Marius' Mules V: Hades' Gate (15 page)

Dumnorix pulled himself upright again and spat in Fabius' face once more.

"I guess we can spare an hour before we have to go meet Priscus, eh Furius?"

The more senior of the two tribunes jerked on the rope, causing a hiss of pain from their victim. "Oh he'll be chattering away long before Priscus needs us. You got your Parthian knife on you?"

* * * * *

Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus, legate of the Tenth Legion, reached under his tunic and gave his undercarriage a good scratch. He sighed with relief. He'd had an unbearable itch for the best part of an hour, but one could hardly stick one's hand down one's breeches and have a good rummage while standing in a tent full of senior officers and one of the most powerful men in the Republic. Fronto had once confided that he had a trick for dealing with that very problem, but had never actually enlightened him as to what it was. Priscus had experimented a couple of times, raising some odd looks, but had never managed to work it out.

Somewhere out across the camp horns sounded the sixth watch and almost simultaneously there was a rapping on the wooden strut of Priscus' tent door.

"Come in."

Furius and Fabius filed into the tent and stood near the door as the portal smacked shut behind them. Priscus sat heavily on his cot and began to unlace his boots. The tent was fairly sparsely furnished. Unlike other legates, Priscus had been a centurion for so long that he had never racked up the cart-load of home comforts most senior officers preferred to drag round on campaign with them. The small battered table that had been with him since Hispania held a tray of bread and fruit and jugs of water and wine that a thoughtful legionary had supplied when they'd erected the tent. He was damned if he would have a body-slave or tent servant peeling him grapes like some officers he could think of.

Something drifted past Priscus and his nose wrinkled.

"What, in the name of sacred Minerva, is that smell?"

Furius and Fabius looked at one another and then back at their commander.

"Sort of a combination. We had a bit of a latrine situation, so we've both washed down as best we could and loaded up with alum and rose scent to try and cover the remnant."

"It's not working. You two smell like a pig shat in a bowl of perfume."

"That'll be the boots. They're going to need some work."

"Then could you kindly leave your latrine-soaked boots OUTSIDE MY BLOODY TENT!"

Trying not to laugh at the expression on the legate's face, the two tribunes bent and unlaced their boots, slipping them off and tossing them back out of the door to one side.

"Sweet mother of Dis, that was some smell! So tell me why you felt the need to go swimming in dung."

Furius nodded professionally as Fabius grinned.

"We had a little chat with Dumnorix of the Aedui."

"I hope he's intact still?"

"More or less. He pretty much confirmed what we've thought from the start. He was surprisingly talkative once he'd had a turd or two down his throat."

"Nice. Anything useful?"

"Depends on your definition of useful - one or two things piqued our interest, certainly. There's a grand scheme underway, just as you originally suspected. A number of tribes are already signed on to this great cause, and the word has been passed to some tribes beyond the Rhine, across in Britannia and even down across the mountains in Hispania. Dumnorix claimed it was all the doing of a bunch of druids, which is quite feasible, of course, and he claimed not to know any of them but under extreme duress, he named one: his brother, Divitiacus, who rules among the Aedui."

"So I guess we can stop thinking of the Aedui as our great ally in Gaul, then." Priscus sighed, allowing his mind's eye to drift back over four years of stomping across this Godsforsaken land to a beautiful summer at Bibracte and the hospitality of the welcoming Divitiacus. That nice little tavern with the shady oak tree in the corner. The memory wrenched at him suddenly with the shades of absent friends: four men sharing a drink and a laugh - Priscus, of course, with Longinus, Balbus and Fronto. The slain, the wounded and the retired - all gone.

"It would seem so" Furius said quietly, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand and the infidelity of the Aedui. "The druids are passing word and drawing together a huge web by the sound of it, rousing, bribing or even blackmailing chieftains and nobles into joining them. There was reference to a particular man they call Esus, who seems to be important, but I get the impression that this one is tight among the druids and even Dumnorix doesn't know much about him."

"Do we have any idea of what they're planning? Any chance of finding out more about this Esus? How likely are we to get more from Dumnorix?"

