The Helvetian Affair Page 22

  Labienus began to examine the new tabula. “This isn’t an exact science,” he muttered as he read. “Since we separated the Tigurini from the other clans, forty, maybe fifty thousand maximum. Of those, no more than fifteen thousand fully equipped warriors. The rest are just tribal musters. That includes both cavalry and infantry. We can’t get a good fix on the Germans. We think no more than ten thousand total, maybe three thousand warriors. So, we’re facing less than twenty thousand warriors of battle-line strength; the rest would be just dirt farmers and swine herders with pitchforks and scythes.”

  “If we engaged them tomorrow, could we beat them?” Caesar asked.

  Labienus shrugged, “Almost twenty-five thousand trained Roman infantry . . . eighteen thousand barbarian warriors supported by a herd of sword-fodder . . . We pick the ground . . . Can’t see why not . . . Yes . . . we could win that fight.”

  “How many days on full rations do we have?” Caesar shot.

  Again, Labienus took one of his tabulae. “We haven’t fully tallied what the foraging parties brought in, but . . . three days, full rations . . . maybe, stretch it to four. That’s a conservative estimate. Three days, I’d say.”

  “We could reach the Rhonus from here in one long day,” Caesar said. “About thirty thousand passus . . . one and a half days at a regular march . . . another day to gather supplies from the provincia. So, we have to decide now. We break off the pursuit and march to the Rhonus, or we go right at the Helvetii and resupply ourselves with their food, or we go hungry waiting for these Gallic verpae in Bibracte to deliver on their promises.”

  “Patrone,” I interrupted.

  “Quid dicere vis tu, Insubrece?” Caesar said.

  “Bibracte, Imperator,” I answered. “There’s plenty of food in Bibracte. The Aedui have been stockpiling it there, and it’s no more than twenty thousand passus north of here . . . one day’s march.”

  “That is consistent with what many of our foraging parties have reported, Caesar,” Labienus confirmed. “The Aedui seem to be stripping their own villages of food and livestock and bringing it into their fortress at Bibracte.”

  “Why would they do that?” Caesar asked.

  Labienus shrugged, “Feed the garrison . . . deny it to the Helvetii—”

  “Or, deny it to us,” I interrupted.

  Caesar stared at me for a few heartbeats. Just when I was convinced that he was going to reprimand me for interrupting a senior officer, he asked, “So, you’re suggesting we could march on Bibracte and resupply there?”

  Labienus made a noise and Caesar asked, “What is it, Titus?”

  “That may be our most dangerous option, Caesar,” he said.

  “Cur?” Caesar demanded, “Why?”

  “That would put the army between the Helvetii and the Aedui, with no clear line of withdrawal to the Rhonus,” Labienus stated. “We’d have over eighteen thousand barbarians on our asses. Only the gods know how many Aedui would be to our front, and we’d have a fortified position to crack—with our siege equipment back on the Arar. I’m not sure that’s the battle we want.”

  A light seemed to go on in Caesar’s mind. “A trap . . . the food is the bait . . . Roman silver encouraging the Helvetii and interfering with my alliance with the Aedui . . . That seems to be a stretch, Labienus, but I see your point.”

  “Patrone,” I said, “there is another thing.”

  When I had Caesar’s attention, I explained what I had learned from Cuhnetha about the dynastic issues among the Aeduan clans.

  After listening, Caesar rubbed his hands together. “This is getting as intricate as the plot of a Greek play. The dunorix’s men burning out a rival’s village . . . rumors of Roman silver and purple-stripers riding with the enemy . . . a poisoned king . . . our allies withholding supplies . . . and a horde of barbarians seemingly beckoning us farther on to our destruction. A Greek melodrama, Labienus. All we need is a pirate king and a kidnapped virgin. The Aeduan king . . . he is to be here tomorrow . . . correct?”

  “Recte, Imperator,” Labienus nodded.

  “Bene,” Caesar continued. “Summon my senior officers . . . all my legati . . . the centuriones primi pili of the legions . . . the senior military tribunes, the laticlavi, too. I’ll conduct a council of war to discuss our situation . . . Do we provoke a battle with the Helvetii . . . break off pursuit and withdraw to the provincia . . . or turn north against Bibracte?”

