The Helvetian Affair Read online

  Caesar took the piece of papyrus and pretended to review it. “This is an urgent message from my colleague in Rome, Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, who serves the Senate and the Roman people with Marcus Licinius Crassus and me, as a triumvir. You’ve heard of Pompeius, have you not, Dumnorix?”

  The king’s brother blanched as if having his arms tied behind him and being in the grasp of two of Caesar’s praetoriani was suddenly the least of his worries.

  Caesar continued, “Pompeius writes . . . oh . . . but before we get to that, did you know, Diviciacus, that Pompeius is also my son-in-law . . . married to my daughter, Iulia? I hope he will give me a grandchild soon. We Romans take our familial obligations very seriously.”

  Caesar let that snippet sink in, then continued. “Pompeius has complained to me, both as his father-in-law and as a Roman magistrate, to look into an injustice done to one of his clients . . . a member of your tribe, a king . . . by the name of . . . Cuneda . . . Did I pronounce that correctly, Insubrecus?”

  I leaned in over Caesar’s papyrus and pretended to read, “That’s Cuhnetha, Imperator, Cuhnetha mab Cluhweluhno.”

  Duuhruhda’s face went white when he heard that name.

  “Yes,” Caesar affirmed, “Cuhnetha . . . It seems that Pompeius wants me to look into his client’s complaint . . . nasty business, too . . . He claims that your father murdered his grandfather and stole the throne from him . . . Claims that he’s the rightful king of the Aedui.”

  “Pompeius would never have written such a letter,” Deluuhnu suddenly contradicted. His speech was cut short as Valgus smashed him across the face.

  “Gag the prisoner,” Caesar ordered. Valgus forced a piece of cloth into Deluuhnu’s mouth while one of his troopers bound it fast with his sudarium.

  “What would a condemned, treasonous, sack-of-shit barbarian know about what Pompeius Magnus would or would not have written to a Roman proconsul?” Caesar charged.

  Caesar looked over to where I was standing, and I swear he winked at me.

  Caesar then noticed that Deluuhnu was bleeding from his nostrils. “Make sure he doesn’t suffocate, Valgus!” he ordered. “I don’t want him to cheat the cross!”

  Caesar turned back to the king. “My colleague and son-in-law, Pompeius, has asked me to look into his client’s complaint that he is the rightful king of the Aedui. And, you . . . you are standing here in front of me, after failing to provide me with the food that you promised me, the food I need to feed my troops . . . after harboring and abetting a traitorous plot against the Roman people by your own brother . . . and after threatening to lead the Aedui in revolt against me . . . Insubrecus!”

  “Ti’ a’sum, Imperator!” I snapped.

  “Cuhnetha mab . . . uh . . . whatever that name was . . . Didn’t I recently see that name in a report?” Caesar asked. “I seem to recall that one of our foraging parties reported that his village was burned . . . his crops stolen . . . his livestock run off?”

  That was a bit of an embellishment, but it was theater after all. I responded, “Yes, General, and the man claimed it was done by Aedui, the fintai of the dunorix, the king’s brother, Deluuhnu.” I was getting into my part.

  Caesar turned to the king. “You see, Diviciacus. I have already begun my investigation for my colleague and son-in-law . . . Perhaps I should dig into this matter more deeply while you remain here as . . . as my guest. That way you can witness your brother’s execution.”

  The king had stood motionless before Caesar. Then suddenly, he fell to his knees, placing both his hands, empty and upright, on Caesar’s knees. This was the Gah’el ritual of submission.

  In tears, the king of the Aedui begged, “I implore you, Imperator! Spare my brother! No one is more ashamed of his actions than I am! But, he has great influence with the Aedui and over the neighboring tribes. He has even tried to use his influence to undermine me, his own brother! But, he is my brother.

  When I look at him, I see my father’s eyes staring back at me. And, he is still a youth. When we were young and full of our own importance, deceived by a belief in our own immortality, who among us has not done what we should not have done, tried what we should not have tried? If you move against Deluuhnu, no one in the tribe will believe I was not complicit; no one will believe that I did not betray my own brother, and among my people that is an unforgivable crime. The very gods would turn against me! To remain loyal to a fratricide would surely invite the wrath of the gods.”

  Caesar, like most Romans, did not know how to react to this sudden outpouring of Gallic grief and emotion. He glanced at me over the king’s bowed head.

