The Helvetian Affair

by Ray Gleason

  “N’abeo,” Pulcher answered.

  “Good man!” Caesar encouraged him. “As soon as the cavalry turmae are assembled, brief them, and get on the road!”

  “A’mperi’tu’, Caesar,” Pulcher said and walked over to where Labienus was assembling the cavalry detail.

  I heard Caesar mutter at the man’s back, “‘Caesar,’ he calls me . . . in front of the troops . . . like we were a couple of housewives discussing the price of fish in the middle of the forum . . . Iste pedans mentula Claudianarum!”

  Then, he noticed me standing there, “Ah! Insubrecus! Enjoy the ride?”

  “Yes, Imperator,” I started, “at least most of it. We ran into a German raiding party on the way back.”

  “Germans?” Caesar questioned. “How many? How’d you know they were Krauts?”

  “They spoke German, Imperator,” I explained. “We counted eight bodies when we were done . . . Don’t think any of them got away.”

  “Germans on this side of the Rhenus?” Caesar mused. “Not good . . . not good at all . . . What do you make of our Gallic friends?”

  “They’re on our side as long as we’re fighting their enemies,” I told him. “Hostes hostium meorum—”

  “Amici mei,” Caesar finished my sentence. “The enemies of my enemies are my friends. . . . Best we could hope for . . . As long as we can, keep the tribes divided—” Caesar stopped himself from continuing that thought, then asked me, “Think you can stay in the saddle for another day?”

  “Possum, Imperator,” I agreed.

  “Good lad!” Caesar said. “Have Valgus find you a fresh horse. I want to be on the Rhodanus before nightfall.”

  And, we were. The van of our army was on the river and digging in by the seventh hour. Our engineers had reinforced and widened the bridge so that we could cross quickly at any time.

  A delegation of brightly attired Sequani crossed the bridge from Lugdunum. We were quickly informed that the main body of the Helvetii were still crossing the Arar about fifteen thousand passus to the north. The Sequani offered to lead us to the site.

  I believe Caesar was tempted to move the army right out, but he knew that the soldiers would be too exhausted to give battle when they arrived. So, he decided to rest them in the relative security offered by the bluffs on the south side of the Rhodanus. He did send a detachment of legionary cavalry ahead with the Sequani to locate the enemy, survey the ground, and find a route of march for the infantry.

  I was so exhausted that my body ached. As soon as I could square away my mount at the horse stables, I found a quiet place in the back of the praetorians’ tent to sleep. I felt as if I had just shut my eyes when I felt someone kicking my foot.

  “Whaa . . . qu’accidit?” I mumbled still half asleep.

  “Rise and shine, sunshine!” It was Valgus. “We’re moving out.”

  “Quot’orarum?” I mumbled.

  “Midnight,” Valgus said, “signal for the third watch just sounded . . . Move it, Insubrecus . . . The old man’s looking for you!”

  I dragged myself up to a sitting position. I felt as if I had taken a beating. Every muscle and joint in my body was screaming. Outside, I could hear the activity of an entire legion in motion. I knew any minute the tent I was in would be coming down on top of me. Still, I searched for my boots in the dark before I realized I hadn’t taken them off before I fell asleep.

  When I finally stumbled over to where the praetorium should have been, the tent was already down, but I soon spotted Labienus briefing some angusticlavi tribunes. They looked like boys; I was beginning to have difficulty remembering that I was only sixteen myself.

  When Labienus saw me, he said, “Give me a little time here, Insubrecus, and I’ll be with you.”

  The meeting finally broke up with a mixed, “A’mperi’tu’, Legate,” and Labienus walked over to where I was waiting. He threw his arm around my shoulder and steered me toward the horse lines.

  “Big doin’, Insubrecus!” he started. “Our exploratores got back about an hour ago. The Helvetii left one of their septs . . . a subtribe really . . . stranded on the east side of the Arar. But, that’s not the big news . . . The bunch they stranded are the Tigurini . . . You got any idea what that means?”

  “Non cognosco, Legate,” I answered.

  “Didn’t think so,” Labienus continued. “The old man . . . and every Roman in this army, for that matter . . . has a score to settle with those cunni . . . About fifty years back, they slaughtered a Roman army . . . killed a consul . . . one of his legates, Lucius Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus . . . The old man is related to him through his wife . . . so this is personal . . . Caesar’s pietas demands he avenge Calpurnius and all those poor Roman muli who were massacred by those long-haired Gauls. . . He pulls this off, and they’ll be shouting Caesar’s name in the forum for months!”

