The other camp was only two bowshots away, so that there was no dead ground between them where an enemy could be safe. Its defenses were much less elaborate, for in real danger the auxilia would simply move into the legionary camp, doubling its manpower. Because a high proportion of the auxilia were cavalry, the camp sprawled over a greater area than that of the legionaries, and foraging parties went out every day with sickles to cut fodder for the animals.
I found Carbo drilling his spearmen just outside the camp while his scouts lounged around, trying to look too important for such drudgery.
“They don’t look too bad, for barbarians,” I commended.
“Gauls don’t take well to close-order drill,” he said, “but they’ll learn. Once they’ve seen how easily disciplined troops deal with howling, sword-brandishing savages, they’ll get the spirit.”
“If they don’t get massacred first,” I said.
He shrugged. “Not much you can do about overwhelming numbers. A single legion can deal with double the number of savages. Three legions together can handle ten times as many. Ten legions can defeat any number at all. The trick seems to be getting the legions here.”
“It is a problem. By the way, Cnaeus, have you happened to see my German girl today?”
He cocked an eyebrow toward me. “Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced her?”
“Haven’t seen her since, well, fairly late last night, before all the excitement. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to look for her. Molon is gone, too.”
“That one’s no loss. The girl, though—a prize like that doesn’t fall to every soldier’s lot. No, I haven’t seen her.” He questioned his men and they talked for a while among themselves, making lascivious faces and many hand gestures indicating the feminine form. Apparently Freda was as well known among the auxilia as among the legionaries.
“No, they haven’t seen her either,” Carbo said. “And believe me, they’d have noticed. You might try in the camp.”
“I intend to. By the way, I’ve come across some more information, but keep this to yourself for a while.” I gave him a brief summation of what Lovernius had told me.
“So now the Germans are in it, eh? Do you think the girl sprinted for the hills to join her kinsmen?”
“I can’t see why,” I told him. “She was just a slave among them to begin with, so why go back? No slave in the world has as easy a life as a Roman house slave. Why trade that for some filthy village where a flea-bitten chieftain’s wife will treat her worse than a dog?”
“That makes sense to me, but who knows how a barbarian’s mind works? She may prefer bad treatment in familiar surroundings.”
“Anyway, that doesn’t explain Molon. That rogue certainly knows whose boots taste better, since he’s licked such a variety of them. He’d never trade the soft billet he has with me for one on the other side of the Rhine. Besides, if he was going to run, why didn’t he run from Vinius? The vicious bastard beat him like a practice post.”
“Good question. I hope you locate her, Decius. If you’ve lost the one item in Gaul that everyone was panting after, you are going to be an even bigger figure of fun than you already are.”
“How true. The gods do not love me, Carbo. I leave you to your drill. Come along, Hermes.”
We went into the camp and began combing it. “I can tell you want to say something, Hermes,” I said as we walked along a street where I could hear at least three languages being spoken.
“You and your friend talk like you know all about slaves, considering you’ve never been slaves yourselves,” he said sullenly.
“Then I shall consult an expert. What are your thoughts on the matter?”
“That maybe they didn’t run over to the Germans and the Gauls. Maybe they went the other way, down the river.”
“Toward Massilia? Whatever for?”
He looked exasperated. “What for? Doesn’t it occur to you that every slave in this army knows that any day the Gauls may pour in and annihilate us? Those that aren’t killed in the slaughter will probably get sacrificed afterwards.”
“You’re making too much of the situation,” I chided him. “Roman armies are rarely exterminated by savages. At worst, we’ll make a fighting retreat downriver and hold Massilia until our reinforcements arrive.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring! I don’t have a lot of experience with armies, but I’ll bet when they’re on the run they don’t take along things like pack mules and baggage and slaves.”
“I can see that it would be a distressing prospect,” I admitted.
“I can guarantee that a lot of slaves here are getting ready to bolt.”
“I don’t suppose that you would be among that fainthearted crew,” I said.
