The Swabian Affair

by Ray Gleason

  “I do not have the password,” Manius asnswered. “I am Manius Rabirius, Decurio of the Ninth Legion, now in command of the vexillatio of Tertius Gellius Publicola, under the direct orders of the Imperator.”

  There was a brief silence, then the voice challenged, “What is your shield symbol?”

  Manius responded, “Taurus, the Bull!”

  Then, the voice, “Maneas illic tu, Decurio! Please stay where you are, sir!”

  I thought addressing Manius as “sir” and requesting him to stay put, instead of ordering it, were good signs that whoever was out there accepted our bona fides.

  Then, I heard, “Tesserari! Stationem quinque! Officer of the guard! Post five!”

  I walked up to where Manius was standing, and as I joined him, a Roman soldier appeared on the trail ahead. He was soon backed up by five additional muli. All were equipped as velites, skirmishers, stripped down to their subarmales, the padded jackets legionaries wear under their armor, and armed only with gladii and pila.

  “Ave, Decurio!” the first said. “Greetings, Decurio. I’m called Rufius, Tesserarius of the Fifth Century, Third Cohort of Caesar’s Tenth Legion. We had been told to look out for you!”

  I saw Manius’ shoulders sag a bit as he realized that he had finally gotten his people back to safety.

  “Ave, Rufi,” he responded. “This is Gaius Marius Insubrecus, Commander of the Sequani cavalry and Decurio Praetorius of the Imperator. Please . . . lead us to camp . . . quickly . . . We have wounded.”

  XV.

  De Nece Reducitur Amicus

  A FRIEND BROUGHT BACK FROM THE DEAD

  Postea quam in vulgus militum elatum est qua arrogantia in conloquio Ariovistus usus omni Gallia Romanis interdixisset impetumque in nostros eius equites fecissent eaque res conloquium ut diremisset multo maior alacritas studiumque pugnandi maius exercitui iniectum est.

  “Later, when our rank and file found out about Ariovistus’ arrogance during the conference and how he forbade Romans any access to Gaul and how he attacked our delegation in order to break up the negotiations, our army was more than ready and raring to fight the Germans.”

  (from Gaius Marius Insubrecus’ notebook of Caesar’s journal)

  We limped back, arriving at the Gate during the tenth hour; it was immediately obvious that the Roman army had arrived.

  Standing before us was a ten-foot vallum, a wall of earth topped by a wooden parapet and fronted by a fossum, a defensive ditch dug to the regulation six pedes in depth. A screen of fully armed muli stood along the ditch, while their mates, stripped down to their red military tunics, placed lilia, “lilies,” foot-traps of sharpened sudes stakes, down in the ditch. As we approached the conventional folded gateway, I saw the red vexillium of the Tenth Legion waving from the battlements.

  A sentry on top of the gate called down our approach into the castrum. Almost immediately, a group of soldiers came out to meet us. I was surprised to see the legate, Labienus himself, leading the group. Behind him marched Tertius Piscius Malleus, the Hammer, Centurio Primus Pilus of the Tenth Legion, his vitis staff clamped firmly under his left arm.

  “Gratias dis,” Labienus was saying. “Thank the gods you made it back . . . Caesar sent messengers to recall you, but they didn’t get up here in time!”

  Then, Labienus searched among our banged-about, ragtag assembly, “But . . . where’s Publicola? Troucillus?”

  Manius, as our de facto commander, responded, “Legate! Manius Rabirius, Decurio, reports—”

  “Forget the military formalities, Decurio,” Labienus stopped him. “Please, just answer the question.”

  “Legate! The tribune, Tertius Gellius Publicola, is badly wounded . . . He’s back with the column . . . The envoy, Gaius Valerius Troucillus, is missing and presumed dead.”

  “And Marcus Metius?” Labienus continued.

  “Missing . . . presumed dead, Legate!” Manius repeated.

  “How many wounded with the column?” Labienus asked.

  “Ten . . . six Romans, four Sequani,” Manius answered.

  Labienus turned to one of the soldiers with him, a muli dressed in only a red tunic with a tabula tucked under his arm, one of his scribae, headquarters clerks. “Quickly, Quinte! Run back and get Spina . . . Tell him we need him and as many of his capsularii as he can spare . . . Stretchers and wound kits . . . up here QC! Quam Celerrime! ASAP!”

