by Ray Gleason
“‘Abeo, Imperator,” Agrippa nodded. “I plan to call my men the frumentarii.”
“The grain snatchers,” Caesar translated. “Bene, Agrippa, make it happen.”
Frumentarii. That was the first time I ever heard the word. At the time, I had no way of knowing the kind of a monster Agrippa’s idea would morph into.
VI.
De Bello Novo Caesaris contra Ariovistum
CAESAR’S NEW CAMPAIGN AGAINST ARIOVISTUS
Propterea quod Ariovistus rex Germanorum in eorum finibus consedisset tertiamque partem agri Sequani qui esset optimus totius Galliae occupavisset et nunc de altera parte tertia Sequanos decedere iuberet propterea quod paucis mensibus ante Harudum milia hominum XXIIII ad eum venissent quibus locus ac sedes pararentur futurum esse paucis annis uti omnes ex Galliae finibus pellerentur atque omnes Germani Rhenum transirent.
“Ariovistus, a German king, settled in the territory of the Sequani and siezed a third of their lands, the richest in all Gaul. Now, Ariovistus has ordered the Sequani to hand over another third of their lands because, a few months ago, the peoples of the Harudes, twenty-four thousand in all, had joined him, and Ariovistus needs to provide them with living space and homes. In a few years, the day will come when every Gaul will be driven out of the land, and there won’t be a single German left on the far side of the Rhenus!”
(from Gaius Marius Insubrecus’ notebook of Caesar’s journal)
Caesar’s propensity for theater certainly did not disappoint.
On the tenth day before the calends of September, the expected Gallic deputation arrived at the camps of Caesar’s army. The long line of Gallic chiefs in their best armor were mounted on prancing stallions and wrapped in the colorful tartans of their tribes. With bodyguards, druids, brehons, poets, musicians, and standards and banners snapping in the morning breeze, the parade seemed more like the arrival of a country fair than it did a serious political mission.
Caesar, his thinning hair topped with the golden leaves of his Civic Crown and his lean frame draped in a pure white magisterial toga with a broad purple stripe, sat waiting in his curial chair of state, elevated on a wooded platform and shaded by a canvas pavilion dyed the blood red of the legions. Behind him stood his legates in full battle armor, their plumed helmets locked in their left arms. Behind them stood the laticlavi, the senior tribunes of the army.
On each side of Caesar’s platform stood a centuria of muli, an honor guard drawn from the First Cohort of the Tenth Legion, the biggest men in the legion. Commanding the detail, Tertius Piscius Malleus, the “Hammer,” Centurio Primus Pilus of the Tenth, had polished and scrubbed these, his best troops, so they sparkled like the god of war himself in the late morning sun. The muli of Caesar’s honor guard stood laxantes, at ease, the points of their pila pushed forward, their scuta grounded, and their feet apart.
Caesar had established his chair in a field surrounded by the castra of his six legions. On the parapet of each camp, the muli were assembled under arms; the vexillia of the legions snapped in the lively breezes blowing over the portae principales, the main gate of each camp, Roman red against the Gallic blue sky.
Caesar sat in the center of Roman power that had established itself before the walls of Gallic Bibracte.
The Gallic deputation, led by Diviciacus, King of the Aedui to the Romans, rode slowly into this stage of Roman steel and pomp. When they reached a point about fifty passus from Caesar, they halted. Diviciacus then rode forward alone, holding up his white wand of negotiation, so all could see that he had come to talk, not to fight.
As Diviciacus came forward, Malleus’ voice rang out, “Cohors Prima Legionis Decem!”
The two centurions of the honor detail echoed, “Centuria!”
“State!” boomed Malleus.
As one, the entire honor detail pulled back pila and scuta. Their heels crashed together in a single clap of thunder.
Duuhruhda halted about five passus before Caesar’s platform, holding his wand of negotiation forward for Caesar to see. The imperator acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod.
It was then that I noticed a wooden peg, a sudis stake, pounded into the ground exactly where Duuhruhda had pulled up his mount. I looked back to where the Gallic chiefs had halted, and there was a line of pegs marking the farthest point of their advance. There were even stakes marking the positions of Malleus’ centuries. Not only had Caesar written the script for this scene, he had blocked it, and had somehow managed to rehearse it!
