The Noise of War

by Vincent B Davis II

  “Rome!” we shouted in unison, each man hoisting his gladius to the heavens.

  “Rome!” Marius shouted again.

  “Rome!”

  “Let’s retrieve what they’ve taken!” Marius shouted, wheeling his horse about and charging down the hill alone.

  The bugles sounded, and we charged after him in reckless abandon.

  Caught up in the mania, I pushed Sura harder and harder. I bounced violently atop her but was undeterred. We wouldn’t let our general go to battle alone.

  Below, the Ambrones caught sight of the thirty-five thousand Romans charging down the hill toward them. Even from a distance, you could see their eyes widen as they struggled against the current to return to the banks with all their might.

  But they were too slow, and we charged with too much pent-up fury.

  Our cavalry leapt the ford with ease, the hooves beating down on the slowest among them.

  The legionaries jumped into the river, rejuvenated simply by the touch of water.

  A man before me tried to gather his axe and shield, his mouth agape and eyes wide, but he couldn’t ready himself quickly enough. I sliced him from navel to jugular with my long sword as Sura trampled over another before me.

  “For Rome!” the shout continued as the water splashed up all around us, mixed with the blood of falling enemies. Their corpses piled up along the riverbanks and slowed our advance, but the rest of their number was trapped. Only a handful of them scurried off toward the Teutones in the distance. The remainder fell quickly.

  Only then did we become aware of the horns blowing and the drums beating in the distance. The Teutones were massing.

  “Retreat! Retreat!” The order was given, followed rapidly by the cry of centurion whistles.

  The cavalry jumped the river again, and the legionaries wadded back across before we sprinted up the hill. By the time the Teutones arrived, we were nearly back to where we’d started. They didn’t dare give charge. We had the high ground, and given the thousands of bodies that now bobbed at their feet, they were unwilling to risk such a venture.

  When we arrived at the height of the hill, the men were panting with exhaustion, but a kind completely different than what we’d been experiencing beforehand.

  Marius again ordered us to line up.

  We formed loose ranks as best we could, but Marius ordered us to break ranks and form around him. The six legions of hungry Romans amassed in a semicircle. Never before or since have I seen a general other than Marius, who was usually a fanatic for regulation and military custom, allow such informality. The men gathered close enough to feel his breath. Ambrones blood was splattered across his face, but his smile was unmistakable.

  “Listen closely, men,” Marius’s voice boomed out, the only voice I’ve ever heard that could carry far enough for all thirty-five thousand men to have a front-row seat. “The bulk of the Ambrones now lie dead. If you had reason to doubt yourself before, you don’t now. Some of you have worried that I don’t believe in you…” He smiled after a dramatic but brief pause. “Sons of Dis, you’re Romans!”

  The men shouted and howled like wolves. We had all been waiting so long to hear this.

  “But hear me now”—Marius suddenly took on a serious tone—“within three days, we’ll defeat an even greater enemy.” He pointed the tip of his sword, still dripping with scarlet blood, toward the Teutones at the base of the hill. “But before that…I know we tainted the water with the blood of our enemies. But that’s just fine. For tonight, we drink wine!”

  Our cheers must have echoed all the way to whatever shit hole the Teutones hailed from.

  War is a brutal and awful thing. In all my years living in it, I have never glorified it. But if there was ever a man to make it bearable, it was Gaius Marius. None of the men sat in silent terror that night considering the men they had killed. Instead, we drank around the campfire with our brothers-in-arms, ate and sang songs, waiting for our next opportunity to fight.

  26

  Scroll XXVI

  Two days before the kalends of April 652 ab urbe condita

  The one stipulation to Marius’s declaration of celebration was that we still had to construct a camp. The men were used to it by this point, and they completed the fortifications much faster and jollier than they had before.

