Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (15 page)

Leaning forward, he kept his voice low enough to not carry to other tables yet clear enough to be heard by the other three. ‘I want to be gone as soon as it’s light in the morning - possibly before that. And I know you’ll probably think it ridiculous, but I want one of us awake and on watch in the room tonight at all times. We can take shifts of two hours once the bar closes. I’ll take the last shift, though, ‘cause I want to be ready to get everyone up and gone sharpish. Alright?’

The other three nodded their agreement.

‘Good.’

Palmatus leaned forward to speak in a similar low voice, but paused, his eyes flicking off to his left. ‘Hello, what’s this?’

Fronto turned to look in the same direction, along with the others at the table.

The door to the tavern had stood open all evening, despite the breeze it caused, allowing some of the dinginess of the interior to clear, and now figures were coming in from the cold and dark outside. That locals might enter the tavern in the evening was no surprise, but Fronto couldn’t help but note the fact that, despite the lack of armour and swords, these dozen men were all warriors, well-built and with quality clothes and torcs and arm rings, speaking of their valour and success at military endeavours. All of them had a large hunting knife at their waist.

If he had required any more evidence that something was amiss, it was supplied by the sudden apparent shift-change in the tavern. As the twelve men moved into the bar, spreading out, all but two of the current occupants drained their drinks, pushed their plates aside, gathered up their dice and left the room hurriedly, not casting a glance in the Romans’ direction, and throwing a nervous one at the new arrivals.

‘Told you something was wrong,’ Fronto muttered.

‘Trouble,’ agreed Galronus, his hand going to the large knife at his belt, similar to those the Gauls wore. Fronto was already regretting the fact that his swords were in the kit stored in the room upstairs. From their faces, so were Palmatus and Masgava.

Two of the new arrivals sauntered across to the bar and purchased a tray full of mugs filled with frothy beer. Another pair moved to the stairs leading to the rooms above, and a third stayed by the door - almost in position as guards. The rest moved across and sat at tables near Fronto and his party.

‘I’m not well-equipped for a fight,’ Palmatus sighed, looking down at the small eating knife on the table before him.

‘They’re not here for a fight’ Fronto replied quietly. ‘Whatever they
are
here for, it’s not that. This is their town, so they could have brought swords. They could just have done for us outside, or even during the night.’

Despite his certainty that the new arrivals were not intending violence - or at least not immediately - Fronto found himself pushing his chair back slightly to allow for freedom of movement, and noticed the other three doing the same. Palmatus’ hand came down over his eating knife and when he leaned back and folded his arms casually, the knife had vanished.

‘I do not think that these men are Aedui,’ Galronus hissed quietly.

‘Why?’

‘Look at their arms.’

‘What?’

‘The arm rings.’

Fronto peered. ‘Some sort of snake?’

Galronus nodded. ‘A winged snake. It’s a symbol of Arvernus. You’d call him Mercury, I think. While he’ll be as revered here as most places, he’s the chosen father of the Arverni. And every warrior here has that arm ring.’

Fronto scanned the room. Galronus was right. Each of them wore individual clothes and torcs and jewellery, but all of them bore the same arm ring on their left bicep.

‘Arverni?’ he asked, turning to Galronus. ‘They’re from the south, yes? Almost in Narbonensis. We’ve never had any trouble with them. Not for the best part of a hundred years.’

Galronus simply shrugged.

Fronto watched the new arrivals with suspicious interest. The presence of a group of warriors from another tribe could feasibly explain the taut, tense quiet that overlaid the town of Bibracte, but it raised as many questions as it answered.

‘Aye, aye,’ Palmatus said, gesturing at the entrance. Fronto turned once more. A man stood in the doorway, almost blocking it. From his high quality leather boots up through his leg-bindings, his checked blue trousers, his pale grey linen tunic and the gold torc around his neck, he was every bit the Gallic noble. Bearing no weapons, his muscular arms hung easily by his side and his long brown hair hung low, swept back from his face and tied in a braid at either side. His heavy brow was expressive and powerful and thick, drooping moustaches hid his mouth.

There was about this man the sort of power that instantly filled the room. Druids probably wished they had it. Senators would kill for it. Caesar already
did
have it, for all his faults. A natural power, born of leadership and charisma. A man to whom other men would look for sanction.