  The next day, during the third hour, Caesar was in his praetorium, waiting for the arrival of the Aeduan king, Duuhruhda mab Clethguuhno. Our exploratores had reported the Helvetii on the move, but the legions remained in camp. What Duuhruhda had to say was critical to Caesar’s next move.

  The council of war the night before had been stormy.

  To a man, the senior centurions wanted to close with the Helvetii and destroy them. They claimed this was the only option the men would accept. Withdrawing to the provincia was a retreat, a shameful defeat of a Roman army by a crowd of pilosi—shaggy barbarians in plaid breeches. Caesar would be shamed in the army and in Rome. Enough of the talk. Enough of the delay! Catch up to them . . . Kill them . . . Eat their food . . . Take their gold . . . Take their women . . . Have done with it!

  The legates were a bit more circumspect. After all, they were civilians, not soldiers, and politicians at that. They were along on this campaign to enhance their public careers in Rome, not to decorate some barbarian’s hut with their bloody heads. Certainly, a great victory would go a long way to their winning the next lap of their political careers, the race along the cursus honorum. Some of them had their eyes on a consul’s chair in the foreseeable future. A retreat back to the provincia was not especially helpful to them, but their political careers could survive that. They could blame the defeat on Caesar. But, the bloody defeat of a Roman army would be the end of their political lives— maybe quite literally.

  The broad-stripe tribunes, the laticlavi, didn’t say much. They were of the senatorial class, but many were extra sons who didn’t have much of a political or financial future in Rome. Their home was in the army, unless they were lucky enough to have an older brother die prematurely and were summoned home to take his place. Some were actually committed to a military career. So, they did not want to cross the primi pili for military reasons and did not want to oppose the legati for fear of losing possible political favors in the future.

  The upshot of it was that, if the Helvetii offered the opportunity of a battle on favorable ground in the next two days, the army would attack. Caesar had sent out his exploratores at first light with orders to locate a possible battlefield.

  If, however, the opportunity did not arise to attack the Helvetii, the army would return to the Rhonus and resupply from the provincia. They would bridge the river and establish their castra on the north bank, so technically they weren’t retreating back into the provincia. There, they would watch and wait. When the enemy settled down, they would renew the offensive.

  The option of turning north against Bibracte was rejected as too risky. None of the officers wanted to be trapped against a fortified enemy position, low on rations, with the Helvetii across their line of withdrawal.

  The wild card in this game was Duuhruhda.

  Caesar planned to confront the Aeduan king aggressively concerning his promise to supply the Roman army. If the king could be forced to make good on his promises, the crisis was over. The Roman army could continue pursuing its current strategy of attrition against the Helvetii. Caesar believed the key to the king was his brother, the dunorix, and his family’s tenuous claim to the throne.

  Caesar wasn’t quite sure how he would use that as leverage.

  Labienus entered Caesar’s cubiculum. He was formally attired as a senior Roman officer. He wore a highly polished, muscled, bronze lorica with a Medusa image engraved high on his chest. He had a bronze galea helmet sporting a brightred, horsehair crest and highly polished cheek pieces fastened tightly under his chin. Hanging from a polished leather balt
eus on his left side, he carried a gladius in a leather scabbard wrapped in gold wire. His legate’s red sash was tied about his waist.

  “Caesar, the scouts report that the Aedui are approaching,” he said.

  “How far out are they, Labienus?” Caesar asked.

  Labienus shrugged, “By now, less than five hundred passus.”

  “Has the escort detail arrived at the Porta Praetoria?” Caesar enquired.

  “A’venere,” Labienus answered. “Yes! Five contubernia from a first-line cohort . . . Third Centuria of the Second Cohort, I believe . . . Under arms with shields and spears . . . Under the command of their centurion . . . a . . . uh . . . Mettius . . . uh—”

  “Mettius Atius Lupinus,” Caesar filled in. “He’s a Roman . . . from the subura, I believe. His father’s a fullo, a fuller. Because of that, some of the boys call him Lotium . . . Piss. But, only behind his back—unless they want the medicus trying to put their jaws back together.”

