Winter Quarters, page 7
I tried to bring him to his senses. I pointed out that it was the Germans who had attacked under cover of negotiations, which was why they had surprised us and forced us to retreat. Today’s massacre was fit punishment for such treachery. As for the envoys, they had been detained to save their lives; we had heard that Caesar would release them tomorrow. Perhaps our attack had not been very glorious; but it had been most useful. For the next few years there should be room for all surviving Germans on their own side of the Rhine. Caesar had promised the Gauls protection in return for tribute: his strength really did protect our villages.
‘It may have been the right thing to do,’ answered Acco, ‘but I wish I had not taken a part in it. Perhaps our ancestors wiped out whole families of Basques to win our valley. Yet this is something bigger. Do you know how many Germans woke in that camp this morning? The Romans found out by questioning the envoys. The total was publicly announced this evening, I suppose because it is the kind of news Romans enjoy; anyway, a man who spoke Gallic passed it on to me. There were 430,000 of the Usipetes and Tencteri; tonight there are none. Isn’t it nice to think that one day we can tell our children that we had a share in the slaughter of more men, women and children than would fill the greatest city in the world? Four hundred and thirty thousand … how far would they stretch if they stood in a single line? Is there any other living man, even another Roman, who would kill 430,000 terrified fugitives in an afternoon and then go happily to supper, as Caesar now sits happily at supper? How many were we in our valley, ten thousand, twenty thousand? If the Romans wiped out the Elusates, and twenty neighbouring valleys besides, I suppose they would regard it as an ordinary day’s work. I don’t know the gods who rule this part of the country, but tonight they must be besieged by ghosts, hungry for blood. How many of us must die before they are appeased?’
‘If the gods round here don’t like us we can go somewhere else. You and I have angered the Goddess, but since we left home she has done us no harm, and she is unknown in these parts.’
But I had been tactless to remind him of our private troubles. He began to complain of another worry. ‘No one round here has heard of Pyrene, but that does not mean that the Goddess is unknown. Down by the river I stumbled on a little cave with the images of three women in it. The Goddess sometimes appears in triple form, or so I have been told.’
‘Only to women. She is the Goddess of the women, who cannot harm warriors. But it’s odd no one here told me of her. I inquired from the Treveri, and they say they worship only Skyfather and the Wargod, like the rest of us.’
‘That’s what they tell a stranger. If a stranger inquired the Elusates would say the same. But the Goddess is there in the background. Perhaps Skyfather will protect us, but wherever we travel we shall still be in the realm of the Goddess.’
‘Very well, the Goddess remains our foe. I can’t see that so far she has done us much harm. Yesterday we both came through a dangerous charge without a scratch; today we have been completely victorious. The Treveri may keep images of her in a cave, but she does not rule this land.’
However, there was no pleasing Acco. When he went to sleep he was still grumbling at the savagery of the Roman army, and complaining that the Goddess would be waiting for him, in every land he should happen to visit. Considering that this was one of the greatest victories Gauls had ever won over Germans, and that our comrades intended to celebrate it as long as the captured beer lasted, he was being a tiresome spoilsport.
Next day was a holiday; because the Gallic contingent was too drunk to go on parade, and even the legionaries in no state for marching. I was in fairly good shape, since Acco had dragged me so early from the feasting. He and I spent the morning looking after our own horses – and most of the other horses in the squadron as well; if we had not fed and watered them the beasts would have starved while their masters slept off the feast of victory. In the afternoon I got hold of a stray Treveran, a local farmer who had come in to buy German spoil; he was quite willing to talk of the three images in the cave.
They were really German goddesses, but the peoples on both sides of the Rhine were always stealing each other’s women, and German slave-girls had brought them to the western bank. They must have had names of their own, but to the men of the Treveri they were the Three Ladies or the Three Mothers. They did not make the crops grow, or manage the affairs of wild beasts; on the contrary, both men and women sacrificed to them for good luck. The Treveran agreed that his women knew more about them than they would tell to men, but the cult was in no way secret. I explained to Acco that this proved that the Three were not related to our single Goddess. He remained unconvinced, and very melancholy.