  Somehow, I sensed that this was Caesar’s endgame. He had Duuhruhda exactly where he wanted him. Discretely, I gestured to Caesar to place his hands in those the king was holding open on his knees, thus showing that he accepted Duuhruhda’s submission.

  Caesar nodded at me and did so, saying, “I accept your reasoning, King, and I accept your submission to the Roman nation. Rise! I release you to return to your oppidum at Bibracte, and I command you to collect the promised rations needed by my army and deliver them to our castra by this time tomorrow.”

  Duuhruhda rose, but kept his head bowed. “I thank you for your clemency, Imperator, and will do what you command. My brother—”

  “Dumnorix will remain here with me . . . as my guest,” Caesar stated. “I will stay his execution as long as you remain a faithful and dependable ally. You may tell your people that he remains here at my side as a trusted advisor. When we have defeated the Helvetii and the threat to your lands and mine is removed, I will decide what is to be done with him. But, for now, he is safe.”

  “Multissimas gratias, Imperator,” Duuhruhda mumbled. “Do I have your leave to depart?”

  “Abeas, Rex!” Caesar stated.

  Duuhruhda wasted no time in escaping from Caesar’s presence. Labienus and Lupinus followed him out. Caesar abruptly realized that the battered, bound, and gagged Deluuhnu was still standing before him in the grasp of his praetoriani.

  No play can end until all the actors have made their exits and all the props are removed from the stage. And, Deluuhnu was a prop in Caesar’s play. Surrounded by thousands of Aedui, on whose cooperation Caesar depended, he had had no real intention of executing the man. He was merely leverage over his brother, the king.

  “Take him away!” Caesar ordered almost absently. “And, keep a close eye on him. He’s valuable to me!”

  Valgus nodded and gestured the prisoner and the praetoriani out of the tent.

  Now that the play was over, Caesar seemed to droop a bit in his curial seat. “Scriba!” he yelled.

  “Ti’a’sum, Imperator!” the voice from the other room responded.

  “Vinum,” Caesar ordered, “a large pitcher . . . and four cups!” Then, before the clerk could ask, he added, “Merum! No water!”

  “Nicely played, Insubrecus,” Caesar said softly, “nicely played, indeed. I’ll make a Roman politician out of you yet.”

  I took my bow just as Labienus returned to the cubicle.

  “The king’s gone,” Labienus reported. “He took off out of here so fast, you’d think his horse’s tail was on fire. Lupinus is marching his detail back to their tents.”

  Before Caesar could respond, his clerk entered with the wine. Caesar asked him, “Is the wine up to your standards, Ebrius?”

  “Certissime, Imperator” the clerk answered. “You know I wouldn’t let any of the cheap stuff get by me.”

  Ebrius placed the pitcher and the cups on the field desk, then left.

  “Would you pour, Insubrecus?” Caesar requested.

  As I was pouring the wine, Caesar asked, “What did you think of the performance, Labienus?”

  Labienus took a cup of wine from me, and answered, “I’m wondering if we didn’t do that pompous king a favor by keeping Dumnorix here?”

  “Quo modo?” Caesar asked.

  “If Dumnorix is causing his brother problems with the Aedui,” Labienus ex
plained, “we just removed the podex for him.”

  Caesar grunted, took a sip of his wine, and then said, “Did you see the way Dumnorix reacted when he heard Pompeius’ name? He damn near admitted that he’s working as his agent.”

  Labienus shrugged, “That’s possible, Caesar. He certainly didn’t believe that Pompeius would support the claims of uh . . . what’s that other Gaul’s name again, Insubrecus?”

  “Cuhnetha, Legate,” I offered.

  “Quite,” Labienus agreed. “Cuhnetha . . . Dumnorix certainly didn’t believe that Pompeius supported Cuhnetha’s claim to the throne. But, concluding from that that Pompeius is actively colluding with our enemies is a bit of a stretch.”

  “Pompeius interfering with the Gauls would explain many of the rumors of purple-stripers and Roman silver,” Caesar mused. “My daughter has written me from Rome saying that Pompeius is keeping strange company these days . . . dinner parties with Cicero and Bibulus . . . inviting Milo to his home for hushed conversations over jugs of wine. He even took a meeting with Cato. How he despises the man!” Caesar grimaced over some memory filtering through his head.

