by Ray Gleason
There was never a sound to warn his companions below us.
I wiped my face and chest with my sudarium. Again, I placed two fingers across my lips. I signaled my men to follow me in file down the hill. I followed the path the German had made climbing the hill.
Soon I could hear the sound of men talking below. They heard us descending, and a voice called out a word that sounded like “Fulfgar.”
I drew my short sword. I ran down into the Germans. The one who had called out was facing me, his hands empty. Before he could react, I ran at him and plunged my gladius up under his ribs, twisted the grip, stepped back, and pulled out the blade with a sucking sound. The man’s heart blood followed my sword blade, drenching my hand, forearm, and chest.
As the man went down, I jumped to the side and assumed a fighting position. But, there was no fight to be had. The other Kraut was down, and Metius was still standing, his face contorted in terror at the bloody, murderous apparitions that had suddenly leaped out of the forest.
“No sliath me! Ich eam thas searwes man!” he cried out, showing us his empty hands. Then, he seemed to recognize our armor. “Do not kill me! I’m a friend of Caesar!” he repeated in Latin.
“They don’t understand Latin, you stinking verpa!” I answered him, lowering my sword point to his abdomen.
Metius blinked twice and finally recognized me through the blood. “Insubrece! Gratias dis! I have a message for Caesar! Take me to him!”
“Tell me your message, and I’ll kill you quickly, perfide! Traitor!” I hissed. “Or, I’ll take my time with you.”
“Don’t be a fool, Insubrece,” Metius challenged. “I am Caesar’s man!”
“As far as Caesar knows, you’re already dead . . . killed on the Hill of Flocks with Troucillus and the Roman soldiers you betrayed to your Kraut master!” I accused.
Metius stared at me for a heartbeat. “Troucillus? Troucillus isn’t dead! Ariovistus has him. That’s what I need to talk to Caesar about!”
I didn’t kill Metius. I couldn’t. Not with Troucillus’ life in the balance.
But, I didn’t treat Metius with any gentleness. I had my boys truss him up like a side of beef from the cattle market. Then, when he wouldn’t shut his bloody gob, I had them gag him for good measure.
We left the Grunni where they fell for their mates to find. Hopefully, they’d think Metius had something to do with it. One man’s traitor is every man’s traitor. I’ve heard Germans, despite being treacherous bastards themselves, like to take revenge for blood spilt through treachery.
We withdrew back to Ci’s position on the ridge, taking the Germans’ horses and whatever decent weapons we could salvage. We did all we could to cover our trail away from the hill.
We got back up on the ridge by about the eighth hour. Dai was still out, but Athauhnu had returned with Cerialis. When I kicked Metius off his horse, Athauhnu looked at him with surprise.
“Are we at war with the Rhufeiniaid now, a Pen?” he asked facetiously.
“We are with this one,” I answered.
Ceriales would have no part of it. “He’s a Roman citizen,” Ceriales protested. “Only Caesar can legally restrain him.” So, I released Metius. Not because I gave a dried turd for Ceriales’ protestations; I just got tired listening to him bitch at me.
Dai returned during the ninth hour. In case only a few of us made it back to Caesar, we all shared his intelligence.
Dai’s fintai had discovered Ariovistus’ encampment about fifteen thousand passus to the north, just beyond two large mountains in the Silvae Vosegi, called Tethi’Abnoba, the “Teats of Abnoba,” the consort of the forest god, Vosegos. The Suebii and their allies were camped at the confluence of the river that ran north toward the Rhenus—the Afonolilis, Dai called it, the “River of Lilies”—and some nameless stream that ran down from the western mountains.
The Germans weren’t moving, but their camp seemed to be stirred up in preparation for their move toward the Gate. Dai couldn’t guess their numbers, but they were there in the thousands.
“They have hundreds of wagons with their women and children, so they will not be able to move quickly,” Dai explained.
I translated this for Cerialis, who asked, “On which bank of this . . . this flumen liliorum, this “river of lilies,” will they march?” Cerialis asked.
When I asked Dai, he just shrugged and said, “Both . . . on the march they will need access to water for their people and animals.”
“How far can they march in a day?” Cerialis asked.
