Nobody Loves a Centurion (6 page)

When the dinner was over, Caesar held audience. First to speak was the head of the Helvetian delegation. He wore a voluminous cloak woven in a dazzling pattern of checks and lines that intersected and overlapped bewilderingly. He had it wrapped about him against the chill of the evening. It was fastened at his shoulder by a golden brooch at least eight inches in diameter. His speech was translated by a respected Roman merchant who had lived in Gaul all his life, but I kept Lovernius close by me to make sure that the translation was accurate.

I will not try to reproduce here the many and extravagant images, figures of speech, and circumlocutions employed by the envoy, for the Gallic love of rhetoric exceeds even the Roman fondness for that art. Instead, I shall convey the gist of his words, which shortens his speech tremendously.

“Honored Proconsul of Rome, I, Nammeius, chieftain of the Helvetii, speak to you here on behalf of the glorious, the powerful, the ever victorious nation of Helvetia; ever just in her dealings with other nations, vigilant in peace and fierce in war, fair of face and form, sonorous of voice, generous, noble, and proud.” From this you may imagine how tedious it would be if I wrote down everything he actually said.

“Rome listens.” Caesar’s vividly contrasting acknowledgment was in that spare, laconic style with which we were all to become so familiar. Nammeius was nonplussed. He had expected something more fulsome.

“Noble Caesar, for a final time, I protest that your interference with our migration is unjust and uncalled for. We are
a nation of true men, and only persons lacking in manliness and spirit dwell in a single place forever, wearing out the land and fighting only the same neighbors. In the honored tradition of our ancestors we intend to burn our towns and farms behind us and pass through the land of the Allobroges and through your province into the territory beyond, where Rome and her allies have no interests.

“We promise to undertake this migration peacefully, and to cause no damage to the lands through which we must pass. No one will be killed or enslaved, no property will be stolen or harmed in any way. We have no need of plunder, for our movable goods will be on our wagons. We need not forage for provisions, for we will carry with us all the grain we need for the march. You must permit this, Caesar. Already, the smoke of our towns, our
oppida
, and our farmsteads rises to the heavens. Already the wagons are loaded and the folk have massed along the river. The season draws nigh when we must begin our migration, or it will be too late when we arrive at our destination.

“Caesar, when last we spoke, you asked for time to consider our request. This seemed reasonable to us and we granted you this interval. Now we find that you have employed this time in building a great rampart, the sort of thing for which you Romans are famous throughout the world. I must urge upon you the futility of this thing, for we are not Greeks to be terrified by a wall. When the Helvetii move upon their chosen path, no little heap of earth and logs will slow them in any way, for they sweep all obstacles before them like chaff before the wind. Once again, Caesar, and for the final time, I urge that you remove yourself from before us.” With this the envoy resumed his seat.

“Honored Nammeius, I have considered your nation’s proposal
with great patience, despite the many provocations that I, and the friends of Rome, have received from your warriors. To begin with, I find your reasons for undertaking this migration to be totally unreasonable.

“Aeneas, son of the goddess Venus, whose son, Julus, was the founder of my house, led his people from a city burned by his enemies. He did not burn it himself.” That was Caesar; always reminding people of the divine origins of his family. “Romulus, descendant of Julus, founded Rome 696 years ago. We have not budged since that time and feel no less manly for it.” He smiled and the Romans present laughed at his witticism. I could see what the Gauls were thinking: that we had simply expanded our territory and founded colonies instead of migrating. But it was not their turn to speak.

“Your assurances that you can accomplish this movement of a nation through the territory of several others without causing harm I cannot accept. You are, as you have so eloquently stated, a nation of warriors, and while you can lead your warriors, you cannot control them. They will be in force in the land of ancestral enemies and will never be able to restrain themselves from plunder, rapine, and slaughter.

“As for the feebleness of my rampart, it is true that a ditch and a heap of earth are not daunting to athletic young men. And the wooden palisade atop the wall is not more than can be scaled by spirited warriors. But behind that palisade you will find the ultimate barrier: the Roman soldier. All the nations of the world have learned that his shield is the firmest of ramparts, and all enemies fall before his sword. Boasts will avail you nothing should you dare to match arms with him.”