  The man handed his tabula to one of his mates and ran back through the gate.

  “How many dead, Decurio?” Labienus continued.

  “Seven Romans confirmed dead, nine Romans missing and presumed dead, not counting Troucillus and Metius, and five Sequani,” Manius reported.

  Labienus sucked air through his teeth, “Twenty-three out of only two turmae! Did you recover the bodies?”

  “We have all the Sequani, but we could not reach nine of our contubernales . . . Their lemures await our return to the place of their final battle,” Manius said.

  “They will not have to wait long, Decurio,” Labienus said, reaching out and gripping Manius’s shoulder. “Please, lay our comrades outside the ditch, as is the custom. We will collect what we need for the pyre and honor them at sundown.”

  Then, Labienus noticed Athauhnu, “Adonus Dux! I assume you will honor your dead according to your customs.”

  Surprisingly, Athauhnu shook his head. “They died as Romans. Let them accompany their comrades in smoke to the blessed place.”

  Labienus nodded.

  Then, Spina burst through the gate. “Tribune! What’s goin’ on heah? I hoid ahr patrol got back . . . Dare’s wounded . . . My boys are on dare way.”

  “Uh. . . bene . . . Medice,” Labienus started, translating Spina’s Aventine-Hill gibberish into coherent Latin. “Please . . . see to the tribune.”

  Spina looked around, “What tribune? I dohn see no tribune.”

  One of Manius’ boys finally led Publicola’s horse up to the front of the column. Spina and the trooper untied Publicola and eased him down to the ground. I thought for a heartbeat that Publicola had already crossed the river. His face was pasty white and his body was as limp as a child’s stuffed doll. There was a trail of blood from the side of his mouth down to his chin. Then, I saw he was still breathing.

  Spina looked at the binding under Publicola’s right arm and the bright-red blood down his chin. “A lung wound . . . Dair’s nuttin’ I can do fer ‘im here . . . I gotta take ‘im back to da shop.”

  Spina’s medics had finally appeared. He grabbed two and a stretcher. They eased Publicola onto the stretcher and tied him down.

  “Get ‘im back to da shop, stat’,” Spina instructed his boys.

  “Cornices pascet,” Athauhnu muttered aloud as they lifted the stretcher. “He’ll be feeding the crows.”

  One of the capsularii shot Athauhnu a dirty look, either because of the comment itself or because it came from a Gaul. I was continually impressed with Athauhnu’s growing mastery of Latin idioms and military slang; I would have to talk to him about his timing, however.

  Labienus was speaking to Manius: “Get your men settled in, Decurio. I will take your formal report during the first watch tonight.”

  Then to me, “Insubrece Decurio, come with me to the principia . . . We have things to discuss . . . Adone Dux . . . you will come too, please.”

  Labienus turned and walked back toward the gate.

  I spotted the Sequani medduhg and handed Clamriu over to him. “Please take care of her, vuh frind,” I said to him in Gah’el.

  The man nodded. “I’ll have this old girl prancin’ like a pony in no time, a Pen,” he reassured me. To further reassure me, Clamriu nuzzled the man’s neck despite her pain.

  As the medduhg led Clamriu away, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. I turned to see the Hammer scrutinizing me with a humorless grin, “Looks like you earned your sestertii today, Decurio!”

  Then, he turned and marched back into the castrum.

  Coming from a centurio primus
pilus that was high praise. High praise, indeed.

  I only wished I had earned it.

  Labienus had erected a small tent in the center of the castrum to serve as his principia. As we walked through the camp, it was obvious that it was not manned by a full legion, although the dimensions of the camp being built would eventually accommodate one.

  Labienus was explaining as we walked, “We’re a vexillatio of the Tenth . . . We experienced some delays on the march, so Caesar put two cohorts from the acies prima, the first battle line, on horses, the First and the Second, and sent them ahead to secure the Gate . . . Put me in command with Malleus as my number one . . . You should have seen those muli clinging to their saddle horns while trying to hold on to their infantry shields and pila . . . Would have been hilarious if we weren’t so worried about Ariovistus getting to Vesantio before us . . . Those boys were so glad to get off those horses that they didn’t bitch about having to dig an entire legionary castrum with only two cohorts . . . Even the First Cohort boys, who are immune from digging, were happy to be firmly planted back on mother earth and playing in the dirt . . . The boys took it in good humor, though . . . After the role the Tenth Legion played in resolving some problems we had on the march, they boasted that, not only did Caesar appoint them his singulares, his chosen ones, but he also assigned them to the cavalry.”

