What he had not expected was the complete absence of reaction. No noise, no movement, nothing. After a long pause, two of the assembled leaders shared some sort of unspoken conversation and concluded it with a nod, the pair rising to their feet on opposite sides of the chamber.
As the spokesman for the Carnutes took a step forward, the ambassador for their neighbouring tribe, the Senones, rose beside him. But these two remained silent, nodding to the other standing figure.
Convictolitanis of the Aedui folded his arms as though unassailable and breathed deep.
‘The Arvernian king demands too much. He believes we can supply a constant stream of men for him to cast into Caesar’s ditches. He does not seem to understand that while the men of the tribes are at war the fields lie untilled and all the necessary trades that keep our societies moving grind to a halt. And meanwhile the German tribes are causing trouble enough that the Treveri cannot afford to join us, so hard pressed are they. What happens if the Treveri fail and the Germans push deep into our lands to find all our warriors away under grave markers beside Roman camps? And what if the pushes against the south fail and draw Roman retaliation? What if all our men are fighting Caesar and Pompey or one of his generals marches north from Narbo with another ten legions?’
The man shook his head and fixed a sympathetic look on the Cadurci chieftain.
‘It is not that we do not appreciate the situation or the sheer bravery and skill of your army. It is not that we underestimate your achievements, Lucterius. We voted to support you, after all. It is simply that we cannot commit every man of every tribe.’
Lucterius opened his mouth to speak, but the Aeduan magistrate chattered on regardless. ‘You see, Lucterius, while you were all charging around the countryside, wasting the cavalry of the tribes, we have carefully accounted for all the manpower available across our states. It is simply out of the question to send every able bodied warrior to help Vercingetorix, I am afraid. But while we all recognise the importance of keeping a defensive force for our own protection and to keep our societies functioning, we can also accept the value of supporting the Arverni’s war effort. It seems viable to me, with the consent of my peers of course, to divide the forces we have counted up roughly evenly between the war against Caesar and the needs of our own tribes.
The Cadurci chieftain felt the ire rising within him.
‘This is ridiculous. You’re all being so short-sighted! Vercingetorix asks for every man. Every man! And you know why? Because he is a brilliant leader and he knows what it takes to beat Caesar. You need to supply every man who can carry a sword. Because if we lose this battle, then we lose the war, and with the manpower we’ve thrown into it that means we lose for good. If we lose, every man who can carry a sword — whether they rode with us or stood on their farmstead watching for Germans — is going to end up as a Roman slave. But if we win? If we win, we will be free. Every man, everywhere, will be free. Don’t you see? There is no sense in a partial commitment to this cause. It’s all or nothing. Send every man to ensure success, or give up now and sell your children to Caesar.’
‘You do not understand the realities, Lucterius. You Cadurci are surrounded by allied tribes and safe in the west. You are not threatened by Rome or the tribes across the Rhenus. You ride with blind devotion because you have had no cause to see problems elsewhere. No. We can grant you a strong force. A force that will match the army the Arvernian already leads.’ He dredged his memory and counted off on his fingers as he spoke. ‘Half the overall warriors of the tribes. That’s thirty thousand from the Aedui and our allies. Twelve thousand from the tribes along the Elaver and the upper Liger. Ten thousand from the Belgae and the Lemovices. Eight from the Parisii and their neighbours. Five from the eastern tribes near the Germanic threat and from the northern sea tribes. Thirty thousand from the tribes of the old Helvetii mountains and below. Six thousand from the western sea tribes. That, if I have my math correct, gives you just over one hundred thousand men.’
Lucterius frowned. It would be a large force. But then, if that was half the men available, think what force they could field. And a sensible commander who knew the efficiency and power of the legions would never commit happily to battle without at least four-to-one odds in their favour.
‘We need more. It sounds a lot to you, but you’ve not watched those legions at work this summer. We will only crush them with sound strategy, bravery, and overwhelming numbers.’
‘Then look to yourselves,’ the Carnute leader snapped. ‘We are aware that not all the Cadurci are committed. Nor can the same be said for the Arverni and their lesser tribes. Throw in more numbers of your own. Our figures suggest you can field another thirty thousand between you.’
Lucterius nodded, remembering the trusted nobles of Arverni and Cadurci blood he’d sent south this morning under the command of his loyal nephew Molacos, just before they’d arrived at Bibracte. One hundred and thirty thousand in all, then. It was a powerful force, for sure. But still not the force they could produce.
‘All our people are already being summoned, Aeduan. We commit every man we have now, just as the king requires. Once more, I ask you, for the good of all the tribes and generations of free men to come, forget your ephemeral other dangers and your potteries and farms for this one season, forget that you are a hundred tribes, and be one nation with one army. Every man is needed. Every sword can make the difference.’
‘I will make your difference.’
Lucterius turned in surprise at the voice from the doorway — a tone heavily inflected with the Belgic accent. The speaker was well-attired in Gallic trousers and gold and bronze torcs and rings, but with a very Roman-looking cloak and crimson tunic.
‘Commius?’ murmured Convictolitanis in surprise, and Lucterius frowned. He knew of only one Commius. The chieftain of the Atrebates, who had been Caesar’s staunchest ally in the north for many years. A man Caesar himself had put in charge of conquered tribes such as the Morini. A man more Roman than Gaul. A man… could this really be him?
‘Lucterius of the Cadurci? Take the men the council offers. I have thirty thousand mixed cavalry and infantry arriving from the north this day, mere hours behind me. I come to join your struggle and take war to Rome.’
Lucterius frowned. Another thirty thousand. One hundred and sixty in total. Not the number he’d hoped. It would give them perhaps three-to-one odds. But it was clearly the best he was going to manage. And time was now of the essence. The longer Vercingetorix had to hold, the hungrier, weaker and more despondent the trapped tribes would get. He would have to march the men being offered as soon as they could be assembled.
‘Very well. I will take your forces and relieve Alesia.’
‘Not quite,’ Convictolitanis said, eyes narrowing. ‘The Arvernian king sends you away from the fight.’ He raised his voice, addressing not Lucterius, but the rest of the ambassadors and leaders in the room. ‘He does this because he is unconvinced of the Cadurci chief’s value as a commander. Remember, we have all heard the stories. Sent to ravage Narbo, and this man ran north instead, with his tail between his legs, having met Caesar.’