The Swabian Affair

by Ray Gleason

  Seemingly from a distance, I heard Troucillus call my name.

  “Uhhh . . . yes, uhhh,” I responded lamely.

  “Just call me ‘Troucillus,’” he smiled. “‘A Pen’ if it makes you more comfortable, but among Romans it’s just ‘Troucillus.’ I was asking whether you are a hunter.”

  I noticed that the Aeduan medduhg had left. “A venator?” I answered. “No, not really.”

  “Really?” he answered. “You’re a Gaul . . . What is your father?”

  “Me’ pater? He’s a farmer,” I answered, wondering where this was going.

  “An agricola!” he repeated. “Your family must be well Romanized down there over the Alps,” he laughed. “The Romans are convinced that the noble, peasant farmer is the backbone of their civilization . . . the one true noble calling . . . Then their nobles do everything they can to avoid getting their hands soiled with good, honest dirt . . . We Gauls believe that being a warrior is the noblest calling, the natural leader of the clan . . . The farmer serves to feed the warrior, and the warrior serves to protect the farmer.”

  I still had no idea where this was going, but Troucillus continued. “When warriors are not on campaign, they hunt to maintain their fighting skills. My people are the Helvi, the hunters of the war god, Rudianos, whose river the Romans call the Rhodanus. I have been hunting since I could ride. A hunter understands that no animal, or man for that matter, can pass across the land without leaving traces . . . tracks . . . broken branches . . . stool . . . even traces of fur in the brambles.”

  Troucillus’ little speech reminded me of my Sequani scouts, who could tell from a horse’s tracks whether it was carrying a load or not, whether it was running or walking, or how long since it passed. They could even tell from its merda what it had had for breakfast.

  While he spoke, Troucillus was bent over examining the brush and brambles around the body. Suddenly he said, “Euge!” and stood up holding something between his fingers.

  He offered his find to me. “Ecce! Look! Our prey has left its trace!”

  I looked at what he was holding. It seemed to be some strands of thread.

  “This is wool, the material that Roman tunics are made from,” he explained. “From what I can see, these strands are undyed. What is our victim wearing?”

  I looked down at his body. He had a leather coat and a worn pair of the blue, red, and green woolen bracae of the Aedui. “He’s not wearing undyed wool,” I told Troucillus.

  “I didn’t think so,” he agreed. “We Gauls love our colors . . . wouldn’t be caught dead in an undyed tunic . . . I guess that’s a bad pun condsidering the circumstances . . . I don’t remember any of our Aedui friends, who managed to churn up this area, wearing undyed cloth . . . so our killer could have left this behind . . . Think, Insubrecus . . . who among the Romans is wearing an undyed tunic?”

  I thought for a few heartbeats. “The soldiers are wearing red . . . so are the engineers . . . Publicola, of course, wears white and purple, as do you . . . Metius has worn various colors . . . The teamsters? The slaves in Publicola’s and Metius’s comitatus?”

  Troucillus nodded. “I think we’re done here . . . Let’s sum up what we know . . . The victim, Rhuhderc, was last seen heading towards these woods to relieve himself after the moon was up . . . The moon rose late during the first watch . . . There was still considerable activity in Publicola’s and Metius’s encampment at that time . . . The accused, Arion, left the Sequani encampment around the eleventh hour and allegedly rode east on picket duty with a couple of his companions . . . The body was discovered around the first hour . . . The killer attacked Rhuhderc from behind with a curved-bladed sica. The killer was left handed and about five-four. He was wearing an undyed woolen garment and Roman caligae. How’m I doing, so far?”

  I shrugged, “Sounds right, but Roman soldiers are trained to use both right and left hand in combat. Are Gauls also?”

  Troucillus thought for a few seconds, then said, “What you say about the Romans is correct, but as I understand it, Romans use their right hands unless it’s incapacitated. I don’t imagine our killer would use his non-dominant hand to attack an unwary victim if he didn’t have to. So, unless he were trying to throw us off . . . but that would mean he was expecting a competent examination . . . no . . . I believe our killer’s left handed . . . And your question about the Gauls . . . they are not trained to the battle line like Romans . . . They use whatever hand is dominant . . . I don’t remember noticing any left-handed Sequani . . . or Aedui for that matter. We should be on the lookout for that.”

  What Troucillus said seemed to make sense.

