The Fourth Part of Gaul: A novel of the Veneti Gaul revolt against Caesar and the epic voyage of its survivors to the New World

By John Cabeen Beatty

In 58 B. C. Rome was the superpower of the Mediterranean world, and in that year Julius Caesar took up the governorship of the Roman Province in southern France or Gaul, as it was then called. The Roman Senate expected Caesar to govern the province, extract a reasonable amount of revenue, and guard the frontier against incursion by the many Gaulish tribes to the north.

Caesar had something else in mind -- the conquest of all Gaul. Within two years he deftly employed his legions to inflict a series of catastrophic defeats upon the Gauls and occupied the eastern half of the country. He then put his troops into winter quarters, sending a single legion under its commander, Publius Crassus, west into Brittany with orders to take hostages to keep the peace. Crassus took the hostages but could not keep the peace. The fiercely independent tribes led by the Veneti bitterly resented giving hostages to Rome. At their first opportunity they seized Roman officers as hostages, then demanded return of their own hostages in exchange. When Publius Crassus rejected their demands, the Gauls revolted.

The Fourth Part of Gaul is the story of that revolt as experienced by Marcus Brutus Pontus, a young tribune and staff officer, one of the hostages taken by the Gauls. His captors place the inquisitive young officer in the hands of a Veneti magistrate for safekeeping. This assignment insures him a unique position from which to view the spread of the insurrection and the huge naval battle between the Gaulish sailing fleet and Caesar's Roman galleys. Marcus narrowly escapes death during the catastrophic defeat of the Gauls.

In the aftermath of the battle, many Gauls fleeing Caesar's wrath sail for Britain, while a small party of five ships crammed with families and soldiers sails west on the Atlantic. Led by a Greek pilot, they follow a long forgotten Carthaginian trade route taking with them their captive tribune. In the course of the long voyage, Marcus learns to navigate and handle the ship. His developing relationship with the sister of the expedition's leader involves him increasingly in the struggle of the expedition to survive the frigid winter and treacherous attack on their settlement at the mouth of the Connecticut River.

By spring the Gaulish leaders come to see their Roman hostage as the essential key to their survival in the hostile environment of the new land. They themselves have become uniquely dependent on the hostage they have taken.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 23, 2004
• ISBN: 9781469108605

John Cabeen Beatty

Jack Beatty is a lawyer, senior judge, WW II artillery captain with a lifetime engagement in public affairs. An Oregonian, he lives in Portland's west hills writing novels and poetry on subjects ranging from Rome and Gaul to WW II, Iraq, torture and the Rule of Law.

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Copyright © 2004 by John Cabeen Beatty.

Unpublished version of The Fourth Part of Gaul,

November 24, 1987, by John C. Beatty, Jr.

Registration Number: 305 638

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

EDITORIAL NOTE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

Winter quarters

CHAPTER 2

The Veneti Council meets

CHAPTER 3

Hostage for hostage

CHAPTER 4

Voyage to Portus Lupus

CHAPTER 5

Publius Crassus reacts

CHAPTER 6

A plot miscarries

CHAPTER 7

A search for allies

CHAPTER 8

The fleets assemble

CHAPTER 9

A proposal of treason

CHAPTER 10

The Battle in Quiberon Bay

CHAPTER 11

Escape from the colossus

CHAPTER 12

On the broad Atlantic

CHAPTER 13

An angry sea

CHAPTER 14

The coast of Iargalon

CHAPTER 15

A foothold in the face of winter

CHAPTER 16

Alarms and excursions

CHAPTER 17

Conflicts of interest

CHAPTER 18

Wreck and salvage

CHAPTER 19

The disposition of the gods

APPENDIX A

Geographic Features and Glossary

APPENDIX B

Comment on Sources

APPENDIX C

Bibliography

In memory of Clissa

and

For John and Clarissa Jean

Point

Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world

Like a Colossus, and we petty men

Walk under his huge legs and peep about

To find ourselves dishonorable graves.

Men at some times are masters of their fates:

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act I, ii

Counterpoint

The Veneti refused to be so cowed,

To barter honor for security

And don the trappings of servility.

They rose in reckless, fierce rebellion

To hazard all—land, liberty, and life,

And when they lost, sought honorable graves

Beyond the reach of the Colossus.

