"If there is, I don't know of it. He can even take your wife off you if he fancies her. But he loves engineering best, I think. One of his greatest disappointments is that the Gauls have not yet offered him the chance to make the siege of Numantia look like an easy night in a brothel. Or if you want to get him started, ask him about Scipio Aemilianus's approach to the siege of Carthage—he'll tell you exactly what Aemilianus did wrong."
"It's all grist to his mill, you see," said Fabius, grinning.
"Do you think he'd take Pomponia off me if I dressed her up and thrust her under his nose?" asked Quintus Cicero wistfully.
Trebonius and Fabius howled with laughter.
Marcus Junius Silanus eyed them sourly. "If you ask me, all this is a complete waste of time. We should boat across,” he said. "The bridge accomplishes nothing beyond his personal glory."
The old hands turned to stare at him contemptuously; Silanus was one of those who wouldn't be asked to stay on.
"Ye-es, we could boat across," said Trebonius slowly. "But then we'd have to boat back again. What happens if the Suebi—or the Ubii, for that matter—come charging in their millions out of the forest? Caesar never takes stupid risks, Silanus. See how he's ranged his artillery on the Gallic side? If we have to retreat in a hurry, he'll shell the bridge into splinters before a single German gets across. One of Caesar's secrets is speed. Another is to be prepared for every conceivable eventuality."
Labienus was snuffing the air, his eagle's beak flaring. "I can smell the cunni!" he said exultantly. "Oh, there's nothing like making a German wish he was burning inside a wicker cage!"
Before anyone could find an appropriate answer for this, up came Caesar, grinning delightedly. "Marshal the troops, boys!" he said. "Time to chase the Suebi into their woods."
"What do you mean, chase?" demanded Labienus.
Caesar laughed. "Unless I miss my guess, Titus, it will come to nothing else."
The legions marched in their normal eight-man-wide columns across the great bridge, the rhythmic thump of their feet amplified to a roaring drum roll as the planks vibrated and the echoes bounced off the water below. That their coming could be heard for miles was evident as the legions peeled off to either side on German soil. The Ubii chieftains were waiting in a group, but no German warriors stood behind them.
"It wasn't us!" cried their leader, whose name, inevitably, was Herman. "Caesar, we swear it! The Suebi sent men to aid the Treveri, we didn't! Not one Ubian warrior has crossed the river to help the Treveri, we swear it!"
"Calm down, Arminius," said Caesar through his interpreter, and giving the agitated spokesman the Latin version of his name. "If that's so, you have nothing to fear."
With the Ubii leaders stood another aristocrat whose black clothing proclaimed that he belonged to the Cherusci, a powerful tribe living between the Sugambri and the river Albis. Caesar's eyes kept going to him, fascinated. White skin, red-gold curls and a distinct look of Lucius Cornelius Sulla. Who had, he remembered being told, spied for Gaius Marius among the Germans. He and Quintus Sertorius. How old was this man? Hard to tell with Germans, whose air was soft and skins consequently young. But he could be sixty. Yes, very possible.
"What's your name?" he asked through the interpreter.
"Cornel," said the Cheruscian.
"Are you a twin?"
The pale eyes, so like Caesar's own, widened and filled with respect. "I was. My brother was killed in a war with the Suebi."
"And your father?"
"A great chieftain, so my mother said. He was of the Celtae."
"His name?"
"Cornel."
"And now you lead the Cherusci."
"I do."
"Do you plan war with Rome?"
"Never."
Whereupon Caesar smiled and turned away to talk to Herman. "Calm down, Arminius!" he repeated. "I accept your word. In which case, retire into your strongholds, make your supplies safe, and do nothing. I want Ambiorix, not war."
"The news was shouted down the river while your bridge was still building, Caesar. Ambiorix is gone to his own people, the Eburones. The Suebi have been shouting it constantly."
"That's considerate of them, but I think I'll look for myself," said Caesar, smiling. "However, Arminius, while I've got you here, I have a proposition for you. The Ubii are horse soldiers, they say the best in Germania, and far better than any Belgic tribe. Have I been misled?"
Herman swelled proudly. "No, you have not."
"But you find it difficult to get good horses, is that right?"