  “So the general still knows a thing or two about winning a war,” Marius said with a grin, his teeth already purple from dark wine. He drank with the men, Manius Aquillius and the other officers doing the same. You would have thought by our disposition that the war was already won. From the guard towers, we could see the Teutones continuing to amass at the bottom of the hill, so I wasn’t so sure that was the case. Enraged by the deaths of their brethren, they had decided to halt their march to Italy and stand until we had no choice but to face them.

  From the look on Marius’s face when the water supply was mentioned, I presumed that we had plenty. It was a clever rouse to encourage the men to fight, and no one seemed to mind because it was successful.

  “We never doubted you, General,” Aquillius said stoically. It might have been true that Marius’s second-in-command always believed him, but I think he was wrong to speak for the rest of us.

  “Bullocks,” Marius said, draining his wine. “And as I said, the rest of those barbarian scum will lie dead within the week.” He spoke with the kind of confidence that inspired it in all of us.

  “Here you are, Quintus.” Apollonius arrived at my side holding a cup brimming with dark wine. As we marched, he remained in the baggage camp with the other shield bearers, so I hadn’t spent as much time with him as I might have liked lately. He was always a welcome presence, though.

  “I don’t think so, old man. That’s yours. I’ll get my own.” I gestured for one of the mules to bring me a cup from the barrels available to all.

  “Nectar of the gods,” he said after enjoying his first sip.

  Lucius approached us, uninhibited by wine, and I could tell he was distressed.

  “What’s wrong, comrade?” I asked, patting him on the shoulder.

  “The priests have no more pigeons. I have no way to sacrifice before the next battle.” He kicked at a rock and shook his head.

  “We sacrificed more than enough along those riverbanks today.” I pointed past the walls and down the hill. “The gods are appeased, I’m sure. Have a drink.” I gestured to the mule to draw up another ladleful of wine. Lucius accepted it reluctantly but seemed to calm the moment the sour wine touched his lips.

  “Tribune Hirtuleius, I’m glad you’re here,” Marius said when he caught sight of him. “Both of you, come here.” He gestured for Lucius and I to approach.

  “Do you have parchment?” I asked Apollonius as we obeyed the order.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re about to receive orders,” I said, sensing it from the look in Marius’s eyes.

  “Tomorrow evening, I want you two to lead our cavalry.”

  “In battle? We’ll fight the Teutones tomorrow?” Lucius asked, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. As confident as he was in his commander, he relied far more on avian sacrifice to ensure our victories.

  “The day following. Those bastards will try to get us to fight tomorrow, and they’ll be discouraged when we won’t. They haven’t been able to entice us yet, and that’s the very thing they’ve done best as they pillaged and raped every village in Spain and Gaul. But the day following, they’ll meet their defeat.”

  “You want us to lead the cavalry, General?” I asked, perplexed. The two of us had shared command of a flank of battle against the Tectosages, maybe five hundred horses at the most, the bulk riding under Sulla on the opposite wing. Leading a cavalry charge against the Teutones was far more intimidating.

  “This is all highly irregular, General, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Legate Marcellus took a step closer to him. Marius’s face revealed that he did, in fact, mind. “Having two tribunes lead that many head of horse. I’d like to lead it
, if you’ll allow me.” Marcellus straightened as he put himself forward. He had recovered well since I’d helped him escape the Cimbri camp, but his face was still gaunt and the dark circles under his eyes had never dissipated.

  “It would, perhaps, fare better with the newsreaders if an experienced legate is on the wing,” Aquillius addressed the consul under his breath.

  “Fine,” Marius said, hiding a scowl behind his mug of wine. “You can lead the attack. But I want Hirtuleius and Sertorius at your side.” He stepped closer to the two of us and pulled us in, but he kept his voice loud enough to be heard by all. “I don’t know this man, and he wasn’t trained under me. If he does anything ‘irregular,’ you take charge immediately. You have my permission to do so.”

  “Yes, Consul,” we said in unison. Marius stepped away, followed by the other officers. Marcellus was slighted by Marius’s statement, but he had the command, one I’m sure he’d dreamed of as the Cimbri were starving and torturing him.