EDITORIAL NOTE

Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres—All Gaul is divided into three parts"—are the opening words of De Bello Gallico, Caesar’s account of his conquest of Gaul. The Celtic peoples, or Gauls, as the Romans called them, dominated most of Europe north of the Greek and Italian peninsulas for centuries before and during the rise of Republican Rome. They were talented, artistic, and fierce. It took the genius of Caesar and the discipline of his legions to conquer them.

Caesar’s is the only eyewitness account of the Veneti revolt which has survived the two thousand years that separate us from that great event. Concise and lucid, De Bello Gallico remains a masterpiece of Latin style and military history. However, the story of the Gauls, and particularly the seafaring Veneti Gauls, remains untold. Nevertheless, in their afterworld they must at least be grateful that Caesar, having conquered them, did them the courtesy of describing his difficulty in doing so.

The major events in the war as recounted in this story are consistent with Caesar’s account. The details of the story, the terms under which the Gauls surrendered hostages, the conversations attributed to historic figures, the principal characters and their adventures, including the western voyage are fictional. Source notes, including those relating to pre-Columbian transatlantic voyages, are set forth in Appendix B.

The Romans based their calendar on the founding of the Roman Republic, a date fixed by tradition at 753 B.C. All dates have been recast according to the modern calendar. Measurements have been converted to those employed in modern English usage. In the text I have employed Roman place names where known with two exceptions—Britain rather than Britannia, and Spain rather than Hispania. Modern equivalents of Roman names are noted in Appendix A. Where the Roman name has not survived, the modern name is used. In New England, the Indian name first known to the colonists is employed.

Maps and charts recognizable to the modern reader are supplied to illustrate the text. No scale maps or charts are known to have survived from that period. However, I think we can be certain that mariners, engineers, and generals made and used both charts and maps which were as informative as they could make them in a society that understood the need for technical accuracy in building massive structures and creating thousands of miles of roads.

The drawing of the dolmen is based on my photograph of the dolmen in Lynn, Massachusetts. The drawing of the stone chamber is based on my photograph of the winter solstice chamber near Woodstock, Vermont.

The size, form, and rigging of the Veneti sailing craft are speculative. No Veneti ship or drawing has survived two thousand years, but Caesar’s description of them makes clear that they were large, heavily built sailing craft, at home in the rough waters of the Atlantic, and difficult for his Mediterranean galleys to fight. Possible configurations are suggested by René Yves Creston in his article, Considérations Techniques sur la Flotte Des Vénètes et des Romains, Annales de Bretagne, T. 63, pp. 88-107, 1956.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This project began more than a decade ago, and my debts are many. In the beginning, Judge Charles H. Crookham gave me a paperback copy of America BC by Professor Barry Fell which intrigued me with the question of pre-Columbian European contacts with the Americas. The late Elizabeth Sincerbeaux and James Whittall of the New England Antiquities Research Association (NEARA) guided me to evidence in Vermont, Massachusetts and Connecticut. M. Hervé Joubeaux, Conservateur au Musee de Bretagne, provided extracts from recent French studies concerning the Veneti Gauls and their ships as described by Caesar. Colleen McCullough generously encouraged the concept of the novel. J. Louis Bauer and Robert Weiss read the manuscript and encouraged the project. William T. C. Stevens painted Eye of Bel as she headed west across the Atlantic. My son, John C. Beatty, III, of Waterloo University, Ontario, assisted with computer problems and converted the maps and drawings into computer images. Elizabeth Crownhart Vaughan, former director of the North Pacific Studies Center, and Thomas J. Vaughan, former executive director of the Oregon Historical Society, read the manuscript and helped from start to finish in ways too numerous to mention. Finally, Susan Marmaduke meticulously worked through the final manuscript making corrections and many invaluable suggestions.

To all, my heartfelt thanks,

JCB

PROLOGUE

Caesar’s murder shook the world, and much that happened in his time is now forgotten, buried in the bloody aftermath of civil war. Yet the Pontus brothers, Marcus and Quintus, and their sire, Junius Brutus Pontus, the old general with his Corona Civica, each had a story well worth the telling, particularly Marcus.

