The sun was already descending when Caesar returned to camp. He said nothing upon arrival. He simply dismounted, handed his reins to an aide, and walked through his men as if weighing every shadow, every gaze.
Sextus saw him pass from his formation. He was covered in dust, but his posture stood tall, like a living statue. Titus swallowed hard. Atticus clenched his fist without knowing why. Scaeva didn't move.
Minutes later, the horn sounded.
The legions assembled. From the First to the Tenth, from the Seventh to the Thirteenth. Men hardened by mud and blood, now silent, alert. Some expected a report. Others, a speech. None imagined what he would say.
Caesar climbed a small rise, the wind moving his cloak with the same gravity that swayed the standards.
—Legionaries —he began—. I have spoken with Ariovistus.
A murmur rippled through the ranks, but his raised hand imposed silence.
—I offered him peace. I reminded him that it was the Senate who once recognized him, not fate. That his rights end where Rome begins. I asked him to return the hostages, to cease his dominion over the free peoples of Gaul.
Caesar paused. He looked at each man as if speaking only to him.
—And he refused everything. With contempt. With threats. He believes we are weak. He believes we will not cross that forest. He believes fear will grant him victory.
Then he raised his voice. It wasn't a shout. It was a sword.
—Then let him know he is wrong! There is no power on this earth more constant than Roman steel! No word more resolute than that of a legionary in marching order!
The men began to stir. Some shouted. Others struck their shields with their fists.
—We fight for our allies, yes! But also for Rome, for our homes, for every step we've taken to get here. And we fight for ourselves, for the honor of wearing this armor, for the fire we carry inside. And because no one tells us where our frontier ends!
—No one! —shouted a centurion from the rear.
Caesar lowered his tone, but not his intensity.
—My legions do not retreat. My legions do not forget. And my legions, when they march, change the course of the world.
A roar erupted among the cohorts. Chants, pounding fists, acclamations. Caesar's name echoed like a war drum, like the prelude to something already inevitable.
Amid the uproar, Sextus took a deep breath. Titus smiled for the first time in days. Atticus raised his gladius to the sky. And Scaeva, eyes shining beneath his helmet, muttered:
—Now let the barbarians come.