The man looked confused at the way this was going, and Caesar fixed him with a cold glare. ‘Correus is not absent. He is dead. He lies in a field of eight thousand of your tribe who sought to ambush us. Stop attempting to fawn and dissemble. I have terms, but you may speak your piece first.’
Caesar was angry. Varus knew that such coldness was much more indicative of ire in the general than was shouting. Orcetrix seemed to have come to the same conclusion, for he licked his lips nervously and cleared his throat.
‘Caesar is famed far and wide for his clemency.’
Varus almost burst out laughing. The general didn’t look particularly clement right now. But the noble was continuing unabated. ‘Correus was a troublemaker, rousing our people to war against Rome. We have long lived under the shadow of his fury and his autocracy. Now that your blessed arrival has rid us of his dangerous presence, we are at last free to follow our hearts’ desires, which are to hold tight and dear to our alliance with Rome.’
Caesar sniffed in the cold air.
‘Is that it?’
‘We offer payments of appropriate tribute and the granting of noble hostages against such a dreadful miscalculation ever happening again, in return for an agreement to allow our people to go in peace and settle once more in our villages.’
Varus felt sorry for the man. He could see Caesar’s fingertips drumming impatiently on the saddle.
‘And what of the other rabble rouser? Commius of the Atrebates?’
The man looked suddenly very nervous.
‘We are unable to locate him, Caesar. He was last seen several hours ago. No one seems sure when he slipped away from the camp, but his five hundred Germans are also gone, so we assume he has fled to the far side of the Rhenus.’
Caesar nodded but Varus noted the irritated drumming on the saddle increase in furious pace.
‘Clemency, you say?’
‘Err… yes, Caesar? For those of us who found ourselves carried to war against you at the whim of those who would guide our movements against our will.’
‘My intelligence puts one Orcetrix of the Bellovaci on the hillside opposite Alesia with the Gallic relief force last autumn. Are you about to deny the presence of either yourself or your tribe in a grand revolt against Rome last year?’
‘Ah. Well, now…’
‘You claim to be pushed into war, and yet we know you rose against us last year, even if you managed to flee the scene largely undiminished. Perhaps we should have chastised those who came to Vercingetorix’s aid following our victory over the Arvernian. Then you would have had neither the strength nor the numbers to do such a thing again this winter.’
‘Yes, Caesar, but, well… you see, the thing is…’
‘Silence.’ Caesar’s anger was made manifest in his tone of voice and even though it came out as little more than a quiet hiss, the word cut straight through the man’s blustering and silenced him.
‘You are rebels and enemies of Rome. The only reason I am even remotely tempted towards leniency is that I wish to settle Gaul and put an end to the endless wars. Here are my terms.’
The man looked hopeful at the general’s words, but Varus could imagine what Caesar saw as lenient at this point, and he doubted it matched up with Orcetorix’s ideas.
‘In addition to the noble hostages that you have already offered, it seems an appropriate punishment that perhaps a fifth of your army, and the best of it, from what I can see, already lies as carrion. However, I cannot allow such a large force to remain at arms. You will deliver to us all weapons in this camp, and one man in every four of fighting age will be taken to the slave markets to ensure that you are unable to attempt something like this again.’
The man looked stunned. ‘But Caesar…’
‘I am not finished. We have impounded your entire baggage train, which I presume, given the fact that we found your settlements stripped clean, contains your winter and spring food stores. I recognise that your people will perish without that grain, and so you are to be given the opportunity to purchase it back at the standard trade rate set by my chief quartermaster, which is six silver denarius per bushel, or whatever your local coinage equivalent makes up.’
‘General…’
‘The gold on your person alone would probably feed a family for a year. See that you gather enough payment to provide for your people. That is what a leader does, rather than attempting to pin the blame for his failures upon the dead. These are my terms, and they apply equally to each tribe involved in this revolt. I presume those others behind you represent your allies? Return to your camp and make the appropriate arrangements. When you have the hostages, the slaves, the weapons and the grain payments for me, return and our transaction will be completed.’
He stopped drumming his fingers and raised his hand, pointing at the quailing man’s face.
‘The legions will camp here for two days before they are once more distributed appropriately. And when I leave Bellovaci territory, pray to each and every god you recognise, Orcetrix, that I never have to return, for if I find myself brought back here to sort out trouble again, I will have new shield covers for every man in my twelve legions made out of your people’s skin. Do you understand me?’
Orcetrix cowered, nodding, and backed away.
Varus watched the dejected party leave. Caesar had been angry. That much was clear. But something deep inside insisted on highlighting the fact that perhaps eight thousand able-bodied slaves, plus the loot from the wagons and the weapon sales, and finally the huge ransom that would be paid for the grain would altogether amount to a sum fit for a king. The proconsul would probably make more from this outcome than he had from the silver mines of the Bituriges or the trade ports of the Carnutes.
Another tribe’s riches had become Caesar’s.
Chapter Nine
Molacos looked at the broken Roman and slowly removed the cult mask from his face. The weeping, agonised soldier looked up in horrified fascination at the ruined face of the thing behind the mask and quailed despite everything that had already been done to him.
‘Who will be able to answer my questions? I grow tired of interrogating Romans and my time is precious. Tell me where to go and I will grant you the mercy of a quick death and not give you to Catubodua, the avenging widow, who waits outside the door with her roll of skinning knives.’
The soldier whimpered through a face full of tears, blood and snot, and after a pause, Molacos sighed and rose, making for the door.
‘No. Wait,’ wailed the man.
‘I am listening.’
‘My legate from the Fifteenth is on his way back to Rome. Gaius Antistius Reginus. He’ll be less than a week behind me, and will be passing through Gergovia on his way. He will be able to answer your questions.’
Molacos nodded. A legate. The commander of a legion. A man of senatorial rank and one of Caesar’s own circle. A rare opportunity to interrogate such a highly-placed man. Excellent.
‘Well done, man.’
Fishing in his pouch, he produced something and dropped it on the floor in front of the ruined soldier. The man stared at it. A snare, made of some sort of sharp cord, knotted to allow it to tighten. He’s seen such things used, used them himself when hunting rabbits to supplement the legion’s rations on the march. They occasionally killed by strangulation, but more often by biting into the windpipe and blood vessels as the animal struggled.
Molacos was rising.
‘What is this?’ the soldier gasped. ‘You said you would give me a quick death!’
‘And I have. You have until I open the door to kill yourself, or Catubodua will come in and do the job for you much more slowly. I suggest you are very quick. She is literally salivating at the thought of peeling you.’
He ambled towards the door, listening to the whimpering behind him. His hand closed on the door handle, pulling it inwards and even as Catubodua, her impassive mask hiding her hungry grin, strode past, he could hear the gagging noises as the soldier tried desperately to strangle himself in time.