The Druid King (41 page)

“Now you’re speaking like a cowardly Roman!” Critognat bellowed.

“When you’ve speared a wild boar through the lungs, do you give it a chance to charge at you with its tusks, or do you stand back and watch it die?”

“Stand back and watch your enemy die? Where is the glory in that?” said Critognat. “I would give any enemy the chance to die fighting! Even Caesar! The same chance I would want him to give me!”

This was met with a roar of approval, such as no words of Vercingetorix had drawn forth, for he had tried to speak to their minds the worldly wisdom they
needed
to hear, but Critognat had spoken what they
wanted
to hear to their spirits and so touched their warriors’ hearts.

“
You
must choose,” said Vercingetorix, making one last foredoomed try, but treading carefully this time. “Do we fight the Romans for victory or for glory?”

When the people will not follow where you would lead, you must go with them or walk alone.

It was Litivak who answered. “They are one and the same! We fight for the glorious victory of Gaul!”

The cheering that went up fairly shook the walls.

“So be it,” Vercingetorix whispered softly to himself.

“So be it!” he cried aloud when the clamor finally subsided. “You have chosen to fight not for victory without glory, but for the glory of Gaul, and so I will lead you into the jaws of death with a battle song in my heart!”

He drew his sword, and sliced his left forearm lightly. “I pledge my life to the last drop of blood to lead Gaul and its cause no matter what sacrifice destiny may call upon me to make!”

Swords were drawn, arms were blooded and held aloft, and the chanting of his name rang out yet again.

But when Vercingetorix stole a sidelong glance at Marah and saw what was written in her eyes, he knew that she alone understood the hollowness of his words. She alone knew that there was no joyous battle song singing in his heart.

The silver-tongued Vercingetorix had only given them what he knew they wanted to hear.

XVIII

IT WAS AN OVERCAST NIGHT, and the only light from the sky was the wan, pearly smear of the moon, but the streets below glittered with bonfires, with cookfires, with torches dancing in the dark. From the walkway atop Bibracte’s wall, Vercingetorix could hear the distant strains of music, talk, and laughter, merging into a song of revelry. But he was in no mood for celebration.

“You spoke well today.”

Rhia had come up beside him.

“I lied,” he said. “I have become practiced at it. I will lead them into the jaws of death because I must, but there is no battle song in my heart. I fear that the winning of one battle will bring the losing of the war.”

Rhia shook her head in chastisement. “Now,
there
is a thought that should be stopped before it slows your mind.”

“Tell me how!” Vercingetorix demanded. “I gave them the choice of fighting for victory or fighting for glory, and you saw what they chose.”

“But Litivak declared that we fight for the glorious victory of Gaul,” Rhia protested, though Vercingetorix detected no conviction in it.

“Beer talking, and, worse, the stronger drink of glory,” he said. “I can but love Litivak for what he did, but were I Caesar, I would be calling it treachery. Our victory was won not by superior force of arms but by an act of betrayal.”

Rhia regarded him as if he were some strange beast. “You fault your friend for a courageous act of loyalty to you because it betrayed your enemy?”

If there were any humor in him this night, Vercingetorix might have laughed at that. “Of course not,” he said instead. “But had Litivak played his part as Caesar expected, you and I would probably be dead, and Gaul would now be a province of Rome.”

“Is that not a clear sign that destiny smiles on our cause? And Caesar’s losses were heavy. Perhaps we
can
defeat what he has left in open battle.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Vercingetorix admitted, “nor do I fear heavy odds against me—”

“Then what weighs so heavily upon you that you cannot bear a feast?”

Vercingetorix nodded back toward the lights and sound of the celebration below.

“The knowledge that, because of those greathearted fools down there, I must throw away a sure victory so that we can chase after honor and glory!” Vercingetorix said, giving vent to the anger he had not dared to display in the Assembly Hall.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Marah had come up onto the walkway, wrapped in a woolen cloak of Carnute red and black, but somehow contriving to drape it around herself like a silken Roman toga.

“Nothing not
better
interrupted,” said Rhia.

“You were subtle as any Roman today, Vercingetorix,” said Marah. “Caesar could not have spoken better.”

“Am I supposed to take that as praise?” Vercingetorix asked petulantly.

“Caesar studied rhetoric under a master,” Marah told him. “And logic as well.”

“But they were swayed by neither my subtle rhetoric nor . . . Roman logic.”

“Perhaps because you were wrong,” said Marah.

“Oh, was I?” Vercingetorix snapped testily.

“Even if you
did
harry Caesar out of Gaul in disgrace, even if you killed him,
Rome
would never accept unavenged defeat. When the Carthaginian Hannibal defeated them, it took them a hundred years, but they destroyed even the memory of Carthage and plowed salt into the soil so nothing would grow there again. And this I was told by Caesar himself. He was very proud of it.”