The Pontii were a minor branch of the famous Brutii family. When I say, Brutus, the word assassin comes to mind, but not all the Brutii have been assassins, and many have served the state with great distinction. The first of the Pontus Brutii branch stoutly defended a bridge during the second war with Carthage and so acquired the name, Pontus, Latin for bridge. What bridge is lost to history, but the name Pontus passed down through his descendants to Junius Brutus Pontus, born in 110 B.C.

Junius entered the military service at the age of twenty. He served in three campaigns on the Danube and seven more in Spain, where he won the Corona Civica, Rome’s second highest military decoration, and command of the Ninth Legion. Between campaigns, he married Aurelia Julii Caesar—not the mother of Gaius Julius Caesar, but the daughter of an impecunious branch of the Julii family—and so was second cousin to that most formidable of the Caesars.

Junius Pontus retired from the service on the death of his father and returned to Rome, where he devoted himself to law, public affairs, and the management of his estate. The Corona Civica entitled him under Sulla’s Law to a seat in the Senate without the necessity of election. Aurelia Pontus had, in due course, borne him a daughter, Julia, and two sons, Quintus and Marcus. Quintus, the elder, was appointed as a military tribune on Caesar’s staff in early 58 B.C., and Marcus received a similar appointment a year later.

Bear in mind that in 60 B.C. Caesar had effected the creation of the First Triumvirate, a political arrangement between himself, Gnaeus Pompey, and Marcus Crassus which controlled and distributed the executive powers of the Republic among the three of them. Caesar served as Consul in 59 and was allocated the governorships of Illyricum, Italian Gaul, and the Roman Province in southern Gaul for five years. Caesar took up these assignments as proconsul in 58, and in a series of hard fought military campaigns, he expanded his effective control over the entire eastern half of Gaul.

With the close of the campaign season in 57, Caesar distributed his six legions into winter quarters. He sent the Seventh Legion under its young commander, Publius Licinius Crassus, down the Liger Valley to Anders with orders to build winter quarters and take hostages from the western tribes to keep the peace. Crassus obtained the hostages from angry and reluctant Gaulish leaders, but agreed to ask Caesar to waive the hostage requirement. Crassus sent Quintus Pontus back to Caesar with that request. However, the taking of hostages, common practice though it was elsewhere, proved the flash point which embroiled the Pontus brothers and set in motion the armies and fleets of Rome and western Gaul.

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CHAPTER 1

Winter quarters

Drusus Lucullus, commander of the guard, stared at his morning report, rubbing his eyes. The figures blurred on the page. He shook his head and added the column once more. At last, the same total. Thank the gods! Two more days and he would be back to duty with his century. He stretched, yawned, and then signed the report. His orderly knocked on the door.

What is it? Lucullus answered, as he contemplated his scrawled signature.

Bodicus, sir. Two tribunes, a Gaul in fancy dress, and a new troop of cavalry at the gate.

Now wide awake, Lucullus strode out onto the porch of the guardhouse, where he had a full view of the gate. The sergeant of the guard had already turned out the guard, which was standing at attention. Outside the gate, his back to Lucullus, a mounted tribune was addressing a troop of cavalry paraded in line. To the tribune’s left was another tribune; to his right, a huge man in a striped cloak sat on the biggest horse Lucullus had ever seen. As Lucullus took in this curious trio, the troopers swung into a column of twos and trotted off toward the auxiliary camp. The speaker reined his mount about, rode through the gate, and dismounted. It was Quintus Pontus. The two men exchanged salutes, and Lucullus dismissed the guard.

Welcome home, Tribune, Lucullus said warmly. Rome still in one piece?

Seemed to be, Drusus Lucullus, though all I saw from the north bank of Tiber were roof tops. I’ll leave my brother, the Gaul, and our pack horses with you while I check in with headquarters and see where we’re supposed to bunk. I assume someone stole my cabin while my back was turned.

Quarters are not my line, Quintus Pontus, but I’ll keep an eye on your friends, Lucullus replied. How was the journey from Rome?

A hard run, forty miles a day, and a bit of a scrape down the Narbo Road. Tell you about it later.