Duuhruhda began to recite his lines in Latin: “Imperator! Caesar! Amicus sociusque gentibus libris Galliarum! Victorious General! Caesar! Friend and ally of the free Gallic peoples! We understand that this war has avenged an ancient wrong perpetrated by the Helvetians on the Roman nation. Now the restless lemures of the brave Romans slain through the betrayal and deceit of the Helvetians can rest. We know too that this betrayal touched the very family of Caesar himself. What man could claim that Caesar had no right to vengeance? Who could say that Rome herself had no cause to avenge this ancient crime? Despite all this, Caesar’s great victory had no less benefit to the free peoples of Gaul than it did to the Roman nation. The Helvetians, while they were most prosperous and powerful, left their homeland to wage war against all Gaul and to conquer it. In their great arrogance, the Helvetians desired a new homeland in the richest lands of Gaul. The free peoples of Gaul the Helvetians would have held in servitude. We, the leaders of the Gallic nations, freely assembled here before Caesar and the Roman nation, proclaim our thanks and gratitude for Caesar’s victory over the Helvetians.”
I immediately noticed how much Duuhruhda’s Latin had improved. His speech was well coached. When he concluded, he turned his horse and held his wand of negotion up in his right hand toward the assembled host of Gallic chiefs. Despite the fact that most of them had no idea what Duuhruhda had just said, they gave Caesar a thunderous ovation.
Caesar allowed the cheering to continue for a while before standing and holding up his arms for silence. Then, he began, “Ego, Gaius Iulius Caesar, Imperator, Proconsul gentis Romanae, I, Gaius Iulius Caesar, Victorious General, Proconsul of the Roman nation, welcome you as friends and allies of Rome. I accept your thanks and gratitude, and I invite you to a great victory feast to celebrate the defeat of the Helvetians and the liberation of the Gallic nations!”
Caesar’s generosity with the Aeduan food stocks knew no bounds! The Gallic assembly, despite the fact that most of them had no idea what Caesar had just said, again gave him an ovation.
When the clamor finally began to subside, I heard Duuhruhda say, “Caesar! I beg a favor of you!”
“Speak, King of the Aedui and friend of Rome,” Caesar responded.
“Caesar,” Duuhruhda continued, “I request that you grant a private audience to me and the leaders of the Sequani. We have information that is critical to all our peoples.”
Ah, the plot of this little drama thickens, I thought.
Caesar announced loud enough that everyone assembled on his dais could hear, “I grant you this, Diviciacus. You and the Sequani may join me in my principia in one hour. Meanwhile, enjoy the moment of our victory with your people!”
As Caesar turned away to descend the platform, he spotted me standing to the side of one of Malleus’ centuries. He gestured to me to follow him. I circled around to the back of the platform and met Caesar as he was shrugging off his toga into the arms of one of his personal slaves. A member of the praetorian detail was bringing Caesar’s white stallion forward. Caesar’s red general’s cloak was drapped across the saddle.
“Enjoy the show?” he asked me with a wink.
“I had a good seat, Imperator,” I answered.
“I don’t want you to miss the second act,” he continued. “Report to my principia in half an hour. And, find your friend, Adonus Dux. A Sequani chief will be interested in what Diviciacus has to say.”
With that, Caesar took the red cloak offered by his praetorian, mounted his horse, and rode
away toward the castrum of the Tenth Legion.
By this point, I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to discover that Caesar already knew what Duuhruhda was about to say to him. Why shouldn’t he? He wrote the lines.
I found Athauhnu with Guithiru and Ci at the Sequani horse lines at the rear of the camp of the Tenth Legion. Guithiru had been promoted to command one of the alae, a wing of Athauhnu’s turma, his cavalry troop. Since the Sequani were equipped with Roman armor, drew Roman rations, were supplied with Roman horses, and were now paid in Roman silver–and the threat of the Helvetii seemed to have passed–their ranks were swelling with young Sequani riders from the East.
Athauhnu was inspecting one of the hooves of a new mount, a gray mare. “See, here. As I suspected, this hoof is bruised . . . It may have been caused by a stone, but I want this horse re-shod. Ah, Insubrecus Decurio,” he said, switching to Latin, “to what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
I answered him in Ga’hel: “If I can tear you away from your girlfriend here, the Caisar requests your presence at his headquarters. He is meeting with Duuhruhda and some chiefs of the Soucanai from east of the Arar.”