"Very, Caesar. Some we get from the Cimbric Chersonnese, where the old Cimbri bred huge beasts. And our raids into Belgica are rarely for land. We go for Italian and Spanish horses."
"Then," said Caesar in the most friendly way, "I might be in a position to help you, Arminius."
"Help me?"
"Yes. When next winter comes, send me four hundred of your very best horse soldiers to a place called Vienne, in the Roman Province. Don't bother mounting them well. They'll find eight hundred of the very best Remi horses waiting for them, and if they get to Vienne early enough, they'll have time to train the animals. I will also send you a gift of another thousand Remi horses, with good breeding stallions among them. I'll pay the Remi out of my own purse. Interested?"
"Yes! Yes!"
"Excellent! We'll talk about it further when I leave."
Caesar strolled then to Cornel, who had waited out of earshot with the rest of the chieftains and Caesar's superintendent of interpreters, Gnaeus Pompeius Trogus.
"One further thing, Cornel," he said. "Do you have sons?"
"Twenty-three, by eleven wives."
"And do they have sons?"
"Those who are old enough do."
"Oh, how Sulla would love that!" said Caesar, laughing. "And do you have any daughters?"
"Six whom I let live. The prettiest ones. That's why I'm here. One of them is to marry Herman's eldest son."
"You're right," Caesar said, nodding wisely. "Six are more than enough to make useful marriages. What a provident fellow you are!" He straightened, sobered. "Stay here, Cornel. On my way back to Gallia Comata I will require treaties of peace and friendship with the Ubii. And it would enormously gratify a very great Roman, long dead, if I also concluded a treaty of peace and friendship with the Cherusci."
"But we already have one, Caesar," said Cornel.
"Really? When was it made?"
"About the time I was born. I have it still."
"And I haven't done my homework. No doubt it's nailed to the wall in Jupiter Feretrius, right where Sulla put it. Unless it perished in the fire."
Sulla's German son was standing lost, but Caesar had no intention of enlightening him. Instead, he gazed about in mock bewilderment. "But I don't see the Sugambri! Where are they?"
Herman swallowed. "They'll be here when you return, Caesar."
The Suebi had retreated to the eaves of the Bacenis Forest, a limitless expanse of beech, oak and birch which eventually fused with an even mightier forest, the Hercynian, and spread untrammeled a thousand miles to far Dacia and the sources of the fabulous rivers flowing down to the Euxine Sea. It was said that a man could walk for sixty days and not reach the middle of it.
Wherever oaks and acorns were, there also were pigs; in this impenetrable fastness the boars were massive, tusked, and mindlessly savage. Wolves slunk everywhere, hunting in packs, afraid of nothing. The forests of Gaul, particularly the Arduenna, still held many boars and wolves, but the forests of Germania contained myths and fables because men had not yet forced them to retreat eastward. Horrifying creatures lived there! Huge elk which had to lean on trees to sleep, so heavy were their horns; aurochs the size of small elephants; and gigantic bears, dowered with claws as long as a man's fingers, teeth bigger than a lion's, bears which towered over a man when they stood upright. Deer, wild cattle and wild sheep were their food, but they were not averse to men. The Germani hunted them for their pelts, highly
prized for sleeping warmth and highly valued as items of trade.
No surprise then that the troops regarded the fringes of the Bacenis Forest with trepidation, and promised innumerable rich offerings to Sol Indiges and Tellus if those Gods would only pop the thought into Caesar's head that he didn't want to go inside. For they would follow him, but do so in great dread.
"Well, as the Germani are not Druids, there seems no point in felling their trees," said Caesar to his apprehensive legates. "Nor do I intend to take my soldiers into that kind of horror. We've shown our fangs, and that's as much as we can do, I think. Back to Gallia Comata."
This time, however, the bridge didn't come down entirely. Only the two hundred feet of it closest to the German bank were demolished; Caesar left the rest still standing, erected a strongly fortified camp equipped with one tower tall enough to see into Germania for miles, and garrisoned it with the Fifth Alauda under the command of Gaius Volcatius Tullus.