  He continued, “The next step is to ask ourselves cui bono, as the Roman Cicero asks: ‘Who gains?’ The apparent goal, I would say, is to set the Aedui and the Sequani against each other. But, I don’t think that’s the killer’s endgame. What would a falling out between the tribes cause in this situation?”

  “The embassy would not reach Ariovistus?” I suggested.

  Troucillus thought about that for a few heartbeats. “Fortasse . . . possibly . . . then cui bono? Ariovistus? Does Publicola have anything to gain in frustrating Caesar? But, this embassy is for show . . . Caesar expects Ariovistus to reject his demands, and Caesar will attack regardless . . . So what would be frustrated by destroying this delegation . . . certainly Publicola understands the situation . . . Caesar was perfectly frank with me what his expectations were.”

  “Perhaps, someone who doesn’t know Caesar’s intent,” I suggested. “Someone who thinks Caesar’s overtures are sincere?”

  “Who could that be?” Troucillus mused. “Disloyal elements within the army? My understanding is that the soldiers are not eager for this campaign, so they would want us to succeed with Ariovistus.”

  Again, Gabi’s words came to me, “Someone in Rome,” I suggested. “Pompeius is jealous of Caesar’s military successes.”

  Troucillus became thoughtful again, “Fortasse,” he agreed. “Perhaps. But, that would only work if Pompeius was confident of Caesar’s defeat . . . or some adverse political repercussion of Caesar attacking Ariovistus.”

  Troucillus shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “All this is possible . . . but we have a judgment to prepare for . . . Let’s keep our eyes and ears open . . . a five-four, left-handed man in an undyed tunic and caligae, carrying a curve-bladed sica . . . When we find him, we may get our answers . . . Let’s get out or these woods before the lemur of this unfortunate man decides that we are the source of his misfortune . . . Please inform Morcant that he is free to do the honors of the dead for his comrade. There is nothing more that he can tell us.”

  This was my first experience in being a venator homocidarum, an investigator of murders. The skill Troucillus taught me in reading the signs left by criminals, and understanding the motivation of these acts, would prove for me both a blessing and a curse: a blessing, in that at times I was able to find justice for a victim; a curse, in that at times I discovered things I did not want to know.

  X.

  De Iure Galliorum

  GALLIC JUSTICE

  The hearing, cuhmooliat, as the Gah’ela call it, to decide who was guilty of the murder of Rhuhderc mab Touhim began at the sixth hour. As tradition demands, the cuhmooliat was held out of doors, so the god himself, Chleu Chlaw Guhves, whose laws were to be remembered, interpreted, and applied, would witness the event.

  A chair for the barnuchel, liberated from somewhere among the baggage, was set up on a small, grassy knoll. Both the Aedui and the Sequanni were assembled before the chair–the Aedui to the barnuchel’s left, as the cuhuthai, the “accusers,” and the Sequani to his right, as the cuhuthedai, the “accused.” The assembled Gah’ela were dressed only in their tunic-shirts and bracae, their armor left behind in their encampment and their swords placed between themselves and the chair of judgment, the pommels toward the barunchal as a sign of peaceful purpose and submission to lawful judgment.

  I was seated between the tw
o groups, dressed only in my red military tunic; my gladius was also placed before the chair. From where I sat, I could see that Publicola had established himself a dozen or so passus to my left front. He was dressed in his broad-striped white tunic, and although he was comfortably seated and one of his famuli was busy keeping his wine cup filled, he did not look pleased. But, I could not remember Publicola ever looking pleased. Troucillus was seated on his right and the prefect of the engineers, Appius Papirius Cerialis, on Publicola’s left. There was no sign of Caesar’s other emissary, the merchant Metius.

  At Troucillus’s suggestion, Publicola had deployed the legionary cavalry to screen the assembly. I can imagine what the Roman boys thought when they learned that they had to spend the day in full armor under the summer sun to protect an assembly of unarmed Gauls involved in what they considered some barbaric ritual. A few of the Cerialis’ fabricatores were hanging about, waiting for the show to begin.

  And, it soon did.

  I noticed a flurry of movement from behind. I turned to see a tall, gaunt man in a long, flowing, red robe approaching the assembly. In his right hand, he held a staff at least five pedes in length. The staff was of oak, a tree sacred to the gods. On the bottom was the black steel blade of a thrusting spear, while on the top, a silver hand, fingers extended, palm open, similar to the signum of a Roman cohort. Since this was a peaceful assembly, the silver hand was held upright in honor of the god of peace and law.