  I wasn’t sure how to react to this. Pietas. That was the same reason some Senator’s brat was trying to have me killed. In this case, it meant an entire Roman army was crossing the Rhodanus to catch a bunch of Helvetii trapped on the wrong side of the Arar.

  We arrived at the horse lines to find Caesar briefing his legates.

  “Pulcher, you’ll remain in command of the cavalry,” Caesar was saying, “three turmae of legionary cavalry and a bunch of Sequani . . . They know the ground, so let them take the lead . . . You’re to open the way for the infantry . . . Find a good place to engage the enemy . . . There’s a lot of broken ground north of the river . . . forests . . . Find a place where I can deploy three legions . . . acies triplex, if possible . . . the standard triple battle line . . . But do not allow yourself to become decisively engaged with the enemy . . . Is that clear?”

  “Compre’endo, Imperator,” I heard Pulcher reply.

  I noted that he had used the title imperator. Caesar must have had a talk with “that bloody Claudian mentula.”

  “Bene,” Caesar continued, “Cotta, you’re commanding the Tenth Legion, the vanguard; Vatinius, the Seventh; Pedius, the Ninth. Crassus, you will continue to act as the army’s quaestor. You will remain here until the rest of the army has come up with the supply train. Keep that bridge over the Rhodanus open in case the army needs it to withdraw south. Any questions, gentlemen?”

  There were none. Caesar spotted Labienus and me standing to the side.

  “Get enough sleep, Insubrecus?” he asked.

  “Satis superque, Imperator,” I lied. “More than enough, sir!” There is never enough sleep for a soldier.

  “Bene!” Caesar clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m detailing you to Pulcher . . . He has about a hundred Sequani horsemen under his command and doesn’t speak a word of their language. . . . You’re to act as his liaison with the Gauls.”

  “A’mperi’tu’, Imperator!” I responded.

  “Good lad!” Caesar continued. “Pulcher can be . . . well . . . a bit difficult. . . . He’s real red-boot Patrician . . . and what’s worse, a Claudian, and wants everyone to know it . . . I’ve let him know that you are sub patrocinio meo . . . That should account for something. . . . I’ve given some thought to what you told me about the Gauls saying there are Romans working against me here . . . so I want you to watch and listen.

  “A’mperi’tu’, Imperator!” I responded again.

  “Good lad!” Caesar said clapping me on the shoulder. Then, he was off to whatever needed his attention.

  “My advice is to stay clear of Pulcher as much as possible,” Labienus was saying. “Even for a patrician, he’s a right bastard and there’s history between his clan and the gens Iulia . . . But right now, Caesar needs the good will of his brother, Appius, in the Senate down in Rome. . . . If anyone were working to undermine the old man out here, he’d be my lead suspect.”

  I had no idea what Labienus was talking about, other than Pulcher was a podex, but a podex whose goodwill Caesar wanted to maintain, and as Caesar’s client, I shouldn’t rock the boat.

  I found that one of the stable slaves had saddl
ed my horse; it was the black with the white snip that Valgus had me ride previously. I checked the saddle and bridle. Then, I tied down my spatha to the left side of my saddle and my loculus, the leather bag with my field rations, to the rear. I tied down my woolen cloak to the front of my saddle. I didn’t know if we would have to sleep rough. I mounted and adjusted my parma, so it hung comfortably on my back. I walked my horse a bit, just to check the saddle again, then went off to find Pulcher and the command group.

  They were gathering outside the camp’s fossa. There were two groups, the Roman legionary cavalry and a group of Sequani horsemen who remained detached from the Romans. I spotted a group of Roman officers in the vicinity of Pulcher and rode toward them. Pulcher seemed remote, distant even, from his own officers; none of them seemed to be willing to get any closer to the patrician than ten pedes.

  I rode up to him and reported, “Gaius Marius Insubrecus, miles, reporting to the legatus as ordered!”

  Pulcher gave me a long stare. His blue eyes were as cold as a frozen pond in Ianuarius; his face looked as if he had unexpectedly gotten a whiff of an overused latrine.