“My loyalty to you is unshakable,” he said, in that straight-faced, sincere fashion that is the mark of a truly gifted liar.
“Excellent,” I commended. “What you say makes a certain amount of sense, but how could they escape?”
“Massilia is a pretty big place, and Molon can pass for a native. Besides, it’s a port city. They could buy a passage to anywhere. Molon could steal passage money in a morning.”
“If that’s what they are thinking, they’re out of luck,” I told him. “The place is filling up with slavers. They always flock to wherever Roman armies are fighting. After a successful battle they can buy up all the prisoners dirt cheap. Those scavengers can spot a runaway on a moonless night.”
“Hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “But they might not have, either.”
“Molon would know.”
The truth was, I did not want to believe that they had run. I would not mourn the loss of Molon, and he would certainly seize any chance to better his lot. I was not about to deceive myself on that score. But Freda—I had thought we had reached some sort of understanding the night before, that in her brutish, untutored way she had conceived an affection for me.
Had it all been a cold-blooded ruse? Had Molon feigned drunkenness while Freda had taken it upon herself to exhaust me so that I would not wake when they made their stealthy escape? I did not want to believe it, but I recognized this as a purely visceral reaction. The rigorously logical part of my mind told me that this was exactly what they had done. The objections I had raised with Hermes were still valid, though. How did the two of them expect to better their condition with this act?
Our search of the auxilia camp failed to turn them up, as I had expected. I tried to look cheerful as we returned to the legionary camp, but I was more downcast than I had been since arriving in Gaul. It was the crowning catastrophe in an experience rife with disaster. If my luck kept holding like this, I would be executed along with Burrus and his friends.
“Are you going to post a notice that they’ve run?” Hermes asked when we returned to my tent.
“No, I’ve had enough humiliation to last me for a while. And don’t you say anything, either. It wouldn’t look right, making a fuss over a couple of runaways when the whole country is about to plunge into war.”
“If you say so,” he said doubtfully.
“That doesn’t mean I won’t turn out the guard if you should run, though. That would be different.”
“You don’t trust me!” he said indignantly.
“It’s just that I know you all too well.” I pushed the tent flap aside and went in, suddenly bone-tired. “I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me only for an emergency or if those two return.”
I got out of my armor and boots and lay back on the cot I had abandoned when the summons came to ride into the hills. Even through the haze of fatigue my mind kept turning over the latest bewildering developments. I could not put it out of my mind that Molon and Freda were still two of my suspects in Vinius’s murder. If they thought they were about to be found out, running was the most sensible course they could take. But if they had done it, why the Druidic mumbo-jumbo? And how did it tie in with the three hanged men? If, indeed, the two were tied together at all.
It was the most maddening si
tuation of my by no means uneventful career. Whatever happened to politicians who murdered one another for perfectly sensible, understandable motives? Why did armies and barbarians of several sorts and priests with their disgusting sacrifices have to get involved?
I tossed restlessly, weary to my bones but unable to sleep. I knew that I would have to do something or I would know no rest. In my long experience I knew that, when things reached this awful pass, there was only one action to take. I would have to do something colossally stupid.
I got up, rummaged around until I found a wax tablet, and opened the wooden leaves. With a stylus I scratched my message and called Hermes in.
“Run this over to Lovernius. Tell him to have one of his men deliver it to Captain Carbo at once.” He must have seen something in my face.
“What are you planning?”
“I’m going to go out tonight and maybe get killed. When you get back from your chore you’d better try to get some sleep, too. You’re going with me.”
I dropped back on my cot, suicidally at peace with myself. My mind made up at last, I was asleep as quickly as a lamp is extinguished.
When my eyes opened again, it was dark outside. I felt rested and invigorated, things I rarely feel upon first waking. Then I remembered what it was that I planned to do. It was simple fear that made me so lively. Hermes was on his pallet snoring gently and I prodded him awake. He went out to fetch a basin of water for me.
