Caesar shook his head.
“Whether it be logic or the Gods you think are driving you, Fronto, we’re not prepared for the attack. If it keeps you happy, treble the watch tonight and have everyone on standby, but we move when things are in position as planned.”
Fronto’s teeth ground together, but the general’s face was set. He would not be persuaded. The legate turned and marched back down the slope and out of the gate, toward the First Cohort of the Tenth, standing in parade formation beside the tower, which was now upright and being secured onto its wheeled base. Locating the primus pilus at one end of the front line, he strode across, blinking as he passed suddenly from the sunlight into the deep shadow of the enormous tower, and then back out again.
“Priscus!”
The primus pilus of the Tenth, already at attention, saluted.
“Sir?”
“Come with me.”
Priscus exchanged brief words with his signifer and then strode across to join the legate, who had walked back across the grass and was gesturing at Galronus. The three men converged at a spot not far from the impressive tower.
“Fronto?” A combined greeting and question from the Remi officer.
Fronto grinned at the two men with him.
“I have another suicidally reckless mission, and I’m looking for volunteers.”
* * * * *
Labienus took a deep breath, acutely aware that he was, right now, not a staff officer, general, legate or any sort of soldier, but the very embodiment and representation of Rome herself. What happened at this council could shape the future of Gaul, the Belgae and Rome. And it was all down to him. Well, in truth there were others, but the responsibility rested in him. Procillus and Mettius would take on the minutia, dealing with the details, but it was up to him to make the impression.
And so, this morning, once he’d been informed that the last of the chieftains had arrived, he had been to check over his preparations once again. In the six days since the fort was completed, all of the interior buildings had been replaced with permanent wooden structures. An aqueduct had been dug, lined and paved from a spring a quarter of a mile to the north, and even now a bathhouse was almost complete outside the walls.
But despite these great advances, there was a more important achievement.
He, Pomponius, and an Aedui auxiliary cavalry prefect by the name of Septimius had entered the oppidum of Nemetocenna that second morning, entirely alone; no honour guard or legionaries; on foot and unarmed. The surprise that registered on the faces of the Atrebates inhabitants had made him smile. The three men, in their best dress uniforms, had found their way to the centre of the oppidum and located the council hut, or chief’s hut, or whatever they called it. Septimius, a Gaul who could speak their tongue, had accosted a frightened-looking fish seller and asked who was currently in charge. After much conversation, the man hurried off and brought back an old man; a nobleman presumably, who had been too old to go to war. He had limped into the square and stopped in front of the Romans. And so, Labienus had made contact with the Atrebates on a personal level.
They had asked permission, politely, of the old man, to use the long building for the upcoming council and the man had shrugged and, somewhat bitterly, told them to do whatever they wanted.
So, as Labienus had planned, he now walked in to a council chamber that was both Belgic and Roman. He had had two of the engineers manufacture glass panes. Oh, it was rough stuff, not being the forte of military manufacturers, but it let in the light and kept out the wind. Consequently the interior was light and warm, the fire pit in the centre blazing away.
By the door there were two tables on which stood flasks of beer and amphorae of good wine from the famous vineyards of Pompeii. Glasses and mugs rested there waiting to be filled. A trough of clean water for washing sat close by, and two more tables, awaiting food that would be provided by the soldiers later.
The most important change that he’d wrung from this building, though, was the furniture. Previously the walls had been decorated with the standards and armaments of the Atrebates, while the floor was covered with skins and furs to sit on while looking up at the great wooden throne of the chief. These were gone. Well, not entirely; one wall retained the symbols of Belgic pride and power. The other held Roman standards and maps of both the Empire and of Gallic and Belgic territory. And between these two symbols stood a ring of seats, equal in size and quality; one for each of the chiefs that had been summoned and five for he, Procillus, Mettius, Pomponius and Septimius.
The door swung shut behind the Roman contingent and Labienus cast his gaze around the room. The leaders of the tribes turned in their seats to look at him. He was saddened by the fact that several of them were either far too old to have fought in the battles, or much younger than one would expect. Several of these men had only ruled their people for a matter of weeks, and several had few people to rule.
“Good morning” he announced loudly. “I understand that many of you cannot speak my language, so prefect Septimius here will translate for those of you who cannot.”
Next to him, the Aeduan auxiliary rattled off the translation in a passable Belgic dialect. Silence greeted both his words and their echo. Hoping this was not a sign of things to come, Labienus strode through the room and found a free seat. The other Romans also sat, flanking him.
“Two of my men at the back will be coming round as we converse, offering you local beer or wine brought from Italia. I urge you to try the wine, but will understand if you do not. Meats, cheese, and bread will be brought at noon.”
Again, as Septimius’ echo died away, the room remained stony silent.
“Very well, I can see that none of you is interested in entering into neighbourly negotiations. I can entirely understand that, but let me lay out a few truths for you…”
Next to him, Septimius continued to translate. The looks on several of the older chiefs hardened.
“You are a proud people and you see us as an occupying enemy. To a point, you are correct. However, I will point this out: Rome currently has treaties with most of the tribes of Gaul and legate Crassus has taken the eagle as far as the western sea. Caesar is, as we speak, completing his campaign. Rome is here and no matter how much you may wish it or pray to your Gods for it, Rome is not going to go away.”
He waited for Septimius to catch up.
“But there are benefits we bring. With Rome as your partner, you need never fear incursions from across the Rhine again. You will prosper. Our traders will bring exotic goods from desert lands further than any Celt has ever travelled, and in return will purchase your own wares.”
Another pause.
“Rome brings peace and prosperity… but…” he smiled. “For those of you who just like to fight, we can use a good warrior!”
As Septimius translated that last, a laugh actually went up from a few of the chiefs and low muttered conversation started here and there. Labienus waited for a moment. This was the breakthrough, but he mustn’t waste it. He could lose them any minute.
“Quite seriously, my lords,” he said, giving that last the most respect his could muster, ”we are at a junction. We have warred against you and, without wanting to play any naming games, the Belgae initiated hostilities.”
He noted the change in several of the chief’s faces. He almost ruined it there, but it needed to be said. They must be aware of everything pertinent to this meeting.
“But that war is over. And while there will always be those who will seek confrontation, I myself have seen firsthand both the horrors and stupidity that go hand in hand with the glory and booty.”