Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (52 page)

In the predawn of the day of the conference, the Primus Pilus paid the Second Cohort a visit.

“Pullus,” Primus Pilus Favonius said without any preamble, “Caesar summons you. Get your gear on and meet at the
Praetorium
immediately.”

He turned to walk away, but then thought of something.

“And wear your dress uniform, with your decorations.”

There was no time to wonder what this was about; I had to dig my phalarae and plume out of my pack, where they were carefully wrapped in cloth to avoid rough treatment. I was just thankful that we had been idle for the last few days, since it gave me time to polish my decorations and clean my armor and helmet. Putting on the tunic I wore for inspections, I donned my gear then stood while the Pilus Prior came to inspect me by the light of the fire. Grunting, he said, “I suppose it'll have to do. Now hurry up and get over there!”

I made my way down the Cohort street and over to the
Via Principalis
, which leads directly to the
Praetorium
. Standing in front of the tent was a small group of men, all from the 10th, but from different Cohorts. With them was the Primus Pilus, who explained what we were doing.

“Each of you has been selected by your Cohort for a very important mission. Today is the day that Caesar is supposed to meet with that bastard Ariovistus.” We all nodded, this being common knowledge.

“That smug
cunnus
….
suggested
to Caesar that they meet only with an escort of ten men each. Caesar doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him, and he thinks he’s up to something,” Favonius continued. “And we all know how useless our Gallic cavalry proved to be when we whipped the Helvetii,” this also was common knowledge and had been one of the reasons some of the men were scared. The Germans were reputed to have excellent cavalry, and ours had not acquitted themselves with any distinction against the Helvetii. “So Caesar is going to trick the trickster. Instead of those useless bastards, he wants boys from the 10th to accompany him. Each of you was put forward by your senior Centurion as being the best in your Cohort if it comes to fighting, so you’re going to be going with Caesar.”

Words cannot describe the feeling those words invoked in me, and even after all the awards and decorations I have won, that moment still ranks as one of my proudest. Even as I dictate this, I can feel the shiver of an absolutely delicious sensation of joy recalling these words. Finished with his instructions, the Primus Pilus led us over to the cavalry section, ordering us to pick a horse from the pool of spares, which is when I had my first moment of doubt. As was usual in the army, nobody had bothered to ask me if I even knew how to ride a horse, although in our training we were taught how to vault into the saddle wearing all of our gear. I could count on one hand the number of times I had actually gone for a ride on a horse and have all my fingers left over, and the thought that I would humiliate myself came bursting into my head. My heart started hammering as I gazed at the horses, pretending to consider which beast was best suited for me, and my only hope was that riding a horse was similar to riding a mule, because that I had done many times before I became too large for ours to carry me. With that in mind, I picked out a roan that was larger than the rest, thinking that it would not do to have a horse collapse under me because of my weight. The cavalrymen who had been roused to help us with our selection put my mind at ease a bit when I saw him nod with approval at the mount I chose.

“That’s a good strong horse you’ve chosen
Gregarius
,” he commented as he helped me saddle it. “He’s got a lot of bottom to him so you won't have to worry about him foundering.”

Nodded sagely, as if this were something more than just dumb luck, I leaped into the saddle with all the aplomb I could muster. Fortunately my luck held, the horse accepting me onto his back without rancor, just sidestepping a bit as he adjusted to my weight. Riding from the enclosure back out onto the street and down to the
Praetorium
, we stopped there to wait a few moments for Caesar. Dawn had now come, and the army was awake, with the men gathering to watch the procession leave the camp. Caesar came striding out, bedecked in his best uniform, a muscled cuirass made of silver, inlaid with gold, his helmet made in the same fashion, with a crest made of black feathers. Leaping onto his horse, he disdained the assistance offered to him, then pulled his mount around to inspect those of us who were to be his escort and were aligned in a single row to greet him. Sitting as erect as I could, my eyes were straight ahead as I sensed him moving towards me in the line. He said something encouraging to every man, complimenting them on their awards, or on their fierce countenance. When he pulled up to me, despite myself my gaze broke to look him in the eyes, immediately cursing myself for the breach in discipline, but he did not seem to mind, favoring me with a smile that made my heart soar.

“Sergeant Pullus, it’s good to see you again. I’m glad to know you'll be by my side for this adventure.” My face must have registered the surprise I felt that he remembered my name, because he laughed and said, “Surely you aren’t surprised that I remember you? How could I forget such a giant who marches for me, especially one so valiant who I personally decorated?”

I could feel the heat rising in my face, pleased that he not only remembered my name but was aware I had gotten promoted, and I have no idea what came out of my mouth. Evidently it was nothing forward or disrespectful, because he gave a wave then turned to the front gate, and we formed up behind him in a column of twos, with me in the last rank, trotting out behind him, enjoying the feeling as we waved to our friends who gathered to watch us leave. I do not know who it was that said it, but a voice called out something that would become etched in the history of the Legion, and become one of our first and most famous nicknames.

“Look boys,” a voice rang out, “Caesar promised to honor the 10th, but he’s going one better. He’s making us knights.”

There was a roar of laughter and cheering at that remark, which even Caesar thought was witty, since he mentioned the incident in his account of the campaign. So it was with the sounds of approbation ringing in our ears that we left to meet Ariovistus.

