CHAPTER 43

It was dark in the tent and Adàn had only a single tallow candle to give him enough light to write. He sat in perfect silence and watched as Caesar sprawled on a bench with his arm outstretched to be bandaged. There was blood on the first layers and the strip of cloth itself was dirty, having been taken from a corpse. Julius grunted as the doctor made a knot and pulled it tight. For a moment, his eyes opened with the pain, and Adàn saw they were dim with exhaustion.

The doctor gathered his sack of equipment and left, letting a blast of air into the stuffy interior that made the candle flicker. Adàn looked over the words he had recorded and wished Julius would sleep. They were all hungry, but the winter had burnt flesh from the commander as much as any of the men. His skin was tinged with yellow and tight across his skull, and Adàn saw dark hollows underneath his eyes that gave him a look of death.

Adàn thought Julius had slid into sleep and began to gather his scrolls to steal away without waking him. He froze as Julius scratched at the sweat stains of his tunic and then rubbed his face. Adàn shook his head slowly at the changes in the man since he had first known him. Gaul had taken more than it had given.

“Where did I finish?” Julius said, without opening his eyes. His voice was a croak that made Adàn shiver in the gloom.

“Avaricum. The doctor came in as I was writing about the final day.”

“Ah yes. Are you ready to go on?”

“If you wish it, sir. It might be better if I left you to get some rest,” Adàn said.

Julius did not respond past scratching his unshaven chin.

“Avaricum came soon after the murder of three cohorts under Bericus. Are you writing this?”

“I am,” Adàn whispered. To his surprise, he felt the sting of tears begin as Julius forced himself on, and the Spaniard could not explain them.

“We built a ramp up to the walls and stormed the town. I could not hold the men back after what they had seen. I didn’t try to hold them.” Julius paused and Adàn could hear his breath as a harsh susurration above the noise of the legions outside.

“Eight hundred survived us, Adàn. Record the truth for me. Out of forty thousand men, women, and children, only eight hundred lived when we were finished. We burned the town around them and stripped what grain they had left in their stores. Even then, you could count the ribs on the soldiers with me.

Vercingetorix had moved on, of course, and every town we came to was destroyed. He drove the cattle before him and left us nothing but birds and wild hares to trap. To feed forty thousand men, Adàn. Without the stores of Avaricum, we would have been finished.

“We routed them over and over whenever we caught them in the open, but all the tribes of Gaul had joined him and he outnumbered us every time. Bericus was killed in the third month, or the fourth, I cannot remember. His own irregulars caught him in an ambush. We did not find his body.”

Julius lapsed into silence as he remembered how Bericus had refused to believe that the men he had trained would kill him. He had been a decent man and he paid with his life for that belief.

“Vercingetorix moved on south to Gergovia and the hill forts there, and I could not break those walls.”

Adàn looked up at the silence and saw Julius’s mouth twist in anger. Still, he lay back with his eyes closed and the croaking voice seemed to come from deep within.

“We lost eight hundred men at Gergovia and as spring came I saw my soldiers eat green corn until they vomited. Still, we destroyed the armies who dared to take the field against us. Brutus and Octavian did well against the banners there, but the numbers, Adàn… Every tribe we have called friends has risen against us and there are times… no. Strike that out, my doubts are not to be written.

“We could not starve him out in Gergovia and our own men were weakening. I was forced to move west to gather supplies, and still we could barely find enough to stave off death. Vercingetorix sent his generals against us and we fought all the way while he raced ahead by night. I have marched a thousand miles this last year, Adàn. I have seen death walking with me.”

“But now you have trapped him in Alesia,” Adàn said softly.

Julius struggled to sit up and leaned over his knees, his head sagging. “The greatest hill fort I have ever seen in Gaul. A city on four hills, Adàn. Yes, I have him trapped. We starve on the outside while he waits for us all to die.”

“Grain and meat are coming in from the south now. The worst is over,” Adàn said.

Julius shrugged so lightly it could have been a breath. “Perhaps. Write this for me. We have built trenches and fortifications for eighteen miles around Alesia. We have thrown up three great hills from the earthworks, so massive as to allow us to build watchtowers on them. Vercingetorix cannot leave as long as we remain here-and we will remain. Our prisoners talk of him as king of all the Gauls, and until he is dead or captured, they will continue to rebel. We have cut them down in thousands and they will still come each spring until their king is dead. Let them know in Rome, Adàn. Let them understand what we are doing here.”

The tent flap opened and Brutus was there in the darkness, glancing over at Adàn as he saw the light of the tiny flame.

“Julius?” he said.

“I am here,” came the voice, barely a whisper.

“You must come out once more. The scouts are back and they say an army of Gauls is coming to relieve the forts.”

Julius looked at him with red-rimmed eyes that seemed more dead than alive. He stood and swayed from exhaustion and Brutus stepped in to help him pull on the armor and scarlet cloak that the men needed to see.

“So those men who escaped the fort were to bring an army back,” Julius murmured as Brutus began to lace the chestplate to the strips of iron around his neck. Both men were dirty and stank with sweat, and Adàn was struck by the tenderness as Brutus took a rag and wiped the armor down with it, handing Julius his sword from where it lay propped and forgotten against a pole. Without a word, Adàn took the red cloak from its peg and helped Brutus drape it around the shoulders. It could have been his imagination, but in the armor he thought Julius stood a little straighter, sheer will forcing some of the weariness from his face.

“Summon the council, Brutus, and bring the scouts to me. We shall fight on both sides if need be, to put an end to this king.”

“And then we shall go home?” Brutus said.

“If we live, my friend. Then we shall go home at last.”

The Roman generals who came to the central camp at the foot of Alesia showed the marks of the wars they had fought. Drinking water had been rationed as well as food, and not one of them had enough to shave or wash the grime of months in the field from their faces. They sank onto the benches and sat listlessly, too tired to talk. The scorched earth and months of war since returning from Britain had hurt them all, and now this last blow had brought them to the edge of despair.

“Generals, you have heard from the scouts and there is little more for me to tell you,” Julius said. He had taken a pouch of precious water from a guard and upended it into his mouth to take away the dust from his throat.

“The men are eating at last, though supplies are thin and of poor quality. Without the sacrifices of our settlers, we would have even less. Now the Gauls have gathered all the tribes against us, and even the Aedui cavalry have vanished to join them. Mhorbaine has betrayed me at the last.”

Julius paused and rubbed a hand over his features.

“If the scouts are right, we have little chance of surviving the battle. If you ask it of me, I will try for an honorable surrender and save the lives of our legions. Vercingetorix has shown he is no fool. We would be allowed to travel back to the Alps with our settlers. Such a victory would establish him in his role of High King, and I think he would accept. Is this what you want?”