Caesar (44 page)

First it was necessary to visit his lands and manor outside Matisco. All Gallic lands were communal, held in the name of the people, but in actual fact, of course, the great nobles of each tribe “caretook” great tracts of them. Including Litaviccus. He rode down the Mosella and into the lands of the Sequani, who had gone to the muster at Carnutum. Because those Sequani who had not gone to Carnutum were massed closer to the Rhenus in case the Suebic Germans tried to cross, he was not challenged or opposed, nor asked any questions by some thane suspicious as to why a stray Aeduan should be riding through the lands of recent enemies with a pack horse for his only company. Yet someone was there to shout the news. As he skirted the Sequani oppidum of Vesontio, Litaviccus heard it shouted across a field that Caesar had been victorious at Alesia and Vercingetorix had surrendered. If I hadn't overheard Cathbad and Gutruatus, I'd be there in command of the Aedui. I too would be a Roman prisoner. I too would be sent to Rome to await Caesar's triumph. How then is the King of Gaul going to survive for another six years? He'll die during Caesar's triumph, no matter who else is spared. Does that mean Caesar will take a third five-year governorship of Gaul, and thus be unable to triumph for six more years? But it's over! A third period isn't necessary. He will finish us next year. Those who got away will crumble; nothing can avert total victory for Caesar. Yet I believe Cathbad saw true. Six more years. Why?Because his lands lay to the east and south of Matisco, Litaviccus avoided that oppidum too, even though it belonged to the Aedui—and, more importantly still, even though his wife and children were living there for the duration of the war. Best not to see them. They would survive. His own survival was his first priority. Though made of wood with a slate shingle roof, his large and comfortable house was built in the Roman manner, around a huge peristyle courtyard and owning two storeys. His serfs and slaves were overjoyed to see him, and swore an oath to breathe no word of his presence. At first he had intended to remain only long enough to empty his strong room, but summer on the sleek and sluggish Arar River was delicious, and Caesar was far away. No need for him to make one of those lightning marches in this direction. What had Caesar said? That the Arar flowed so slowly it actually flowed backward? But it was home, and suddenly Litaviccus was in no hurry to leave it. His people were completely loyal, nor had anyone seen him. How delightful to while away one last summer in his own land! They said Galatia was lovely—high, wide, wonderful country for horses. But it wasn't home. The Galatians spoke Greek, Pontic and a kind of Gallic not heard in any part of Gaul for two hundred years. Well, at least he had Greek, though he would have to polish it. Then at the beginning of autumn, just as he was thinking of moving on and while his serfs and slaves were bringing in a good harvest, his brother Valetiacus arrived at the head of a hundred horse troopers who were his own adherents. The brothers met with great affection, couldn't take their eyes off each other.“ I can't stay,” said Valetiacus. “How amazing to find you here! All I came for was to make sure your people were bringing in the harvest.”

“What happened against the Allobroges?” asked Litaviccus, pouring wine.“ Not very much.” Valetiacus grimaced. “They fought, and I quote Caesar, 'a careful and efficient war.' ”

“Caesar?”

“He's at Bibracte.”

“Does he know I'm here?”

“No one knows where you are.”

“What does Caesar intend to do with the Aedui?”

“Like the Arverni, we're to escape relatively lightly. We are to form the nucleus of a new, thoroughly Roman Gaul. Nor are we to lose our Friend and Ally status. Provided, that is, that we sign an enormously long treaty with Rome, and admit a great many of Caesar's creatures to our senate. Viridomarus is forgiven, but you are not. In fact, there's a price on your head, which leads me to assume that if you're captured and walk in Caesar's triumph, you'll suffer the same fate as Vercingetorix and Cotus. Biturgo and Eporedorix will walk, but then be sent home.”

“What about you, Valetiacus?”

“I've been allowed to keep my lands, but I'm never to be a senior in the council, nor a vergobret,” said Valetiacus bitterly. Both the brothers were big and fine-looking men in the true Gallic way, golden-haired, blue-eyed. The muscles in Litaviccus's bare brown forearms tensed until the golden bracelets upon them bit into the flesh.“ By Dagda and Dann, I wish there was a way to be avenged!” said Litaviccus, grinding his teeth.“ Perhaps there is,” said Valetiacus, smiling faintly.“ How? How?”