  “Problems on the march,” I repeated. “Are you referring to the mutiny, Legate?”

  “Mutiny?” Labienus echoed. “So, you heard about that, eh? There was no mutiny . . . Just another one of Caesar’s schemes . . . I thought it had worked out pretty well, but by the looks of you, it may have backfired a bit.”

  When we arrived at his headquarters tent, Labienus invited Athauhnu and me to drop our loricae and relax. We helped each other out of our armor and found some camp chairs to drop onto. One of the clerks brought in a pitcher of posca and some clay cups. I took a long swig and almost choked on it as it burned its way down my throat. It was indisputably the vinegar of the Roman army.

  I briefed Labienus on our mission: the murder of the Aeduan trooper by Bulla, the hearing before Troucillus’s barnuchel, our conversations with the cadeuhrn in Vesantio, Bulla’s attempt on my life, Publicola’s insistence on obeying his orders to the letter and confronting Ariovistus, and the fight at the Hill of Flocks.

  “So, you have no idea where this Bulla has gotten to?” Labienus asked when I was done.

  I shook my head. “He wasn’t with us when we passed through the Gate. He may be lying low in Vesantio . . . or he may have drowned in the Dubis. . . But I don’t think so.”

  “A Roman sicarius this far north,” Labienus said absently. “Strange . . . very strange. Why do you think he attacked you, Gai?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Maybe he thought I showed him up when he attacked one of Manius’ troopers . . . He did say someone called La Matrona wanted me dead.”

  “La Matrona,” Labienus repeated. “Quam insolite . . . quite bizarre . . . a woman, obviously . . . Did you jilt one of your many girlfriends, Gai?” Labienus asked jokingly.

  I had no energy left to remind Labienus about Gabi, her crazed brother, and the network of vengeance and deceit that seemed to reach all the way to the consul and Pompeius himself. So, I just grinned at Labienus’ ribbing and shook my head.

  “Well, we have bigger issues to deal with than a missing Roman thug and a mysterious femme fatale,” Labienus stated. “Let me catch you up on Caesar and the army.”

  “As we marched east, Caesar realized the men weren’t completely behind his plan to move against Ariovistus, so he decided to kill two birds with one arrow . . . get the men with the program and purge the army of cowards and politically untrustworthy elements. We were in camp, two-day’s march east of Bibracte, when Caesar sent his own agents, mostly junior legionary-grade officers, to spread rumors among the muli about the Suebii . . . how huge they were . . . how they ate their captives . . . how just looking at a one of them would freeze a man like the Medusa . . . Caesar’s idea was to flush out any agents who were working for his rivals back in Rome or who were just not up to the job.

  “It worked like a charm . . . The very next day, the men refused to march . . . Some of the narrow-stripers wouldn’t even leave their tents out of fear . . . By midday, Caesar had a comprehensive list of the unreliables, either because they were in the pay of his political enemies and were magnifying the rumors that Caesar’s agents started or because the very thought of a Kraut made them soil their loincloths.

  “Then, Caesar produced a bit of theater . . . During the ninth hour, he summoned his legates, his tribunes, and his first-line centurions to a meeting between the camps . . . This, of course, drew in a huge crowd of muli . . . Caesar read them the riot act . . . He told them they had no business calling themselves Roman soldiers because Romans never give in to fear and refuse to obey their orders . . . He told them that Ariovistus was nothing more than a pumped up swamp-rat leading a rabble of disorganized savages . . . All the legions had to do was show up, and the Grunni would be climbing over each other to swim back across the Rhenus . . . He declared that the Roman cause was just . . . Ariovistus had attacked Rome through her allies . . . He had stolen land, cattle, and slaves that were under the protection of Rome . . . If the legions didn’t act, they shamed themselves . . . They shamed Rome!

  “Then Caesar pulled off his master stroke . . . As arranged, Malleus and all his senior centurions from the Tenth Legion fell to their kness, seeming to weep . . . Can you imagine Malleus weeping? If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have said it couldn’t happen! They implored Caesar to forgive them . . . They swore that they would wipe away their shame like the tears they were shedding . . . They would march east that very moment, even if they had to face the Grunni alone . . . it was better to die in glory than to live in shame . . . They begged only that Caesar would lead them.

