The Helvetian Affair Page 19

  Caesar continued, “One of my goals is to test the attitudes of the Aedui toward us and to find out why they haven’t come through with the supplies they promised us. If there is any evidence of a conspiracy between the Aedui and the Helvetii, that’s where you come in, Insubrecus. I want you to be my fly on the wall. Pick up any intelligence you can from the villagers.”

  “A’mperi’tu’, Imperator!” I acknowledged, putting my cup down on the desk.

  “I have summoned Diviciacus, the king of the Aedui,” Caesar continued. “I expect him no later than tomorrow afternoon, but I plan to let him cool his heels, at least until the day after. I need to be briefed by you on what you find out in the field before I face him. In fact, your information will go a long way in my planning a strategy for dealing with the Aedui. So, I expect to see all three of you in my praetorium tomorrow—no later than the first night watch.”

  Both Agrippa and I muttered “A’mperi’tu’!” Madog just nodded.

  Caesar took a long draught from his cup. He was enough of a trooper that the posca didn’t seem to affect him at all. But, then again, if anything affected Caesar, he gave little indication of it.

  He continued, “By the time you get back in, I expect the castra to have moved about ten thousand passus west of this location. But, your best bet is to return to this location and follow our trail out. If for any reason the army doesn’t relocate tomorrow and you go directly to where you expect us to be, you’ll run right into the Helvetii.”

  We had already figured that one out, but we all nodded as if Caesar had given us sage advice.

  “Quaestiones ullae?” Caesar asked. “Any questions?”

  “N’abeo, Imperator,” Agrippa and I answered. Madog just shrugged and grunted.

  “Bene,” Caesar said. “Miss’est . . . Get some sleep! You have an early start in the morning. Insubrecus . . . stay behind, please!”

  I rose as Agrippa and Madog left. As soon as they were gone, Caesar said, “Gai, I’m posting some dispatches, instructions to one of my comites, my deputy down in Aquileia. The courier departs tomorrow at first light. I understand that you come from a small farm just outside Mediolanum. Perhaps you’d like to write a short note to your parents? Let them know you’re safe . . . what you’re doing. I know military service can be worrisome, especially for mothers. What’s her name? Valeria, is it not? My clerk can fit you up with some papyrus and a pen. Place your message in the dispatch bag, and I’ll see that it’s delivered. Your parents will be proud of your promotion. I’ll give instructions for the courier to wait for a response.”

  “Multas gratias, Patrone!” I stammered.

  I was staggered, not only by Caesar’s kindness, but also by the fact he actually knew where my home was, and he knew my mother’s name. Later, many who claimed to know Caesar well, certainly better than I did, claimed this was all part of an act, an elaborate ruse to instill loyalty and devotion in those around him. I never learned the truth of it. Caesar was certainly a consummate actor, always on stage, but he was also a man, a human being. And, a kindness imitated is still a kindness done.

  On my way out of the praetorium, I did scribble out a quick note to my parents, mostly to mama. After all these years, I don’t remember what I wrote. Probably some bromides about being well, about the weather being warm and dry, about having plenty to eat, about being in no danger—the sort of stuff a young soldier thinks his mother should hear, the sort of stuff I wrote to her until the day arrived when writing home didn’t make sense to me anymore.

  Mama has long since gone to the Land of Shadows. A hundred Orpheuses with a hundred lyres cannot bring her back. What I wouldn’t give to be able to write one more message to her and have the courier wait for her response. I’m sure I’d take the opportunity more seriously than I did that evening in Caesar’s praetorium.

  Before dawn the next morning, I joined Agrippa and the Sequani cavalry. The foraging parties were assembling in a secure, open area between the legionary castra. In the dark, the assembly was a confused mass of dark, moving shapes, alive with the creaking of wagons, clanking and scraping of armor and weapons, jangling of harnesses, whickering, snorting and stomping of horses anxious to be on their way, complaints and curses in Latin and Gallic, and the smell of the ever-patient mules.

  We sorted things out and found the foraging party we were supposed to screen. It was commanded by the angusticlavus, Caecina, who had commanded the vexillatio, the detail escorting the surviving Tigurini back to the Rhenus. He was again paired with Sanga, the centurion from the Twelfth Legion. I stood back as Agrippa sorted things out with them.

