They stood in silence for him and beat their swords and knives together in a clashing noise that filled the space and shook the foundations. Vercingetorix held his arms up for quiet and it was a long time coming. His people stood with eager expressions and they believed in him.

“Tomorrow, you will begin to move your tribes to the far south, leaving only those who are thirsty for war. Take your grain stores with you, for my riders will burn anything they find. Gaul will be ours again. I speak not as one of the Arverni, but from the line of the old kings. They watch over us now and they will bring us victory.”

The clash of metal began again and became deafening as Vercingetorix walked out in the shadowed cloisters to rejoin his army. He trotted his horse back through the streets and ducked his head unconsciously as he passed under the Avaricum gates.

When he reached his horsemen, he sat high in the saddle and gazed fondly at the flags of Gaul. Dozens of tribes were represented in ten thousand riders, and truly, he felt one with the old blood.

“It is a good day to ride,” he told his brother Madoc.

“It is, my king,” Madoc replied. Together they heeled their horses into a gallop, streaming across the plain.

Julius sat on a hill with his cloak on the damp ground under him. A light rain was falling and through it they could see the galleys he had ordered sent round the coast to find where the dark river poured into the sea. With their shallow draft, they had been able to come all the way into the ford and anchored just before it. Brutus and Renius sat with him, watching supplies being unloaded by teams of the Tenth and Third.

“Did you know the captains found a bay farther down the coast?” Julius said aloud. He sighed. “If I had known of it, the storms that took so many of my ships would have battered in vain. Protected by cliffs and deep water with a sloping shore for the boats. We will know for the future, now that we have found it, at least.”

He ran a hand through his wet hair and shook droplets from the end of his nose. “They call this summer? I swear I haven’t seen the sun in a month.”

“It makes me homesick for Rome,” Brutus answered slowly. “Just to imagine olive trees in the sun and the temples of the forum. I cannot believe how far away from all that we’ve come.”

“Pompey will be there, rebuilding,” Julius said, his eyes hardening. “The Senate house where I stood with Marius is no more than memory. When we see Rome, Brutus, it will not be the same.”

They sat in silence while each of them considered the truth of the words. It had been years since Julius had seen his city, but somehow he had always expected it to be there unchanged for when he returned, as if everything else in life were held in glass until he was ready to make it move once more. It was a child’s dream.

“You will go back, then?” Brutus said. “I had begun to think you would have us all grow old out here.”

Renius smiled without speaking.

“I will, Brutus,” Julius said. “I have done what I came for and a single legion will be enough to hold the Britons. Perhaps when I am an old man and Gaul is as peaceful as Spain, I will return here to carry the war to the north.”

He shivered suddenly and told himself it was the cold. It was strangely peaceful watching the efforts of the galley crews below while they were far above them. The hills around the Tamesis were gentle slopes, and if it hadn’t been for the constant drizzle, it might have felt like a distant world of strife that could not come close to the men on the hill. It was easy to dream.

“There are times when I want it all to end, Brutus,” Julius said. “I miss your mother. I miss my daughter as well. I have been at war as long as I can remember, and the thought of returning to my estate to tend the hives and sit in the sun is a terrible temptation.”

Renius chuckled. “One you successfully resist each year,” he said.

Julius glanced sharply at the one-armed gladiator. “I am in the flower of my youth, Renius. If I accomplish nothing else in life, then Gaul will be my mark on the world.”

As he spoke, he touched a hand unconsciously to his head, feeling the receding hairline. War aged a man more than just the passing of years, he thought. Where once he had felt as if he could never grow old, now his joints ached in the damp and morning brought a stiffness that took longer and longer to pass each year. He saw Brutus had noticed the gesture and frowned.

“It has been a privilege to serve with you both, you know,” Renius said suddenly. “Have I ever told you?

I would not have been anywhere else but with you.”

Both of the younger men looked at the scarred figure who sat hunched forward on his cloak.

“You are growing maudlin in your old age,” Brutus said with a smile. “You need to feel the sun on your face again.”

“Perhaps,” Renius said, pulling a piece of grass between his fingers. “I have fought for Rome all of my life, and she still stands. I’ve done my part.”

“Do you want to go home?” Julius asked him. “You can walk down this hill to the galleys and have them take you back, my friend. I will not refuse you.”

Renius looked down to the bustling crowd on the river, and his eyes were filled with yearning. He shrugged then and forced a smile. “One more year, perhaps,” he said.

“There’s a messenger coming,” Brutus said suddenly, breaking in on their thoughts. All three turned to look at the tiny figure on horseback who lunged up the hill toward them.

“It must be bad news for him to seek me here,” Julius said, rising to his feet. In that moment, his contemplative mood was broken and the other two sensed the change in him like a sudden shift in the wind.

Their damp cloaks were crumpled and all three men felt the weariness of constant war and problems, watching the lone rider with a sort of dread.

“What is it?” Julius demanded as soon as the man was close enough to hear.

The messenger became clumsy under their scrutiny, dismounting and saluting in a tangle. “I have come from Gaul, General,” he said.

Julius’s heart sank. “From Bericus? What is your message?”

“Sir, the tribes are rebelling.”

Julius swore. “The tribes rebel every year. How many this time?”

The messenger looked nervously at the officers. “I think… General Bericus said all of them, sir.”

Julius looked blankly at the man before nodding in resignation. “Then I must return. Ride to the galleys below and tell them not to leave until I am with them. Have General Domitius send riders to the coast to Mark Antony. The fleet must be put to sea to cross to Gaul before the winter storms begin.”

Julius stood in the rain and watched the rider make his way down to the river and the galley crews.

“So it is to be war once more,” he said. “I wonder if Gaul will ever see the peace of Rome in my lifetime.”

He looked tired at the burden and Brutus’s heart went out to his old friend.

“You’ll beat them. You always do.”

“With winter coming?” Julius said bitterly. “There are hard months ahead, my friend. Perhaps harder than any we have known.” With appalling effort, he controlled himself until the face he turned to them was a mask.

“Cassivellaunus must not know. His hostages are already on board the galleys, his son amongst them.

Take the legions back to the coast, Brutus. I will go by sea and have the fleet waiting for you there.” He paused and his mouth tightened in anger.

“I will do more than beat them, Brutus. I will raze them from the face of the earth.”

Renius looked at the man he had trained and was filled with sorrow. He had no chance to rest and each year of war stole a little more of his kindness away from him. Renius gazed south, imagining the shores of Gaul. They would regret having unleashed Caesar amongst them.