The meeting place itself was a small mound of earth that stood in the middle of the surrounding plain, making ambush impossible because there was nowhere that one could conceal a force of any size. We approached the mound from the south, Ariovistus from the north, his escort of ten men with him. As we drew near, I could see that the tales of the great size of the Germans may indeed have not been an exaggeration, with every man in the escort looking to be at least my height, and a couple of men were plainly taller. Ariovistus himself was a powerfully built man of about forty, wearing a helmet decorated with the horns of some wild beast, with engraved images that I could not distinguish from where I was, though it was obviously very fine work. He disdained wearing any armor, preferring to bare his chest, I supposed so that Caesar could see the many scars he bore from battle. His arms were decorated with a series of golden bands, and around his neck was a torq of gold, also engraved, while his hair was jet black, with streaks of grey in the part flowing over his shoulders, and his expression was haughty as he made his formal greeting to Caesar. He made his contempt for us clear by not even looking in our direction, and I could feel the anger rising in my gut as I watched him face Caesar. His bodyguards’ demeanor was a mirror image of Ariovistus, and they made comments to each other while pointing at us, laughing harshly at the jokes they made at our expense. Locking eyes with one man in particular, I noticed that he was a contrast to Ariovistus in that his hair was as yellow as gold and his complexion fairer than his chief’s. Otherwise, he was dressed in the same manner, carrying a long sword at his side while holding a spear. His lips curled in open contempt when our eyes met, as if to tell me that he had taken my measure already and found me wanting, making it all I could do to keep from charging him right then, except I was smart enough to know that this was exactly what he intended. During our ride to the meeting Caesar had ordered us that under no circumstances were we to respond or retaliate to anything that the Germans said or did, no matter how provocative. That would have been enough information for most commanders, except that Caesar actually took the time to explain why he was giving those orders. Years later, with more experience in leading men, I now believe he knew this would make us even more adamant about following those orders to the letter. Once a common soldier feels that he is trusted enough to be taken into the confidence of his commander, and explained the wider implications of his orders, that man would rather die than see that trust betrayed by violating them. It was rare enough that we were given any reason for what we were doing, so when a man like Caesar took that extra step, it ensured that he could have the utmost confidence that his command would be followed to the letter. He explained to us that the problem lay in the status of Ariovistus; as I mentioned earlier, he was a Friend and Ally of Rome, and that is a legal status that gives the appointed certain rights and privileges under Roman law. Because of that status, Caesar could not be seen in any way to provoke Ariovistus, or make a move that could be deemed offensive in nature. Ariovistus had to be clearly seen as the aggressor in this battle of wills, so that no matter what the provocation, Caesar could not afford to strike the first blow. Our general went on to explain that he was positive that this talk Ariovistus proposed was a pretext for provoking Caesar in some way, and he warned us that it was highly likely that either Ariovistus, or his bodyguard would either say or do something in an attempt to elicit a response that could be turned against us. This warning was in our minds as we sat our horses, watching the men across from us. Despite the mound being relatively small, it was large enough that Caesar and Ariovistus could pull off to a spot several yards away where they could talk privately, leaving the twenty of us to glare at each other and mutter curses under our breath.

“By the gods, they do stink, don’t they?”

This came from the man next to me, from the Fifth Cohort, a Signifer named Frontinus. I forced a laugh, anxious to show the Germans that I found them just as amusing as they found us. “They must be afraid of water,” I replied, still keeping my eyes on the yellow haired man, who was doing the same.

“Bathing is for women, Roman.” Despite the accent, the Latin was intelligible, and I was not altogether surprised that it was the yellow-haired man who spoke.

“Ah, you know our language,” said a Sergeant named Rufus from the First Cohort, a man who was close to my size. “Then you’ll understand this, won’t you, you
cunnus
?”

The yellow-haired man hissed at this epithet, his eyes narrowed in rage, and he moved his horse a few steps towards us, hand on the hilt of his blade, before one of the other Germans gave him a sharp order. He stopped, but was clearly reluctant, spitting on the ground to show his contempt.

“You have a loose tongue, Roman. I think I am going to have to cut it out some day.”

Rufus laughed, and pointed to the long blade. “With that thing? You can try, but your guts will be on the ground before you get it out of your scabbard. How long does it take to draw that thing anyway?”

“Fast enough that your head would be at your feet before you could blink, you Roman dog.” The German’s face was flushed red, his tension clearly being communicated to his mount, which began prancing nervously, its head tossing as it waited for a command from its rider.

Rufus laughed again then looked over his shoulder at the rest of us, winking as he jerked his thumb at the Germans. “They’re full of all sorts of tough talk, aren’t they boys? Hopefully we’ll get to find out how much of it’s more than just talk.”

We laughed in agreement, more to anger the Germans than anything. With the exchange over, at least for the moment, we continued to sit on our horses as Caesar and Ariovistus talked. A third of a watch passed, then another third, and we began to get bored. None of us dismounted because we were not given leave to, so I was finding that my rear was growing increasingly sore as the time dragged on. Shifting my weight around the best that I could, I fervently wished that this meeting would end. Caesar and Ariovistus had been jawing at each other, politely at first, then growing animated, although Caesar was far more reserved than Ariovistus, who made grand gestures with his hands, even thumping his chest a time or two. We could not hear exactly what was being said, but the tone was clear enough; there did not seem to be an agreement of any sort in the offing.

I am not sure exactly how long into the talk that it happened, but I do know that I was completely caught by surprise when I heard a sharp whinny and looked over just in time to see one our men’s horses rearing in the air, almost throwing him off. As I watched the Roman struggling to control his mount, I saw the reason for it; a rock came sailing through the air to smack another horse in the rump, causing it to hop away, its rider furiously trying to control the beast. Looking over I saw the Germans, smiles on their faces, just as one of them hurled yet another rock, this time thrown hard, barely missing the head of one of our men, who jerked back in reflex. Suddenly, a scene of calm transformed as both horses and riders became agitated. By reflex, I found my hand curling around the hilt of my sword, the move not lost on the yellow-haired man who sneered at me and beckoned in a gesture of challenge.