‘People of Gaul!’ he shouted. The hubbub started to die down. The traders on the stalls stopped bawling their prices.
‘People of Gaul!’ the rider cried again. A hush descended around the market, as everyone turned to see what the commotion was. The rider waited until there was enough quiet, and began:
‘My fellow Gauls, I come from Gaius Julius Vindex, a Gaul as much as any of you, whose family goes all the way back to the days before Vercingetorix. Days when Gauls governed themselves, days when the Romans did not dare send their legions beyond the Alps, days when the Gauls were free. Too long we have lived under the tyrant Nero, a man as evil and corrupt as he is debauched. Who has not heard the stories of how often he tried to kill his own mother, or of how it was he who set fire to Rome? I look into this crowd, and I can see brave men who would gladly take up arms to rid us of this tyrant, and would join the noble Vindex in his struggle to end our oppression. If anyone here wishes to serve his country, bring what food and arms you can to Lugdunum, and we shall show these Romans what we Gauls can do.’
* * *
I must admit this rider seemed very sure of himself, urging on this mob of smelly townspeople to war, parading himself and his horse around as he did so, while I had not yet appreciated the momentousness of what he was actually saying. And then it dawned on me. Quickly, I muscled my way through the crowd, trying to get close to this messenger from Vindex. He was busy telling the people to spread the word, and was about to ride off again when I caught a hold of his ankle.
‘Get your hand off me!’ Thankfully he wasn’t armed, and just squirmed in the saddle trying to get free of my firm grip. Those around started to back away, not wanting to get caught up in a brawl. Again he kicked, and I almost lost hold of him.
‘Unhand me, you dirty peasant, I have to get to the next town at once.’
‘I’m a Roman officer, and this is important. Was that your own speech or were you given it by someone else?’ It was too late. At the words ‘Roman officer’, his eyes had bulged, and with a final wriggle he managed to strike his horse’s flank and I let go, having no wish to get caught in the way of a galloping rider. The man headed back out of the town as quickly as he could, while I was left standing there, taking in the situation. I looked round for my friend, and spotted him a few feet away.
‘Julius, we need to leave now!’ I bawled, gesturing to the cart. Silently, he nodded assent, and dived off into the crowd to find Domitia. I barged through the crowd, jumped up on to the cart and took the reins. As I lashed the beast into life, the cart began its trundle to the other side of the forum, where I stopped to let Julius and Domitia clamber aboard with all their baggage, and gave the carthorse another stinging blow. We shot off along the rickety road back into the countryside, and across the small plain between the hills where Julius had his home.
Thoughts were teeming through my head. The rebellion had started. And without me! Obviously this man Vindex must have had good reason to start the uprising without waiting for the man Galba was sending him, but what could it be? Had he heard something that I hadn’t? The poor horse was flagging, not used to pulling such weight at such speed, but we were soon approaching Julius’s villa, and I shouted at the first slave I saw, ‘Have my horse ready in five minutes, or your backside will be whipped raw!’ He duly scuttled into the stables, while I brought the cart to a halt and jumped down.
Julius did the same, and called out for my baggage to be brought to the yard, and a few days’ food. Taking his arm in mine, the old soldier’s grip, I looked into Julius’s face and saw that the grim, determined look he had acquired in Britannia had returned.
‘You’d better keep that rag,’ he said, looking at my borrowed clothes. ‘You’ve a rebellion to manage, and you can’t stop to change! Good luck, Caecina.’
‘Thank you, Julius. I’d hoped to stay longer but I’m a busy man, you see.’ He smiled at that. I heard the stable door creak open, and turned to see the slave leading out my refreshed post-horse. Julius gave me a leg-up, and I was looking down at my friend for probably the last time in a long while. Petros came out from the villa, clutching my travelling clothes, a small bundle of what I assumed was food, and the little purse that Galba had given me. Once these were safely stowed away in my saddlebags, I was about to start the next stage of my journey when I felt another hand on the reins.
