Chapter 8: Winter and Spring, 52 B.C

“The stars stand up in the air,
The sun and the moon are gone....”
_Mac Donagh._

Round the lip of the hollow the snow was wind-blown and frozen hard into hundreds of fantastic crests, but here in shelter it was smooth and very soft looking. Only, low down in the centre, the old stone of sacrifice made one shadow. The stars, arching over from edge to edge, were high, sparkling, impossibly distant; they were not looking at him, they were not looking at anything, they were alone--as he was. Why were the others delaying so? He moved a little, but the clank of his sword was terrifyingly loud. If only something would happen! What was the use of coming so early? He had wanted to think--to think about Gaul, most of all to think about what he was going to do himself. But now: he was too impatient and excited to think. Some one had said he was young: well, what if he was? There were worse things than being young! And he was not afraid of his uncle any longer. How quiet: far below, in the thick woods he had been climbing through, there must be night birds and small beasts running; but here in the high snow no beast came but man. He fell into a half dream; it was all his, he could feel it all stretching away under him from every side of the mountain--the valley full of crops and cattle and villages, fertile and beautiful like a loved woman, and then, guarding it, Gergovia, the eagle on the rock, and the long curved chain of the Arvernian hills, this hill the centre and sacredest, full of hollows and pine-woods and secret glens, safe from the Romans: his land. What he could do with it! Already some had called him King, and where need it end?--the stake like his father Celtill, or how? In old days the Arvernians had ruled over the whole of Gaul; and he--he knew so much more; the things he could do, the hopes he could fulfil! He had read and heard much, he remembered empires of the past; he, too, would bring a new beauty into life, colour and song and a fresh springing of art....

Some one came softly up behind and murmured, “Vercingetorix.” He turned with a start: “You’ve come, Caltane! Where are the others?”

“They’re on their way; I came ahead. I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

Caltane bent down to take his right hand, then lifted it to his forehead. “King!” he said, “my King! If you need me ever--I’m your man.”

“Caltane! Do you think----? Shall I be that?”

“There’s many of us now who call you King.”

“Your cousin?”

“No; he’ll never believe there’s any one better than himself. Besides: the child.”

“The child has my sword.”

“Yes; only they don’t think of that, at least she doesn’t. But he’s coming now; he won’t like seeing me with you. I’ll go, my King.”

They were gathering all round the brim of that great cup of snow, dark shapes, cloaks over armour, the line of helmets against the stars. The chiefs had come from half the states of Gaul, kings and magistrates and generals, Southerners and Northerners, old friends or old enemies, but all feeling this queer new thing, this brotherhood that had drawn them together in the secret night to swear oaths to one another, oaths that they meant to keep. Then the Druids went down over the untrodden snow to the altar; the sacrifice was made. The standards of all the tribes and cities were brought forward and held above the steaming blood. In that moment men found themselves sobbing and praying next to their rivals, their father’s slayers, and turned and fell on their necks, full of the thought of Gaul, their dear, unhappy country, their mother in chains, who yet through them would be made free!

Under the stars in the hollow they held their council; Cæsar was away in Italy, having troubles of his own: he might be murdered yet; the legions could not move without him. The only question was who was to have the honour and danger of striking first. Vercingetorix stood jabbing his sword point into the ground: how he would have liked to take it on himself! He whispered to his friend, Lucter of the Cadurci, who shook his head: “No, no, it’s not possible. Think, there’s your uncle, he’d do anything to stop you now; your turn’s to come.” So Gutuatros of the Carnutes was the one chosen to light the flame that was to fire Gaul.

The chiefs scattered again, each to his own state; sleepers in farms and cottages heard the hoofs going by, and guessed, and thrilled at the thought of war. Vercingetorix on his black horse Coré rode back to Gergovia and was there by dawn. He counted up how many he could trust among the Arvernian nobles; thinking of Caltane he smiled, but if only it had been his cousin! Caltane had little power, but Ardorix the chief of Curdun had thousands behind him. And even at the sacrifice Ardorix would not give him more than the barest greeting. Was it all the child, he wondered or would Ardorix always be like that--jealous of any one stronger than himself? Perhaps. And yet he was sorry for the old quarrel: anything that went to spoil the unity they needed so much: could Ardorix not see it too!