In the evening Crassus sought us out, and was pleased to find us looking after other men’s horses. I had not planned to be discovered at this task, on purpose to curry favour with the commander, it was just that neither Acco nor I could endure to see good horses lose condition for lack of attention. Also, in any war-band it is very useful to store up a credit balance of favours done; if tomorrow I wanted to chase a pretty girl, or rob a fat farmyard, any of my comrades would look after Starlight while I slipped away from evening stables.
Crassus had walked over from the Roman lines with only an orderly and an interpreter, to see how his Gauls were getting on. When he found most of them still drunk he sensibly kept out of their way. Otherwise someone might have struck him, just to prove that we were free auxiliaries, not slaves of Rome. Then there would have to be a crucifixion, which always lowers the spirits of the troops. Romans never pass over flagrant insubordination; but Crassus managed with very few punishments because he had the tact to know when to be absent.
He recognised the two of us by the ornaments on our swords (later he told me that to Romans all Gauls look alike; they can see nothing but our long hair and moustaches). He called us to him, and spoke pleasantly to his interpreter.
‘These men brought me out of that disgraceful scuffle two days ago, when I was in half a mind to get myself killed. I was so ashamed of the wretched cavalry I have been training for the last three years that death seemed preferable to another sticky interview with Caesar. Make a graceful speech of thanks to my rescuers, using all the honorifics due to their nobility; and invite them to call at my tent tonight to receive a more tangible reward.’
‘Thank you, my lord. You are very gracious,’ I said in my best Latin before the interpreter could open his mouth. ‘We Gauls feel nervous when we face German cavalry, but you will admit that today we did all that was asked of us.’
‘Oh, you can understand Latin, and speak it more or less correctly? Then I can give you a bigger reward than a few gold coins. There are never enough interpreters. Does your companion also understand Latin?’
I said that though Acco spoke only Gallic he was as skilled in everything relating to horse-management as I was myself, and I was heir to the horse-master of the Elusates. I added a few words about Acco’s very noble birth, for, though that carried no weight among Romans, Crassus was intelligent enough to see it would be an asset in dealing with Gauls.
Then we walked back with Crassus to the Roman camp, and the guard turned out to salute us. Crassus was not only commander of the auxiliary horse; he was also son to a Consul who happened to be the richest man in Rome, one of the three leaders of the state. If young Publius had been just one of the smart young knights who carried Caesar’s despatches, the sentry would still have turned out the guard for his father’s son.
His tent was roomy and warm, for he had the money to buy the best equipment. At the back I saw bronze-mounted couches and inlaid tables; but Crassus knew that few Gauls are at ease if they must talk lying down, and we sat together on little stools by the entrance. The interpreter, an Aeduan named Gnaeus Pompeius (though he was not in fact a citizen), engaged Acco in polite conversation, asking him to relate the famous deeds of his ancestors; while Publius Licinius Crassus, Roman knight, son of the Consul, commander of all Caesar’s horse, spoke to me as to an equal.
He drew me out about my past life, expressing great interest in my father’s office of horse-master. He said that there was no equivalent in the Roman constitution, though it made provision for most eventualities; yet long ago there must have been something of the sort, in the days when Roman knights went to war on horses provided for them by the City. He asked whether I was ready to succeed my father if he were killed in battle tomorrow, and whether I had ever bought horses on my own responsibility. Perhaps I boasted a little in my replies, stretching the truth without actually telling a lie. Crassus listened carefully, and answered after a pause:
‘You and your friend saved my life, and for that alone I ought to promote you. But since you speak Latin and understand horses I can give you important work which must be done, and which you are fitted to perform. That’s better than inventing sinecures for deserving heroes. The army replaces horses killed in action or foundered by forced marching. I must buy more than a hundred horses to replace those killed in the recent rout. I have Roman experts on my staff, but they wouldn’t be here, so far from civilisation, unless they were out to make a quick fortune; and anyway they don’t know local conditions. The last lot of showy African gallopers proved useless in Gallic mud. You will be attached to my staff as local expert in charge of remounts. You will have to do most of my quaestor’s work while he catches up with his drinking. Can you write? No? What a pity. We must find an honest clerk. Your friend can be your deputy, just to keep it all in the family. He will draw only half your extra pay, for you will be down on the pay-sheet as both interpreter and horse-buyer. Does that suit you?’