  I found Athauhnu’s turmae and was surprised when he greeted me in Latin, “Salve, Decurio!”

  “Finally assuming some civilized manners, Chief?” I responded in Gah’el.

  “Latinly, Decurio” he responded again in broken Latin. “Madocus Dux to say we Roman soldier . . . to take Roman gift . . . sword . . . silver . . . now to speak Roman word.”

  “Bene!” I encouraged him. I had gotten used to Madog’s fractured Latin, even Spina’s Aventine-Hill gutter patter. Figuring out what Athauhnu was trying to say shouldn’t prove too much a challenge. “I’ll call you Adonus Decurio from now on when we speak Latin.”

  “Adonus,” Athauhnu tried his new Roman name. “Is bene . . . Adonus Decurio!”

  I heard Agrippa call for us, and we found him at the northern edge of the assembly. The eastern sky was beginning to turn dark purple. We needed to get this show on the road if we were going to cross the departure line according to Caesar’s wishes.

  When we found Agrippa, Caecina was standing with him; Sanga was hovering behind him, the silhouette of his helmet’s transverse crest identifying him as a centurion.

  “The tribune and I have worked out a plan,” Agrippa began nodding toward Caecina. “Madog, we need to split up your cavalry . . . Insubrecus Decurio, you will accompany Att Owen’s ala.”

  “Adonus Decurio, Tribune,” Athauhnu corrected him.

  Agrippa hesitated for a heartbeat, not sure what had just happened. I was about to say something when he shrugged and continued, “The ala of Adonus Decurio. Our target is the small vicus we scouted the day before yesterday, the one with the large, round building or barn in the center and the perimeter fence built from brambles. Your mission is to scout the route directly to the village for Caecina’s foraging party. But, do not enter the village. When you reach it, move around it, preferably to the west if the terrain and the situation permit. Seal its flank and rear . . . No one in, no one out. I don’t want them hiding the cattle and trying to carry off the grain . . . Compre’enditis vos?”

  “Compre’endo, Tribune!” I answered. I wasn’t sure how much of this the newly minted Adonus Decurio was getting.

  “You are to avoid contact with the enemy,” Agrippa continued. “If you detect the enemy, fix their position and move south back to Caecina’s force. We’ll let the muli, the legionary grunts, sweep away the trash.”

  I heard Sanga guffaw and slap the hilt of his gladius when Agrippa said this. Agrippa continued, “I will be with Madocus Dux and the two remaining alae. We will be paralleling the ridgelines to the west of the route of march to seal it off from enemy reconnaissance or raids. Standard visual and aural signals remain in effect. Quaestiones?”

  “N’abeo, Tribune,” I responded.

  Athauhnu said nothing. I was positive that the Latin terms “paralleling,” “reconnaissance,” and “standard visual and aural signals” were well beyond his Latin. I could hash it out with him in the saddle.

  “I assume the same order of march on the return,” Agrippa finished. “But, we’ll talk again when we’re on the objective. Insubrecus Decurio . . . are you and . . . and . . . Adonus Decurio ready to move out?”

  “Parati, Tribune!” I answered.

  “Bene!” Agrippa said. “Stay in contact with the foraging party all the way to the objective. You lead out. I’ll follow and peel off to the west before we enter the
hill country to the north. Caecina, as we discussed, lead out your foraging party about a quarter of the hour after we depart, about when the eastern sky starts to go from red to orange. That should put us a few hundred passus in front of you.”

  “Constat, Agrippa!” Caecina said.

  “Let’s mount up, Insubrecus!” Agrippa concluded. “May Domina Fortuna favor us this day!”

  In the darkness, I heard mutterings, “Domina Bona . . . Fortuna . . . Dea Bona.” I found myself patting my lorica where my medallion hung.

  Initially, we made good time, despite the darkness. I was again riding the black mare with the white snip, on which Valgus, my decurio in Caesar’s praetorian detail, had trained me. Valgus believed that man and horse were a team; they trained together, and they fought together. Like gemini, they had to trust each other completely. I felt I was getting to that point with my horse, Clamriu. I could feel her moods, sense her enthusiasms, her fatigues, and her fears as we rode. She responded easily to the reins or to my knee and leg directions.

