Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (88 page)

“I cannot go back to my people, Pullus. They will not have me.”

I was surprised at this, but pleasantly so, I am ashamed to say. I made no attempt to hide it, either, at least the surprised part. “Really?” I asked. “Why’s that? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I gave myself to my people’s enemy, Titus,” she replied softly, with more than a tinge of bitterness.

“Surely they’ve accepted Rome by now, haven’t they?” I know now how naïve a question it was.

What could be described as scorn flitted across her face, but since she could tell I meant no harm, her expression softened. “No Titus, they have not accepted it. Nor, I fear, will they ever accept it.”

“Then, why did you join up with us? Why do you follow us?”

She shrugged, still staring at the table. Finally, she answered simply, “I fell in love.” I was confused, and seeing it, she continued. “I came to see the Romans for myself because I had heard so much about them. At first, I thought you were puny little men,” she laughed, “not you of course Titus. But you are almost a giant among your people. So I will admit that at first I was not impressed. Then, my cousin opened this shop, and I decided to spend some time working here so that I could understand Romans better.”

This was nothing short of astonishing to me, and I could not resist blurting out, “But how did you get to do this? Surely your father didn’t approve.”

“And I was always my father’s favorite. Besides, I told him that I was only working here to learn the habits of our enemy, and that one day that information would be put to good use. Then,” the laughter in her ceased, sadness descending once more, “this man named Calienus came into the shop. And he talked to me like no other man had ever talked to me.”

Despite myself, I leaned forward in order to glean any information that might help me win her heart. It is hard to describe the conflicting emotions that were running through me. Calienus’ ashes were barely cool, yet here I was, trying to find a way to win her for myself. Immediately another part of my mind answered, why not? Why not you, because you know that there will be men sniffing around her first thing tomorrow. You at least know her and treasure her for who she is, and not just because of how she looks. Or so I told myself anyway. Completely oblivious to my inner turmoil, she continued.

“He did not talk to me the way a man talks to a woman he wants to sleep with.”

To my horror, I could feel a flush creeping up my face at these words. She either ignored or did not see it.

“No, he talked to me as if I were an equal, a person whose opinion he valued, not just as some trophy that he could brag to his friends about.”

As she said this, I realized it was true. In fact, it was how we learned that Calienus had a woman, not because of what he said, but what he refused to talk about. And when someone, even in jest, spoke too lewdly about her Calienus would be all over them in an instant. This is good to remember, I thought to myself as I listened, although it puzzled me. There is nothing a man likes more than for his woman to brag about him to other women, yet apparently this is not so with women.

“So, he would come in, and we would just talk.”

“Talk about what?” I was intensely curious about this.

“Anything. Everything. The campaign,” I felt my eyebrows raise in surprise at this, “the political situation, poetry, music. Farming, even. Everything.”

She finished with a shrug, suddenly picking her cup up to drink deeply from it, leaving me to watch her throat moving up and down as she swallowed. I had never seen anything so lovely in my life, I was sure. Setting the cup down she caught me staring, and smiled self-consciously as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. It was the type of thing men do, yet it was both mannish and more feminine than anything I had ever seen before, and in that moment I saw past her beauty, realizing why Calienus loved her so much.

“He was a very lucky man,” I said quietly.

Now it was her turn to be surprised, at first, then her eyes started to fill again.

“You know Titus, he thought very highly of you,” she responded. “He told me once that you had the potential to be the finest Legionary in the army.”

I felt my chest swell with pride, and I could not help smiling.

“He also said that you had a huge ego, and if anything destroyed your chances, it would be that.”

Like a bucket of cold water thrown in the face of a drunk, her words dashed against me, whatever pride I felt instantly evaporating. I think it hurt more because I knew she was right; I was reaching a point in my life where I was able to look at myself as if through another’s eyes, and I could see that my vanity was perhaps my greatest flaw. Every soldier needs pride, along with the conviction that they are good at what they do, but there is a point at which there is too much of that quality and I was having trouble recognizing that point. I must have let it show that she wounded me, because she leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on my arm.

“Do not be hurt Titus. He wanted to see you succeed, and that was his one worry.”

I sat looking at her hand, how white and small it was, draped on my sun-dark, scarred forearm.

I sighed, and nodded. “I know. He was right. Sometimes I know that I go too far with my boasting, but I want to be the best Legionary that’s ever lived. It’s all I think about, day and night.”

While this was not exactly true, it was near enough, and I was surprised at myself that I was willing to utter something that I had told no one before, not even Vibius, at least since we joined the army. I looked down at the table, unwilling to meet her eyes.

“I know,” I whispered, “it’s stupid. It’s just the bragging of a boy.”

“Titus, there are a lot of things I think of when I think of you, but boy has never been one of them.”

Her words hit me like I had been struck by lightning. Did this mean that she viewed me as…….something else? I looked up to see her looking me square in the eye, and she gave my forearm a squeeze.

“There is nothing wrong with ambition, Titus. And it’s one of the things that makes you so……attractive.”

I gulped, hard. Her eyes never left mine, and I could feel the heat that started in my face sweep through my body. I felt myself leaning forward, just as a voice in my head shouted STOP!

Jerking my arm out from under her hand and standing quickly, I stammered, “Well, it was nice talking to you, Gisela.” Then a feeling of horror flashed through me and I tried to correct myself. “I mean…..it was nice, but under the circumstances, I mean, it was not nice. I……..” Being completely flummoxed, I finally burst out with, “I’m sorry for your loss, Gisela.”

