Druids (45 page)

Caesar’s soldiers skewered Celtic children on their spears—

1 had fought death for Tarvos’s sake because it came to him too soon. For the sake of the children I would fight Caesar and all his armies. I would fight the world, I would sacrifice anything.

With redoubled fervor I devoted myself to studying the ancient rituals of protection and to searching for new ones. I exhaustively questioned every druid who visited the grove, seeking additional gestures, charms, and symbols to enlarge ourdruidical armory.

At me completion of a campaign in which he mercilessly slaughtered numerous unfortunate Britons and enslaved even more, Caesar sailed his warships back to the northern coast of Gaul. There he learned the region had just experienced a disas-

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trous harvest. The warriors he had quartered in the lands of the Belgae would undergo serious shortages of grain and other supplies unless he took some action.

Calling a council of local kings to meet him at Samarobriva, on the river Somme, Caesar informed the council he was going to relocate the winter camps of his legions. They would now be distributed among many more tribes than before, to give them

access to everyone’s supplies.

I learned of this from druids of the Treveri and the Eburones, who had come to the great grove in preparation for the Samhain convocation. They pleaded with me to use the concentrated power of the grove to invoke the fertility of their lands, which had experienced crop failure that year. With the added burden of Roman warriors to feed, they, like many northern tribes, were facing famine before the wheel of the seasons had turned full circle again.

Listening to them, it became evident to me that the region was ripe for revolt-And a revolt in the north would distract Caesar a while longer from attacking central Gaul.

I conferred long and earnestly with the Treverans and the Eburones. Because they had already suffered under Roman control, I found them more amenable to my suggestions than many of our own free Gauls who had thus far been spared.

In return for my promise to work our most powerful magics on their behalf in the grove, visiting druids promised to use their influence with the leaders of their respective tribes. Then I reported to our local druids, with some satisfaction, “We are extending the network.”

It did not take long for these efforts to bear fruit. Uneasy over the situation, Caesar lingered in northern Gaul to supervise the fortifications of the new camps, rather than returning to Latium for the winter as usual. While he was there, a revolt broke out, led by Ambiorix, king of the Eburones, who claimed the support and encouragement of mdutiomarus of the large tribe of the Treveri. Sweeping battles followed throughout the land between the Rhine and the Meuse rivers. A substantial Roman force, including two high-ranking commanders, was annihilated.

Encouraged by the revolt’s eariy successes, other northern tribes began joining in the uprising. Caesar soon found himself fighting on many fronts. Indutiomarus even sent envoys across the Rhine to invite the Germans to take part, promising them a share of the spoils and all the Roman iron they could carry home.

Avidly, I followed the accounts as the tides of battle turned one way, then another. Many bullocks were sacrificed in the grove on

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behalf of our northern allies. For a time it seemed as if they might win, but then the shrewd tactics of the Roman began to bite. Caesar’s armies began to win more batdes than they lost.

Then I learned I had been mistaken to assume the northern revolt would distract Caesar from central Gaul. The man had a layered mind; he could think of many things at once—which is the attribute that truly distinguishes humans from other animals. Even while conducting a campaign against tribes infuriated by his demands for their grain, he had remembered other angers—and die death of Tasgetius.

The news was shouted along the river valleys: Caesar had dispatched a legion from the lands of the Belgae to spend the winter among the Camutians.

I was appalled.

I rode at once for Cenabum. The story was true; Caesar had ordered five thousand men under the command of one Lucius

Plancus into the area to investigate the killing of Tasgetius and to, as the Romans put it, “keep the peace.” The Romans claimed to suspect a combined revolt by the Carautes and the Senones.

Caesar knew of the Gaulish confederacy; he had spies everywhere. It was obvious, however, that he did not know for certain just who was committed to the confederacy or what plans were being made. He must have assumed that an army sent into our territory—and another to the land of-the Senones—would be sufficient to intimidate us both.

As I approached Cenabum, I saw the Roman encampment spread across the level fields like an alien flood. My lips curied with disgust. In order to avoid being spotted by the ubiquitous Roman patrols in the vicinity of the camp, I led my companions in a very large circle that eventually took us to a side gate of the town.

