Caesar (43 page)

“A worry,” said Decimus Brutus, frowning.“ Do you think,” asked Antony plaintively, “that tonight the Old Man will let us have a jug or two of wine?”

It was Cathbad responsible for the change in Litaviccus. He had gone to the muster at Carnutum convinced that his strategy was right: assist Vercingetorix to throw the Romans out of Gaul, then start moving in on his throne. An Aeduan to bow and scrape before an Arvernian? A yokel from the mountains who spoke neither Latin nor Greek, who could pretend literacy by making his mark on a piece of paper he couldn't read? Who would have to lean on the Druids in all true matters of state? What a king for Gaul! He took the Aedui to the muster nonetheless, and there found Cotus, Eporedorix and Viridomarus with a few more Aedui troopers. The tribes were coming in, but very, very slowly; even after the news was shouted that Vercingetorix was marooned inside Alesia, the tribes were slow. Gutruatus and Cathbad struggled manfully to speed things up, but Commius and the Belgae hadn't come, and this one, and that one.... Surus turned up with the Ambarri. A great Aeduan noble (the Ambarri belonged to the Aedui), Surus was the only one Litaviccus could bear to greet when he arrived; Cotus was busy thoroughly indoctrinating Eporedorix and Viridomarus, who still shivered in their shoes at the thought of Roman vengeance should anything go wrong.“ I ask you, Surus, why would a man of Cotus's standing even worry his head about putting some iron into the backbone of an upstart like Viridomarus? Caesar's creature!”

They were walking between the trees of Carnutum itself, well away from the open plain where the muster was assembling.“ Cotus would do anything to irritate Convictolavus.”

“Who stayed safe at home, I see!” sneered Litaviccus.“ Convictolavus pleaded that he had to guard our own lands, as he is the oldest among us,” said Surus.“ Some would say too old. As can be said about Cotus.”

“Just before I left Cabillonum I heard that the army we were ordered to send to subdue the Allobroges has got nowhere.” Litaviccus tensed. “My brother?”

“To the best of our knowledge, Valetiacus is unscathed. So is his army. The Allobroges chose not to fight in the open; they simply defended their borders in the Roman way.” Surus stroked his luxuriant sand-colored moustach, cleared his throat. “I'm not happy, Litaviccus,” he finally said.“ Oh?”

“I agree that it's time the Aedui were something more in the scheme of things than Rome's puppet, otherwise I wouldn't be here any more than you would. But how, when we're all so different from each other, can we ever hope to be united in the way our new King Vercingetorix is preaching? We're not all equal! What Celt doesn't spit on the Belgae? And how can the Celtae of Aquitania, those little dark runts, aspire to stand alongside an Aeduan? I think it's a very clever idea to unite the country, yes, but under the right circumstances. All of us Gauls, but some of us better Gauls. Is a Parisian boatman the equal of an Aeduan horseman?”

“No, he's not,” said Litaviccus. “That's why it's going to be King Litaviccus, not King Vercingetorix.”

“Oh, I see!” Surus smiled. Then the smile faded. “I have terrible misgivings about Alesia. After all Vercingetorix's homilies about not letting ourselves get shut up inside our strongholds, there's Vercingetorix shut up inside Alesia. He's the wrong man to be king right now, Litaviccus.”

“Yes, I know what you're saying, Surus.”

“The Aedui are committed; we can't go back. Caesar is aware we've gone over to Vercingetorix's side. It's impossible to credit that Caesar has the remotest chance to beat us when we arrive to relieve Alesia. Yet I still have terrible misgivings! What if we've ruined ourselves and our people for nothing?” Litaviccus shivered. “We can't let it be for nothing, Sums, we can't! I'm a marked man. The only way out of this is for me to take the kingship from Vercingetorix after Caesar is beaten. If the roster is filled, over three hundred thousand of us will march to Alesia. We must assume that Vercingetorix will win—or rather, that Vercingetorix will be hauled out of Alesia in one piece and with his kingdom intact. That alone is a disgrace, that alone gives me a platform to challenge him. So let us think only of taking the throne off that wretched, illiterate Arvernian!”