  Valgus didn’t believe in Roman soldiers giving their mounts names; he considered it alienus Romanitati, barbare, as he put it. But, all the great heroes of Gran’pa’s sagas rode noble steeds with their own identities. So, I named my mare Clamriu after one of Arth Mawr’s mounts. Even then I knew it was a childish affectation, but one I still wished to embrace.

  We reached the hills, and Agrippa’s detail moved off to the west. We had to go more slowly now. Not only because of the darkness, but also because this was terrain that favored close ambush. Athauhnu sent exploratores, a two-man point detail, out about twenty paces ahead of the main body. It was still too dark to make flankers practical, so we were vulnerable as we made our way slowly over the narrow trail. Before the encroaching hills had obscured the eastern sky, I noticed that the horizon was revealing itself in a golden glow. Caecina and his foraging party should be well on their way from the assembly area.

  “Adonus Decurio,” I called to get Athauhnu’s attention.

  “Quid volare tu?” he responded in Latin. “What to fly you?”

  I realized quickly that he meant to ask what I wanted. I switched to Gah’el. “I think we should leave two riders at the trail head to make sure the foraging party doesn’t miss it.”

  “Good idea,” he responded. “Damn Romans could get lost between a tent and a latrine.”

  I didn’t think to remind ‘Adonus Decurio’ whose side he was on at the moment. The fact that he had stopped referring to me as “Little Roman” and seemed to except me from the innate disorientation of all Romans marked a major advance in our relationship.

  As soon as there was adequate light, Athauhnu posted two riders out on each side of our column as flank security. Where the terrain was open and flat, they ranged out almost fifty passus from our line of march; when the terrain closed in, they virtually rejoined our column.

  Our “command group” consisted of Athauhnu, me, a trumpeter with a hunting horn hanging strapped across his chest and chinking against his chainmail lorica as he rode, and a vexillarius, carrying a bright red pennant attached to a long spear. We rode at the head of the column, about twenty passus behind our two-man point element. Occasionally, when the terrain flattened and the trail ran straight, we caught sight of the two riders. The rest of our ala, twelve troopers, rode in a staggered formation along the trail. To our rear, two riders kept contact with Caecina and the wagons.

  We were an ala of twenty-four riders, small by Roman standards, but considering the Gauls’ peculiar sense of officium et fidelitas, quite adequate.

  Again, by the standards of the Roman army, we appeared to be a motley collection of troopers, a band of Gallic brigands. We sported an assortment of bronze and steel helmets: some conical, some round, some with cheek guards, some without. About half the men wore chainmail; a few wore leather; and several had nothing more than padded jackets. Most of the men wore Gallic long swords; the rest had short Roman gladii.

  I noticed a couple of our troopers were carrying iacula, light javelins, in long quivers behind their saddles. To me, such weapons didn’t seem to serve any purpose; they seemed too light to be of any use in combat against armor. I asked Athauhnu about it.

  “Ah,” Athauhnu answered, “we call that uh gae. It’s a weapon given to my people by the god, Lugus, when we departed from the Land in the Skies.”

  I recognized the word. In Gran’pa’s stories, the ancient heroes had magical weapons called gaea that dripped gore, glowed with anger in combat, and once thrown, always tasted enemy blood. I had never actually seen one before. I was expecting a substantial weapon, something worthy of Homer’s epic—a long, heavy ash shaft thrusting a long, black, razor-sharp, steel blade. These javelins that the Sequani troopers were carrying seemed insubstantial, flimsy.

  Athauhnu noticed my skepticism. “Lend me your shield, Arth Bek,” he requested, holding out his hand.

  “What?” I questioned.

  “Your shield,” Athauhnu insisted, “let me have it.”

  I shimmied out of my shield, which was hung across my back, and handed it over.

  “Emlun! To me!” he called out to one of his troopers.

  A rider from the middle of our column came forward. He looked to be a boy of about my age, maybe a bit younger. He had a round, bronze helmet bouncing on top of his head, and he wore a padded jacket. His spatha, hanging across his chest by a leather baldric, looked to be at least two sizes too big for him.