  The man was Aderuhn mab Enit, barnuchel of the Evai. I learned later that the red robe represented the blood of a homicide, which this cuhmooliat was assembled to decide. Behind Aderuhn followed another man dressed in a brown robe and holding only an oaken wand capped on both ends in silver.

  As the barnuchel approached the chair, the assembled Gah’ela rose, as did I. I noticed that Troucillus and even Cerialis, albeit unsteadily, also stood up. If anything, Publicola seemed to snuggle further down in his chair.

  As Aderuhn stood before the chair, facing the assembled tribes, his assistant held up the oaken wand and announced, “Mai cuhmooliat uh popl bellac uhn decrau . . . The assembly of the peoples now begins!” I stole a glance over toward Publicola and saw that Troucillus was translating.

  Aderuhn, holding the silver hand of his staff up toward the sun and the assembly, intoned his qualifications as barnuchel, “Uhr wuhf uhn Aderuhn, mab Enit, mab Teb.” Aderuhn listed all his mentors, teachers, schools; at one point, he claimed to have traveled across Oceanus to an island called Pridain, the land of the “blue people,” and beyond that, to a place called Irioudain, the island of thr goddess, Iriou.

  Finally, when Aderuhn’s chant ended, his assistant entoned, “A oes unrhuhw un uhmginnull uhn i che hoon uhn herio awdurdod i barnuchel i benderfuhnu materion hin? . . . Does anyone assembled here challenge the authority of the barnuchel to decide these matters?” When no one in the assembly answered, Aderuhn sat, and the assembly took their seats before him.

  Aderuhn spoke, “Who brings a charge before the cuhmooliat?”

  Morcant rose, but did not speak. Aderuhn’s assistant approached Morcant and handed him the oaken wand.

  “I am Morcant, son of Cuhnetha, Pobl’rix of the Wuhr Tuurch, the Boar Clan of the Aineduai,” he began. “I am uhr pendevig of these assembled warriors. I accuse the warrior Arion of the Soucanai with the murder of Rhuhderc mab Touhim, who was of my band.”

  Aderuhn nodded and asked, “Morcant mab Cuhnetha, why do you call Rhuhderc mab Touhim’s death a murder?”

  Morcant, still holding the wand, described the circumstances of Rhuderc’s death until finally the barnuchel held up his hand to silence him. Then, Aderuhn asked, “Do any of the Soucanai contest the testimony of Morcant mab Cuhnetha?”

  No one from Athauhnu’s group rose.

  Aderuhn announced, “Since none of the Soucanai contest the testimony of Morcant mab Cuhnetha concerning the circumstances of Rhuhderc mab Touhim’s death, the cuhmooliat declares this death a murder and fixes a cosbcorv of ten dai for the murderer.”

  The coscorv was the “body fine,” the penalty for the crime itself. A da was a unit of goods offered in reparation for the offense; it could also mean a punitive punishment, a beating with clubs and staves. In the case of murder, the da was paid to the victim’s wife; or if the victim was unmarried, the father; or if the parents were dead, the victim’s chief. The next step was for the barnuchel to fix the cosvanrhuhda, the honor penalty, assessed based on the victim’s status within the tribe.

  Again, Aderuhn spoke, “Morcant mab Cuhnetha, what was Rhuhderc mab Touhim’s rank among your people?”

  Morcant replied, “A warrior of five years.”

  Aderuhn countered, “Does he have gleietai, vassals, in his own right?”

  “No!”

  “Does his father have gleietai?” Aderuhn further questioned.

  “No!” Morcant repeated.

  “What is his father’s status among your people?”

  “Uh duhntir, a free farmer.”

  Aderuhn then questioned, “Was Rhuhderc mab Touhim a married man?”

  Morcant answered again, “No!”

  “Was he betrothed?”

  Morcant hesitated for a few heartbeats, then said, “He was supposed to marry my cousin, Rhonwen merc Gwen.”

  At the mention of the name, Rhonwen, my ears picked up. For a reason my seventeen-year-old mind could not quite grasp, I had become rather preoccupied with that lass, whom I had only met briefly.

  Aderuhn asked, “Has Rhonwen merc Gwen agreed to the marriage?”

  No? I hoped.