  He continued, “I imagine he’d claim he was just greasing up the Optimates . . . looking out for our mutual interests in the Senate. But, we are in too precarious a situation up here to take any chances. It’s far better to confirm than to trust.”

  All at once, Caesar was back in the room, focused. “Labienus, I want you to do a bit of research. I want a list of any officer in the army who has any possible connection with Pompeius . . . anything . . . family . . . clientage . . . recommendations . . . prior service . . . anything!”

  Labienus asked, “How far down do you want me to dig?”

  “Right down to the bottom!” Caesar snapped. “Even if the man is serving as an optio in a third line cohort, I want to know.”

  “Caesar, our veteran legions are originally from Spain! They served under Pompeius there!” Labienus protested.

  “True,” Caesar agreed. “But, I doubt Pompeius was cultivating the muli back then, except to keep them fed, paid, and busy. Concentrate on the older, more senior officers, anyone who was a junior centurion when Pompeius was in command . . . especially anyone he promoted.”

  “Do you doubt the loyalty of our senior centurions?” Labienus asked. “You’re talking about primi pili, even the praefectus castrorum!”

  “Doubt?” Caesar puzzled. “No . . . I don’t doubt them . . . I just want to be sure of them . . . absolutely sure.”

  Labienus was just about to say something when Caesar’s clerk, Ebrius, entered the cubicle. “Forgive the interruption, Imperator,” he announced. “But, I have an officer outside who claims to have urgent information for you.”

  “An officer?” Caesar questioned. “Who?”

  An angusticlavus, a narrow-striper, one of the exploratores you dispatched this morning—” Ebrius began to explain.

  “One of the scouts!” Caesar exclaimed. Ebrius now had Caesar’s undivided attention. “Send him right in, Ebrius! I want to hear what the man has to report!”

  “A’mperi’tu’, Imperator!” the clerk obeyed and left the tent.

  A few heartbeats later, Agrippa entered Caesar’s cubiculum followed by Madog. Caesar greeted them eagerly, “Agrippa! Madocus Dux! Beneventi! Please! Help yourselves to some wine!”

  Both men poured some wine into cups. Agrippa drank deeply. Madog sniffed his. He saw his companion drinking, so he did likewise. He grimaced a bit. The Sequani chief had yet to develop a taste for the grape.

  Caesar waited while Agrippa drank, then asked, “What do you have to tell me, Tribune?”

  “Imperator,” Agrippa began, “we have found your battlefield. You can trap the Helvetii!”

  Agrippa now had Caesar’s full attention, “Mi’ dicas, Agrippa!”

  “They hardly moved today, Imperator,” Agrippa continued. “They seem to be consolidating some of their stragglers and letting their livestock rest and feed. They’re spread out in a valley no more than ten thousand passus west of here with high ground on three sides. They’ve made no move to secure that high ground or to screen its approaches with their cavalry. We were able to move in above their encampments without being detected.”

  Madog was nodding along with Agrippa’s briefing. His wine cup was almost empty. “True . . . true,” Madog agreed, “very stupid Helvetii . . . fear nothing.”

  “Less than ten thousand passus, you say?” Caesar was nodding. “Little security . . . bene . . . bene . . . What’s the slope of the hills? Can our infantry negotiate it?”

  “There’s high ground on their flank,” Agrippa continued. “A hillock, really. It’s flat on top and could easily accommodate two legions arrayed in the acies triplex. The slope down to the valley floor is open and not too steep.”

  “Wait a moment, Agrippa!” Caesar said. Then, he called out, “Scriba! Ebrius! To me! Quickly!”

  Caesar’s military clerk appeared, “Ti’ a’sum, Imperator!”

  Caesar ordered. “Celeriter! Quickly! I need a sand table . . . a terrain model. Can you round something up for me?”

  Ebrius shrugged, “A’mperi’tu’, Imperator!”

  Caesar also realized that he had removed the campaign maps from his headquarters in preparation for his confrontation with the Aedui. “And, have a couple of your assistants set my maps back up!” he instructed. “Age, Miles!”

  Caesar had the bit between his teeth, so Ebrius shot out of the tent like a ballista bolt.

  Caesar looked about the room, then ordered me, “Insubrecus! My desk . . . bring me a piece of that papyrus . . . There should be some charcoal over there, too . . . Bring me a piece!”