"Very definitely we have an idea of their plans, but only in the broadest terms. The son of an Aeduan whore is real proud of his secret rebellion, but it seems he's become just a cog in the grand scheme now and his knowledge is limited to specific local groups and a general overview. It seems the druids are planning to build up the resentment across all the Celtic people and prepare until they reach a point where their whole world is ready and set against us. Then they can all rise up as a nation in one army."

Priscus pursed his lips. "It's bold. And more elaborate than I thought the Gauls capable of, but then those druids are a devious bunch. And what of this Esus and Dumnorix?"

"I suspect that this Esus character is little more than a rumour or a minor deity to the general insurrectionists, his details kept among the druids. But he has to be someone important from the way Dumnorix spoke of him. I don't think you'll find out anything about him until you manage to peel open a druid and look inside his mind. Dumnorix I reckon still has stuff to spill, but probably nothing vital - just low level stuff - general blustering and threats. I get the feeling he likes to think of himself as some great liberator and hero to his people. Basically a midget playing the giant. If we get the chance I'd like to lay my hands on that Divitiacus man, though. Or this mysterious Esus. Or even a druid who can help point the way. Whatever the case, I think we're beyond being able to deny that Gaul is building up ready to explode."

Priscus nodded. "I think I'll have to go back and face old eagle-nose again. There's no sign of us having a good wind for sailing in the near future and with this information I might just have enough leverage to turn him away from Britannia again."

* * * * *

Caesar sat in his campaign chair, hunched over his map table, pinching the bridge of his prominent nose. Dark circles ringed his eyes, which surprised Priscus. As long as he had known the general, the man had never taken more than four or five hours' sleep each night, and yet greeted each day sprightly and energetic. Sleep must be evading him altogether to cause such apparent weariness.

"General."

Caesar looked up and Priscus noted that it took a moment for the man to focus on him - another solid sign of sleep deprivation. For a moment he wondered whether this was a good idea. Shaking it off, he saluted.

"Ah, Priscus. Something important I presume, then? Come… sit."

The general gestured, open handed, at the seat opposite and Priscus strode across and dropped into it with a groan.

"News from the captives, general."

"Some grand scheme to throw off the yoke of the conquering Roman, yes?"

Priscus narrowed his eyes.

"Legate, I am far from uninformed, especially in my own camp. Fill me in with the details I don't know."

Priscus scratched idly at his chin. "Dumnorix and his brother, the Aeduan chief Divitiacus, seem to be involved, as well as - from what we can gather - the entire sect of the druids and some half-mythical character called Esus. It appears that the general theory is to rouse all the Celtic peoples from Gaul, Britannia, Germania and even Hispania against us in one 'glorious' freedom fighting army. Whether or not such a thing is truly feasible remains to be seen, but if it is, it could spell the end of our time in Gaul."

Caesar shook his head. "There is little more there than I had already anticipated. Sooner or later every tribe finds its Hannibal; it's just a matter of being prepared to remove that leader before he actually causes any damage. The Gauls had their first such man in Brennus centuries ago, and he took them to the very slopes of the capitol. I won't let that happen again, but then we are more organised and prepared than that Rome of ancient days, while the Celts are, if anything, even more fractious."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, general."

"We can keep them from centralising their resistance by playing off one party against another, much as we did with the Belgae. The most salient point you provide is the name of what might very well be their new Hannibal. This Esus needs to be identified and dealt with at the earliest opportunity and in the meantime we can continue to sew discord between the tribes. I see no greater threat than those we have already put down as long as we can stop a new head growing on the hydra and keep it busy."

"With respect, Caesar, I think this is a great deal different. Before, we've had chieftains and nobles raising their men against us and it was always possible that a particularly charismatic one would draw a group of tribes together. These bastard baby-eating druids, on the other hand, could raise every man, woman and child from the border of Italia to the frozen wastes of Thule against us. I don't think we can keep setting them against one another for long. We need to concentrate on this and deal with it once and for all."

