The Helvetian Affair Read online

  Then, the Helvetian chief made an unmistakable, insulting hand gesture in our direction and spit on the ground. He turned his horse and rode back into his own troop. The entire Helvetian horde seemed to collapse backward, following their chief away from us. Soon, we were staring at the backs of a withdrawing enemy.

  I could see Agrippa’s shoulders sag with relief. Unless he were foolish enough to pursue, the fighting would be over for the day. I suspected Madog wanted to continue, but Agrippa reached over to Madog’s mount and steadied both man and horse. We were finished for that day.

  Finished, except for having to explain this debacle to Caesar.

  We discovered the legionary castra less than five thousand passus from the site of the battle. Caesar had moved most of the army forward to shadow the Helvetii. Agrippa settled the Sequani in a protected position between the camps. Then, we Romans and Madog went in search of Caesar’s praetorium. We found it again in the castrum of the Tenth Legion. When we approached the praetorium tent, we spotted Labienus directing some soldiers.

  “Agrippa, what in the name of Hades happened out there?” he demanded as soon as he saw us. “The Gauls are all in an uproar about some ambush . . . a massacre . . . They’re saying the Helvetii are coming, and they’re all running off into the hills!”

  We dismounted and approached Labienus. Agrippa asked, “Do you want me to give my report to you or to the imperator, Legate?”

  Labienus thought about it for a moment, then said, “Let’s go in and brief the boss. Crassus is already in there with him. How bad is it, Agrippa?”

  Agrippa shrugged, “Not good . . . Could have been a lot worse . . . but not good.”

  Again, Labienus stared at him briefly, then gestured to the tent entrance saying, “Let’s go see Caesar. Insubrecus! Come with us!”

  Caesar was studying his maps. Crassus was with him, looking like he had just walked in from inspection parade. Clearly, the cavalry commander did not participate in his own unit’s battle.

  When Caesar heard us enter, he asked Labienus, “Titus, how confident are you that the six remaining cohorts of the Twelfth can hold the bridgehead against the enemy?”

  Labienus shrugged, “Six cohorts of trained Roman soldiers fighting from well-prepared, defensive positions on good terrain should be able to hold back a sea of barbarians, Imperator! Agrippa has returned. He has a report about the cavalry battle.”

  “Bene,” Caesar responded, walking away from the map. “Nuntia, Tribune! Report!”

  Agrippa, his helmet gripped firmly under his left arm, assumed a stiffer position of attention. “Imperator, I commanded three alae of native cavalry . . . Sequani. . . . We encountered an enemy force of both cavalry and infantry, approximately—”

  “Infantry?” Caesar interrupted. “There was infantry? How many? How equipped?”

  Agrippa answered, “Approximately a cohort . . . maybe as many as eight centuries . . . lightly armored . . . principally with spears . . . some farm implements . . . a few swords.”

  Caesar nodded, “This is the first I’ve heard of infantry . . . About six hundred, you say?”

  “Nuntio recte, Imperator,” Agrippa answered.

  Caesar seemed to mull this over. Then, he said, “Bene . . . Please, continue your report.”

  Agrippa continued, “We encountered a force of infantry and perhaps ten alae of cavalry approximately six thousand passus to the west . . . When we arrived at the eighth hour, the enemy cavalry was engaging our cavalry—”

  “Why did you not immediately attack the enemy, Tribune?” Crassus interrupted. This was more of a challenge than a question.

  Agrippa turned his head to face Crassus. “Legate, initially we were not in position to attack, and our horses were still winded from our advance—”

  Caesar interrupted him, “We can get to that later, Crassus. Agrippa, continue your report!”

  “A’mperi’tu’, Imperator!” Agrippa responded, again facing Caesar. “At a given signal, the enemy infantry attacked our cavalry in two wings from concealment. One wing attacked our men directly; the other tried to seal off their escape—”

  “Do you think this was a planned attack, Agrippa?” Caesar asked.

  Agrippa hesitated. Caesar was asking him to commit himself on a military matter, use his tactical judgment, in front of his commander.

  Finally, Agrippa stated, “Existimo esse rectum, Imperator! I believe that’s the case! There was a prearranged signal given to initiate the infantry attack. I believe the Helvetii deliberately ambushed our cavalry and attempted to annihilate them.”

