by Ray Gleason
We were silent for a few heartbeats after Publicola’s admission. It was only when I heard him say it that I realized what a huge risk he was taking. If Ariovistus saw through Caesar’s deception–and how could he not—Publicola would be the first target of his rage; then, the rest of us who were gathered in that tent.
Troucillus broke the silence. “This is the first I’ve heard of this, though I suspected Caesar saw no benefit in Ariovistus accepting his terms. It would be impossible for Ariovistus, of course. How could he force the thousands of Germans, to whom he had promised living space, plunder, and riches, back across the Rhenus? I hope these reports of Ariovistus being a ‘seer,’ the ‘all-seeing one of Mars,’ are not true. But, he needn’t be clairvoyant to see through Caesar’s ploy.”
Publicola nodded, then asked, “What would you do if you were in Ariovistus’ boots, knowing that Caesar’s peace overtures were false?”
I spoke, “I’d be moving on Vesantio as quickly as possible.”
Publicola agreed, “Yes . . . move through the Gate and take Vesantio before Caesar can arrive . . . Our mission is to get there before Ariovistus can . . . a bit like rushing to our deaths . . . But pietas, devotion to duty, is the primary virtue of a Roman soldier . . . So, I offer a toast to you, m’amici!”
Publicola rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet and raised his cup to us. “Roman soldiers . . . Ad mortem fideles . . . We are faithful until death!”
Publicola drained his cup. We stood and did the same, drinking to “Ad mortem fideles!”
Publicola announced, “Early start in the morning, gentlemen . . . Mustn’t keep the boatman waiting, eh? I bid you valete!”
Publicola’s slave helped me back into my rig while Troucillus waited. When we got outside Publicola’s tent, Troucillus laid a hand on my shoulder and began speaking to me in Gah’el, so we were unlikely to be overheard. “It’s as bad as I feared. Caesar’s political enemies are using Ariovistus to destroy Caesar.”
“It seems likely,” I admitted.
“Don’t those fools in Rome understand what they’re doing?” Troucillus asked. “If the Almaenwuhr get into the valley of the Black River, thousands will die, Romans and Gauls alike . . . Then, they’ll pour down the valley of Rotonos into the Roman provincia . . . They’ll be banging on the gates of Massalia of the Greeks before the snows fall . . . Do those fools in Rome actually believe that they can control Ariovistus once he knows he can destroy Roman armies? . . . Do they really believe that once Ariovistus controls Gaul that hordes of Almaenwuhr will not come pouring across the Rhenus to join him? . . . It will be Arausio all over again, except this time there will be no Marius to pull the Roman chestnuts out of the fire—just a fat, old, pompous has-been who still thinks he can live up to his cognomen e virtute, ‘Magnus,’ the Great One.”
I was a bit surprised at witnessing Troucillus so worked up. I shrugged my shoulders and halfheartedly answered, “Do you think Caesar would withdraw the legions from the nations? There are those who believe Caesar would do the same thing to the tribes that Ariovistus plans.”
“Sometimes, the only choice available is between two evils,” Troucillus said. “And, if forced to make such a choice, it would be madness not to choose the lesser of the two. The nations have lived beneath the shadow of the Rhufeiniaid to the south and the Almaenwuhr to the east for too long not to expect that this would one day happen. If Caesar intends to conquer the nations, the tribes cannot stop him; some will even embrace him! The Aineduai encourage Caesar to attack their enemies, the Soucanai, and the Soucanai are just as bad. The Gah’ela are too divided and weak to resist a determined effort by either the Rhufeiniaid or the Almaenwuhr. The difference between the two is that the Rhufeiniaid will eventually assimilate the tribes into their culture, as they did with your people and mine. The Almaenwuhr will slaughter everyone they don’t need and make slaves out of the rest. I’d rather be Caesar’s client than Ariovistus’ slave!”
