Druids (34 page)

When next we met in the king’s lodge to eat and drink and talk, I began slipping references to the Germans into the conversation. I did not speak against them, I even praised their valor in battle. Yet I referred obliquely to time-honored hatreds; I recalled old stories whispered around the lodgefires of our youth to frighten children. I summoned, like a stain spreading across the floor, the ancient enmity of Gaul and German.

At the king’s invitation, Hanesa had joined us, and he became my ally. I drew him with such devices as saying, “You remember the old story about the two Germanic tribes who …” and then Hanesa would take up the tale—perhaps one I had never heard at all—and elaborate upon it until he had constructed a masterpiece of grisly horror.

Rix listened fascinated, in spite of himself.

It was like slipping poison into a fig.

“IfAriovistus is any example of his race,” I said with studied casualness, helping myself to more roast mutton, “then he is a man of giant stature and appetites.” I glanced toward Hanesa. “Where do the German warriors get their strength, do you suppose? Do they still rape their slain enemies and then eat them?”

Rix stopped chewing. “I never heard that.”

“Oh yes!” Hanesa obliged. “It was common knowledge. Ger-man tribes have always been cannibals. Why do you think they need no supply lines when they go into battle?” The bard bit deeply into his roasted meat, making the skin crackle and the juices spurt.

Rix pushed his food aside and reached for me wine.

In the Province I had learned many lessons, not the least bemg me value of discrediting an enemy. I would get those Germans

out of Rix’s army one way or another.

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But before the first of the tribal kings arrived in answer to Rix’s summons, a messenger on an exhausted horse staggered through the gates ofGergovia and demanded to see the king. “Caesar has Ariovistus trapped,” the man gasped. His face was white with fatigue, his clothes spattered with mud and what might be dried blood. “Though he has sixteen thousand foot warriors and six thousand on horse, Ariovistus fears the battle will go against him. He begs the Arvemi to ride east and stand with him against Cae-sar.”

Rix turned to me. “What say you, Ainvar?”

The eagerness to give battle was rising off him like waves of heat.

This was a major test. If I gave Rix the wrong answer I would lose my influence with him. As well as I knew the Source I knew that my relationship with him was conditional. Everything was subservient to the driving force within him that attracted us all;

that could make him the best weapon Gaul could forge against the ambitions of Caesar.

But the Germans were also ambitious for Gaulish land, as they had demonstrated too many times. I remembered my vision of the Two-Faced One with Caesar’s face on one side, a Germanic visage on the other, and in the silence of my head I prayed, Guide me.

The words came strong and sure.‘“Do not use one mad dog to fight another, Vercingetorix, or they might join forces and turn on you. Let one destroy the other. Then you need only fight the survivor.”

It was not the answer he hoped for; disappointment and anger warred on his face. Yet he stood quietly, absorbing my words, never taking his hooded gaze from mine.

At last he said, “Your advice makes sense.”

I dared to consolidate my gains. “Ariovistus apparently thinks he has the right to ask you for help.”

Rix did not give me a reply, but he turned to the Suebian messenger and said in a voice loud enough to be certain I heard, “When you have rested and eaten you will return to your king. Tell him that I shall order any of his men currently in my territory to return and fight with him, but I shall not send him any other assistance. Now or ever. And he is not to call upon me again.”

The messenger grew even more pale. ‘ ‘But there are six Roman legions against him.”

“Then you must return at the gallop,” Rix advised coolly.

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“You will be needed to fight.” The matter closed, he turned his back on the unfortunate man.

I was proud of Rix. He had subordinated his passion to attack Caesar now and accepted a more prudent policy. He was meant to be a king. I wished we could have him to lead the Camutes, but he could do more than that.

He could lead the Gauls.

That night as I lay on my bed, listening to Rix pleasure himself behind a screen with one of his many women, I thought, what if Ariovistus won? Rix would not thank me for denying him a chance to be on the winning side against Caesar… .

