by Ray Gleason
As they began to move off the line, I led my riders into the opening gap. Initially, the German muster-men proved Labienus right; they froze. Then, a few of the bolder ones made to follow the retreating centuries into the gap. We rode at them, and they quickly retreated. I was able to form two lines of cavalry across the gap. The fiurd showed no desire to attack us.
Across the field, I noticed movement behind the massed German warriors. The thegn realized something was up. Perhaps he feared his prey was retreating from him and he would not get the chance to kill many more Romans this afternoon. He rode in front of his center division, stabbing his sword in our direction. He harangued his elite troops to move forward, to take advantage of the widening gap in the Roman line. But, like all barbarian maneuvers, this one had a momentum all its own that no leadership could alter. The German dugath remained still and continued its woeful chant; it would move when it was ready, not before.
The posterior centuries had reached their position in the quincunx. They halted and turned about, again facing front. No sooner did the motion of the maneuver cease than Labienus sounded the signal trumpets again: “Eighth Legion! Ninth legion! Manipulos formate!”
Immediately, the rearmost Roman centuries executed a right-face and began to double-time behind the forward centuries.
The Germans did react to this maneuver.
The thegn may not have totally understood what he was witnessing, but he now understood its purpose. We were reinforcing our lines to meet his attack on our center. Still, his dugath would not move forward. He dispatched most ofhis gedricht, his personal bodyguards, to attack the gaps in the Roman line. But, he miscalculated. His own fiurd, still milling about on the battlefield, watching the Roman maneuver like a crowd in the arena watching a show, got in their way. His gedricht were soon tangled among their own troops, and their attack never arrived.
I looked over to where the German thegn was raging at the dugath to move, screaming for the fiurd to get out of the way, and thundering at his gedricht to attack the Roman gap. I saw he had less than a dozen men left to protect himself.
No sooner had that realization entered my mind, than Labienus signaled again, general call: “Aciem formata! Form battle line!”
Quickly, I turned my troop, and we rode out of the gap as the Tenth Legion battle line closed with the Ninth. At the same time, the Ninth Legion maniples moved right to close on the Eighth, while the Seventh moved left.
The door had slammed shut! Labienus had pulled off the maneuver!
The Krauts were finally beginning to move. All three divisions of the dugath were running forward to attack our lines. Behind them, the German thegn and the twelve remaining members of his gedricht stood alone in the field.
I had an insane idea!
My military training and discipline told me to hold my position, to block and contain any penetration of our line. But, the Krauts had exposed themselves to a potentially fatal blow, which only I could deliver.
What was it that Caesar had said the other day? Audaces amat fortuna! … Fortune loves the bold! Instinctively, I reached up and touched my lorica where my Bona Fortuna hung. It seemed strangely warm.
“Athauhnu!” I yelled, turning Clamriu and riding toward our left flank. “Me sequere! Follow me!” I quickly realized that, in my excitement, I had spoken Latin, so as I rode past his position on the left, I repeated myself in Gah’el, “Diluhna fi!”
I galloped the Sequani around our left flank. I remember catching a glimpse of Agrippa’s shocked face as we thundered by. We rode out onto the field, past the right flank of one of the Kraut divisions. A couple of their warriors looked over toward us, but continued their run toward the Roman line. As soon as I cleared the rear of the German dugath, I angled right to where I knew the thegn was standing.
He was still there, alone except for the small remnant of his bodyguard troops.
I halted opposite, about a hundred passus distant. I turned Clamriu toward the Germans, extended my arms out parallel to the ground, and Ci’s ala, the seventeen men still in the saddle, assembled on both sides of me, facing the Krauts. Athauhnu lined his twenty-two riders up behind us. Then, he rode forward and took a position on my right.
Across the field, the remnant of thegn’s gedricht began, almost hesitantly, to position themselves between us and their leader, whom they were sworn to protect to the death.
The gods of the Gah’el were about to collect on that promise!
But first, I had one last die to cast.
I rode out a few steps and turned to face the Sequani.