I accepted with enthusiasm. So did Acco, when the proposal had been explained to him. Then I plucked up courage to ask one further favour.
‘Must we mess with our squadron? Or shall we be counted as members of your household?’
‘You are members of my household. In camp you will inspect the horse-lines; on the march you make yourself useful as interpreter; and in battle you join the bodyguard which Caesar has detailed to ride beside me. He told me last night that he personally didn’t care how I got myself killed; but he didn’t want to lose an election in Rome because my father held him responsible for the death of his son.’
That was how Caesar talked of himself. But that was not how his soldiers talked of him. They knew he was the greatest general in the world; as a young man he had won the Civic Crown for saving the life of a comrade, and two years ago had fought on foot, in the front rank, to repel the Nervii. Even at that time his whole army adored him; later they followed him when he made war on his own City.
I thanked Crassus with genuine gratitude. For saving his life I deserved a reward, but this reward was greater than I had expected. Acco’s enthusiasm got the better of his good manners. I was always telling him not to intrude Gallic customs into Roman social life, because the Romans are a discourteous race who cannot master the rules of ceremonious behaviour; now he fell on his knees and swore by the Raven, his ancestral sword, to be true comrade to Publius Crassus until death. He looked rather foolish kneeling with his hands between the knees of his lord, until Crassus made a lucky guess and raised him graciously to his feet.
‘What does all that mean, Camul?’ asked Crassus with a smile. ‘Has your friend adopted me to be his father?’
‘Not quite, sir, though you are not far out. He has taken the oath which makes him your sworn comrade. By the custom of Gaul you now command his sword, and if you are killed in battle he must avenge you or die in the attempt. In return you must keep him in comfort all his days, and if need be share your last crust with him. You may reject his service, but if you accept it you should by rights give him an arm-ring.’
‘Well, well. With the City in its present state a politician needs all the faithful swords he can find. I should like to accept the oath, but I don’t wear arm-rings. Will this dagger do instead? A weapon as a gift seems in keeping with the spirit of the ceremony.’
Acco was delighted with his ivory-hilted dagger. I knew, and told Crassus, that he would be a trustworthy and wholehearted comrade, for he took the obligations of honour very seriously indeed. I myself nearly took the same oath, now I knew that Crassus was a gentleman who would keep his side of the bargain. But on second thoughts I considered it rash to bind myself more strongly than is customary among Roman soldiers. While Rome paid me I would serve her faithfully; from a lifelong promise I shied away. That was as well. I kept the promise I made, and now it is ended.
Next day we began a new life. Grooms strapped our horses and servants polished our weapons. We rose in the morning with the officers, in time to inspect the parade, and went to bed when we had finished our work, which was often long after lights out. The Roman veterinary officer and buyer of remounts was as incompetent and corrupt as Crassus had supposed; I spent most of the day treating sick horses, while Acco chaffered with Gallic dealers.
Acco held himself bound to the service of Crassus, and therefore refused even the small commission the dealers offered unasked. I made up my mind not to take bribes unless I needed money urgently, and money could buy nothing while we lay encamped on the Rhine; though I made no rash vows about the future. In consequence not only Crassus, but all the Roman headquarters staff, found official funds went further when we had the spending of them. We quickly became popular and trusted.
