by Ray Gleason
Caesar seemed to mull that over for a few heartbeats. “Recte,” he acceded. “With that many out there, we’re not about to lose them . . . and at their rate of march, they will not outrun us . . . We will follow at a safe distance until we have a clear idea of their intention and strength . . . Hopefully, we can entice them to attack us on terrain of our choosing.”
Labienus nodded, then said, “We detected a small band of them heading back in our direction. We think it’s some sort of delegation.”
Caesar looked at me questioningly.
“If they want to talk, they’ll be carrying the truce wands like the others,” I told him.
Caesar looked over to Labienus, who just shrugged. “We didn’t get that close, Imperator,” he said.
Caesar grunted in response. “We’ll see what they have to say, Titus,” he said to Labienus. “Perhaps we can finish this thing here and now, the way we convinced the Tigurini to return to their lands on the Rhenus. When they arrive, lead them to a spot where they can see what we are doing here . . . There’s a small hillock between the castra of the Tenth and the Seventh Legions . . . That would be perfect . . . I will meet their delegation there . . . Perhaps the sight of Roman power and competence will convince them to return to their homeland.”
The Helvetii delegation arrived at the ninth hour. This time, Caesar remained mounted, waiting for them on the hillock, overlooking his legions on the west side of the river. The Helvetii could also see the bridges over the Arar and beyond the river, the remnants of the defeated Tigurini. The message was clear: in one day we defeated one of your tribes and accomplished a river crossing that took you weeks.
The leader of the Helvetian delegation was a giant of a man on a black stallion. His long, flowing gray hair hung freely from his bare head; his long, gray chin-length mustachios seemed to bristle with pride and defiance. As he waved his wand of negotiation negligently in our direction, the sun glinted off the golden armbands that circled his bulging biceps.
He rode directly at Caesar. At two paces away, he pulled his horse’s head abruptly to the right; the animal reared a bit and exposed the warrior’s long, Gallic sword in a gold-wired scabbard hanging down his left side. He stilled his mount and stared directly at Caesar with cold, piercing blue eyes for a few heartbeats.
It was then I realized that over his chainmail lorica, his chest was festooned with Roman phalerae—gold and silver sculpted disks awarded to centurions and rankers for acts of valor. No legionary would willingly surrender such treasures. They were trophies taken from Roman dead.
“So, Roman, you are the one called Caesar?” he said in Latin.
Caesar remained silent, perfectly still.
“Are you surprised I speak your language?” the warrior continued. “I learned it from my slaves, who were once soldiers in the army you sent against us many years ago, when we killed your chief, the one you called ‘consul.’”
I heard Labienus suck in his breath when the warrior said that. This was not a negotiation, I realized. This man had come to challenge Caesar, to provoke him into combat.
“I am Dewi mab Coel . . . Divico to you Romans . . . Know that it was I who was orgorix of the Helvetii the day we slaughtered the Romans and took ten thousand heads.”
“Orgorix?” Labienus whispered to me.
“Slaughter-king,” I translated for him. “War chief.”
“Podex,” Labienus hissed and spit on the ground.
“The whitened skulls of Roman dead decorate our feasting halls and lodges to this day . . . And now you have the temerity to attack us? Know you, Roman, the fact that you were able to ambush and slaughter one of our minor clans, while they were trapped against a river and burdened with women and children, does not impress us . . . Roman deception and cruelty has been known to us for many generations . . . We will offer you this . . . The valleys of the Rhodanus are wide and fertile . . . We will accept any of them and settle there . . . Know you, Roman, the Helvetii have learned from their ancestors to rely on valor and strength, not on deceit and ambush . . . Unless you want to make of this ground, on which we now stand, another monument to Roman defeat and shame, you will give us the land we demand and withdraw your soldiers across the Rhodanus . . . Then, there will be peace between our nations.”
“Quite an oration,” Labienus hissed. “He couldn’t provoke Caesar more if he tried.”
I looked over toward Caesar. His face was as white as a candidate’s toga. His lower jaw was set slightly forward, and his thin lips were drawn tightly across his face like a knife scar. I later learned that this expression was the only telltale sign of his rage. Caesar was too controlled ever to demonstrate it, especially when facing an adversary.