“Not far from here I encountered a party of travelers going to join Caesar in Bibracte. He intends to winter there. Three wagons, a comfortable carriage, and a lady on a prancing white horse. Very Roman looking, the group. Except for the lady, who rode astride. In the carriage with his nurse was a little boy who has a look of Caesar about him. Do you need more hints?” Litaviccus shook his head slowly from side to side. “No,” he said, and exhaled on a hiss. “Caesar's woman! Who used to belong to Dumnorix.”

“What does he call her?” asked Valetiacus.“ Rhiannon.”

“That's right. Vercingetorix's first cousin. Rhiannon, the wronged wife. Infamous! Dumnorix was a wronged husband.”

“What did you do, Valetiacus?”

“I captured her.” Valetiacus shrugged. “Why not? I'll never occupy my rightful place among our people, so what do I have to lose?”

“Everything,” said Litaviccus crisply, got to his feet and put an arm about his brother's shoulders. “I can't stay, I'm a wanted man. But you must stay! There is my family to care for. Bide your time, be patient. Caesar will go, other governors will come. You'll resume your place in the senate and the councils. Leave Caesar's woman here with me. She will be my vengeance.”

“And the child?” Litaviccus clenched his hands, shook them in glee. “He's the only one who will leave here alive, because you'll leave now and take him with you. Find one of our serfs in a remote croft and give him the boy. If he talks of his mother and father, who will believe him? Let Caesar's son be raised as an Aeduan serf, doomed to be a bonded servant all his life.” They walked to the door, and there kissed. Outside in the courtyard the captives huddled, watching with round and frightened eyes. Except for Rhiannon, hands bound behind her back, feet hobbled, standing proudly. The little boy, now over five years old, stood in the shelter of his nurse's skirt, the marks of tears upon his face, his nose still running. When Valetiacus was in his saddle, Litaviccus picked the child up and handed him to his brother, who sat him across the horse's neck. He was too tired to protest, too bewildered; his head flopped back against Valetiacus and he closed his eyes wearily. Rhiannon tried to run and fell full length. “Orgetorix! Orgetorix!” she screamed. But Valetiacus and his hundred men were gone, Caesar's son with them. Litaviccus brought his sword from the house and killed the Roman servants, including the nurse, while Rhiannon curled herself into a ball and cried out her son's name. When the slaughter was over he crossed to her, put his hand in the midst of that fiery river of hair, and hauled her to her feet. “Come, my dear,” he said, smiling, “I have a special treat in store for you.” He bundled her into the house and into the big room wherein the master dined and sat around his table. There he tipped her off her feet and stood for a moment looking up at the wooden beams which straddled the low ceiling. Then he nodded to himself and left the room. When he came back he had two of his male slaves with him, terrified by the slaughter in the yard, but anxious to obey.“ Do this for me and you're both free men,” said Litaviccus. He clapped his hands; a female slave came in, shrinking. “Find me a comb, woman,” he said. One of the slaves had a hook in his hand of the kind used to hang a boar for disemboweling, while the other set to work with an auger in one of the beams. The comb was brought.“ Sit, my dear,” said Litaviccus, lifting Rhiannon and pushing her into a chair. His hands pulled at her tresses until they lay down her back and pooled on the floor; he began to comb them. Slowly, carefully, yet yanking at the knots ruthlessly. Rhiannon seemed to feel no pain. She neither winced nor flinched, and all that passion and strength Caesar had so admired in her had vanished.“ Orgetorix, Orgetorix,” she said from time to time.“ How beautifully clean your hair is, my dear, and how truly magnificent,” said Litaviccus, still combing. “Did you plan to surprise Caesar in Bibracte, that you traveled without an escort of Roman troops? Of course you did! But he wouldn't be pleased.” Eventually he was finished. So were the two slaves. The boar hook hung from the beam, its bottom seven feet above the flags.“ Help me, woman,” he said curtly to the female slave. “I want to braid her hair. Show me how.” But it took the two of them. Once Litaviccus understood the over-under-over weaving of the three separate tresses, he became quite efficient; it was the woman's job to keep the three tresses separate below Litaviccus's working fingers. Then it was done. At the base of her long white neck Rhiannon's braid was as thick as Litaviccus's arm, though it dwindled, five feet further, to a rat's tail which promptly began to unravel.“ Stand up,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Help me,” to the two male slaves. Like a craftsman in a sculptor's yard he positioned Rhiannon beneath the hook, then took the braid and looped it twice about her neck. “And we still have plenty!” cried Litaviccus, stepping onto a chair. “Pick her up.” One of the slaves put his arms about Rhiannon's hips and lifted her off the ground. Litaviccus put the braid through the hook, but couldn't tie it; not only was it too thick, it was also too silky to stay taut. Down went Rhiannon again, off went one of the slaves. Finally they managed to anchor it around a second boar hook and stapled it to the beam, Rhiannon clear of the floor in the slave's embrace for the second time.“ Let go of her, but very gently!” rapped Litaviccus. “Oh, gently, gently, we don't want to break her neck, that would spoil all the fun! Gently!”