Troucillus was silent for a few heartbeats, then said, “If this goes as badly as we fear, Arth, you and your Soucanai have the best chance of escape. Ariovistus will slaughter Publicola and his Rhufeiniaid, and he’ll send their heads back to Caesar in burlap sacks to terrify his army. He may spare me for a time. Having a pendefig of the Elvai tied to his saddle may be of some use to him when he invades the valley of the Rotonos. He may not notice, or even care, about a mere fintai of thirty-some-odd Soucanai. So, put aside your sense of fhuhtlondebos, that pietas that Publicola treasures so much . . . If things go badly, escape if you get a chance . . . Get back to Caesar and warn him before Ariovistus and his horde catch his army on the march in some narrow valley.”
I was wondering how I could run away when my contubernales were being slaughtered. How could I explain myself to Caesar? For an insane moment, I imagined how I would shame mama and her sense of Romanitas by running away. Then, I remembered Athauhnu gave me much the same advice when we thought the Boii were going to overrun us at Bibracte. When the battle is lost, your ultimate duty is to save yourself and as many of your mates as you can. Besides, if Ariovistus were advancing down the valley of the Dubis, someone would need to warn Caesar and the army.
Then, I remembered holding mama in my arms on the morning I left home to enlist in the legions, and her saying, “Come home to me, my child. Come home safe.”
Troucillus was still talking: “He’s not really a bad sort, you know.”
“What?” I said, snapping back to our conversation. “Who?”
“Publicola. He’s not really a bad sort,” Troucillus continued.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He doesn’t really know how to deal with all the broken fragments of his life,” Troucillus explained. “Both his father and brother in the senate support the Optimates against Caesar. He owes his appointment as tribune to the patronage of Pompeius. Yet, he favors Caesar and his progressive agenda. He was born into a patrician family and is expected to run the political ‘course of honors’ down in Rome, yet he feels that he has found a home here in the army, or at least the best home available to him. If he had his way, he’d travel to Athens and study philosophy. He says he’s only truly happy when he’s buried in a room full of scrolls. He even enjoys the smell of decaying papyrus! But, his father let him know in no uncertain terms that he found that kind of life unacceptable—even played the pater familias card on him. Threatened to disown him! Like a true Roman, he’s to honor the gods, serve the state, and produce a brood of little Roman patricians, preferably males.”
“How is it that you know so much about Publicola?” I questioned Troucillus.
“You get to know a man when you drink with him late into the night,” Troucillus answered. “He has some difficulty dealing with people like you and me.”
“What do you mean ‘people like you and me’?” I asked.
Troucillus shrugged, “As far as Romans of his class are concerned, we’re just conquered barbarians who traded their trousers for togas to kiss up to our betters. We’re tolerated as long as we keep our mouths shut, stay out of Roman politics, and make our patrons rich. But, ‘people like you and me’–Romanized Gah’ela, Eidalwuhr, Spaenwuhr, and even a few Almaenwuhr—are the backbone of the army that Publicola has embraced. He’s afraid of being too familiar with us, or we won’t respect him as a Roman noble, but he hates the feeling of being too remote, like some useless Roman nob who spends a year pretending to be a soldier so he can get elected to some lucrative office down in Rome. He just doesn’t know how to deal with us, but the wine helps!”
“Thanks for the information,” I answered. “By the way, did you notice Bulla?”
“You mean Metius’ thug?” Troucillus asked.
“The same,” I confirmed. “He’s left handed! And, he carries a curved sica.”
“Oh, you noticed that, did you?” Troucillus acknowledged. “The problem we have with that is Bulla’s a citizen, and he’s under Metius’ protection. So, we’re going to need more evidenc
e than we now have to drag him before a magistrate for murder. Besides, the man he killed has no standing in a Roman court. The magistrate may accept our evidence and dismiss it with ‘So what? One less barbarian in the world!’ But, I’d keep an eye out for Bulla, if I were you. He seems to have acquired an intense dislike for you. If he thinks you are in any way a threat to him, he’ll come after you.”
“What is Metius’ story anyway?” I asked. “Why did Caesar send him on this mission?”
“Other than he’s had some contact with Ariovistus?” Troucillus asked. “I hope he’s a spy because if he’s a merchant as he claims, he’s the worst merchant in the imperium. He doesn’t even bother to carry merchandise.”
“A spy?” I asked. “A spy for whom?”
