The Thirteenth Legion marched for two more days. There were no Gallic villages now, no Roman roads. Only open fields, dense forests, and the growing sense of an enemy still unseen but felt in the bones.
The orders were clear: maintain pace, watch the flanks, don't break formation. Yet something had changed. No one spoke of war as a possibility anymore. War was already there, breathing on the other side of the woods.
When the eagle standard finally stopped, the camp was built faster than usual. Stakes were hammered in with fury. Trenches dug without repeated orders. It was as if every legionary wanted to feel useful, strong… or simply distracted.
By midday, the rumor spread: Caesar would meet Ariovistus in person.
—Alone? —Atticus asked, adjusting his gladius.
—He'll have an escort —Sextus replied—. But no troops. That was the agreement.
—And who the hell makes agreements with someone who nails children to posts? —Titus muttered.
Scaeva, silently watching the camp's perimeter, spoke without turning.
—Caesar knows what he's doing.
Titus gave a dry laugh.
—Yeah. He also knew what he was doing when he crossed the Saône with four legions in single file. We almost got split in two.
—And yet here we are —Scaeva replied.
A bit further away, a group of young soldiers whispered with shining eyes.
—Did you hear what Caesar did in Hispania? They say he defeated three armies with half the men.
—They say he never sleeps in the same place twice. That Mars speaks to him in dreams.
—They say if Ariovistus lays a finger on him, the sky will split open.
Titus overheard them and walked off, shaking his head.
—Fanatics… —he muttered—. They think he marches with lightning in his cloak.
Sextus followed without a word. But his eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the general rode off with his cavalry escort, heading toward the meeting point.
A rider galloped through the camp, delivering a message to the next detachment. The dust from his hooves mingled with the heavy afternoon air. Everyone knew the same truth without it being spoken: Caesar was negotiating, yes. But he was also laying his neck on the table.
—Think he'll come back? —Atticus asked quietly.
Scaeva didn't hesitate.
—He will. And if not… —he looked at his gladius— then we'll make sure Caesar's name burns in their forests for generations.