“I have almost a hundred other fathers, wives and children here” he called, “and be sure that before we reach the end, my legions will have rounded up others; farmers and woodsmen of your kin that live nearby. I will do what I must to end this war today.”
He waited, as Divitiacus shook gently, and turned to Manlius.
“A woman this time. Quartered.”
Priscus took a very deep breath and kept his head rigidly straight, his eyes on the officers. Off to his right, he heard the sound of a woman being restrained and then, slowly and horrifically, even over her screams, he could hear the sound of the saw. Behind him among the men, someone vomited.
Divitiacus growled at the general.
“I will have none of this, Caesar. If you persist in this madness, the Aedui will leave.”
Caesar turned the coldest, most snake-like expression Priscus had ever seen on the leader of the Aedui.
“You are treaty-bound with Rome. If you leave this field you will break that treaty and I will be forced to deal with the Aedui instead. Do you value your ethics enough to make an enemy of Rome and myself?”
For a long moment, Divitiacus wavered, and then finally nodded and, turning, went to join his army who were looking on this display of Roman might with a mix of astonishment and horror. The screaming had stopped and Priscus could hear the sounds of several things being dragged across the grass. He winced as Caesar once more addressed the Bellovaci.
“I tire of asking, so this will be the last time I speak to you. You have only to accept Roman law and this will end. Until you do so, I will continue to deal with your kin.” He turned and addressed the men beside him, but loud enough to be heard as far as the walls.
“Manlius? Continue your work. Be creative and very visual. Allow one minute only between victims. Sabinus? Have a party of three alae of cavalry sent out to round up any of the Bellovaci they can find outside the city. Labienus? Have camp set here. We may be here for the night.”
Once again, Divitiacus left the folds of the Aedui and marched across to the general.
“Caesar? What can we do to stop this?”
The general glared at his ally.
“The Aedui have no more part in this. You will remain here until Bratuspantium falls and, once the Bellovaci are with us, you will retire to your own lands and stay out of trouble. Unless I call for you again, the Aedui are forbidden from forming an army.”
Divitiacus stared at him.
“And be grateful that I am sending you back. Rome needs strong allies, not weak ones!”
The two leaders stood, locked in an embrace of mutual dislike and distrust as the screaming started once more behind them.
The purple twilight dwindled as Priscus sighed and walked over to the medical cart where Fronto lay recovering. The sun had set only a quarter of an hour ago and there was still a deep cerulean glow about the valley. Fronto groaned.
“Where the hell have you been? I hope you’ve brought wine.”
Priscus shook his head.
“No wine for you for a few days. Got some for me though. Need to celebrate… or something.”
“What’s happened?”
Priscus sighed again.
“The gates of Bratuspantium opened an hour ago and the Bellovaci submitted unconditionally to Caesar’s whim.”
Fronto smiled and then winced at the pain on his scalp.
“The old bastard. He may have dropped Paetus in the shit, but he can still win over the enemy, can’t he, the silver-tongued old snake?”
“I suppose so” agreed Priscus soberly, picturing the scores of charred and dismembered bodies he’d watched being shovelled into a pit on the way here.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Chapter 13
(River valley outside Samarobriva)
“ Samarobriva: oppidum on the Somme River, now called Amiens.”
“ Mare Nostrum: Latin name for the Mediterranean Sea (literally ‘Our Sea’)”
Fronto frowned as the column came to a halt once more and Priscus grumbled irritably next to him. They both shaded their eyes again to see the small party of riders making their way toward the Roman force from the open gate of Samarobriva, capital of the Ambiani.
“Just the leaders, I’m sure of it” the legate noted, his frown deepening. “Not even an honour guard. What the hell is going on? Is this really the Belgae?”
Priscus shrugged noncommittally.
“Are you complaining about not having to besiege that place?”
Fronto shook his head.
“Well no… just what did Caesar do to the Bellovaci, ‘cause whatever it was apparently frightened the shit out of their neighbours?”
Priscus grasped Fronto’s shoulder and leaned close enough to whisper in his ear.
“How much do you trust me?”
“With my life, you know that.”
“Then take my word for it… you don’t want to know and it’ll do no good getting all riled up about it. Suffice it to say that it was one of those ‘Julian moments’ that you despise.”
Fronto rumbled deep in his throat.
“I can well imagine. Ah well. Nemesis always marks those that need taking down. Either Caesar really does have the blood of Venus, or one day Nemesis will have her way with him.”
Priscus smiled.
“Very pious, I’m sure. I don’t know about Nemesis, but I’m pretty sure there are a few senators that would like to wedge their foot up his arse.”
Fronto grinned at his second in command.
“Alright. That’s an end to it. We’re his army, after all.”
They turned to look ahead once more and Fronto’s suspicion was confirmed. Four of he party of five riders wore the accoutrements of senior noblemen, their gold and bronze torcs and jewellery marking them as extremely wealthy. The fifth, Fronto noted with surprise, and a little suspicion, wore a dark grey robe belted at the waist with a great flax belt, intricately woven. He wore no jewellery, but his long hair and braided beard were as black as his eyes, colouring that Fronto had not yet seen among these northern tribes. The man carried a staff whose tip was carved into the shape of a dragon.
“Druid!” whispered Priscus with indrawn breath. “This could be trouble.”
The sound of hoof beats drew their attention and Caesar, Sabinus and Labienus arrived from their position further back.
“What can you see, Fronto?”
“Looks like four chieftains and a druid, general. No guards.”
“Curious.” Caesar turned and frowned down at Fronto. “I like my legates to look important. You should be on horseback.”
Fronto shrugged; he hated riding on marches. It wasn’t that he felt guilty particularly, though that was a part of it. More it was that he was not that good a horseman, and found it quite difficult to make the beast walk at the same pace as the legions.
“The jarring hurts my head, Caesar. Wounded, remember?”
The general’s face darkened momentarily as he was reminded of Paetus’ treachery and subsequent violence and disappearance.
“Very well, but at least stand straight. This could be important.”
The officers tidied themselves subtly as they waited for the five riders to close with them. Finally they did so and Fronto noted with interest how the four chiefs came abreast and bowed slightly to Caesar, while the druid stayed apart and sat glowering haughtily.
“Gentlemen” Caesar said clearly, “I presume you are the chieftains of the Ambiani?”
The druid nodded, his mouth turned down at the corners with a sour expression.
“They are. They do not speak Latin, so I am here to translate before I leave this place.”
Caesar opened his mouth to speak and then glared sharply at Fronto as the legate interrupted.
“You’re not staying around, your druid-iness?”
“The Ambiani have abandoned their pride and so I abandon the Ambiani. And I have no wish to spend any more time than necessary with the men who shamed my brother Divitiacus…”