Wolves of Rome

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘What did I forget?’ Vetilius asked him.

  ‘You’ve forgotten General Drusus,’ he replied. ‘He was Tiberius’s brother and he died in his arms, in front of his legions. No god or mortal man, in heaven or in hell, will ever stop Tiberius from exacting revenge. There exists no room for chance.’

  20

  EVERYONE WHO HAD HAD their back to the entrance of the tent turned towards Taurus. No one could imagine how he had managed to appear so suddenly, at that moment and in that place.

  Velleius got up, walked towards him and raised a hand to the centurion’s shoulder.

  Taurus stiffened into a salute to the legate of the Eighteenth Legion. Velleius gestured towards the table and Taurus joined the others. ‘Finish your thoughts, please, Taurus. What you were saying about General Drusus is important.’

  Taurus spoke again: ‘In any situation, many imponderables certainly exist. There are convulsions of nature, like storms and lightning bolts, but then there’s human nature itself. Men cannot always control their feelings and their emotions. I was present at the funeral of General Drusus and I saw the cold tears on Tiberius Caesar’s face.’

  ‘Ah, the centurion is a philosopher!’ Velleius smiled. ‘Who would have guessed?’

  ‘It’s not philosophy so much as direct contact with our men. We give them an example of courage. Being first to put ourselves in death’s way means that we can ask them to sacrifice everything. We learn to know our men. But we also know well how the unexpected can affect any situation. There’s nothing predictable about war.’

  ‘Of course you’re right, Centurion. Nonetheless, we’ll do everything in our power to ensure that our efforts will produce the results we all desire. Please, sit and listen to what movements are being planned for our legion so you can prepare yourself adequately. I asked for you to be sent here knowing that you have often been assigned special tasks. Have something to eat with us. The wine, at least, is good.’

  VELLEIUS AND HIS LEGION followed Tiberius in the entire second Germanic campaign. First against the gigantic Chauci warriors, the mere sight of whom was terrifying. That feeling only worsened when they let out their bone-chilling war cries. In pitched battle against the most seasoned of the Roman legions, they soon realized that their towering height provided no advantage, either against the closed formation of the Romans, the testudo, which gave them a wall and roof of shields as protection, or against the rain of pila that poured from the sky like steel hail, and least of all against their machines which shot three-libra bolts and fiery spheres of hemp and pitch. As a result they resorted to ambushes, suddenly appearing in the thick of the woods, surfacing from swamps black as hell, wielding axes and big knives. But they could not prevail over the Romans.

  In the end, after seeing so many of their warriors put on a funeral pyre to be welcomed into the heavens as heroes, the Chauci chieftains had no choice but to surrender. They went to the Roman camp and laid down their arms at Tiberius’s feet. The supreme commander received them sitting on a throne set on top of a wooden stand. He was encircled by standards and ensigns, flanked by two uniformed legions drawn up in formation, armour shining. The mournful sounds of lutes and horns were joined by a rhythmic thundering of drums. Everything had been arranged so that the Chauci chiefs would be stunned at what they saw, so that the Roman commander enthroned on a high platform, decked in his red paludamentum and his muscle cuirass, would look exactly like an invincible god.

  Then the legions of Tiberius faced off against the fierce, primitive Longobards who lived along both sides of the upper Elbe. It was the first time that a Roman army, with its eagles and its ensigns, had reached the banks of that river, more than four hundred miles from the Rhine. It was here that the fleet which had circumnavigated the shores of the northern ocean and then sailed up the Elbe, laden with reinforcement troops, met up with the Army of the North. More than one hundred warships dropped anchor on the eastern side of the great river. The naval infantry standing at the ships’ sides saluted the legionaries who were going ashore to join their comrades-in-arms already on the ground. Trumpets blared in greeting for the soldiers who had come to assist their fellows in executing the greatest enterprise ever attempted by a Roman army in all of her history.