She didn't struggle, though it took a very long time. Her eyes, wide open, were fixed unseeingly on the top of the wall opposite, and because she didn't struggle her skin simply faded from cream to grey to blue, nor did her tongue protrude, those blind eyes begin to goggle. Sometimes her lips would move, form the word “Orgetorix!” soundlessly. The hair stretched. First her toes and then the soles of her feet touched the floor. They dropped her like a bag of sand, not yet dead, and began the hanging all over again. When her face was a blackish purple, Litaviccus went to write a letter; after it was finished he gave it to his steward.“ Ride with this to Bibracte,” he said. “Tell Caesar's men it's from Litaviccus. Caesar will need you to guide him here. Go then and look beneath my bed for a purse of gold. Take it. Tell the rest of my people to pack their things and leave now. If they go to my brother Valetiacus, he'll take them in. No one is to touch the bodies in the yard. I want them left as they are. And she,” he ended, pointing to where Rhiannon hung, “will stay like that. I want Caesar to see her for himself.” Not long after the steward set out, so did Litaviccus. He rode his best horse, wore his best clothes—but no shawl—and led three pack horses on which reposed his gold, his other jewels, his fur cloak. His goal was the Jura, where he intended to enter the lands of the Helvetii. It never occurred to him that he would not be welcomed wherever he went; he was an enemy of Rome, and every barbarian hated Rome. All he had to do was say Caesar had put a price on his head. From Gaul to Galatia, he would be feted and admired. As did happen in the Jura. Then among the sources of the Danubius he came to the lands of a people called the Verbigeni, and there was taken prisoner. The Verbigeni cared nothing for Rome or Caesar. They took Litaviccus's possessions. And his head.

“I'm glad,” said Caesar to Trebonius, “that if I had to see one of the three of them dead, it is Rhiannon. I was spared it with my daughter and my mother.” Trebonius didn't know what to say, how he could express what he felt, the monumental outrage, the pain, the grief, the fierce anger, all the emotions he experienced looking at the poor, black-faced creature wound about with her own hair. Which had stretched yet again, so that she stood upon the floor, knees slightly bent. Oh, it wasn't fair! The man was so lonely, so remote, so far above all those he saw every day of his remarkable life! She had been pleasant company, she had amused him, he adored her singing. No, he hadn't loved her, but love would have been a burden. Trebonius knew that much about him by now. What was there to say? How could words ease this shock, this grossest of insults, this mad and senseless thing? Oh, it wasn't fair! It wasn't fair!No expression had entered or left Caesar's face from the moment they rode into the courtyard and discovered the slaughter there. Then walked into the house to find Rhiannon.“ Help me,” he said now to Trebonius. They got her down, found her clothes and jewels untouched in the wagons, and dressed her for burial while some of the German troopers who had ridden with them as escort dug her grave. No Celtic Gaul liked to be burned, so she would be put into the ground with all her slain servants buried at her feet, as befitted a great lady who had been the daughter of a king. Gotus, the commander of Caesar's original four hundred Ubii, was waiting outside.“ The little boy isn't here,” he said. “We've searched for a mile in all directions—every room in the house, every other building, every well, every stall—we have missed nothing, Caesar. The little boy is gone.”

“Thank you, Gotus,” said Caesar, smiling. How could he do that? wondered Trebonius. So much in command, so civil, so perfectly courteous and controlled. But what will the price of it be?Nothing more was said until after the funeral was over; as there were no Druids to be had, Caesar officiated.“ When do you want the search for Orgetorix started?” Trebonius asked as they rode away from Litaviccus's deserted manor.“ I don't.”

“What?”

“I don't want a search.”

“Why?”

“The matter is ended,” said Caesar. His cool, pale eyes looked straight into Trebonius's, exactly as they always did. With affection tempered by logic, with understanding tempered by detachment. He looked away. “Ah, but I will miss her singing,” he said, and never referred to Rhiannon or his vanished son again.