Quintus swung back into the saddle and trotted up the main street into the camp. Log barracks roofed with thatch lay on either side. As he reached the central square he noted the log headquarters had been completed. He reined up his mount at the sentry post.

Dispatches for the general, Quintus said.

The sentry saluted. Yes, sir. The general is present.

Quintus swung out of the saddle and handed the reins to a slave. Watch the saddle bags. Anything missing and I’ll have your ears. He entered the building and was taken directly to the general’s office. Publius Crassus saw him at once, rising to his feet.

Quintus Brutus! You’re a welcome sight. Shut the door behind you and sit down. Dispatches?

Quintus handed over the small leather case. Crassus examined the seal, then looked at Quintus. Know the contents?

Yes, sir. Caesar had me memorize them before he signed and sealed them.

Crassus broke the seal, drew the parchment and read the contents.

Publius Crassus:

Your dispatch # 13 is received and noted. Your recommendation that the hostage requirement be waived is disapproved. To do so at this time would be seen as weakness.

Your supply of grain is a matter of concern. Make every effort to purchase grain locally without disclosing your shortage. I will instruct Ninth Legion at Altionus and Twelfth at Cenebaum to speed work improving the road from Lutetia to the Liger. Quintus Pontus reports the road from Narbo to the Liger will be impassable to wheeled traffic until spring. No troops are presently available to improve it. Your other dispositions are approved. Keep me advised.

Caesar

Good. Anything else? asked Crassus.

I brought with me my brother Marcus, whom you recently appointed, and the Gaul, Cormac Diad, who has been staying with my family. My father, who sends his respects, sir, is returning young Diad to his home with the Veneti, Portus Lupus, I believe.

Yes, I had a note from your father by military post. Well, sir, Caesar told me to mention that Marcus speaks Gaulish and reads and writes a bit. Also, Cormac’s father is a magistrate of some kind. Yes, that may be useful. No one knows the contents of this dispatch? No, sir. Good. See that it stays that way. Anything else to report? "Yes, sir. We ran into an ambush north of the Vezere River. Gaulish

Irregulars, I think. They were after our baggage. Two troopers and three slaves dead. Five troopers and Marcus wounded. Cormac Diad beheaded one of the Gauls who went after him. It was quite a sight."

Your brother all right? Yes, sir. Cut on his face and a slashed arm. Both healing. Good. We’d better increase the Narbo road patrols. You’ve done well. You’re excused. Oh, bring your brother and young Diad to my mess tonight. We’ll all be interested in your trip.

* * *

Marcus Pontus, dusty and drab in his field tunic and cloak, and Cormac Diad, dusty and colorful in his striped cloak, remained in the saddle outside the gate, chatting idly. Lucullus walked through the gate, glanced at the Gaul, then introduced himself to Marcus.

Drusus Lucullus, Ninth Century. Come have a bowl of wine, Tribune, and bring your colorful friend.

Marcus Pontus, just assigned to the Seventh. My colorful friend here is Cormac Diad of the Veneti. He’s been our guest in Rome.

Greetings, Cormac Diad. Cormac nodded. The centurion continued. Tell your slaves to take your mounts and the pack animals to the rear of the guardhouse. Water ’em there. You two climb the porch and ease your saddle sores with me. Lucullus watched as they dismounted, then showed them up the steps. Ridden all the way from Rome, have you? Better than walking, but hard on the ass. Scarcely pausing for breath, he shouted into some recess of the guardhouse, Wine, water and three bowls, Bodicus—move it! Lucullus motioned to a long bench fashioned from a log, and his two guests eased their buttocks onto its rough surface. The centurion grinned. Makes you long for the saddle again, does it?

A feather pillow would be more to the point, said Marcus wryly.

Ah, the sacrifices we make! Lucullus lifted his wine bowl with a nod. Hard to see Quintus and Marcus as brothers, he thought. Quintus, blond, round faced, stocky. Marcus, dark, tall, lightly framed, though well muscled. Half brothers, he wondered. Had a bit of a scrap on the road, did you? he inquired.

Marcus described the ambush in some detail. Lucullus listened attentively, then said,

Sounds lively, that it does. They come at you when you least expect ’em. Ah, well, the Seventh’s had a vacation these past few months, if you can call road building from Lutetia to Anders a vacation. A little action now and then stirs the blood. But Publius Crassus keeps us on the jump now the camp is built. The truth is, he drills the shit out of us. Guard duty’s a vacation now.