While he did this, I found my short sword and muffled its sheath with strips of cloth so that the suspension rings wouldn’t rattle. I added my dagger to the harness and belted it all on. I located a pair of civilian sandals and put them on. Not only do hobnails make a lot of noise, but they can strike sparks from stone, visible for great distances on a dark night. I rolled up a hooded cloak and slung it over my shoulder. The night would probably turn very cool and rains were frequent.
When Hermes got back with the basin, I instructed him to fetch his cloak and give his sword the same treatment as mine. “We’re going out on a little reconnaissance,” I told him. He followed my instructions with the sort of excitement that only the young and foolish feel when danger is near. I was just finishing my ablutions when Carbo arrived, accompanied by Ionus to guide us.
“Here he is. Now what sort of lunacy are you planning, Decius?”
“I’m going back to that grove, Gnaeus. I want to look it over in daylight tomorrow.”
“I thought it had to be something that stupid. If you’re going to do it, why not go out with your cavalrymen?”
“What would be the use? It would only make us more visible. I wasn’t joking when I said I would feel safe only with the full legion along for security. Either we’ll remain unseen and be safe, or we’ll be detected and killed. Come on, Hermes.”
We walked toward the Porta Decumana and Hermes tried not to strut, his fingers flexing repeatedly on his sword hilt. He had had several lessons and now accounted himself a master swordsman. At the gate I informed the officer in charge that I was going out on a night mission. His jaw dropped at so outlandish an idea, but he had no authority to stop me.
While we went through this rigmarole I gazed along the top of the wall, noting how the sentries were spaced, wondering how difficult it would be for a pair of determined slaves to get away by scaling the parapet and jumping the palisade. Not difficult at all, I decided. The guards were widely spaced, the nights were dark, and everyone’s attention was on danger from outside, not what was going on behind them. Choose a late hour when the men were groggy, be very quiet, and escape would present very few problems. They were gone. I could no longer fool myself about that. But where?
“When will you return?” Carbo asked.
“We’ll have to stay in the hills while it’s daylight. As soon as it’s dark, we’ll head back. I can’t cover ground like your scouts but we should be back well before sunup the day after tomorrow.”
“If you aren’t, I’ll have a cavalry sweep out looking for you at dawn.”
“If I’m not back by then I probably won’t be back at all, but go ahead. It won’t do any harm.”
“Good hunting, then.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder in soldierly fashion, believing that I was a brave man instead of a suicidal fool.
We went out through the gate and walked toward the great rampart. This night we heard no overeager Gallic warriors taunting the men atop the walls. In fact, it was rather pleasant, with a sliver of moon and a multitude of stars in the sky. I could even make out the reflection of moonlight from the white crests of the nearby mountains. Night insects made their chirping sounds and a wind rustled the grass and the rushes in the ponds.
At the sally port in the rampart I repeated my story to the officer of auxilia who was in charge there. This one showed no particular astonishment, just writing down my name and the size of my party. We went on through. A few paces past the wall I called a halt.
“Do you have any paint?” I asked Ionus. He took a small pot from his belt purse and handed it to me. I dipped my fingers into the foul-smelling paste and smeared it on my face, then streaked my bare arms and legs. Then I tossed the pot to Hermes.
“Put this on. The only way we’re going to live through this is by not being seen. Ionus, what’s this paint made with?”
“Just soot and bear fat.”
“Good. Woad or walnut juice leave stains that last weeks. Now, Hermes, once we are one bowshot from the rampart we are truly on our own in enemy territory. Anyone who sees us out there will want to kill us on sight. Stay close to me, but not so close that you’ll bump into me. We have to maintain enough distance so that we can use our weapons if we have to. If you start falling behind us, say something, but don’t shout. Is that understood?” He nodded dumbly, his face a little frightened. Suddenly, this wasn’t such an adventure.
“Ionus, set us a good pace, but we aren’t accomplished cattle thieves who can see in the dark like you. Now let’s be off.”
