Marius' Mules VII: The Great Revolt (32 page)

It would have been absolutely perfect barring the fact that a stuffy old pro-Roman named Cotus had challenged Convictolitanis’ control and had brought the matter to Caesar’s attention. Thus instead of the entire tribe slipping into Vercingetorix’s army unnoticed by the Romans, the great and the good of the Aedui had been compelled to leave Bibracte and ride for Decetio to have Caesar give his judgement. Cavarinos had been under no illusion that the Romans would be there in force and would exert their control over events, and almost certainly Caesar would come down in favour of the old man, who had influence, connections and an ancient family. Hell, his brother had been the previous magistrate.

The cause of the rebellion had come so close, and then one old fool had opened his mouth, divided the tribe and brought Caesar into it.

And it seemed likely that wherever Caesar went, Fronto would be with him… not that that would be a bad thing. Cavarinos had looked into the legate’s eyes more than once now and had seen not only the steely resolve of the soldier, but also wisdom tempered with understanding. A man like that might be the only hope for a future of peace alongside Rome when they finally drove Caesar out. But the fact remained that just as he would recognise legate Fronto a mile away, so the same could be said the other way around. That being the case, and knowing that the Aedui column would pass under close Roman scrutiny, Cavarinos had subtly altered his appearance over the past day, trimming his moustaches a lot shorter, braiding his hair back away from his face and donning a more voluminous helmet. He had even used some of the white clay mud from the river bank to lighten his hair colour as he dunked his head this morning.

Most importantly, he had removed his tell-tale Arverni arm-ring upon arrival among the Aedui and had removed the leather bag containing the curse and hidden it among his pack. Still, despite those measures, he felt Roman eyes boring into him and hunkered down, keeping his face and eyes lowered.

Decetio was far from the largest of the Aedui’s oppida, but it was certainly one of the more impressive. Scarcely a quarter of a mile across - against Bibracte’s mile and a half - it lay on a very defensible island in the wide and fast Liger River, reached by a strong bridge from either bank, and rising on a natural hill, dominating the river and the plain surrounding it. Its walls were not tall or heavy, but the river gods had given it defences that far outstripped the capabilities of mere walls.

Moreover, it bore more resemblance to a Roman settlement than an Aedui one. The Roman trade along the river had brought it wealth and goods, and with the Aedui formerly being such staunch allies of the republic it had gained a great deal of finance and support from Rome. Some of the houses even had columned frontages, visible over the walls as the streets rose to the central summit.

As he kicked his horse to move slightly faster across the wide, long bridge, Cavarinos felt the attention of the legionaries lining the road on either side.

And then, thankfully, finally, they passed beneath the gate of Decetio and into the city, where they slowly rose through the city’s curved streets to the stone-and-timber forum and temple at the top. At the entrance to the monumental complex, many of the Aedui were directed aside by Roman officers. None of the men, Cavarinos noted with relief, were Fronto. Like the other important nobles that had attended, Litavicus was given permission to enter with a guard of six, and he carefully selected Cavarinos among that number.

The forum had already been arranged by the Romans, who had clearly been here a day or more, waiting for the Aedui. Caesar sat like a king on a heavy oaken throne beneath the tile-roofed gallery that ran around the outside of the temple of Cernunnos which dominated the civic centre. Other less ornate chairs spread out to either side, each containing a Roman officer. And the centre of the square, bounded by a monumental colonnade, held row upon row of crude log benches and two unadorned wooden chairs. There could be no doubt who was the ascendant power here.

A small knot of Roman soldiers without their armour or weapons busied themselves taking the reins of the new arrivals’ horses and walking them across the rear of the space, where they were tethered beneath the colonnade and in sight of the gathering. For a moment, Cavarinos felt the wrench as he dismounted, allowing a Roman to walk off with his horse and all his worldly goods, including a leather pouch containing purportedly the most valuable item the rebel army controlled.

Giving each other appropriately cold stares, bristling with unspoken anger, Convictolitanis and Cotus approached the two wooden chairs and took their seats, their closest companions gathering on the wooden benches behind them, the rest of the attendees filling the space in their small groups. Cavarinos followed Litavicus and sat next to him, his eyes picking out with no surprise the form of legate Fronto a few chairs to Caesar’s left. He pulled the brow of his helmet slightly lower.