She sat, just looking at me, and I could not tell whether she wanted to laugh, or cry. I got up, stumbling out into the night, heading back to the camp with my mind whirling.

The next morning, a formation was ordered for the entire army and we assembled in the forum to await Caesar. After settling down and being brought to
intente
, Caesar appeared from the command tent, mounting the rostra made of shields. He was dressed in his full armor, and his face was grim as he stood surveying us for several moments before he began speaking.

“Comrades,” he began, and we could tell by the sound of his voice that this was not going to be one of his talks that left us feeling like we could conquer the world, “I must tell you how disappointed I am in your conduct yesterday.”

His words struck the army like a massive fist, hitting us all in the gut. There was a stir in our ranks, with a low buzz of disbelief that he was including us in what happened; it was our actions that saved the rest of the army from destruction! I do not know if he was already planning what he said next, or he saw our reaction and moved quickly to disarm us. Regardless, he did so, turning towards us to hold out a placating hand.

“In my censure, I naturally do not include you men of the 10th,” then he turned in the direction of the 13th, “or you Cohorts of the 13th who were under the command of Sextius.”

The relief was palpable; you could see it in the posture of the men as they slumped in relief, at least as much as one can slump when standing at
intente
.

“Your conduct and your actions were exemplary, and your comrades in the other Legions owe you a debt of gratitude for protecting them when they turned their backs to the enemy.”

His last words were like the lash of a whip, whatever smug triumph we felt immediately smothered by the stricken looks on the faces of our comrades in the other Legions. There is no greater shame to a Roman Legionary than the idea of turning ones’ back to the enemy to flee, yet that is exactly what happened, and the shame was clearly written in the faces of the accused Legions.

“However,” Caesar’s voice lightened a bit, and it was almost pathetic seeing the look of hope cross the face of these hard men, “your dishonor was not due to any lack of valor. It was due to a lack of discipline perhaps, and indeed, to an excess of fighting spirit.”

Men’s heads lifted a bit as they listened intently to our commander’s words. It was like watching drowning men being thrown a lifeline.

“It was never my intent to press the attack on the walls of the town,” he continued, “but in your zeal, and in your dedication to the idea of victory, you overstepped my orders. I cannot fault your courage, my comrades.”

Just as the men sensed that perhaps this was as bad as it was going to get, the puppet master pulled one more string. His voice to that point had been what one could call soothing, but now it turned to icy, controlled anger.

“But I can fault you for disobeying me, your general. By rights, I could order the offending Legions to be
decimated
,” he roared this last word, instantly followed by an audible gasp from the entire army, ourselves included, despite the fact we would not have been subject to that horrible punishment. Just as quickly, his voice returned to that of a kindly, loving but firm parent and he finished, “But that is not my wish, nor will it happen, now or ever because I am confident that my words today are enough chastisement, and that you will never disobey me again.”

Again, a palpable sense of relief swept through the army. I heard a voice cry out from one of the offending Legions.

“We'll never fail you again Caesar, or you can order us all to put ourselves to the sword!”

The rest of the men roared their agreement, with Caesar allowing the demonstration to continue for a moment before he held up his hand. As if to prove their commitment to their words, the camp fell silent instantly, faster than I could ever remember when Caesar called for silence. I was close enough that I could see that ghost of a smile cross his lips, but his voice remained steady, betraying no emotion.

“I know that you will not fail me again. And now comrades, I am going to give you a chance to redeem your honor!”

Another roar of approbation, another gesture followed by complete silence as we all strained to hear what he was planning.

“We are going to go out today and show Vercingetorix and his army that they have done nothing more than arouse our anger! We are going to offer them battle, and let us see if they have the courage to respond to our challenge!”

This time, he let our roaring continue, the sound rolling out over the walls of the camp. I have no doubt that Vercingetorix and his mob heard us, and knew that we were coming for them.

Marching out of the camp, we arrayed ourselves in our normal
acies
triplex
with the 10th on the right, and the 13th anchoring the far left. Caesar positioned us along a roughly north/south axis, facing the gigantic hill, in the small valley between the hill on which our camp was located and Gergovia, perhaps a mile from the base of the plateau that the town sat on. And it was there we waited, through almost two full watches, daring Vercingetorix to come down and fight us, but he must have possessed some Roman blood because he did not act in the normal Gallic fashion. Indeed, he refused to face us not only that day, but the following day when we performed the same maneuver. While this action may have restored our pride to a degree, the larger situation was still deteriorating rapidly, the word of our setback at Gergovia sweeping through Gaul. In response to these developments, and truthfully, recognizing that the army at his command was not large enough to invest Gergovia, we were ordered on the march, moving back to the north. Vercingetorix, for reasons that can only be guessed at, chose not to pursue us, probably wise given the openness of the terrain we were marching over, and our mood. Moving along the Elaver River, on the third day of the march we repaired one of the damaged bridges, crossing back over to the eastern side. It was here that Caesar learned that the
cunnus
Litaviccus, who somehow made it to Gergovia after he fled his fellow Aedui that day, was heading back to them, leading most of the Gallic cavalry in another attempt to convince them to switch to the side of Vercingetorix. The difference this time was that it was almost a certainty that he would be successful; after all, did Vercingetorix not just prove that we were not invincible? The two men Eporedorix and Viridomarus, who helped us turned the tide that day with Litaviccus and been marching with us ever since, now begged Caesar leave so that they could try to reason with their fellow tribesmen and convince them to remain faithful to Caesar. Who knows, perhaps they were sincere at that moment; all I know is that the next time we heard their names, they were now riding with Litaviccus instead of against him. In other words, the usual faithless Gauls.