Noviodunum seethed. The two riders reined in on the slope of the Liger’s south bank and looked across the wide bridge at the place. The last time either of them had been here, the bridge had been sturdy and wide enough to drive across a fully-laden cart. The new bridge was twice that wide and more, constructed on timber piles the size of which was truly impressive. The Romans had brought their engineering to the Aedui oppidum.
It appeared that the town, which rose atop a low hill on the north bank, had more or less been given over to the Roman depot. Instead of forming a new palisaded enclosure outside as was normally the case, the Aedui had been made to abandon more than half the place, the occupants either moved to whatever housing was available or sent to take part in the cavalry force that even now rode with Caesar. The entire western half of the walled oppidum — the lower part in fact, nearer the bridge — seemed to have been demolished and then filled with Roman warehouses in ordered lines. It looked appalling. There was little Gallic about the place any more. Only half the town remained, and that would probably be playing host to the Roman personnel. The rest of it resembled little more than a Roman fort.
‘What are we doing?’ Viridomarus breathed quietly.
‘What we must. We took an oath, my friend,’ Eporedirix replied, though the sight of this place soured his soul too.
‘But Vercingetorix beat Caesar. It is becoming clear that we gave our oath to the wrong man. Look at what Rome is doing to our lands.’
Eporedirix opened his mouth to defend his position, but his heart simply wasn’t in it. Caesar was losing. Only three days ago the man had sent his own cousin with many cohorts south to defend Roman lands in case the rebels decided to turn south. And the rebel forces continued to grow, despite the Aedui remaining loyal to their oath. Caesar had lost his first battle, and now he looked to defend rather than attack. The tide had begun to turn, and the longer the Aedui held to an oath that doomed them, the more they stood to lose when Caesar’s army was finally driven back south.
‘How can we break an oath? It is the worst thing a man can do. I fought against my conscience when we informed Caesar of Litavicus’ treachery. But I held to my vow, despite the damage it did us.’
‘An oath to an enemy of our people is no oath to keep, Eporedirix.’
The two men rode slowly across the wide bridge. As they passed a small Roman guard post at the city’s gate they were questioned, as though they were passing into Roman lands and not into an oppidum belonging to their own tribe. Eporedirix told the men whence they had come, showing the documents with Caesar’s own bull seal, which saw them past with no difficulty, but the very necessity of doing so rankled. This was their homeland.
Separating the main area of Roman activity from the older oppidum structures was a huge corral full of horses with Roman tack and blankets. Men in Roman tunics moved among them, as well as what appeared to be Hispanic men speaking in their thick, languid accents. What had become of the place?
The two men were grateful to pass the rows of orderly warehouses and reach buildings that at least looked like Aedui houses, despite the signs here and there in Latin and the figures in Roman tunics and bare legs moving about them as though they owned this city. And there, at a corner and with a view down across the river, was the tavern they sought. The place had played host to them on more than one previous visit, and the owner was an old friend.
The two men tied their horses to the hitching post out front and strode into the bar, blinking as they adjusted to the dim interior. A dozen or so Aedui in their woollen tunics and trousers, wild hair and flowing moustaches fell silent for a moment as they turned to the door, and when they realised that the new arrivals were not Romans, conversation resumed and the room returned to life.
A haven of Aedui culture, apparently, amid the Roman changes.
The two men took a seat at a table in the corner, and Eporedirix hunched forwards and spoke quietly, unheard above the general hum by any bar his companion.
‘What now?’ The two men were here to support the Roman garrison and aid them in keeping the people of Noviodunum working in good faith. The documents they carried commanded the Aedui officials here to grant the two men anything they required on the proconsul’s authority. And yet somehow they felt more comfortable here in the embrace of their countrymen than the foreigners they were here to aid.
‘Now,’ Viridomarus murmured, ‘we need to decide, I think, whether we are Aedui, or Roman.’
‘Talk like that is dangerous.’
‘Not as dangerous as choosing the wrong side in a war.’
‘Wait here,’ Eporedirix muttered and, rising, wandered over to the bar, where two locals leaned, supping frothy ale.
As he ordered and the barman fetched two mugs of beer, Eporedirix, feeling the Roman sealed orders like a lead weight beneath his tunic, cleared his throat.
‘I’ve never seen so many Romans in one of our towns.’
‘Bastards,’ snorted one of the men, spitting on the floor in disgust.
The other turned and looked Eporedirix up and down. Apparently satisfied that the new arrival was a true Aeduan, he took a swig and then spoke. ‘Where you from?’
‘Decetio. Not been here in a while. It’s changed a bit.’
‘Bastards,’ repeated the other man and spat again.
‘Who let the Romans have the town?’ Eporedirix asked quietly. ‘Everywhere else they’ve been, they just build an enclosure.’
‘The piece of scum tribune in charge feels nervous. Thinks everyone’s out to get them.’
Eporedirix narrowed his eyes. He’d always prided himself on being able to read between the lines, to pick up on unspoken sentiment. ‘And that’s because they are, aren’t they?’
The man turned a suspicious gaze on him.
‘You heard about Gergovia?’
‘Heard about it?’ Eporedirix replied. ‘I saw it for myself.’
The second man at the bar stopped drinking and turned to him. The newly arrived Aeduan felt the Roman seal beneath his tunic almost burning him from within. Someone at the far side of the bar shut the door at a nod from the innkeeper and slid the lock shut. All eyes turned to him and to his companion who sat at the table in the corner.
‘What really happened there?’
Not a genuine question. Again, Eporedirix picked up on a hidden nuance. A test, then?
‘I was with the Aedui cavalry on the hillside. We were supposed to bare our shoulder to show our allegiance, but… wouldn’t you know it?’ he said with a sly grin. ‘Some enterprising nobleman had us bare our wrong arm and the legion decided we were the enemy and panicked.’
A smile spread across the interrogator’s face. ‘I’d heard the Romans mistook you for enemies. Not why.’
‘I’ve still no idea whether it was a genuine accident,’ Eporedirix replied, ‘or whether one of the commanders decided he’d had enough of Roman orders. Either way, it started a landslide of cock-ups for the Romans, and they ran back east with their tails between their legs.’
The man nodded. ‘We heard they make for Aedui lands. Would that we could give them the same kind of kicking again. I’d always assumed that the Arverni king was just bluster and posture, but it seems he’s actually got what it takes. Still, if Caesar’s hoping for a warm reception among us, he might be surprised.’
‘Oh?’
The man lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone, despite the fact that the inn’s only occupants all seemed to be friends of his.
‘You know about Litavicus?’
Eporedirix shook his head, hoping that word had not spread about how he and Viridomarus had ruined the young noble’s plans to subvert Caesar’s Aeduan cavalry.
‘The Arverni king’s sent him to our leaders. He arrived at Bibracte declaring himself Vercingetorix’s man. If the old oath held true, they’d have taken him and handed him over to Caesar, but they didn’t. They welcomed him in. The new magistrate, Convictolitanis and all the nobles welcomed him.’