‘Lugdunum is two days’ ride, if you change horses. Head north-west until you find the Rhone, then north, and you will eventually reach the city. Good luck, Caecina. This is what comes of being Galba’s favourite, is it?’
‘Just you make sure you help him as he comes through. I’ll write when I can!’ I dug my heels in, and flew out of the courtyard and on with my journey.
* * *
I followed Julius’s directions and wound my way through the foothills of the Alps, going fairly easy on my nag as it had to take me as far as the Massilia–Lugdunum road, and then to the next place where I could change horses. I had two days to ponder what might have happened to convince Vindex to start without me, and whether this idea of a Gallic uprising was his or that of the messenger back in Forum Julii. It wasn’t that I overly minded that he had started without me, but the fact that he had done so on his own initiative. I had gathered from Galba that this so-called uprising was just meant to put the frighteners on Nero and not really achieve anything, and furthermore that Vindex was taking his orders directly from Galba. Wouldn’t it have made sense to wait for Galba’s man to arrive before taking such drastic steps? I supposed that the Gaul wanted to claim as much credit for himself as he could, to prove to Galba that he could do a good job without some intermediary telling him what to do.
I’m not one to panic unduly, so it was in a less agitated state of mind that I came at last upon the Rhone road. The light was beginning to fade and the river was a dark mass of blue a few miles off, stretching towards my destination. The setting sun was directly in front of me, its orange glow dimming as it slowly sank behind the peaks of the far mountains. The horse deserved a breather, so I dismounted, leading it down the poor excuse for a road and making my way into the valley. A small village nestled at the foot of the hills that levelled out towards the river, and as I snaked my way down the slope the buildings began to grow in number. Soon I saw what looked like a tavern, one of the biggest houses in the village and adjacent to the road leading towards the Rhone. The nearer I got the louder I heard some rather tuneless singing, though I didn’t even try to understand the words. My labouring mare was in as much need of a night’s rest as I was, and by the time we reached the inn she was ready to drop.
A stable-hand seemed to appear from nowhere, and offered to take my horse while I went in search of the landlord. I grabbed the contents of my saddlebags and followed the sounds of Gallic drinking songs. Opening the tavern door I was hit by a wave of noxious fumes. The place stank of cheap wine, and the customers even more so. Bow-legged, I made my way to what I assumed was the bar and asked to see the landlord, wanting supper, shelter and stabling for one night. The rather portly innkeeper looked askance at my filthy attire, but I gave a small jingle of my purse and put to rest any doubts he might have had over whether I could pay.
* * *
Once I had found an empty table and was brought my food, a fine repast of scrawny chicken, decidedly rotten vegetables and a flagon of astoundingly pungent wine, I asked whether there had been any news of a rebellion.
‘A rebellion, in these parts! Why should we want to rebel?’ the large man asked.
‘So you’ve heard nothing about a Gallic uprising at Lugdunum?’
‘I didn’t say that. There have been rumours of course, all free Gauls who hate Roman oppression and the like, but mostways they all fell on deaf ears round here.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Where have you been hiding yourself? As though my business would survive without that great Roman road over by the river! Most parts of Gaul wouldn’t have been civilized had it not been for the Romans
. Of course, some of the younger ones have had their heads turned, wanting to win a name for themselves wielding pitchforks and the like. But not for me, thank you very much.’
So much for Gallic nationalism, I thought.
‘How many do you think will join?’
‘Couldn’t say,’ the barman replied. ‘There’s been a steady trickle of people heading north, but as far as I’ve heard it’s only a few people in this area that’s been joining. All Gaul’s been summoned, so they say. Seems like not all that many are willing to walk miles to join Governor Vindex.’
