The outriders saw the Hand and reported back before noon. As the Tenth neared the crag, Brutus could see thousands of horsemen in perfect ranks ahead. They had chosen a place for the meeting where cavalry were hampered by steep defiles on either side. The rock they called the Hand formed the highest point to the east, with the western side choked with dense forest. Brutus wondered if Ariovistus had men hidden in the dark oaks. He knew he would have placed them there and hoped the legions were not heading into a trap. One thing was certain, if it came to a retreat against those German riders, the Tenth would have to accomplish it on foot or be destroyed.

The cornicens sounded a dismount, a signal of two tones they had agreed on before leaving the camp.

With relief, Brutus saw the Tenth lose their awkwardness as they touched the ground.

Only the extraordinarii stayed in the saddle to guard the flanks. The Tenth walked their ponies forward in grim bad humor. Brutus continued to harry them, calling out to the centurions to keep order as they advanced toward the meeting place and the king of the Germanic Suebi. The tension grew as they marched closer to the enemy, and Brutus could see the details of the men they faced. He saw Ariovistus for the first time as the king rode out with three others and halted two hundred feet from his front line. Julius went forward to meet him with Domitius and Octavian, the tension visible in their stiff backs.

Brutus took a last look at the ranks of the Tenth.

“Be ready!” he called as he trotted out to join his general.

The noise of four thousand nervous horses dwindled behind them as he joined Domitius and Octavian, all three resplendent in their silver armor. Julius wore the full-face helmet, and when he turned in the saddle to acknowledge Julius, Brutus saw the effect of the cold features that stared back at him.

“Now let’s see what this little king has to say to me,” Julius’s voice came from beneath the iron mouth.

The four men kicked their horses into a canter in perfect formation as they moved across the broken ground.

Julius recognized Redulf at Ariovistus’s right shoulder and saw with astonishment that the other two warriors with the king were as strangely deformed as the messenger. One of them was shaven bald, but the other had a crown of black hair that did nothing to disguise the strange double ridge, as if some great fist had gripped his skull and squeezed it. They were all bearded and fierce looking, clearly chosen for strength.

All were adorned with gold and silver, making Julius pleased he had his sword tourney finalists as his honor guard. The perfect sets of silver armor outshone the Suebi warriors, and Julius knew that, man for man, his companions would be more deadly.

Ariovistus himself did not have the ridged brow of the warriors at his side. His face was dominated by dark eyebrows and an untrimmed beard that covered most of his face, leaving only the cheeks and forehead clear. His skin was pale and the eyes that glowered at Julius were as blue as Cabera’s. The king remained perfectly still as Julius rode up and halted without saluting.

The silence held as Julius and the king regarded each other, neither willing to be the first to speak.

Brutus looked behind them to the ranks of horses and still farther to where a greater force marked the southern tip of the lands Ariovistus had taken, fifteen miles down from the wide Rhine River. In the distance, Brutus could see two fortified camps that could have been twins of the Roman style. The mass of Suebi riders were not in formal array, but Brutus could see they had cleared the ground and could leap into a charge at short notice. He began to sweat as he saw the long spears they carried. Every man of the Roman infantry knew horses would not charge a shield wall any more than they could be forced to run into a tree. As long as the legions could hold their squares, they could advance through the forces of Ariovistus without real danger. The theory was little comfort in the face of so many of the pale, bearded warriors.

Julius lost patience under the calm scrutiny of the king.

“I have come to you as you asked, friend of my city,” he began. “Though this is not your land, I have ridden to it and honored your terms. Now I tell you that you must remove your armies across the natural barrier of the Rhine. Remove them immediately and there will be no war between us.”

“This is Roman friendship?” Ariovistus snarled suddenly, his voice a bass boom that startled them. “I fought against your enemies ten years ago and the title was given to me, but for what purpose? So that I can be turned away from lands I have rightfully won as it suits you?” His teeth were deeply yellow in his beard and his eyes glinted under the heavy brows.

“It was not the right to take whatever lands you wanted,” Julius retorted. “You have your home across the river and that is enough. I tell you, Rome will not allow you to have Gaul, or any part of it.”

“Rome is far away, General. You are all that represents your city in this place, and you have never known the fury of my white soldiers. How do you dare to speak to me in this way? I rode in Gaul when you were no more than a child! What lands I have won are mine by right of conquest, by more ancient law than yours. They are mine because I have shown the strength to hold them, Roman!”

The angry rumble caused Julius’s horse to shy nervously, and Julius reached down to pat the gelding’s neck. He controlled his temper to reply.

“I am here because you were named friend, Ariovistus. I honor you for my city, but I tell you again, you will cross the Rhine and leave the lands of Rome and Roman allies. If you live by right of conquest, then I will destroy your armies by the same right!”

Julius felt Brutus shift uncomfortably in the saddle on his right shoulder. The meeting was not going as he had intended, but the arrogance of Ariovistus nettled him.

“And what are you doing, Caesar? By what right do you take the lands of the tribes from them? Were they given to you by your Greek gods perhaps?” Ariovistus sneered as he raised his hands and gestured at the verdant countryside around them.

“You had answer enough when I sent back your messengers with empty hands,” he went on. “I want nothing from you or your city. Go on your way and leave me in peace, or you will not live. I have fought for these lands and paid the blood price. You have done nothing but send a pack of Helvetii scavengers back to their homeland. Do you think that gives you the right to deal with me as an equal? I am a king, Roman, and kings are not troubled by men like you. I do not fear your legions, particularly those riders behind you, who cannot even keep their mounts still.”

Julius resisted the urge to look behind him, though he could see the perfect ranks of the Suebi and knew there would be nothing like such a calm order in his own lines. Under his mask, he flushed, relieved that it could not be seen.

“I am Rome,” Julius said. “In my person you address the Senate and the people. You insult my city and all the countries under our rule. When you-”

Something whirred over their heads from the Suebi lines, and Ariovistus cursed. Julius looked up to see a dozen long shafts arc toward his precious Tenth and turned savagely to Ariovistus.

“This is your discipline?” he snapped.

Ariovistus looked as furious as he was himself and Julius knew he had not ordered the attack. Both armies stirred restlessly and another single arrow looped over them.

“My men are eager for war, Caesar. They live to bathe in blood,” Ariovistus growled at him. He looked over his shoulder at his men.

“Go back to them and we will come for you,” Julius said, his voice hollow with finality under the mask.