The next day, Insidius waited in the forest, but Asterix and Obelix didn't show up. He wondered why. Stealthily, he moved to the trees around the village, and climbed to get a good vantage point.
Obelix of Gaul was in his quarry, tapping away at his stones. He paused periodically, and sighed. The small dog at his side – loyal, even if he was a ridiculously-sized pet for such a mastodon – whined, trying to get his attention. Finally, Obelix gave up the pretense of working altogether, and slumped with his back against the stone cliff. He passed a hand over his eyes. Caius couldn't hear him at this distance, but his face crumpled and his huge stomach started to convulse in short, gasping breaths. He was sobbing.
A tinny, distant voice echoed from the village, amplified by the rocks and through the forest air. "Obelix! O, Obelix!"
Obelix leapt up, whirling to his stones and wiping a hand over his eyes. Clearly, Caius as his 'conscience' had succeeded in scaring the living daylights out of him. That was good, it meant he was doing his job well.
His train of thought was thankfully cut off when the little Gaul, Asterix, appeared at the entrance to the quarry. By this time, Obelix was already industriously tapping away. Asterix smiled and gestured, clearly inviting him somewhere. Obelix stared at his menhir, only lowering his hammer and chisel for the few seconds it took to speak to Asterix, then raised them to tap at the stone again. Asterix repeated his invitation, using the same hand-gestures. Caius had excellent eyesight, and could see that there was worry in the little Gaul's smiling eyes. Obelix shook his head, though, clearly visible at this distance, gesturing at his menhirs. Asterix stood for a while, seemingly inwardly debating whether to press his friend for answers, but in the end he turned and left.
When he was sure Asterix had left, Obelix slumped, back bowed so low his knuckles almost brushed the ground. Then he sat on the rocky quarry floor and raised his hands to his face, shaking.
Caius watched him, trying to be impassive. There was certainly nothing to pity or sympathize with about this big fat man crying in secret. Fat people didn't even have emotions, everyone knew that, they were just gluttonous, slothful burdens on those around them. Just as they said Numidians had hearts as black as their faces… There was nothing to see here. Nothing to sympathize with. Nothing. Nothing at all.
Caius pushed down the pang in his chest. Nothing.
That night, Obelix opened his mind without Insidius even trying. It was good, because more and more, Insidius was feeling that this service to Caesar was killing something true, that it was wrong in a way he had never felt before. He pushed aside the treasonous thought. He was here to serve his Emperor, not to serve petty whims.
"Obelix, here is an idea to separate you safely from Asterix." To Hades with suspense: he blurted it out. "What if a woman showed up and you left the village with her?"
Obelix raised his head, his tears surprised into drying. "I wouldn't leave Asterix for a woman," he said indignantly.
"More to the point," Caius jeered, remembering his childhood taunts, "no woman would have you. But," he made his tone bright and practical, "it would be the only thing that let Asterix believe you had betrayed him."
"But I wouldn't betray him for a girl!"
"No?" Insidius felt strange seeing the memory from Roman records and from Obelix's memory simultaneously. What was stranger was that he felt genuinely indignant about it. "What about the innkeeper's daughter?"
Obelix chilled. He hadn't… No, but he had. He had stalked off and abandoned Asterix right when the village was divided and Asterix had needed his support.
"How could you forget that? How could you forget the moment you walked away from him and left him to face the Romans alone? He lay unconscious in the forest for an hour, and where were you? Nursing your foolish pride." Insidius was surprised he was actually feeling some righteous indignation on the small warrior's behalf. It felt good to hurt this big man for having so selfishly ignored his more intelligent friend. He fanned his hurt into a flame. "You are nothing, Obelix. Nothing, nothing, nothing. You are a great fat brute, a forgetful fool."
"He was unconscious for an hour?" choked Obelix.
Insidius couldn't really know for sure, but it was his best guess based on the Roman intelligence and the timing of the attacks. For answer, he projected an image of Asterix lying unconscious in the forest.
"No! Asterix!"
Obelix's sharp pain at the sight echoed through Caius' own heart, making him ache for an instant with borrowed love for Asterix. He shook it off sternly. Gathering his wits about him, he thought for a moment back to the childhood taunts leveled at him by his schoolmates. Monster, ape, go back to the forests with your barbarian mother. "By rights you should have no association with human beings at all, only live in the forest with the animals, and make your stupid blunders where you cannot be seen. Forgetting is human, but in your hands, it is a crime, for you forget things that hurt people. You have hurt Asterix, time and time again. There is no reason he should stay with you, no reason he should want to know you."
"B…but he…"
"He stays, but it will ruin him. The best thing for anyone is to run as far from you as possible. No, no, there is only one thing for it: find some woman who would play the part of a Helen of Troy, and take you from this village to what Asterix will think is a better life."
"But… where would I find someone who'd do that?"
"Hmm, true, it is indeed implausible that any woman would look twice at one such as you. Still, I pity you. The conscience has ties to the spirit world, and perhaps with the assistance of Moccus, some female can be found who would play this distasteful part."
"Moccus?" Obelix's voice was hushed. "God of the menhirs of Armorica?"
"Yes."
"He'd… do that for me?"
"Hah! Not for you, you bloated great barrel of lard. For Asterix. To leave him at liberty to seek his true destiny and not be lumbered with you."
Obelix woke with tears on his cheeks.
The great Roman tragedienne and operatic diva Latraviata lowered the scroll of parchment, looking over it at the messenger. "A summons from Caesar himself?"
"From his envoy, noble lady." The messenger sneered inwardly: actresses were nothing but whores, everyone knew that. Still, he had his orders to speak to her with respect.
"Concerning what?"
"I'm not at liberty to disclose, noble lady. All will be explained to you at the conclusion of your journey. There is a conveyance awaiting you. As soon as you pack, we can start immediately."
Latraviata stared. "Start imm… For Gaul? But— I have a performance tomorrow…"
"It is a matter of utmost importance to Caesar himself. He will see to it that you are adequately compensated."
Latraviata huffed. Money wasn't much compared to playing Hecuba on a stage like this, but perhaps her connections with Julius Caesar would get her another part. It wasn't the wisest thing to refuse an Imperial command, in any case. And there were only a handful of people she knew in Gaul, and her curiosity was piqued… "Let me gather my things."
"It is done. A woman has been found."
Obelix shuddered all over. "What for? To… to marry me? I don't think I'm the marrying kind, and…"
"Not to marry you, you great oaf! Merely to play the part. She will appear in your life tomorrow. I shall send her to your village. Just be obedient to her, and ask no questions."
(Note: My depiction of Latraviata from here on out is indebted to and inspired by CrazyBeaver's magnificent view of her in Asterix and the Bet of the Gods, here on FFN, and also translated here on FFN as Asterix et le Pari des Dieux – the most wonderful read, in any language.)