  I could already hear the war drums and the screams of the dying in the recesses of my mind, and judging from the squeaking beds all around me in the tribunes’ tent, I wasn’t the only one. Did we have what it took to defeat the Teutones? Could we do what our predecessors could not? Or would we be another sad tale in the forum of an entire Roman army swallowed up by the Reds and the sands of time.

  After tossing long enough to adequately ruin my firmly tucked bedsheets, I decided the only way I could get some rest was to get up and walk for a while. Sometimes this helped. Other times it did not, but I was out of solutions.

  In the dark, I stood and threw my lorica over my shoulders, then slung my sword over my shoulder rather than on my hip. As I exited, I found that the camp was very much still awake. No one was talking, but there was also no snoring. The entire camp seemed to vibrate with nervous energy.

  I followed the pale moonlight on the path to the walls. The black night air played tricks on my eye, and I thought for a moment I saw a catapult’s rock headed for us. On the ramparts, I reached for the top of the wall to steady myself. I found that my hands were trembling far more than I had previously noticed. My breaths were short and labored, the imaginary catapults having disturbed me a great deal.

  “Tribune, how goes it?” one of the guards asked from the tower. He was anxious to speak with me, I could tell. Most likely this was to keep himself awake and alert, or distract himself from his own dark thoughts.

  “Just needed some fresh air,” I said.

  The guard nodded in disappointment when I revealed that I wasn’t interested in engaging in conversation, and returned to his post.

  I stared out over the sweeping hills to the Teutone forces amassed at the stream below. Here we were, each and every one of us, trembling in our sandals about what lay ahead, and the Teutones seemed to be resting as easy as babes. As far as I could tell, there were no guards on post or men moving in patrol. Their arrogance exceeded anything I had ever seen. They must have believed the battle was already won, and given recent history, who could blame them?

  Just before I turned to descend back to the tribunes’ quarters, unsuccessful in my attempt to calm myself, I spotted something I hadn’t noticed before. In the distant east, at the foot of the hill we were now situated on, was a thick forest.

  I strained my eye to make it out more clearly. The trees were ancient pines and the grass and shrubs grew up around it in unmitigated overgrowth. If there were any creatures of the night hiding in that wood line, I wouldn’t have been able to see it.

  Before I had even formulated a plan, I found myself running to the praetorium.

  “Halt!” the guard shouted, hand fumbling to his hilt as he saw me nearing.

  “Tribune Quintus Sertorius,” I announced myself to pacify him. “I need to see General Marius.”

  “The consul is sleeping. You’ll have to come by in the morning, sir. He needs his rest,” the guard said, stepping between me and the entrance.

  “I need to speak with him tonight,” I replied, trying to convey the importance of my message with a stern look.

  One guard looked to the other, who shrugged.

  “Let him know we tried to stop you,” he said after a deep exhale, stepping aside and holding back the tent flap.

  I stepped into the tent, focusing my eye so that I didn’t stumble in the darkness and cause a commotion. Marius’s staff was attempting to sleep in their quarters, but each one stirred and looked up at me as I passed through. Marius’s quarters were on the far end of the praetorium and hidden by another leather flap.

  “General Marius,” I said from behind it. It was a great insult to enter without permission, but I considered doing so because of the urgency of the message I was relaying. “Consul?” I said again, raising my voice a bit but still attempting to avoid disturbing Marius’s sleeping staff.

  I leaned in closer to hear a few grunts and heavy labored breaths from inside. For a moment, my cheeks reddened as I considered the possibility that Marius was attempting to destress the night before battle with one of our camp prostitutes. I decided I could wait a bit longer, but just before I turned to leave, I heard the general’s labored voice say, “Come in.”

  I pulled back the flap, my eye burning as the general’s quarters were still well lit by several candelabrum.

  The general stood up, his hands akimbo on his hips. He was shirtless, his torso glistening from the perspiration of exercise.