After perhaps quarter of an hour, the Aedui were settled, the horses tethered and fed, and the forum filled with a calm quiet as the gates to each side were shut by soldiers.

‘It is no easy matter,’ Caesar announced, ‘to settle such a dispute. I have spoken to the leaders of this oppidum, and they inform me that the choice of your priests is Convictolitanis, who is young and perhaps as yet untried by the perils and treacherous tides of politics. We cannot overlook a choice backed by your priests purely on a matter of age and inexperience, however.’

Cavarinos rolled his eyes, unseen. Caesar was clearly ill-informed. Cavarinos had seen Convictolitanis the politician at work months back in Bibracte. The man was more than able, and probably not as young as he looked, either.

‘Cotus, on the other hand, seems to have the perfect background and experience for the role, though lacks the general backing of your priesthood.’

The Roman general cradled his fingers and for a moment Cavarinos wondered whether he had been remiss. Had he kept the curse of Ogmios with him, he might have been tempted to use it on Caesar. After all, there seemed little chance he would ever be this close to the Roman commander again. Yet something pushed that thought down and away, something Cavarinos chose to believe was his common sense. The curse was of much more use as a talisman to the army, preserved until the time it was needed to drive them on, than as a weapon, which he was fairly sure was an enormous pile of secretive druidic horse shit anyway.

‘I have not made a decision,’ Caesar announced. ‘I considered it to be highly insulting to form an opinion either way without hearing you both out, as well as any of your kin and allies that might have pertinent information for this matter. Perhaps you would each care to enlighten me as to why your case is the strongest?’

Cavarinos looked across at Fronto, whose own gaze passed across the ranks of the Aedui for a heart-stopping moment without settling upon Cavarinos at all. The Arvernian had to cough to stifle a laugh as he watched Fronto surreptitiously scratch himself in a private place before folding his arms again.

For perhaps another quarter of an hour, he sat and half-listened to the politicking going on in the forum. Both men were clearly astute and persuasive, and their reasoning was strong, if long-winded, self-aggrandizing and repetitive. Finally, Caesar held up a hand.

‘Enough, I think. Clearly your cases seem evenly matched. This may require some deliberation.’

‘I suspect he means bribes,’ Cavarinos whispered sarcastically.

‘Time to swing the vote,’ Litavicus whispered back and flashed him a grin before standing. Cavarinos looked up in surprise as the young man cleared his throat and addressed the general and the crowd, sweeping his arms wide in an oratorical manner.

‘Tell the proconsul how you were elected, Cotus.’

The old man spun, throwing a furious glare at Litavicus, who simply shrugged and waited.

‘Explain that remark, Cotus,’ the general commanded.

The old man cleared his throat, sounding slightly uncertain. ‘I was chosen by my brother, who had ruled before me, in a duly-selected gathering of nobles and priests in the sacred sanctuary of the cold fountains at Bibracte.’

‘How many priests can you find to substantiate that claim, Cotus?’ Litavicus grinned, clearly enjoying himself.

‘You dare call me a
liar
?’ snarled Cotus.

‘Oh I do, old man. I do. You see my uncle is the attendant priest who maintains that very sanctuary, and he states flatly that no such gathering took place. In fact, I have it on good authority that your supposed election took place over a mug of beer with three friends,
as well
as your brother. It may well have been his will that you follow him, but you flouted the laws and ignored all precedent in your haste. Moreover, since that was two days before your brother’s demise, even if you had been legitimately elected, that would have made you both magistrates at the same time, which, as I’m sure you’re aware, is against the law. One very reason we are here today.
That
is why the priests favour Convictolitanis.’

‘Is this true?’ asked Caesar with a sharp edge to his tone.

‘Watch and appreciate,’ Litavicus smiled as he took his seat once more. Around the square, nobles rose to their feet angrily, almost all shouting and demanding things. As Cavarinos listened, a number of views were espoused, but the overriding tide was clearly turned against Cotus. He tried not to smile as a Roman officer called for silence and the general spoke once more.

