Druids (47 page)

“We are. But if we are to remain free, how many can we afford to have go their own way? Caesar allows for no such individuality among those he controls.”

Riommar could not answer my question.

When the chief druid of the Senones had departed for the tribe’s

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stronghold at Vellaunodunum, I sent a message to Rix: Soon we will be able to add the Senones to the confederacy.

In the grove we began working powerful magic against Cavarinus. I never doubted it would be effective, so long as we were able to bring the full force of the sacred center to bear.

But it would take time, and we did not have much time left.

Reading the signs and portents, studying the entrails, communing with the spirits of water and wind, our vates foresaw the future. Keryth told me what they had learned. “Even on days of brightest sunshine, a shadow falls over the land of the Camutes, Ainvar. It is the shadow of an eagle. Before the wheel of the seasons has turned full circle again the eagle will strike.”

Riommar sent me a heartening message. Cavarinus, king of the Senones, was unaccountably suffering poor health. The princes Acco and Moritasgus were quietly taking over some of his responsibilities, with the agreement of most of the tribe, until such time as he might recover.

While I was rejoicing over this news, Briga gave birth to my daughter.

I had never imagined a daughter. Men think of sons. When I said this, Briga laughed at me. “I knew it was a girl before my belly began to swell, Ainvar. Sulis and Damona both told me so.”

A girt. A girl so small I was afraid to touch her, with a long skull and damp, dark ringlets clustered around a red little face. A beautiful little face. At first glance I saw that she would be more lovely than any woman of the Camutes had ever been.

Druids know these things.

How incredible that my thrusting maleness had been transmuted through Briga’s magic into a fragile female with long eyelashes and tiny, crumpled ears. A spirit I would come to know and love was housed in this miniature being.

If Gaius Caesar had appeared at the door of my lodge just then, I would have strangled him with my bare hands, to make the world a safer place for my daughter.

He did not. I was free to stand and drink her with my eyes. We are not granted many such moments.

To my surprise, Crom Daral brought a gift for the child. “For Briga’s daughter,” he emphasized, as if I had played no part in the creation. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding something clenched in his fist and trying to peer past me into the lodge.

“Do you want to come in and see her, Crom?” I offered, feeling proud and magnanimous.

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“Ah … no. I … just tell Briga this came from me.” He thrust an object into my hands and fled.

When I looked I discovered he had given his gold arm ring, symbol of a warrior.

It was as if I had given away my hooded robe.

The gift was not suitable for a girl child, and certainly not for my daughter. I did not know how to respond.

“What is it, Ainvar?” Briga called from the bed, where she lay nursing the baby. Sulis had given her a concoction of cream and spices to stimulate her milk.

“Crom Daral brought the wrong gift by mistake,” 1 said hastily.

“How like Crom,” was her only reply. Lakutu came forward to see what I was holding. She recognized the warrior’s ring at once; her son, Glas, had his father’s ring.

“Good friend,” she said. “He gives you gold.”

“It was a mistake. I’ll return it to him later.” I put the ring out of sight in my chest of belongings, and other events soon captured my attention. Like the stone image the Goban Saor had once carved for Menua, Crom Daral’s intended gift was forgotten in the press of daily concerns.

After the death of Indutiomarus his kinsmen continued to ha-rass the Romans in the north. Ambiorix of the Eburones joined them. Caesar marched into the lands of the Treveri and built a bridge across the Rhine so he could threaten the Germanic tribes who had allied themselves with Indutiomarus. He did not dare advance too deeply into the dark German forests; the Germans did not engage in agriculture and there was no grain to feed his troops. He did take hostages, however, and laid waste to the land, as was his custom.

In the midst of this brutality he sent, to our total amazement, some German Jewels as “gifts of friendship” to Vercingetorix of the Arvemi! Rix was baffled and embarrassed. I saw it as an example of the Roman’s calculating duplicity.

Having once more intimidated the Germans, Caesar recrossed the Rhine and attacked Ambiorix.

