* * * * *
Cavarinos leaned back in his seat, stretching.
‘They are leaving,’ he sighed. ‘Against the odds, you made good on your word, my king. Gergovia stands and Caesar has fallen.’
Vercingetorix nodded. ‘Caesar moves towards the Aedui now. He will impose his will upon them once more and thinks to undo our ties there. But he moves slowly and in force, and we will set his allies against him. Word comes from the north that Critognatos is bound for us with a further four thousand men, the final recruits of his mission. He has done well and our forces swell to almost the point where Gergovia cannot hold us.’
The king smiled. ‘But here we stay for now. Litavicus the Aeduan is readying himself and his companions, along with ambassadors from all the tribes in our alliance. This morning, they will ride at speed by ways unknown to the Romans. He is bound for Bibracte, where he will finish the task of bringing his tribe to our banner. Other agents of his and ours will move on Noviodunum in Aedui lands, where the Romans have established their supply base. When Caesar reaches his destination, he will find the Aedui arrayed against him and his supply system failed. By then our forces will be at their fullest and we will descend from Gergovia and move against him.’
‘You think to meet Caesar in battle?’ one of the Senone chiefs frowned.
‘I do. We will need to visit Aedui lands to settle our alliance with them, and we will defeat Caesar there. Or if he flees, which he may do due to his untenable supply situation, he will be forced to flee north, and we can push him back and back until we cut him down.’
‘We won here because the gods willed it,’ muttered the Senone. ‘This place is sacred to your Arvernus. He would not allow the Romans to take this place. What if Taranis does not feel the same on the plains? What if Toutatis does not favour us? The Senones have fallen to him more than once, despite our gods watching over us. What is different now?’
Cavarinos rolled his eyes and, noting the slight tinge of anger hovering on the edge of the king’s expression, he turned to the Senone chief. ‘We won here because Vercingetorix outthought Caesar and our army outfought him. Arvernus did nothing but watch the Romans suffer at the hands of men.’
The difficult chieftain glanced nervously at the rough statue of Arvernus that dominated this large meeting hall, making signs of protection and warding. ‘Do not anger your gods, Arvernian. The gods only protect us when it is in their interest.’
‘And what of Ogmios?’ Cavarinos said sharply. Vercingetorix gave him a barely perceptible shake of the head, but he chose to ignore it. If these credulous fools would fight or fall on their belief in the gods’ support, then he had the means to bring it about. Teeth clenched, he reached into the pouch at his belt and withdrew the bundle from within. The curse was still well-wrapped, unopened since the day the druid had passed it to him in the Carnute woodlands. Standing, he began to unwind the wrapping and let it fall to the ground, holding the slate tablet aloft.
‘Arvernus watches over the Arverni, for we are his children. But all the tribes pay our dues to Taranis, and to Toutatis, and to Cernunnos, and — of course — to Ogmios. And Ogmios favours us, for here is one of his legendary curses, gifted by the God himself through the druids of the Carnutes to us. When the time is right, it will be used to destroy our enemy. But know through this gift that Ogmios is with us, as are all the gods of the tribes, for we struggle to free their people from the Roman heel. Do you now doubt the validity of our cause? Do you doubt that we can win? Do you doubt that the gods are with us?’
Cavarinos stopped, breathing heavily. He was not a public speaker by nature. He was a straightforward man and preferred a logical argument to rhetorical and theatrical speech, but something had surfaced within him and carried him on the crest of a wave of oratory. He looked around at the assembled chiefs of several dozen tribes, every gaze in the room locked on the heavy yet brittle prize he held above his head. He had them. At this very moment, he realised, they would do anything he asked. He could even depose Vercingetorix and command in his place. All he…
Cavarinos blinked and lowered his arms, stooping to gather the wrappings and begin covering the tablet once more, finally slipping it into its leather container, while the silent masses around him watched his every move.
He straightened, folding his arms.
‘We have beaten Caesar, who some said could not be beaten. We now number more than he, we are fighting for a just cause, and the gods watch over us. How can we lose?’
He sat back as the room erupted, feeling the weight of the item at his belt more than ever before. Still, at least he had finally used it for something. As a talisman he had known it would have value and, looking around at the effect he had stirred, it seemed even he had underestimated that power.
* * * * *
Fronto slowed Bucephalus to a walk, rubbing his temple wearily as he fell in alongside Caesar on his white mare, red cloak rippling in the breeze. The general’s expression had not changed or softened once during the day they had ridden with the huge column of men and carts across the Elaver and northeast towards Aedui territory.
‘Is this a good idea, Caesar?’
The general remained silent, and Fronto looked left and right again, away from the column. A sizeable force was moving off south, armour glinting in the hazy sunlight, officers at the head, supply wagons to the rear. To the left, northwards, two lone mounted figures rode steadily towards the crest of a hill.
‘I mean, splitting the army further,’ he added for clarification.
The general glanced once, briefly, to the south, and turned his stony gaze on Fronto.
‘It is only the Narbonensis garrison and the two newly-raised young legions, and they are returning to their original task.’
‘But we can be fairly certain that now Vercingetorix’s army outnumbers ours, and yet you diminish our forces on a whim?’
There was a flicker of annoyance in Caesar’s expression and Fronto noted it gladly. Better to have the general annoyed than this stilted, impassive silence that was so untouchable.
‘A whim? Fronto, every week more tribes in Gaul flock to the rebel’s banner. While I intend to crush his army here, I can no longer afford to leave our province unguarded. What if the man turns his gaze south? How long will the senate support my governorship if I allow Narbo to fall to the enemy? No. The Narbonensis garrison are going back where they belong. They have honed their craft in a useful campaign among the Arverni, and my cousin Lucius will use them well to hold our border against any incursion.’
Fronto nodded hesitantly. To some extent, he agreed. The garrison had done more than expected, and the idea of Arverni rebels stomping around Narbo — a second home to Fronto — chilled him. But not quite as much as the possibility of the legions finding themselves facing two-to-one odds suddenly. ‘Then perhaps we should meet up with Labienus?’ he suggested. ‘He must have dealt with the northern risings by now.’
‘We will combine with Labienus in due course, Fronto. For now, let us stick with the plan. I wish to secure the Aedui, even if it does not draw the rebels down to us.’
Fronto turned his gaze once more on the two horsemen as they disappeared over the rise. The Aeduans who had brought the enemy cavalry back to them: Eporedirix and Viridomarus. Of all the Aedui, they surely must be the most trustworthy considering their earlier actions, and yet something about the two riding off without any Roman influence over them sat badly with him. The pair rode for Noviodunum, where the new supply base was now fully operational, supporting the army’s campaign in the field. He shuddered despite the heat.
With a squeeze shut of his eyes, Fronto reached up and clutched the figure of Fortuna around his neck. His bad feelings had been wrong before, hadn’t they?
* * * * *