Caesar started.
“Your brother?”
“My brother druid.”
Fronto turned to stare at Priscus, whose face was an equal mask of surprise.
“Divitiacus is chief of the Aedui?” Fronto said, unsurely.
“Chieftain and druid. A man usually of vision, though by putting his trust in you, I fear his vision has abandoned him. Yet now you have forsaken him and he will return to the old ways, I hope. This is immaterial. I am not here to pass the time of day with you, Romans. Let my companions speak, and then I can leave.”
Caesar frowned for a long moment and then nodded.
There was a brief, slightly heated exchange in their own language between the chiefs and the druid, and then the dark eyed man sat high in his saddle.
“My lords the leaders and kings of the Ambiani wish to submit their land, their kin and all of their goods to the will of Caesar to do with as he sees fit, in the hope that the general will show them mercy and kindness and look upon them not as enemy or victim, but as friend and ally.”
The man almost spat the last words, the bitterness clear in his mannerisms.
“For myself, I expect nothing of the sort. I hear of what you did to the Bellovaci. Our pride is greater than yours, as, I believe, are our morals.”
Caesar sighed.
“I understand your distrust and even your hatred. Druids are an insular and distrustful group. But I mean no harm to any who will join me in making these lands a safer place.”
He ignored the sneer on the Druid’s face and Priscus was extremely grateful the general was facing away and couldn’t see the look on Fronto’s.
“However,” the general went on, “I do not believe that you are an appropriate spokesperson or translator for these chiefs as you do not have their interests at heart. We have men of the Belgae with us who can translate.”
He turned and addressed Labienus.
“Ask Galronus of the Remi to join us, will you?”
Labienus rode off down the column and Caesar turned once more to the druid.
“You can consider yourself relieved of your task, or honour, or obligation, or whatever it is that keeps you here with the chieftains. Go wherever it is you wish to go and I hope that we never meet again.”
“I echo your hope.”
The druid explained the situation quickly to the chiefs, gave the Roman column one long, hard, look and wheeled his horse to ride off. There was a pause for a few minutes, during which the four Ambiani looked unsure and regularly turned to see the lone figure riding away down the valley. Fronto turned to Priscus.
“Druids and chieftains arguing and splitting up? I can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or a bad one…”
Priscus grumbled.
“Bad. That means he’s going somewhere where they still hate us to stir them up.”
The two men fell into a thoughtful silence until, a moment later, the familiar figure of Galronus cantered to a halt beside the commanders. He exchanged brief words with the four chiefs and they nodded.
“Good, Caesar. Chiefs know who I am. I translate for you.”
The general nodded.
“Thank you. Firstly, please inform the Ambiani that I am grateful for their offer. I accept peace with them and accordingly would like to extend them the same terms as we came to with the Remi. That they defy their own druids to join us is an honour and deserves to be treated as such.”
Galronus smiled and nodded, turning to repeat Caesar’s words in the guttural language of the Belgae. As the four men listened, Fronto noticed a sag of relief among them. They had been unsure of Caesar’s reaction and genuinely frightened for their people. Once again, Fronto wondered what Caesar had done to press so much fear into the Belgae.
The chieftains gabbled something in reply, and Galronus turned to Caesar.
“Ambiani very grateful for Rome’s friend. They want agree all terms. They meet in council chamber this evening with officers to arrange details.”
Caesar nodded.
“However, before we settle the legions for the night, I need to know the lay of the land, so that I can best decide how to proceed when we leave Samarobriva. What can they tell us of the surrounding tribes?”
Again, Galronus translated, and the four men entered into a deep, involved conversation for several minutes as the Roman officers stood patiently, watching the exchange.
“Chiefs say” the Remi leader replied finally, “land east of here Viromandui land, but not just Viromandui there. They say big force east of here. In Viromandui land is army of them and Nervii. You get to east of Ambiani land and lesser chiefs there have more knowledge of Nervii.”
Caesar frowned.
“The Nervii? So soon? I thought we would be able to forge more alliances and consolidate our hold before we had to face them.”
Galronus shook his head.
“Nervii come south for Romans into land of Viromandui.”
“What can you tell me of the Nervii?”
Galronus shrugged.
“Nervii hate Romans. Nervii hate Germans and Gauls.” He laughed. “Nervii hate Belgae… Nervii hate everybody.”
“So we’ll not find anyone willing to treat with us to the north?”
Again the Remi noble shook his head.
“Nervii not trade with Gauls or Romans. No wagons go there. Nervii not accept foods or drinks. No wine or even beer among Nervii. They say luxury make men weak…”
“Sacred Bacchus” Fronto exclaimed to Priscus, but loudly enough to be heard by the staff. “We’ve come a thousand miles north only to find the bloody Spartans!”
There was a chorus of stifled laughs among the front ranks of the Tenth Legion and Fronto instantly regretted his outburst as the General gave them all a sharp look. Ah well. Let the men laugh now. Sounds like they wouldn’t be laughing when they met the Nervii.
“Nervii already condemn all Belgae for joining Rome. They threaten to kill any Belgae warrior who not fight Rome. You never speak to Nervii, Caesar. When you meet them, you fight.”
Fronto nodded, more soberly this time. On the bright side, that sounded better: a straight fight. No political wheedling, no pretence, and no sieges; just two armies in a sea of grass, battering each other repeatedly until one was dead. A test of military might.
Caesar turned to the staff.
“Make temporary camp, gentlemen. Tonight we thrash out alliance details with the Ambiani, but tomorrow we march to meet the Nervii.”
He became aware suddenly that the front ranks of the Tenth were listening intently. The general had almost forgotten the ordinary soldiers were there, and that would never do. One must always play to the crowd if one wanted to leave the arena a hero. He jacked his voice up a notch.
“We will take Roman law and power to the Nervii and, when we have defeated them, Rome will acknowledge us heroes and all the lands from the Mare Nostrum to the coast of Britannia will call us either ally or master!”
A cheer went up from the Tenth. You had to hand it to the sly old bastard… he knew how to work an audience. Only a couple of hundred men of the First Cohort in the Tenth would have heard that, but the word would pass and by nightfall his speech would be replaying in the mind of every soldier on the plain. And the bugger had been devious enough to include the phrase ‘ally or master’, both mollifying the Aedui and Remi in the column, and reminding them of the importance of their alliance.
The coming days would be interesting ones.
* * * * *
The legions had been on the move again for three more days, continuing eastward, through Ambiani territory and ever deeper into Viromandui lands. The scouts had been circling ahead of the column throughout the journey and what had begun as a positive, adventurous undertaking had now settled into the lull and quiet of an army that, having lost the initial impetus and lust for battle, was now settling into thousands of private worries about the coming conflict and the danger it brought.