“You have learned much from Caesar,” said Vercingetorix.

“And so have you,” said Marah. “Enough to battle him as an equal. Enough to have the people you lead proclaim you king if you let them. More than Caesar has ever done.”

And then, in a strange wistful tone: “Or sought to.”

This sent a pang of jealousy through Vercingetorix’s heart, and when he looked into Marah’s eyes there was no denial to be seen there of the esteem in which she still held the great Caesar. Did she
seek
to arouse his jealousy? Or did she wish to see in
his
eyes acknowledgment that he too harbored admiration for his mortal enemy?

Vercingetorix found that this he could not quite deny. But he was determined not to let it show, and it was Marah who turned away, and spoke to Rhia in a bantering tone:

“Once, he promised to make me his queen, you know,” she said. “Has he promised the same to you?”

“I will not live to see a king in Gaul,” Rhia said somberly.

“And I fear I will never rule as one,” muttered Vercingetorix.

Marah looked at him, back at Rhia, shook her head.

“What a sorry pair of lovers!”

Vercingetorix felt heat at the back of his neck and below his cheek-bones, a blush of emotions—longing, embarrassment, somehow even shame.

“We are not lovers!” he blurted.

Marah eyed him narrowly. “She bears your standard, she rides by your side into every battle, I have heard it told that she has been seen sleeping by your side in the forest, and you expect me to believe—”

“Brother and sister of the sword,” Rhia told her with a passion that belied her truthful words, “that is what we are, and all we will ever be.”

And Marah laughed.

“Oh, come now, you have no need to hide it from me,” she said good-naturedly. “I saw no reason to hide my dalliance with Caesar from
him,
so I cannot fault him for his dalliance with you, for the truth of it is that we have never yet been lovers, and I could hardly expect him to—”

“Nor have we!” Rhia insisted.

“You think what you feel for him doesn’t show?”

This was becoming more than Vercingetorix could bear.

“I think I will return to the feast after all,” he said. “Perhaps some beer will cheer my mood.”

Marah laughed. “If it does, I should have no trouble finding you, O Great Leader of Warriors.”

It was late morning after the second night of feasting, and the bright sunlight cut through the shadows like knives, cruelly revealing the remains of human revelry on the tables, and the gnawed bones left by the dogs on the floor.

Litivak, Liscos, Cottos, Kassiv, Epirod, Netod, Comm, and Velaun were already slumped around the central table when Vercingetorix brought Oranix into the Assembly Hall. The air was stale with the smell of old beer and roasting grease, and they were red-eyed, puffy-faced, and in an ill temper at being summoned before noon.

But Oranix had awakened Vercingetorix even earlier with news they must all hear. Caesar’s army was not retreating south, toward the Alps. It was apparently marching north, toward Bibracte. But in a strange manner.

“Where is Critognat?” demanded Vercingetorix.

“Still sleeping it off, no doubt,” grumbled Comm. “And why aren’t we?”

“Caesar is moving north,” Vercingetorix told the bleary assembly.

“North?”

That was enough to rouse their attention.

“Marching on Bibracte as he vowed to do?” Litivak said nervously, glancing furtively at Liscos.

The scowl that the current Eduen vergobret gave his suddenly not-so-certain successor seemed more one of vindication than of terror. “As you have
caused
Caesar to do, Litivak.”

“Couldn’t he have had the decency to wait until our feast was over?” groaned a hoarse voice at the entrance. Critognat, looking very much the worse for wear, staggered into the Assembly Hall to half-ironic laughter.

“We’d better gather our forces and march south to meet him,” said Comm.

“Oh no,” said Liscos. “It’s the army of Gaul that is bringing Caesar’s wrath down on this city, and honor demands that the army of Gaul stay here to defend it.”

“The last thing we want is to be trapped in a siege!” said Cottos.

“He’s right! Look what happened to Bourges!”

“Look what happened to
Caesar
when he tried to besiege Gergovia!”

“What is happening here?” Luctor had arrived at last and was making his way through the detritus.

“Caesar is marching on Bibracte—”

“I didn’t say that,” said Vercingetorix.

“Then he isn’t?”

“I didn’t say that either—”

“What, then—”

Vercingetorix picked up an overturned tankard and slammed it down loudly on the tabletop.

“We don’t
know
what Caesar’s doing!” he shouted. “So, before we start arguing about what to do about it, let Oranix tell you what our scouts have actually seen!”

“Caesar has split his forces,” Oranix told them. “Labienus, with two legions and what seems to be all of their remaining cavalry, is moving northwest toward Bibracte. They have wagons that appear to be carrying the parts of siege engines.”

Hearing this befuddled his lieutenants no less than it had Vercingetorix.

“Where, then, is Caesar?” asked Litivak.