They sipped their wine in silence for a moment. It was a sour red, but Marcus could not remember a more welcome bowl. From the porch, the camp lay spread before them in a great square. Smoke curled up from holes in the barrack roofs and blended into the thin mist. The winter sun appeared as a pale disk.

Lucullus contemplated the young tribune. Left arm bandaged, and a long fresh scab ran from his left eye down to the hinge of his jaw. Handsome lad, he thought. That cut would leave a scar, but he’d catch the women well enough.

Glad you’re joining us, he said aloud. Your brother’s quite a soldier, that he is. He and Publius Crassus saved the day last summer on the river Sambre. Tribunes aren’t always that useful. Caesar gave Crassus the Seventh Legion after that, and your brother’s got his eye. Lucullus turned to Cormac. You speak Latin, Cormac Diad?

Yes, the Gaul replied warily.

How did you two manage to get together?

In Rome, said Marcus. He’s lived with us this year. He’s on his way home to Dariorigum now.

Portus Lupus, Cormac corrected. Dariorigum’s our capital. I live in Portus Lupus.

You wear the Roman gladius, not your long sword.

Easier traveling, handier to use, replied the Gaul.

Lucullus appraised the Gaul, then added, With your reach a dagger’s a long sword. Cormac laughed, his cautious reserve melting in the face of the centurion’s cheerful inquisitiveness.

What are those? Marcus asked, pointing to a formation of mule drawn wagons, each followed by a squad of legionaries, now passing through the gate.

Catapults, said Lucullus briefly. Been at artillery practice. He’s a bear on artillery, young Crassus is. Saved our ass more than once, it has. After the catapults came mule drawn ballistae and their crews. A heavily armed group of horsemen followed and headed up toward headquarters. Patrols, said Lucullus. We cover all the main roads to your coast, Cormac Diad.

Three Gauls, well dressed and surrounded by a half dozen legionaries, rode through the gate into the camp. Cormac wondered who they were, but was unable to get a good look at them.

Hostages out for a run, said Lucullus, anticipating a question. Live like kings, they do. Of course, if their folks screw up. He shrugged his shoulders.

I can imagine, said Cormac dryly.

Some folks say you fellows put your hostages in a basket and cook them over a good fire if their folks screw up. Any truth to that?

Cormac said nothing.

Just curious, said Lucullus, noting his silence. No offense meant.

Why mules, not horses for the artillery? Marcus interrupted, sensing Cormac was seething.

Mules are stronger, not choosy ’bout their fodder, and a hell of a lot faster than oxen, Lucullus replied promptly. The tension slowly subsided.

A detachment of engineers came through the gate marching in cadence. They broke into song, one man with a rich voice singing each verse and the whole company singing out the fourth line as a refrain.

The first wife was a virgin so

He stripped her from her head to toe,

And taught her what she ought to know.

Hail Caesar! Where’s the foe!

The second one, she was a bitch,

And said to be so very rich.

He scratched her where she had an itch.

Hail Caesar! Dig a ditch!

The third one had a bouncing breast,

She shook them at him in a jest.

He said to her, Now be my guest.

Hail Caesar! You are blessed!

And so on. They reached wife number six as they passed out of earshot. Cormac could not help laughing. Lucullus peered at him quizzically.

That’s the Nine Wives of Caesar they’re singing. Just good spirits. Caesar wouldn’t mind. He’d join the chorus.

Cormac, still chuckling, felt the pressure behind his eyelids ease. His breath came more easily. His father had drummed home the message he had nearly forgotten. Rage blinds you. Let the enemy rage. Think the coolness of steel. The blade runs from your brain through the eye, the arm, the hand to the point of your sword, and the point goes as your sight intends. Cormac considered Lucullus calmly. A cheerful, arrogant son of a bitch. Probably a good officer. Don’t take him lightly.

Your camp looks busy as an ant hill, Centurion, Cormac ventured mildly.

You can bet on that, Lucullus agreed. Catch a man loafing, and Publius Crassus has his balls in a frying pan, I can tell you. Seen it happen.

