The Noise of War

by Vincent B Davis II

  There was an awkward silence for a moment as our horses grunted beneath us. I spotted Sulla on a steed to the right of Catulus, his eyes shaded by the cover of his helm. His disposition was no longer jovial, as was his custom, and there was no pursed grin on his lips. The veins in his neck were of a bluish hue, and bulging.

  By contrast, General Marius had never seemed more at ease, his chin high and his back straight.

  “You understand why we are here?” Marius asked, as if speaking to foreigners or a direct subordinate.

  “We received word of your arrival two weeks ago. By senatorial decree, we are to merge our armies,” Catulus said. “We expected you some time ago.”

  “There was much land to traverse, and fresh off a victory such as ours, we had a great deal of spoils and slaves to transport.” Marius did not hide his glee well. I believe I spotted a snarl on Sulla’s lips.

  “How far off are the Cimbri?” Consul Manius Aquillius asked.

  Catulus turned and pointed to the hills in the distance. “Not two days that way. You can smell the stench of them if you sniff hard enough.”

  “Good. We’ll meet them soon enough,” Marius said with finality.

  “We’ll meet them?” Catulus balked. “The senate is levying new troops for the upcoming war season.”

  “My dear friend.” Marius separated himself from the rest of us, gracefully swaying on his black warhorse as he approached his former consular colleague. “It is March, if you had not noticed. It is war season. There is no reason to delay.”

  Catulus peered over his shoulder at Sulla, looking for counsel, but the legate averted his gaze.

  “You’ll need to deconstruct your camp. We’ll form up there,” Marius said, pointing to an expanse of land surrounded by the winding river of the Po on either side.

  “There? What is wrong with where we are now?” Catulus asked, incredulous.

  “It’s defenseless, for one. The Cimbri already know these hills better than we do, and they’ll pour out of the Alpine passes faster than Jupiter’s lightning. They could surround you from all sides within an hour. It’s a wonder they haven’t done so already.”

  Catulus’s mouth was agape as he shook his head and considered what objection he might make.

  “Let us make one thing clear,” Marius continued before the proconsul could speak, “we might be merging armies. But I am supreme commander here.” He paused to let the words sink in. “There will be none of the fuss that befell my son, as Caepio tried to take more than his due share of power and winded up losing ninety thousand Roman lives. I am consul. I am Marius. And my word is law.”

  I was afraid for a moment that Marius had gone too far, but Catulus and his staff remained silent. Sulla was nearly trembling atop his horse, but even he said nothing.

  Marius lifted the reins of his horse and swayed around to face us. “Deconstruct the camp,” he shouted back to Catulus.

  We parted for Marius to pass through. “Move the men forward. Have them begin the construction. These fools don’t seem to know how to do it correctly,” he said to any of us listening.

  The new camp thus built, and with Marius’s personal dignitas at a new high, we set about with the difficult task of waiting. Once they were constructed, I led Sura to the stables and brushed the muck off of her coat and dug the dirt from her hooves. I combed my fingers through her mane, and she barred her teeth and swished her tail playfully as I did so.

  “How, by all the gods, do you keep her so clean?” Lucius said from behind me, attempting to steady his stallion with a tight grip on the reins.

  “A little bit of attention, comrade. You could do this, too, if you gave it the time,” I said.

  “He won’t let me! The bastard is as stubborn as I was when I was a child.”

  “A bit of payback seems appropriate, then.” I smiled at my old friend.

  “He fights me constantly. When I try to lift his legs, he bucks and spits at me. Who knew horses spit? Gobs of it, all over my freshly cleaned armor.”

  “Anyone who’s spent some time with a horse would know that, friend.” I chuckled.

  “I’ve spent more time with horses than I’d like, but I’ll admit the bugger is growing on me.” Lucius held out his hand for the stallion to sniff before proceeding to scratch his cheeks, but only after getting permission to do so. “Do you like her? Eh, papa found you a girlfriend,” Lucius whispered to his beast, gesturing to Sura.