“Caesar appears to be in command of the rest of his army, almost all afoot, moving more slowly to the north, on a line that will approach Bibracte from the east.”

“Why would he do such a thing?” said Comm. “Without cavalry, we’ll cut him to pieces!”

“But before you can reach him, Labienus will reach Bibracte,” said Liscos. “You can’t leave the city defenseless.”

“What can even Labienus do with only two legions?” scoffed Cottos.

“Besiege the city!” said Liscos.

“We could break through easily—”

“You’re forgetting he has all that cavalry—”

“—useless in a siege—”

“It’s a ploy to get us to divide our forces,” said Litivak.

“So we crush Labienus on the march and then turn east to finish off Caesar,” said Critognat.

“That would make sense,” said Vercingetorix. “But it makes Caesar seem far too stupid. . . .”

“It
is
stupid!” exclaimed Luctor.

“Too stupid to be credited,” said Vercingetorix. “Caesar is
inviting
us to destroy Labienus’ weak force and then turn on him. The question is, what does Caesar
not
want us to do?”

“This is getting to be too subtle for me,” said Netod.

“You sound as if you’re thinking like a Roman again, Vercingetorix,” said Litivak.

“Perhaps
Caesar
has started thinking like
Vercingetorix,
” muttered Critognat.

“What?”

“I’m just a simple old warrior whose brain may be dimmed by last night’s beer, but it seems to me that Caesar might have learned a trick or two from you, Vercingetorix. Labienus’ force is mostly cavalry, and as you say, he really can’t besiege Bibracte with what he has, so—”

“Of course!” said Litivak. “As soon as we come after Labienus, he retreats—”

“—as you had us do for so long,” said Critognat.

“Long enough to lead us far enough away from Bibracte so that Caesar’s main force can destroy the city before we can return to defend it,” said Litivak.

“Or take Bibracte and hold it
hostage
instead of destroying it,” said Liscos.

Now Vercingetorix saw Caesar’s plan. If he could capture the Eduen capital, he could threaten to destroy it and massacre its inhabitants unless his demands were met. At the very least, he could force the Edui to turn Litivak over to him and withdraw their warriors from the army of Gaul. And after what he did to Bourges, Liscos would have no other alternative.

“It is as I said, we must keep the whole army here to defend the city,” said the Eduen vergobret, and Vercingetorix was inclined to agree with him now. But . . .

“But then won’t we be trapped in a siege when both Labienus and Caesar arrive?” said Cottos. “Perhaps all this is designed to trick us into doing just that.”

“One thing is certain at least,” said Litivak, “we must not go chasing after Labienus.”

“On that much we are in agreement, Litivak,” Liscos told him sourly.

“If we attack
Caesar’s infantry
with our full force and destroy him on the march, Labienus will be easy enough to deal with afterward,” said Netod.

“Let’s do it, then, and stop talking about it!” said Critognat.

“All we have to do is destroy Caesar’s depleted forces and final victory is ours!”

“So it would seem,” said Vercingetorix, feeling that he was missing something vital, but unable to see what.

“You intend to leave Bibracte defenseless against Labienus while you chase after Caesar?” asked Liscos.

“So stay behind to defend it,” Critognat told him contemptuously. “
I
held Gergovia against a full army with a few thousand men. Of course, they
were
Arverni. But double the number of Edui should be enough to defend Bibracte against two little legions.”

“You say Edui are lesser men than Arverni?” snarled Liscos.

Vercingetorix knew he had better end this before they were at each other’s throats instead of the Romans’. “Enough!” he cried. “You shall have the great battle you’ve been waiting for! But against the Romans, not each other. Liscos, keep behind as many men as you deem necessary to defend Bibracte. The rest of us will go east to confront—”

And then it came to him.

“No,” he said, “first we go
south
so as to pass
west
of Caesar and then attack his western flank, driving him
east
—”

“Toward the Rhine!” exclaimed Kassiv.

“Toward the lands of the Teutons!”

Vercingetorix nodded. “Who, if destiny smiles upon us, will believe he’s invading and attack him from the other side.”

“And become our unwitting allies!”

Vercingetorix knew that if he joined the revelry Marah need only follow the crowd that would accumulate around him as surely as torches attracted their admiring night moths. Perhaps that was why he had avoided the festivities of the first two nights, for the hero of Gergovia could hardly walk the streets of Bibracte with a tankard of beer in one hand and Marah’s hand in the other like an ordinary man. Any words they spoke to each other among the revelers would enter the Land of Legend through every passing ear. Should they steal off together, that too would be noted and be sung by the bards.

Why should this so trouble him? Because she had arrived back in his life at such an opportune moment? Because he distrusted her as much as he desired her? Or could it be that he did not trust
himself
with a woman of such amatory experience, that he feared to either admit that he had none when the time came, or to reveal the embarrassing truth by ineptitude?