Finally, Caesar spoke, “Well, do I remember that of which you speak. No Roman will ever forget the tragedy that befell our nation and the army of Lucius Cassius Longinus . . . Many families still mourn that day . . . Many still desire blood vengeance to appease the restless lemures of their murdered ancestors . . . You say that the Helvetii are a people of valor and courage . . . I tell you that you are a liar . . . You defeated Longinus only by deceit and ambush . . . You feigned friendship with the Roman people and delivered treachery at the end of a spear . . . Know you, Divico of the Helvetii, that, although members of my own familia lost their lives on that fateful day, I, Gaius Iulius Caesar, proconsul of the Roman people, commander of this army, offer you these terms for peace . . . First, you will return to the lands you abandoned on the Rhenus . . . Second, you will give restitution to the allies of the Roman people whose lands you have pillaged and destroyed . . . Third, you will surrender hostages to me to ensure your submission and good behavior . . . Only then am I willing to let the Helvetii leave this place in peace . . . And also know this, Divico of the Helvetii . . . The gods despise hubris . . . They do seem, at times, to grant their favor, but they do so only to heighten despair when they withdraw it. What is your answer, Divico?”
Divico’s eyes glared at Caesar like burning blue embers. “Roman! Since the time of our ancestors, the Helvetii are accustomed to taking hostages, not surrendering them!”
He held up the wand of negotiation, broke it in two, spit on the pieces, and threw them at the feet of Caesar’s horse. He pulled back on his reins, causing his black stallion to rear and turn, then galloped off the hillock, followed by his entourage.
Caesar calmly watched Divico ride off. Then, he turned to Labienus and said, “It appears that our negotiation with the Helvetii has ended. Come with me. We have work to do.” Then, he rode off toward the castrum of the Tenth Legion.
Caesar had established his praetorium with the Tenth Legion. When we arrived at the headquarters tent, Caesar said, “Accompany me, Insubrecus!”
We entered Caesar’s operations area; the maps were already hung, and soldiers were busy making notations. I could easily see the location of our army on the left side of a squiggly blue line that ran down from the top of the map. The Arar, I assumed. It led downward to another, thicker blue line that seemed to plunge toward the bottom left corner of the map: the Rhodanus. About a cubitus to the left of our location was a large red marker: the Helvetii.
While Caesar’s body slave was helping him out of his armor, he was talking to Labienus. “That was the best theater I’ve seen since I left Rome! Divico! He could easily upstage Plautus’ braggart. Did you see the size of that sword? How does the man walk without tripping?”
Labienus, his helmet under his arm, answered, “Could he have really been the Helvetian commander when they ambushed Longinus? That would make him what . . . sixty, if he’s a day? No one could look like that at sixty.”
“What did you think of that act, Insubrecus?” Caesar asked me.
“He was trying to provoke you, Patrone,” I said stiffly.
“Of course he was,” Caesar answered. “I sometimes forget how young you are, Gaius . . . You haven’t had time to develop a sense of irony yet.”
I too was beginning to forget how young
I was.
Caesar stood staring at the situation map. “I feel a bit like that boy in the children’s story . . . the one who thinks he’s captured a lion because he has ahold of its tail,” he was saying. “I can neither let go nor continue to hold on.”
At his side, Labienus just grunted his consent.
Caesar continued, “Our first priority is to assess the enemy’s intention. I assume they will continue moving west across Aeduan territory, but if they were to turn and attack us with our backs to the river, it could get messy. So, let’s get a strong cavalry screen between us and them.”
Again, Labienus nodded his agreement.
“Second, we need to assess their fighting strength,” Caesar said. “That’s going to take some aggressive reconnaissance. Do we have enough cavalry?”
“We have the legionary cavalry,” Labienus calculated. “That gives us fifteen turmae, about 450 troopers . . . There is a scattering of native cavalry . . . They come and go as they please . . . I can only estimate their numbers.”
“Are there any auxiliary cohorts available?” Caesar asked.
