Tiberius (13 page)

The note of embarrassing sincerity returned to his voice in this last sentence. It was the sincerity of the actor.

Then he said, "I think you have doubts about the German campaign."

He fidgeted while I remained silent.

"Come on."

"Forgive me, I was gathering my thoughts. Drusus had no doubts . . ."

"Which was why I originally sent him to Germany and you, Tiberius, to Pannonia."

"Yes," I said, "the situation on the two fronts appears to me to be quite different. We have only to look at the map. Pannonia - the Danube frontier - is within a short march of Cisalpine Gaul, and though we still use the term, it seems to me that the province now differs but little from Italy itself . . ."

"So Vergil, who was, you will remember, from Mantua in the north of that province, used to say. And you are both right. So?"

"So we must hold Pannonia and the line of the Danube. But Germany is different. The tribes there do not appear to me to be susceptible to civilisation, while Gaul itself may be adequately protected by the barrier of the Rhine. Therefore I doubt the value of Germany, certainly in relation to the cost of subjugation. I fear some terrible disaster will one day overtake Roman arms in those savage forests. Germany is a wooded desert."

"Nevertheless," he said; and I knew when he pronounced that word that my arguments were vain, that his mind was settled. When he utters that word, it signifies that he accepts the validity of your argument, but will still have his way.

"An empire like Rome's cannot rest. The day it ceases to grow is the day we renege on our duty. The gods promised Aeneas and his descendants an empire without limits. We cannot take on ourselves the responsibility of deciding that we have gone far enough. Of course, for tactical reasons such a decision may be made - for the moment. But no more than that. Besides, it is only our expanding empire which reconciles the Roman nobility to the loss of liberty. Never forget that."

"Which was lost precisely in the cause of empire."

"An undeniable truth, and therefore one better left unsaid."

Augustus will present himself as an enigma to historians. Which of his utterances are they to believe? In one breath he will present himself as the saviour of Rome's liberty and the restorer of the Republic; in the next, confess that liberty has vanished and that the Republican offices are now no more than decoration. Yet he rests his power, or at least its legal expression, on the
tribunicia potestas,
which represents the fullest statement of
Republican liberty. How much of what he says does he believe himself?

"A meaningless question," Livia would say. "Your father uses words as counters, which is, ultimately, all they are."

He is a hypocrite deceived by his own hypocrisy. Whatever he says at any moment has the ring of truth for him. This is why he is so adept at deceiving others.

Germany was no place to take Julia. I had myself to hasten there in the middle of winter, for the exigencies of modern war in remote barbarian lands require a degree of preparation such as would have amazed Julius Caesar, that improviser of genius. Lacking genius, I shun improvisation. Moreover, it was necessary that I should learn as much as possible about the tribes by whom I would be opposed. There is of course a close resemblance between one German tribe and another, but not all are equally devoted to war, for that devotion fluctuates according to the temper of the different chiefs. One consequence of this is that, though they fight by tribes, a tribe may often contain a number of outsiders, for high-born youths frequently seek out service with a neighbouring tribe, if their own chiefs are disinclined to make war. Yet, on the whole, peace is unwelcome to the German peoples, and they distinguish themselves more readily in the midst of danger, for, lacking all arts and civil refinements, it is only in war that a man may obtain reputation. Besides, a great retinue, such as their chiefs delight in, since they measure their own status according to the number of their followers, cannot be maintained except by war and violence, for it is to the generosity of their chiefs that they look for the war horse and the spear. Their warriors receive no pay, which is not surprising, for barbarians despise money. On the other hand they accept presents from their chiefs, and they expect to be well fed. They are great drunkards, believing that courage in war goes with a capacity for deep drinking. They are capable of a certain swaggering generosity, but they have more of cruel savagery than wolves. They delight in torturing their prisoners before they kill them.

As I had feared, the morale of our army was low. The soldiers had been cast down by Drusus' death. Moreover, I discovered that the extent of my brother's achievement was less than we had hoped. This was not his fault. It was a measure of the
enormity of the task. Though he had advanced through the forests as far as the Elbe, it was only in coastal regions that he had been able to embark on the policy of civilisation which is a necessary part of any conquest that aspires to be enduring. He had constructed a canal through the lakes of Holland, and this had persuaded the tribes resident there, the Frisii and the Batavii, to become allies of the Roman people, for they saw not only our greatness but the prospect of unimagined prosperity open before them. It is trade which greases the wheels of empire, and it is the building of roads, bridges and canals which makes commerce possible.

There were no cities in Germany. Indeed the Germans scarcely live even in villages as we understand them. They prefer to live separately and scattered, and they lay out their villages with open ground, frequently extensive, between the houses. They are therefore averse from learning the arts and manners of civil society; and I saw at once that this was a great problem. It was clear to me that Germany could not be thoroughly and effectively conquered till the land was settled, till cities were built and colonies planted. However, it was difficult to persuade colonists to establish themselves there till the tribes had been thoroughly subdued and brought to recognise the majesty and order of Rome. This was a problem I was unable to solve in my three years in Germany. Indeed, I can hardly claim to have done more than define it, and take a few tentative steps by means of the engineering works I instigated. Otherwise, every summer was spent in pursuit of an evasive enemy who could rarely be brought to battle. On each occasion that we achieved battle however, the skill and discipline of our armies appalled, dispirited, and defeated the barbarians.