But Ardorix, riding east to Curdun with his wife’s two brothers riding beside him, was saying to the elder, Varadec of the Bituriges, “He thinks he’s going to rule us all, but some day I’ll show him he’s wrong! How’s Gergovia better than Curdun? His father was burnt: let him look to himself!” Varadec shook his head and answered “Time for all that when the Romans are driven back into the sea.”

“Ay, but he may be too strong by then!”

“We’ll follow you if you’re the better man, Ardorix.”

“I’m as good as he is any day! There’s none doubts my courage or my strength!”

“There’s more than that needed when we’re out against the Romans.”

“All this trickery of his! What are swords for?” The boy Esserac, little brother of Varadec and Guemoné, agreed with him: “Swords and spears for me! It’s a crying shame, Ardorix, I’ve never killed a man yet!” “But you shall, Esserac, you shall!” “Before the snow’s melted too. We’ll hunt them over the Alps!” cried Varadec and gave a yell that made the horses fling back their heads. Caltane rode behind, listening to them; suddenly he found he had decided something; he thought: I hate Ardorix and I’ve no great liking for Guemoné or her brothers; but I love Vercingetorix and I will follow him wherever he leads me.

* * * * *

There were Roman traders settled in Cenabum, and one of Cæsar’s officers; they were making their profits out of the Gauls. But on a winter dawn Gutuatros and his men burst in on them and massacred them all in their houses; by evening the news was in Gergovia. Here the old uncle, thinking of Cæsar and the legions, ordered his nephew out of the town. But ten days later Vercingetorix was back with an army behind him, and the people of Gergovia joyfully helped to stone the uncle and his friends down the hill, and cried in all the streets to their young chief, “Welcome, King! Welcome, Vercingetorix! Long life and victory! Down with the Romans!” And he sent out envoys to the tribes, calling them to join him. Then the Hæduan chiefs took council together and decided to be loyal to Rome, for the moment at least; these Arvernians might get too proud of themselves! Maybe it would have been different if Dumnorix had been alive; he might have thought of freedom first of all. But yet Hæduans and Arvernians had been rivals too long for it to be forgotten for any hope, however glorious.

The Legates waited anxiously for word from Cæsar; they got in stores and were ready to march at an hour’s notice; but the country was up between him and them, they could neither join him nor hear anything of what he was doing. But at last he came, crossing the passes when the snow lay six foot deep; he sent his legions to draw Vercingetorix off while he rode north with the cavalry, night and day; he was with his armies again by the first week in March, and then it was war in earnest. The walled towns fell before him, Vellaunodunum, Cenabum, Noviodunum; he was marching against Avaricum of the Bituriges. The chiefs went hurriedly to Vercingetorix: this was not what they had hoped! He told them his plans: to burn down villages, barns and corn-stacks, even the walled towns lest they should be taken, and so starve the invader out. It was hard, but only by sacrifice could they win their liberty. But the chiefs of the Bituriges pleaded for their beautiful city Avaricum; and Vercingetorix was not yet master enough to do all he wanted. So Avaricum was provisioned and garrisoned, and Cæsar began making his works; and Vercingetorix waited behind him, cutting off his supplies, killing and capturing his foragers, trying to wear him out.

Guemoné and her brothers had been born in a castle built of hewn black rocks; there was a village all round it that grew every year as the forest was cleared and more corn planted. She had cried bitterly when she was taken away to marry Ardorix, and the longer she had left it, the more beautiful it grew in her memory: Curdun could never compare with it! Varadec and Esserac were its lords now, and they loved it better than they loved their faith to Vercingetorix; his orders came, but they would not burn or destroy. The villagers backed them; they sent a letter to their general to say that if he was afraid, they were not; they would stay and face the Romans, and show him that the men of the Bituriges were made of stouter stuff than any Arvernian!

They strengthened their walls, they armed their men; when the enemy came they were ready. A legion was left to deal with them; it went to work with wooden towers and a ram. Varadec was killed when they stormed the castle; Esserac was wounded, but his men brought him away and kept him hidden in the forest, and when he was well enough he and a few of his soldiers rode miserably across the hills to join Vercingetorix. He was taken before the Arvernian King; he had to answer for the disobedience and the letter; Ardorix pleaded for him in vain, in vain he tried by his youth and his wounds to turn the anger of his judge. Vercingetorix was not to be moved; he could never hope to conquer Cæsar unless he was obeyed unquestioningly; there were too many of these wild young men who would not take orders; all should learn by the fate of one. For the sake of Gaul it had to be; Esserac was tortured to death in the sight of all the camp, and after that the commands of the general were not often disobeyed.