The other Helvetian envoy stood. “I am Verucloetius, war chieftain of the Helvetian canton of the Tigurini. I do not fear
the Romans, and neither do my people. When the consul Lucius Cassius marched against us, we killed him and his army passed beneath our yoke!”

Caesar’s face reddened but his voice rang low and cold. “Forty-nine years ago all Gaul was on the move, not just a single people. It was one reason we determined never again to allow such movements near our territory. You will find that our military organization has much improved since that time. My uncle, Caius Marius, saw to these improvements personally and he tested them by putting your kinsmen to the sword.”

The Gauls reacted to the name of Marius as if they had been slapped. Two Gallic nations simply ceased to exist when they tangled with Marius, and several others were badly shredded. His was a name with which the Gauls frightened small children into obedience.

One of the Germans indicated that he wished to speak. Caesar nodded and the man stood. His wolfskin tunic was encircled by a belt six inches wide studded with bronze nails, and it creaked as he rose and hooked his thumbs into it.

“First Spear,” Caesar said, “summon your interpreter.”

Vinius clapped his hands, producing a sound like a large catapult hurling a missile. I smiled in anticipation, expecting to see the German slave girl. Great was my disappointment when instead the ugly, gnomish, fox-haired slave I had seen standing in the doorway of Vinius’s tent walked through the guarded opening in the praetorium wall. He stood by the envoy and the man looked down his long, German nose as at a toad or other lowly, unattractive creature, and said something in a language that sounded like wolves fighting for leadership of the pack.

The slave translated, grinning insolently, displaying a
mouth in which teeth and gaps associated equally. “Is this proper? My people drown all such creatures at birth.”

Caesar laughed richly. “In a truly well ordered world, nothing so ugly would be suffered to live. However, we live in the real world, not in Plato’s. Sometimes uncomeliness must be overlooked in favor of utility. Molon was a slave east of the Rhine for many years, so he is fluent in your language. He fears the whip too much to tamper with the translation. He will render our words with precision. Pray continue.”

After this the Germans behaved as if the slave was not there. “I am Eintzius, nephew of King Ariovistus, and with me is my brother, Eramanzius.” Again, these are at best approximations of their names. “For some time now my king has been in contact with the councilors of the Helvetii and it has been agreed among us that our cousins, the Harudes and the Suebi, are to move onto the land vacated by the Helvetii. Those tribes are already on the move and preparing to cross the Rhine. If the Helvetii are not permitted to migrate, severe hardship will result. The Harudes and the Suebi will be greatly angered.”

I heard a hiss beside me and Lovernius muttered: “I thought so! Those Helvetii aren’t migrating because they have itchy feet. They are being
pushed!
These Germans have told them to clear out or be exterminated.”

Caesar leaned forward in his proconsul’s folding chair, his arms relaxed along its elaborately carved arms. “Honored envoy, I am not pleased by this news. Rome is not pleased. Rome has two policies which are not to be flouted and which I am here to enforce: the tribes of Gaul are to stay within the borders of their own ancestral territories; and the Germans are not to cross to the west bank of the Rhine.”

“Caesar, we are already west of the river, and have been for years, and intend to stay.” For all his barbaric aspect, Eintzius spoke with the effortless authority of an envoy of the Senate ordering some Oriental despot to cease and desist from whatever activity displeased Rome. Between him and Caesar I sensed a collision of two implacable forces. Suddenly, the Helvetii did not seem to be such a threat. I could almost pity them, caught between the millstones of Rome and Germania.

“That I will deal with when the matter of the Helvetii has been settled,” Caesar said.

The other German stood. “Go fetch more men. What you have here will not provide a morning’s amusement for us.” For a skin-clad savage, Eramanzius was unbelievably arrogant. Of course, it helped that he was close to seven feet tall. People that tall tend to assume far more importance than they actually possess.

