Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (64 page)

Even now, after all these years, I cannot bring myself to speak of what happened when we attacked their camp, at least in any detail. With the absence of their leaders, even if they were prepared to meet us, I believe the outcome was inevitable. However, they were not prepared; the surprise was total, the result what one could expect of a battle-hardened army that had been campaigning for three years. No mercy was given, the Legions putting all they found to the sword, no matter their age or their disposition. Men, women, children, babies, old people, it made no difference to us. Those few who survived the initial onslaught we scattered, pursuing them with our cavalry who were forced to march in the rear of the column as a mark of their shame, and were therefore eager to exact their own revenge on the Usipetes and Tencteri. Remember those names well, gentle reader, because they no longer exist, so total was our victory and so thorough our punishment. Those precious few who fled the camp were chased all the way back to the Rhenus, where they threw themselves into the swift current and were swept away, in the same way we swept away the rest of their people. I will not pretend that I am blameless; my sword was as bloody as any of my comrades when the day was done, and I was as indiscriminate in who I killed as the next man. My only excuse is that I took no pleasure in it; in fact, I found myself vomiting up all the contents of my breakfast, and I will say that I was not alone, a small comfort, knowing that there were others who felt like I did. In fact, I believe it was only because of my size and reputation that some of my comrades did not mock and ridicule me for being soft, especially since I saw many other men who had the same reaction as I did unmercifully teased. The Legions are a hard place, where any sensitivity is viewed as a weakness, and is immediately pounced upon by one’s very own friends. I might have escaped the ridicule of my fellow Legionaries, but I did not escape the faces of the many I slew that day as they chased me through my dreams.

The reaction in Rome was one of total shock. There was even talk of holding Caesar accountable for supposed crimes against the Germans, there being much made of his violation of the truce, which we in the ranks did not understand. We found it hard to believe that Caesar had neglected to report that it was the Germans who violated the truce, but we soon saw what was happening in Rome for what it was, an opportunity seized by his political enemies to smear Caesar’s name. It was at this time that I first became acquainted with the name of the man who I hope even now is like Sisyphus, Marcus Porcius Cato. Vibius was a great admirer of Cato, and it was his admiration of the man that I believe eventually contributed to the rift that existed between Vibius and myself for many years. I had not paid much attention to the actions of the great men in Rome, for reasons that I mentioned earlier, but many of my comrades, Vibius among them, were avid followers of the political dramas that were taking place in Rome. Like all things, these men turned it into a gambling opportunity, wagering each other on the outcome of legislation or whether a particular man’s position on a topic would carry the day.

“Because he not only believes in the values of the true Republic, he lives them in his everyday life.” Without waiting for prompting, Vibius continued, “He refuses to wear a tunic under his toga, because our ancestors didn't, and he claims that it's a sign of the weakness that has infected Rome.”

“Not at all. He wears it as a sign of mourning, for the loss of the true Republic and the
mos maiorum
.”

Shaking my head, I knew by this point that I was going to regret asking the next logical question, “And why, pray tell me dear Vibius, does he believe that the true Republic is dead?”

“Because it is!” Vibius was emphatic on this point, “Look at how elections are rigged. Candidates who are just straw men, while only the richest men can afford to hold office.”

To my mind, this was always the way things had gone, but I held my tongue.

“And now the rabble has all the control, because whoever courts the mob and wins their favor will have the true power, not the Senate and the Tribunes of the plebs as it should be,” Vibius finished, sitting back down at his spot, looking very pleased with himself.

“Vibius,” I reminded him gently, “if the truth be known, we,” I indicated all the men sitting at the fire, “are part of that rabble that you speak so badly about.”

While I saw the heads of most of my friends nodding, I will admit that I was not surprised when I saw Vibius was unmoved.

“Rabble we may be,” he countered, “but we’re citizens, and we have the right to vote. Rome has been invaded by foreigners, and they’re a large part of the mob now,” he was really warmed up now, “and their influence is equal to that of freeborn Roman citizens like me,” to which he hastily added, “and you, Titus. Surely you see that.”

In fact I did not see, and even if I did, I did not care. What I cared about was the same thing that I had cared about when I had lied about my age to join the Legions; the opportunity to improve myself and my family’s standing in our society. That and the chance to win glory, for the sake of glory alone. The rest of it, at least as far as I was concerned, was unimportant, and I could not conceal that indifference from my best friend, who found it infuriating.

“Don’t you see?” he cried out in frustration, “This isn't what our ancestors wanted for us when they drove the kings from Rome. The Republic, as it was first formulated, is the perfect form of government! There's none better anywhere in the known world. If we continue the way we are, we might as well be Greeks!”

He finished his last statement by spitting into the fire to show his contempt. There are few insults worse for a Roman than being called a Greek, something I always found somewhat puzzling, given that most of the nobles considered their education to be incomplete until they had spent time in Athens or Delphi. As Vibius finished, I remember making a mental note that one day, I would like to visit Greece. Little did I know that I would get my wish, just not in the way I hoped.

