‘But they’re not here now,’ sighed Fronto. ‘You could join us, you know? I have need of clever men, and I get the feeling that describes you quite well.’
‘Turn my back on my own people and serve Rome?’
‘Plenty of others have.’
Cavarinos shook his head. ‘My honour sells dearer than that, I’m afraid. Not that the offer doesn’t tempt me, mind.’
‘But you don’t want this any more than I.’
‘And yet you’re still here too, Fronto. A man of your rank doesn’t need to be — I can recognise a patrician when I see one. Why don’t you walk away?’
‘Something about honour I guess,’ Fronto smiled wearily. ‘It’s my last season. This winter I hang my blade on the wall and leave the military for good. I’m a father now and I’d like my boys to grow up with me around.’
Cavarinos laughed. ‘You might plan that, but I can see the warrior in your eyes, Fronto. You can no more settle down like that than you can walk away from this war.’
‘No. This is my last fight. And it’ll end with Gaul peaceful, so that I can settle in Massilia and not have to worry about the lands a few miles from my door erupting in rebellion.’
‘I hope you get to retire peacefully, Fronto, though I doubt it will come to pass. And I cannot hope that it comes about through the end of our culture.’ He straightened. ‘Now, to business. Am I destined for a slave brand, or to be traded for Roman captives when the time comes?’
Fronto laughed, though with no humour. ‘I don’t think so. I’m thinking that when this entire mess comes to an end one way or another, the world will need men like you and I to try and bring it back into order. And your name’s been struck from the captive list, remember?’
Cavarinos gave him an appraising look. ‘If you free me, you know I will continue to fight against you. Remember what your friend Priscus advised.’
‘Then let’s pray to our gods that we don’t meet in the fight that’s coming, eh?’
Cavarinos chuckled. ‘You pray for both of us. The gods and I don’t get on all that well.’
‘Shame. You might need their help soon. Perhaps if you’d paid a little more devotion before now, you wouldn’t be here now.’
‘And I wouldn’t have had the chance to sample your fine vinegar and have this little chat.’
‘Seriously, Cavarinos. Keep yourself safe. When this is over and we’re working through the captives and the dead, I want to see you being marked off the former list, not the latter.’
‘Luck is luck, Fronto. Not the will of the gods. Good or bad, it comes when you wake and leaves when you sleep.’
On a whim, Fronto reached into his tunic and pulled out his small bronze figurine of Fortuna, struggling to remove the leather thong from his neck. The broken, legless ivory Nemesis looked lonely against his skin, and he resolved to replace them the next time he found a merchant with a supply or an artisan who could do them justice. Silently, he held the bronze figure in the palm of his hand and offered it to Cavarinos.
‘What is this?’
‘Fortuna. Our goddess of luck, and my patron goddess. I feel you might need her more than I in the coming days. If we both get through this, you can always give me it back sometime, but take it and wear it for now.’
Cavarinos hesitated, but finally reached out and took the pendant. ‘Try not to get speared in her absence,’ he smiled weakly.
‘I have to get back to my tent before Antonius has drunk all my wine. And shortly it’ll be truly dark and it’ll be a bugger climbing back to camp. Get going and don’t look back. There will be scouts out there, so be careful.’
Cavarinos nodded and thrust out his hand. Fronto took and gripped it. ‘Be safe.’
‘You too.’
The Roman officer stood and watched as the Gaul slipped out of the doorway and into the night, and then sighed, straightened, and began to stroll back to camp. This had been the third time he’d had Cavarinos of the Arverni in his grip — after Vellaunoduno and Decetio — and the third time he’d let him go. He hoped the habit he’d formed would not come back to bite him, but didn’t think so. Cavarinos might continue to fight with his king, but men whose ultimate goal was peaceful coexistence were men who should be encouraged, whatever side they fought upon.
His hand went up to the damaged figure of Nemesis at his throat. He hoped Fortuna wouldn’t take it personally that he’d given her away. After all, Cavarinos might be in desperate need of luck, but Fronto had only survived on her whim a number of times now.
He turned as he ascended toward the rampart, and his gaze just about picked out a shadowy figure moving among the trees on the far side of the river.
‘Good luck.’
* * * * *
‘You should get yourself dried out first,’ Vergasillaunus suggested, looking the drenched, shivering nobleman up and down. ‘Less than a thousand cavalry made it back, you know. Their pickets must be half-blind for you to slip past them. You were lucky to escape alive.’
Luck. Yes, that was it. Cavarinos’ hand went up to touch his chest, feeling the shape of Fortuna beneath his wool tunic.
‘I will find dry clothes shortly. Caesar has stopped running for Agedincum, my king. His army is encamped not five miles from here, at the old spring temple near Abello. He is convinced that he can beat you in battle in the open field now that you have no cavalry support, at least according to one of the Romans I overheard. I suspect he is waiting until the morning to see what you do before he finalises his plans.’
Vercingetorix nodded. ‘He is astute. And almost certainly correct. Without our cavalry, there is too great a risk of failure if we confront him. Once again, ill luck strips away our advantage. We cannot meet him in the field, and it will take too long for reserves to reach us. We must make for a place of safety while we await reinforcements.’
Cavarinos pursed his lips. ‘Abello is too close to them. Caesar would stop us before we reached the hill. Decetio is too far back south, and again, the journey would take us perilously close to Caesar’s army.’ He paused with a frown. ‘What about Alesia?’
The king nodded appreciatively. ‘The Mandubii owe their allegiance to us, and Alesia is almost as defensive as Gergovia. Perhaps, even without the cavalry, we can repeat our earlier success there. And once the reserves turn up, we’ll trap Caesar between an anvil and a hammer. A good choice. If we push ourselves as soon as the sun is up, we can be behind its ramparts by sunset.’
‘The Romans will know where we’ve gone,’ Vergasillaunus noted. ‘Their scouts are all over the countryside.’
‘That matters not. Alesia is more or less impregnable. We will make a stand there and wait for the reserves.’
Cavarinos nodded, shuddering in his cold wet clothes.
The capital of the Mandubii, then. That was where the big fight of which Fronto and he had spoken would take place.
Alesia…
PART THREE: ENDGAME
Chapter 17
Alesia. Summer 52BC.
Vercingetorix stood tall on the bluff at the western end of Alesia’s plateau, both hands resting casually on the pommel of the long sword at his side, his intelligent, contemplative brow furrowed as he looked down over the aptly-name plain of mud below, his long hair whipping in the evening breeze.
Behind him the sounds of oppidum life went on. Alesia was perhaps a third as large again as Gergovia. Its slopes may not be as steep and unassailable, and its walls not quite as sturdy, but it made a more than adequate camp for the army of free tribes. Despite being so much larger than the Arvernian capital, Alesia supported less than half that population, leaving acres of space for the army that had arrived a few hours ago, even if much of that was at the eastern end and outside the walls. Even now the bulk of the force was still setting up, selecting where to site their tribes and assigning sections of rampart to watch over. Many of the nobles, including the king’s cousin, were busy working with the Mandubian elders of the city, trying to settle in without too much inconvenience to the population. But Cavarinos stood here with Vercingetorix, Lucterius, and the Mandubian chieftain, looking out over the plain, as much to be away from his brother as any other reason.