After nearly a month of siege and fighting, Avaricum was taken by storm; men and women and children were killed; out of forty thousand some eight hundred made their way back to Vercingetorix. But yet he never lost heart; he rallied his army, telling them that this came of not following his plan; he made them a picture of a united Gaul standing against the world; he bade them learn from their enemies. And he set to work to gain over the rest of the tribes, sparing neither trouble nor words nor gold.

Guemoné was all in black for her dead brothers and her burnt home; she would not speak to Ardorix, nor kiss him; she shuddered when he came near her, fresh from the tents of the man who had given Esserac to the torture. “Sooner a Roman!” she had cried, and broken away from him, swearing that there was no forgiveness. Ardorix protested violently that he was no friend to Vercingetorix, he was only there for his country’s sake. “But is this freedom?” cried Guemoné. “Cæsar would never have done it! And I can’t even hope for revenge.” She burst into tears; she was one of those fortunate women who can cry and still look beautiful. In a week she had driven Ardorix half mad; he, too, thought of revenge; there could be none if Vercingetorix ended as the conqueror: but that was not certain. He began to wonder whether, after all, he really wanted liberty if all it meant was the chief of Gergovia ruling over every one. He loved Guemoné very much, and he had been fond of her brothers; Esserac had taken half a day in dying. There was no one he could talk with; if his general found out what he had in his mind he could hardly save himself from worse torture than the boy’s. For days he put off going back to the camp; he would sit moody in the hall, seeing his wife, seeing his son with the scarred arm. He almost made up his mind.

Caltane came back full of the praises of Vercingetorix, telling how the tribes had come in from the south-west, horse and foot, bowmen and spearmen, with their kings riding at their head. He had been sorry about the two brothers, but he knew there must be one law for all, else no army could hold together; he had even said so in Curdun, and Guemoné hated him for it. The other thing he did was to go about among the common people, talking to them, telling them of the splendid future that might be theirs, getting into their heads somehow the idea that it is better to be one nation than many clans. He could speak with passion on this one thing he cared about, and it was almost impossible for Ardorix to try and stop him.

* * * * *

There was a certain anxiety in the Roman camp; they were separated from Cæsar by miles of unfriendly country, and though no one had yet dared to attack them, the foragers were always being ambushed and shot at by hidden bowmen. One morning Quintus Velanius came over to find his friend, but Titus was not there. “Where’s your master?” he asked Meromic.

“I think he’ll be back soon; will you wait, sir?”

“Thanks; I will.” He sat down and began fingering a Gallic sword that hung on the tent-pole: “That’s a fine bit of work; where does it come from?”

“From Avaricum.”

“Ah! it’s Hæduan made, I think.”

“No, further East; look, sir.”

“You’re right. Well, Meromic, how do you like it?”

“It’s not what I’d have chosen, but it might have been worse. My people aren’t in it, either way.”

“They may be, yet.”

“Yes, and I may be dead! I got an arrow through my coat yesterday. But seriously, sir, there’s no chance of their joining the Arvernians?”

“It’s quite possible. What would you do then?”

“I’ve got my oath to my master. I hope it won’t happen, though. We’ve no liking for the Arvernians; they didn’t help us, so why should we help them?”

“This is a bigger business than ever yours was, even if it’s put down soon. Ah, here’s Titus! I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I’m glad you did wait. Meromic, go and see to my horse.”

Meromic went off, and Titus offered his friend a cup of wine, but Quintus shook his head: “No, thanks; we want you over at headquarters; you’re good at dealing with these unaccountable people.”

“Prisoners?”

“No; it’s a chief who’s come over to us.”

“Any one important?”

“Ardorix of Curdun. Come along, and I’ll tell you on our way.” They walked over, talking, and returning salutes. The Gauls always seemed to puzzle Quintus Velanius; he kept on asking Titus if he could make them out. “The man’s come over with his wife and children and his own personal following, but no real strength. He says he was thinking of sending to us and offering to give up his town--on good terms, I expect! Then his people suspected it, rose against him, and took his cousin for their chief instead. I gather his cousin spared his life, but turned him out neck and crop with no more than he could take with him. A queer state of affairs!”