I thanked him for the information and gave him one of Galba’s coins for his troubles, making sure that I kept the purse well within my bundle of clothes. (You never know who might want to deprive a simple traveller of his purse.) Wearily I trudged up the stairs behind the landlord. The boards groaned beneath the man’s weight, and his cumbersome frame made it difficult to squeeze past another of his clients who was trying to make the journey downwards. Eventually, after a great deal of huffing and puffing (not from me, I hasten to add), we made it to what I assumed was his cheapest room. I swear I saw a rodent’s tail disappear into the darkness beneath the rather rickety-looking bed. The innkeeper gave me his candle and bade me good night. Too tired to care about the dinginess of my quarters, I flopped on to the bed, only to hear an ominous crack from one of the bedboards. Gingerly, I rolled on to my side.
Deprived of his guiding light, my host must have missed his footing, as I heard several bounces and a crash at the foot of the stairs, followed by a stream of Gallic curses. Allowing myself a small chuckle, as any more strenuous laughter would probably have been too great a strain for my fragile bed, I blew out the candle and waited for that sweet sleep.
V
On a new horse, I made excellent time on the road to Lugdunum. Despite an awful night’s sleep, the prospect of managing a rebellion, albeit a small one, kept me fully awake and excited. Having got up relatively early and paid for a better beast than the nag I’d acquired on landing in Gaul, I’d turned on to the Rhone road and was heading north at a great pace. What surprised me was the sheer number of armed men I saw heading the same way. Well, I say armed, but it was mostly young boys with rusty hoes, though there was the occasional more seasoned man among them, a few even carrying ancient shields and swords. So the messengers had managed to drum up at least some support, but I decided to reserve judgement until I reached Lugdunum.
The landscape was slowly changing. While the Alps remained on my right, the mountains to the west began to level out and the river followed a more winding path. I passed other small villages like the one I had stopped at. The stream of men kept up, and occasionally I slowed to ask them where they were headed.
‘To Lugdunum,’ they replied. ‘To end Roman tyranny!’
I was stunned. I knew Rome had ruled Gaul for less than a century, but I had not expected there to be widespread support for a full-scale rebellion. Was Galba aware of what forces he had unleashed here? I didn’t think so. I had inferred that this was to be only a sideshow. How would these young farmers react if they found out that they were nothing more than a distraction? I dreaded to think about it.
It was mid-afternoon, and about twenty miles from Lugdunum, that I came upon a town called Vienne. What surprised me was the old fort at the top of a spur that jutted out towards the river: it was full to the brim with soldiers. All manner of tents, large, small, white, coloured, were pitched all over the hill, and I could make out the little pinpricks of men swarming everywhere. I dived off the main road and headed into the town. The place was abuzz with activity, the people all busy making preparations. The steady clink of blacksmiths’ hammers echoed around the streets, and armed men strode about carrying weapons, food and other supplies. What were they all doing here, and not at Lugdunum?
I was getting some strange looks, a horseman in a slave’s working gear, but most were too busy with other things to take much notice of me. At a bend in the river I found the stone bridge that led to the west bank and up to the town’s garrison. Deciding that it would be worth finding out exactly what was going on, I gave a tug at the reins and urged my horse towards the small fort at the top of the spur. Given how many armed men I had seen, I was surprised that I hadn’t as yet been challenged.
With the main town behind me, I trotted up a track that led me among the myriad of scattered tents. I was sure by now that this was no Roman force, as it was far too slapdash for any self-respecting commander to put up with. Men sat around, chatting, drinking, gambling, barely giving me a glance as the horse picked its way through the confusion. The wooden palisade of the hill fort came closer and closer, and I spotted some strange banners flying over the gateway. The largest of them bore the emblem of a blue boar on a white background, and fluttered proudly in the wind.
Inside the fort I expected to find some legionaries, or at least some form of armed guard. Instead I saw what looked like some clerks and a quartermaster. I asked them where the commanding officer was, and they pointed towards the grandest tent I had seen yet. This was the first Roman thing I had spotted in the entire town, other than the fort of course. A deep military red, it stood at a height of over two men, and wide enough to accommodate a general and his staff. I shouted at the man I had assumed to be the quartermaster to look after the horse, swung out of the saddle and strode over towards the tent.