Meanwhile the Nervii, the Menapii, and the Aduatuci had also once more taken up arms against the Romans. Against them Cae-sar waged a relentless war of attrition. I received word from Riommar that prince Acco of the Senones was sending them support, and was also encouraging his tribesmen to join the confederation of free Gaul.’ ‘I am having great success among the leaders

of the Senones,” Riommar was pleased to inform me.

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Then the Romans surrounded the forces of Ambiorix in the forest of the Ardennes, the largest in all Gaul. One prince of the Eburones poisoned himself with yew to avoid being taken prisoner, but Ambiorix escaped. Infuriated to be thwarted of his prey, Caesar declared that brave chieftain a criminal and put a price on his head to draw the jackals.

By now many of the small tribes in the north were scrambling frantically to protect themselves. They sent envoys to Caesar, disclaiming any connection with his enemies. In fact, various individuals from almost every tribe were making their way to Caesar, insisting they were his friends and eagerly denouncing others they wished him to punish instead.

Some of the borderland Camutians went to him, I was saddened to learn. But recalling Riommar and his stones, I accepted. Each of us acts according to his nature, and even the bravest man may not be able to bear the thought of having his women and children slaughtered and his land laid waste-By sheer weight of numbers, Caesar destroyed resistance in the Belgic lands. What his men did not eat or rape, they burned. Refugees were now flooding in upon the Senones, and upon the Parisii and the Camutes as well, telling terrible tales.

A messenger from Vellaunodunum arrived on a lathered horse at the Fort of the Grove. “Riommar wishes you to know that Caesar has called another council of the kings of Gaul. Cavarinus of the Senones plans to attend, in spite of his illness.”

I understood. My reply must be carefully worded, so Riommar would know what I meant but no one else could accuse us of conspiracy. There were too many spies abroad now; the most fresh-faced messenger was suspect. Caesar’s coins clanked in too many Gaulish purses. “Return to Riommar at once and assure him that the power of the great grove is being concentrated upon the health of the king of the Senones,” I said.

Even as the messenger was galloping away on a fresh horse, I was conferring with Aberth and Suits.

In the grove we sacrificed a dozen white cattle with black manes, and mixed their blood with three kinds of poison. A fire was built using wood smeared with the blood. The druids chanted. Obeying our command, the wind veered toward Vellaunodunum, carrying the spirits of the poison to Cavarinus.

Someone warned him. Weak as he was, Cavarinus managed to drag himself onto a horse. Together with a small cavalry of his most devoted followers, he escaped to Caesar, but our efforts were

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rewarded with success. No sooner had he left Vellaunodunum than the Senones elected Moritasgus their king.

The new king of the Senonians did not attend Caesar’s council-Neither, of course, did Nantorus, nor any representative of the Treveri.

In a daring march to the very edge of Senonian territory some of Caesar’s men captured the prince Acco and dragged him in chains to their leader. Caesar declared Acco to be an enemy of Rome and an instigator of conspiracies among Rome’s enemies. He was slowly tortured to death. Some of the Senones who had gone willingly with Cavarinus were so appalled at this they fled, afraid they might be accused of secret involvement in Acco’s plans-In the harvest season Caesar made crushing demands upon the grain crop of the northern tribes. Then, satisfied they were now too cowed to resist, he set out for Latium, leaving two legions encamped for the winter on the Treveri borderlands, two more among the Lingones, and a full six legions just across the Sequana River from the heartland of the Senones.

Before leaving Gaul he took one more step, one I could not ignore. He sent Gaius Cita, a Roman official of horse rank, to Cenabum with instructions to secure the entire grain harvest of the Camutes.

If Caesar was arranging supplies for his armies in the center of free Gaul, it meant only one thing. We were next. Our diviners’ predictions were accurate.

I sent an urgent message to Vercingetorix, asking him to meet with me a safe distance from Roman eyes.

I told Briga, “In a way, I’m glad it’s come. Waiting is harder than action. Now we not only know what to expect, but when.”

“War,” she said in the way women say that word. “You’re meeting Vercingetorix to plan a huge war. When will I see you again?” She brightened- “I know! I’ll go with you, Ainvar! We won’t be separated.”

“We’ll be riding hard; it’s best you stay here. Our daughter is still very small and she needs you,” I reminded her. She laughed. “But we are perfectly safe!” I put on my most severe expression, a Menua frown I had used before with her—always to no effect. It had no effect this time, either. “I am going with you,” she insisted.

