The cause of the rebellion had come so close, and then one old fool had opened his mouth, divided the tribe and brought Caesar into it.
And it seemed likely that wherever Caesar went, Fronto would be with him… not that that would be a bad thing. Cavarinos had looked into the legate’s eyes more than once now and had seen not only the steely resolve of the soldier, but also wisdom tempered with understanding. A man like that might be the only hope for a future of peace alongside Rome when they finally drove Caesar out. But the fact remained that just as he would recognise legate Fronto a mile away, so the same could be said the other way around. That being the case, and knowing that the Aedui column would pass under close Roman scrutiny, Cavarinos had subtly altered his appearance over the past day, trimming his moustaches a lot shorter, braiding his hair back away from his face and donning a more voluminous helmet. He had even used some of the white clay mud from the river bank to lighten his hair colour as he dunked his head this morning.
Most importantly, he had removed his tell-tale Arverni arm-ring upon arrival among the Aedui and had removed the leather bag containing the curse and hidden it among his pack. Still, despite those measures, he felt Roman eyes boring into him and hunkered down, keeping his face and eyes lowered.
Decetio was far from the largest of the Aedui’s oppida, but it was certainly one of the more impressive. Scarcely a quarter of a mile across — against Bibracte’s mile and a half — it lay on a very defensible island in the wide and fast Liger River, reached by a strong bridge from either bank, and rising on a natural hill, dominating the river and the plain surrounding it. Its walls were not tall or heavy, but the river gods had given it defences that far outstripped the capabilities of mere walls.
Moreover, it bore more resemblance to a Roman settlement than an Aedui one. The Roman trade along the river had brought it wealth and goods, and with the Aedui formerly being such staunch allies of the republic it had gained a great deal of finance and support from Rome. Some of the houses even had columned frontages, visible over the walls as the streets rose to the central summit.
As he kicked his horse to move slightly faster across the wide, long bridge, Cavarinos felt the attention of the legionaries lining the road on either side.
And then, thankfully, finally, they passed beneath the gate of Decetio and into the city, where they slowly rose through the city’s curved streets to the stone-and-timber forum and temple at the top. At the entrance to the monumental complex, many of the Aedui were directed aside by Roman officers. None of the men, Cavarinos noted with relief, were Fronto. Like the other important nobles that had attended, Litavicus was given permission to enter with a guard of six, and he carefully selected Cavarinos among that number.
The forum had already been arranged by the Romans, who had clearly been here a day or more, waiting for the Aedui. Caesar sat like a king on a heavy oaken throne beneath the tile-roofed gallery that ran around the outside of the temple of Cernunnos which dominated the civic centre. Other less ornate chairs spread out to either side, each containing a Roman officer. And the centre of the square, bounded by a monumental colonnade, held row upon row of crude log benches and two unadorned wooden chairs. There could be no doubt who was the ascendant power here.
A small knot of Roman soldiers without their armour or weapons busied themselves taking the reins of the new arrivals’ horses and walking them across the rear of the space, where they were tethered beneath the colonnade and in sight of the gathering. For a moment, Cavarinos felt the wrench as he dismounted, allowing a Roman to walk off with his horse and all his worldly goods, including a leather pouch containing purportedly the most valuable item the rebel army controlled.
Giving each other appropriately cold stares, bristling with unspoken anger, Convictolitanis and Cotus approached the two wooden chairs and took their seats, their closest companions gathering on the wooden benches behind them, the rest of the attendees filling the space in their small groups. Cavarinos followed Litavicus and sat next to him, his eyes picking out with no surprise the form of legate Fronto a few chairs to Caesar’s left. He pulled the brow of his helmet slightly lower.
After perhaps quarter of an hour, the Aedui were settled, the horses tethered and fed, and the forum filled with a calm quiet as the gates to each side were shut by soldiers.
‘It is no easy matter,’ Caesar announced, ‘to settle such a dispute. I have spoken to the leaders of this oppidum, and they inform me that the choice of your priests is Convictolitanis, who is young and perhaps as yet untried by the perils and treacherous tides of politics. We cannot overlook a choice backed by your priests purely on a matter of age and inexperience, however.’
Cavarinos rolled his eyes, unseen. Caesar was clearly ill-informed. Cavarinos had seen Convictolitanis the politician at work months back in Bibracte. The man was more than able, and probably not as young as he looked, either.
‘Cotus, on the other hand, seems to have the perfect background and experience for the role, though lacks the general backing of your priesthood.’
The Roman general cradled his fingers and for a moment Cavarinos wondered whether he had been remiss. Had he kept the curse of Ogmios with him, he might have been tempted to use it on Caesar. After all, there seemed little chance he would ever be this close to the Roman commander again. Yet something pushed that thought down and away, something Cavarinos chose to believe was his common sense. The curse was of much more use as a talisman to the army, preserved until the time it was needed to drive them on, than as a weapon, which he was fairly sure was an enormous pile of secretive druidic horse shit anyway.
‘I have not made a decision,’ Caesar announced. ‘I considered it to be highly insulting to form an opinion either way without hearing you both out, as well as any of your kin and allies that might have pertinent information for this matter. Perhaps you would each care to enlighten me as to why your case is the strongest?’
Cavarinos looked across at Fronto, whose own gaze passed across the ranks of the Aedui for a heart-stopping moment without settling upon Cavarinos at all. The Arvernian had to cough to stifle a laugh as he watched Fronto surreptitiously scratch himself in a private place before folding his arms again.
For perhaps another quarter of an hour, he sat and half-listened to the politicking going on in the forum. Both men were clearly astute and persuasive, and their reasoning was strong, if long-winded, self-aggrandizing and repetitive. Finally, Caesar held up a hand.
‘Enough, I think. Clearly your cases seem evenly matched. This may require some deliberation.’
‘I suspect he means bribes,’ Cavarinos whispered sarcastically.
‘Time to swing the vote,’ Litavicus whispered back and flashed him a grin before standing. Cavarinos looked up in surprise as the young man cleared his throat and addressed the general and the crowd, sweeping his arms wide in an oratorical manner.
‘Tell the proconsul how you were elected, Cotus.’
The old man spun, throwing a furious glare at Litavicus, who simply shrugged and waited.
‘Explain that remark, Cotus,’ the general commanded.
The old man cleared his throat, sounding slightly uncertain. ‘I was chosen by my brother, who had ruled before me, in a duly-selected gathering of nobles and priests in the sacred sanctuary of the cold fountains at Bibracte.’
‘How many priests can you find to substantiate that claim, Cotus?’ Litavicus grinned, clearly enjoying himself.