  Arminius fought untiringly in all of the battles, and was at the side of his Hermunduri as they crossed his tribe’s territory. By the end of the autumn, all of Germania had been cleared, from the Rhine to the Elbe, from the ocean to the mountains of Bohemia. Only one land was still to be conquered. It was inhabited by the Marcomanni and it was a powerful nation, a kingdom with borders that were always shifting because their sovereign was eager to constantly extend his territory. His native name was Marbod. He negotiated with foreign sovereigns as equals; he was shrewd and intelligent. His army was powerful and well-armed. Tiberius wasn’t about to take risks with him; for one thing, if Rome were defeated, the barbarian would have a clear and open path for invading Italy. Tiberius knew that he had to hit so hard that Marbod would be knocked senseless, if he survived the blow, and he would never lift his head to challenge Rome again.

  Tiberius convened a meeting of his general staff for early October. Present were Sergius Vetilius, Velleius Paterculus and Sentius Saturninus, the commander’s right hand. The commanders of three of his legions were also summoned: Atilius Celer, Sestius Longinus and Aulus Priscus. The last to be admitted was Marcus Caelius Taurus, even though he was a simple centurion. None of the high officers present were surprised, so great were the fame and the merits of this man.

  Tiberius was calm, as if he had the solutions to all of his problems already in mind. He was wearing a red wool floor-length tunic and a pair of oxhide boots, and he sat on a curule seat. One of his freedmen was pouring him red wine which came from his estate in Rhodos while another placed a sealed calfskin scroll on the table. Before Tiberius began to speak, he dismissed the two freedmen with a nod and they left the praetorian tent. He broke the seal on the scroll with a flick of his sword and spread out the calfskin. It turned out to be a beautifully painted map of the entire region between the Rhine, the Elbe and the Alps.

  ‘I’ll establish my base at Carnuntum, in Noricum,’ began the supreme commander, using a cane to point to the locality. ‘The city is at the centre of the two directions we will march. The first, from the north, will be led by those of you present here. You will leave contingents to garrison the strategic points,’ he continued, using the cane to indicate them, ‘to preserve what we’ve already accomplished. Each of you will receive an identical copy of this map. You will commit to memory what I am telling you now.

  ‘In the meanwhile, there will be four or five legions moving to my base in Carnuntum from Illyricum and Dalmatia, and from there we will move north. At the same time, you will be moving south, with three or four legions, depending on necessity. You will send a messenger every day or two to inform me of your position. You will receive information from me through the same messenger. All information will be relayed by voice only. In the end, our two armies will arrive at the target on the same day.

  ‘Marbod is a fox, but he will have no choice but to surrender unconditionally if he doesn’t want to be crushed between our jaws. The king of the Marcomanni is not a stupid man; as soon as he gets wind of the avalanche of iron that’s about to be unleashed on him, he’ll come to my camp and ask for our friendship. We will make Bohemia a client state. They will absorb any provocation from the north, and that will give Rome time to prepare in case of any threat of invasion.

  ‘Germania will thus become our latest and, I hope, our last province. The Roman Empire will become invincible, by adding Germanic fury to Roman discipline and experience. In no more than two generations, her peoples will understand that the Empire is the only place worth living in. And if necessary, worth dying for.’

  The six officers present, as well as Centurion Taurus, were amazed: their high commander, Tiberius Caesar, was mobilizing one third of the armed forces of the entire Empire, to a
chieve in two years what nearly twenty years of uninterrupted war hadn’t accomplished. They got to their feet, unsheathed their gladii and beat them rhythmically seven times against the cuirasses that covered their chests. Each man stiffened in salute.

  Tiberius looked at them one by one with satisfaction. ‘It seems that my plan meets with your unanimous approval. Nonetheless, if you have anything to say, speak freely. You are the best officers of the Empire and I’ve summoned you here to have your advice; your loyalty I am already sure of.’

  Velleius spoke: ‘Commander, I believe I’m expressing the thoughts of all of my fellow officers in saying that your plan is impeccable. It couldn’t be better. Only you, after Augustus, have the authority and the power to move such a force over such a vast territory.’

