Crassus gestured to the landscape around them with a sweep of his hand.
“I am considering it, certainly. I brought down the Roman heel on the throat of Armorica last year and it seems to have had the opposite effect to that for which I had hoped. Instead of squeezing the resistance from them, I seem to have squeezed a mass of Gauls into a hardened resistance. We can scarce afford a similar situation developing in Aquitania. Whatever we do here must be a permanent end if we are to label Gaul conquered.”
Galronus nodded.
“One way or the other, you mean. Pax Romana with the peoples of Aquitania, or a region totally empty save the graves of uncounted tribes.”
The legate gave a curious smile.
“You dislike and distrust me, Gaul. I can see it in your eyes.”
Galronus opened his mouth, but Crassus waved his unspoken words aside.
“Do not deny it, and rest assured that I dislike you also, though I find, curiously, that I do not distrust you. So tell me truthfully what you believe I should do with the Sotiates?”
Galronus pondered again, scratching his neck. He reached for his wine sack and offered it up to Crassus, who made a face.
“Hardly.”
Shrugging, the Remi officer took a deep swig and leaned back.
“You should accept their surrender in good faith. Offer acceptable terms; even terms favourable to them if you wish to have them watch your back as you move on. But remember too that the sort of leader who will lure you into an ambush is the sort of man to watch even when there is peace.”
Crassus nodded.
“Your thoughts are sensible, Gaul, and I tend to agree.”
Galronus took a deep breath.
“Forgive me, legate, but you didn’t come and find me just to ask my opinion on something you had already thought through yourself.”
Crassus nodded.
“I find myself in the uncomfortable position of requesting that you retake command of the cavalry.”
Galronus smiled knowingly.
“They react somewhat ‘inefficiently’ to your tribunes’ orders?”
The legate glared at him.
“They are Gauls. They are used to serving under a Gaulish commander. I fear you have a grip on your men that no Roman could break.”
Galronus laughed.
“It’s called trust and respect, legate.”
Crassus nodded, his face expressionless.
“Very well” Galronus said, standing and stretching slowly. “I will have to insist that the disposition of the cavalry becomes my responsibility alone, though. You have seen now how shared authority works out.”
Crassus nodded again.
“Agreed. Return to your men, then, commander, and prepare them. We may need to contain attempts to flee, and we will certainly require numerous scout patrols in the coming hours and days.”
As the Remi officer rolled his shoulders, he grinned and pointed out toward the oppidum.
“And you, I suspect, will be busy too, legate. If I’m not mistaken, that looks like their leaders riding out to parlay with you.”
Galronus patted the neck of his steed and stroked her mane as he watched the procedure. The surrender had been civilised and swift, the half dozen top men of the Sotiates riding out to meet the Roman officers and requesting terms. Crassus had, as he had intimated he would to Galronus, offered almost unprecedented good terms, ordering the Gauls to deliver up their arms for disposal, take the oath of allegiance to Rome and forbidding them to take up arms except in the defence of Rome or against mutual enemies. In return, no repercussions would be felt by the Sotiates for their resistance, no hostages taken and no slavery or looting. That last had been particularly surprising, given Crassus’ reputation and the disfavour such an edict would bring on him from his men.
Rusca, the senior tribune, had been placed in charge of processing the surrendering Gauls, collecting their arms and administering the oath. The man seemed to have a knack for organisation and the whole affair was ordered and efficient, the population leaving the oppidum by the main gate, passing before Rusca and his guard, giving their names and professions and surrendering their weapons before moving off to assemble in ordered rows on the plain below the walls, where they would later take the oath before being free to return to their homes.
Galronus sighed. Perhaps the young legate’s thirst for bloodshed had finally been slaked and he was settling into the role of the praetor in a traditional Roman fashion. Still, it would be a long time before the Remi chieftain would be comfortable giving Crassus the benefit of the doubt.
The auxiliary cavalry sat ahorse in large units, keeping a watchful eye on events and upon the assembling unarmed Gauls. He felt some sympathy for them as he glanced up and down the rows, the pride still evident in their eyes, unbroken. Pride was hard to come by in Gaul these days.
A call drew his attention and he turned to see two of his men escorting one of the more important Sotiate warriors toward him. The man was still dressed for battle, his chain shirt a deep grey, the golden torc slung around his neck above it drawing the attention. Though disarmed, the man had retained his armour and the trappings of his rank, sitting astride a horse several hands taller than Galronus’ own.
The man nodded in familiar salute, his long, white-blond hair dropping across his face and hiding the bushy moustache and the steel grey eyes.
“Sir, this man asked to speak to you.”
Galronus smiled at the trooper and then nodded to the Gaulish leader.
“Thank you soldier. You can leave us.”
The troopers trotted off, leaving the two horsemen alone in the summer haze.
“You were once a Gaul.”
Galronus laughed and slipped with ease into his own language, a much different dialect, but close enough to converse easily.
“How incredibly closed-minded of you. I am still a Gaul.”
“You look like a Roman now. Where is your beard? Where is your torc? You wear the uniform of Rome and you talk like them. Even speaking our language, you have their accent.”
Galronus shrugged.
“All things change, my friend. I shave and wear their armour, but my friend who leads their Tenth legion rarely shaves and wears a Belgic torc over his Roman trappings. The tribes could never unite to become one Gaul, and so instead we shall become one Roman Gaul.”
The leader shook his head sadly.
“It may well be as you say, but I will continue to mourn the passing of our freedom.”
“Come,” Galronus prompted, “you did not request to see me to discuss our cultural differences.”
The man straightened in his saddle.
“You are right, of course… I come to bring you a warning. If I am to take an oath of allegiance I would have a clear conscience and not have broken the oath while still uttering it.”
The Remi officer narrowed his eyes.
“You know of some treachery?”
“Six men lead the Sotiates into war. If you look at the horsemen from where I just came, you will see that only five of us have left the city.”
Galronus’ frown deepened.
“One of you intends to bar the town to us again? He would have to be mad.”
“The Sotiates have offered you their surrender, but Adcantuannus and his ‘soldurii’ have refused to accept the terms and lurk inside the town. I offer you this information in the name of your commander’s generous terms.”
The cavalry officer stared past him at the town.
“What are these ‘soldurii’?”
“They are Adcantuannus’ personal war band: thirty score of warriors loyal to him rather than to the tribe. Since Adcantuannus has refused the terms, then so have the soldurii.”
Galronus sighed.
“These men are aware that they endanger the terms granted everyone else by continuing to resist?”
The man nodded wearily.