I need not have worried. As we subsequently learned, the Germans were routed and pursued all the way to the Rhine. Caesar made a habit of following up on his victories. Ariovistus managed to save his life by swimming across the Rhine, but one of his daughters was killed and another taken prisoner. Germanic women frequently went to war with their men and suffered the fate of any warriors.

Almost as an afterthought, the Celtic tribes living nearest the Rhine fell on the last of the Suebi to reach the river and killed most of them. Ariovistus, though safe in his forests, died soon after. It was said he stopped eating and turned his face to the sunset.

Leaving his armies secure in winter quarters, Caesar took himself off to Rome.

The tribal kings of Gaul came to Gergovia.

Curiosity brought some, self-interest brought others. Many, such as Tasgetius, and Cavarinus of the Senones, and Ollovico of the Bituriges, were conspicuous by their absence. They led the great tribes who did not, perhaps, think they needed to listen to anyone else.

Some of the lesser kings thought otherwise. And in the new young king of the Arvemi they found a man as tall as the tallest of them, as strong as the strongest, a man who was clever and fearless. Even I, who had prepared him diligently beforehand, was impressed. Rix turned the force of his personality on those swaggering, boastful chieftains like a blinding light, forcing them to listen and respect him.

He described in detail the Roman threat as he—as we—saw it. He was very convincing. He told what he had learned about Ro-man military techniques through observation in the Province, detailing the organization of Caesar’s armies to the last cook and

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porter. He had men twice his age listening openmouthed as he described intricate battle formations.

“We must be united in our efforts to deny the Romans any

further encroachment in Gaul,” Rix said earnestly. “Only by standing together can we successfully confront such an army as Caesar has organized. We need to form a confederation against him; he cannot be defeated by one tribe alone, however large. His armies are too well trained and he can move them long distances at great speed. He can build roads and bridges to give them access almost overnight. If we resist him tribe by tribe he will defeat us tribe by tribe. We have to stand together. A confederation is the only way to survive.”

Every king in that council had fought every other king present at some time. Asking them to form an alliance was asking the impossible. Only a man as exciting and inspiring as Vercingetorix could hope to succeed.

Such a man is not born in ten generations. He was given to us when we needed him most.

At the conclusion of that first council of free Gaui, the kings of the Parisii, the Pictones, and the Turones had agreed outright to accept Rix as men-commander in the event of war against Caesar, following his standard and his orders in a unified defense of the land. The others were half-convinced, but waited to with-hold final commitment until they saw which way the wind blew. At least no one had flatly refused.

After they left Gergovia, I told Rix, “You have to win Ollovico of the Bituriges somehow. His tribe is essential if we are to hold the center of Gaul.”

“And what of the Camutes north of them? Your own tribe, Ainvar? Tasgetius ignored my summons.”

“Tasgetius is so Romanized he all but wears the toga. But he will not long be king at Cenabum. I promise you that.”

“How long do you think we have before Caesar attempts to overrun all of Gaul?”

“I’ve put that question to our seers. They tell me we have at the most five winters; probably less.”

“Druid seers,” Rix said with contempt. “What do they know?”

The longer I knew Rix, the more his disbelief worried me, Man and Otherworld must work together. Otherwise …

Before saying farewell to Rix, I paid the same courtesy to Ha-nesa. He responded by spouting an interminable epic concerning

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the coining of the kings to Gergovia and their immediate, un-qualified devotion to the brilliant Vercingetorix.

“That isn’t quite what happened,” I pointed out.

*‘I know,” replied the bard, “but it sounds better.”

“Perhaps so. It just isn’t the truth.”

He gave me a sly look- “That tale about the Germans being cannibals wasn’t exacdy the truth, either. But it seemed to be just what you wanted Vercingetorix to hear.”

I had to smile. “You’re more perceptive than I realized. But after listening to you, I’m beginning to doubt the veracity of any history.”

“People want their histories to be colorful, Ainvar. If you tell an audience what they want to hear, the way they want to hear it, then they’ll listen and believe. Don’t you suppose that’s the way Caesar reports his deeds to the Roman Senate?”

Wisdom comes from many sources-Hanesa made me wonder, for the first time, just what son of stories Caesar was telling about the Gauls to those beyond our borders who would never know us except through his reports.