It was the end of September, still high summer by the seasons; the Belgae were on their knees, but one more campaign would see a permanent cessation to Belgic resistance. From his bridge across the Rhenus, Caesar pushed westward into the lands of the Eburones, already devastated. If Ambiorix was there, he would have to be captured. The Eburones were his people, but it was impossible for a king to rule if his people no longer existed. Therefore the Eburones would disappear from the catalogue of the Druids. An objective King Commius of the Atrebates applauded; his lands were increasing rapidly, and he had the people to fill them. The title High King of the Belgae grew ever closer.
Quintus Cicero, however, was not so lucky. Because he had a happy knack with soldiers, Caesar had given him command of the Fifteenth Legion, the only one still composed entirely of raw troops who had not yet seen battle. Word of the extermination of the Eburones had flown across the river into Germania, with the result that the Sugambri decided to help Caesar in an unofficial capacity. They boated across to Belgica and contributed their mite to Belgic misery. Unfortunately the sight of a poorly formed and unruly Roman column was too much to bear; the Sugambri fell on the Fifteenth with glee, and the Fifteenth panicked so badly that Quintus Cicero and his tribunes could do nothing.
Two cohorts were needlessly killed in the confusion, but before the Sugambri could kill more, Caesar arrived with the Tenth. Shrieking with mingled joy and alarm, the Sugambri scampered off to leave Caesar and Quintus Cicero trying to restore order. Which took all day.
"I've let you down," said Quintus Cicero, tears in his eyes.
"No, not at all. They're unblooded and nervous. All that German forest. These things happen, Quintus. Had I been with them, I doubt matters would have been different. It's their vile centurions at fault, not my legate."
"If you'd been leading them, you would have seen whose fault it was and not let them fall into total disorder on the march," said Quintus Cicero, unconsoled.
Caesar threw an arm about his shoulders and shook him gently. "Perhaps," he said, "but not surely. Anyway, we shall prove me truth of it. You can have the Tenth. The Fifteenth is going to be stuck with me for many moons to come. I'll have to go across the Alps to Italian Gaul this autumn, and the Fifteenth will come with me. I'll march it into stupor and I'll drill it into puppet dolls. Including its slack centurions."
"Does this mean I'll be packing my trunks with Silanus?" Quintus Cicero asked.
"I sincerely hope not, Quintus! You're with me until you ask to go." His arm tightened, his hand squeezed. "You see, Quintus, I've come to think of you as the great Cicero's big brother. He might fight a superb action in the Forum, but in the field he couldn't fight his way out of a sack. To each his own. You're the Cicero I prefer any day."
Words which were to stay with Quintus Cicero during the years to come, words which were to cause much pain, greater acrimony, awful rifts within the Tullius Cicero family. For Quintus could never forget them, nor discipline himself not to love the man who said them. Blood ruled. But hearts could ache despite that. Oh, better perhaps that he had never served with Caesar! Yet had he not, the great Cicero would always have dictated his every thought, and Quintus would never have become his own man.
And so that strife-torn year wore down for Caesar. He put the legions into winter camp very early, two with Labienus in a new camp among the Treveri, two in the lands of the ever-loyal Lingones along the Sequana River, and six around Agedincum, the main oppidum of the Senones.
He prepared to depart for Italian Gaul, planning to escort Rhiannon and his son as far as her villa outside Arausio, and also planning to find a pedagogue for the boy. What was the matter with him, that he had no interest in the Greeks on the beach at Ilium for ten long years, in the rivalry between Achilles and Hector, in the madness of Ajax, in the treachery of Thersites? Had he asked these things of Rhiannon, she might have answered tartly that Orgetorix was not yet four years old; but as he said nothing of it to her, he went on interpreting the child's behavior in the light of what he had been at the same age, and didn't understand that the child of a genius might turn out to be just an ordinary little boy.
At the end of November he called another pan-Gallic assembly, this one at the Remi oppidum of Durocortorum. The reason for the congress was not discussion. Caesar charged Acco, the leader of the Senones, with conspiring to incite insurrection. He conducted a formal Roman trial in the prescribed manner, though in one hearing only: witnesses, cross-examination of witnesses, a jury composed of twenty-six Romans and twenty-five Gauls, advocates to speak for the prosecution and the defense. Caesar presided himself, with Cotus of the Aedui, who had interceded for the Senones, at his right hand.