  “Don’t encourage him.” I picked up some hay and tossed it at Lucius.

  “You can see it in their eyes, can’t you? It’s true love.” Lucius led the horse to a stall across from me, and then entered mine. “She’s a sweet girl,” he said, serious for a moment.

  “She is. It almost makes me feel guilty.”

  “Guilty?”

  “That I brought her here. That I lead her into battle… In another life, she would have been the best friend in the world to some young boy or girl.”

  “There are no other lives but this one, Quintus.” Lucius allowed Sura to rub her head against him. “The gods led her to you. She’s your steed for a reason.”

  “Always with the gods.” I shook my head. I was attempting to jest, but it was lost on my companion. He tried to stifle it, but I could see fear in his eyes.

  “You don’t believe in the gods anymore?” he asked. I broke eye contact with him and massaged at my leg, which had begun its throbbing again.

  “I’ll believe in them if we defeat the Cimbri,” I said, surprised by my own answer.

  “That’s not how it works, amicus,” Lucius replied.

  “Don’t worry so much, Lucius. I pray, I sacrifice…I do all that’s required of me. But it’s hard to trust in the gods after all the things we’ve seen, all the things we’ve done.” I knew it was a sign of weakness, but I couldn’t stop staring at the mud beneath us.

  “One man’s experience can’t confirm or disprove the gods.”

  “It’s the only thing I know how to base it on.”

  Lucius stood and poured some water in his hand for Sura to lap up.

  “Well, if you must base it on your own experiences, then recall that you survived Arausio when others did not—found by your friend clutching to driftwood for your very life. You then went on to live within the enemy’s camp, free a dozen prisoners—”

  I cut him off. “Only eight made it back with me. One died.”

  “Eight men who would have died a horrible death. The gods may seem cold at times, and they allow the incomprehensible to happen. But where you go, they seem to follow. That should inspire a bit of hope in you, if nothing else,” he said.

  “Thank you, comrade.” I shook his hand. Intellectually, I could not deny what he said. In my heart, though, I could accept none of it. Not until the Cimbri were defeated, at least.

  “Come on, I’ve an idea,” Lucius said, opening the stall door for me to exit.

  “What is it? I need to receive the report from the Seventh Legion’s first spear.”

  “That can wait until tomorrow. General Marius didn’t give us any orders.”

  “It’s regulation, Lucius! You’re not one to break the rules.” I wagged a finger at him in mock chastisement.

  “Well, I know.” He took my rebuke far more seriously than I’d intended. “But even officers need a night to themselves, don’t they?”

  “What do you have in mind, Tribune?”

  He considered his words carefully, and his eyes squinted as he began to speak. “I want to get drunk.”

  I erupted into laughter. At first, he seemed offended, but he eventually joined me.

  “What? Come on, I want to drink!”

  By the time I got my laughter under control, my gut was aching from the effort. To hear Lucius Hirtuleius speak of getting drunk was like hearing a virgin speak of an orgy. He might have a drink or two from time to time, but he most often preferred to keep a level head. After reaching adulthood, I had, as well—until Arausio.

  “You won’t receive a
ny complaints from me.”

  We charged up from the stables to the tribunes’ tent, fresh reserves appearing at the prospect of a good time. It was odd, traversing a Roman camp. It felt like we hadn’t gone anywhere since I and the other Arausio survivors had arrived at Marius’s camp. Everything was constructed in the same location, so it wasn’t difficult to find.

  Equus was standing holding back the tent flap as our shield bearers carried our mattresses inside.

  “Thank you, Apollonius.” I gestured to him as he entered.

  “Not a problem, sir, I know you need your rest.”

  “I’ve told him a thousand times to call me Quintus, by Jupiter’s stone,” I whispered to Lucius, who was already focused on the task at hand.

  “Equus! Would you like to join Tribune Sertorius and me?” Lucius asked, as if making a grand gesture.

  “And what does that entail?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Lucius leaned in as if he were delivering a message containing quite nefarious details. “We’re going to get drunk.”