  “Insubrecus,” he said, seemingly without moving his thin, bloodless lips, “you’re Caesar’s boy . . . the little Gaul he picked up.”

  Then, Pulcher turned his head and called over to his officers, “Agrippa! A’veni!”

  A mounted tribune separated himself from the group and road over to us. “Ti’ adsum, Legate?”

  “Agrippa,” Pulcher said, as if he were already bored with having to talk to underlings, “this is Caesar’s . . . Caesar’s interpreter for the barbarians . . . Collect him up, and take your post.”

  I noticed the narrow, purple stripe on Agrippa’s tunic. He was an equestrian, an angusticlavus, a narrow-striper.

  Pulcher pulled his horse’s head around abruptly, as if to escape the stench of social inferiors, and joined the knot of Roman officers. The tribune who rode up to me seemed to have an open, honest face, the kind which is trusted implicitly. He leaned out from his saddle and extended his right hand to me. “Lucius Vipsanius Agrippa,” he announced, “just call me Agrippa. And, you are?”

  He spoke Latin with a wide, country twang, which told me he wasn’t from Rome—not the city anyway. I took his offered hand, “Gaius Marius Insubrecus, Trib . . . I mean, Agrippa.”

  We rode over to where the Gauls had congregated. Agrippa said, “I’m a bit anxious about all this . . . Pulcher expects me to command this group . . . I don’t expect they’ll welcome my . . . my involvement.”

  “Let’s see what mood they’re in,” I started. Then, I saw Athauhnu among the riders.

  “Athauhnu,” I greeted him in Gallic, “it is good to see you again, my friend!”

  “Ah . . . Arth Bek,” he responded sourly, “did the Caisar send you and this other one to ensure that the people of Soucana would behave themselves in their own lands?”

  “No, my friend,” I hedged, “we are here solely to help with communication between the people of Soucana and their Roman allies.”

  Athauhnu snorted at that response.

  “What is he saying, Insubrecus?” Agrippa tried to interrupt, but I held my hand up asking for his silence.

  Athauhnu continued, “My people can be great liars when they feel the need, but none can equal you Romans . . . Come . . . You will need to speak to the penn uh marchoglu.”

  “Penn uh marchoglu?” I stumbled. “Oh . . . the troop commander . . . Yes . . . lead on, Athauhnu.”

  As Athauhnu turned to lead us, I said to Agrippa, “He’s taking us to their commander.”

  Athauhnu led us to another rider. By his armor, equipment, and trappings, I assumed he was of the Sequani nobility.

  Athauhnu said merely, “These are our Romans!”

  The man gave us a long look, then responded in accented Latin, “Salvete! I am Madog mab Guuhn. I am rex gentium . . . people-king of Sequani . . . I am also dux, leader of cavalry.”

  I did not respond, but nodded to Agrippa, who said, “Salve, Dux. I am called Agrippa. I am the tribune of the Roman legate, Pulcher, the leader of the Roman cavalry.”

  Madog nodded at Agrippa, then asked, “And who is other with you?”

  “This is contubernalis meus,” Agrippa responded. “He is called Insubrecus.”

  Madog said to me in Gallic, “You speak our language. Of what people are you?”

  “I am of the Insubres, from over the Alps,” I answered in Gallic. Then I repeated myself in Latin for Agrippa: “De Insubrecis trans Alpes.”

  Madog nodded. Then, Agrippa stated, “The legate Pulcher requests that you lead us to the Helvetii.”

  Madog seemed to have some difficulty following Agrippa, and I couldn’t imagine Pulcher requesting anything of a Gaul—or a Roman, for that matter. I was just about to translate, when Madog said, “We go! But, I show you something . . . interest of Romans?”

  Madog reached into his saddlebag, pulled something out, and offered it to Agrippa. Agrippa took it, examined it for a heartbeat, and handed it to me. It was a quadriga, a denarius coin, a new one, hardly used, no nicks or shavings. It had a small hole driven through it.

  “Madog,” Agrippa asked, “where did you get this?”

  “Helvetii,” Madog responded. “A dux of cavalry . . . He wear ten on neck . . . How do you say?” Madog looked over to me and asked, “Sut ur udych uhn dwed ‘muclis’ un Ladine?”

  “Monile,” I told him. “Necklace.”

