“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.