However brutal Caesar’s actions may have been, they did serve to quell the appetite of the Germans to cross the Rhenus, since they now knew that the days of easy plunder were over. To emphasize the point, Caesar marched us to the banks of the great river, whereupon he performed perhaps his greatest feat of engineering. To be fair, his
praefecti
fabrorum
were the ones who did the brunt of the work, but Caesar possessed a keen mind for problems involving engineering, and it was on crossing the Rhenus to which he turned his attention. On the opposite side lay the hordes of Germania, from where the incursions into Gaul that so disrupted the peace emanated. Caesar made the decision to give the Germans an example of what Rome could do if it chose, commanding the building of a bridge. The spot chosen was at a point in between two islands, the river being about two furlongs wide at this point, and despite being a good distance, was still the narrowest point where the ground on both sides was suitable. Immediately put to work, the entire army, save the 14th which served as a guard, chopped down the trees necessary to construct a bridge sufficiently large to allow the passage of the army and all its baggage. We were lucky that this area was heavily forested; indeed, the trees were so thick that there was a permanent gloom that was present no matter the time of the day within the confines of the forest, just like the lands of the Morini. Such trifles are not enough to stop an army of Rome and we were set to the work, which we performed with a will, knowing that we were part of history in the making. There had never been a bridge across the Rhenus, and this was yet another demonstration of the superiority of Rome that we were only too happy to demonstrate to the Germans across the river, their scouts watching in dismay from the opposite bank at the work being done. One day more than a week later, the bridge was completed, stretching the distance over the river, originating about 50 paces on our side, and terminating about 50 paces on the opposite bank. Being Caesar’s favorite Legion, we were given the honor, after Caesar himself and his cavalry bodyguard of course, of being the first to march across, and all of us, Vibius included, did so with a large amount of pride. This bridge was living proof of the might of Rome, the tromping of our boots only serving to emphasize that point. The next two weeks were spent burning the crops in the fields that were just beginning to ripen, and putting every farm we found to the torch, while killing every Sugambri, the tribe that lived in that region, within our reach. We did not follow the stream of Germans that we saw fleeing into the great forest at our approach, for the same reason as always. Once Caesar deemed we set enough of an example, we marched back to the bridge, crossing back to our side of the Rhenus, whereupon Caesar ordered the bridge to be partially destroyed, leaving the approach and piers supporting them on our side of the river intact as a warning that we would not hesitate to come back.

With the end of the campaign season not far away, it led to speculation among us that Caesar would deem our subjugation of the Usipetes and Tencteri, along with our foray across the Rhenus enough, but he still had things for us to do. For yet another time we found ourselves marching back west, but the farther we marched the more rampant the rumors grew about where we were headed, and as seasoned as we may have been by this time, as confident in ourselves and our leader as we were, it was not without some trepidation on our part with which we faced our immediate future. Crossing back across the Mosa, the river by now seeming like an old friend, we continued marching west, making our way through the rough hills and forests of our old enemies the Nervii, for the second time that season marching past the battleground at the river. Once through the hills, the land grew flatter and flatter, though there were still huge stands of forests that this time we negotiated a path around rather than through, making our progress even slower. After it appeared that we put the forests behind us, we began passing through land that seemed to have a river or stream of some sort every mile, with much of the terrain in between being marshy, which of course we had to steer clear of because of our wagons. None of the Centurions said anything, yet there was a clear sense of urgency that made every delay, no matter how short, an occasion that brought out the best cursing that our officers had to offer. This did not help the mood of the army any, the speculation and rumors becoming more and more pointed and focused on one, and only one possibility. One night, Vibius finally spoke out loud what we were all secretly thinking, and dreading.

“Caesar wants to sail to Britannia,” Vibius announced at the evening meal.

We had just finished a particularly trying day that saw us move into an area of ground that, on the surface, looked normal yet was incredibly soft and spongy. By the time the decision was made to change direction to find firmer ground, two Legions, including the 10th, found ourselves ankle deep in some sort of muck that proved incredibly difficult to clean off. The moment Vibius said it, it was as if we all let out a collective breath at the same time, like some invisible dam just burst, with all of our thoughts and concerns pouring out. There was a babble of voices as all of my tentmates sought to contribute whatever nugget of information they had heard at some time in their lives about Britannia.

“It’s a myth; there’s no such thing,” Atilius was adamant about this. “It’s a tale put out by a band of pirates who prey on anyone stupid enough to believe it exists and go looking for it.”

“If that’s true, where exactly are these pirates hiding? They’re not anywhere on the coast of Gaul or we’d have heard about it.” Scribonius could always be counted on to think things through.

This flummoxed Atilius for a moment, then he shrugged and retorted, “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. It’s still a myth.”

We mercilessly hooted at this, but Atilius was nothing if he was not stubborn; it was not often that he ventured an idea of his own, so when he did he was not going to let something as trivial as logic get in the way.

“It exists all right, but the reason nobody has ever set foot on it and lived to tell the tale is because of the huge monsters that are between the coast of Gaul and Britannia. If they don’t get you going over, they get you coming back.” Vellusius was no less certain than Atilius, and this idea had the merit of not being overtly ridiculous. We all knew as a matter of course that there are huge monsters that roam the waves, preying on those unfortunate souls who wander too far from the sight of shore. That is why so few who venture far out to sea return.

“That’s all nonsense,” this was Calienus, who had dropped by our tent to chat with his old friends. He still carried a slight limp from the wound he had suffered, but it did not slow him down and if it pained him, he kept it to himself. “There’re no monsters at sea. It’s on the island itself. The men of Britannia are giants, the shortest is more than ten feet tall.”