Ionus set off and I let him go ten paces, then followed. We moved across the dark plain at a pace that was somewhere between a walk and a run; not the steady, plodding military pace but a sort of lope accomplished with the feet widespread to maintain balance on the uneven ground. The turf was springy beneath my feet and now I was grateful for the hard training Caesar had made me perform, for I found the experience exhilarating rather than the exhausting ordeal it might have been.
After about an hour of this we stopped by a little stream, dropped to our knees, and lapped up the cool water like thirsty dogs.
“How much farther?” I asked.
“As much more as we have come,” Ionus answered.
“I was afraid of that,” Hermes said. He was breathing heavily, but seemed to be in better shape than I was. He was no longer the soft city boy who had left Rome with me.
“This is good for you,” I assured him. “My father has always told me that suffering is the best thing for a man, and that young people these days don’t suffer enough and that’s why we’re such a degenerate lot.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Hermes said, “I’ll let your father do the suffering, if he likes it so much.”
Ionus listened to us with a look of great puzzlement. He lived his whole life like this. Hardship for him had an entirely different meaning. He was barefoot, wearing trousers and a brief cloak that covered only his shoulders and upper back. He seemed perfectly comfortable thus attired.
After a short rest, we went on. The night grew chilly, but our exertions kept us warm. I strained my ears to hear approaching Gauls, or a cough or rustle from warriors lying in ambush, but we seemed to be protected by a spell of invisibility. Or perhaps the Gauls had turned sensible of a sudden and decided that nights were better spent sleeping instead of skulking about with weapons.
When we reached the foot of the mountain, I called another halt. “This is a hard climb and I don’t want to be out of strength when we get where we’re going,” I said. “If there’s anyone up there, we could h
ave a fight on our hands when we arrive.”
Hermes and I sat down, gasping. Ionus just squatted, one hand resting idly on the hilt of his short, leaf-shaped sword. With his paint and his bushy hair sticking out in all directions, he looked like some forest goblin come calling.
The night chill struck our cooling, sweaty bodies and I donned my cloak. Hermes did the same. “Why do people live in a place like this?” he asked. He couldn’t understand why anyone would live anyplace except Italy, and Rome in particular. I was not far behind him in this.
“I’m sure it must be better in summer.”
I surveyed the moonlit plain and pointed to the southeast, where a series of silvery crests reared against the starry sky. They were the high Alps.
“One of those mountains over there is said to be the highest in the world.”
“I thought Olympus was the highest,” Hermes said.
“Olympus is just the highest mountain in Greece. If the Greeks had lived here, they would have thought their gods lived up on that one. Ionus, what do your people call that mountain?”
He shrugged. “I am not from here. My people dwell in the lowlands. If it is the tallest, maybe it is where Taranis lives. He makes the thunder.”
“Must be their name for Jupiter,” Hermes said, muffling himself in his cloak.
“That could be,” I said, but I doubted it. The Gallic gods seemed to me quite different from our familiar Italian and Olympian deities. “Does Taranis bear the thunderbolt? Is he accompanied by eagles?”
“The thunderbolt, yes. No eagles,” was the reply. “His is the wheel with which the sacred fire is kindled. We always start the fire of Beltain with a wheel.”
I remembered the little wheels that I had seen adorning so many of the helmets worn by Gauls. It seemed like an awkward instrument for starting a fire though.
“He’s not Jupiter, then,” Hermes said with the certainty of a pontifex. “Vesta’s in charge of starting fires.”
“Where would the gods be without us mortals to apportion their duties?” I said, standing. “Come on, enough of this philosophical chitchat. We have work to do. Hermes, from now on we move slower and stay closer together. If you need to say something, touch my shoulder and then whisper. We are going into the woods and enemies can lurk very close without our seeing them. There is no hurry, dawn is still an hour away. It is utterly important that we move quietly. Ionus, lead off.”
SPQR VI: Nobody Loves a Centurion Page 18