The town gates were shut and barred. I had to shout up to the sentry and identify myself with both hooded robe and triskele before the gates were opened to us. While waiting, I thought about the Roman style of intimidation.

Druids know something about intimidation.

Leaving my bodyguards to mingle with the warriors of Cenabum, I headed for the king’s lodge. The effect of the Roman presence in the area was obvious. The Camutes were subdued, going about their daily affairs with downcast eyes and tight, nervous faces. They spoke in brief phrases. No one was singing.

On the other hand, the Roman traders were more in evidence than ever, strutting through Cenabum as jaunty as cockerels and

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calling out cheery greetings as if they owned the place. I supped from shadow to shadow, avoiding them.

I found Nantorus in his lodge, submerged in gloom. His old wife and his clanswomen made me welcome, but a soggy spirit looked at me from the king’s eyes. In the ruin of the man it was hard to find the champion who had once been our most gifted warrior. Whatever vitality he had regained was lost again, perhaps permanently this time.

“He treats me as if I were no more than a hound under the table, Ainvar,” Nantorus complained as soon as we had finished the formalities.

“Who does?”

“The Roman commander, Lucius Plancus. He has some sort of scroll from Caesar with symbols painted on it that he claims gives him the right to govern here in the absence of a lawful king. 7am the lawful king, Ainvar!” he added querulously, his underlip quivering.

“I trust you told him his scroll carries no weight here. We are not Caesar’s to command, we are free people.”

Nantorus would not meet my eyes. He sat on his bench, holding a cup of wine he could not find me energy to drink, and said in a rusty voice, “I tried. He wouldn’t listen to me. I drove out to the camp and ordered him to leave, but his men laughed at my chariot, and almost before we knew what was happening, he had two cohorts at the main gates of Cenabum, threatening io kill anyone else who tried to come out. Plancus said we must stay within the walls and obey his orders or … or …

“I’m not afraid of him or any man, Ainvar, you know that. I’m not afraid of death.” Nantorus lifted his head and found a vestige of his old pride to show me. “But I am terrified that I, the king of the Camutes, will be unmanned before all my tribe. That’s what Plancus promised to do to me, to have me gelded and beaten until I was lying helpless in a puddle of blood and urine, and then make my people spit on me.

‘*! thought I could fight him but … I could not find it in myself. Not anymore. So I stay here, and the Romans are out there. Tomorrow they plan to begin questioning people about the death of Tasgetius. The people are frightened. I was … I represented their strength, their manhood. And I was able! Until the Roman … until his men laughed . . - until he said …”

I felt a great pity for him. It was because of me he was in this untenable position. An old man should be left his dignity; I should have foreseen his failing and had a stronger, younger man in place

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to face the Roman eagles. I thought briefly of Cotuatus, but to keep him away from what the Romans called justice I had left both him and Crom Daral at the Fort of the Grove.

“What princes are in Cenabum now, Nantorus?”

The king named them. Conconnetodumnus had gone off in search of a wife, taking his sworn warriors to attack the Turones, who bred handsome and fertile women. The other nobles currently penned within the walls of Cenabum were none of them impressive enough to intimidate a Roman commander. If only there were a Rix among them to meet Plancus… .

“Have your women bring me a prince’s tunic,” I ordered- “And all the gold jewelry they can gather, a tore, arm rings, finger rings, the bigger and showier the better. A wolf fur cloak, enameled brooches. Hurry!”

“But Ainvar, druids don’t wear such things.”

“When I meet the Roman commander, Nantorus, I won’t be meeting him as a druid.”

I dressed in the king’s lodge. After the freedom of the hooded robe, the tight-fitting tunic and leggings were confining, and the weight of the jewelry threatened to drive me into the earth, as I told the giggling women.

When I thought myself ready, and perfectly disguised as a

prince of horse rank, the king’s old wife burst into laughter. “He’ll know you are a druid as soon as he sees you,” she said. “You wear the tonsure.”