“Yes, that's what we must think about,” said Surus, but not with conviction. They walked in silence, feet in their soft leather riding shoes making no sound on the thick carpet of moss which had grown over the ancient stone path to the grove of Dagda. Wooden statues of long-faced godheads peered between the tree trunks, squatted grotesquely with penises touching the ground. The voice seemed suddenly to emerge from a huge oak ahead of them, so venerable and old that the path, made after its birth, divided and went around it. Cathbad's voice.“ Vercingetorix is going to prove impossible to control after we win at Alesia,” Cathbad's voice was saying. The voice of Gutruatus answered. “I've known that for quite some time, Cathbad.” Litaviccus put a hand on Surus's arm, stopped him. The two Aedui stood on the other side of the oak and listened.“ He's young and impetuous, but the germ of autocracy is there. I fear he won't defer to the Druids once he grasps the crown with both hands, and that can't be allowed to happen. The Druids are the only ones who can govern a united Gaul. Knowledge rests in their care. They make the laws, they supervise the laws, they sit in judgement. I've been thinking about it a great deal since I forced the thanes to make him King of Gaul. It's the right way to start, but the King of Gaul should be a warrior figurehead, not an autocrat who will gradually gather all the powers of government to himself. And that is what I fear will happen after Alesia, Gutruatus.”

“He's not a Carnute, Cathbad.”

“It will start by his elevating the Arvernian Druids to the Druidic council. The power of the Carnute Druids will wane.”

“We Carnutes will be ruled by Arvernians in all ways,” said Gutruatus.“ Which can't be allowed to happen.”

“I agree. The King of Gaul must be a warrior figurehead. And he should be a Carnute.”

“Litaviccus thinks the King of Gaul should be an Aeduan,” said Cathbad dryly. Gutruatus snorted. “Litaviccus, Litaviccus! He's a snake. Part the long grass and there he is. I'll have to part his hair with my sword.”

“In time, Gutruatus, in time. First things first, and first is the defeat of Rome. Second is Vercingetorix, who will emerge from Alesia a hero. Therefore he must die a hero's death, the kind of death no Arvernian— or Aeduan!—will be able to say came at the hands of a fellow Gaul. We're between Beltine and Lugnasad at the moment. Samhain is still a long way off. So—Samhain. Perhaps we can find a special role for the new King of Gaul to play at the beginning of the Dark Months, when the harvest is all in and the people are assembled to endure the Chaos of the Souls and ask that next year's seed be blessed. Yes, here at Carnutum during Samhain... Maybe the new King of Gaul will disappear into a fiery mist, or be seen sailing the Liger into the west in a great swan boat. Vercingetorix must remain a hero, but become a myth.”

“I'd be delighted to help,” said Gutruatus.“ I'm sure you would,” said Cathbad. “Thank you, Gutruatus.”

“Are you going to read the signs?”

“Twice. Once for the muster, but once just for me. Today is for me, but you can come,” said Cathbad, his voice dwindling. The two Aeduans remained behind the oak for some time, eyes locked; then Litaviccus nodded and they moved forward, but not on the path. Between the oaks, inching along until the grove of Dagda opened before them, an enchanting place. The back of it was formed by a pile of boulders cushioned with lush moss, the source of a spring which gushed out from among them and fell into a deep pool endlessly rippling. Taranis like fire. Esus liked air. Dagda liked water. Earth belonged to the Great Mother, Dann. Fire and air could not commingle with earth, so Dann had married water, Dagda. Today's offering was not for drowning, however; Cathbad was auspicating, not sacrificing. The naked victim, an enslaved German purchased specifically for this purpose, was lying face down and unbound on the altar, a simple stone slab. Beautiful in Cathbad's clear tenor voice, the prayers were sung according to the ancient ritual. They evoked no response from the victim, who was heavily drugged; his movements when they came had to leap out of the act, not out of fear or pain. Gutruatus moved a little distance away to kneel down while Cathbad picked up a very long, two-edged sword. That he found it awkward to lift was obvious, but he braced his feet apart, then with a huge effort carefully raised the sword in both hands until its blade was slightly above his head. It came down perfectly into the victim's back below the shoulder blades and severed the spine so cleanly that the blade was out and the sword on the ground a moment later. The victim almost convulsed; Cathbad, his white robe unmarred, stood to watch every wriggle and writhe and jerk, the direction each took, the part of the body involved, clonus of head or arms or shoulders or legs, twitches in the fingers or toes, dying tics in the buttocks. It took a long time, but he stood without moving save for his lips, which formed voiceless words each time there was a short cessation in the victim's movements. When it was over he sighed, blinked, looked wearily toward Gutruatus. The Carnute lumbered to his feet as two acolytes came out of the trees and approached the altar to clear it and clean it.“ Well?” asked Gutruatus eagerly.“ I couldn't see.... The movements were bizarre, the pattern was alien.”

“Didn't you learn anything?”

