In open ground, between two low hills, a makeshift tent of brown canvas had been raised. There were no Roman standards, no Germanic banners. Only a plain, the whisper of the wind, and two mounted escorts waiting at the margins.
Caesar entered first, surrounded by young Gallic horsemen, proud to be his guard. Ariovistus arrived shortly after, riding a massive dark horse, a cloak of fur draped over his shoulders, his eyes those of a man born to obey no one.
Inside the tent, there were no greetings. Only a long look. Measuring. Neither man was one for pretense.
—You've crossed the Rhine with thousands of men —Caesar began—. The Senate recognized you, true, but not for this.
Ariovistus replied in a deep, rough voice, his Latin coarse but clear.
—The Senate recognized me because I won what they could not. It wasn't a gift. It was fear.
Caesar narrowed his eyes.
—And yet you act like a king over lands that are not yours. You take hostages. You demand tribute. Your men plunder the allies of Rome.
—My men take what they earn with the sword —Ariovistus retorted—. Do you not do the same?
—We defend our allies. We answer their call. Rome does not allow foreign chieftains to rule Gaul by force.
Ariovistus smiled. It was a smile without joy.
—Rome? You speak for Rome? You're here because it suits you. Because you seek glory. Because the Gauls fear you as much as they fear me.
Caesar stood firm, his voice as hard as marble.
—I'm here because you have broken the balance. I will not let the Rhine become an open gate for every German tribe that wishes to cross with swords. Not with my legions behind me.
Ariovistus stepped forward.
—Your legions will die like any others if you provoke me.
—Then try —Caesar said—. But don't claim you weren't warned.
For a moment, only the restless stamping of horses outside could be heard. Neither man lowered his gaze.
—I will not return the hostages —Ariovistus declared—. I will not stop the tributes. I will not abandon what I have won.
—Then you've already made your choice —said Caesar, turning on his heel.
He left without another word. Behind him, the Gallic riders tightened their reins. On the other side, Ariovistus also exited, wearing the expression of a man who knew the wind was about to change.
War was no longer a question of if, but when.