  Madog grunted, “He wear necklace . . . I kill him . . . I take necklace.”

  I looked closely at the coin. The one side had the expected image of the quadrigae, the chariot team of four horses. I flipped it over and saw the image of the goddess Venus, the patroness of gens Iulia. Then, I realized that the coin was minted only last year, while Caesar was consul. How would a minor Helvetian chief have ten new denarii?

  I asked Madog, “May I keep this?”

  Madog shrugged, “I gift you . . . We friends . . . I have more.”

  “Is this significant?” Agrippa asked me.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered. “It may fit in with something I overheard.”

  Just then we heard Pulcher’s voice, “Agrippa . . . are you going to get those barbarians moving, or are you planning a state breakfast for them?”

  Madog gave no sign that he understood what Pulcher said. Agrippa said to him, “Eamus, Dux! Let’s get going, Chief!”

  Madog grunted and started shouting orders to his troop. As they began to move off into the night, Agrippa asked me, “This Madog . . . he’s king of the Sequani?”

  “King of the Sequani?” I repeated. “No . . . he’s one of their brena leygo . . . a leader of a community . . . The Gauls call their leaders brena . . . ‘rex’ in Latin . . . Technically, my father’s a brena qwartego . . . rex pecoris. . . a ‘cattle king’ because he owns a herd.”

  “Compre’endo,” Agrippa muttered. I doubt that he did.

  Our approach to the enemy was uneventful. They didn’t bother screening their position at all. By the end of the fourth watch, when the sun was still below the horizon but there was already enough light to see over short distances, we were on a wooded ridge overlooking the encampment of the Tigurini. There were no signs of any security or fortifications around their encampment. The night fires were smoldering heaps, and nothing in the camp seemed to be stirring except some hungry dogs. We watched as a man sleepily stumbled out of a lean-to tent, urinated just beyond its exit, and then reentered, presumably to go back to sleep.

  Madog grunted at us, “They pigs . . . Helvetii . . . They dirt my sword to kill.”

  By the end of the first hour, Caesar and his command group joined us on the ridge. He quickly surveyed his objective. There still wasn’t much activity in the valley below. Some of the Tigurini were milling about on the river’s edge where they had tied up some boats and barges. But, their ferrying operation had yet to start. We could see no sign of any activity on the far side of the Arar. The rest o
f the Helvetii had apparently moved on and expected this bunch to catch up.

  Caesar quickly surveyed the ground and assessed the capabilities of the enemy.

  “We’ll attack on a narrow front from our route of march, straight up the river valley from the south,” he was saying to Labienus. “One legion, I think . . . The Tenth is in the van . . . so they go in . . . acies triplex . . . four cohorts in the front rank, then three and three . . . We’ll use the cavalry to screen the right flank . . . The river will seal the left.”

  “That will leave the enemy’s rear open,” Labienus pointed out. “Do you want to move some of our troops around to seal it?”

  Caesar thought about that, then said, “No . . . that will take time, and the enemy might detect the maneuver . . . Besides, even a rat is dangerous when it’s trapped . . . I want them to be able to escape . . . As soon as we hit them, half their troops will run if they believe they can escape . . . The rest will break as soon as they know the women and children are safe . . . I want to break this bunch, not annihilate them.”

  Labienus nodded, and said, “Compre’endo, Imperator.”

  “Bene!” Caesar concluded. “We’ll keep the Seventh and Ninth in reserve behind the Tenth. Issue the orders to the legates. I want to know immediately when the Tenth is in position.”

  “A’mperi’tu’, Imperator!” Labienus said.

  Labienus retreated back into the woodline. Caesar remained on the ridge, surveying the enemy in the valley below. Then, he spotted Agrippa and me.

  “Ah . . . Insubrecus!” he started. “How did you enjoy your midnight ride? And you are . . . Agrippa . . . Lucius Vipsanius Agrippa? . . . You’re one of the new angusticlavi tribuni attached to the Tenth? You’re an Umbrian . . . from Asisium, I believe?”

  “Recte, Imperator!” Agrippa snapped. “I am privileged that the imperator knows my name!”

  “Privileged?” Caesar repeated the word. “It’s the duty of a commander to know his officers, Agrippa . . . Remember that if you’re ever given a command . . . Know all your officers . . . and all your men for that matter.”