John Roberts - Nobody Loves a Centurion

“First Spear,” Caesar said, “summon your interpreter.”

Vinius clapped his hands, producing a sound like a large catapult hurling a missile. I smiled in anticipation, expecting to see the German slave girl. Great was my disappointment when instead the ugly, gnomish, fox-haired slave I had seen standing in the doorway of Vinius’s tent walked through the guarded opening in the praetorium wall. He stood by the envoy and the man looked down his long, German nose as at a toad or other lowly, unattractive creature, and said something in a language that sounded like wolves fighting for leadership of the pack.

The slave translated, grinning insolently, displaying a mouth in which teeth and gaps associated equally. “Is this proper? My people drown all such creatures at birth.”

Caesar laughed richly. “In a truly well ordered world, nothing so ugly would be suffered to live. However, we live in the real world, not in Plato’s. Sometimes uncomeliness must be overlooked in favor of utility. Molon was a slave east of the Rhine for many years, so he is fluent in your language. He fears the whip too much to tamper with the translation. He will render our words with precision. Pray continue.”

After this the Germans behaved as if the slave was not there. “I am Eintzius, nephew of King Ariovistus, and with me is my brother, Eramanzius.” Again, these are at best approximations of their names. “For some time now my king has been in contact with the councilors of the Helvetii and it has been agreed among us that our cousins, the Harudes and the Suebi, are to move onto the land vacated by the Helvetii. Those tribes are already on the move and preparing to cross the Rhine. If the Helvetii are not permitted to migrate, severe hardship will result. The Harudes and the Suebi will be greatly angered.”

I heard a hiss beside me and Lovernius muttered: “I thought so! Those Helvetii aren’t migrating because they have itchy feet. They are being pushed! These Germans have told them to clear out or be exterminated.”

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 .”