I had forgotten my tonsure. Since initiation into the Order I had, like all male druids, shaved the very front part of my head from ear to ear to allow the sun more access to my brain. The Fire of Creation nourishes the mind. The style gave, in my case, the impression of an unnaturally high forehead with a silver streak beginning above the temple, and was sufficient to identify me as a druid to anyone who had spent any time in Gaul.

“Do you have a tunic with a cowl? Or with some son of hood that doesn’t look like a druid’s hood?” I asked, but a search of the lodge found nothing that would serve.

Then one of the king’s sisters suggested, ‘ ‘Why not a wreath? If you are supposed to be a warrior, surely you take part in the endless contests and races with which they pass the time when not at war-We can make you a winner’s wreath to wear and the Romans will never know the difference.”

It was me wrong season for green leaves and the king’s lodge lacked shrubbery, but the women contrived a dense circlet for me using kale and sorrel meant for the cooking pot, and twisted

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together with bindweed and thread from the loom. It might not have deceived one of our own, but it should suffice for the Ro-mans, we all agreed.

When I was pronounced ready, we sent a messenger to the Roman camp to summon the commander to the king of the Carnutes.

We waited-Plancus did not come.

“You’ll have to go to him,” Nantorus said.

“Ah no. Send the messenger again, but this time let him say how distressed you are to leam that the Roman commander has been gravely incapacitated.”

“But he hasn’t… has he?”

“Not yet,” I said, suppressing a smile. “But he won’t want that sort of rumor going around Cenabum. He’ll come to you to prove it isn’t true. And just to be sure he does, I’ll do a few spells for summoning while we wait.”

We did not have to wait long before Lucius Plancus himself galloped through the gates of Cenabum at the head of a company of Roman cavalry. Hearing his approach, I stepped out in front of the lodge to read him before he could read me.

As I was predisposed to dislike the man for what he had done to Nantorus if for no other reason, I hated him on sight. Mounted on a snorting bay stallion with blood-flecked foam at the comers of its mouth, Plancus was short and swarthy and hard-eyed. A

merciless man.

He had not shown compassion, so he would receive none from me; there must be a balance.

He slid from his horse, glanced around haughtily, and snapped his fingers. A man with the face of an Aeduan rode forward.

“We won’t need an interpreter,” I said hastily in Latin, half-turning so the Aeduan could not see my forehead too closely. I was grateful for the approaching twilight.

“And who are you?” Plancus demanded to know.

‘ ‘Ainvar of the Camutes. I speak your language, or we can use Greek if you prefer.”

He was too experienced to let me see how that disconcerted him, but I could smell his surprise.

“Latin will do,” he said, waving the Aeduan aside. “Take me to Nantorus.”

I shifted weight and blocked his way. ‘ “The king Nantorus.” 1 corrected him politely. “You must use his title.”

“King, chieftain, call him what you like. He wanted to speak to me and I am here.”

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“I wanted to speak to you.” I corrected him again. “You are here in response to my summons.”

Plancus squinted at me as if seeing me for the first time. The Aeduan had also moved forward again and was looking at me curiously. I wondered if my wreath had slipped. We had better go into the lodge at once, before one of my own people happened by and revealed my true identity inadvertently.

“We can speak more comfortably inside,” I told Plancus, pushing the oaken door open. “Unless you are afraid to come in and leave your army outside.”

He shot me a barbed look, but he motioned his men to wait and followed me into the lodge. I had to duck under the lintel-He did not.

Lucius Plancus did not greet or even acknowledge Nantorus, who arose from his bench as we entered. The Roman did not bother to give his face so much as a token splash from the basin of heated water the king’s wife courteously offered to him. The interior of the big lodge gleamed with burnished metals and glowed with vividly dyed fabrics; lush furs were piled everywhere for comfort; the best food and drink were at hand. Yet the Roman nicked one glance of contempt around the walls and thereafter held himself aloof as if he were in a pen of animals.

“Now tell me what you want,” he said to me in a voice long accustomed to command. “Speakfast, I have to get back to my