The Noise of War

by Vincent B Davis II

  “Apollo never promised me I would walk into greatness, though. The only companions I have in Rome now are courtesans, actors, and eunuch playwrights. I’ll need more than political allies and a patrician wife, too, if I am to be Rome’s finest. I’ll need a man of action such as yourself. I hope I’ll be able to call on you for support when the time comes.”

  My chest tightened under the breastplate as my heart began to race. I felt like Marius was watching and that I’d soon be greeted with the same suspicion he now offered Sulla.

  The words caught in my mouth for a moment, but he allowed the silence to persist until I spoke.

  “I just want to make it back alive.”

  “Of course you do.” He patted me on the back again, and smiled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t matching the expression. “I’ll let you return to your duties, Tribune.”

  He turned to leave, taking each step slowly and deliberately, in no rush to go anywhere. I took a moment to compose myself before returning to the mules.

  “Alright, men, another round!” I shouted.

  Marius turned his attention to the task at hand, as best he could. With the Tectosages dispatched, and the remainder of our enemy on the far end of the Alps, we were able to focus on levying troops from the allied tribes. The Massiliots, Allobroges, and Sequani were the first to join us. They all had just as much to fear of the Reds as we did.

  Marius made sure I was at the front of our negotiations with the allied tribes. My knowledge of their languages was useful to him, and I was thankful for something to distract myself with.

  It was through this process that we learned about the Cimbri and Teutones, and their plans for the future.

  Some of the tribal elders had been contacted by the Reds, who made it known that they were about to begin their departure from the wild lands of Spain, back into Gaul and onward to Italy. We had to act with haste. We were still vastly outnumbered. Some reports stated that the Reds had half a million men between them. So it was paramount that we raise a larger army, but for me it meant that my time was running short. The beginning of my mission was at hand, and I would have to be leaving now.

  There was an air in the camp that was familiar from my time serving under Caepio. Every mule I saw had wide eyes, a slight tremor of the hands. Puking was the least of our worries but always seemed to be near at hand. Everyone felt sick and unsettled, even if they couldn’t articulate why.

  I met one last time with the Gallic prisoner and asked for some parting advice.

  “You’ll have to earn their respect,” he said. It was clear that I hadn’t earned his, so that task seemed difficult. “You’ll have to prove yourself.”

  “And how should I go about doing that?” I asked, passing him some more bread and water from the guard.

  He chewed gratefully.

  “You’re short, you’re an outsider…so, if I had to say”—even as he munched, a grin split across his face—“you’ll have to fight someone in single combat.”

  “Single combat?” I asked, exasperated. Such foolishness was the stuff of Greek legend. It was more a fairy tale to a Roman than Gorgons and the Harpies combined.

  “To the death, if I’d have to wager.” He shrugged. “They’re a tough lot, my people.”

  That was all he had to say, so I did not linger.

  As I hurried across the camp to inform Marius and seek his approval on my leaving, I heard snarling and the gnashing of teeth. Startled, I ran to find the cause of the disturbance.

  Our two camp dogs, Romulus and Remus, were circling each other. The hair on their backs stood up like the plumes of a Spartan’s helm, and their razor-sharp teeth glistened with drool.

  “Hey, boys, quit that now! No sense in it!” some of the mules shouted.

  “Damn it, someone stop that,” another yelled.

  The dogs lunged back and forth at each other, chomping and scratching, before pulling back.

  As I neared, I spotted Sulla just beside them, crouched and analyzing the fight with intense curiosity.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Marius’s gruff voice rose above the rest. The consul, hard though he was, had a softness for dogs.

  “Hold.” Sulla held back his arm to keep anyone from approaching. “Just wait now.”

  The dogs bit at each other, one finally drawing blood. Romulus grabbed Remus by the neck and wrung it like a scrap of meat.

  “What is the meaning of this?” I yelled to Sulla.

  It became clear when I saw the food that had been placed between the two fighting animals.

  Remus turned his head and tried desperately to free himself, but could not. As a last resort, he flopped to the ground and rolled to his back. Romulus let go in response and stepped away from him, the growl in his throat dissipating.

  “It is marvelous, don’t you think?” Sulla turned to us with amazement in his eyes.

  “Marvelous?” I questioned, my gaze fixed on Remus, who remained still and silent on the ground.

  “What was the point of that?” Marius asked. The mules lost interest and walked away.

  “Could you not see?” Sulla asked. “The battle began with the raising of the hair, the chomping and growling. They did not want to fight; they wanted to intimidate the other into submission. When that option was exhausted on them, then they attacked. At first, with small bites and scratches. When that settled nothing, Romulus did as he must and took his foe by the neck.” Sulla gestured as if he had discovered the cure for a disease. “And when Remus submitted, what did Romulus do?” We remained silent, not wanting to be a contributor in this experiment. “He allowed him to live. The posturing, mock battle, and fawning submission tell us everything we need to know. They do not want to kill one another. No matter how weak Remus here is, Romulus might need a hunting partner one day, and so he lets him live.”

  “Is this why you caused this commotion? To explain the minds of dogs?” Marius asked.