When she was distracted by the child, I took Lakutu aside- “Briga is a willful woman,” I told her. “She disobeys me, and I am worried. Where I am going is not a place for women.” Lakutu nodded. “Is bad thing, woman disobeys man.”

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“Can you convince her?”

The black eyes shone. “I do better. I keep her here.”

“How?”

“She would not leave if she could not find child. When she sleeps, I hide baby, just until you are gone.” She smiled broadly. “Play little joke on Briga, let you get away.”

At the next Beltaine I must marry this woman, I thought. She has a clever head.

I no longer noticed her appearance; her thinnness and gray hair went unremarked-1 saw the real Lakutu shining out of her eyes in gentle, generous beauty. When you get to know and appreciate someone, the dwelling that contains them becomes unimportant;

you go to see your friends, not the lodges they live in.

I would definitely marry my friend Lakutu. I would be the first chief druid of the Camutes to have two wives.

Change was in the air. But some traditions m Gaul were being abandoned with unfortunate consequences—

At the instigation of Caesar, the Aedui had abolished kingship in favor of elected magistrates and were urging other tribes to follow their example. Caesar did not want the tribes to be led by kings. Those he could not immediately kill he was attempting to buy off with bribes and promises of friendship, but I knew he eventually meant to destroy them all. The Romans did not like

kings.

We needed them, however. Over many generations we had evolved the pattern of living that best suited Celtic natures. Kings led noble warriors in battle that defined tribal territory and gave men a shape for their pride. Less aggressive common people farmed the land and did the labor of the tribe. Druids were responsible for the intangible essentials upon which all else depended. Man and Earth and Otherworld were thus held in balance—until the coming of Caesar, who wanted to destroy our warriors and our druids so he could make the rest of us his slaves.

My thoughts must be concentrated upon defeating him, so I agreed to Lakutu’s plan. It was simple and required no mental effort from me. All I had to do was slip a potion in Briga’s cup to make her fall asleep early, when we were almost ready to leave. Then I told Lakutu, “Hide the child well, so Briga will take a long time to find her when she wakes up. I need at least a half day’s start.”

Pleased to be part of a small conspiracy, Lakutu beamed like a child.

My bodyguard and I set off to meet Vercingetorix.

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Along our way we met with the princes of Gaul in the dark woodlands I preferred, and I told them of the cruel death of Acco. Their eyes gleamed with anger; their lips curled.

‘ ‘Any of you could meet a similar fate if Caesar’s legions overrun free Gaul,” I warned them. “Rome does not grant its enemies death with dignity. But if you rally behind the Arvemian king we can defeat Caesar. We can win a victory that will be commemorated for a thousand years!”

Inflamed by the prospect, they clenched their fists and beat their shields and shouted the name of Vercingetorix.

But Celts are easily aroused. Until we met Caesar on the field of battle, it was hard to say how many would actually stand with us.

The Roman had a talent for creating powerful partisans. Diviciacus of the Aedui, who as a druid should have been beyond his persuasions, was an example. Caesar could be generous or severe by turns with no thought of humanity or justice, only an implacable desire to win. He was unstinting of his resources in seducing allies and savage to those who resisted him. In this lay lessons for us, as I had pointed out to Rix.

Caesar had established a powerful personal influence almost independent of Rome. He was undoubtedly brilliant; in a different world I should have liked to leam from him and teach him.

Instead we were deadly enemies. -

Rix and I met south of Avaricum, across the hills from the territory of the Boii. The mighty Boii had, through the urging of tfae Aedui, accepted Caesar’s domination. Only a few princes were holding out and Rix had come in hopes of winning them for the Gaulish confederacy.

We met in a stand of trees that had grown up around a farmstead destroyed in some forgotten war. Little remained of it but a few weather-chewed rocks and rain-striped walls.

Accompanied by a well-armed cavalry, Rix came riding on that black horse of his. The animal was a fully mature stallion now, and the man who rode him was also fully mature, though young as men reckon age. The next winter would be the thirtieth for both of us if we lived to see it.