“Warriors of the Soucanai!” I shouted. “Madog, your king is dead!”
I heard a moan go up from the men.
I raised my hands. They became silent.
“The man who killed your king . . . the dog who treacherously cut Madog down after he had slain the king of the Germans . . . and stabbed him from behind in his moment of triumph . . . stands there . . . before you!”
I pointed right at the German thegn, who was sheltered behind the thin line of his gedricht.
The men were growling.
I drew my spatha. “A place on the mead-bench beside Madog in the Land of Youth, and the hero’s portion served by the hands of Andraste, the goddess of victories, to the man who delivers the head of that German dog to the tomb of Madog!” I shouted.
I turned Clamriu and charged the Germans.
My Sequani thundered behind me, screaming for German blood.
To their credit, the gedricht remained faithful. They died for their oath.
As I galloped toward the Germans, I shimmied my shield off my left shoulder and inserted my forearm through its bindings. I aimed for a gap in the center of the German line. When I hit it, I felt a glancing blow on my shield from the Kraut to my left. I didn’t bother with the one on my right. I was through the line and bearing down on the German thegn.
As I reached him, I heard a crash behind me as the rest of the troop made contact with the Germans.
The thegn pulled back hard on his reins. His horse reared up on his hind legs. Clamriu crashed into her opponent’s chest. The German horse began to tumble backward. I felt a massive blow on my helmet, just above my eyes. I tumbled backward into blackness.
When I awoke, Emlun was kneeling over me, and Rhodri was standing beside him. Emlun helped me sit up. That was a mistake. The world seemed to twinkle and spin in front of me. I felt like I would vomit.
When my eyes focused again, Emlun held up my helmet. In the front, there was a dent the size of a small fist.
“Cheap Roman tin!” Emlun shook his head. “A German horse brought you down! You ought to get yourself a new helmet from a good Soucanai smith!”
Clamriu was calmly cropping the grass a few feet away. Behind her, a couple of the Sequani were trying to subdue the thegn’s riderless horse. Just over to my right, I saw his body with two gaea spears protruding from its chest. I puzzled for a moment why the body looked strange. Then I realized; it had no head.
Rhodri gestured toward the thegn’s horse. “You brought him down, Arth Bek. By our custom, his horse and his armor belong to you!”
“Athauhnu?” I croaked.
Emlun pointed across the field toward the Roman lines.
Athauhnu was galloping across the face of the German horde spinning something over his head. It looked vaguely like a ball, a ball attached by a yellow rope. It was a head, the head of the German thegn!
The Germans were standing, watching. I realized that they had dropped their shields and weapons. The Roman muli from our battle line were advancing among them, driving them down onto their knees, tying their hands behind their backs, collecting their weapons. Our fight was over.
Emlun was talking: “Athauhnu killed the German you passed. Guithiru and me followed you through their line. By the time we caught up with you, you were already down. So was the thegn. His horse rolled over him. He was probably dead already, but Guithiru put the first javelin into him. Then I stuck him. Athauhnu came and took hi
s head for Madog. The honor was his as chief. We’ll bury it with Madog. Lay it between his feet. That German dog will be his slave in the Land of Youth for eternity!”
They stood me up. Another mistake. This time I did vomit. Strangely, I felt a bit better after that. Emlun steadied me.
I saw a small group of Roman riders approaching. The leader wore a bright red sagum and rode a white stallion.
It was Caesar.
Labienus rode immediately to his left.
I tried to assume some semblance of attention as the imperator arrived. Again a mistake. Emlun’s steadying grasp was the only thing that kept me from pitching forward into the grass.
“Well, this completes my collection of insubordinates!” Caesar said dryly. “First a senior legate, who won’t stay where he’s been assigned, but starts his own battle with the Germans, and now a decurio, a very junior decurio at that, who abandons his assigned post to lead a cavalry attack against a superior force of German infantry. What do you have to say for yourself, soldier?”
“Nil ’scusationis mi’, Imperator!” I snapped out, as if a tiro on punishment parade.