  ‘I thank you,’ replied Tiberius. ‘And yet, Velleius has told me what Centurion Marcus Caelius Taurus said that evening in his tent. I think his words need to be pondered. So, Centurion, what were you thinking when you said what you did?’

  ‘In reality, I wanted to say that your desire to avenge your brother Drusus’s death, and to bring this venture to completion, will prevail over any unforeseen circumstance. This war has gone on for nearly twenty years but nothing can stop us if we are certain that we are doing the right thing. We are all with you, Commander.’

  ‘Thank you, Centurion,’ replied Tiberius. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘I have a request, which I hope you will be able to grant.’

  ‘Speak,’ said Tiberius.

  ‘In this war, Arminius, commander of the Germanic Auxilia and son of Sigmer, the prince of the Cherusci, has given proof of his great loyalty to the Empire by fighting against tribes which are not his own yet are of Germanic stock. I believe that he deserves to become a Roman, like all of us who are present here today.’

  Tiberius showed surprise, then answered: ‘I’ve had in mind to do just what you’ve suggested, and I thank you for both your reply and your request. May the gods always preserve your friendship and your faith in me. Men like you are quite rare.’

  At this point, Velleius asked to speak and Tiberius nodded his assent.

  ‘Commander, pardon my boldness. When at the head of your Army of the North you were descending south after sweeping away all resistance, Arminius came to me asking with extraordinary courage to go to his father in the dead of night and in the middle of a furious storm in order to convince him to return to the long-standing alliance with the Roman people. A promise that you accepted and ratified with great wisdom and magnanimity. A number of our allies have been given the rank of Eques along with Roman citizenship. I believe that he deserves it, and that receiving this honour will create an even stronger bond with us.’

  Tiberius nodded again, but then asked for the approval of his staff: ‘What do you think?’

  Taurus was the first to speak, and he said, ‘I wouldn’t have dared to ask so much, but I believe that Arminius merits this privilege. His intervention avoided the spilling of much blood and he recovered a powerful ally for us.’

  The legates who commanded the legions confirmed their agreement, one by one.

  ‘Very well,’ concluded Tiberius. ‘I also am in favour of Velleius’s proposal. And now let us return to the main question of this assembly.

  ‘We are well into the season, and for this reason my plan will be put into action next spring. In less than a month, our legions will be returning to their winter quarters. Velleius has gathered precise information regarding the size and quality of Marbod’s army. I should add that his organization and structure resemble our own quite closely, and for this reason he is dangerous and should not be underestimated.’

  When he had finished speaking, he left the floor to Velleius so his aide could report what he knew about the characteristics, the strength and the composition of Marbod’s forces. When he had done so, they all retired to their individual quarters to rest.

  Arminius was granted Roman citizenship and promoted to Eques as had been decided. He was surprised and somewhat shaken. He felt confused about receiving such an honour.

  ‘In reality, you remain what you’ve always been,’ said Taurus, when he brought word. ‘Being Roman doesn’t mean that you are part of an ethnicity. It’s the way you conceive of life. You’ve lived as a Roman for most of your existence; all that’s left is accepting recognition of that. Nothing will change for you, apart from the consideration of other people. You can look forward to a bright future once this war is finished. There will be a great need for men like you who understand both peoples. It’s true of me as well. My mother, as you know, was Germanic.’ He paused. ‘I’ve brought you a present.’

  Arminius was surprised again. ‘A gift for me? Why?’

  ‘It’s customary,’ replied Taurus, handing him a pinewood box.

  Arminius opened it and saw that there was fabric inside. He unfolded it and spread it on the chest where he kept his personal things. ‘A toga!’

  ‘The distinctive sign of a Roman citizen and an Eques. If you are not both of those things, you can’t wear this. You’ll have to learn to put it on. It takes some doing.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Arminius. ‘This is a wonderful gift, but you shouldn’t have. It must have cost you a fortune.’

  ‘It was my father’s. He’s no longer with us and I don’t have a family of my own. I hope this will help you to remember me with fondness, even though I’ve had to teach you discipline with a heavy hand at times.’