‘If I remember rightly, the Arverni stopped being ruled by a King when Ahenobarbus and his legions flattened them.’ Fronto said quietly. ‘Part of the peace settlement with Rome required they no longer rally under royalty.’

The others shrugged, but Fronto nodded to himself. He remembered the tale from his studies of the Gallic tribes when they’d first come north of the Alpes. The Arverni had no royals now, but this man could easily have been a King.

The big Gaul strode into the room in a relaxed manner, nodding to his men and to the tavern keeper, before turning and making directly for their table. Without being bidden, one of the warriors nearby pushed a chair across the floor with a jarring scrape until it sat at the end of Fronto’s table.

The big man wandered over to the chair and indicated it with a large, powerful hand, an unspoken question in his expression. Fronto nodded and gestured back to the chair in answer. Whatever was happening, he found himself curious as to the powerful Arverni warrior’s intentions.

‘Do you speak Latin?’ he asked conversationally, taking a sip of his wine.

There was a pause and the big man toyed with his moustaches for a moment, and then nodded.

‘I learned your tongue young. My people trade with your merchants across the border, and Latin is widely spoken in my tribe.’

‘Good, ‘cause frankly I’ll never be able to get my tongue round your language.’

The big man gave a humourless smile and sank into the chair. A low murmur of ordinary conversation arose across the room. Fronto was not fooled by this apparent ordinariness. As far as he could see the general drone would nicely mask any of their own words and prevent the two remaining local patrons and the tavern keeper from hearing whatever they all had to say.

‘You are a Roman officer, I understand,’ the Gaul smiled, ‘despite the good Belgic torc around your neck.’

‘A complex question right now, given my lack of command, but I’ll settle for a simple yes. I ride for Samarobriva to rejoin the army.’

‘And your companions?’

‘Friends of mine. Two from Roman lands - an ex-soldier and a warrior from the southern deserts, and Galronus here is a nobleman of the Remi.’

‘The Belgae are here too?’ the big man mused. ‘Fascinating, though it perhaps explains your decorations. I must apologise for interrupting your evening, and I will not keep you long, but I find myself in Bibracte at the most fortuitous moment when Roman officers pass through, and I would be wasting a great opportunity were I not to come and speak to you.’

Fronto gave the warmest smile he was capable of right now and took another sip of wine. ‘I have to admit to wondering what the Arverni are doing so far north and in the guise of warriors?’ he asked pleasantly.

The Gaul gave a low, throaty chuckle. ‘We are simply passing through, much like you, on our own business. But enough of this duel in which we slowly circle our opponents, Roman. I see from your tunic that you are a nobleman yourself?’

‘My wife might argue, but I suppose that’s a fair assessment.’

‘You are acquainted with Caesar?’

Fronto scratched his chin. It was a humorous tendency among non-Romans to assume that any nobleman would know any other nobleman. Ridiculous assumption, really, given the population of the city and the size of Rome’s noble houses. And yet, it so happened that the man had selected someone who was closely acquainted with the general. What was he up to? What was the man trying to learn?

‘I have been, yes. I’ve not seen him for over a year, but I have served with him.’

‘Tell me of him. I wish to know of this Roman ‘
Brennus
’ who would conquer all the lands of my peoples. What is he like?’

Fronto shrugged. ‘His reputation is well known and well-founded. If you are as bright and as well-informed as you appear to be, then I doubt I can tell you anything that you do not already know.’

‘Humour me.’

Fronto shrugged. ‘He is brilliant. A tactical mind like no other, charismatic and loved by his men, capable of the most astoundingly rash decisions - and brutal ones, too - but tempered by the knowledge of his abilities and the certainty that he is capable of succeeding in everything that he attempts. He is not a man to cross, for he has a short temper and a long memory, but those who deal fairly with him he holds in high esteem.’

He laughed. ‘Gods, that sounds like a eulogy! But it’s true, nonetheless.’

The Gaul nodded. ‘I hear he is also a shrewd negotiator and a clever speaker.’

‘I’d say so.’