“Now that asks for an answer worth a thousand denarii!” Troucillus laughed. “If he’s a spy for Caesar, he’s a worse spy than he is a merchant. He’s traveling openly with Caesar’s embassy! So, if he is not a spy for Caesar, then that leaves Ariovistus or Caesar’s enemies in Rome. And, from what I can see, the two interests are not mutually exclusive.”
The next morning, we were off at first light. In order to relieve the strain of witnessing the slaughter inflicted by the German raiders on their people, Athauhnu placed Guithiru’s ala in the rear and Ci in the lead. We kept Rhodri and Drust as our scouts.
Through the first four hours of the march, we saw nothing. The farms we passed were abandoned, but intact. There was no sign of the Germans. I was beginning to breathe a bit easier, trying to convince myself that we would not have to deal with any more atrocities before we reached Vesantio the next day.
Quam erratum me! How wrong I was!
We were moving through a dangerous area. The trail curved around a bluff that thrust itself out almost to the river’s edge; the trail had narrowed to the extent that we were forced to ride in single file. There was heavily forested high ground on our left and an almost sheer drop-off down to the river on our right. The trail curved around the bluff so that we could see no more than a few passus to our front. Foliage reached across the trail, making it even more difficult to see further on.
I remember thinking that, depite the fact that our scouts had cleared the trail before us, it was a perfect spot for an ambush. Block the narrow trail, front and back; rain spears and rocks down on us from the high ground. We’d have the choice of dying on the trail or letting our armor drown us in the river.
Even that early in my career, I had lost the gift of seeing the forests and hills as places of magic and romance, as I did when Gabi and I rode off into the hills surrounding her villa. Already, I saw terrain as a soldier: set the ambush there; this hill would serve as a good defensive position; we can turn the enemy’s flank by advancing up this valley.
I was in the midst of pushing a thickly leaved maple branch out of my face when suddenly I realized there was a dismounted man standing in the trail about three passus ahead. I immediately pulled Clamriu up and reached for my spatha; my shield was strapped to my back, out of reach. Athauhnu literally crashed into my rear. Before I could unsheathe my sword, I realized that the man in front of me was Drust.
Before I could speak, Drust held his hand up to his mouth to indicate silence. He walked his horse up to me, and so that only Athauhnu and I could hear, he whispered, “A Pen! Almaenwuhr!”
I bent down from my saddle and demanded, “Complete report!”
Drust went on, “A German raiding party. . . We saw about twenty. . . They’re attacking a farm about five hundred passus down this trail. . . The Germans are on foot and not well armed. . . Less than half have swords. . . Few have armor.”
“Are they aware of us?” Athanuhnu asked.
“No, a Pen,” Drust assured him. “Rhodri and I have been most careful.” Then, he added, “You must come quickly! They are killing our people!”
Athauhnu turned his head and whistled softly. Ci was up with us in a heartbeat.
“German raiders ahead,” Athauhnu briefed. “Keep the men here until I call for you, but be ready to move immediately into the attack.”
“Buhdhoon uhn barod, a Pen!” Ci responded. “We will be ready, Chief!”
Athauhnu hissed down the column, “Emlun! To me!”
I gave him a questioning look. “We’ll need a runner,” he explained. I nodded in agreement.
“Signifer, remain here,” Athauhnu continued. “Trumpeter, with me.”
When Emlun reached us, Athauhnu whispered to him, “Stay close to me.”
Then, he told Drust, “Take us to the Germans!”
Drust remounted and led us down the trail at a fast walk. When we got around the bend, the trail turned away from the river and began to descend into a valley carved by a tributary stream. We had gone no more than four hundred passus when I could see light through the trees ahead, indicating an open valley.
Then, I smelled the smoke.
Rhoderi suddenly broke out of some brush ahead of us. Clamriu reared back in surprise. Rhodri raised two empty hands in our direction so that we knew he was unarmed and this is where he wanted us to halt.
We dismounted. Rhodri hissed, “Come! See!”
He led us back into the brush. We followed him only a few passus into the wood to where it opened into a small valley. There was a small complex of buildings, or at least what was left of them. We could see men running about. Some were thrusting flaming brands into buildings and storage sheds, which were beginning to burn. Others were rounding up young women and older children, corralling them in a lawnt, an open, grassy area in front of a large roundhouse. Other raiders were scrambling about, trying to collect anything they thought had value and piling it next to the captives.