‘It becomes clear that there can be only one candidate for the magistracy of the Aedui. Convictolitanis was elected in a manner that follows your legal and ritual guidelines and, despite his youth, he is the rightful leader of the Aedui at this time. Since Cotus has ignored and twisted the laws to gain position, he cannot be accorded success. It is the rule of Rome that Convictolitanis be appointed sole and legal magistrate of the tribe.’

Cavarinos allowed a shuddering breath to leak from him as he contemplated how close they had come this day to the rebel force losing all influence with the Aedui. Instead, because of a little wicked politicking, Caesar had been manoeuvred into choosing the one man to lead the tribe who would love nothing more than to tear their bonds with Rome asunder. After all the work Vercingetorix had put into the matter, Rome had finally tipped the scales
for him
and beautifully, cunningly, wonderfully, remained completely ignorant of that fact.

He was smiling happily to himself over the next half an hour as Caesar made further arrangements with Convictolitanis, ordering Cotus to stand down with no further ills befalling him and demanding that the Aedui heal this division and put aside their differences under their one new leader. He barely cared when Caesar asked the Aedui to prepare for war against the rebel forces. He almost laughed aloud when Caesar demanded all the Aedui cavalry and infantry move out to take part in his campaign, manning the Roman strongholds, cities and supply depots, controlling his provisions that he himself might be free to concentrate on the business of conducting the war. But his brow creased at the mention of the next target of that war.
Gergovia?

By the time the assembled nobles were dispersing to the accommodation that had been assigned to them in Decetio for the night, leaving only the two Aeduan leaders with the Roman officers, Cavarinos was stripping his goods from his tired horse at the rear of the complex. His steed would still be weary from his earlier ride, and the news that the Arverni capital was to be Caesar’s next target was something that had to reach Vercingetorix’s ear as fast as a man could ride, if he was to save Gergovia.

* * * * *

Fronto watched the crowd disperse and performed a sudden double-take. As his suspicious gaze played once more across the gathered Aedui, he failed to see the man a second time. He couldn’t swear to it, for the man had looked different somehow, but at a push, he’d have been willing to put forward the view that a certain Arverni chieftain who seemed to crop up in the most unusual of places had been among that gathering somehow.

As the warriors and nobles made their way out through the gate and into the city, he watched intently until the last man had gone, but still caught no further sight of the ghost that might have been Cavarinos of the Arverni.

Antonius made him jump with a slap on the back.

‘Nice job here, eh Marcus? Now for a night of rest and then on to victory.’

Fronto stared out of the gate at the dispersing mob.

‘I suspect we did not just make the deal Caesar thinks we did.’

Chapter 11

Close to Gorgobina, five miles east of the Elaver River

Cicero and Plancus shared a look. Though their families were both old names and old money in Rome and they would likely attend the same social functions and vie for political offices back home, out here in Gaul they were as different as two men could be. Cicero was cavalier and cocksure in his decisions - especially when the fault might land with his underlings, some said. Plancus was still learning the military ropes despite his years of command, and remained nervous and defensive in his stratagems.

‘I cannot help but feel that this is a dangerous enterprise,’ Cicero said quietly.

‘I am rather glad to hear you say that,’ replied Plancus. ‘Generally I don’t open my mouth in staff meetings because often someone shoves my foot in it, but marching on the Arverni home city? It is not a good idea. I had a white goat sacrificed by an augur and the portents…’

He shuddered by way of explanation, and Cicero nodded.

‘But you’ve known the general now for six years. Do you see him changing his mind?’

‘No,’ Plancus replied. ‘But strangely, despite everything, I see him being successful. When is Caesar
not
successful, after all, regardless of the odds? We hitched our personal wagons to the greatest horse in this race, my friend.’

The two officers fell silent and watched as the Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh and Thirteenth legions crunched down the hillside to join the Eighth and Fourteenth on the plain. Caesar rode on ahead, typically, in cold, steely glory with a white charger, a red cloak and Ingenuus’ cavalry surrounding him.