Cormac returned to hostages. We don’t cook ’em these days, Centurion. We prefer roast pork to roast hostage. The basket was the penalty in the old days for killing a priest. Never heard of it happening in my lifetime.

Interesting, interesting, Lucullus rambled on. Glad to know the truth of it. Pork is certainly tasty. You know how stories get around when civilized folks talk about barbarians. Marcus winced, but Cormac nodded in agreement.

Speaking of customs, Cormac inquired innocently, Ever seen a senator thrown off the Tarpeian Rock in Rome, or a king strangled in a pit after a triumph?

Never heard of it, Lucullus was astonished. Have you?

Never saw it done myself, but they showed me the Rock and the strangle pit, Cormac replied, observing with satisfaction he had put Lucullus a little off his stride. Marcus Pontus can tell you all about it, he added. Lucullus did not pursue the subject.

* * *

Quintus took the steps to the porch two at a time. Report’s made, he announced brusquely. We spend the night in my new quarters. Cormac, patrol goes in the morning to some place called Namnetum and on to Dariorigum. Find your way home from there, right?

Yes, been there many times.

Good. Thought you’d know the way. Take your mount and the packhorse with you. Gift from the Senator. Told me you were to have ’em end of the trip. Pack tonight. Patrol leaves at dawn. Marcus, you bunk with me while you’re assigned to the training century. I told Publius Crassus you speak and write some Gaulish.

This horse is a great gift, Quintus Pontus. Cormac interjected. I thank you.

All the Senator’s doing, Cormac. Let’s get moving, lots to do. Lucullus, thanks for entertaining my outriders.

Pleasure’s mine, Quintus Pontus, and that is a great horse. I’ve never seen the likes of it. Must be eighteen hands.

All of that. Needs to be. Cormac’s six four and weighs a ton. See you later over a skin of wine.

* * *

The three men took their leave and rode up into the central square. A row of small thatched log cabins faced the south wing of the headquarters building.

Mine is the last one, probably the worst, Quintus grumbled. They dismounted. Baggage on the porch, he told the slave. Horses to the stable and give ’em a good rubdown. He eyed the cabin, then climbed the porch steps briskly, saying, Not so bad, though. He opened the door, surprising a soldier armed with a broom. The soldier dropped the broom and saluted.

Sir, glad to see you back.

Glad to be back, Carlus. How are the quarters?

Sorry, sir, not fit for you yet.

Yes, I know. But after two months on the road, this looks like home. I’ve got a letter from your mother. Get us unpacked, and then you can have it. This is my brother, Marcus Brutus, who quarters with me, and this is his friend, Cormac Diad, who’ll spend the night.

Pretty snug quarters, said Marcus, looking over the clay chinked logs and small parchment covered windows.

Beats a tent in winter weather, Quintus replied. We need water, Carlus, lots of it. Cleanup time. General’s mess tonight, Marcus. You’re invited too, Cormac. Exhibit A to my report. Let’s clean up in a hurry.

* * *

As it was, they entered the officers’ mess only moments ahead of Publius Crassus. On his arrival, the officers seated themselves at a long plank table on backed stools, the general at one end, the camp commander at the other. On either side sat the military tribunes, the chief centurion, Flavius Atticus, several senior centurions, Marcus Pontus, and Cormac Diad. Oil lamps flickered on a shoulder high shelf on both walls. Quintus rose and presented Marcus and Cormac to the general and company. That formality dispensed with, Quintus, as the recent visitor to Rome, was bombarded with questions.

What’s the news? What’s Caesar up to now? Where do we march next? The tribunes suspected that Quintus had brought new orders. He simply grinned, looking superior, repeating, Sorry, as they tried to pump him. Finally Crassus raised his voice.

Enough! Let Quintus Brutus be. He’s entitled to a night’s peace after a hard journey. Collectively the tribunes groaned and changed their line of questioning.

What’s the latest scandal? What about the Thanksgiving declared by the Senate? Have the Optimates given up their opposition to Caesar?

Quintus responded promptly. The Thanksgiving was splendid, went on for fifteen days, the longest on record. Games in the Coliseum, gladiatorial combats by the score, a parade of ten thousand prisoners, a meeting of the Assembly, long speeches, very long speeches. He paused, then added, Of course this all happened before I got home. A burst of laughter ended his interrogation.

