It was the most maddening situation of my by no means uneventful career. Whatever happened to politicians who murdered one another for perfectly sensible, understandable motives? Why did armies and barbarians of several sorts and priests with their disgusting sacrifices have to get involved?
I tossed restlessly, weary to my bones but unable to sleep. I knew that I would have to do something or I would know no rest. In my long experience I knew that, when things reached this awful pass, there was only one action to take. I would have to do something colossally stupid.
I got up, rummaged around until I found a wax tablet, and opened the wooden leaves. With a stylus I scratched my message and called Hermes in.
“Run this over to Lovernius. Tell him to have one of his men deliver it to Captain Carbo at once.” He must have seen something in my face.
“What are you planning?”
“I’m going to go out tonight and maybe get killed. When you get back from your chore you’d better try to get some sleep, too. You’re going with me.”
I dropped back on my cot, suicidally at peace with myself. My mind made up at last, I was asleep as quickly as a lamp is extinguished.
When my eyes opened again, it was dark outside. I felt rested and invigorated, things I rarely feel upon first waking. Then I remembered what it was that I planned to do. It was simple fear that made me so lively. Hermes was on his pallet snoring gently and I prodded him awake. He went out to fetch a basin of water for me.
While he did this, I found my short sword and muffled its sheath with strips of cloth so that the suspension rings wouldn’t rattle. I added my dagger to the harness and belted it all on. I located a pair of civilian sandals and put them on. Not only do hobnails make a lot of noise, but they can strike sparks from stone, visible for great distances on a dark night. I rolled up a hooded cloak and slung it over my shoulder. The night would probably turn very cool and rains were frequent.
When Hermes got back with the basin, I instructed him to fetch his cloak and give his sword the same treatment as mine. “We’re going out on a little reconnaissance,” I told him. He followed my instructions with the sort of excitement that only the young and foolish feel when danger is near. I was just finishing my ablutions when Carbo arrived, accompanied by Ionus to guide us.
“Here he is. Now what sort of lunacy are you planning, Decius?”
“I’m going back to that grove, Gnaeus. I want to look it over in daylight tomorrow.”
“I thought it had to be something that stupid. If you’re going to do it, why not go out with your cavalrymen?”
“What would be the use? It would only make us more visible. I wasn’t joking when I said I would feel safe only with the full legion along for security. Either we’ll remain unseen and be safe, or we’ll be detected and killed. Come on, Hermes.”
We walked toward the Porta Decumana and Hermes tried not to strut, his fingers flexing repeatedly on his sword hilt. He had had several lessons and now accounted himself a master swordsman. At the gate I informed the officer in charge that I was going out on a night mission. His jaw dropped at so outlandish an idea, but he had no authority to stop me.
While we went through this rigmarole I gazed along the top of the wall, noting how the sentries were spaced, wondering how difficult it would be for a pair of determined slaves to get away by scaling the parapet and jumping the palisade. Not difficult at all, I decided. The guards were widely spaced, the nights were dark, and everyone’s attention was on danger from outside, not what was going on behind them. Choose a late hour when the men were groggy, be very quiet, and escape would present very few problems. They were gone. I could no longer fool myself about that. But where?
“When will you return?” Carbo asked.
“We’ll have to stay in the hills while it’s daylight. As soon as it’s dark, we’ll head back. I can’t cover ground like your scouts but we should be back well before sunup the day after tomorrow.”
“If you aren’t, I’ll have a cavalry sweep out looking for you at dawn.”
“If I’m not back by then I probably won’t be back at all, but go ahead. It won’t do any harm.”
“Good hunting, then.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder in soldierly fashion, believing that I was a brave man instead of a suicidal fool.
We went out through the gate and walked toward the great rampart. This night we heard no overeager Gallic warriors taunting the men atop the walls. In fact, it was rather pleasant, with a sliver of moon and a multitude of stars in the sky. I could even make out the reflection of moonlight from the white crests of the nearby mountains. Night insects made their chirping sounds and a wind rustled the grass and the rushes in the ponds.
At the sally port in the rampart I repeated my story to the officer of auxilia who was in charge there. This one showed no particular astonishment, just writing down my name and the size of my party. We went on through. A few paces past the wall I called a halt.
“Do you have any paint?” I asked Ionus. He took a small pot from his belt purse and handed it to me. I dipped my fingers into the foul-smelling paste and smeared it on my face, then streaked my bare arms and legs. Then I tossed the pot to Hermes.
“Put this on. The only way we’re going to live through this is by not being seen. Ionus, what’s this paint made with?”
“Just soot and bear fat.”
“Good. Woad or walnut juice leave stains that last weeks. Now, Hermes, once we are one bowshot from the rampart we are truly on our own in enemy territory. Anyone who sees us out there will want to kill us on sight. Stay close to me, but not so close that you’ll bump into me. We have to maintain enough distance so that we can use our weapons if we have to. If you start falling behind us, say something, but don’t shout. Is that understood?” He nodded dumbly, his face a little frightened. Suddenly, this wasn’t such an adventure.
“Ionus, set us a good pace, but we aren’t accomplished cattle thieves who can see in the dark like you. Now let’s be off.”
Ionus set off and I let him go ten paces, then followed. We moved across the dark plain at a pace that was somewhere between a walk and a run; not the steady, plodding military pace but a sort of lope accomplished with the feet widespread to maintain balance on the uneven ground. The turf was springy beneath my feet and now I was grateful for the hard training Caesar had made me perform, for I found the experience exhilarating rather than the exhausting ordeal it might have been.
After about an hour of this we stopped by a little stream, dropped to our knees, and lapped up the cool water like thirsty dogs.
“How much farther?” I asked.
“As much more as we have come,” Ionus answered.
“I was afraid of that,” Hermes said. He was breathing heavily, but seemed to be in better shape than I was. He was no longer the soft city boy who had left Rome with me.
“This is good for you,” I assured him. “My father has always told me that suffering is the best thing for a man, and that young people these days don’t suffer enough and that’s why we’re such a degenerate lot.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Hermes said, “I’ll let your father do the suffering, if he likes it so much.”
Ionus listened to us with a look of great puzzlement. He lived his whole life like this. Hardship for him had an entirely different meaning. He was barefoot, wearing trousers and a brief cloak that covered only his shoulders and upper back. He seemed perfectly comfortable thus attired.
After a short rest, we went on. The night grew chilly, but our exertions kept us warm. I strained my ears to hear approaching Gauls, or a cough or rustle from warriors lying in ambush, but we seemed to be protected by a spell of invisibility. Or perhaps the Gauls had turned sensible of a sudden and decided that nights were better spent sleeping instead of skulking about with weapons.