  “Bah!” Crassus exclaimed. “Those barbarians are not that sophisticated—”

  “That’s probably what Longinus believed right up until the time one of those unsophisticated barbarians was sawing off his head!” Caesar silenced him. “I want to hear the tribune’s report, Crassus . . . After all . . . he was there!”

  Crassus blanched at Caesar’s swipe, then remained silent.

  Agrippa continued, “My three alae attacked the enemy blocking force, allowing the survivors of our cavalry force to escape the trap. I estimate three or four turmae of friendlies escaped from the valley. The enemy chose not to continue the engagement and withdrew north, up the valley. We then returned here to report.”

  There was silence as Caesar digested what he was just told. Suddenly, Madog whispered, “Tell the Caisar that coward Aedui run away from fight.”

  “Who’s this?” Caesar asked, seeming to notice Madog for the first time.

  Agrippa responded, “Imperator, this is Madog mab Guuhn, leader of the Sequani cavalry, equitatis Sequanianis dux.”

  “Salve, Dux,” Caesar nodded toward Madog. Then, he turned back to Agrippa. “What is this about the Aedui running from the battle?”

  “Imperator,” Agrippa reported, “when the Helvetii sprung their ambush, about three alae of Aeduan cavalry withdrew from the battle before the enemy could block their escape.”

  Caesar was just about to respond when Madog interrupted again, “No, Agrippa . . . that not Aedui horseman . . . that . . .” Madog’s Latin began to fail him, “important man soldier . . . protect.”

  Caesar looked intently at Madog, then at Agrippa. Finally, he noticed me. “Insubrecus, can you tell me what this . . . this Madapguinus fellow is trying to say?”

  I asked Madog in Gah’el, “Who were those horsemen, Lord?”

  Madog responded, “They were fintai, the personal bodyguard of Deluuhnu mab Clethguuhno. I recognized their standards. He is the dunorix of the People of the Dark Moon, the commander of the king’s stronghold, Bibracte. He is also the brother of the king, Duuhruhda mab Clethguuhno!”

  I translated this for Caesar. He shrugged and said, “Then, we are fortunate that this . . . this dunorix person escaped. If he had been killed, it would have been a disaster for us and for the Aedui.”

  Madog picked up enough of what Caesar said to explain further. “The Caisar does not understand! The fintai of the dunorix would have led the horsemen of the People of the Dark Moon into that valley. Perhaps, Deluuhnu himself commanded them! They would never leave the place of battle while their people were in peril. It would be unthinkable! Shameful! They led their own people into that ambush and left them to be slaughtered!”

  Again I translated, and again Caesar seemed inclined to dismiss the warning. “Just bad luck . . . It happens.”

  Again, Madog, “Surprised and ambushed by the Helvetii in their own lands? Impossible! They had to know! They led them into it.”

  After I translated that, Caesar challenged “Qua causa?”

  Madog shrugged, “The dunorix is married to a Helvetian woman, the daughter of the former orgorix, the war chief of that tribe, the one who planned this invasion. Through his mother’s people, he has formed marriage bonds with all the major clans of the Helvetii. With others, he has exchanged silver and hostages. He plots not only the destruction of the Caisar’s army, but the destruction of his own people. He is not satisfied
with being a mere dunorix of a single tribe; he plots to be the dumnorix of the Gah’el!”

  It took me a few heartbeats to sort that out. Madog had constructed a clever pun: dunorix, the “fortress-king” of the Aedui, and the dumnorix, the “universe-king” of the Gauls. I translated all this for Caesar, translating dumnorix as rex Gallorum, king of the Gauls.

  Caesar was now interested in what Madog was saying. “Ask him if the king of the Aedui, Diviciacus, knows of this,” Caesar demanded.

  Madog understood Caesar’s question. He shrugged, “Diviciacus . . . Duuhruhda mab Clethguuhno . . . How could he not know what is happening in his own house?”

  When Caesar heard this answer, he nodded. “Insubrecus, tell this Madicus . . . uh . . . tell the Dux he has done a great service to the Roman people . . . Tell him we are grateful . . . I will direct my quaester to issue his turma rations . . . equipment . . . whatever they need if he will continue to serve the populi Romani.”

  When I translated this for Madog, his eyes widened. A single, worn-out chainmail lorica was enough to assure the loyalty of one of his riders for a lifetime—a well-forged sword, two lifetimes. Caesar had just bought the loyalty of Madog and his troop for as long as he needed them.