I walked straight in, as there was no guard to stop me, and found a few men poring over a large map on a battered wooden table. They didn’t notice me at first, but the tallest of them, a great bear of a man with a brush of unkempt brown hair and wearing a sword at his side, looked up from the map and spotted me, standing impatiently.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘A damn good question! How is it that I’ve strolled into an officer’s tent and haven’t yet been challenged?’
I was furious. I had seen what I had to assume was a military force in this town, and was beginning to assume the worst. However, I kept my voice low, though the temptation to bawl at these men was huge.
‘How dare you speak to me like that! I am in command here, and you have the effrontery, you grubby little peasant, to take that superior tone. I should call the guard,’ the man shouted.
I gave a mock bow. ‘By all means, commander.’
His face turning puce, he bawled: ‘Guards! Arrest this man.’
No one came. I stood there, unyielding, almost thankful I was wearing these shabby clothes, as it gave me the opportunity to judge the situation for myself. I was quivering with rage at the incompetence of the man. The few men with him looked hopefully towards the entrance to the tent, then, seeing that no one was coming, slowly backed towards the large man.
‘There’s no one out there. No guards. If I’d been a half-decent assassin, I could have ended this cock-eyed rebellion before it had even begun. I assume you are Governor Vindex?’
The governor looked thoroughly annoyed, and simply nodded.
‘And who are these mutes cowering behind you?’ I asked, nodding at the pale, skinny men who were edging ever closer to Vindex.
‘These are my sons,’ Vindex growled. ‘And they have far more right to be here than you.’
I couldn’t help but smirk at that assertion. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. My name is Aulus Caecina Severus, quaestor of Hispania Baetica, formerly tribune with the Twentieth Valeria Victrix, and your military adviser.’ Vindex’s eyes boggled at that.
‘Prove it. You don’t look much of a soldier.’
In two quick steps I was beside the man. In the blink of an eye I drew his sword from his scabbard and had it at his throat. The young men behind looked aghast.
‘Looks can be deceiving, Governor.’
I lowered the sword and retreated a few paces. Turning round, I poked my head through the flap of the tent and beckoned to the Gaul who was tending to my horse. ‘Open up the saddlebags and bring me the letter inside.’
When the man handed me the letter of
introduction from Galba, I put it into Vindex’s hands myself and gave him back his sword. I enjoyed watching him struggling to read Galba’s ornate Latin script. After an awkward silence he rolled it up, then had the good grace, just, to look a little sheepish.
‘You took your time coming here,’ he said.
This surly brute didn’t seem to be taking to me all that well, which was not surprising given that I’d just held a sword to his neck, but if I was to be his chief military adviser it would be best not to come across as a spineless little toady. ‘To be frank, just over a week ago I was enjoying myself in the deep south of Hispania and had never heard of Julius Vindex. I left Tarraco five days ago, only to find that you’ve started without me. As the man that Governor Galba hand-picked to assist you, I don’t need to make any apologies.’
Again, silence.
‘So,’ I continued, ‘would you mind explaining why you are here in Vienne and not at Lugdunum?’
Vindex muttered something quietly in Gallic to his sons, and they started to head out, looking quite relieved to be spared the rest of the conversation.
‘I sent out riders in secret to all corners of Gaul a week ago, to tell all they could find to come to Lugdunum,’ the man said. ‘After three days one of my staff came running into my townhouse, pale as a sheet, and stammered that an army at least ten thousand strong was marching towards the city. You see, I hadn’t told anyone in Lugdunum that I was leading this rebellion and expected them to be on side. Anyway, that evening I made a speech to the city, announcing my plans to give all the Gauls a part to play in overthrowing Nero.’
At this point, the now downcast man flumped into a small chair, which strained to support his immense frame.
The Last Caesar Page 6