Free The Druid King by Norman Spinrad Page A

families, and the admiration of our friends!” he declaimed. “What more do warriors of Gaul need for our lives to be perfect?”
    He suddenly pounded his fist hard upon the table.
    “Except of course to crush our enemies in honorable battle!” he roared.
    “Well spoken!” shouted a beefy iron-haired warrior at the far end of the Arverne table, and guzzled down a mighty swallow of beer to punctuate his enthusiasm. “And, fortunately, we lack not enemies for the pleasure of crushing!”
    “Well spoken yourself, Critognat,” Keltill declared. “We let the Teutons ravage our lands, and now we let the Romans do our fighting for us! Where is the honor in that?”
    “Nowhere!” Critognat shouted woozily. “Let’s slay them all!”
    There was a hush in the Great Hall. All conversation ceased. The bard Sporos, seated behind Vercingetorix, gave over his desultory plucking at a borrowed harp. Even the dogs ceased their scavengers’ squabbling. All eyes were upon Keltill.
    It was Epona, as if by arrangement, who finally broke the silence. “The Teutons slew my husband, but at least he was favored with an honorable death in battle.”
    Diviacx shot her a quick suspicious look, but his attention immediately turned back to Keltill.
    “No one here loves the Teutons,” he said, “but I don’t see—”
    “It’s time to deal with them ourselves, once and for all!” Keltill shouted, not merely at the druid, but in a voice that fairly shook dust from the rafters. “And if we have to change our ways to do it, then so be it!”
    “Change our ways, brother?” said Gobanit, looking at Keltill, but glancing meaningfully across the table at Diviacx.
    “Indeed, Gobanit, we must change our ways enough to preserve them!”
    “Those who cannot find a way to turn with the turning of the times will be crushed beneath it!” blurted the bard Sporos.
    The nobles on both sides of the table shot him poisonous looks for this presumptuous incursion, but Keltill half turned to smile at him strangely.
    “Well spoken . . . bard!” he said.
    Then, louder, to all present: “Like it or not, we can no longer survive this lack of real leadership!”
    Diviacx and Gobanit exchanged longer looks. Behind the two of them, their warriors came nervously alert.
    “Surely you would not seize another year as vergobret of the Arverni beyond your rightful term and deny me my own?” said Gobanit.
    Keltill laughed. “Surely not, my brother. We must rise above these petty tribal rivalries if we are to preserve the way of life we cherish!”
    Gobanit glanced behind him at his guards. Diviacx shook his head slightly and spoke soothingly. “Where is the problem? Caesar’s legions will soon completely rid us of the Teutons.”
    “What next, Diviacx?” Keltill roared. “Do we invite the wolves into our farmyards to protect our chickens from the foxes?”
    The rude laughter was not shared by Diviacx or Gobanit.
    “Better the forces of Rome, who bring order and wealth, than the Teutons, who bring nothing but death and ruin!” declared Diviacx.
    “Better we are rid of both of them before your friend Caesar turns true Gauls into fawning false Romans and our lands into nothing but another enslaved Roman province!”
    “Or before you use the situation to do what, Keltill?” said Diviacx. “Usurp power against all sacred tradition?”
    “Sacred tradition! What sacred tradition do you imagine we will have left as a province of Rome? The only way to preserve who we are is to unite all the tribes and drive Teutons and Romans alike from our lands, as the great warriors of Gaul we were when Brenn was king and made Rome tremble!”
    “And will again!” roared Critognat. “After we slay the Teutons, let’s march on Rome again and do it right this time! No mercy! No ransom! Burn it to the ground!”
    Fists and tankards pounded the table. Arverne warriors behind Keltill pounded the pommels of their swords on their shields. Roars and cries of approval went