrayed their own people far more than any such betrayal to us.’

Fronto stared. The
Arverni
? But they had been at the very
heart
of the rebellion from the beginning…

‘Go now, with my terms, and return at noon as I commanded if you find them acceptable, which I strongly recommend.’

Fronto was still boggling as Cavarinos nodded and turned with his companions, riding back towards the oppidum across the valley. As soon as they were out of missile range, the general and his officers departed from the wall, each heading to their own tasks, many following Caesar back to the command tent. Antonius slowed to fall in at the rear, producing his flask from his belt. With the frown still riveted to his face, Fronto dropped in beside him.