“No faster than an ox can travel,” Dai said. “No more than ten thousand passus a day, at most.”
I turned to Metius, who was obviously eavesdropping on the conversation. “Do you have anything to add, mentula?” I asked.
“My message is for Caesar’s ears only,” he snorted.
I was about to slap him when I caught Cerialis’ look.
We were back at the Hill of Flocks during the twelfth hour. Caesar’s legions–all six of them–had built their camps around the hill. As was his preference, Caesar had established his headquarters with his Tenth Legion.
As Athauhnu, Dai, Ceriales, and I approached Caesar’s principia, I saw Labienus briefing a gaggle of narrow-stripers. I had a fistful of Metius’ tunic and was pushing him along. When Labienus was finished, I shoved Metius forward. “A gift for the Imperator,” I announced. “The traitor, Metius!”
With a shocked look, Labienus caught Metius and steadied him. I assumed Labienus’ shock was Metius’ unexpected survival.
Erratum! I was wrong.
Labienus said, “Meti! Laus dis! Praise the gods! Caesar thought you were killed! Go straight through . . . Caesar will be delighted to see you!”
Metius turned toward me, shot me a look of arrogant triumph and entered Caesar’s tent. I was about to say something, but Labienus silenced me with a look and a shake of the head.
I waited a few heartbeats, but could no longer restrain myself. “That mentula is a traitor!” I protested. “He led us into a trap.”
Labienus held up his hand. He took me aside so the others wouldn’t hear. “That may be, Gai, but he’s our traitor!”
“Quid? Quid dicis tu?” I stammered. “What are you saying?”
“You’re correct, Gai. Metius is on Pompeius’s payroll to spy on Caesar,” Labienus explained. “But, Metius went to Caesar and offered his services to him also. Now Metius tells Pompeius only what Caesar wants him and his enemies down in Rome to know. And, Pompeius trusts Metius. Why? Because the more you pay for something, the higher you estime its value, and Pompeius pays Metius well . . . very well indeed.”
I wasn’t willng to let go. “But, that cunnus is selling us out to the Krauts.”
Again, Labienus held up his hand. “I’m sure Metius is working a few deals of his own with Ariovistus . . . Duuhruhda of the Aedui thinks Metius is in his marsupium, too . . . For all I know, Metius was selling information to the Helvetii . . . Metius has almost as many connections up here as that Greek friend of yours, Grennadios . . . In fact, Pompeius’ agents among the Suebii use Metius to convey their information south, which, of course, Metius delivers to Caesar . . . Caesar doesn’t begrudge Metius a few business deals on the side, as long as it doesn’t interfere with Caesar’s business . . . That’s how these things are done . . . When Metius is no longer of any use to Caesar,” Labienus shrugged, “let’s just say, I’ll be telling a different tale.”
I was stunned. But, I had learned another useful lesson in Romanitas. A well-placed double-agent was worth more to a Roman commander than the lives of a score of his troopers.
Just at that point, Ebrius stuck his head out of the tent flap. “The boss’ll see you now,” he announced.
When we entered Caesar’s cubiculum, he was looking at his campaign map. Metius was sitting off to the side with a look of smug satisfaction equal only to an Egyptian’s pet cat after a good brushing.
Caesar turned as we entered, “Bene! Where is Ar
iovistus? Is he moving?”
I quickly explained to Dai how to read a Roman map. He walked up to it, examined it for a moment, and then pointed to a spot north of our current position. “Uhno! Mae’r Almaenwuhr uhno,” he said. “There! The Germans are there.”
As Ebrius marked the German position on the map, Cerialis spoke up, “Imperator! May I point out some critical inaccuracies on your map?”
Caesar nodded, “Of course, Cerialis! That’s why I sent you north.”
Cerialis took a piece of blue chalk from a box on the floor and drew a line running from north to south between the Rhenus and the forests of Vosegus. “This is a river the natives call . . . uh . . . the Ilia.”
I didn’t correct Cerialis’ error. Getting the name of some minor river in the boondocks of Gaul wasn’t critical.