Later I would realize that he told many lies indeed to justify his attempt to destroy an entire people. He was not satisfied with discrediting the oruids. He represented all Celts as wretched and ignorant savages whose one hope lay in subjugating themselves to the more enlightened Romans.

His calumnies were not only believed, they were destined to endure because he wrote them down.

Ah, Menua, there you were mistaken! Our truth should also have been committed to vellum and leather, etched in copper and carved in wood and scribed on wax tablets, so there would be voices to speak for us to future generations, to counter the Roman lies.

Now it is too late … unless I whisper on the wind. The wind never forgets. Someday, someone may hear … with the sense of the spirit… .

Knowing Rix would send for me again, I set out for home-On the way I stopped at Cenabum, having first sent Tarvos to ascertain if Tasgetius was in the town. When the Bull reported, “He’s away with a hunting party,” I entered the gates and made my way to the lodge of Cotuatus.

Menua’s kinsman had changed since I first met him. I remembered a fleshy man with eyes like bright blue stones set in deep pouches. Now I saw a man who had bumed off his surplus fat as a warrior does preparing for war. Even the pouches were dimin—

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ished, the whole being leaner and tighter. “We’re still waiting for word from you, Ainvar,” was his greeting to me, “My sword hand itches.”

“It must itch a while longer. We can’t afford to have anything happen to lasgetius until there is a replacement for him. This is no time to leave the tribe headless.”

The blue eyes flashed defiance. “What if I refuse to wait? Tasgetius murdered Menua, yet still occupies a kingly lodge and laughs and drinks and tumbles women. His pleasure hurts me more than my own pain. Blood cries for blood, druid. You understand.”

I did understand. I also knew he must not defy me. As we stood facing each other, I gathered the force of my mind and hurled it at him in one concentrated, white-hot bolt.

Cotuatus staggered. His face spurted sweat. Raising a hand to his temple, he groaned, “Terrible pain … I’ve never had such a headache … help me, druid.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Help yourself. Abandon any thought of ever acting against my advice.”

Even in his agony he understood. His head bowed in silent acknowledgment.

I relaxed, letting my heart slow its thunder. Such efforts cost my body deariy.

“It’s easing now,” Cotuatus muttered. Then he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. “It’s almost gone.”

ffis eyes, when he lifted them to meet mine, glittered with fear.

Then I knew I was no longer imitating Menua but had become chief druid in every particular, able to draw upon the power of generations of my predecessors. Once I would not have risked hurting Cotuatus; I would have sought to make him like me. Now I understood h was not important for me to be liked. But I must be respected.

Cotuatus, a powerful prince of the Camutes, had just acquired a deep respect for me. He might in time be molded into a satisfactory candidate for me kingship. He would need guidance and instruction, but at least he was Celtic to the core.

As I left his lodge, my eye fell upon a cluster of his warrior followers loitering near their prince’s lodge. A man with swords sworn to him liked to be able to look out his door and see them nearby.

Among them I caught a glimpse of a dark, sullen face, and one ^ shoulder abnormally higher than the other. I nodded to him, but i Crom Daral looked right through me.

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As I rejoined my retinue and we left Cenabum, I remarked to Tarvos, “I may have found our next king.”

“Who?”

“Cotuatus. He has qualities the tribe will need, I think. He needs to leam more about the entire situation, of course, and expand his thoughts to accept new ideas, but he should be capable. ljust…”

Tarvos knew me; he heard the doubt in my voice. “You just what?”

“I wish I had thought of him as a potential king sooner. Then I wouldn’t have sent Crom Darai to him.”

“You did it as a kindness to Crom, even if he doesn’t know it.”

“Kindness,” I echoed. “I wonder if my misguided kindness has sent our next king a black bird of ill omen.”

“Shall I go back and see about getting him sent to some other prince?”

“No, that would just make everything worse. I would look indecisive and Crom might well figure out that I was behind his assignment in the first place, which could cause all sorts of complications. Leave it alone, Tarvos.”