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Vercingetorix is painted from behind, with his hair loose. His throwing arm is still out and empty. Plutarch says he picked his best armor for this and had the horse groomed first.

By late summer the hill town of Alesia sat inside a ring of earth and timber 11 Roman miles around. That ring sat inside a second one of 14. Caesar was besieging a city, and at the same time a relief army was marching to besiege him: a quarter of a million Gauls, by his own generous count. His legions dug both lines in about five weeks. They sowed the ground between with traps named like garden stock: lilies, which were sharpened stakes hidden in covered pits, and stimuli, iron barbs set into buried wood. Inside the walls stood 80,000 warriors under Vercingetorix, an Arvernian noble who had managed the one thing Rome believed impossible: he made the tribes stop fighting each other. His plan had been to burn Gaul before Caesar could eat it, and the tribes had torched their own granaries on his word. Then hunger did what the legions could not. The town's food ran out while the relief was still gathering. A chieftain named Critognatus gave the speech Caesar chose to record at length. He proposed that those too old or weak to fight be eaten rather than surrendered. The Mandubii, whose town it was, sent their own women and children out of the gates, hoping Caesar would let them pass as refugees. He would not, and Vercingetorix would not reopen the gates. They starved in the strip of ground between the two armies, in sight of both. The relief came and broke itself against the double wall in three assaults. In the last of them Caesar rode his own line in the scarlet cloak. He sent his cavalry out by a long circuit to take the attackers from behind. When the rescue force scattered, the town was finished. Plutarch says Vercingetorix put on his finest armor, had his horse groomed, and rode out the gate alone. He circled the platform where Caesar sat, dropped his weapons, and sat down at the Roman's feet without a word. Caesar's own account of his own war spends one flat line on it: the arms were thrown down, the man handed over. The theater, wherever the truth sits, belongs to Royer's canvas. He painted it in 1899, for a France that had just lost a war to Prussia. It wanted its first national defeat to look exactly like this: chin up, on a white horse, in front of a bored conqueror. The canvas runs 16 feet across and hangs at the Musée Crozatier in Le Puy-en-Velay. French schoolbooks have been reprinting it ever since. What the ground itself remembers is drier. Napoleon III, hunting for Alesia, put excavators on a hill in Burgundy in the 1860s. They found the ditches of both walls where Caesar said they would be, and the iron barbs, still in their rows. Vercingetorix spent six years in the Tullianum prison waiting for Caesar's triumph, walked in the parade of 46 BC, and was strangled when it ended.