Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (59 page)

“
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.”

He took a deep
breath. Here was the other point where he could lose them.

“
Six miles north of where we fought a hard battle against
worthy opponents, including your own warriors, we found the
elderly, the women and the children of your people who live south
of that field. Every single person there had taken their own life
rather than co-exist with Rome, which is, frankly,
idiotic.”

The room had
gone quiet once again.

“
Traditionally, Rome has taken slaves after a campaign, yes.
And yes, it still happens, but we do not rape and murder, nor do we
enslave entire peoples. So, as I say, the war is over. As far as
Rome is concerned, we have peace with you all. What you do with
that peace is up to you, but I urge you to think on this: You have
all lost greatly. What you need now is time to grow and heal once
again, and Rome is willing to help you and support you in
this.”

There were
gentle murmurings around the room.

“
Rome is not a city; it is an idea. An idea that encompasses
all who let it. The tribes of the Alps or the southern coast have
considered themselves part of that idea for generations now and
they have wine, and aqueducts and theatres and arenas and…” he
gestured at the walls of the hut. “And windows… and most of all,
they have peace.”

He leaned back
in his seat.

“
I have the authority to represent Caesar and Rome, and I am
here to open negotiations with you. My proposal is
this:”

He stood.

“
Each tribe signs a treaty with Rome. Each tribe will donate
money and goods to Caesar’s army, in quantities to be determined
later, but that will not exceed what each tribe can easily spare.
Each tribe will supply troops for the army, proportionate to both
the size of the tribe and the current manpower available. Each
tribe will open their gates to Rome and its couriers, soldiers and
merchants.”

He noted the
sourness to the silence now.

“
In return, Rome will, as we are currently doing with a few of
your tribes, train your warriors in the art of Roman warfare. We
will give you engineers that will help you improve your lot. We
will grant trade concessions such that you will pay no tax on
imports from Roman merchants. You will receive the protection of
our army and limited rights under Roman law. Once your levies and
tithes are made there will be a consolidation period of three years
during which you can heal your land and your people and return to
strength before a standard provincial tax is levied, by which time
you will be able to afford it.”

He smiled.

“
Nemetocenna will become the focus of Roman influence here; a
garrison town and a capital, but each of your civitas… your most
important oppida will receive attention, to help them grow and
become strong and important. In short, we need to take, but we also
wish to give. Not a conquest, but a partnership.”

One of the
older chieftains waved a hand at him and rattled something off in
their own tongue. Septimius translated quickly.

“
He says that what you offer is for them to stop being Belgae
and become Romans, and that is no choice.”

Labienus shook
his head.

“
Rome is an embracing mother. Some of our peoples speak Greek
rather than Latin. Some speak their own African languages. We do
not stop them worshipping their own Gods… indeed, we take their
Gods into our own pantheon. You have a sacred grove here in
Nemetocenna. It may have escaped your notice, but if you watch, you
will see our men going to pour libations and make offerings there.
We do not seek to stamp out your culture, but to learn from it and
embrace it.”

He
laughed.

“
One of my good friends, a senior officer in our army, has lost
his taste for good Campanian wine, favouring Gallic beer. This
partnership I speak of can only succeed if we try to make it so,
but it will also only fail if you make it. Now, the whole point of
negotiation is that all points are flexible. I have made the
opening offer. Tell me what it is that you seek and we will find an
arrangement that suits us all.”

There was a
long silence, during which two legionaries came round with drinks.
Several chiefs waved them on and, as Labienus watched, a young
chief of perhaps seventeen years, hovered for a moment over a mug
of beer and then, with a smile, selected a glass of Pompeian. The
young nobleman looked up at Labienus and spoke in his guttural
language, the translation by Septimius almost instantaneous.

“
There are eighteen tribes of the Belgae. Only seventeen are
here. What news of the Aduatuci?”

Labienus
stopped for a moment and selected a mug of beer. Time to build
bridges, but… what news of the Aduatuci, indeed?

* * * * *

Fronto growled
as he held the end of the rope to stop it flapping around. The
others were absolutely right, of course. There was no way he could
have climbed the cliffs with them, but he’d been expecting to tie
the rope around his waist and for them to haul him up afterwards.
Priscus had told him in fairly blunt terms that they couldn’t risk
taking a one-armed man with them, and he’d been left with the job
of guarding the rope. Above him, the long cord wobbled as the four
men climbed.

His plan for a
few men dressed as Gauls to sneak into the oppidum and try to
ascertain what it was the Aduatuci were up to appeared to
proceeding adequately without him. Priscus and Galronus had each
selected a man to take with them; Galronus had chosen a Remi
warrior who had visited this place before, while Priscus selected a
man called Mutiatus, renowned for his climbing ability.

Mutiatus had
climbed the cliff in three stages, one stretch at a time, anchoring
a rope and then returning for another coil to manage the next
stretch. The whole process had taken well over an hour, but now
there were three ropes that reached up the side of the oppidum, and
Fronto’s scouts were climbing them to the unknown dangers above.
The legate grumbled again as the movement on the rope ceased. That
meant that Galronus was over a third of the way up. Priscus must be
at the top by now.