  “It is important to the survival of their species. An unspoken rule that if one submits, and exposes the most vulnerable portion of himself to the enemy, that he’ll let him live.”

  “This is bullocks.” Marius threw up his hands and began to walk away.

  “The Cimbri have won the posturing battle,” Sulla said at last. Marius and I both turned and looked at Sulla. “They won the battle of intimidation. Now, every soldier in our ranks wants to roll onto their backs and submit. You can see it in their eyes. One victory against the pitiful Tectosages cannot undo that. But unlike these gracious beasts, the Cimbri will not spare us. They will butcher us to the last man, and rape and enslave every woman and child, in every distant corner of the Republic.”

  “You think I don’t know this? Rome will never surrender,” Marius replied, personally offended.

  “I know that you do. But we do not have to officially roll on our bellies for our men to submit in their hearts. If they do, the front ranks will roll up like a carpet, the reserves will crumble, and we will have another Arausio on our hands.”

  “We did not submit at Arausio,” I said.

  “You did not have a chance to do so. But the effects of that defeat are carrying over. Look around, you must see it.” We resisted at first but eventually peered around the camp. We didn’t need the additional confirmation of seeing the fear in their eyes, but it helped prove his point.

  “Then what are we do to?” Marius asked. He meant the question as mockery, but there was a tinge of genuine curiosity in his voice.

  “We have to show our men that the Reds aren’t so scary after all. And if we believe we can defeat them, then we can.”

  I said nothing, but I balked internally. Sulla had not yet faced the Reds in combat. His posing esoteric theories of combat did not measure up with my experience. The Cimbri were, in fact, just as terrifying as these soldiers around me believed. But he made one point that I agreed with. If our men knew this, if they knew what it would be like, the battle would be lost before it began.

  As I tho
ught, Sulla approached me. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

  “That’s why you must leave. Immediately. We need to determine the soft underbelly of these savages, if one exists, so that we can expose it to our men. If not, we will need to invent one. Right now, all we can see are walls of shields.”

  “I’m preparing for movement, sir,” I replied, looking to Marius, who gave me a faint nod.

  “Sulla, join me in my quarters,” Marius said. “We can continue talking about the philosophy of beasts if you’d like. Tribune Sertorius, I would finish whatever needs done, and leave as soon as you are able. I know you needed to learn what you could from that Gallic prisoner, but time is running short.”

  “Moving, sir.” I saluted, and left for my tent.

  Inside, Apollonius was seated at a stool by my bed. He didn’t notice me at first, his mind entrenched in a book on philosophy in his hand.

  “Quintus.” He stood, concerned by the look on my face.

  “Apollonius, I need to be leaving. The time has come.”

  “What are my instructions?” he asked.

  “Only that you care for Sura. If I die, there is no reason that my steed should as well. I’ll be traveling by foot.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I need you to take down my final will and testament before I leave. I have not updated it since my brother died and I became the father of my family.” As I spoke, I lowered my eye. I did not want Apollonius to see the tears welling up, or the trembling of my lip. “Gather pen and paper.”

  My gaze remained on my sandals as he stood and placed a hand on my shoulder.

  “I am much better at receiving dictation in the open air.” I met his eyes, and he was smiling. It was infectious, and it dried my eye a bit.

  We made for the stables, then rode Sura a mile or so out of camp to the clearing on a grassy knoll surrounded by ancient pines.

  “Will this work for you?” I asked.

  “It’s perfect,” he said.

  We found a single tree on the hill and leaned up against it. I helped Sura to the ground, and she nestled in alongside us.

  “Everything I have shall be left to my heir, Gavius Sertorius,” I said, allowing him time to take it down. “Until my heir dawns his toga virilis, Lucius Hirtuleius will be the steward of my estate. If he also dies, then his brother, Aius Hirtuleius, will be left to lead our family,” I said. The number of our male clan members was dwindling steadily.

  I was about to continue when I realized that Apollonius had set down his pen and had scooped up some soil in his hands.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, thoughtlessly stroking Sura’s mane.

  “It’s amazing, when you think about it. Before the first man and woman roamed the earth, before our oldest ancestors, before Greece or Rome or Babylon…this earth was here.” He had noticed the tears in my eye and the choke in my words. “When all seems lost, it is helpful to remember all that you’re doing it for. And be grateful,” he said. I nodded, and he waited until I could compose myself.

  “I apologize,” I said at length.

  “My friend,” he said, “if you were not concerned, you would not be human. Just remember that nothing can ruin your life if it doesn’t ruin your character. Otherwise, it cannot truly harm you. I am ready when you are.”

  “If I am to die, I want you to write to each member of my family directly. To my mother, Rhea, tell her that I love her dearly, and that I am very grateful for her tutelage and care for me. Tell her that I am with Titus and our father, and that I will prepare a feast for her in Elysium. To Volesa, I want you to write an apology. Tell her that I am sorry for the trouble I have caused by getting myself killed, and that everything I have that remains will be to support her and Gavius, as long as they live. To Gavius, tell him to be strong. Tell him to always conduct himself as a Roman, to live as his father once did. Tell him to always place our family first, before all else, and to remember the kind of men he is descended from. To Arrea…to Arrea…” When I at last reached my love, I could not get the words out.