  Equus threw up his hands. “You two reprobates go about your business. Some of us have to maintain some discipline in this place.”

  “Oh, come on, Equus! Lighten up, you bastard,” Lucius chided. Our mutual friends, the Insteius twins, and I had often teased Lucius in the same manner growing up, so it was quite humorous to hear.

  “We have no idea when the Cimbri will attack,” Equus retorted.

  “We know they won’t tonight,” Lucius replied.

  “That’s true, or otherwise Tribune Hirtuleius would be hunting for pigeons to sacrifice instead of a goblet of wine,” I said.

  Equus debated it until a smile creased his lips.

  “You two are a terrible influence.”

  “I’ll find some wine,” Lucius said, scurrying off. “The darkest, most unwatered I can find!”

  The three of us set across camp with a few cups and two full vases of wine.

  “No, no, no, you’re doing it all wrong,” we heard some mule saying to a few others as we passed them by. We couldn’t help but turn to see what they were discussing.

  Some of our legionaries were instructing Catulus’s men on the proper use of a gladius.

  “You hold your shield like that, and you’re liable to get yourself killed,” another said, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

  “Show them how to do it,” one of Marius’s mules said.

  Lucius, Equus, and I chuckled among ourselves. These same men were likely the ones who had been throwing up and pissing themselves before we met the Teutones a few months prior, but they deserved their moment of pride. None of us knew how long it would last.

  We found a relatively quiet spot near the eastern gate and plopped down on the soil, careful only not to spill our wine.

  “Now let’s drink,” Lucius said.

  “To the dead and those about to die.” Equus lifted up his cup, and we did the same, before draining them. All three of us poured another, and gulped them down like thirsty men stranded in the Sinai.

  “The men seem proud,” Lucius said after a cup or two.

  “That puts it lightly. They’re as boastful as gladiators by now. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they had just captured Troy or just conquered Hannibal’s forces,” Equus said.

  “The Teutones are no enemy to despise. They were tough, and our men deserve their moment in the sun,” Lucius said before taking another sip.

  “Were no enemy to despise. They’re gone now,” Equus reminded him.

  “By the gods that’s right,” I said, lifting my cup.

  “Yes, they are,” Lucius said.

  We drank in silence for a moment, listening to the chorus of insect in the distance and the chatter of mules closer still.

  “That really was something, wasn’t it? We drove through them like mad,” Equus said, staring off at the stars in bewilderment.

  “Right?” I shook my head.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it!” Lucius shouted.

  “Your cavalry hit them like a lightning bolt from Mount Olympus,” Equus said with a laugh of disbelief.

  “Rolled them up like parchment! Sealed their fate with hot wax.” Lucius shook his head, his eyes cast in the distance, just as surprised by the outcome as Equus.

  “You were on the right flank, though, Equus; your men held out the longest. What was it, twelve enemy standards your men captured?” I asked.

  “Never seen anything like it.” Equus took a sip.

  “I’d like to see Scipio’s men do that!” Lucius lifted his cup.

  “We did lose Legate Marcellus, though,” I said, immediately regretting it. His dead eyes flashed before me until I blinked and turned my attention back to the two men beside me.

  “Gods protect him,” Equus said.

  “He died in service to Rome,” Lucius said, a bit more contained than before.

  “Marius really is the genius they say he is, isn’t he?” Equus said as Lucius and I both burst out with agreement.

  “I told you all along!” Lucius shouted.

  “I never doubted it. But the man is a damned prodigy!” I said, pouring myself another cup.

  “It’s like the man is a prophet. Like he can see the future,” Equus said in amazement.

  “He does have that prophetess. Perhaps Martha told him exactly what to do,” Lucius said. We all had a good laugh at this, but I wondered for a moment if it was true. Perhaps Marius had an ear to the gods, who instructed him. In the silence that followed, I considered what Lucius had said in the stables, and decided I did still believe in the gods. But perhaps it was just the effects of the wine setting in.

