Caesar leaned forward in his proconsul’s folding chair, his arms relaxed along its elaborately carved arms. “Honored envoy, I am not pleased by this news. Rome is not pleased. Rome has two policies which are not to be flouted and which I am here to enforce: the tribes of Gaul are to stay within the borders of their own ancestral territories; and the Germans are not to cross to the west bank of the Rhine.”
“Caesar, we are already west of the river, and have been for years, and intend to stay.” For all his barbaric aspect, Eintzius spoke with the effortless authority of an envoy of the Senate ordering some Oriental despot to cease and desist from whatever activity displeased Rome. Between him and Caesar I sensed a collision of two implacable forces. Suddenly, the Helvetii did not seem to be such a threat. I could almost pity them, caught between the millstones of Rome and Germania.
“That I will deal with when the matter of the Helvetii has been settled,” Caesar said.
The other German stood. “Go fetch more men. What you have here will not provide a morning’s amusement for us.” For a skin-clad savage, Eramanzius was unbelievably arrogant. Of course, it helped that he was close to seven feet tall. People that tall tend to assume far more importance than they actually possess.
Nonetheless, both of them were intimidating in the extreme, in a way that the colorful Gauls were not. Partly, it was their outlandish habit of wearing furs. Gauls, and Romans visiting cold climates, sometimes wear fur inside their clothing, for warmth. But Germans wear it on the outside, as if they were trying to imitate the appearance of their totem animals. Among civilized people this is done only for purposes of ritual, as with the leopard-skin capes of Egyptian priests and Greek Bacchantes, or the lion, bear, and wolfskin worn by legionary standard-bearers. It is unsettling in the extreme to see people wear animal skins as their everyday attire.
Caesar regarded the man coldly. “Do not provoke me. There is no power on earth like Rome. From the soil of Italy the legions rise up like grain after the spring rains. If you truly wish it, we will provide you with entertainment up to your highest expectations, although we must forego the pleasure of hearing your applause afterward.”
These were fierce words for a man with a single legion and some auxiliaries, but Romans love to hear that sort of talk. Even knowing the reality of the situation, I felt a jolt of good old-fashioned Roman steel stiffening my somewhat nervous backbone.
Nammeius stood, and with him stood the Gallic contingent. “We have accomplished all that words may accomplish, and it has been nothing. Henceforth, we shall speak with arms.”
The Gauls and the Germans swept out. Last of all went the Druids, who had not spoken a single word. Caesar glared angrily after them, but I saw that his most malevolent expression was not directed at the chieftains. It was reserved for the Druids. When they were gone, he addressed the officers.
“Gentlemen, from now on we may expect serious hostilities. However, work on the rampart is now complete and we are receiving daily reinforcements of troops levied from the Provincials. These will man the strongpoints along the rampart. The legionary guard is to be doubled. Go now and rejoin your units and prepare for action.”
I got up to leave with Lovernius, but Caesar beckoned me.
“Decius Caecilius, attend me.”
I waited while the other officers left. Titus Vinius favored me with an ugly smile as he walked out with his even uglier slave. Caesar went into his tent and I joined him there. It was divided into two sections, the smaller being Caesar’s sleeping quarters, the larger containing a long table for staff conferences when weather should preclude holding them outdoors. A silver pitcher stood in the middle of a platter with cups and at Caesar’s gesture I poured for us. It was first-rate Falernian. Caesar wasn’t denying himself all of the pleasures of life while on active service.
“Word has come to me of your little run-in with Titus Vinius,” he said without preamble.
I had been expecting it. “A legion is like a small village. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
“In this Province there is only my business,” he said. “You are not to interfere with my centurions in the performance of their duties.”
“Duties! Caesar, the brute was flogging a boy, a client of mine, for no reason whatever. I could not permit it.”
“That was no boy, nor is he your client. He is a Roman soldier, bound by his oath of service like every other legionary. When he returns to civilian life in some twenty years, he will become your client again. In the meantime, he is under the authority of his centurion, unless he attains the centurionate himself and gets to flog his own subordinates. I’ll not have Vinius provoked. He is my most valuable soldier.”
“He is an oversensitive man, where his property is concerned.”
Caesar smiled faintly. “Ah, you’ve met our Freda, I take it. A stunning creature, is she not?”
“She is that. Why do you permit him to keep her in camp? He is so jealous he needs his own personal executioner to follow her around and behead gawkers.”
“I permit my centurions a certain latitude, including a small number of personal slaves, even mistresses.”
“Every general does, but in barracks and winter quarters, not in a marching camp.”
“When we march, they walk with the baggage train. If they can’t keep up, they are abandoned. Not that there is much danger of that happening with Freda. I suspect she can outrun a racehorse.” He waved a hand to dismiss the subject. “I did not call you here to justify my policies, Decius. I have duties for you. I mentioned when you arrived that you would have more work here in the praetorium than with your ala.”
“Whatever you command,” I said, always alert for a nice, cushy staff job while other people were out slogging through the mud, getting things stuck in them. Heroes belong in poems and old myths, not in the boots of Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger.
“Soon I will be leaving for Italy by the most direct route, over the mountains. Labienus will be in charge during my absence. My fine, ringing defiance of the barbarians will prove most hollow without the legions to back them up. I am going to find them and drag them up here by the nose if I have to.”
“A couple more legions would be a comforting presence,” I agreed.
“While I am away, I want you to organize my dispatches to the Senate. I intend to provide a detailed history of the campaign for the Conscript Fathers, as Cicero likes to call them, and you are the only man here with the education to be of assistance. Also, I know that you detest the Asiatic style of rhetoric as much as I do, so you won’t be tempted to throw in a lot of nymphs and obscure Paphlagonian deities and salacious affairs of Zeus.”
So I was to be a glorified secretary. No argument there. At least I would be under a roof when it rained. “You speak as if it will be a long campaign.”
“Why do you think I wanted five years to finish it? The Helvetii were already on the move when I reached Gaul. Now the Germans are involved. Before I am done, I may have to subdue Gaul all the way from the Rhine to the Pyrenees. I may have to go all the way to Britannia.”
I almost choked on my Falernian. “That is a large chunk of territory to take on. Not to mention a large population of extremely warlike barbarians.”
He shrugged. “Alexander used to take as much territory in a year.”
There it was: Alexander again. I wished the little Macedonian bastard was alive so I could kill him all over again. Just one such maniac in all of history and he inspired fools forever after. Well, Macedonia is part of the Roman Empire now, which ought to teach people something.
“Gauls aren’t Persians.”
“No, and I thank Jupiter for it. I doubt that Persians would ever make good citizens.”