We did not eat with the Roman officers. Language barriers would have made that awkward, and we disliked their custom of lying down to dine. But socially they treated us as equals, which was a pleasant change for men who had recently been troopers. We messed with the small group of Gallic interpreters and guides who were permanently attached to headquarters. We had no master except our sense of duty.
In the mess we had early information about the army’s future movements. Everyone was preparing for Caesar’s raid into the unknown island of Britain; for that maps were being drawn, and ships were being built, in the thorough Roman fashion. But first came an unexpected, improvised foray: the first recorded invasion of Germany from our side of the Rhine.
During this invasion there was no fighting, because the Germans fled before us; and western Germany looks disappointingly like eastern Gaul. But the expedition was far from useless. It terrified the Germans, and impressed the Romans themselves with a consciousness of great deeds accomplished. We of the Gallic horse had nothing to do except to look on; the building of that famous bridge over the Rhine was a feat worth watching.
Roman legionaries are fine warriors; but what makes them really formidable is that they are all skilled craftsmen. They began absolutely from scratch, by forging the iron ‘dogs’which would hold the trusses in position, and felling timber for the piles. When their material was assembled they began building from the western bank, driving the piles with blows from a mighty engine of Caesar’s invention. It was most impressive to see all those men working at their different tasks, while the bridge grew before our eyes.
I was sitting on the bank, absorbed in watching this marvellous work, when Crassus came up to me. He was proud of his auxiliaries, and enjoyed telling us what the army was doing.
Well, Camul,’ he said cheerfully, ‘have you ever before seen a bridge like this?’
‘Never, sir. Nor has there ever been one like it, over the Rhine.’
‘But the forging of those iron “dogs”? Could you manage that?’
‘I couldn’t myself, because I am a warrior. I expect our smiths could.’
‘And the timber-felling?’
‘Oh, I could do that easily, if someone marked which tree I was to cut.’
‘And putting the piles and struts in the right place?’
‘There again, that’s quite easy, after someone has shown you how.’
‘Exactly, Camul. That’s why we Romans are in Gaul. We want to show the Gauls how to do things. The Rhine has never been bridged. Yet there is nothing here that a Gaul cannot do. If you choose to serve us loyally you will have bridges, and stone temples, and paved roads, from end to end of your land. I don’t say you will be our equals straight away; we are teaching you, and the teacher is master of his pupils. But your children, or perhaps your grandchildren, will be equal partners in the Roman dominion, the greatest state the world has ever seen. When you charge behind me remember that you are fighting for a civilised Gaul, not just for next month’s pay.’
‘I see, sir. But supposing we don’t wish to serve you?’
‘Then you will serve us just the same, but as slaves. Face facts, Camul, even unpleasant facts. This is the army that drove out Ariovistus, that conquered the Nervii. We could, if we tried, beat all the Gallic peoples together, though you know as well as I do that all the peoples will never fight together.’
‘No man can be made a slave against his will,’ I answered quickly. ‘There is always a way out,’ and I touched the hilt of my sword.
‘That’s true. In Spain the warriors fought to the death. But when they were dead their women and children submitted. Anyway, there are a great many able-bodied slaves in Italy. When it comes to the point life is sweet, even in defeat.’
(I must tell the truth. Later we both of us made the choice between death and slavery, and Crassus chose more nobly.)
‘Very well, sir. I shall serve Rome. I like the Romans, not least because you worship decent manly gods.’
‘I’m glad to hear it; though we have goddesses in Italy. However, I have explained my philosophy, and I hope I have made a disciple. I sought you out because I have a suggestion to make. I shall leave this army before it embarks for Britain. Next year my father leads a great expedition to the eastern border, a long way from here. My Gallic horse will join him when he leaves Rome. I myself leave for Italy in a few days, and I shall take a few staff officers to buy remounts, collect rations, and engage billets. I want you and your friend Acco to come with me. Even if you aren’t killed you may never return, so I don’t order you to come, I make a request. Will you come with me?’