At the mention of Duuhruhda’s name, both Ci and Guithiru spit on the ground. It would take more than a single campaign against a common enemy to overcome decades of enmity between the Soucanai and the Aineduai.
“Has that moch, that pig, surrendered his treacherous, shit-eating litter-mate, Deluuhnu, to the Caisar yet?” Athauhnu asked. Delhuuhnu’s betrayal of Caesar’s cavalry to the Helvetians was not forgotten by the Soucanai, who lost comrades and family members in the ambush.
“I haven’t heard of it, my friend,” I answered. “The Caisar believes that Deluuhnu has fled to Belgica in the East.”
“Pah!” Ci spat. “It’s more likely that he’s with Uh Gweleduth among uhr Almaenwuhr, the Germans who stole our lands in the East.”
Ci used an expression that surprised me, uh Gweleduth, the “Seer.” “Who is this ‘seer’?” I asked him.
“A diafol,” Ci answered, “a demon, the bedmate of Hell, the goddess who rules the underworld of the Almaenwuhr.” Ci further explained, “Some say he’s a Belgian from Arducoil, the great forest that you Romans call Arduenna Silva. Some say he’s one of the people of the goddess Ritona, who live on this side of the Rhenus. Others say he came out of the black forests across the Rhenus. He claims that he is the son of Tiw, the war god of both the Belgai and the Almaenwuhr . . . He seduced the chiefs of the Eastern Soucanai . . . For years they were paying tribute to the Aineduai for trade along the Arar. Uh Gweleduth said he could lead them to victory over their enemies and the Aineduai would then be paying tribute to them . . . All he asked in return was some land on this side of the Rhenus for his followers . . . Then he seduced the black forest people you Romans call the Suebii with Roman silver and promises of land . . . He and the Soucanai crushed the Aineduai in a great battle near the Soucanai fortress at Amagtobria . . . Instead of freeing our people from one master, he made them the thrall of another . . . Now the Soucanai pay tribute to Uh Gweleduth with silver and land. Meanwhile, his power along the Rhenus grows as the dregs of the Belgai and the Almaenwuhr swell the ranks of his followers . . . He tells them that his father, the god Tiw, has promised him all of Gaul as his empire . . . He tells them that even Rome fears him and will not intervene against him.”
“I’ve never heard of this,” I stammered.
“Why should you?” Ci shrugged. “Uh Gweleduth is far from the Roman lands south of the Rhodanus. The Almaenwuhr call him Alleseher, the ‘All-Seer,’ and to the Romans he’s known as Arisvisus, the ‘Vision of Mars.’”
Initially, I didn’t give much weight to Ci’s legend of a crazed mystic posing a threat on the Rhenus. But, the idea of a threat to the Sequani in the East, coupled with Caesar’s interest in logistic routes to Vesantio on the Dubis and his private audience with representatives of the Sequani, could not be a coincidence.
As I was rapidly learning, with Caesar, there were no coincidences.
The next act of Caesar’s drama began promptly at the fifth hour of the day. Caesar stood in front of his campaign maps, now in the full armor of a Roman commander. His highly polished plate lorica seemed to take on a bottomless, dark shine in the dim light of the tent, and his general’s cloak seemed to glow ominously blood red.
For an audience, Caesar had assembled Labienus, all his legates, and the broad-stripe military tribunes; they gathered behind him, all in full armor. Off to the side stood Decius Minatius Gemellus, Caesar’s praefectus castrorum, with the commanding centurions of all six legions. I stood to the other side with Agrippa, Caecina—Caesar’s newly minted adjutant–Athauhnu, and Ebrius, who was keeping the minutes of the meeting in a wax tabula.
Athauhnu had managed to wash most of the horse-stink off himself. He had armed himself as a Roman cavalry officer in a red tunic and chainmail lorica, wrapped with the sash of a cavalry officer. His long, Gallic spatha, his cavalry sabre, hung at his left side from a polished leather baldric; a Roman infantry pugio hung from his belt on his right side. Out of recognition for his now elevated status in the Roman world, he had retired his colorful Sequani breaches and replaced them with a pair in plain brown leather, stuffed into a pair of Roman boots. His long hair was braided and tied back behind his head; his mustachios hung down past his chin. He looked every inch a man whose legs were rooted in two different worlds.
Caesar had given his officers no warning of what Duuhruhda’s request of him would be. Drama, whether it be comedy or tragedy, thrives on the delight of surprise.