The edge of
the oppidum was unwalled at this point. There was no real need for
man-made defences here; no army could climb the cliff in sufficient
numbers to pose a threat. Instead, the ground had been cleared of
scrub and bushes so that, if the need arose, the defenders could
gather at the edge and cast rocks and missiles at any
attackers.

Priscus
dropped into a crouch next to Mutiatus as the other two reached the
cliff edge behind him. He felt distinctly uncomfortable. With no
shield of armour, he was dressed like the other three: a bare
minimum. Gallic clothes and boots, a sheathed Celtic sword and a
helmet to hide his Roman features. Mutiatus wore the same, and the
two Remi could manage without helmets.

He scanned the
scene from where he crouched. There were a number of oak and ash
trees scattered around that provided the only cover until they
reached the first buildings. The construction here was much like
the rest of the Gallic and Belgic settlements he’d seen: stone
courses at the bottom with timber construction above and thatched
roofs. There seemed to be no plan to this part of the town, with
houses scattered like the trees, each with its own little
garden.

Off to the
left, at the highest part, he could hear the lowing of cattle. So,
the left would be rural woods and farmland, with the main centre of
occupation down the slope toward the gates.

He suddenly
became aware of the presence of others around him. The four men
were all here and ready.

“
Alright, Elitovius,” he addressed his Remi guide. “Lead on.
Let’s see if we can find out what they’re up to.”

With the two
Remi auxiliaries at the front, they moved out from the cliff edge
at a crouch, slipping like ghosts between the tree trunks toward
the edge of the settlement. Lamplight danced in the windows of some
of the buildings, but what light there was out here came mainly
from the silvery moon above.

Slowly, they
picked their way through, moving lightly and making as little noise
as possible, though there was no sign of movement nearby. As they
reached the rear corner of the first building, Galronus drew them
up in the lee of the walls.

“
We go in front; you behind. You no speak. Walk like you live
here.”

Priscus
nodded. He had no intention of standing out. Taking a deep breath,
he fell in with Mutiatus behind the Remi, and the four men strode
out into the moonlit streets of Aduatuca. The roads here seemed
quiet; not deserted, for they could hear the sounds of life and
movement here and there, and lights flickered in buildings. But
then, they were still on the edge of the settlement yet.

The tension in
the primus pilus grew with every step as the small group made their
way down the gentle slope toward the centre. This was a sizeable
oppidum; perhaps as large as Noviodunum, and remarkably civilised
to Priscus’ mind, with guttering in the gravelled streets to carry
away the rainwater. As they descended, the buildings became more
densely packed and, after a few minutes, there were signs that they
were approaching the centre.

Rather than
scattered houses with well-tended gardens, they were now passing
buildings that directly fronted onto the street, and occasionally a
shop or two. And then: the inevitable. Two Aduatuci, a young man
and his girl, strolled up the street toward them. Priscus felt
himself tense and his teeth clenched as he tried with all his being
to walk in as relaxed a fashion as possible. Next to him, he noted
a stiffness to Mutiatus. They must be so plainly Roman. Priscus had
been a soldier since he’d been old enough to shave. He even slept
at attention. How could then possibly pass as…

He realised,
with a start that almost made him laugh out loud, that he’d been so
worried about ruining their ruse that he hadn’t noticed the couple
pass them and go on their way. Suddenly, he found himself relaxing.
Good thing really, he thought to himself, as he saw another pair of
people appear from the main square ahead and walk toward them.

Galronus
elbowed him gently.

“
You see that?”

Priscus
frowned and squinted. The Remi officer could only be referring to
the two men ahead. They looked like ordinary Belgic warriors, just
carrying…

He
blinked.

“
What in the name of Mars and Bellona are they
doing?”

He squinted
again. The men were each carrying piles of weapons bound together
with cord. As he watched, the warriors turned into a side
street.

“
That cannot be normal” Priscus demanded of his guides.
Galronus shook his head.

“
We follow. Find out.”

Priscus
nodded, and the four men picked up the pace. Moments later, they
reached that side street and peered carefully down it. The two
warriors, now not far ahead, had separated and were entering two
buildings facing each other across the road.

“
What the hell is going on?” Priscus asked in a
whisper.

“
Not know” replied Galronus. “But we find out. Us take left.
You take right.”

Priscus nodded
and he and Mutiatus veered off toward the right hand side of the
road. Ahead, the door to the building stood open. With a quiet
rasp, Priscus drew the unfamiliar Celtic blade and crept along the
outside wall, Mutiatus following suit behind him. A few steps
further and the primus pilus peered cautiously around the door
frame. The building was a single room; a house by all appearances.
And, inside, the warrior they had followed was fumbling at the far
side of the room with a chest. Priscus frowned as he watched the
man drop a bundle of weapons into the chest, close it up, and
conceal it with a blanket, giving it the appearance of a seat.