  “Uh . . . yes,” Labienus agreed, “that’s him . . . Mettius Atius Lupinus. He’ll bring the king and his brother here to you. Also, he’ll allow no more than ten members of the king’s . . . uh . . . What do you Gauls call praetoriani, Insubrecus?”

  “Fintai, Legate,” I answered.

  “Yes . . . fintai . . . ten members of the king’s bodyguard detail with their swords and daggers only.”

  “Euge,” Caesar agreed. “The bodyguards remain outside with the legionary detail. You and Lupinus escort the king and his brother in here to me. Is Valgus standing by with my praetoriani?”

  “A’sunt,” Labienus affirmed. “They’re in my cubicle. The Gauls will not see them when they enter.”

  “Bene,” Caesar nodded. “Insubrecus, you remain here as my ad manum. Take notes of our conversation. But, if the king should suddenly develop problems understanding my Latin, you interpret for me. Let’s get this spectaculum started!” Caesar rubbed his hands together.

  Labienus left Caesar’s cubicle. Very little time passed before I heard footsteps and voices approaching the entrance. Caesar was sitting in his chair of state, the sella curulis of a Roman magistrate possessing the imperium of the Senate and the people. Caesar sat straight as a spear on the backless chair, which he had positioned to face the entrance of his cubiculum. His red sagum was draped over the chair. Around his head, he had affixed his corona civica, a golden chaplet of oak leaves woven to form a crown. I noticed how well the gilded oak leaves covered his thinning hair and receding hair line. His highly polished bronze lorica reflected the lights of the many lamps he had burning around his cubiculum. But, from my perspective, the brightest light in the room seemed to shine coldly from Caesar’s pale blue eyes.

  Duuhruhda mab Clethguuhno, King of the Aedui, was first to enter, followed closely by his brother, the tribal dunorix, Deluuhnu. Both men seemed a bit disoriented, uncomfortable at being in the middle of a legionary camp surrounded by thousands of Roman soldiers and uneasy at having to leave their bodyguards outside Caesar’s tent.

  I could tell by the way the men were equipped—their finest armor and weapons, the bright colors of their cloaks and bracae, their golden torques and armbands—that they had intended to overawe their Roman ally. I was sure that they had ridden into the camp on the two largest stallions from their herds, but the horses were now out of sight, impotently munching grass somewhere outside our camp.

  The Aedui stood before Caesar, Deluuhnu a pace behind his brother. Labienus and the centurion, Lupinus, slipped in behind them and stationed themselves between the Gauls and the exit, as Caesar had instructed.

  Caesar did not rise. He said, “Salve, Diviciace, Rex! And greetings Prince Dumnorix, brother to the king!”

  I winced a bit at Caesar’s butchering of Gallic names and titles, but clearly this was not the time to launch into a pronunciation lesson.

  Caesar continued, “I have summoned you here to demand that you explain why my army has not been resupplied as you promised. I thought I’d give you the courtesy of explaining your failure before I turn away from my pursuit of those I thought were our common enemies and march on your oppidum, Bibracte, and take what has been promised me!”

  Duuhruhda now clearly understood why he and his brother were standing alone in front of Caesar, surrounded by Caesar’s army. Unless they could give a satisfactory answer, they were not leaving this place.

  “Caesar—” Duuhruhda began.

  “It is customary to address a Roman magistrate by his office, King!” Caesar interrupted. “In my case, you will address me as imperator.”

  “Caesar . . . I mean . . . Imperator,” Duuhruhda started, “this is not Italy! We have long winters and cool springs. The crops have not ripened—”

  “Me tadet specium,” Caesar interrupted. “If I wanted a lesson in agriculture, I would have read Cato. My troops need to be fed!”

  “Imperator,” this time Deluuhnu, the king’s brother, spoke, “my men are collecting what food is left among our people after a hard winter. These things take time—”

  “Insubrece!” Caesar interrupted him, calling my name, “Insubrecus! That report!” He held his hand out to me.

  I had no idea what Caesar was talking about! I took a step toward him to ask discretely what he meant. But, as soon as I was within arm’s reach, he snatched the tabula in which I was scratching my notes.

