We did not have to, because the Germans did it for us. Caesar ordered our cavalry to scout the area between our two camps and while doing so, in a direct violation of the truce, our host of 5,000 was attacked by no more than 800 German cavalry. The surprise was total because of this treachery, so despite being no admirer of cavalry, I will admit that the element of surprise in war cannot be overestimated. Whatever the circumstances, there was fierce fighting, during which many of our men were slain, with the remainder taking flight back to our column, at that point still a mile short of where we said we would stop. That made Caesar’s decision for him, and I know that this decision has brought much censure, especially because of the events that transpired. I think, gentle reader, you know by now that I am a great admirer of Caesar, so that if he were to miraculously come back to life, I would find the strength in these old bones to don my armor and helmet and pick up my shield and sword to follow wherever he directed. But even I, one of his most ardent supporters, cannot truly justify the actions that he undertook once the truce was violated. When I was younger, I pretended that I not only understood but supported his decision, but the years have stripped even that shell of a pretense away. Some of the dreams that rob me of my sleep are from what took place there with the Usipetes and Tencteri, and Diocles can be witness to the nights that I jerk awake screaming in horror, sweat soaking my nightclothes like I had just gone for a swim. Those are the ramblings of an old man, however, and have no bearing here, so I will direct my mind back to the specifics of what took place. Caesar’s concern was twofold; first was the act of treachery itself, because it gave a clear indication that the Germans could not be trusted. The wider implication was the example it would set with those tribes in Gaul still harboring dreams of overthrowing Rome, so it was with these two motives he acted, no matter how they are seen in the light of history. Making camp at the appointed spot on the banks of the river, it was the next morning that a deputation of chiefs from the two tribes came to apologize for the actions of their cavalry. Their claim was that they had been returning from foraging and therefore had no knowledge of the truce. Being completely honest, I can see the truth of this statement. However, the fact was that the truce was broken and Caesar, having reached his conclusion that these Germans could not be trusted under any account, refused to grant them an audience. Instead, he deduced that their supposed humility was a ruse designed to gain the tribes’ time to organize an attack, which may or may not have been the case. Regardless, whether it was true or not did not matter to Caesar, or so it seemed, because he immediately ordered us to form up to march on the German camp, while having the German chiefs thrown into chains.
Even now, after all these years, I cannot bring myself to speak of what happened when we attacked their camp, at least in any detail. With the absence of their leaders, even if they were prepared to meet us, I believe the outcome was inevitable. However, they were not prepared; the surprise was total, the result what one could expect of a battle-hardened army that had been campaigning for three years. No mercy was given, the Legions putting all they found to the sword, no matter their age or their disposition. Men, women, children, babies, old people, it made no difference to us. Those few who survived the initial onslaught we scattered, pursuing them with our cavalry who were forced to march in the rear of the column as a mark of their shame, and were therefore eager to exact their own revenge on the Usipetes and Tencteri. Remember those names well, gentle reader, because they no longer exist, so total was our victory and so thorough our punishment. Those precious few who fled the camp were chased all the way back to the Rhenus, where they threw themselves into the swift current and were swept away, in the same way we swept away the rest of their people. I will not pretend that I am blameless; my sword was as bloody as any of my comrades when the day was done, and I was as indiscriminate in who I killed as the next man. My only excuse is that I took no pleasure in it; in fact, I found myself vomiting up all the contents of my breakfast, and I will say that I was not alone, a small comfort, knowing that there were others who felt like I did. In fact, I believe it was only because of my size and reputation that some of my comrades did not mock and ridicule me for being soft, especially since I saw many other men who had the same reaction as I did unmercifully teased. The Legions are a hard place, where any sensitivity is viewed as a weakness, and is immediately pounced upon by one’s very own friends. I might have escaped the ridicule of my fellow Legionaries, but I did not escape the faces of the many I slew that day as they chased me through my dreams.
The reaction in Rome was one of total shock. There was even talk of holding Caesar accountable for supposed crimes against the Germans, there being much made of his violation of the truce, which we in the ranks did not understand. We found it hard to believe that Caesar had neglected to report that it was the Germans who violated the truce, but we soon saw what was happening in Rome for what it was, an opportunity seized by his political enemies to smear Caesar’s name. It was at this time that I first became acquainted with the name of the man who I hope even now is like Sisyphus, Marcus Porcius Cato. Vibius was a great admirer of Cato, and it was his admiration of the man that I believe eventually contributed to the rift that existed between Vibius and myself for many years. I had not paid much attention to the actions of the great men in Rome, for reasons that I mentioned earlier, but many of my comrades, Vibius among them, were avid followers of the political dramas that were taking place in Rome. Like all things, these men turned it into a gambling opportunity, wagering each other on the outcome of legislation or whether a particular man’s position on a topic would carry the day.
“Cato is a great Roman, maybe the greatest of all time,” Vibius enthused one evening by the fire.
Despite knowing that I should not indulge him, I found myself asking, “How so?”
It was not more than a handful of moments later that I found myself sorry that I had asked.
“Because he not only believes in the values of the true Republic, he lives them in his everyday life.” Without waiting for prompting, Vibius continued, “He refuses to wear a tunic under his toga, because our ancestors didn't, and he claims that it's a sign of the weakness that has infected Rome.”
I rather saw it as a sign that men had finally figured out a way to be more comfortable, though I knew better than to argue.
“His toga is black,” Vibius finished, which did raise a question, passing my lips before I knew what had possessed me.
“Why in the name of Dis is that?” I demanded, “So he can wear it after it gets dirty?”
Vibius indignantly shook his head.
“Not at all. He wears it as a sign of mourning, for the loss of the true Republic and the mos maiorum.”
Shaking my head, I knew by this point that I was going to regret asking the next logical question, “And why, pray tell me dear Vibius, does he believe that the true Republic is dead?”
“Because it is!” Vibius was emphatic on this point, “Look at how elections are rigged. Candidates who are just straw men, while only the richest men can afford to hold office.”
To my mind, this was always the way things had gone, but I held my tongue.
“And now the rabble has all the control, because whoever courts the mob and wins their favor will have the true power, not the Senate and the Tribunes of the plebs as it should be,” Vibius finished, sitting back down at his spot, looking very pleased with himself.
“Vibius,” I reminded him gently, “if the truth be known, we,” I indicated all the men sitting at the fire, “are part of that rabble that you speak so badly about.”