  “I thought you were resting, sir,” I said, quite surprised to find him like this.

  “This is how I rest, Tribune. What do you need? Wine?” He pointed to a jug on his night table.

  “No…well, yes, I’ll have a cup,” I said. He waved me on to help myself, then jumped back to the floor to continue his push-ups.

  “I’m assuming you wanted something more than this?” he grunted in between his repetitions.

  “I saw something from the walls. There is a thick forest in the foothills.” I suddenly realized how foolish this sounded.

  “This is Gaul, Tribune. There are trees everywhere.”

  “Sir, I think we could position our cavalry there. The Teutones wouldn’t be able to see us behind the vegetation, and I believe we could flank them.” Marius’s ears perked up. He pounced to his feet and looked me over. For a man past fifty years on earth, he was still remarkably strong, each muscle rippled and defined from the next.

  “You think we could?” he said. I could not tell if he was mocking me.

  “I do.”

  “And they wouldn’t notice you moving there?”

  “It’s quite a distance from their camp, and as far as I can tell, they have no patrols.”

  “You only have one eye—perhaps you couldn’t see them,” he said. Now I knew he was jesting, but it was good natured.

  “My one eye can see for two. I would have spotted the patrols if there were any to see.”

  He poured himself a cup of wine and gulped gratefully.

  “Alright,” he said with a shrug, “do it, then.”

  “Do it, sir?” I replied. It was not the response I was anticipating.

  “Yes. Now, under the cover of night. Alert the rest of your men and get them on horseback before the end of the hour.”

  “I’ll admit I’m surprised at your trust in me, Consul.”

  “I’ve spoken with Martha.” He turned to me with an uncharacteristic smile. “She said we’ll achieve a great victory tomorrow. The gods are on our side.”

  He must have noticed something in my manor that displeased him.

  “Gerrhae, Sertorius. What is it?”

  “It’s good news. I’ve just come to place my faith in the strength of our arms.” Knowing Marius the way I did, I was surprised to see he didn’t do the same. “The gods didn’t protect us at Arausio.” I was also surprised that this prophecy had the opposite effect on me. Hubris always precedes a fall, and I believed that’s what auspices of victory could bring.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He pour
ed himself another cup of wine. “Go on, then, go tell your men. And leave now.”

  “And what about Marcellus? What if he rejects the idea?” I said, finding myself objecting to my own plan.

  Marius grunted and snarled. “You tell that man he is being given an express order from a consul of the Roman Republic. If he doesn’t like it, I’ll have him stripped of rank.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, finishing my cup and turning to leave.

  “Tribune,” Marius said before I exited, “ensure that he goes along with it. He has been flogged by the Cimbri enough. I’d rather not make an example of such a man.” He set down his cup of wine and returned to the ground to continue his exercise.

  I hurried through the camp with the difficult task of alerting our four thousand cavalrymen. Fortunately, the majority of them were billeted together, but finding the officers was another matter entirely. The hour had nearly vanished before I found Legate Marcellus.

  He was very much awake, seated at his desk with a small candle burning. As I entered, he seemed not to notice, still scribbling on a scroll quite carefully.

  “Legate.” I stopped and saluted. He took his time before looking up.

  “Tribune, what can I do for you?” he replied, rather disinterested.

  “We have new orders. We are to rally the cavalry presently and march for a wood line in the distance to set up an ambush.”

  He did not react to my words but rather continued to read the letter before him.

  “I guess this is as good as I can get it. Tell me, Tribune, what you think of this for a last line?” He began to dictate from his letter: “‘I know I have no claim of the gods, but something whispers to me, perhaps it is the prayer of our son, that I shall return to the both of you unharmed. If I do not, beloved Cornelia, never forget how much I’ve loved you, nor that, when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.’” He looked up, his eyes wet but unafraid. “I’ve been thinking of something else to say, but it’s nearly impossible to determine the correct words.”