There was a commotion at the entry of Caesar’s cubiculum as an optio of the praetorian detail entered. “Imperator!” the man entoned, “Diviciacus, King of the Aedui, and two chiefs of the Sequani beg an audience.”
“Ingrediantur!” Caesar delivered his lines.
Duuhruhda entered, still in his ceremonial finery from his last scene. Behind him entered two warriors, Sequani by their blue and green tartans. They did not seem at all comfortable in their parts, looking about Caesar’s headquarters as if they expected an ambush to be lurking in every shadow.
Diviciacus assumed an orator’s pose before Caesar and began, “Great Caesar, Imperator of the Romans, friend of the free peoples of Gaul, I, Diviciacus, King of the Aedui, come before you with a petition from the Sequani.”
Caesar nodded and said, “Speak, Diviciacus, King of the Aedui, friend and ally of the Roman People.”
Diviciacus launched into his address: “Great Caesar! Despite the great danger that hangs over us like Damocles sword—”
Damocles sword! I thought. Either Duuhruhda has brushed up on the histories of Diodorus before this meeting, or Caesar’s script is painting the flowers!
I looked around. The centurions were all stony faced, as centurions normally are. A few of the legates and tribunes were nodding encouragement in Duuhruhda’s direction. I wondered briefly how many of them were already in on the fix.
“The people of Gaul are divided into two factions, one led by the Aedui in the West, the other led by the Sequani in the East. These factions have struggled for years to gain dominance for trade along the Rhonus. Then, the Sequani invited Germans to join them.”
The Sequani in Duuhruhda’s entourage stared fixedly at the ground, refusing eye contact with anyone in the room.
“At first, some fifteen thousand Germans crossed the Rhenus. Soon after, because these brutal and savage people lust after the fertile lands and the great wealth of Gaul, hordes of Germans came over. Now there are tens of thousands of Germans in Gaul. The Aedui and their allies fought against them, but we suffered a terrible defeat. All our best warriors and chiefs were slaughtered; our confederation was devastated in this catastrophe. The Aedui were forced to surrender hostages and were bound by a sworn oath never to demand the return of these captives, never to seek aid from the Roman people, never to renounce the domination of the Sequani.”
Duuhruhda has obviously brushe
d up on his rhetoric in preparing his oration, I noted. His rhetorical conduplicatio and alliteration on numquam. . . numquam . . . numquam . . . never . . . never . . . never . . . is worthy of a speech before the senate itself. Such a rhetorical performance might even be worthy of the magister’s notice.
“I, Diviciacus, am the only chief of all the Aedui who could not be forced into swearing this odious oath or surrendering his cherished children as hostages. So, I alone, bound neither by oath nor obligation, come before Great Caesar and the Roman people to seek help. However, worse has happened to the victorious Sequani than happened to the conquered Aedui.”
Duuhruhda gestured grandly toward his two companions in Sequani livery. Both looked away from him, seemingly embarrassed by the gesture.
Duuhruhda continued, “Ariovistus, a German king, has settled in the lands of the Sequani along the Rhenus, the richest lands in all Gaul. Now, Ariovistus demands the Sequani surrender their lands along the river Dubis and their great fortress at Vesantio. He claims that the Harudes, the Marcomanni, the Triboci, the Vangiones, the Nemetes, the Sedusii–the most savage of that savage race, who inhabit the black forests across the Rhenus—have joined him and his Suebii. Ariovistus claims he needs to provide them with living space and homes. In a few years, a day will come when every Gaul will be driven out of the land, and there won’t be a German left on the other side of the Rhenus! However, not only does this savage threat hang over the Gauls, but also over the Romans.”
Ah, I thought, here it comes: Caesar’s baited hook!
Duuhruhda raised his right arm and pointed directly at Caesar and his assembled senior officers. “If Ariovistus is allowed to dominate the river Dubis, how long will it be before he dominates the river Arar? If Ariovistus conquers the lands along the river Arar, how long will it be before his savage hordes are camped on the banks of the Rhonus? And, once Ariovistus reaches the Rhonus, do you believe that his greed and ambition will be sated as he stares across at the lush valleys of the Roman Provincia? I say no! He and his barbaric horde will pour over the Rhonus as the Cimbri, the Teutones, the Ambrones and the Tigurini did in the days of our grandfathers.”