  “Yes, Athauhnu . . . uh . . . Chief,” he said to Athauhnu.

  “Emlun,” Athauhnu instructed, “take this Roman shield up the trail about a hundred passus and hang it facing us on a tree right next to the trail.”

  The one called Emlun stared at Athauhnu for a couple of heartbeats, not sure what was going on. Then, he shrugged, took my shield, and rode ahead down the trail.

  Athauhnu watched him go. “My cousin,” he explained, “my mother’s sister’s son . . . a good lad . . . Needs some seasoning.”

  We watched Emlun pound down the trail, finally stopping to hang my shield on a tree. Even from that distance, I could see the red boar of the Tenth Legion painted around its center. Emlun waved to us when the shield was secure.

  Athauhnu waved his cousin back to the column. As Emlun was cantering back, Athauhnu called out again, “Guithiru! To me!”

  This time, one of the veteran troopers rode up to Athauhnu. He was arrayed in Roman chainmail, the cheek-pieces of his bronze galea helmet secured tightly under his chin.

  “Yes, Chief!” he saluted.

  Athauhnu pointed down the trail to my shield. “The boar . . . kill it!”

  Guithiru grinned, “Where do you want me to hit it?”

  Athauhnu shrugged, “You kill a boar by spearing its heart!”

  Guithiru nodded. He reached behind his saddle and extracted one of his gaea from a quiver. He waited a few heartbeats for Emlun to clear the trail and rejoin the command group. Then, he shouted and kicked his heels back into his horse’s flank. His gray, dappled stallion exploded down the trail, gaining speed as he approached his target. I watched as Guithiru rose up off the saddle with his knees locked into his horse’s flank. This was a signal for the stallion to increase his speed. Guithiru’s hand and arm holding the gae came up, then thrust forward in a blur. Even from a hundred passus away, I could hear the sharp thwack as the javelin punched into its target. Guithiru pulled his stallion up some thirty passus beyond my now transfixed shield. He waved back toward Athauhnu.

  “Let’s go see if Guithiru killed his boar,” Athauhnu invited.

  We cantered down the trail. As we approached the tree, I could see that Guithiru had indeed “killed the boar.” His gae had pierced the image of the red Tenth Legion boar just behind its front legs, right where the animal’s heart would have been. The javelin had punched completely through my shield and had pinned it fast to the tree.

  “That is how deadly a gae is in the hands of a warrior!” Athauhnu remarked.

 
Guithiru rode up to inspect his handy work. “Perhaps we should just leave it there like that as a warning to our enemies,” Guithiru suggested.

  Athauhnu shrugged, “The Romans would force our decurio to buy a new one.”

  Guithiru laughed at the folly of Roman quartermasters and dismounted. After a few twists and pulls, he managed to extract his javelin from the tree, but he had to cut it out of my shield with his pugio. He handed the round parma back up to me. There was a small, jagged hole in its middle, straight through the heart of the red boar.

  “Hold it away from your body if we get into a fight, Decurio,” Guithiru suggested. “Maybe your chainmail will be enough to stop the point.” Then, with a laugh, he resumed his position back with the column.

  I inspected the ruin of my shield. I had been considering trading it for an oblong, Gallic cavalry shield. It would be a bit heavier than my parma, but it would give better protection for the upper legs and head. This little demonstration convinced me.

  About an hour later, crossing our trail, we discovered fresh tracks left by an unknown force. Since there was no reason for friendlies to be in the area, we had to assume they were hostiles.

  We were crossing a small valley split by a stream running toward the southeast. We could easily see our two scouts on the other side of the stream, some fifteen hundred passus ahead of the column. They had stopped, and one of the scouts seemed to be examining something on the ground while the other remained mounted and alert. Suddenly, the mounted scout whistled to get our attention and beckoned us forward.

  Athauhnu acknowledged the summons. He whistled to get the attention of our flankers, who were operating some thousand passus up and down the valley on either side of the trail. He signaled them to halt; then he indicated that they should be vigilant to their front.

  Then, he called for Guithiru.

  “What do you wish, Chief?” the warrior asked when he joined the command group.

  “Our scouts have found something,” Athauhnu explained. “We’re going forward. Keep the men here until we get back. Keep them alert.”