  “Quintus,” Apollonius said, his voice gentle but instructive, “it is important to remember that we are taking this down as a precaution. You may die, yes. But you may yet live.”

  I wasn’t willing to except that possibility. It seemed like a foolish thing to hope for.

  “Tell Arrea that I love her. More than myself. More than Rome. Tell her thank you for all that she has done for me, and that I died a healthy and strong man because of her.”

  I found myself scooping up the soil beneath us and letting it sift through my fingers.

  “Here is to hoping that I will never be forced to write these letters,” Apollonius said, lifting his wineskin and taking a pull before passing it to me. We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound that of the wind rustling in the trees and the gentle sway of the grass beneath us.

  “Is there anything else?” he asked.

  “Yes. If I am to die, my shield bearer—that is you—is to be given unconditional freedom,” I said.

  “Quintus, I could travel to your home and serve your family.”

  “And he is to be given a stipend of three hundred denarii and a letter bearing my seal to ensure he is given safe passage back to Greece.” Now it was his turn to hide his tears.

  “I hope this is not the case, sir.”

  “I told you to call me by my name,” I said firmly, and we both grinned. “Come on, then. Let’s get back to camp.”

  I stood and helped Sura to her feet. I had uncinched her saddle so that she could be as comfortable as the rest of us. As I fastened it back on, Apollonius continued to share his philosophy.

  “In death, all we lose is the present moment. Nothing man does can ever take away our past, and we cannot lose the future. How can we lose what we do not, and have never, had?” Apollonius asked. I stopped and turned to him.

  “But I would be losing what I thought I would have,” I said.

  “Then stop thinking it. Live in the present moment, and remember the soil beneath us.”

  I stopped to consider his words for a moment before bursting into laughter.

  “Come on”—I helped him onto Sura behind me—“you are wise beyond your years, Apollonius. And that is saying something, as you are about as old as ‘the soil beneath us.’” We both laughed as Sura carried us back to camp.

  The next morning, I shook Lucius awake and bid him farewell. Leaving behind my armor, my sword, and everything considered to be Roman, I left with only a Spanish spear and a Gallic tunic. I set off west to the Tigurini and whatever fate had in store for me.

  14

  Scroll XIV

  Nones of March 651 ab urbe condita

  I traveled with the cool morning air, while it was still dark out, to the northern tribal confederacy of the Helvetii, to which the Tigurini belonged. In total, our ledgers counted some four hundred villages in their control. If they all joined, Rome would be in even greater danger, but our intelligence claimed that only the Tigurini would be adding their forces to the Reds’ for battle.

  I slept on the earth. I ignored the worms and spiders around me, and the bugs that crawled across my skin and embedded themselves in my hair. I stunk, and I knew it. My beard was long and my hair unkempt. When I would rest every few miles, I would drink my fill. By the time I arrived, I was determined to be as much like the barbarians in spirit as I was in appearance: rough, drunk, and full of hatred.

  Although I was forced to leave camp in a hurry, I was in no hurry to arrive at theirs. I took my time, stopping in some of the small villages I passed by. I said little, but purchased a few things at the market. A fur cape, a Gallic shield, a ring that had once belonged to a Helvetian warrior. I paid with the Roman denarius, and the shopkeepers took them with glee, not asking why or how I had acquired them.

  After several weeks of traveling by foot, I offered a few coins to a caravan merchant to give me passage on a wagon to the northwest of the Helvetian territory, to the villages of
the Tigurini. He agreed, and we rode side by side for several days, sharing drink but sparing our words. When we at last arrived, I paid the man well and departed with a fraction of what I had departed with.

  When I arrived, I wandered around aimlessly for a while, trying to find someone who could point me toward the gathering forces. The village, I don’t remember what they called it, was small, but I was still surprised by the lack of men present. All gone off to fight, I assumed. The one place that still garnered activity was inside a large hut made out of stone, with a giant phallus etched into the exterior wall pointing to the entrance. It was clearly a brothel. Those few men who had remained behind seemed more than happy to take advantage of the decreased demand for this service.

  I entered the hut, instantly warming. The moans of the girls and the sweat of thrusting barbarians rose through the hut to create a hot air that was hard to breath.

  I plopped down on a chair, very tired from my journey. As I waited, I rubbed at the soreness of my leg. The wounds had long since healed and been replaced with tight, stretched purple flesh, but my leg still irritated me when I walked too far.

  “Hello,” a girl said, approaching from my side. She was wearing nothing but a shear shawl and a wide smile. She played the game well, and pretended to enjoy what she saw. “You like?” She gestured to herself. My eyes did like what they saw. She had the rustic beauty that Greek statues only hoped to emulate. But although nature demanded that a man appreciate the exposed curves of a woman such as this, I wanted none of it. My mind was fixed on one objective.

  “Very pleasing,” I said in Gallic, making sure my inflections matched my prisoner’s instructions, and looked away.

  “You can have me.”

  “I don’t want to have you. I want to fight.” I looked up and made eye contact with the girl. Her sharp wit was apparent despite her confusion.