Marcus noticed that Quintus got along well enough with his fellow tribunes, probably, he thought, because they were not his brothers. And Publius Crassus apparently enjoyed the banter. They were all curious about Cormac. Quintus told how Cormac beheaded one of the Gauls who had attacked them during the ambush. They roared with laughter, then plied Cormac with questions, which he answered in good humor.

Flavius Atticus, seated beside Marcus, observed, A clean cut through the neck is hard to make and dangerous to attempt, afoot or mounted. Leaves your belly wide open. Gauls love to try it, though.

I’ve heard that from my father, Flavius Atticus, Marcus replied. I think Cormac knows the danger. The fact is, he knows the Roman sword as well as his own, and his reach does give him an extra foot of safety.

How did you acquire that? Atticus asked, pointing to the gash on Marcus’s cheek.

No idea. I just followed Cormac and my brother into the Gauls. After the fight I found my face bleeding, and my arm cut. Stupid, but I didn’t feel a thing—at least not then.

Not unusual, Atticus said. Friend of mine had a dagger buried in his back and didn’t know it ‘til I grabbed his arm and shouted in his ear. Half hour later he was dead.

A tribune called across the table to Cormac, You know a Veneti named Padric Vinctorix?

Yes, Tribune.

He’s one of our hostages. If you’re staying a day or two, I’ll arrange a meeting.

I leave in the morning, Tribune. Is tonight possible? I’d really like to see him.

Come with me after dinner, and I’ll see what we can do.

The room fell silent as Publius Crassus stood, the other officers following suit. He raised his wine and, looking at Cormac, said quietly, My respects to your father, Cormac Diad. Then in a firm voice, Gentlemen: Caesar and Rome!

The officers responded in chorus, Caesar and Rome!

As the sound died away, Publius Crassus said, Gentlemen, you are excused. Good night to you.

Cormac left with the tribune to visit the hostages. Quintus and Marcus walked across the parade ground to their cabin.

Hard to think of him as son of the richest man in Rome, Marcus said thoughtfully.

What? Oh, Crassus? Makes no difference here. Quintus dismissed the thought. Politics! They always want to talk politics. Can’t understand it, he grumbled.

You ducked their questions.

I leave that stuff to father, though what sense he makes of it is beyond me. I’ve learned enough to know a soldier better not get tangled up in politics. I want Publius Crassus to know I’m a simple minded soldier with no political opinions. None. Quintus paused, then added, You do the same.

Just curious. Father sees more trouble ahead over Gaul, you know.

He always sees trouble ahead, said Quintus dismissively. Great soldier in his day, but he’s an old man now. Worries about the Republic, old traditions, new men. He doesn’t like the new politics. Sees things as worse than they are because he can’t adapt to them.

Marcus thought the Senator knew more about politics, new and old, than nine politicians out of ten, and certainly more than Quintus, who knew nothing about politics, new or old. Quintus was a blockhead. There was no point in arguing with him.

* * *

An orderly brought Cormac’s mount and packhorse to the cabin at sunrise, inquiring if the Gaul, Diad, was ready.

Cormac replied, He’s ready, strapped his baggage to the pack animal, then thanked the two brothers. This year was a great experience. I’ve learned a lot, and I’m grateful to you, Tribunes, and to your family.

You’re welcome, said Quintus, amiably. You’re a good fellow, Cormac, a good fellow for a long march.

I’ll miss you, said Marcus, taking Cormac’s hand.

I, too, said Cormac. Visit me at Portus Lupus when there are no hostages between us. He swung up into the saddle, saluted the two Romans, and followed the orderly down the street, his pack horse on a long lead.

This hostage business has got him really upset, said Marcus as they watched Cormac ride off.

Don’t see why, said Quintus. What does he expect? They give us hostages or we fight them. Normal procedure. They’re just not used to it around here.

In Rome you said Gaul was pacified.