“The Prima Gallica is still near Gennava,” Labienus estimated. “And, there’s a Syrian outfit down near Massalia.”
“Leave the Prima Gallica where it is,” Caesar instructed. “The Allobroges are not reliable. I want an effective Roman force sitting on them while we’re tied down with the Helvetii. Send down to the Syrian unit. Have them send up their cavalry cohort . . . stat’ . . . What about that native cavalry?”
Labienus rubbed his chin. “It’s difficult to give an exact count . . . Between the Aedui and the Sequani, there must be at least three hundred mounted troops.”
“Insubrecus! Will the Gauls submit to Roman military authority?” Caesar asked.
I shrugged, “As long as they fear the Helvetii more than they resent us . . . they’ll cooperate . . . How much authority they’ll accept . . . that’s difficult to say.”
Caesar addressed Labienus, “Organize the natives into turmae, according to tribe . . . say, three alae each . . . We’ll assign an experienced Roman tribune to each cohort . . . Who do we have available for senior commanders?”
Labienus stared at the ceiling of the tent, thinking. “There’s certainly Publius Considius—”
Caesar interrupted, “He’s not senior enough for overall command of the cavalry . . . plenty of experience, but not of laticlavus standing . . . And he’s getting a bit long in the tooth! Verpa Martis! The man served under Sulla! I’m thinking Crassus as my cavalry legate . . . I’m sure he’s fed up with pushing mules.”
Labienus’ eyebrow shot up. “Publius Licinius Crassus?”
“Yes,” Caesar confirmed, “let’s see if the boy has some grit hiding below all that flash . . . He’s proven a competent enough quaester . . . We’ll assign Considius to him and . . . what was the name of that angusticlavus from the Tenth who commanded the advance party across the Arar? . . . Agrippa . . . yes . . . Assign Lucius Vipsanius Agrippa to him, too.”
“A’mperi’tu’,” Labienus agreed. “And, who replaces Crassus as quartermaster?”
“Pulcher,” Caesar said without hesitation. “I think a healthy dose of mule shit is just what that Claudian twit deserves . . . Yes . . . Pulcher is perfect for pushing the baggage . . . Insubrecus!”
“Yes, Patrone?” I responded.
“You get along with Agrippa, do you not?” Caesar asked.
“Yes, Patrone.”
“How long have you been sub aquilis?” Caesar asked.
I had to think. I was beginning to feel as if I had always been a soldier. “Just over three months, Patrone.”
“Just over three months,” Caesar mused a bit and seemed to chuckle. Then, he said, “I’m appointing you to the rank of decurio . . . at least while you’re assigned to Crassus’ command . . . Do a good job, and you can keep the appointment.”
Labienus slapped me on the back, “Congratulations, Decurio!”
“I’m parched . . . Being scared to death by a blowhard Gallic giant is thirsty work,” Caesar announced. “Scriba!”
I heard a voice from the other side of the partition, “Quid vis tu, Imperator?”
“Vinum!” Caesar ordered.
“Merum?” the voice called. “Straight up?”
“No . . . mixtum . . . bring a pitcher of water,” Caesar instructed. “We still have work to do,” he said to us and winked.
“Back to our discussion . . . the cavalry . . . The Eleventh and Twelfth are mostly Gallic units . . . Let’s send over to the primus pilus of each . . . We need Gallic speakers who can ride . . . like Insubrecus here . . . good troopers who are considered promotable . . . We’ll make them decuriones and assign one to each of the native turmae.”
I heard Labienus mumble, “A’mperi’tu’!” I looked over at him. He was scribbling notes on a tabula.
Caesar continued, “Enemy intention and strength are our first two priorities. I need to know whether to avoid contact with the Helvetii or provoke it. We can establish our main supply depot at Lugdunum . . . That will give us access to both rivers . . . But my fear is that the Helvetii are going to move straight across country, away from the navigable rivers. That will stretch our supply lines . . . We may need to draw rations and fodder from our allies.”
“That could prove a problem, Caesar,” Labienus cautioned. “This far north, it’s the beginning of planting season, and I doubt the Gauls have a great store of food left over after the winter.”