Nonetheless, both of them were intimidating in the extreme, in a way that the colorful Gauls were not. Partly, it was their outlandish habit of wearing furs. Gauls, and Romans visiting cold climates, sometimes wear fur inside their clothing, for warmth. But Germans wear it on the
outside
, as if they were trying to imitate the appearance of their totem animals. Among civilized people this is done only for purposes of ritual, as with the leopard-skin capes of Egyptian priests and Greek Bacchantes, or the lion, bear, and wolfskin worn by legionary standard-bearers. It is unsettling in the extreme to see people wear animal skins as their everyday attire.

Caesar regarded the man coldly. “Do not provoke me. There is no power on earth like Rome. From the soil of Italy the legions rise up like grain after the spring rains. If you truly
wish it, we will provide you with entertainment up to your highest expectations, although we must forego the pleasure of hearing your applause afterward.”

These were fierce words for a man with a single legion and some auxiliaries, but Romans love to hear that sort of talk. Even knowing the reality of the situation, I felt a jolt of good old-fashioned Roman steel stiffening my somewhat nervous backbone.

Nammeius stood, and with him stood the Gallic contingent. “We have accomplished all that words may accomplish, and it has been nothing. Henceforth, we shall speak with arms.”

The Gauls and the Germans swept out. Last of all went the Druids, who had not spoken a single word. Caesar glared angrily after them, but I saw that his most malevolent expression was not directed at the chieftains. It was reserved for the Druids. When they were gone, he addressed the officers.

“Gentlemen, from now on we may expect serious hostilities. However, work on the rampart is now complete and we are receiving daily reinforcements of troops levied from the Provincials. These will man the strongpoints along the rampart. The legionary guard is to be doubled. Go now and rejoin your units and prepare for action.”

I got up to leave with Lovernius, but Caesar beckoned me.

“Decius Caecilius, attend me.”

I waited while the other officers left. Titus Vinius favored me with an ugly smile as he walked out with his even uglier slave. Caesar went into his tent and I joined him there. It was divided into two sections, the smaller being Caesar’s sleeping quarters, the larger containing a long table for staff conferences when weather should preclude holding them outdoors. A silver pitcher stood in the middle of a platter with cups and at Caesar’s
gesture I poured for us. It was first-rate Falernian. Caesar wasn’t denying himself all of the pleasures of life while on active service.

“Word has come to me of your little run-in with Titus Vinius,” he said without preamble.

I had been expecting it. “A legion is like a small village. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

“In this Province there is only my business,” he said. “You are not to interfere with my centurions in the performance of their duties.”

“Duties! Caesar, the brute was flogging a boy, a client of mine, for no reason whatever. I could not permit it.”

“That was no boy, nor is he your client. He is a Roman soldier, bound by his oath of service like every other legionary. When he returns to civilian life in some twenty years, he will become your client again. In the meantime, he is under the authority of his centurion, unless he attains the centurionate himself and gets to flog his own subordinates. I’ll not have Vinius provoked. He is my most valuable soldier.”

“He is an oversensitive man, where his property is concerned.”

Caesar smiled faintly. “Ah, you’ve met our Freda, I take it. A stunning creature, is she not?”

“She is that. Why do you permit him to keep her in camp? He is so jealous he needs his own personal executioner to follow her around and behead gawkers.”

“I permit my centurions a certain latitude, including a small number of personal slaves, even mistresses.”

“Every general does, but in barracks and winter quarters, not in a marching camp.”

“When we march, they walk with the baggage train. If they
can’t keep up, they are abandoned. Not that there is much danger of that happening with Freda. I suspect she can outrun a racehorse.” He waved a hand to dismiss the subject. “I did not call you here to justify my policies, Decius. I have duties for you. I mentioned when you arrived that you would have more work here in the praetorium than with your
ala
.”

“Whatever you command,” I said, always alert for a nice, cushy staff job while other people were out slogging through the mud, getting things stuck in them. Heroes belong in poems and old myths, not in the boots of Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger.

“Soon I will be leaving for Italy by the most direct route, over the mountains. Labienus will be in charge during my absence. My fine, ringing defiance of the barbarians will prove most hollow without the legions to back them up. I am going to find them and drag them up here by the nose if I have to.”