Banks of the Rhône — The following day
The morning was misty. The Rhône flowed slowly, as if it too were waiting. The XIII remained in position, reinforcing the line with shallow trenches and small palisades. There was little talk. They dug. They braced.They waited.
Around midday, the horn sounded twice.It was not an alarm. It was the signal for diplomatic presence.
A detachment formed along the road. Their shields weren't raised for war, but they weren't lowered in welcome either.At the head of the approaching column, six unarmed figures appeared on foot. One carried a standard marked with a tribal symbol stitched in dark blue cloth.It was the second Helvetian embassy.
From his position near the ditch, Sextus looked up.
"Again?" Faustus muttered.
"They don't want to fight their way through," said Veturius."They want it to look like they tried everything first."
Sextus said nothing, but he knew Veturius was right.The Helvetii wanted time, not permission.
The envoys were received in a secondary tent, not Caesar's. Unlike the first time, there were no gestures of courtesy. The centurion in charge of protocol didn't even offer them water.
Scaeva watched from a distance. Next to him, Optio Varro crossed his arms.
"What if this time they say they'll come anyway?"
"Then they'll come," Scaeva answered."But not across the bridge.Over our corpses."
Hours later, the envoys departed. Their faces were unreadable, but their pace was faster. There was no written reply, no sign of agreement.Only the echo of the horn as they left…and the bridge still in flames.
That night, rumors moved faster than orders.Some said the Helvetii had already started circling north.Others said they were waiting for reinforcements from Germanic tribes.No one knew.But everyone felt it.
War wouldn't come with a single blow.
It would come like the march of an unstoppable mass.And they… stood in its path.
Before sleeping, Sextus looked up at the sky.
"First they sent words.Now comes the iron."