“You have that right!” Caesar snorted. “There’s no excuse at all! It’s a marvel Rome has survived this long with soldiers like you following her eagles.”
Caesar jerked the head of his horse around and rode toward the top of the ridge where his battle with the Helvetii still raged.
Labienus hesitated. Then he said to Emlun in perfect Gah’el, “Trooper! Get this Roman officer to a medic!”
Before he turned to follow Caesar, he winked.
Post Scriptum
At Bibracte, I survived my first battle.
Only politicians, historians, and generals classify battles as victories or defeats.
Soldiers recognize no victories. Even in the greatest national victories, comrades are lost, and the survivors suffer. They suffer from the wounds they receive; they suffer from what they witness; they suffer from the loss of dear friends. Win, lose, or draw, soldiers just thank Domina Fortuna for sparing their lives and pray to her that this will be their last fight.
At the time, I expected that our war was over at least for that year. Having defeated the Helvetii, Caesar would withdraw the army south of the Rhodanus. We would spend the rest of the campaign season in the provincia, licking our wounds, collecting rations, and getting ready for the winter.
Erratum! I was wrong. Despite our battered condition after Bibracte, Caesar wasn’t done.
I hoped that Bibracte could be my only great battle. I would serve my remaining enlistment in relative peace and safety, and return home to Mediolanum. There, Macro and I would quickly become rich wine merchants, and perhaps then I would win back my beloved Gabi.
Denuo erratum! Again I was wrong.
They say that the greatest gift the gods have given to men is they don’t see their own future.
I believe that.
Had I known on that day that what lay before me was over twenty years of blood, betrayal, and loss; that after the Helvetian campaign would come years of brutal fighting in Gallia, Aquitania, Belgica, Germania, and that mysterious island across Oceanus, Britannia; and then Caesar’s wars in Italia, Hispania, Asia, Africa, and Aegyptus; then Octavius’ wars against the Liberatores, Sextus Pompeius, and finally Antonius; that after the battle at Bibracte would come Gergovia, Alesium, Dyrrhachium, Pharsalus, Zela, Alexandria, the Nile, Thapsus, and Munda with Caesar; then Forum Gallorum, Mutina, Philippi, Naulochus, and Actium for Octavius; along with hundreds of murderous encounters in places too insignificant to be remembered by a name, I believe seeing the course of my future would have driven me demens, completely mad.
But the gods at least spared me that.
Agrippa stayed with us in Mediolanum only a few days before returning to his refuge in Italia. He graciously invited us to visit his estates near Asisium. Then, he departed south, carrying with him my answer to Octavius’ request.
It seems that our princeps civitatis is continuing Caesar’s vision of extending Romanitas into the provinces. Octavius has appointed a number of provincial citizens, whom the Roman senatorials consider no better than peregrini, foreigners, to military and civil positions traditionally reserved for Romans of the proper pedigree. He has even appointed provincials to the Roman Senate.
Octavius also plans to extend Roman citizenship to the provinces by creating municipia, cities with citizenship rights in the established provinces and in the major tribal centers of the newly acquired territories. Established cities in the “civilized” provinces, as he terms them, would be granted full Roman citizenship with the right to vote. Other cities and tribal centers would be granted a lesser degree of citizenship, which would grant their residents the protection of Roman magistrates, service in the legions, and of course, payment of taxes and financial levies to Rome.
Mediolanum is planned as one of Octavius’ initial “first-class” municipia in the strategically important Gallia Cisalpina region. Since this is a plan with which the aristocratic elements in the Roman Senate are not pleased, the Augustus is determined that these first grants are successful. In order to do that, he is handpicking the city magistrates.
Octavius has already commissioned the two duumviri and the two aediles who will administer affairs in Mediolanum. In fact, one of the duumviri is my cousin, Lucius Helvetius Naso Quartus, who still runs my grandfather’s empire of foundries, garum factories, and wine presses.
Once things have “settled,” these positions will become elected annually. But for now, Octavius is controlling and supervising the process personally—which brings me to his request.