  “Caesar descended from his platform . . . Right on cue, one of his praetorians brought him his white stallion and red general’s cloak . . . He mounted and rode over to where Malleus and his boys were kneeling . . . He took the Tenth Legion’s standard and raised it up . . . He told Malleus and his officers to rise, to stand like Romans, and follow him . . . Caesar declared that the Tenth Legion was now his own legion . . . his strong right arm . . . He would be proud to lead them on an assault against Hades itself!

  “Caesar turned his horse east, but before he could ride, the rest of the assembled officers surrounded him . . . They took hold of his reins . . . They begged him not to leave them behind in shame . . . begged that he take them with him to the Rhenus.

  “Caesar pretended to soften . . . He welcomed them back into the fold . . . He told them they would march east at dawn . . . an unstoppable Roman juggernaut to push the Krauts back over the Rhenus.

  “Meanwhile, Caecina and a detail of praetorians were working through Caesar’s list of unreliables . . . Some snot-nosed military tribunes were sent packing back to Rome . . . The legionary-grade officers were given a choice . . . either swear personal allegiance to Caesar himself or be cashiered right then and there in the middle of Gallia Comata, without pension or burial funds . . . Most saw the writing on the wall and swore the oath.

  “Now that Caesar had purged his army of its disloyal elements, the legions were eager to march with him against the Suebii . . . It was a master stroke . . . They believed that destroying the Krauts would wipe out their shame . . . but it did cost us a couple-of-day’s march . . . We thought we could make the time up, but once we got across the Arar, the terrain was abysmal . . . lousy roads, narrow valleys, marshes . . . But you already know that . . . So, Caesar sent me and Malleus ahead to cancel your mission and to block the Gate against Ariovistus . . . I expect the rest of the army up here late tomorrow . . . the day after, at the latest.”

  I nodded my head. So, our army was coming. But, it was too late for Troucillus and the Roman troopers who died on the Hill of Flocks because of my incompeten
ce.

  I stood up before Labienus and assumed the position of attention.

  “Legate!” I stated. “Gaius Marius Insubrecus, Decurio, has a request!”

  Labienus sat up straight, blinked twice at me, and then responded, “Quid voles tu, Gai? What do you want?”

  “Legate!” I continued. “The decurio requests that he be relieved of his commission and returned to the ranks!”

  Labienus was taken aback by my request. Even Athauhnu sat there with his mouth hanging open. “Why would you ask me to do such a thing?” Labienus asked.

  I told Labienus of my failings: how I failed to detect the infiltration of the German infantry; how I failed to warn Publicola in time; how I failed to attack the Hill of Flocks when I had the chance. By the time I was done, I was no longer rendering a battle report like a Roman officer. I was near to joining Malleus in tears and begging for forgiveness.

  When I ended my tirade, Labienus stared at me for a few heartbeats. Then, he looked down at the ground. When he lifted his head again, he was grinning. “At times, I forget how young you still are, Gai . . . What . . . seventeen now?” he asked.

  “Sir!” I began to protest.

  Labienus held up his hand to stop me. “Let me finish what I have to say to you, Gai.”

  Labienus paused again for a few heartbeats to get his thoughts together. “First, your commission comes directly from Caesar himself. It is not within my authority to relieve you. If Caesar wishes to do so, he will. But, until he does, you will continue to serve this command in the role Caesar has assigned you.”

  Labienus continued, “If anyone has to shoulder blame for the Hill of Flocks, it’s Publicola. He was the commander in the field. It was his decision to procede against Ariovistus without support . . . Certainly, he was . . . uh . . . is a brave officer, but rigid . . . inflexible . . . and that can be a deadly combination in a commander. He models himself after the noble Roman heroes of myth . . . Mucius Scaevola plunging his hand into the fire . . . Publius Horatius Cocles defending the Pons Sublicius against overwhelming odds . . . the sort of nonsense children read in their history books . . . school-boy Romanitas . . . When he heard the rumors of mutiny, he should have waited until he received further instructions from Caesar, instead of confronting Ariovistus without an army to back up his bravado . . . But I believe that Publicola has paid the price for his mistakes . . . Unfortunately, he took too many brave Romans with him.”