What did you expect me to say? What else do you think I could say? Quintus scoffed. Pacified! Don’t you believe it. Whatever anyone says, we’ve occupied their land, and they hate us for it. Don’t blame ’em myself. This was their land, it’s going to be ours. So what we say and what they say won’t change things a bit. We’ll fight them and kill them until they accept that Gaul is Roman. You’ve probably seen the last of your friend Cormac. Quintus paused for a moment, then added, He’s not a bad fellow at all for a barbarian, though why Father gave him a perfectly good horse after giving him room and board for a year is beyond me.

It would be, snapped Marcus angrily.

That reminds me, Quintus said. You report to Decimus Strabo this morning. He commands the provisional century, trains recruits. That includes new tribunes. Keeps you from getting underfoot ‘til you learn the ropes.

* * *

The patrol, fully armed, was waiting as Cormac rode up to headquarters.

You Diad? asked the decurio.

Yes, Decurio, said Cormac, equally laconic.

The officer eyed Cormac and his equipment, then looked at his mount. Shepherding a huge Gaul on a first rate animal was not his idea of patrolling a hostile population. Your horse?

Name’s Pandar. Big, isn’t he? said Cormac pleasantly enough.

The decurio flushed. Follow me and keep in line. He snapped his finger at a nearby legionary, Take the pack horse and follow the Gaul. The decurio raised his arm, motioned toward the main gate, and set off at a trot. Cormac fell in line behind him.

Ignored by his hostile companions and riding hard for five days, Cormac had ample time to contemplate the change in his circumstances. The wonder of his year in Rome had vanished like a mirage. That the Romans had taken Veneti hostages was bitter reality. He had been shocked to learn that one of them was his brother-in-law—he had not even heard of his sister’s wedding to Padric Vinctorix. All he wanted now was to be rid of his escort and cover the miles to home. The few Gauls they met along the way ignored the Romans and cast angry glances at him.

They think I’m a turncoat, and I feel like one, he brooded as he rode.

When they reached the east gate to Dariorigum, the decurio reined up, turned in his saddle, and motioned for Cormac to come alongside.

Diad, my orders were to conduct you here and turn you loose. Know where you are? Cormac felt the pressure rise behind his eyes. He quelled it with effort.

Hear what I said? the decurio asked impatiently.

Yes, I heard you, Decurio, he answered slowly. I do know where I am. Thank you for all your courtesies.

The decurio looked suspiciously at him. No, he seemed in earnest. Feeling a bit awkward, he said, Well, yes, then, you’re free to go.

Of course, said Cormac gravely. He beckoned the trooper leading his pack horse, took the lead from him and attached it to his own saddle. He walked Pandar a few paces forward, then reined about, facing the decurio. Cormac flashed his sword up in formal salute. Didn’t expect that, did you, you bastard, he muttered under his breath. He turned about once more and rode through the gate, leaving the surprised decurio fumbling with his own sword, too late to return the salute.

The trooper who had handed over the packhorse lead was puzzled.

Sir, should I … ?

Back in line, snarled the decurio. At least he was rid of the damned Gaul. Column of twos, move out!

Cormac rode through the capital without pause, taking the familiar road to Portus Lupus. His news would be fresh, and his father would be able to make sense of what was going on with the hostages and the Seventh Legion.

* * *

Riding Pandar hard, Cormac reached Cenigda, the family’s country house, at dusk the second day. He hailed the gateman.

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My father here, Hamo?

Whole family’s here, Hamo replied. Your Uncle Nessed came a while ago. Said he was late for dinner. You been in Rome like they say, Master Cormac?

That’s right, Hamo. No time to talk, though. Cormac put his heels to Pandar’s tired flanks and headed down the village street to the familiar log house. Cormac pushed open the main door and stood for a moment, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the shadows, the flickering torches, and the smoke. Fera, the cook, saw him first. Quickly he put a finger to his lips, doing the same to the serving girl. She clapped hands to her mouth. He walked slowly past the cooking fire. There were eight at the table in heated discussion—seven family, and one stranger, a man in his thirties, a druid by dress. Keeping his face down, Cormac walked up behind his mother and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

His sister shrieked Cormac! His mother, startled, rose and turned. He embraced her.

Marcus, she murmured, and the others scrambled to their feet to greet him.

* * *

After dinner, as the servants cleared the table, Druid Brie Culnach leaned back on his stool.