  Madog bowed. “Me’ Caesar . . . gratias ti’ago . . . maximas gratias . . . Tu’ vir sum, ego!”

  Madog departed. He was going to cash in on Caesar’s promise before the general could change his mind.

  Caesar seemed a bit amused. “It’s just a few battered loricae and a few rusty swords! Are you Gauls always this enthusiastically grateful?”

  I decided to ignore Caesar’s “you Gauls” characterization and explained, “Imperator, iron armor and weapons are valuable to these people. By putting them in Madog’s hands, he can ensure the loyalty of his soldiers for the rest of their lives. You just made him one of the most powerful orgorixa, war chiefs, among his people. Even his own king must now give him respect. In fact, you are now his orgorix . . . his war chief. He will never cease being Sequani, but now he is, as he said, vir tuus, miles Caesari . . . your man, a soldier of Caesar.”

  Caesar stared at me briefly, then said, “Simil’est clientela? Like clientage?”

  “Recte, Imperator,” I affirmed, “but to the death . . . He is honor-bound to you.”

  “An important lesson, Insubrecus,” Caesar responded, nodding. “What do you think of all this, Labienus?”

  Labienus shrugged, “I don’t know where to start. It seems we cannot trust the Aedui. What concerns me is that we are about to enter their territory and will be dependent on them to supply the army with food and fodder.”

  Caesar seemed to become impatient, “Yes . . . yes . . . Agrippa . . . what happened today? From your point of view . . . what went wrong?”

  Agrippa stiffened a bit. He was a mere angusticlavus and on the spot again before the imperator, his chief of staff, and his own legate, Crassus.

  He tried to cage his response, “Imperator . . . uh . . . there were many . . . uh . . . variables . . . things no one could foresee.”

  Caesar had no patience for this evasiveness. “Come now, Agrippa . . . You’re a Roman soldier . . . an officer . . . We’re all comrades here . . . Nothing matters except this army and the interests of the Roman people . . . You were out there on the ground . . . If you were me, what would you have done differently?”

  Agrippa nodded, “Imperator, it was a matter of command and control. Once the Gallic cavalry rode off, they did what they wanted to do. None of us could control them. There were too many of them, too few of us, and too little time to integrate leadership among them.”

  “So, you’re saying this was my fault?” Crassus accused.

  “No! No, Legate!” Agrippa attempted. “No one could have—”

  Caesar interrupted, “Please . . . gentlemen . . . if it were anyone’s fault, it would be mine. I am the commander of this army. I cast my pilum before I had a mark. No . . . if anyone is to blame for this . . . this . . . calamitas . . . this debacle . . . it’s me. Thank you for your libertas, Agrippa, your candor. It’s a Roman virtue, and I appreciate it. Now, gentlemen . . . please, leave me . . . except for you, Labienus. I need some time to think.”

  As we left Caesar’s praetorium, Crassus intercepted us. “Tribune!” he summoned Agrippa.

  “Adsum ti’, Legate,” Agrippa responded, coming to attention.

  “Tribune!” Crassus started. “You will never . . . I repeat . . . never speak out of line in or out of my presence again! You will report to me and only to me! If the imperator needs to hear anything you have to say, he will hear it from me. Do you understand me clearly, Tribune?”

  “Perspicue, Legate!” Agrippa almost shouted.

  “Miss’est, Tribune!” Crassus dismissed him. Then, he noticed me.

  “Tu,” he started. “Tu! Si tu non deliciae Caesari Galliculae . . . You . . . you . . . if you weren’t Caesar’s little Gallic bitch, I’d have your guts for boot straps! I can’t stop you from telling the imperator anything you want, but as long as you’re assigned to my command, you stay away from me. I don’t want to see you, hear you, or be reminded that you as much as exist. Do you understand me, boy?”

  “Compre’endo, Legate!” I shouted.

  “You’d better! If I have any more trouble with you, boy, even Caesar won’t be able to save your sorry ass!”

  With that parting shot, Crassus stomped out of the praetorium.

  I waited a moment before following him out. I was halfway through a string of expletives, “verpa . . . mentula . . . fututor canibus. . .” when I noticed Agrippa standing outside the tent. I immediately stiffened to attention.