Caesar gave a weary smile. "You sound more like Fronto with every passing week. For the very last time, I am not abandoning the Britannia campaign in order to face a nebulous threat from a hidden group of unknown size and strength. Legions will remain here and you can set men to work rooting out the trouble while my own agents deal with influencing the tribes. We need only keep them off-balance for the one campaigning season while I put Britannia in their place. We may even find something useful for your investigations there in any case, since their tribes have also been implicated. Then, once the season is over, we can concentrate on your Gallic insurrection and pulling it to pieces. All things in good time, Priscus."

"I just hope leaving it for a season isn't giving them the time that they need, Caesar."

"Then we had best set our agents to work. I have it on good authority that the winds will change favourably within the next month. That gives us plenty of time to arrange matters in the meantime, yes? The gods appear to have brought us a compromise in their infinite wisdom."

"'Good authority'?" frowned Priscus.

"It is a rare occasion when two augurs agree, and when they also agree with experts on the subject - in this case the local fishermen - I am inclined to pay attention. The wind will change within the month and we can cross."

"And while we're in Britannia, those chieftains and nobles who have cause to dislike us will continue the trend of rebellion."

"We shall take all our noble Gallic hostages with us to Gaul and take whatever precautions we can with the rest. We lessen the dangers if we keep a tight rein on those we know to be untrustworthy."

"You seem awfully confident with all of this, Caesar?"

The general sighed and leaned back. "Never do anything without the weight of your confidence behind it, Priscus. That is the way men fail. It doesn't matter whether you're in the right or in the wrong, so long as you're the one still standing at the end to tell the tale."

Priscus nodded slowly. "I will talk to the few we trust: the Remi cavalry for instance. They will be able to supply me with men who can investigate the matter further, since my own officers will be in Britannia I presume."

"Indeed." Caesar took a long, slow breath and tapped his lip thoughtfully. "At your best estimate and given your experience with logistics, Priscus, how long would it take to get a man to the far end of Gaul and back?"

Priscus frowned. "Are we talking courier changeover, general, or river barge or what? A fit and keen soldier, or a fat one legged comic actor?"

"Using whatever resources you could glean from our supply system, and ordinary men."

The legate's frown deepened a little. "With a few horse changes I could get a small group of riders to Narbo and back in between three and four weeks, without allowing for bandits, weather problems and such, and only if we use the open country and main native roads. Weather could seriously alter the estimate, though. Why?"

Caesar gave a crooked smile. "We don't want the leaders of Gaul to become organised while we're away, so let's take them with us. Not just our current hostages but the rest too."

Priscus blinked. "Sir?"

"While you're arranging to send out your native spies, have a group of half a dozen cavalry, mixed native and regular, visit each of the tribes that officially swore us fealty and 'invite' their leader to join us at Portus Itius. With the exception of certain groups that you feel we can trust, such as the Remi, of course."

Priscus bit his lip. "It's a dangerous gamble, general. It will keep them off-balance for sure, but it might very well anger them enough to give extra impetus to the rising."

"As I said before, Priscus, I only wish to buy us the time to deal with Britannia. Then, we will bring our heel down on Gaul once and for all. Let's get to work and waste no more time. We have but a month."

Priscus' face spoke eloquently of his own opinion on the matter, but he rose slowly from the chair and saluted anyway. A month. Just a single month in which to push the tribes of Gaul to breaking point. It was like having young Crassus back with the army.

* * * * *

Aulus Crispus, legate of the Eleventh legion and former archivist of Roman records, rubbed his earlobe and gestured wearily at the cavalry officer in front of him. The regular Roman cavalry made up less than five per cent of all Caesar's mounted contingent, and nominally outranked even the auxiliary noble commanders.

"I do not give a squashed fig what Varus' spurious orders were, I cannot believe that such an educated and sensible man intended to choke the parade ground with native horsemen milling around in chaos at that very time of the day when the legions are expected to carry out their parades. I have the Eleventh sweating in their armour over there, waiting to line up and carry out manoeuvers, and there are two legions behind them awaiting their turn. We have already waited almost a quarter of an hour for this debacle to end, but there just seems to be a steady influx of wandering horses."