  Arminius lifted it and draped it around his body. He had so often longed to don that garment: solemn, majestic and yet cumbersome all at once.

  ‘When you are wearing this, all of your movements must become measured and elegant,’ Taurus said. ‘You and I are combatants and we’re used to wearing very different attire. Well, I’m about to leave again for a long journey. Perhaps to Rome, perhaps elsewhere.’

  ‘In Rome you once told me that two Roman soldiers know they will always meet up again, sooner or later.’

  ‘It’s true. So we shall certainly meet again,’ Taurus said with a nod.

  The centurion walked out, leaving Arminius to listen to the sound of his footsteps on the pavement.

  ARMINIUS SPENT SOME time at his father’s house, hunting with his uncle Ingmar who had dogs, horses and arms for hunting boar and bear. When he returned to the Eighteenth Legion’s winter camp, he found a letter from his brother Flavus:

  Flavus to brother Armin, hail!

  I have heard about the great honours you have received, and I’m almost envious of you; make sure you live up to them.

  I’m marrying. You are invited the third day before the Kalends of November in Magontiacum.

  Well, thank you, thought Arminius, you could have at least told me where it’s going to happen. Magontiacum is a big place.

  He set off nevertheless a day before the event, arrived in good time and quartered at the army’s winter camp. He had brought the pinewood case with the toga that Taurus had given him, and he prepared to put it on with the help of a maidservant who worked at the prefecture. The girl, who was pale and rather slight, examined the fabric thoroughly to check for any stains, inspecting the stitching and hems as well, and then draped it around Arminius’s shoulders and his left arm. She straightened the folds one by one as if she were working for the prefect himself. This all took place in front of a large mirror of polished bronze that reflected his image.

  If Arminius had had any doubts, the vision of himself actually wearing the toga swept them away. With his tall stature, athletic build and wavy chestnut-coloured hair, he was striking and elegant. The girl regarded him with admiration.

  ‘You look magnificent, master,’ she said in broken Latin with a strong Germanic accent.

  Arminius smiled. He also had her lace up the suede boots that he’d bought at the forum and which looked a great deal like those worn by the senators. He could have hired a litter, but he was ashamed at himself for even considering such a thing; he had always disapproved of me
n who had other men carry them when they could walk perfectly well on their own feet. The girl advised him of the practical side of that means of transport: ‘If it rains this evening, master, you’ll arrive at the celebration with the bottom hem of the toga all muddied.’ Arminius thought that he would run that risk. The city roads were paved and there were gutters to drain off the rain water.

  He learned almost instantly at the prefect’s office in the winter quarters that weddings were celebrated in the forum at the twelfth hour. When the time came, he set off walking towards the ceremony site with his gift for the newlyweds in hand: an amphora of wine. On his way he crossed paths with two men who were perhaps returning home from the market, since one was carrying a bag filled with bread and a wheel of cheese.

  ‘Look,’ said one to the other in Latin. ‘A barbarian in a toga!’

  The other replied, ‘We’ll have to get used to such a sight. You see all kinds of things happening lately.’

  Arminius would have liked to beat them to a pulp with his own fists, but he controlled himself. He didn’t want to draw attention by acting violently, but those words had disgusted him and soured his mood.

  Flavus’s face lit up nonetheless when he saw his brother and he walked over at once to embrace him. He seemed surprised; maybe he hadn’t expected Arminius to accept his invitation.

  He pointed at the bride, who was standing to the side, her face covered by a veil that fell to her belt.

  ‘Her name is Vatinia. She’s Germanic, but she has a Latin name like I do. Pretty name, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. As long as you like it,’ replied Arminius.

  The ceremony was brief because other couples were waiting. Later there was a dinner at Flavus’s house with some of his friends and fellow soldiers, both Roman and Germanic, along with the bride’s parents. Arminius’s amphora of wine warmed up the atmosphere quickly. After dinner a small choir of girls had been engaged for the occasion to sing nuptial songs that would bring luck to the couple. They then retired to the joking and ribaldry of the guests, who were all quite tipsy by then.