  I ran over to the field desk to collect the items. Madog was observing all of the Roman turmoil while he poured himself another cup of Caesar’s wine. His Gallic distaste of the insipid Roman grape-mash was clearly becoming a thing of the past. There was some hope that Romanitas could be brought to Gallia comata!

  I brought Caesar the papyrus and charcoal. He handed it to Agrippa, ordering, “Sketch the terrain so I can see it, Agrippa . . . Less than ten thousand passus, you say?”

  “No more, Imperator,” Agrippa nodded as he drew. “They hardly moved at all . . . just sitting there.”

  Madog leaned in, almost as interested in what Agrippa was doing as he was in the wine.

  While Agrippa drew his map and briefed Caesar, Ebrius returned to the tent with two legionary muli carrying their dolabrae, entrenching tools. “Right here!” He pointed to a spot on the ground in front of where a couple of his assistants had begun to set up the campaign maps. “About ten pedes by ten pedes square . . . through all the grass, right down to the dirt . . . Make it smooth, and be sure you take all the spoil out of here with you . . . Use your helmets if you can’t find buckets.”

  The grunts started whacking at the turf. Caesar looked over to where they were working, and said, “Scrape it clean for me, boys! Ebrius’ll give you some posca to replace all the sweat!”

  “Smooth as a baby’s bottom, capu’,” one of them grunted between swings with the entrenching tool.

  While they worked, a couple more muli came through carrying some cut logs. Ebrius directed them to stack their load at the back of the tent.

  As they were leaving, I heard Ebrius tell them, “Grab up the buckets outside the tent and take ’em down to the water point . . . Fill ’em with sand from the stream bank . . . the dry stuff . . . and bring it back here . . . on the double . . . il’ capu’ is in a hurry!”

  Caesar, Labienus, and Agrippa were bent over Agrippa’s map. Madog hovered behind the group with his half-emptied cup of wine.

  Caesar was questioning Agrippa closely concerning the details: “Is there a stream between those two ridges? How steep is that slope? You’re sure they haven’t ringed their wagons? Show me again where you saw the horses grazing.”

  The two legionaries in the back had finished their digging. One was carrying the spoil out in a
bucket, while the other began to fit the logs around the cleared space.

  I heard Caesar say, “What do you think, Labienus?”

  “I think we got them where we want them,” Labienus affirmed. “We couldn’t ask for a better set up than this.”

  “A’sentior,” Caesar nodded. “I agree. But, I have to see the terrain myself. Agrippa! You and Madocus Dux will lead me out there.”

  “Shall I alert Valgus?” Labienus asked.

  “My praetorian detail? No! Too many Romans,” Caesar stated. “Too much activity . . . I don’t want to tip my hand to the enemy. I’ll go alone with Agrippa . . . and you too, Insubrecus! You’re with me.”

  We rode to where Agrippa had located the Helvetii. As per Caesar’s instructions, our Sequani cavalry took us in from the north. Caesar was anxious to see whether there was a negotiable avenue of approach for his infantry around the enemy’s flank. He had left his red general’s cloak behind and wore the ruddybrown sagum of a mulus. He strapped his helmet to his saddle in order to prevent it from being recognized as Roman and to avoid the possibility of any reflection of the afternoon sun, which might alert the enemy of our presence.

  We got ourselves into position in a little over an hour. We left our mounts in a stand of woods, guarded by one of the cavalry troopers. Athauhnu’s ala was deployed to our rear as a screen to ensure that an enemy patrol didn’t surprise us from that direction.

  During the ride, Athauhnu practiced his latest attempts to learn Latin on me. Phrases like “trees to be green being good” and “horse to be running prompt when field to be flat” were still ringing in my ears as I crept forward behind Caesar, Agrippa, and Madog to get a glimpse of the enemy. The cavalrymen of Madog’s remaining ala were fanned out around us as we advanced toward the lip of a flat hilltop.

  As we neared the edge, I could hear the hum of activity from the valley below. We advanced on our hands and knees. To this day, when I see one of Caesar’s heroic statues standing magnificently on a gilded marble plinth in one of his temples, I grin as I remember him that day, his thinning hair plastered flat to the top of his head, a streak of mud running down his cheek, and his breath labored as we crawled through the long grass to get a look at the Helvetii.