Cerialis continued, “This river essentially cuts our area of operation in half . . . It’s fordable in a number of places, but in others too deep to cross without bridging . . . I’ve located a number of battle positions for us, mostly on the west bank of this river because the ridgelines and hills that extend from the mountains offer opportunities to anchor our flanks. . . The native scouts believe that the Germans will move along both sides of this river . . . That poses a problem for us in securing our flanks . . . If we establish a battleline anywhere on the west bank, the Germans on the east bank can easily move past us and get between us and the Gate.”
Caesar nodded, then asked, “Cerialis, in your opinion, where would be the best place to offer battle to the Germans?”
Cerialis thought for a few heartbeats, then pointed to a spot on the map. “Right here, Imperator. There’s a spur of forested highground on the west to secure our left, and the right can be secured on the river. There’s a small stream flowing down from the west on which we can align our front . . . That would force the Germans to cross the stream and climb its bank to attack us . . . and the stream will supply us with fresh water . . . But the problem with our right flank remains . . . If I were commanding the Germans, I’d just move past our battle position, across the river along the east bank . . . Then, we would have to retreat to prevent them from getting across our supply lines.”
“Or, even worse,” Labienus added, “they could hold our battleline in place with a frontal assault on the west bank and envelop us from the right by moving down this east bank and crossing the river behind us.”
Caesar stared at the map with his arms folded across his chest. Then, he nodded, “Well . . . let’s hope Ariovistus is not as clever as you gentlemen are . . . I think his problem will be controlling his force once the battle begins . . . They may be numerous, but they are barbarians . . . They’ll all rush to attack our front . . . If they do attempt a flanking movement, we’ll be able to detect it in such open country . . . Occupying that battle position before Ariovistus reaches it is now our immediate objective . . . How long will it take the army to reach this position, Labiene?”
Labienus shrugged, “With a forced march, we could be up there by sundown tomorrow . . . With regular marches, by the sixth or seventh hour the next day.”
“I prefer not to force march into a battle,” Caesar said to Labienus. “I want the men fresh when we make contact . . . Have Caecina issue orders . . . The army leaves this position tomorrow during the first hour . . . Order of march: Tenth, Ninth, Twelfth, Seventh, Eleventh, the impedimenta, then the Eighth . . . Legates march with their legions . . . Place the auxiliaries—the archers, slingers, and light infantry—between the Twelfth and the Seventh . . . I will be with the Tenth . . . How are our auxiliaries acclimatizing since they came up from Massalia, Labiene?”
Labienus looked up from his tabula and shrugged, “As well as can be expected, Caesar. The slingers from the Balearics and the infantry from Hispania are doing fine . . . All these hills and forests are making the archers from Syria a bit nervous, but they’ll get over it.”
Caesar nodded, “They’d better . . . We’re moving light and fast . . . Strip the impedimenta of anything unnecessary . . . Just carry rations and water for the troops . . . fodder . . . I want a full complement of artillery: ballistae, scorpiones, and bolts . . . nothing more . . . We’ll stockpile our stores at Castrum Bellum in the Gate . . . If the Germans get around us, our first fallback position will be here, so we’ll leave these fortifications intact . . . Our final fallback position before Vesantio will be Castrum Bellum in the Gate . . . Who does Agrippa have forward to work supply?”
“Uh. . . a second-line centurio prior, formerly with the Seventh,” Labienus answered, “name of . . . uh . . . Opilio.”
“Good man?” Caesar asked.
“Agrippa seems to have confidence in him,” Labienus shrugged.
“That’s good enough for me then,” Caesar agreed. “We march the normal twenty thousand passus tommorrow. . . The exploratores report the terrain is fairly open and flat . . . should bring us about here by the seventh hour,” he pointed to a position on the map. “Have the scouts and engineers up ahead to locate the camps . . . Any questions?”
“N’abeo, Imperator!” Labienus replied. “No, sir.”
“Bene!” Caesar concluded. “Gentlemen, you are dismissed . . . Thank you for your efforts . . . Cerialis, you may return to your legion . . . Thank you for a job well done . . . Labiene and Insubrece, please remain.”
XVI.