  “My sources tell me,” Caesar pretended to read, “that there are powerful men among the Aedui who are preventing the villages from gathering the grain. If the Romans defeat the Helvetii, they say, Rome will subjugate the Aedui and all the rest of Gaul. These men claim that if the Aedui cannot rule Gaul, it is better to be ruled by Helvetii than by Romans. My sources tell me these same men are betraying my plans and the movements of my army to the Helvetii. They plot the defeat of my army by starvation or by battle. And, the ringleader of this cabal of treasonous filth is . . .” Caesar looked up from the tabula directly into the eyes of the king, “Dumnorix, your brother!” Caesar slammed the tabula shut.

  Duuhruhda recoiled as if struck. Deluuhnu’s face went ghostly pale. His right hand seemed to inch closer to the hilt of his sword. Then, he remembered where he was, and the two Roman officers standing directly behind him. His hand relaxed and fell back to his side.

  “What have you to say to this . . . King?” Caesar spit out the last word into Duuhruhda’s face.

  I almost felt sorry for the man. He was trapped in the middle of a Roman legionary camp and entangled in a drama of Caesarian cunning. It was a magnificent piece of stagecraft. He didn’t have a chance.

  “Imperator,” the king stammered.

  “I am not finished reading my charges against your brother,” Caesar announced, as if he were a praetor trying a criminal case in front of the forum mob. He reopened his all-knowing tabula.

  “Item,” Caesar began, “Dumnorix is the tribal exactor, the tax collector, and as such, he is responsible for the collection of the foodstuffs that were to be distributed to my army. And, this collection effort, by your own admission, has failed! I blame this failure on Dumnorix and his desire to weaken my army.”

  Caesar paused. I was glad that neither Gaul realized that no tabula could possibly contain so much information.

  Caesar again looked down at the tabula and seemed to place his finger on another non-existing charge. “Item, Dumnorix is married to a woman of the Helvetii. Because of these marriage bonds, he favors the Helvetii and desires their victory over Rome and even over his own tribe!”

  Caesar again paused for effect, then continued, “Item, Dumnorix has created strong political ties with the ruling classes of other Gallic tribes through the marriages of his mother’s sisters and other close female relations. He does this in order to establish himself as the ruler of the Aedui, the Helvetii, and eventually all Gaul, once my army has been destroyed. He has gone so far as to exchange hostages with the Helvetii to assure mutual cooperation in this plot against me!”

  Caesar was not done with this crucial
scene. “Item, Dumnorix engineered the defeat of a Roman cavalry force by luring it into an ambush and then ensuring its defeat by withdrawing his personal cavalry forces once the engagement began. This treachery led to the deaths of a score of Roman citizens.”

  Caesar again closed the tabula and fixed the king and his brother in the cold, blue steel of his glare. “The final offence alone justifies a summary judgment and his immediate crucifixion!”

  Caesar looked up toward Labienus. “Labienus! Has the king’s escort been neutralized?”

  “Gestum, Imperator!” Labienus snapped.

  “Bene!” Caesar answered. “Summon my praetoriani!”

  Labienus called for Valgus, and immediately he and ten members of Caesar’s praetorian cavalry entered the room in full rig.

  “Seize that man!” Caesar ordered, indicating Deluuhnu. The praetorians had the king’s brother in their grasp before either Gaul could react. Valgus pulled Deluuhnu’s hands roughly behind his back and began to bind them while one of his troopers removed the dunorix’s weapons.

  “This is an outrage, Roman!” the king shouted, forgetting Caesar’s demanded protocol. “We came here in good faith! You are responsible for our safety! My people will not stand for this . . . They will rise against you . . . They will join with the Helvetii.”

  “And, who will lead this insurrection, King?” Caesar asked in a low voice.

  “I shall!” Duuhruhda shot back. “I, as their king.”

  “Which brings me to the next item of business,” Caesar told him. “Insubrecus, hand me that communique from Rome . . . the one that arrived by consular courier last night.” Caesar gestured toward his field desk, on which lay a number of tabulae and pieces of papyrus.

  I had no idea what Caesar was talking about. No special courier had arrived last night. Then, I remembered that I was playing a part in Caesar’s drama. The tabulae and papyri were just props. I pretended to search through the papers and finally selected one that was covered with Labienus’ scribbles.

  “Here it is, Imperator!” I announced, handing it to Caesar.