As the party came to the crest of the sloping street, the door beside them opened and Crassus emerged, head high and crimson cloak settled on his shoulders. Varus appeared at his shoulder, looking peeved. The only sign of the legate’s outburst and fury was the slightly wild look about his eyes.
The soldiers stopped in the street, saluted the officers and spread out to the sides, remaining alert. The two Celts, accompanied by the watch centurion, stepped forward. The centurion saluted and addressed Crassus directly.
“Sir, these two arrived at the gate seeking counsel with yourself. They have left their sizeable escort across the river and offered up their weapons as a gesture of goodwill.”
Crassus glared at the centurion and then shifted his obvious displeasure to the two Gauls.
“You are far from welcome here, and your presence in particular offends me, druid.”
The stocky, impressive man smiled a crooked smile.
“A sentiment echoed by the whole of Gaul toward yourself, Roman. However, I am not here to bandy insults, but rather to offer you an opportunity; some might say your only opportunity to keep your skins and your honour intact.”
Crassus’ wild eyes flashed dangerously.
“You dare to threaten me in my own camp?”
His voice had a high pitched tone that the officers recognised. Varus had moved forward next to the legate and Felix and Brutus joined him, reaching a position where they could prevent anything untoward happening.
The druid shrugged.
“You are invaders and, while many of our kin advocate a policy of fighting you until the last of us breathes and bleeds out, we are not all so short-sighted. We have the chance to coexist and avoid the bloodshed that others see as inevitable.”
Crassus continued to glare silently as the druid continued.
“Despite the arrogance of your sending collectors out to take the food from our children’s mouths to feed your hateful army, we are willing to negotiate terms.”
“Negotiate?”
Crassus’ voice had risen another notch and the warning signs were there for all to see.
“Yes, Roman. Last year when you beat the armies we sent out, you took many of our sons and daughters as hostages. Now we have done the same with your officers. Send our people back to us in peace and we will consider sending you the supplies you so desperately need as well as those men we have. Send our people back and we will extend to you the same courtesy.”
Crassus had gone pale and Brutus noted Varus’ hand hovering near the man’s elbow, ready to restrain him if necessary. The druid shrugged again.
“You will never subdue the Armorican tribes by force, but you may yet do it through respect and care. It is your choice, Roman.”
Falling silent, the man folded his arms and stood quietly, watching the expressions racing around Crassus’ face.
The legate pointed at the watch centurion.
“Have these two thrown in the stockade and send word to the provost to execute one hostage in ten.”
Varus grasped Crassus’ elbow and reached across to whisper something to him, but the legate wrenched his arm free and turned his back on the visitors, opening the headquarters’ door and entering, allowing it to slam behind him.
As the centurion and his men surrounded the two Gauls, Varus, Felix and Brutus exchanged worried looks.
“This is a major cock up of a situation” Felix said flatly.
“Understatement of the year” added Varus.
Brutus glanced back to catch the expressions of the two Gauls as they were pushed away down the street. There was no fear there; just defiance.
“Go with them and make sure they’re treated well and for Gods’ sake don’t let the centurion carry out that execution order or we burn our last bridge. I have to talk to Crassus.
“You did what?” Crassus screeched.
Brutus gripped the back of the chair behind which he stood, his knuckles whitening as he tried to restrain his temper.
“I stopped your execution order.”
The fire of anger danced in Crassus eyes and for a moment Brutus wondered just how far this man could be pushed before he did something truly dangerous.
“I would remind you, Brutus, that you are under my command at this time. Without Caesar’s countermanding orders, what I say goes here and I can not and will not have my orders disobeyed and countermanded by my lessers!”
Brutus ground his teeth and took several deep breaths before he trusted himself to open his mouth again.
“What’s done is done, Crassus. I have stopped the order and if you change it again, you’ll look either indecisive or idiotic, so leave it be.”
Crassus’ eyes took on that dangerous sparkle again and Brutus continued while he had the chance.
“Look, Crassus… there is an opportunity here to build a bridge and try to get things settled in Gaul. All you need to do is grant their paltry request. The hostages were a good idea when the war was just concluding last year, but we won’t need them if we can conclude a proper alliance with the tribes. If you just aggravate them, however, things could flare up here again and we’ll end up in the same situation as we were when the Belgae revolted last year. That almost cost us the Twelfth Legion!”
“No, Brutus. The reason last year caused you all so much trouble is that you left it too long. You let it build into a proper rebellion and you all paid the price by having to put it down again. I conquered this land myself with just one legion, and I will instil peace the same way. If they want to rebel, then let them. We are already in their lands and ready to put them down.”
Brutus shook his head.
“That’s not a clever approach…”
“Be quiet!”
Brutus blinked. Crassus may temporarily outrank him in this particular place and time, but there was no less nobility, power and rank behind Brutus than the commander.
“Speak to me like that again, Crassus, and when you leave this building it will be with a limp; do I make myself clear?” Brutus hissed through clenched teeth.
It was Crassus’ turn to blink in surprise. Brutus was, to Crassus’ mind, one of those soft, boyish officers, who had come out to war like a child on an outing, wanting to see how things were done. Brutus had nothing really to gain from his command, while he, as son of the great Marcus Licinius Crassus, needed to stamp his coins with victory slogans. He needed the prestige. Money was half the battle in Rome these days, but without Patrician blood, no matter how rich and how influential a man was, people always looked at you as though you were in some way lacking. Military victory and a triumph was the way round that.
“Listen, Brutus. You don’t need this victory but I do. It’s as simple as that. I can’t have this taken away from me. I won’t have this taken away from me!”
Brutus raised his eyebrows; it was like dealing with a petulant child.
“You had a victory last year and you’ll have the opportunity for others. Now is a time for conciliation.”
“No. We’re past that. I will stand on their neck until they beg to go to Rome in chains.”
Inwardly, Brutus sighed. There would be no persuading the commander and he could see that now. He would have one last try and then have to take matters into his own hands.
“At least inform Caesar. Let him have his say. It is, after all, his army; paid for with his money.”
Crassus narrowed his eyes.
“And have Caesar pull my backside out of the flames? Or worse still, blame me for this fiasco and remove me from command? Hardly, Brutus. Mark my words: I shall have this fledgling revolution stamped out within the month and will inform Caesar of events only when I have them firmly under control once more. Now you’ve done enough damage for the day. Don’t you have anything better to do? I have to think.”