“They’re like that. What does he propose doing?”

“He wants us to besiege Curdun, and swears he can show us how to storm it; he says there’s nearly a year’s supply of corn and cattle stored there. What an extraordinary people they are!”

“Yes. But we may as well take advantage of it.”

“I wonder if he’s likely to be truthful.”

“There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be. He’s probably burning for revenge.”

“But his own town!” Titus shrugged his shoulders; they came to the Legate’s tent, which was half full of Gauls. A small child ran against their legs and Titus picked him up; he looked as if he was going to howl, but changed his mind, put one arm round Titus’ neck and said confidentially, “I want mother; you take me and find her, man.” Titus held him up to look, he pointed: “Oh, there!--with sister.” Titus made his way through the crowd to the chief’s wife, who stood among her women, frightened and defiant. What a lovely creature, he thought, and suddenly remembered how he’d seen her before; she remembered too, and cried, “Oh, I know you, you’ll help us, won’t you? You’re different!” and called her husband to come.

Ardorix was still a little dazed; he could not believe it: that he had lost Curdun, and that Caltane of all people should be chief instead of him! And then to have had Caltane giving him his life, bidding him scornfully to go to his friends and see if they would help him! He would never have accepted it, he would have killed himself and lain, an ill omen, across the new chief’s path, but for his wife and children, she so beautiful, they so helpless. But now that he was here, received with honour by the Roman general, he was glad to be alive and able to work his revenge; he dreamt of what he would do to Caltane if he ever caught him.

Titus asked them to come over and have supper with him; he meant to make friends with the chief and find out all his motives and what he was prepared to do; and he wanted to look at the chief’s wife--simply as he might have looked at a picture, he explained to Quintus, who seemed rather doubtful. And indeed they were both worth looking at: she with her blue eyes and corn-coloured hair, her skin like cream and roses, the amber necklace rising and falling with her soft breaths; and he dark-haired and fierce and passionate, gleaming with tartan and gold and jewels. One at each side of their host, they crossed the Roman camp in the sweet spring evening.

The two servants were putting out their master’s best cups and plates, and borrowing from his friends; Lerrys was carefully carrying over a big earthenware wine jar; Meromic arranged the table, wondering who these guests were to be; he was rather pleased at one of the big chiefs having come over--it made him feel less on the wrong side. His master came in sight and he hurried off to put the roast goose on to its silver dish. When he came back with it they were seated, drinking Greek wine and eating olives and smoked fish; Guemoné was making faces over them, so Titus offered her eggs cooked with milk and cinnamon, which she liked. Ardorix was preparing to be very friendly; he was impressed with the Roman camp, and he liked the careful flattery of the young officers. Meromic came over cautiously, his eyes on the brimming dish; he wore a tunic of rough hempen stuff, which left one shoulder bare, his knife and various oddments at his belt, and sandals mended with twine. He put the dish down in front of his master and looked up; he saw Ardorix staring at him, and stared back himself.

“The bread, Meromic!” said Titus. The guest smiled to himself and said: “So you are Meromic; I thought so.”

“Well, what if I am?” said Meromic, getting the bread.

“Oh, nothing; and how do you like being a slave?” “I’m not a slave.”

“Oh, so you’ve been freed! How nice for you!” “You’re not much better off, anyhow; you’re just a beggar here, Ardorix!”

“Be quiet, Meromic!” said Titus, very much annoyed, and Meromic would have obeyed him if Ardorix had not looked round with a grin that wrinkled up all his face, saying, “Yes, you be quiet; do what you’re told, Meromic!”

Meromic stood over him with his teeth showing: “Don’t you dare to give me orders, you turn-coat! At least I fought like a man, but you--you betrayed your king and your city, you swine, you----!”

Ardorix ate a piece of goose and spoke unperturbed across the table to his host: “We keep our servants in better order in Gaul.”

The Roman whispered angrily, “If you can’t behave, get away! Do you hear me, Meromic, go! Yes, and ask my guests’ pardon first!”