The Gaul leaned forward and steepled his fingers. ‘Many fleas are biting the back of his army in these troubled times. Might the great Proconsul be persuaded to an advantageous peace which will bring him glory and gold to take back to Rome, if the price is just that: that he takes you all back to Rome?’

Fronto felt a sudden easing of his pulse. This was the nub of the matter. A potential negotiation? No, surely not for such a man. And if he had no interest in a negotiation, why ask?

‘You would offer Caesar money and glory to get him out of Gaul?’

‘It has been suggested before,’ the big Arverni shrugged.

‘I am not sure whether the general would ever accept such an offer, though this war does drag on, while Rome seethes in his absence. Two years ago I would have laughed in your face. Now, I am not so sure. But two things occur to me.’ Fronto took another drink and placed his empty cup on the table. ‘Firstly, you are Arverni, who are allied with us and under no threat, and yet who have no royalty who could legitimately make such an offer. That is why we don’t see you at the annual assembly of the Gaulish chiefs. And I have to point out that no tribe - no matter how big - could manage to gather enough gold and slaves to buy the general off. Even the Arverni and the Aedui together. It would take a meeting of the chiefs at the assembly to do something that big.’

‘But you think it would be possible?’

Fronto tapped his lip in thought. ‘Perhaps. But the more your ‘fleas’ bite the Roman back, the less the general will be inclined to negotiate. I understand from reports that the Eburones under a man called Ambiorix destroyed a whole legion this winter. Not a good first step in negotiation.’

The Gaul laughed again.

‘It seems to me very reminiscent of
Roman
negotiations. The Arverni have languished half a century in the shadow of tribes that were once our lessers because of what your General Ahenobarbus did to us.’ As Fronto narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, the Gaul held out a placating hand. ‘But I concede your point. Ambiorix is a troublesome pest for your general, but he is something of a difficulty for those who would see our lands free of your iron-nailed boots also. He has too much avarice and need for acclaim and recognition. His failings pushed him into launching his own petty war and he damages both Rome and his own allies, but most of all he damages himself.’

‘How so?’ Fronto asked, genuinely intrigued.

‘His tribe are now fragmented and scattered and he is sought by the Romans and all their allies for what he has done. His time is past. Worry not over Ambiorix for he is naught but a fly and will soon be swatted. Indeed, if you took his head, you would do all the peoples of the land a great favour.’

He laughed again.

‘Look, Roman, how my simple questions have led to my being interrogated by you instead. Such is often the way when my people talk to yours, I find.’

Fronto nodded slowly. ‘I presume you will not tell me who you are?’

‘It is of little matter. I am a warrior of the Arverni, friend of druids, and a wanderer of the ways with my small band. You would not know my name, nor that of my father.’

‘I suspected as much,’ Fronto replied, noting the reference to the druids and connecting it with the potential for peace negotiations. It sounded unlike them, too. ‘Then is there anything else I can help you with, or are we done here?’

Slowly, the warrior stood, stretching.

‘Thank you for your time and your honesty, Roman,’ the big Gaul smiled. ‘I trust we will meet again under happier circumstances.’

‘Somehow I cannot see that being likely,’ Fronto replied quietly, ‘but only the Gods know the future.’

‘Perhaps with
your
people,’ the man laughed. And, turning to the nearest warrior: ‘Come Vercassivos. We have much to do.’

With a final nod at the four men, the big Gaul strode from the room and the man he had last addressed - a wiry warrior with flame-red hair and moustaches - nodded in turn and followed him out. Slowly the bar emptied until only the four of them remained, along with the tavern’s owner.

‘Now what do you make of that?’ Palmatus asked quietly in the suddenly empty bar.

‘There was so much being conveyed there without words that it’d practically fill a book,’ Fronto sighed. ‘I would say that man is a man to watch carefully if we had the opportunity. I’d give good money to know who he was, but you saw the reaction of everyone when his men entered. No one in Bibracte’s going to tell us. An Arverni nobleman seeking information on the army and its general.’

‘But you said the Arverni were allies of Rome.’

‘Yes, but you’ll note how he said he was a friend of druids, and a ‘wanderer of ways’. I’ve heard that last expression before, more than once, and usually in relation to an exile. Whoever that man is he’s noble-blooded and in with the druids. And he’s here among the Aedui who have stepped up their defences.’