  “Tribune!” I stammered. “I didn’t see . . . I mean . . . I—”

  “Don’t worry about it, Decurio,” Agrippa said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We’ve had one hell of a day. I’m parched. Would you happen to know where we could find a nice jug of wine, or maybe some posca? Coleonibus Martis! I’d even settle for some of that horse piss the Gauls call cooru.”

  IX.

  Lente Festinamus

  WE HURRY SLOWLY

  Caesar suos a proelio continebat ac satis habebat in praesentia hostem rapinis pabulationibus populationibusque prohibere.

  “Caesar held his troops back from battle. For the time being, he considered it adequate to prevent the enemy from looting, foraging, and plundering.”

  (from Gaius Marius Insubrecus’ notebook of Caesar’s journal)

  He pursued the Helvetii for the next ten days.

  Pursuit is perhaps too aggressive a word to describe what was happening. After the debacle with our cavalry, and the continuing uncertainty of the enemy’s strength, Caesar refused to allow any of his units to become engaged with the Helvetii.

  Our cavalry tried to maintain contact with the enemy. On its face, this mission was not much of a challenge. We were following a massive horde, tens of thousands of men, women, and children. They were dragging everything they possessed along with them, with some of it on their backs, some strapped to beasts of burden, and the rest piled into slow-moving wagons. We could follow them from their trail: a path of crushed grass, burned huts, dead livestock, and uprooted foliage almost a thousand passus wide.

  Also, our infantry, which could easily march twenty thousand passus a day without breaking much of a sweat, was barely moving ten. By the standards of the Roman army, the pace was leisurely. By the seventh day of our “advance,” the Twelfth Legion had caught up with us, having tucked the Tigurini back in along the Rhenus and having pulled down the bridges over the Arar. Caesar could now deploy all five of his legions against the enemy.

  At the same time, the enemy was becoming quite aggressive. Not a day passed without an attack on one or more of our cavalry patrols. From a tactical point of view, this made perfect sense. Tacticians called it “preventing reconnaissance.” The enemy cavalry was screening the main body from our reconnaissance patrols.

  Athauhnu, by then all decked out in
his Roman chainmail lorica and shining brass cavalry helmet, told me that the Helvetii were too thoughtless and rash to execute an actual strategy. Most of the attacks on our cavalry were carried out by minor Helvetian war chiefs seeking heads, horses, and booty. Unfortunately, as it would prove, many of our senior officers believed this theory, too.

  However, these incessant spoiling attacks by the Helvetii were taking a toll on our Gallic allies. There was no booty to be had and much danger to be anticipated. Unlike the Roman army deserters, who would sneak away alone or in pairs in the dead of night, the Gauls just left. Entire turmae rode away to return to their homes. When I asked Madog about it, he just shrugged. If there was no glory to be had, no riches to seize, why remain? By the tenth day, I doubted we could field five turmae of native cavalry against the Helvetii.

  The most pressing problems, though, were the men’s rations and the fodder for the horses. The legions had gone through the ten-day marching rations that they had been carrying, but no resupply had arrived from our allies, the Aedui, whose territory we were marching across. Caesar had managed to bring up one supply column from Lugdunum back at the confluence of the Rhodanus and the Arar. But, we had advanced almost one hundred thousand passus away from that supply depot. Although the legions had cleared a passable road along our route of march, Labienus was still doubtful as he calculated the amount of time the impedimenta took to make the trip and its carrying capacity. The inescapable conclusion was that we could not adequately supply the army along that route. Unless the Aedui made good on their promises to supply the army, the men would have to be placed on reduced rations—sooner rather than later.

  Caesar was resisting the recommendation to reduce his men’s rations. He knew that Roman soldiers would tolerate many hardships on campaign—their officers’ arrogance, harsh discipline, even at times tactical incompetence—but they would not tolerate logistical bungling for long.

  Never botch the men’s rations!

  On the afternoon of the eleventh day, after returning to the legionary castra from patrol, I was summoned to Caesar’s praetorium. I was still riding with Agrippa and Madog’s Sequani. Agrippa was proving to be a good officer and a good companion. During one of our rides, he shared with me his desire to pursue a career in the army, not politics down in Rome. He was concerned about being subordinate to Crassus and his arrogance. But, avoiding Crassus while on active field duty didn’t prove much of a challenge. The man didn’t seem interested in doing anything that might tarnish his armor. Agrippa was also aware of my relationship with Caesar, but he never brought it up in any of our conversations.