Vercingetorix

Act 3

Vercingetorix stood at the precipice of his own execution. In front of him stood three high ranking captains of three separate tribes. They were disputing which items that had been claimed from the days raids were most valuable and how they should be split. Vercingetorix sought to distinguish himself as a leader of these raiding parties and ultimately he would have to force the decision. This was a move which was nearly impossible to make without upsetting one of the groups, if not all three. His own tribes warriors, the Arverni, were a few thousand horse trots south and their clout was not intimidating enough to save Vercingetorix from that far. Three flags stood waving before him: the Senones, Pictones and Lemovice. These were among the most ruthless of all the tribes. It was for this reason Vercingetorix sought to recruit them, a reason which may ironically lead to his own demise.

“Heed,” he called from atop his horse. It was best to end the quelling before it got out of hand, but he risked turning the hatred onto himself.

“It is a fool’s errand to put worth in these objects. All of them have their own values. Your quarrel is not in their value. Your concern is with its fair distribution, aye?”

The men all silenced and seemed to agree, for the most part. Titilis, a large man with three huge scratches set behind the patch over his left eye, stepped ahead of his soldiers and pointed the tip of his large broadsword at Vercingetorix.

“And who is it that will divide the fruits of our days labor, Vercingetorix. You?” He bellowed out a laugh and spit on the ground at the horses feet. “Why don’t you just go split your horse’s legs instead?”

This earned a large raucous laugh from the crowd. This was just the invitation to violence Vercingetorix was looking for. He dismounted his horse, unsheathed the small axe he carried at his waist and approached his heckler.

Titilis understood his choices. Back down, or challenge the man whose name proclaimed him a hundred victories in battle. If Titilis was two things it was brave and dumb. He raised his shield to block a quick slash from the axe and came over the top with his massive blade.

Vercingetoix used the hooked edge of his axe to pull the shield back, grabbed ahold of the large man’s wrist as he hit mid-swing, and head-butted him with the force of a warhammer. Titilis dropped his weapon immediately and would have dropped the shield if it were not strapped to his arm.

His hands were quickly drenched in blood as he covered his head wound and the soldiers behind him made space as he stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. There was no room for weakness in their world. Vercingetorix retrieved his enemies weapon approached him. He held the 8 inch wide blade to Titilis’s throat.

“I would, brave Titilis, but I’m still sore from spreading your sisters.”

This earned another volley of laughter from the surrounding men, all being aware that Titilis’s sister was at least the size of a horse. Vercingetorix turned the sword over and offered Titilis the handle, helping him up as he grabbed ahold of it.

He looked enraged and seemed he might raise the blade for attack once more, but instead he kept it high above his head and yelled, “Well if you can work your way through that fat cunt, what’s a few pieces of spoil?”

All of the men yelled and a path was made for Vercingetorix to the large pile of random plunders. He asked for each clan to plant a flag into the ground at equal intervals from the pile of goods. The men followed his command willingly. This would be Vercingetorix’s first moment where he felt he could reach his father’s legacy. That he could fulfill his destiny.  A single Gaul, united under one banner. An army so large they would storm Italy without question and upturn every ivory stone in Rome.