In the end, they had proved unequal to the task. That fool had managed to lose a battle against one single legion, a battle he should have won with little difficulty. And his nephew had risen to seek revenge for him and managed to fail yet again. This Labienus was beginning to become as troublesome as Caesar himself.
Allies were hard to find in these days, and Caesar was removing them as fast as Ambiorix could secure them. Damn the druids and their pet Arvernian chief. Vercingetorix counselled caution and delay and because he had the druids tucked in his purse, most of Gaul and the Belgae would not even speak to Ambiorix, busying themselves with preparations for Vercingetorix’s grand scheme. A few druids had flocked to his cause, bringing with them small tribes and a few dissenters, but he was on the edge and increasingly abandoned by the people, while that grinning Arverni lunatic secured a huge army that milled around deep in Gaul doing nothing.
Could they not see that in preparing for a war in months to come they were missing the opportunity of winning one now?
Ambiorix ground his yellowed teeth and took a deep breath. The knowledge that the Treveri were even now swearing a new oath to Rome and that Caesar was marching south to recombine his army did little to calm his mood, but he must appear calm now. In control.
The two men seated to his left had the distinct appearance of men unsure as to whether they were doing the right thing. Bolgios, nobleman and warrior, master of hundreds, cousin to the chieftain of the Segni, fiddled nervously with his braid. Should his cousin discover how deeply Bolgios plotted to overthrow him, the nervous weasel would now be decorating a wooden stake, his head scooped out for a cup. The druid beside him looked less nervous, but his face still displayed unease.
The knock came at the door.
‘Come in.’
A burly warrior pushed open the door and a dozen men followed him into the gloom, each of them bulky and prepared for war. Each wearing an arm ring with the snake of Arvernus. Each wearing a face of stone. In their presence, even Ambiorix felt a momentary thrill of nerves. Behind them came another druid, this one tooled for war like his companions. His large sword at his side complemented a staff of oak which had been shod with iron and sharpened to a point. The man even had the audacity to wear a coronet, as though he were some sort of king.
‘You have no place here, Arverni,’ Ambiorix announced with fire in his tone.
‘We have a place wherever trouble risks our plans,’ replied the warrior-druid in a thick, southern accent. ‘The one we call Esus has a careful schedule for the coming months. Events in Rome itself are falling into place to aid our cause, and soon — as omens and prophecies have foretold — Caesar’s grip on this land will falter as he struggles to retain his place in his own country.’
Ambiorix narrowed his eyes at the druid, noting with interest how the Arverni warriors were moving around the walls of the room, making to surround him. Such an expected, easily-anticipated manoeuvre.
‘And I am ruining these plans, so now you mean to kill me?’
The druid smiled coldly, and Ambiorix felt the panic in the Segni rebels next to him. Bolgios’ hand went to the hilt of the knife at his belt, as though the short blade could stop a dozen swords.
‘You have lived all winter and spring, king of the Eburones, because your faltering, insignificant rebellion has served to keep Roman eyes on the north-east and distracted them from the greater events taking place elsewhere. Sadly, all your allies have failed you and now you are all-but alone. Even your would-be German supporters are fleeing back across the river to their wild lands. All you have left is the Eburones, and your brother king Cativolcus is with us, so we cannot, sadly, allow you to wrest control of them from him.’
‘I am not an easy man to kill, Arverni,’ Ambiorix snarled.
‘Perhaps so. But die, you must. Caesar and his hounds are on your scent, and now you have no army to hide behind. You know too much about the cause to allow you to live long enough to fall into Roman hands.’
Ambiorix leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. ‘You may find that I am more resourceful yet than you believe.’
The druid frowned at him, but it was already too late. The thin cord loop that had lowered from the darkness above slipped around the neck, dragging the old man’s white beard against his throat as it tightened. The druid gagged and panicked, his fingers coming up to the cord that was throttling the life out of him, but the two men lying on the beam above simply hauled hard enough to lift him from the floor. There was a crunch as cartilage gave way and the druid’s eyes bulged.
Bolgios and his own druid were on their feet now in surprise, but Ambiorix waved them back to their seats nonchalantly.
All around the edge of the room, Arverni warriors were shaking with death-twitches as spears thrust down from the shadowed rafters above them drove through the space between neck and collar bone, driving down through their bodies and emerging near the hip to pin them to the floor.
Ambiorix scanned the room to make sure that none of the Arvernian assassin party had escaped his own killers, but they were all busy shaking and leaking out their lives. He rose slowly, casually, and strode over to the hanging druid, who was gasping his last, peering at him with interest.
‘Rest assured, old man, that I have a long way to go yet before I am done. Despite Treveri idiocy, with the help of my friends here, the Segni will soon be ours, and Cativolcus is old and feeble and will present no impediment to my seizing back my tribe. As soon as I have those two, the Suevi can be persuaded to cross again and join us, and I will find more allies among those who hate your slow indolence almost as much as they hate Rome.’
He prodded the druid, who swung back and forth as he dangled, the last of his life flickering and dying in his eyes.
‘Stupid, stupid man. And go to the Gods knowing that should the day come that I do fall to our enemy, I will do everything in my power to make sure they know all about Vercingetorix and your Arverni revolt.’
He turned to Bolgios and the living druid.
‘Time to deal with your dog of a cousin and put the crown upon your head. Time rolls on, my friends.
Chapter Fifteen
By the Rhenus River, a day’s march north of the confluence with the Mosella.
‘Any news of the Suevi, General?’
Priscus fell into position next to Marcus Antonius, a few paces from Caesar, who peered out across the wide, fast-flowing Rhenus with an unreadable expression.
‘They are gone east, but so recently that their wake is almost still visible on the water’s surface.’ Caesar huffed irritably.
‘Perhaps this is a good thing?’ Antonius asked quietly. ‘We’ve a lot to concentrate on this side of the river, and I hear the Suevi have more warriors than their land has trees.’
Caesar turned his irritation on his senior commander. ‘We do not flinch from chastising our enemies, even be they ten feet tall and breathe fire, Marcus, which the Suevi most certainly do not, for all the rumours.’
Priscus nodded to himself. He had no doubt whatsoever that Caesar would march his legions through the river and to the edge of the world if he had a grudge with the Suevi. It had been a long journey up the Rhenus, punctuated by visits from couriers along the way. Firstly, two men from Fronto’s party had reached them with tidings that were both hopeful and unpleasant. The deaths of several of his men and the knowledge that a spy and betrayer had been among them and escaped unharmed was bad enough. To hear that the Segni were likely rising against them and that Ambiorix was still uncaptured had been enough to plunge Caesar’s mood into unplumbed depths. But at least the treacherous Eburone king was almost in Fronto’s grasp by the sound of it.