“Not I!” said Meromic. “They’re not fit to eat with you, sir. Rotten hearts: both of them! Look at her making eyes at you----” but Lerrys pulled him away as the three at the table got to their feet.

Titus calmed them down with profuse apologies and promises of punishment for the offender, and had a fairly successful supper; Lerrys was very anxious to make amends for his friend, and he wasn’t a bad cook. Later on, when they’d gone, Titus took Meromic in hand; he was very angry with him--he had come near to spoiling all his careful management of the chief and his wife.

But Meromic could not be made to apologize: “I’m as much of a chief as he is!” he said. “If I’ve lost my land, so has Ardorix.”

“And then his wife: you’d no business to insult her!”

“Oh, Guemoné; she’ll get over it. Molhir always told me she was a little vixen. I wouldn’t make friends with them if I were you, sir,” he ended airily, and Titus simply sat and gasped.

* * * * *

Curdun was a strong place; on two sides the Curdun River rushed deep and foaming among its rocks; on the third side there were cliffs and ravines in a wild tangle, and then the main range of hills; and on the fourth the big road ran up into it, between houses and stacks and sheep-pens. Its walls were thick and firm, built of squared stones, beams and rammed earth, with stone towers at the corners. In the centre was the chief’s house, where Caltane was consulting with the headmen of the town. He stood on a table so as to be seen and heard by all. He was not very tall, and his grey eyes had none of the fire and beauty of his cousin’s; but the common people had always liked him more; he was never too proud to talk with them, he remembered their names, and, best of all, he had not married a wife who scorned and spoke ill of Curdun and the Arvernians. He was anxious now; he was not absolute ruler, only chosen first out of many, and he had to respect their wishes. If orders had been sent from Vercingetorix, he would have burned the town whether they wanted it or not; but the message had bidden him decide for himself what was best, and all had said: stand and fight. Besides, he was very proud of Curdun and proud of the trust that had been given him; he felt that now, after years of dependence, his chance had come; he would show every one--Vercingetorix and the generals, his own people, yes, and Ardorix too!--how much one man whose heart was in it could do for Gaul. Too late his cousin would see and regret, and then afterwards: they would find him the best chief there ever was, they should see he could be grateful! Afterwards, when his country was free and he had taken the oath to his King, Vercingetorix.

But in the meantime they had to stand a siege with very little chance of being relieved. The Romans were using all their science against them: towers and catapults and rams, hooks, mining under the walls, and fire-balls thrown in; and they replied with assaults every day, arrows and stones and boiling pitch, and always rebuilding the wall wherever it was broken. But the besiegers had one great advantage, and that was some one with them who knew every weak point of the defence; they made much of Ardorix and promised to see him safely restored to his town after it had been punished, and his cousin, if he was taken alive, given up to him for justice to be done. He was always with the Legate or the officers, or else with his wife; they gave him their own version of the news from other parts of Gaul; he had little time to himself to think what he was doing, to see in cold blood the treachery and the shame. Only it was queer to be destroying his own city, the walls he had watched building; it hurt him when the houses were fired or the towers were battered in; sometimes he felt it must be all a dream. But he was helpless now; he had to go on the way he had started. And Guemoné was with him, savage and joyful, talking always of revenge, revenge; she would stand, looking on beside him, her hand in his, and he would feel her fierce little nails digging into his palm.

During the second week of the siege he had persuaded the Legate to send a herald asking them on what terms they would surrender; but they sent back that they could hold out for a year: long live Caltane, Vercingetorix, and a free Gaul! So the siege went on; a good many were killed on both sides, and Quintus Velanius got a sword wound. Meromic was kept too busy ever to see Ardorix; as time went on and it became ever more apparent that this war was not simply with the Arvernian King and his army, but with his own great nation and its chosen leader, so Meromic got more and more restless; he heard every rumour that came to the camp and could not but be glad of the successes of Vercingetorix and Gergovia, that edge of rock they could just see at the far side of the valley, holding out bravely against Cæsar; and then the Hæduans were beginning to waver. He felt himself utterly a Gaul. He waited for something to happen, something to make up his mind one way or the other; he found himself wishing that Titus could be anything but kind; he made up scenes in which he was treated in some way that made it possible for him to be indignant, forget his promise, and go; but they never came off, and he was never really certain if he wanted them to.