“A little. When I asked if Vercingetorix would die, there were six identical jerks of the head. I interpret that as six years. Yet when I asked if Caesar would be defeated, nothing moved at all—how am I to interpret that? I asked if Litaviccus would be king, and the answer was no. That was clear, very clear. I asked if you would be king, and the answer was no. His feet danced; you will die very soon. For the rest, I couldn't see. I couldn't see, I couldn't see.... ”Cathbad fell against Gutruatus, who stared at him white-faced and trembling. The two Aeduans stole away. Litaviccus wiped the sweat from his brow, his world in ruins. “I am not to be King of Gaul,” he whispered. Hands shaking, Surus passed them across his eyes. “Nor is Gutruatus. He's to die soon, but Cathbad didn't say you would.”

“I can interpret the question about Caesar's defeat, Surus. Nothing moved at all. That means Caesar will win, that nothing in Gaul will change. Cathbad knows it, but he couldn't bear to tell Gutruatus. If he did, how would he explain the muster?”

“And the six years for Vercingetorix?”

“I don't know!” cried Litaviccus. “If Caesar wins, he can't go free. He'll walk in the triumphal parade and be throttled.” A sob welled up, was swallowed. “I don't want to believe it, yet I do. Caesar will win, and I will never be King of Gaul.” They walked beside the little brook which ran out of Dagda's pool, picking their way between the wooden godheads planted on its bank. Golden shafts of light from the dying sun played with motes of pollen and drifting crystal seeds, pierced the spaces between the aged tree trunks to green the green and gild the brown.“ What will you do?” asked Surus when they emerged from the forest to find the muster swelling still, the camps of men and horses scattered as far as the eye could see.“ Get away from here,” said Litaviccus, wiping his tears.“ I'll go with you.”

“I don't ask that, Surus. Save what you can. Caesar will need the Aedui to bind up Gaul's wounds; we won't suffer the way the Belgae have, or the Celtic Armorici of the west.”

“No, let that fate be reserved for Convictolavus! I think I'll head for the Treveri.”

“As good a direction as any, if you'd like company.”

The Treveri were beleaguered but unbowed.“ The abominable Labienus has killed so many of our warriors that we couldn't marshal a force to go to the relief of Alesia,” said Cingetorix, still ruling.“ The Alesia rescue won't prosper,” said Surus.“ I never thought it would. All this talk of a united Gaul! As if we were the same people. We're not the same people. Who does Vercingetorix think he is? Does he honestly believe that an Arvernian can call himself King of the Belgae? That we Belgae would defer to a Celt? We Treveri would vote for Ambiorix.”

“Not Commius?”

“He sold himself to the Romans. A personal injury brought him over to our side, not the plight of our Belgic peoples,” said Cingetorix contemptuously. If Treves was indicative of conditions among this great and numerous group of peoples, Labienus had indeed wrought havoc. Though the oppidum itself was not designed to be lived in, there had once—and not too long ago—been a thriving small town around it. But few were left to populate it. What forces Cingetorix could scrape together were north of Treves, defending the precious horses from the depredations of the Ubii, just across the Rhenus. Since Caesar had begun mounting the Germans on good horses, the Ubian appetite for them had become insatiable; Arminius of the Ubii suddenly saw a whole new vista opening up for his people, that of providing Rome with all her mounted auxiliaries. When Caesar had fired the Aedui he created a wonderful space for the Germans to move in and occupy. Arminius had not been slow to send those sixteen hundred extra men, and he intended to send more. The acquisition of true wealth was difficult for a pastoral people devoid of resources, but war on horseback was an industry Arminius understood perfectly. If he had anything to do with it, Roman generals would soon despise Gallic cavalry. Nothing but Germans would do. Thus the grey, often stunted, dreary vastness of the Arduenna forest, suited for little save grazing and growing in the river valleys, rang to the sounds of Treveri and Ubii striving for mastery.“ I hate this place,” said Litaviccus after a few days.“ Whereas I don't mind it,” said Surus.“ I wish you well.”

“And I you. Where will you go?”

“To Galatia.” Surus gaped. “Galatia? It's at the other end of the world!”

“Exactly. But the Galatians are Gauls, and they ride good horses. Deiotarus is bound to be looking for competent commanders.”

“He's a Roman client king, Litaviccus.”

“Yes. But I won't be Litaviccus. I'll be Cabachius of the Volcae Tectosages. Journeying to see my relatives in Galatia. I'll fall in love with the place and apply to stay.”

“Where will you find the right shawl?”

“They gave up wearing the shawl around Tolosa a very long time ago, Surus. I'll dress like a Gaul of the Province.”