De Caesare et Ariovisto
CAESAR AND ARIOVISTUS
Qui nisi decedat atque exercitum deducat ex his regionibus sese illum non pro amico sed pro hoste habiturum quod si eum interfecerit multis sese nobilibus principibusque populi Romani gratum esse facturum id se ab ipsis per eorum nuntios compertum habere quorum omnium gratiam atque amicitiam eius morte redimere posset.
“Unless Caesar departed and removed his army from Ariovistus’ lands, [Ariovistus] would consider Caesar an enemy, not a friend. Besides, if Ariovistus killed Caesar, many of the nobles and leading men of the Roman nation would thank Ariovistus. Ariovistus knew this from their messengers, who said Ariovistus could win their gratitude and friendship by Caesar’s death.”
(from Gaius Marius Insubrecus’ notebook of Caesar’s journal)
After the others left the tent, Metius made a point of giving me a dismissive snort as he walked by. When we were alone, Caesar said, “Gai . . . Metius is furious with you . . . Said you treated him pretty rough out there . . . bound him up . . . Wants me to discipline you.”
Before I could respond, Caesar clapped me on the shoulder and laughed, “I told him it was because he played his part so well . . . He should be flattered . . . He fooled you completely . . . I’ll throw some silver his way to help him get over his affronted dignity . . . Ironic that a double-dealing spy like him has any dignity at all . . . but there you are . . . I have to keep him content for the time being.”
Romanitas, I thought.
Caesar continued, “The good news is that Troucillus is still alive . . . We collected the remains of our people earlier . . . parts and pieces mostly . . . I thought Troucillus was among them . . . Nobody could tell . . . I had already begun composing a letter of condolence to his father . . . Gaius Valerius Caburus is a significant client of mine . . . His people, the Helvii, hold the bank of the Rhonus for Rome . . . They stand between the port of Massalia and the Aedui to the north and the Allobroges to the east . . . I’d hate to have to explain to him that I got his younger son killed . . . which brings me to Ariovistus’ message.”
Caesar stopped talking and located a pitcher among the tabulae on his work table. He poured a cup, then called out, “Ebrius! How’s the wine?”
“First rate, Boss,” Ebrius’ voice sounded from beyond the cubiculum.
Caesar sniffed the contents of the cup anyway, then handed it to Labienus. He poured another, handed it to me, and then poured a cup for himself.
“Sedeamus,” he invited. “Let’s sit.”
Caesar leaned back into the camp chair, his legs extended straight out. He took a sip of his wine and seemed
to sigh.
“It’s been a long day . . . Where were we . . . oh, yes . . . Ariovistus . . . He’s trying to use Troucillus to leverage me . . . He wants to meet with me to discuss what he calls ‘our options’ . . . He picked a spot, a hill about twenty-five thousand passus up the valley between our armies . . . Said we both should bring no more than a hundred men . . . cavalry, no infantry . . . Meanwhile, both our armies will remain in camp.”
“He’s just trying to delay us,” Labienus dismissed the offer.
Remembering the Hill of Flocks, I added, “Or it’s a trap.”
Caesar sighed and fell silent for a few heartbeats. “Yes . . . maybe . . . but it won’t work. My orders for our move north are being issued . . . As far as an ambush, I have no intention of putting myself at the mercy of this demented Grunnus who thinks the gods speak directly to him. I’m mounting a cohort of legionaries from my Tenth as my ‘cavalry’ escort . . . They got enough practice on the way up here that they should be able to pass for cavalry . . . Roman cavalry, anyway.”
Caesar took another sip of his wine, sighed, and rubbed his forehead between his thumb and middle finger.
“Should I send for Spina?” Labienus offered.
“Spina?” Caesar responded. “Uhh . . . no . . . no, thank you, Tite . . . I’m just a bit tired, that’s all . . . Gai . . . explain to me again how Ariovistus pulled off his ambush at the Hill of Flocks.”
Again, I told Caesar how Ariovistus infiltrated infantry through the forests north of the hill and how his cavalry supported the movement of his infantry.
When I was done, Caesar nodded and said, “I don’t doubt he’ll try the same trick again . . . Also, I don’t doubt that his masters down in Rome would not be offended were he to kill me . . . According to Metius, that’s exactly what they’re hoping for . . . Unfortunately, for him and for them, I have no intention of cooperating.”