The sky was covered with low clouds when the signal sounded. It wasn't a call to arms or to form ranks. It was something else—more solemn. The tribunes and centurions of each legion were summoned to the command tent. Several Gallic chiefs came as well, their faces tense, their tunics patched.
Julius Caesar was already waiting inside.
The tent was large, not luxurious, but impeccably ordered. The map stretched across the central table showed the region east of the Saône, with knife-scratched marks indicating the territory under Ariovistus' control. Caesar wasn't looking at the map. He was looking at the men.
—We did not come this far to hesitate —he began, without raising his voice—. The Aedui are allies of the Roman people. Their situation is dire. And that is the fault of one man.
The room remained silent. Labienus crossed his arms. Fonteius furrowed his brow. A Gallic chieftain clenched his fists, nodding.
—Ariovistus was once recognized by the Senate. I haven't forgotten. But back then, he was no tyrant. He didn't demand hostages. He didn't treat our allies like slaves. And above all, he didn't think he ruled Gaul.
Caesar stepped around the table. There was firmness in his stride, conviction in every word.
—That is why I've already sent an embassy. I want it known that Rome does not strike without speaking first. We demand he release the hostages, cease his tributes, and respect the autonomy of the Gallic tribes. In short, that he remembers he is not king in this land.
—And if he refuses? —Fonteius asked.
—Then it will be clear to all who truly seeks war.
Labienus leaned over the map.
—His army is large. The reports confirm it. And if he brings more men across the Rhine...
—He won't —Caesar interrupted—. Or he won't live to do so.
No one spoke for a moment. The sound of wind against the canvas was the only thing filling the silence. Then Caesar added, more quietly:
—We are approaching a border. Not just of land, but of will. If Rome steps back, generations will pay the price. If we advance—they will.
Outside, near a fire now gone cold, Sextus and his companions watched the tent from afar. The guards let no one through, but that didn't stop them from hearing fragments, seeing movements, imagining expressions.
—You think they're going after him? —Titus asked.
—They're already on their way —Atticus murmured—. They're just waiting for the right excuse.
Scaeva said nothing. He simply sharpened his gladius with a stone, as if the steel could listen.
Sextus remained silent, his eyes fixed on the tent. There was something solemn in the air—something inevitable. Fate had already begun to move.
And when the meeting ended and the officers stepped out with tense faces, everyone knew that war now walked beside them.