All the Celtae and some of the Belgae came, though the Remi outnumbered all the other delegates (and furnished six of the twenty-five Gallic jurors). The Arverni were led by Gobannitio and Critognatus, their vergobrets, but in the party was—of course, thought Caesar with an inward sigh—Vercingetorix. Who challenged the court immediately.
"If this is to be a fair trial," he asked Caesar, "why is there one more Roman juror than Gallic juror?"
Caesar opened his eyes wide. "There is customarily an odd number of jurors to avoid a drawn decision," he said mildly. "The lots were cast; you saw them for yourself, Vercingetorix. Besides which, for the purposes of this trial all the jurors are to be regarded as Roman—all have an equal vote."
"How can it be equal when there are twenty-six Romans and only twenty-five Gauls?"
"Would you be happier if I put an extra Gaul on the jury?" asked Caesar patiently.
"Yes!" snapped Vercingetorix, uncomfortably aware that the Roman legates were laughing at him behind their eyes.
"Then I will do so. Now sit down, Vercingetorix."
Gobannitio rose to his feet.
"Yes?" asked Caesar, sure of this man.
"I must apologize for the conduct of my nephew, Caesar. It will not happen again."
"You relieve me, Gobannitio. Now may we proceed?"
The court proceeded through witnesses and advocates (with, noted Caesar, pleased, a wonderful speech in defense of Acco by Quintus Cicero—let Vercingetorix complain about that!) to its verdict, having taken the best part of the day.
Thirty-three jurors voted CONDEMNO, nineteen ABSOLVO. All the Roman jurors, six Remi and one Lingone had won the day. But nineteen of the Gauls, including the three Aedui on the panel, had voted for acquittal.
"The sentence is automatic," said Caesar tonelessly. "Acco will be flogged and decapitated. At once. Those who wish to witness the execution may do so. I sincerely hope this lesson is taken to heart. I will have no more broken treaties."
As the proceedings had been conducted entirely in Latin, it was only when the Roman guard formed up on either side of him that Acco truly realized what the sentence was.
"I am a free man in a free country!" he shouted, drew himself up, and walked between the soldiers out of the room.
Vercingetorix began to cheer; Gobannitio struck him hard across the face.
"Be silent, you fool!" he said. "Isn't it enough?"
Vercingetorix left the room, left the confines of the hall and strode off until he could neither see nor hear what was done to Acco.
"They say that's what Dumnorix said just before Labienus cut him down," said Gutruatus of the Carnutes.
"What?" asked Vercingetorix, trembling, face bathed in a chill sweat "What?"
" 'I am a free man in a free country!' Dumnorix shouted before Labienus cut him down. And now his woman consorts with Caesar. This is not a free country, and we are not free men."
"You don't need to tell me that, Gutruatus. My own uncle, to strike me across the face in front of Caesar! Why did he do this? Are we supposed to shake in fear, get down on our knees and beg Caesar's forgiveness?"
"It's Caesar's way of telling us that we are not free men in a free country."
"Oh, by Dagda and Taranis and Esus, I swear I'll have Caesar's head on my doorpost for this!" Vercingetorix cried. "How dare he dress up his actions in such a travesty?"
"He dares because he's a brilliant man in command of a brilliant army," said Gutruatus through his teeth. "He's walked all over us for five long years, Vercingetorix, and we haven't got anywhere! You may as well say that he's finished the Belgae, and the only reason he hasn't finished the Celtae is that we haven't gone to war with him the way the Belgae did. Except for the poor Armorici—look at them! The Veneti sold into slavery, the Esubii reduced to nothing."
Litaviccus and Cotus of the Aedui appeared, faces grim; Lucterius of the Cardurci joined them, and Sedulius, vergobret of the Lemovices.
"That's just the point!" cried Vercingetorix, speaking to his entire audience. "Look at the Belgae—Caesar picked them off one people at a time. Never as a mass of peoples. Eburones one campaign—the Morini another—the Nervii—the Bellovaci—the Atuatuci—the Menapii—even the Treveri. One by one! But what would have happened to Caesar if just the Nervii, the Bellovaci, the Eburones and the Treveri had merged their forces and attacked as one army? Yes, he's brilliant! Yes, he has a brilliant army! But Dagda he is not! He would have gone down—and never managed to get up again."
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