“Labienus?”
“Yes.” The Roman nodded. “And Senator Valens will ensure that Labienus is far in the rear when you attack."
"And what of Caesar?"
"Do not concern yourself with him!” the Roman said curtly. “He will be taken care of.”
“Killed?”
“Killed in battle, or assassinated. Either way, he will not survive.”
“Senator Valens has thought of everything.”
“Yes, he has.” The Roman agreed condescendingly. “Caesar will die, and Senator Valens will assume command of the army. The senator will then withdraw the remaining legions to the Aeduan borders, as we have agreed, and you will have your victory."
So, that was it, thought Lucius through the cobwebs of his brain. The two Roman men were henchmen of Valens, and the senator was conspiring with the enemy. Lucius was not surprised by the revelation, only by his own foolishness for believing that Valens had come all the way to the Belgic lands just to eliminate him. That night, after arriving in camp, when Lucius had met with Divitiacus, the Aeduan chieftain had said as much. Divitiacus suspected the plot to kill Lucius was just a side-show in a much broader and deeper conspiracy, but Lucius had not believed it. Now, there was no doubting the senator’s true intentions. In his lust for power, he had stooped to making deals with the Belgae, and the price would be the lives of Caesar and several thousand legionaries.
"How can I be sure that the senator will not change his mind?” Boduognatus asked after considering Valens’s henchman’s last statement. “What’s to stop him from turning the rest of the army on me, once Caesar is dead?"
"You have well over 50,000 spears, even without the Aduatuci.” The Roman said it as if the answer was obvious. “The senator is no fool. Besides, a Roman victory does not serve the senator’s purposes. He needs a defeat, one that will resound throughout the halls of Rome. Only a defeat will tarnish the auctoritas of Caesar and disgrace his followers. The proconsul has many clients back in Rome who would like nothing more than to come and finish the conquest their patron began. Making a martyr of Caesar will just prompt another like him to spring up in his place. Discredit him, and his followers will slink back into the holes from which they came. Do not worry. The senator will not betray you. He wants peace between our peoples. He wants what we all do – peace and fair trade between Rome and all Gallic and Belgic people.”
The chieftain chuckled at that.
The Roman seemed perturbed by his merriment. “You will attack as we have discussed! You will defeat Caesar’s army, and in so doing will make yourself king of all the Belgic tribes. You will be referred to as King Boduognatus of the Belgae.”
“I like the sound of that,” the chieftain said light-heartedly.
“Caesar will be dead, and the senator will see to it that no legions ever again set foot in the Belgic lands. Is that good enough for you?"
Boduognatus shrugged, seeming to accept that. He jabbed a finger in Lucius’s direction. "And what of him?"
"He is a gift," the Roman said plainly. "A token of the senator’s good will.”
"The senator wants to get rid of him, eh?” The chieftain laughed. “Who is he?"
"Merely a common legionary. He had the misfortune to cross Senator Valens. You need know nothing more. The senator has heard of the unique manner in which you dispose of your captives. This man has slain many Nervii by his own hand, so let him be no exception."
Lucius struggled to stay awake and listen to more. He had to think of something, some piece of information, anything he could use to bargain for his life, but he was finding it difficult to concentrate. The pain in his head was too great. He heard the men laughing as he slipped out of consciousness once again.
XV
The torches were arrayed in a large ring, their flames dancing in the brisk wind. Drums thumped in the night, and hundreds of war chiefs surrounded the ring of illumination, their painted faces contorted as they shouted wildly and slung curses at the bound and naked prisoners sitting in a row within the ring of flames. Many of the tribes were represented. It was an assembly of Belgic power that had not happened in the memory of any living man. The Nervii, the Viromandui, and the Atrebates had come, and they had come for war, united by blood, united in defiance of their common foe.
The dozen prisoners were all Roman. The Gallic prisoners had already been put to the sword. The Romans had been spared for this most sacred of occasions. They brandished bruises on their faces and streaks on their backs that spoke of harsh treatment earlier, but now, no one dared to touch them. They seemed the only ones permitted inside the circle of flame.
As the Belgae hurled insults and clots of mud at the defenseless prisoners, two armed warriors emerged from the crowd and shoved another bound prisoner into the circle to join the others. Delighted at the sight of this new captive, the crowd of war chiefs burst into wild jeers. This new prisoner was a tall, well-built man with shoulder and back muscles that glistened in the firelight. Obviously, this man was a powerful warrior, and this only increased the crowd’s invective. Someone threw a slimy cabbage which struck the newcomer squarely in the back, much to the amusement of the onlookers.
As Lucius felt the muck oozing down his back, he moved in next to the other prisoners. Though his head still throbbed, he saw that the prisoner next to him was in much worse shape. The man’s right eye was swollen blue from an earlier beating, but his remaining eye was wide and full of fear. The man squirmed to the side to dodge a thrown ball of mud, just as he made eye contact with Lucius.
“My name’s Drusus,” the man said nervously. “Drusus Dardanius. Second Cohort, Fourteenth Legion. What’s yours?”
“Lucius Domitius. Seventh Legion.”
“What do they plan to do with us?” the man asked, his voice full of dread.
“There’s no telling,” Lucius replied, rolling once to dodge a thrown cabbage.
“I never knew it would be like this,” Drusus said. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’ve hardly been a soldier long enough to break in my boots. Now, I’m a prisoner of these savages. Oh, how I wish I were back home in the Po valley!”
Lucius nodded but said nothing. The Fourteenth was a new legion, recently recruited in Cisalpine Gaul and largely manned by green troops on their first campaign. Many of the young men, like Drusus, had been simple farmers only a few months before, lured away from their quiet lives by the thrilling tales of Caesar’s conquests. In dire need of more legions, Caesar had sent centurions throughout the countryside south of the Alps, conscripting citizens and provincials alike, promising a life of adventure and a pension to all who signed on. The part about possibly ending up as the offering at a Belgic sacrifice was usually left out.
“Do you think they’ll ransom us?” Drusus asked hopefully.
“Maybe.”
Of course, there was not the least possibility of that. But Lucius saw no sense in stirring the youth into a panic. The faces staring at them from all sides were filled with rage. They were the Belgic war leaders, obviously, but there also appeared to be a few curious peasants watching, including several women.
A hush descended on the crowd as a procession of white-robed, hooded figures entered the circle. They moved in complete silence and, judging from the sudden reverence exhibited by the hitherto rowdy mob, Lucius assumed these were the druids so renowned by the people north of the Alps. In their arms, they carried bundles of freshly cut oak that still bore green leaves. Forming a circle around a great pile of cut wood and branches that stood directly in the center of the ring of torches, they ceremoniously added their bundles to it, one by one. Lucius had earlier dismissed the woodpile as the makings of a bonfire. But now, a flicker of the torches revealed the base of a structure stretching up out of the pile of kindling and into the night sky. It was hard to make out the entire structure in the dim light, but it looked like a crude statue of a man, constructed entirely of cut wood and brambles. The head and shoulders of the towering effigy were shrouded in darkness, but Lucius could clearly see the legs, each one the size of a large man. The massive legs led up to a torso that bulged heavily at the waist and appeared to be largely hollow.