"It will be a slow business," I told Augustus, "and we can offer our young men no hope of glory. I demand sacrifice from them. They must be ready to shed blood and sweat, to toil long hours and to endure hardships without repining. But, if the gods are willing, we shall at last bring these accursed barbarians within the pale of civilisation."

He replied praising my efforts for Rome,
"...
worthy of your Claudian ancestors in their greatest hours, and of your mother's son."

Our second child was stillborn. I had scarcely time to grieve. Julia was depressed by the little girl's death, and her letters were mournful. They were also brief and less and less frequent. I could not reproach her for I had to confess that sometimes days went by without thought of her crossing my mind. Then, in my second summer campaign, little Tiberius caught a fever and died. The news was brought to me as I crouched in my tent on the muddy banks of a tributary of the Elbe. It had been raining for three weeks and our advance was halted. It was difficult to bring up provisions for the troops and horses from our base fifty miles in the rear. Some scouts reported that the enemy had vanished into the uttermost recesses of the forest, but my mind was not appeased by this information. I had a foreboding of danger, even disaster. The forest was too quiet. I called Segestes, the chief of one branch of the Cherusci, a man originally taken prisoner by Drusus and persuaded to ally himself to the Roman people by the eloquence of my brother and the example of his virtue. For a German, Segestes was an honourable man. Yet I was uncertain to what extent I could trust him.

"My scouts report that the enemy has entirely vanished," I said. "Do you think that possible?"

He spat on the ground - an ineradicable German habit that has always disgusted me.

"Is that a commentary on the information?" I asked.

"Your scouts are lying, or they have made a mistake," he said. "If the enemy has vanished, it is because your scouts have been looking in the wrong direction. They should have looked in your rear. That is where they would find my people. That is how they have learned to fight. They intend to cut you off as you retreat, having first prevented supplies from reaching you."

"But a messenger has come through today. I have received letters."

"They would not be interested in letters or in cutting off a small troop. It is in their interest to let you think the road behind is open."

"So what do you recommend?"

"You, a Roman, ask me, a German, what course
1
would recommend?"

"I ask you as a knowledgeable man, and as one whom experience has taught me I may trust."

He looked at the interpreter as if he wondered whether my answer had been correctly relayed to him. I nodded my head and smiled.

"My noble brother trusted you," I said, "and I trust my brother's judgment."

He received this observation in silence, turned and walked to the open flap of my tent and gazed out into the mist. The rain spattered the canvas, but there was no wind to shift the mist which hung over the meadows towards the invisible river.

"If you return by the route you advanced by, you will march into the trap. Its jaws will close, and then, no Imperator Tiberius, no Roman Army, but much rejoicing among the Cherusci."

"So?"

"So you must find another route, through territory which is unknown to you. You must keep the river on your flank. In that way you can be attacked only on one side. You cannot be surrounded."

"Do we go up the river or down?"

"Down, perhaps, for in that way you will reach the Elbe."

"And if we go up?"

"The mountains eventually."

"And is there a pass there by which we can cross over to the Rhine?"

"I believe there is. But it would be difficult with the waggons. However, if you turn towards the Elbe, you will find yourself required to negotiate a wide tract of marshland."

"And which course will your cousin, the chief for the time being of the Cherusci, expect us to take . . ."

Segestes spat again.

"He is not a clever man. Brave but a fool. He will not be expecting you to do anything but retrace your route. However, there are wise heads among his advisers. They will conclude that you will make for the Elbe, where you have forts and a fleet waiting in the mouth. They will not expect you to take the bold path, because they do not expect boldness from Romans, and they know, general, that you are a cautious man."

I asked my servant to bring us wine. Germans are not accustomed to wine, and many of them affect to regard it as an effeminate drink, since their preference is to swig great jugs of beer or mead. However, Segestes had learned to consider wine as a mark of the civilisation to which he aspired (I had one day found him taking a reading lesson from one of my secretaries) and had even learned to do something which comes naturally to no German: to drink it without evident signs of greed.

"I am honoured, General, that you ask my advice, but how can you know that it is good advice? How can you be certain that I am not intending to take this opportunity to restore my credit with my own people?"

"Segestes," I said, "I could speak much of your honour, and utter a long speech in your praise. I could say I believe, as indeed I do, that you have come to think that it will be to the benefit of your people that they should enter within the embraces of the Roman empire. And there would be much truth in what I would say. But there is another argument which will remind you of what manner of man I am."

I clapped my hands to call back my servant, and whispered a message to him. He departed, to come back in a few moments leading a German youth, who stood before us and glowered.

"When you came over to us," I said, "you did us the honour of entrusting your son, the young Segestes, to us. That showed your faith in Rome. I am sensible of your confidence, and I shall now repay it by making the boy my aide-de-camp. He shall remain by my side throughout this campaign, eat at my table, sleep in my tent. I shall watch over him . . ."

"I see, General," he said. "It is a powerful argument. But I have many sons, seventeen I think, and some of them are in the other army. Why should I trouble myself about the fate of one out of seventeen?"

"Well," I said, "that is a matter for you to decide. You have given me good advice, and I shall ponder it. Do not doubt my gratitude, which I shall extend to this boy also."

And so I threatened Segestes with his son's death, while the death of my own little boy lay like a dead flower pressed in the book of life. Did I give five minutes then to thought of what he might have been? I doubt it. I had been aroused to a sense of the army's danger. Comfort for Julia and mourning for little Tiberius must wait.