First and foremost, I am to be Octavius’ “eyes and ears” in Mediolanum. As one of his former officers, he knows that I will report to him what he needs to know—not what I want him to know.
Second, I am to be commissioned as the praefectus urbis of Mediolanum. As such, I will have command of all things “military” in the newly minted municipium, meaning command of the urban militia cohort, which exists only to collect the tolls and taxes at the city gates. I am also to form a troop of vigiles, after the model developed by Lucius’ brother, Marcus Agrippa, in the city of Rome.
The primary duty of the vigiles would be firefighting. However, they would also serve to maintain civil peace and safety by patrolling the city streets on the lookout for thieves, muggers, burglars, and runaway slaves.
Before Agrippa left, I discussed the offer with my wife, Rhonwen. She asked only two questions: would I get paid, and would the job get me out of the house? When I answered that I would receive a salary from the Augustus’ privy purse, five times that of a primus pilus in the legions, and would have to establish a praetorium near the center of town, from which to run things, she told me I should do it.
Besides, she said, she didn’t think I should disappoint such a nice man as Lucius Vipsanius Agrippa after he had travelled so far just to ask me to do this.
So, I find myself about to start a new career, again in the service of the gens Iulia. I have decided that, despite my new responsibilities, I will continue to write my memoirs of Caesar’s wars in Gaul. While I am waiting for the confirmation of my appointment as the praefectus urbis of the new Roman municipium of Mediolanum, I have begun to review my journals of Caesar’s campaign against Ariovistus and the Suebi. I am dubbing this chapter of my journal, De Re Suebiana, “The Swabian Affair.”
MILITARY LATIN
Despite the many modern novels, whose setting places the reader among Roman soldiers, and popular movies about the Roman Empire, surprisingly little is known about the day-to-day operations of a Roman legion during the time of Caesar.
Caesar’s own works about his military operations in Gaul and the subsequent civil war is perhaps the best detailed surviving sources for that period. But, Caesar’s goal was not to write a manual about Roman military operations; Caesar’s goal was political self-promotion.
A fifth-century work sometimes called de re militari, �
��Military Operations,” attributed to Publius Flavius Vegetius Renatus, survives and presents a representation of the military operations at the height of Rome’s power. Although Vegetius claims to have based his treatise on descriptions of Roman armies of the mid to late Republican period from Cato the Elder, Cornelius Celsus, Frontinus, and Paternus, and on Roman military operations during the principate and early empire from the imperial constitutions of Augustus, Trajan, and Hadrian, little of Vegetius’ sources survive, and his writings are separated from his primary sources by centuries. Additionally, Vegetius was not a historian or a soldier, and his purpose seems to be more a nostalgic recalling of the glory days of Roman military power than a reporting of what actually happened. So, de re militari resembles a somewhat clumsy compilation of materials from various sources rather than a military field manual reflecting the actual standards and practices of the Roman legions.
In order to create a realistic setting for this novel, the author has based the “big picture” on the first half of the first book of Caesar’s de bello Gallico where he reports his campaign against the Helvetians.
However, in order to create the microcosm of the Roman soldier in training and in the field, the author has channeled his five years of studying Latin and Roman history with his twenty-five years serving in the infantry and rangers. The scenes of Gaius Marius Insubrecus’ basic training with the Tenth Legion outside the Roman city of Aquileia are based on the author’s own infantry training in Ft. Jackson, South Carolina and his airborne and ranger training in Ft. Benning, Georgia. In the novel, Caesar’s Gallic cavalry alae conduct road reconnaissance and screening missions based on the same principles of US light-infantry or armored cavalry scout platoons.
Roman legionaries use a vocabulary that modern soldiers would appreciate. Where the author’s comrades in Vietnam would describe a particularly unpleasant experience as “being in the shit,” Insubrecus’ contubernales refer to the same as immerda. The American soldier refers to a screwed up situation as FUBAR; the Roman soldiers in this book call it perfututum.