Marius' Mules VII: The Great Revolt Read Online Free PDF

would never have admitted as such to any of his companions. Since that meeting in Bibracte with the Roman officer, he had time and again questioned in his own head the need for a grand rising and battle, when weighed against the possibility of peaceful terms. The very idea that there could be concord without such bloodshed was tempting fruit. But the shepherds of the people were rabid these days. They would not stop now until they had opened the gut of every last Roman on their flat stones. And Vercingetorix? What of him? Cavarinos had long suspected that what had driven the great chief had not been so much the need to drive out Rome, but rather the desire to unite the tribes of what Romans called ‘Gaul’ under his own royal thumb.
    He shook his head.
    It was just a dream of peace… an ephemeral mirage that shifted under scrutiny and showed itself to be in fact a scene of bare-faced war. Whether negotiation had ever been a possibility, things had now gone too far. And even if he had still clutched to the idea that terms might be agreed, now Lucterius marched south with two thousand bloodthirsty warriors, gathering other tribes as he passed with the Roman city of Narbo in his sights. It would take weeks for the warband to reach Narbonensis gathering men as it went, but the moment that warband crossed the invisible but all-so-important line into Roman lands, any hope of a peaceful solution was gone forever. Cavarinos might not know Caesar and his like well, but he was clear on that nonetheless.
    Lucterius would destroy the meagre garrison of Narbonensis easily and with that one strike he would begin the war. Caesar would rush to wrap things up and return to his legions, but by the time he moved to the north and reached them, the army of Vercingetorix would be a rival for his legions; the largest force the tribes had ever assembled.
    The last battle was coming, and before winter either Caesar or Vercingetorix would find themselves in total control of the land. And how could Caesar possibly learn of all this, mobilise and reach his army in the north before it was all too late?
    With a sigh, Cavarinos shook all this foolishness from his head, walked to the door and stepped outside, just in time to see Vercingetorix arriving to greet his army.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Aquileia, seat of the Governor of Cisalpine Gaul
     
    Aulus Ingenuus, prefect in command of Caesar’s praetorian cavalry guard, fiddled with the buckle on his baldric, the missing fingers on his right hand making the task difficult. Over the past six years since he had lost those fingers in battle and found favour with the general he had managed to train himself to write with his left hand. He was now a reasonably effective swordsman with the left, and could manage almost any task assigned to him, but a fibula - a decorative buckle - was still troublesome.
    ‘Damn the thing!’ he snapped angrily, almost dropping his sword on the floor, but his slave was there instantly, grasping the scabbard and lifting it as he fastened the buckle for his master. Recovering his mood, Ingenuus nodded the little Syrian his thanks and adjusted the blade so that it hung just right before stringing his belt around his middle and waiting patiently while the slave fastened that too.
    He really should just let the slave do it all, but it was a constant niggle to the young commander that such a simple, mundane task was still beyond him, and he would never stop trying.
    Brushing back his hair, which would need cutting soon, he looked himself up and down in the bronze mirror. A mature soldier with slightly haunted eyes, well-muscled arms and legs, no few scars visible as narrow white lines, and a strong jaw looked back at him.
    ‘Who are you?’ he whispered, in his head still the young cavalry decurion who had distinguished himself those six years ago.
    ‘Your pardon, Dominus?’ queried the slave.
    ‘Nothing, Elyas. Make my bed and go into the town. See if you can procure me some fruit