Fronto stood, wobbling gently, his legs unsteady after an hour cross-legged on the floor.
“Thank you. We’ll be along presently.”
As the soldier retreated and let the tent flap fall shut, Fronto struggled into his boots and the men around him hurriedly replaced their drinks on the table and hauled themselves upright.
“What do you suppose this is?” Crispus queried. “They can’t be trying sorties against us, surely?”
Fronto shook his head.
“No. Let’s go have a look.”
The officers finished suiting up, adjusted their accoutrements, and strode in a businesslike fashion out of the tent and through the newly completed camp. A minute later they arrived at the gate and gazed across the grass to the impressive oppidum. A small party of men, three of them on horseback, were slowly approaching the Roman force.
Squinting, Fronto spied the traditional animal standards and bronze equipment of Belgic noblemen and their guards. Likely these were top men among the Suessiones. Briefly his memory flashed back to Bibrax.
“Gods, I hope someone there speaks Latin.”
The officers gathered around the open gate parted as the familiar voice of Labienus called out “make way for Caesar!”
The general strode out to the front to stand between Sabinus and Fronto.
“Ambassadors. They perhaps hope to make terms?”
Fronto shrugged. He fervently hoped so. A siege was a messy way to make war, and they could do with the tribes in the south all being at peace with Rome. He looked up again as the Belgae closed and reined in. One of the three riders, an old man with white-grey braided hair raised his spear in a non-threatening fashion, holding it sideways and casting it to the floor in front of the group.
“Roman. The Suessiones seek an end to this. Call off your war dogs and we will discuss peace.”
Caesar smiled his empty smile.
“Why should we discuss peace with an enemy when we have the advantage? You seek peace only because you see our ramp, our towers and our determination. You know Noviodunum will fall soon and fear drives you to bargain.”
The old man’s brow furrowed.
“You would keep fighting? So that the Suessiones are no more? Be sure that if you do, many Romans will not leave here. We are Belgae and brave. We offer peace but if you insist on war we will make the price of our oppidum the highest Rome will ever pay.”
Caesar frowned.
“My terms are simple, then: total and unconditional surrender of the entire tribe to the will of Rome. Then we call off our attack.”
The old nobleman sighed.
“And our most beautiful women, our strongest men…” he sneered unpleasantly “… and our prettiest boys will be sent to Rome as slaves. This is less acceptable than death. We will agree peaceful terms, but we will not sell ourselves, Roman.”
Caesar took a deep breath and gave a feral smile.
“Equally, when we are in such a strong position, you would not expect us to clasp arms with you and forget our thousands of dead? I will retire to consider what I am willing to accept and return within the hour. You,” he said arrogantly, “will wait here until I return. If you do not, then I will consider that to be a decision to fight on and we will recommence our siege.”
Without waiting for a reply, Caesar turned and strode off back to his headquarters, the senior officers hot on his heels as the duty centurion and his men fell in and closed the gate behind them, leaving the disgruntled Suessiones staring at a closed door.
* * * * *
Caesar shook his head.
“After the damage they have done to us and with our current position of strength, I refuse to smile and welcome these barbarians into the fold. By rights they should be begging for their lives on their knees now and, instead, they have the audacity to make demands of us?”
Fronto glanced across at Galronus, the most senior of the Remi serving with the auxiliaries. The man, strong and tall and every bit as impressive as the son of a chieftain should be, was glowering at Caesar.
“My father want Suessiones treat well. Friend with Rome!”
The general rumbled deep in his throat.
“Your father, Galronus, does not dictate the policy of the Roman military. If the Suessiones wanted alliance with Rome, they should not have chosen to go to war against us. For Venus’ sake, it’s their leader who was elected to prosecute the war!”
Crispus cleared his throat.
“Perhaps, Caesar, this is an opportunity to build bridges rather than walls?”
The general’s head snapped round to glare at the young legate.
“Very pretty rhetoric, Crispus, but I am faced with two options. Firstly, I make peace with them and let them side with Rome, and to balance the thousands of dead they have caused, we draw a small number of auxiliary soldiers from them, and maybe a hostage or two. Secondly, we take Noviodunum, put the Remi in charge, and sell the Suessiones and all of their goods for an enormous war profit that may well pay for another year’s campaigning?”
The room went silent.
“Yes, I think that’s a fairly clinching argument, gentlemen.”
Galronus stood angrily.
“Rome want friends with Remi? Remi want Rome friends with Suessiones.” He folded his arms and then spread them in a breaking motion. “Rome not friend with Suessiones? Rome not friend with Remi. Remi go home!”
Caesar’s face took on a dangerous hue and Fronto stood and strode across between them, turning to the Belgic nobleman.
“Galronus? Your point is made. Please, go outside and calm down. Have a drink. Kick a horse or something. Just cool down.”
He jostled the resisting man to the tent’s entrance and heaved him bodily outside, pinning the flap closed. He turned to see mixed emotions on Caesar’s face.
“Sorry, Caesar, but any minute you or he would have said something we’d all later regret!”
The general continued to glower. Fronto walked forward and took a central position. He’d never been a great speaker and his rhetoric teacher had given up in disgust, but when you had a great point to make, he knew the centre of the floor was where to make it.
“Caesar, you can make money from them as slaves and from booty, but it’s a short term win. I can give you three reasons why you should choose to come to terms.”
He held up his hand and touched one index finger with the other.
“One: terms are negotiable. You can gain auxiliaries who know the other tribes and the lands to the north; men who have been in the intimate council of the enemy; even taking the man who led their army on as an ally. The intelligence you can gain is phenomenal. If they feel you are treating them with fairness, they may be amenable to giving you booty willingly, and resupplying you. You may find the benefits that you can argue for outweigh what you can just take.”
Caesar’s glower had faded to a vaguely thoughtful frown. He gestured to Fronto to continue.
“Two,” the legate said, touching his middle finger this time, “word of this will spread. If you show mercy and care, other tribes may be swayed to our side without a fight. Whereas, if you tear the Suessiones down and destroy them, you will remove for all time any hope of the other tribes seeking peace. I’ve fought these Belgae four times now this year already and I don’t believe that they’ll react to violent treatment by becoming scared and meekly surrendering. If they see you take out vengeance on a defeated tribe, I think you’ll find they’ll react with ever greater violence.”
He waited and watched Caesar’s frown deepen.
“Three.”
Here was the biggest gamble, as he touched a third finger. “The future. I don’t know whether we’ll be here next year fighting more Celts or whether, once the Belgae are with us, the whole land will settle and we’ll be able to call the whole of Gaul Roman, but either way…” he swallowed. “Either way, one day Gaul will be Roman and what we do now will either help hasten that or delay it. If we want Gaul a peaceful, contented province, we have to start dealing with them correctly even now.”