As the party approached the gatehouse, more and more figures appeared on the ramparts above and around them, and Fronto began to spy that killing zone before the gates with some trepidation. For a moment he wondered whether Caesar intended to ride straight into that deadly space, but then the general held up his hand and the column halted, Ingenuus and three of his men riding to the front to flank their commander.
There was a long, pregnant pause, and then a groan and a series of thumps as the gate was unbarred and swung open ponderously. A small party of Nervii strode out through the portal on foot, armoured in mail and Gallic helmets, with russet coloured or grey or brown woollen trousers and a variety of equally dour tunics and cloaks. They wore little in the way of jewellery or accoutrements, barring a few torcs or arm rings that indicated their noble rank or their worth as warriors. Three men behind them carried standards bearing stylised wolves and boars, and another group held the huge carnyx horns aloft, preparing themselves. Fronto clenched his teeth against what he knew was coming, and just in time, as the horns started blarting out their ‘dying bovine’ song of discord.
Antonius, next to him, paled.
‘If that is their idea of a fanfare, then the whole world should thank us for trying to silence them for good!’
Fronto shook his head. ‘That’s tuneful. You should hear the songs of the Armorican tribes. It’s like a swan trying to swallow a tuba! Or a dog having one inserted from the rear, perhaps.’ He grinned, his teeth grinding slightly.
The party of Nervian nobles stopped some twenty paces from the Romans, safely within the reach of their own archers and right in the centre of the killing zone, Fronto noticed. Whatever you could accuse the Nervii of, they apparently were not daft.
‘Say your piece, Caesar of the Romans, and begone!’ barked out one of the Nervii in surprisingly good Latin. Studying the crowd, Fronto picked out the ubiquitous druid, safely lodged amid the nobles, wearing a dirty grey robe and clutching a staff like some sort of badge of office.
‘Arrogant sods, aren’t they?’ muttered Antonius. ‘Do they not see the thirty thousand men lining up behind us?’
‘Ridiculously, they’re not afraid,’ Fronto replied. ‘Even if there were only ten of them, they’d show no fear. The Belgic tribes are all mad, and the Nervii are the worst of them. You’ve met Galronus, yes?’
Caesar raised himself slightly in the saddle, though he already towered over the horseless Nervian nobles.
‘You afford us neither fear, nor respect,’ he said loudly, ‘not that I expected any such thing. But if you think to turn us away so easily, you are not simply brave, but deluded.’
He waited for the words to sink in. The general always knew how to treat with his opposing numbers, and a meaningful pause was only one weapon in his verbal arsenal.
‘The Nervii have proved themselves to be repetitive enemies of Rome, rising against our armies time and again, despite the fact that we are here legitimately and at the behest of the Gallic assembly. It is the considered advice of many of my better officers and some of the senators of our Republic that it is time for the Nervii to be removed from the world of men altogether, and left as nothing but a hollow memory of a people.’
Another pause to let that sink in, and Fronto noted a few heads turning at the implication of these words.
‘I took a significant step towards agreeing with them when news reached me that our great enemy, the traitor king,’ — the word spat almost as an insult — ‘Ambiorix of the Eburones, has entered into negotiations with the Nervii, among other tribes. Since I know that you are aware of the damage dealt to our legions by the traitor only short months ago — you yourself being involved to a great extent — you will know just how much we owe Ambiorix. This army will not stop killing and burning until he is found and made to suffer the consequences of his actions, and anyone who stands in the way of that retribution is begging to become a part of it.’
An uncomfortable silence.
Perhaps, despite their legendary bravery, the Nervii were realising now just how much they were putting their own necks on the line by maintaining an alliance with the fallen Eburones’ king.
‘Despite everything, in the hope that the lands of the Belgae can once more be settled into peace and harmony, I am willing to overlook the treacherous decision of your leaders to ally with this snake. If you deliver him to us — or give us the details of his whereabouts if he is not here — I will personally guarantee the life of each and every occupant of Avenna. If you do not comply, I will not leave this place until the charred remains of the houses are indistinguishable from the charred remains of your tribe. You know me as a man of my word, so consider this your final ultimatum. You have the count of one hundred to oblige or I give the order to cut down, burn, kill, rape and crucify every living thing my legions find in Avenna.’
Fronto found himself nodding at the sense of this. While the ultimatum was brutal and impossibly harsh, with the Nervii little other than the threat of utter annihilation would even make them blink. But Caesar had judged his words carefully before he gave them, and the deliberate, slow delivery had produced the desired effect: the small party of nobles were muttering among themselves. While displaying no obvious fear, they were clearly considering the clear threat to their very existence that the gathering legions posed.
The general turned to his standard bearer, holding aloft the ‘Taurus’ bull emblem of Caesar’s command party. ‘Give them the count out loud. Let’s keep their nerves frayed.’
As the signifer began to count down from one hundred in a loud, clear voice, the activity among the Nervian nobles became a little more frenetic and Antonius grinned. ‘He was always this good at playing people, you know? Even when I was a boy, he had my family at his beck and call.’
‘I know.’ Fronto sighed. ‘Look at the poor bastards. They know they’re done for. They’re just trying to decide whether they have any room to negotiate.’
The signifer had reached ‘thirty six’ when the Nervians turned back to the Roman party and the apparent ‘spokesman’ stepped out front. The druid, Fronto noted, had pushed his way angrily out of the rear of the party and was even now making for the gate.
‘At least we won’t have to make the assault,’ Antonius sighed with relief.
‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ Priscus muttered from behind them, and Fronto could only nod his agreement. Somehow he couldn’t see Caesar simply walking away from this.
The Nervian leader cleared his throat. ‘Since, though you are a low, murderous Roman beast, you are also noted as a man of your word, and you have vouchsafed the lives of our people, the council authorises me to inform you that your enemy Ambiorix is not at Avenna. He has not visited this place at all, but his small party of ambassadors approached our lands and treatied with us at the town of Asadunon, which is two days north of here, close to the border of our lands. Whether or not he was among them, we are not certain, but it is very likely the ambassadors remain there still. This is all the knowledge of them we have for you, and it is given freely in return for your clemency.’
Caesar smiled then and Fronto, catching the corner of it from one side, recognised that smile. He took a deep breath.
‘Prepare yourselves. Here it comes.’
Antonius turned a frown on him just as Caesar opened his mouth with his reply to the Nervii.
‘Do not mistake my offer for childish clemency, Nervian. I did not guarantee your freedom… just your lives.’
Turning away from the falling faces of the Belgic nobles, who were just now realising what they had done, Caesar gave his clear orders to the entire staff and all the senior officers assembled on the plain loudly enough to be heard even over the walls and inside the oppidum.