At last they had managed to get a battering-ram to work on the wall of Curdun; Caltane’s men were trying to burn the tower it was swung from, throwing down blazing straw and tallow, but the archers from the top shot in over the wall and the ram went on, smashing it in, scattering stones, splintering beams, and driving through the hard earth. It had been going on all the afternoon and Ardorix had watched, with his heart jumping at every shock. The breach was almost made before the besieged gave any signs of surrendering; the Legate demanded that they should give up Caltane and the heads of the rebellion, but the others were to be spared, under oath of obedience to their old chief. He gave the town till sunset to decide.

In the chief’s house they gathered round Caltane, waiting for him to speak; he looked down at them, his friends, men who had trusted in him and his cause; the evening was very still after the noise of all the day; they wanted him to tell them what to do. At last he said, “We are in your hands; I’ll not try and stop you if you are giving me up; for the others I can’t answer. Only, one thing: before they come, burn the granaries and all we’ve stored; don’t let them have it. There’s no more to be done.” They whispered together; he stood still, wondering what tortures Ardorix would use on him. But after a time they decided, and one said, “No, we’ll not give you up, Chief. But we’ll say you escaped when you heard of the terms, and we couldn’t catch you. And you _shall_ escape.”

The town was surrendered; the Romans were very angry at finding that the thick, dark smoke rose from the burning corn and stores; more than one prisoner answered for it with his life. And Ardorix and his wife were even more angry to hear Caltane had escaped. The townspeople knelt in the half-burnt streets, women and children holding offerings of cloth or gold and silver well in front, fighting-men behind, hoping that the dusk of evening would cover them. Ardorix rode in front on a fine chestnut stallion that scattered foam from his tossing head over the bowed backs; his guard was partly his own men, those who had gone out with him, partly Roman soldiers, with Titus Barrus on his left side, and another tribune on the right. He glowered down at his humbled townsfolk; every now and then he would point out one, and his men would trample in, kicking away the suppliants, and drag the poor wretch out, bind him to a stirrup and so forward again. At each of these rushes Titus Barrus checked his horse and sat very straight and Roman, keeping well away from any contact with the barbarians. And in the lighted hall he sat beside Ardorix, his mouth tight shut, while justice was being done on these prisoners; one by one they were brought up; they fell on their faces with clasped hands, they wept, they kissed the floor, they promised anything. But Ardorix knew what he was about, and Guemoné stood behind him, her pitiless small hand squeezing his shoulder; not one escaped him; the Roman, listening, heard the cries and struggling outside, the sound of axe and falling body, and, later, picked his way out across pools of blood in the courtyard.

But Caltane and one or two of his friends were hidden among the charred beams of a house beside the wall; for a night and a day they lay there, but in the clouded darkness of the second night they crept away; they had ropes to help them down the cliff--they chose the hardest place: on each side there were Roman soldiers camped. Good climbers, all of them, the stones hardly slipped under their feet; not one said a word until the noise of the Curdun river was loud enough to drown their voices; waist-deep they forded it, and climbed the hill on the other side, up and up among the pines. They were dressed like peasants and no one would have suspected them, but they kept in hiding all the next day, and only started again in the evening, going quickly up the hill paths. Caltane went ahead; the others saw him in the dim light talking to a man with a load on his back, but then he went on and the stranger turned down towards the ford. “Who was it?” one of them asked, and Caltane answered, frowning, “He was a brave man once, and a true Gaul. Now--it’s as if he was half bewitched.” He said no more for a minute or two, and then: “I spend my life sowing seed; but some of it comes up.”

Meromic came back late that evening from foraging among the farms.

“What’s the matter?” asked Lerrys, quick to feel every change in his friend’s mood.

The Gaul answered, “I met a man I’d known before.”

“Another! Who was it this time?”

“He was the chief who defended this town. It all makes me remember my own birth too much. He was escaping, going off to his King, to Vercingetorix; he wanted me to go too. Lerrys, I can’t bear this much longer.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I said I couldn’t, I was under oath. But then he told me--I didn’t understand before, it’s not like our war, it’s not like Ambiorix, it’s bigger, it’s better--oh, I can’t stay here and fight against my own people!”

“Are they in it too?”