There was no military disciplne. No security was established around the raid. In fact, to my disgust, some of the raiders stopped what they were doing in order to attack the women captives. Others were enjoying whatever mead and beer they found. One man seemed to be pissing on a flaming hut and laughing at the irony.
Athauhnu was speaking, “We’ll deploy Ci’s fintai straight down the road, halt, turn the entire column to the left, and sweep across them before they can organize any defense . . . I want these counai dead . . . every last one of them, dead!”
I put my hand on Athauhnu’s forearm. “One prisoner!” I said, “Save one for interrogation! He may know where the main body of the Germans is.”
Athauhnu spit, then said, “One, just one! The rest we give to the Morgana, the Queen of Crows!”
I nodded.
Athauhnu called Emlun over. “Go back to Ci. Tell him to bring the troop forward as fast as he can. I will meet him on the trail. Tell him we will go immediately into the attack!”
Emlun nodded and made a move to go, but Athauhnu held on to his wrist. “You will then go back and communicate with the Rhufeiniaid. You will tell them that we are in contact with a German raiding party. Tell them that we will destroy the Germans ourselves.”
“But, a Pen,” Emlun began to protest.
Athauhnu did not allow him to finish. “A warrior of the Soucanai does as he’s commanded; only a child argues. Which are you, today?”
Emlun seemed to be about to say something, then nodded to Athauhnu and moved back toward the horses.
I was about to say something to Athauhnu, but he was fixated on the slaughter in the valley. His jaw muscles were bulging; the knuckles of his sword hand were white around the hilt of his spatha.
Suddenly he said, “We must move back to the trail and meet Ci’s ruhfelwuhr when they arrive!” He got up and strode back to our horses.
When we were back on the trail, we remounted. While we waited, Athauhnu said, “I will lead the attack. I will take the fintai down the trail. When we have cleared the woods, we will turn left and sweep into the enemy. That will put me on the right flank of the attack. You follow the column as it passes. When we turn, you will be on the left. If you want one of these counai as a prisoner, you will have to catch him yourself. We’re killing every on
e of those moch we find.”
Ci was up with us in very little time. Athauhnu shouted down the column, “The German counai are up ahead, killing our people! We are going to kill them!”
The Soucanai growled their concurrence.
“Follow me down this trail,” he continued. “When you clear the woods, you will see what they are doing to our people. Follow me! Watch my banner! The trumpet will signal the attack. Once we go in, sweep through and kill every German pig you see! The trumpet will signal assembly!”
The warriors cheered. I realized any attempt at concealing our presence and any hope of tactical deception were now irrelevant to the Soucanai. We were going straight in, and Athauhnu actually wanted the Grunni to know who was killing them.
Athauhnu unsheathed his sword and yelled, “Diluhn fi! Follow me!” He turned his horse and galloped down the trail. The Soucanai shouted and followed him. I pulled in behind the last rider.
We pounded down the trail, and no sooner had I cleared the woodline than Athauhnu ordered a halt. He then turned his horse toward the enemy; the Soucanai did the same. I watched as his signifer unfurled his pennant. It was the same color red as a legionary vexillum, but swallow-tailed and long. When a slight breeze off the river caught the flag, I saw there a draco, a golden serpent embroidered onto the field of red. Athauhnu raised his sword toward the enemy and yelled something. The troop drew their swords and screamed a battle cry. The trumpet sounded. We charged into the enemy!
It was a massacre.
The German raiders didn’t seem to notice our presence until we were on top of them. We chopped them to bits. I was advancing along the edge of the settlement when a German suddenly appeared before me out of some long grass. He raised two empty hands in my direction. I was on him too quickly. Without a thought, I chopped down on him and split his head down to his shoulders.
I swept through the contact zone and was actually past the burning roundhouse. I could see some of the Soucanai riders aligned to my right, looking for more raiders to kill. I was beginning to despair of finding the prisoner I had argued for when I suddenly sensed movement to my left.