‘We must send a deputation to the Romans,’ the king went on, addressing the crowd, ‘baring the shoulder in a sign of peace. Our deputation will offer my life or death as they see fit and demand of Caesar his terms.’ The king fixed Cavarinos with a stare. ‘You, who so wishes to sacrifice yourself alongside me. Will you lead the ambassadors?’
Cavarinos could feel the many layers of depth in the request. It was a task the king would only ask of a man he trusted. It was a way of perhaps securing Cavarinos’ path to freedom as an ambassador or maybe hostage. Was it because the king already knew that Cavarinos had spoken to sympathetic Romans? Or did he expect Cavarinos to have a chance to use his spent curse on the general. He felt sick.
‘If it is your wish, my king,’ Cavarinos sighed unhappily.
He had been there at the beginning, and now it appeared he would be there at the end.
Fronto stood with the other officers as Caesar leaned over the table in the glorious sunlight before his tent. The general was business-like as usual, and despite the common belief that the battle was truly over, the legions had been moved into garrison positions once more, repairing and replacing damaged and broken defences. But the sight this morning of the vast relief army on the hill beyond the plain departing had sent a collective sigh of relief up all across the army.
‘How long do we have?’
The messenger that had interrupted the briefing swallowed nervously. ‘They are just crossing the Osana, general. They will be here in perhaps a quarter of an hour. They are all on horseback.’
The general nodded. ‘When they reach the gates have them wait there if I have not arrived.’
He turned back to the staff as the messenger ran off again.
‘Tell me of the Gallic reserves,’ he asked, gesturing to Varus. The cavalry commander smiled wearily. ‘My scouts say the army split apart into more than a dozen tribes on the far side of the hill and went their separate ways, scattering across the land.’
‘Then we stand little chance of rounding them up,’ Caninius noted.
Caesar brushed the idea aside. ‘They are of little consequence now. Within days they will be nondescript farmers and craftsmen in their own villages. The heart and soul of this rebellion is trapped in Alesia. So long as the reserve have scattered I am content to let them be. Had they remained unified, we might have been forced to deal with them. But…’
He turned to Antonius.
‘What of noble captives?’
‘Twenty three tribal leaders have been identified among the prisoners, including the Arverni king’s cousin, and numerous more among the dead. We’ve taken a total of seventy-four enemy standards, which has to be some kind of record. Better make a big noise about that when you inform the senate of what happened.’
Caesar nodded absently.
‘Make sure the enemy dead are howed up the same as ours and that their nobles are given appropriate honours in the same manner as our deceased officers. We have obliterated Gaul, but let us not anger their Gods any further while we still walk their soil.’ He breathed in deep lungfuls of fresh air. ‘It has been a costly siege, gentlemen. Let us pray to all our patron deities that it is the last such cost we shall be called upon to pay in Gaul.’
‘We’ll find that out soon enough,’ Antonius noted quietly, and Caesar seemed to shake off the cloak of weariness that had covered him this morning.
‘Absolutely. Let us meet the wretched crows from Alesia and see what they have to say.’
The general took a meticulous moment to tidy away his tablets and lists on the table, leaving them guarded by half a dozen of Ingenuus’ praetorians, and then strode away down the slope of the camp atop the Gods’ Gate hill, the officers at his heel and another dozen Praetorians all around.
The north gate of Caesar’s camp gave an impressive and unrestricted view of the oppidum across the Osana valley. Today, for the first time since the Roman ramparts had gone up, not a single column of smoke arose from the roofs of Alesia. A party of perhaps a dozen men rode towards the north gate. They didn’t look particularly powerful or wealthy to Fronto. They looked like peasants.
‘I am here to speak to Gaius Julius Caesar, Proconsul of Gaul and Illyricum, on behalf of Vercingetorix, king of the Arverni.’
Fronto frowned at the familiar tone and it took a moment for him to recognise Cavarinos. The man was not adorned with the usual noble accoutrements — just a serpent arm-ring. And he’d shaved off his beard. Much better. Made him look like the civilized man Fronto knew him to be.
Caesar stepped to the parapet above the gate and looked down at the band of mounted peasants below. ‘Are things so bad in the camp of my enemy that he must send the lowest of his men to treat with me?’
Fronto saw Cavarinos struggle for a moment, clenching his teeth. The Arvernian noble’s eyes met Fronto’s almost challengingly, and then he straightened. ‘The lion’s share of our noble blood lies on the plains and at Mons Rea with Roman spears in its chest. The king would hear your terms for his surrender. He hopes that the Romans, who consider themselves noble, and to be the pinnacle of civilization, will agree to terms that will allow for mercy and leniency among the common people of Gaul, who wish for nothing more than to return to their farms and repair the damage this year has done to their livelihoods. Vercingetorix entreats you to exact your vengeance upon he alone and to grant clemency to the former army of the Gaulish tribes.’
Fronto noted the looks of confusion on the other rebels’ faces at the phrases Gaul and Gaulish. None of them thought in such terms. It was a mark of how far ahead Cavarinos’ mind was working. The man was couching the terms in language that would suit the Romans. He turned to Caesar.
‘General, if this is to be the last battle for Gaul, it might be time to start building bridges rather than burning them down.’ The general gave him a sharp look, but he shrugged. ‘Next year, if the land is to become a settled province, then we need the economy to move back onto track. What happens here will carry a message to the whole of Gaul, whatever you decide. It could be a message of oppression and control, or it could be one of encouragement and collaboration.’
Still the general stared at Fronto, and the spell was only broken by Antonius, who leaned close to the general and murmured something quietly that Fronto couldn’t catch but soon had the general giving a curt nod. Caesar leaned forth over the parapet once more.
‘Here are my terms. Any leaders of the tribes that revolted who are not already in our custody will personally deliver Vercingetorix to this camp at noon. They will all take a new oath of allegiance to Rome, though the enemy commander will not be required to do so and will remain my prisoner indefinitely. We have in captivity a number of your warriors, both here, back in Agedincum and Noviodunum, and already at Massilia. I cannot recall the precise number, though it is a high one. Those men were taken in battle and will return to Rome as slaves. I will require that number of captives to be supplemented from the population of the oppidum such that every man in my army who survives this siege will take home the profit of one slave sale. That is, to be clear, each Roman — and each Gallic auxiliary who has served me loyally — will take one slave apiece. Precise numbers will be confirmed by my officers before noon and a messenger sent to you with the details.’
Fronto clenched his teeth. Hardly what he’d been pushing for.
Caesar seemed to note the resentment emanating from his legate and cast a quick sharp glance at Fronto before addressing the enemy again. ‘This is the clemency of Caesar. I had privately vowed that none who fought from that oppidum would live as a free man for their part in the rebellion, so consider this a boon. I will not allow my men to return home empty-handed after all their blood and sacrifice, and so your people will supply the captives required. However, above and beyond that number, the rest of the population atop the hill are free to return to their villages and to till their fields and raise their children safe in the knowledge that Rome will protect them from any further danger.’