“No, but they will be. Lerrys, what am I to do? I’m your brother still, Meromic. I’ll go with you to-night if you will it.”

“But there’s Coisha, it would mean losing her; you couldn’t.”

“If it is the whole of Gaul behind the Arvernians, I would be fighting for her freedom too. And she’s with her father now; I should have her back as soon that way as this. Meromic, say the word, and I’ll come. I was a good fighter once!”

Meromic stood looking for a long moment down the star-lit valley. “Lerrys,” he said, “I can’t. I want to, but it’s no good; I think I’d give anything to be free to say it, but I’m not. We can’t leave him like this; I know I’d never be happy again if we did.”

“Well then, you go, and I’ll stay.”

“But even that----”

“Meromic, do you want to go or don’t you?”

The Gaul began pulling hard at the thick twine round his bundle: “If only I knew! Can’t you see, Lerrys? There’s half of me aching to get off, to be fighting on my own side, the side I ought to be on; and there’s the other half--oh God, Lerrys, I’d give my life for him, I would truly; he’s all I’ve got, he’s wife and child and home and everything. I don’t care what he does to me--not really. There’s nothing I can be sure of except friendship, but that’s true, that’s a god; how can I throw it away?”

“If I went with you, you’d have my friendship--if you care for that still!”

“Yes, you with your heart on Coisha!”

“He’s got his girl too.”

“He doesn’t love her; she won’t matter.”

“That’s all you care for his happiness then. I tell you, I don’t set up to worship him, but I wish him well enough to want him to marry a woman he loves.”

“Yes, of course you do. But he doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. But I think he’d want her if I went.”

“So that’s how it is. And you’ll be for the Romans.”

“I must be because of him.”

“Romans--and Ardorix--and Guemoné. I’m glad I’m not you, Meromic.”

“And well you may be.” Suddenly he turned to his old friend: “Lerrys, have I hurt you? I didn’t mean to! If I do go ever, if I change that much, I swear I’ll take you if you’re willing still!” And Lerrys answered quietly, “You know I’d always be willing to go anywhere with you; ever since that night in Rome.”

A few minutes later Titus came in hurriedly: “We’re ordered off to join Cæsar; we march to-night. Get everything ready.” Lerrys went off to the horse-lines, and Meromic started on the things in the tent; Titus watched him for a minute, then he said, “I don’t mind telling you, Meromic; things aren’t going as well as they should. There’s bad news from Gergovia; we tried to storm it--they say against Cæsar’s orders--and we were beaten back. Cæsar is marching to join Labienus; that means--well, it’s the first time Cæsar has failed: one can’t say more. And the Hæduans are going over to Vercingetorix.”

Meromic rolled and tied the bedding, and said, “Then--there’s a chance they may drive you out of Gaul, back to the Province, sir?”

“Yes, it’s possible.”

Meromic began knocking out the tent pegs, thinking as he did it: Gaul will be free. That will pay them--all those who died. And I’m glad; I want it. But I won’t say so: because of him. He made the pegs and ropes into a bundle.

Titus said, “I shan’t be able to keep both of you now; there won’t be food enough, for one thing.” He paused for a moment and Meromic thought in a flash: if he doesn’t want me--I could go! But Titus went on: “Of course I’d rather keep you.”

“Surely, sir. Lerrys could go down to the Province and take Coisha with him, couldn’t he?”

“That would be much the best. But it’ll be a hard time, Meromic, and dangerous. You’d have to fight, I expect; there’ll be no room in the army for any but combatants.”

“Well, I’m not afraid.”

“I know that. But I don’t want you to come unless you’re sure of yourself; remember who you’ll be fighting against.”

“If I wasn’t fighting against them I’d be fighting against you.”

“No, why? You can go down to the Province and stay there; I’d think no worse of you if you did.”

“I couldn’t. You really want me to come, don’t you, sir?”

“Yes. But you needn’t if you think you can’t.”

“I’d rather come. After all, they’re Southerners mostly; Vercingetorix--he’s an Arvernian, an inlander; and I’m from the North.”

“It’s like that now, but if you come, Meromic, you can’t leave me however much the North comes into it.”

“I’ll not do that. I’m glad it’s me you’re taking, sir.” He folded up the tent, ready to be loaded on to the pack-pony as soon as Lerrys had brought it round.