  “These Cimbri don’t have any idea what’s about to hit them,” Equus said, breaking the silence. We all laughed and raised our cups.

  “They’ve met Romans but not Marius’s mules!” Lucius shouted.

  “We’ll ‘give them their land,’ by the gods!” I drained my cup and lay back on the damp earth, staring up at the stars. To my disappointment, silence followed.

  “I guess Marius has never met the Cimbri either.” Equus spoke what we all were thinking.

  “He will soon enough,” Lucius said, appearing sober despite the blush in his cheeks and the twinkle in his eye.

  “Those men really don’t know what to expect,” I said, more to Lucius than Equus, because he alone in the camp had experienced it with me.

  “No. They do not.” Lucius sighed.

  “Are you scared?” Equus addressed us both. I believe it was meant to bring some humor back to our growing seriousness, but I could sense the tension in his voice.

  “How could we not be?” Lucius answered for the both of us.

  I poured myself another cup and lay back on the soil again, wondering who that earth would belong to within the week.

  30

  Scroll XXX

  Five days before the kalends of August 653 ab urbe condita

  Lucius and I both awoke to the consequences of our indulgence. Equus claimed to be experiencing the same, but given that he rose at his usual hour and exercised, I assumed that his youth had spared him the worst of it.

  Tasks were given to us throughout the day, which we took to with less than our usual vigor. I punished myself with negative thoughts, like why I hadn’t steered my friend back to the path of wisdom and told him that indulging in unwatered wine was of no use to a Roman tribune. For I had tried it and he had not. But, ultimately, I did not regret it. If we were to die at the hands of the Cimbri, this was at least a memory I would carry with me to the fields of Elysium. The only thing I regretted was saying things that had encouraged our conversation to turn sour. I might have been suffering, but there was no reason for my two comrades to do the same.

  That evening, as I was receiving the report from the first spear of the Seventh Legion, the gates opened.

  I did not know why at first, having ignored the initial ruckus it had caused. Only when I dulled out the centurion’s voi
ce and looked over my shoulder to see foreigners riding through our camp atop Gaul’s best horses did I realize what was happening.

  I could have identified that armor anywhere.

  I had spent months in the Cimbri camp, after all.

  “Very good, Centurion. Tell the men to stay hydrated,” I interrupted him and then hurried off toward the praetorium.

  If the Cimbri were to meet with our general, I would be with him.

  “Consul!” I shouted as I entered, beating the Cimbri ambassadors.

  “Yes, I already know,” Manius Aquillius said from the right of Marius’s desk. I wasn’t addressing him, but if he knew, Marius did as well.

  “They’re a few moments away,” I said, suddenly realizing how out of breath I had become.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Marius gruff voice called out from his quarters. Nothing had ever sounded so sweet. “I’d like you to sit in with us.” Marius entered the main room of the praetorium. “Move the desk. Bring out couches for us to recline in a circle. Our Tribune Sertorius has told us how these barbarians like to convene.” Marius gestured and Volsenio hurried to obey him.

  Catulus and Sulla looked dumbfounded.

  “You make Rome look weak,” Catulus said. Marius stopped in his tracks and pointed a finger across at his former co-consul.

  “You’ll let me handle this, Catulus. Perhaps you can learn something,” Marius said.

  Catulus’s cheeks blushed and he looked like he might burst into a fit of rage, but Sulla whispered for him to keep calm.

  By the time the praetorium was rearranged to Marius’s liking, the tent flaps opened. Everyone paused and looked up as the two Cimbri emissaries stepped in, a Roman guard on either side of them. They stopped to analyze everything from above their lifted chins. They ran their fingers over the bust of Scipio and glared for some time at the gilded bull and ceremonial swords near the entrance, as if none of us were there. They were curious but undisturbed by what they saw.

  Marius was the first to stir and approach them.

  “Greetings from Rome,” Marius said, the gruffness typically in his voice tamed a bit. He seemed as friendly and unassuming as an Italian farmer.