Caesar seemed to think about that for a moment, then shrugged, “It doesn’t matter . . . If the enemy moves into the hills, we can have each man carry five-day’s rations . . . jerky, buccellatum, grain . . . same rations for the officers . . . I’m not burdening the supply train with their luxuries . . . We need the mules and wagons to carry rations, fodder, and the legionary artillery . . . Leave our siege equipment at Lugdunum . . . At least five-days’ rations for each man on the legionary mules . . . The fodder’s going to be more of a problem . . . The fields cannot yet support our mounts . . . The Gauls must be supplying their own people . . . They can supply us as well.”
Caesar’s slave entered with the wine and water. Caesar looked up. “Ah . . . bene . . . Go ahead and leave it . . . We’ll pour ourselves.”
Then, he noticed me standing there. “You look like you’re on parade, Insubrecus . . . Sit down . . . Relax . . . My man will help you with your lorica.”
Caesar poured the wine and left us to mix our own water. “Where was I?” he began. “Yes . . . supply . . . Pulcher’s first priority will be to arrange grain and fodder from the Aedui as we move across their territory . . . Until we have a clear idea of enemy strength and intention, we will not draw any closer to them than five thousand passus . . . Another mission for the cavalry is identifying defensible terrain for the daily marching camps and identifying battle sites should I decide to provoke battle . . . a ridge . . . maximum four-legion front, acies triplex . . . good flank security . . . sun in the enemy’s eyes . . . wind at our backs . . . You know the drill, Labienus . . . We’ll keep the Eleventh and Twelfth in tactical reserve until they get some seasoning.”
Labienus looked up from his notes, “Do you want me to assemble the commanders for a briefing?”
Caesar took a long draft of wine. “Yes . . . the legati, of course . . . all the tribuni laticlavi . . . and the primus pilus of each legion . . . We’ll be dependent on our centurions for tactical leadership and control until our senior officers have more experience.”
Labienus wrote on his tabula. “Quot’orarum?” he asked.
“Eleventh hour,” Caesar said. “I want the officers back with their units by nightfall . . . We’ll maintain full alert for the first and fourth watches . . . Keep a strong cavalry screen between the Helvetii and us . . . Having my back to the river is making me a bit nervous.”
With that, Caesar dismissed Labienus, but requested that I stay behind. I waited while Caesar poured himself another cup of wine.
“Ut vis tu, Patrone,” I answered.
“Bene!” Caesar responded. “And, don’t think I’m ignoring the information you’ve already brought me . . . about Romans influencing the Helvetii and the other Gauls . . . To imagine there was no influence would border on delusion . . . but assuming there’s some plot against this army would be a bit paranoid . . . So, keep your eyes and ears open for any indication of Roman influence among the tribes . . . You can trust Labienus, but besides him, you speak only to me about this matter . . . Understand?”
“Compre’endo, Patrone,” I responded.
Caesar got up from his camp chair and walked over to a wooden chest next to his field desk. “Adveni, Insubrece,” he said, unlocking the chest. “I want to show you something.”
I walked over to Caesar, and he showed me a collection of tabulae. “These are my notes on the campaign so far,” he said, handing me one of the tabulae. I opened it and saw the first line, “Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres . . .”
“That one’s mostly a paraphrase of the Greeks . . . the geographies,” Caesar explained. “My concept was to keep a journal of the campaign and periodically send the entries down to Rome to be read out to the people in the forum . . . This would be in addition to the official reports, which are prepared by my staff and sent down to the Senate . . . The journals for the people would need to be written in a simple, straightforward style . . . a blunt military report of what we are doing up here . . . That way, if there is some resistance by the Optimates . . . the aristocratic faction in the Senate . . . I’d still have the people behind me . . . So, these reports would have to be written in the people’s Latin . . . I simply do not have the time to command this army and do justice to these journals . . . So, I’d like you to serve as my ad manum . . . You observe, notate, write the journal, and review the text with me . . . Politically, this journal is as important in Rome as a military victory in Gaul.”