  Morcant replied, “Not yet. We had hoped to hold the siarad oh atewidio, the betrothal ceremony, in the fall.”

  The betrothal has not taken place, I silently celebrated.

  Aderuhn followed up: “Are there any acknowledged offspring between them?”

  “No! Rhonwen merc Gwen is a feinir, a maiden,” Morcant asserted.

  I celebrated that answer too, still not understanding why Rhonwen’s maidenhood should mean anything to me.

  Aderuhn continued, “Did he acknowledge any offspring?”

  “He did not.”

  “Does Rhuhderc mab Touhim have any brothers?”

  Morcant clarified, “He has two: one older and another younger.”

  “Are his brothers of sound body, able to support their father?”

  Morcant replied, “They are!”

  Aderuhn was silent for a few heartbeats, then spoke, “Based on your responses, Morcant mab Cunetha, I determine Rhuhderc mab Touhim’s status, being a warrior of five years and the unmarried son of a living father who farms his own land and is supported by other healthy sons, to be benedivig glas, a “green lord.” Do you object to this judgment?”

  Morcant shook his head, “I do not.”

  “I, therefore, set the cosvanrhuhda, the honor price of Rhuhderc mab Touhim, at five dai,” the barnuchel declared.

  Morcant bowed his head in agreement.

  The barnuchel then asked, “Morcant mab Cunetha, you have convinced the cuhmooliat that the death of Rhuhderc mab Touhim was murder, and you have accused a warrior of the Soucanai called Arion of this murder. Is this correct?”

  “It is,” Morcant agreed.

  “Is Arion of the Soucanai present in the cuhmooliat?” Aderuhn asked.

  Athauhnu rose and stated, “He is, Lord!”

  “Arion of the Soucanai will stand before the cuhmooliat!” Aderuhn demanded.

  I looked back over my left shoulder and saw a man rise in the midst of my assembled turma. He appeared to be no more than twenty. His build was slight, and his reddish-brown hair fell unbound to his shoulders. He was yet to display the dramatic, chin-length mustachios of a veteran warrior of the Gah’ela.

  “I am Arion,” he announced to the cuhmooliat.

  Aderuhn nodded to his assistant, who took the oaken wand from Morcant and carried it to Arion.

  “State your full name and title,” Aderuhn instructed.

  Arion ans
wered, “I am Arion, mab Cadarn, mab Brac, a warrior in the band of Athauhnu mab Hergest. ‘Tis me first campaign as a warrior in me own right.”

  “Have you heard the charges made against you by Morcant mab Cunetha of the Aineduai?” the barnuchel asked.

  “I ‘ave, Lord!” Arion asnswered.

  “How do you respond to these charges?” Aderuhn asked.

  Arion held the oaken wand up toward the sun. “I deny ‘em,” he stated.

  There was a low rumbling among the Aineduai, which was almost immediately silenced by a stern look from Aderuhn. The barnuchel then asked Arion a series of questions similar to those asked about the victim, Rhuhderc. Finally, Aderuhn announced, “I determine Arion mab Cadarn’s status to be benedivig glas and set his cosvanrhuhda at two dai. As his pencefhul, do you agree with this judgment, Athauhnu mab Hergest?”

  Athauhnu stood. “I do, Lord,” he concurred.

  “Morcant mab Cunetha!” Aderuhn called. “Stand again before the cuhmooliat!”

  Aderuhn’s assistant transferred the oaken wand back to Morcant.

  “Morcant mab Cunetha,” Aderuhn asked, “Have you heard Arion mab Cadarn’s denial of your accusation concerning the murder of Rhuhderc mab Touhim?”

  “I have, Lord,” Morcant answered.

  “Have you also heard my judgment that Arion mab Cadarn’s status to be benedivig glas and his cosvanrhuhda is two dai?” the barnuchel asked.

  “I have, Lord,” Morcant again answered.

  Aderuhn continued, “Do you understand, although you have established before this cuhmooliat that Rhuhderc mab Touhim was indeed murdered, if I determine your accusation against Arion mab Cadarn to be without merit, I will assess his cosvanrhuhda against you? And, further, if I consider your accusation against Arion mab Cadarn to be malicious, I will assess his cosvanrhuhda three times against you?”

  “I do, Lord,” Morcant affirmed.

  “Do you wish to persist in your charges against Arion mab Cadarn?” Aderuhn asked.