John Roberts - Nobody Loves a Centurion

I took a long drink and sighed. “Hermes, do you really think Venus goes around dressed in animal skins?”

“It did look sort of odd, but the immortals aren’t like the rest of us.”

“What you saw was a German slavegirl. I saw her, too.” The sight was as real as the cup before me. Even the barbaric custom of wearing furs did not mar her beauty.

Hermes grinned. “Really? Then these Germans can’t be all that bad!”

“You think not? That woman could probably snap you across her shapely knee. Imagine what the men must be like.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

I held up an admonitory finger. “And, Hermes, I cannot stress this strongly enough: Do not, I repeat, do not get caught staring at her.”

“Are you serious?” he said, refilling my cup. “Tongues dragged on the ground wherever she passed.”

“Nonetheless, keep your eyes and tongue firmly in your head when she is around. In fact, keep your eyes lowered just as I tell you to when I have distinguished visitors, not that you ever listen to me, you loathsome little wretch.” I bent, picked up the short sword, and tossed it to him. He caught it by the sheath and gave me a puzzled look.

“You want me to clean this up for you? It’s not as good as the sword you’re wearing.”

“It’s for you,” I said. “I’m going to enroll you with a sword instructor here. It’s time you learned how to handle weapons.”

He looked dazzled, thinking he was Horatius already.

“Don’t get any foolish ideas,” I warned him. “I am doing this because you have to accompany me into war zones and bandit-infested areas. You cannot wear weapons in any civilized place and you must never touch arms in Rome, unless you want to grace one of the many picturesque crosses planted outside the gates.”

He went white the way slaves usually do when you mention a cross. “Never fear, master!”

“Good. Now, what’s for lunch?”

That afternoon we rode out in full strength, something just short of a hundred troopers. From the camp we passed through the long earthworks into the grassy, brushy lakeside plain beyond. We conducted a sweep to catch any ambitious Helvetian warriors who might try to work themselves close enough for an ambush after dark. We spread out in a wide line and rode slowly forward, paying special attention to the frequent areas of good cover.

Several times we flushed two or three young, blue-painted braves from a clump of brush and my men would give chase, whooping and hallooing like men hunting hares. And the Gauls ran like hares, too, their colorfully clad legs flashing as they leaped and dodged, actually laughing as the horsemen chased them down. I have never liked seeing warfare treated as sport, but it was sport played in earnest. A couple of my men rode back with fair-tressed heads hanging at their saddles.

In the middle of all this we saw a party of Gauls riding in, preceded by white-robed heralds bearing rods wreathed in ivy. These were the Helvetian envoys come to treat with Caesar. They rode with impressive dignity, ignoring the veritable human fox-hunt as it swept by them. Among them I noticed a few that didn’t look like the usual Gallic aristocrats: They were bearded men in white robes and wearing silver diadems, and others, also bearded, but wearing animal skins. These last might almost have been Gauls, but Gauls are clean-shaven except for their mustaches, and these were neither tattooed nor painted.

I rode up to Lovernius. “Who were those other men with the envoys?”

“The graybeards in the white robes are Druids,” he told me. I had heard of these priests and soothsayers but these were the first I had seen. “The others are Germans, Ariovistus’s men.”

“Isn’t he the king of the Germans? I heard his name mentioned in a Senate debate. What are his men doing on this side of the Rhine?”

“Is that all they know in Rome?” He laughed bitterly. “Captain, Ariovistus and about a hundred thousand of his warriors have been living west of the Rhine for a number of years now.”

“What! How did this come about?” A great dread lowered itself over me like a shroud.

“Surely you knew that most of Gaul is divided into two factions, one led by the Aedui, my own people, and the other led by the Averni, who live along the Rhine?”

“That much I knew. And I heard that you Aedui were winning until the Averni brought in some German mercenaries on their side. That was one reason why Caesar got this extraordinary command. But nobody said anything about a hundred thousand savages and their king! What possessed the Averni to do such a thing?”

“They were losing and men will do desperate things at such a time. Besides,” he shrugged his mailed shoulders, “they and the Germans are cousins.”

Perhaps I should explain something here. We Romans usually assumed that everyone west of the Rhine was a Gaul, everyone east was a German. That was roughly but not completely true. The fact is, they could be difficult to tell apart. They had been living in close proximity for centuries, and in the border areas they intermarried and swapped customs. In one place you might find a village where the people wore colorful clothes and tattoos and mustaches but only German was spoken. Likewise, in some areas the Gauls were bearded and wore animal skins.

You see this sort of thing all over the coastal areas surrounding our sea, where over the course of four centuries people of many lands have adopted the customs, grooming, and dress of the Greeks. More recently, we see imitation Romans everywhere. Primitive people often find a more sophisticated culture attractive and seek to join it, while those who feel their race has lost its warrior virtues will sometimes adopt the customs of a more primitive but more fierce and manly culture.

“An oddly mixed party,” I commented. “Why Druids?”

“They will be advisers to the Helvetii. They are consulted on all matters of importance.”

I guided my horse around a mud hole. “We do the same. It is always a good idea to consult the augurs for signs and make sure all the proper rituals are observed before you commit yourself to crucial action.”

“It isn’t quite like that. The Druids serve as advisers in worldly matters and they retain the history and lore and traditions of the people.”

This was the first I had heard that the Druids were anything more than priests. “Are they politically influential?” I was not sure how a Gaul would interpret such an expression.

“The kings listen to them.”

“Even German kings?”

He laughed. “Never! The Germans have only fierce gods they can see: the sun and the moon, lightning and thunder and the storm.”

Then we started up another group of warriors and were off on another chase.

When we returned to camp that evening, we found that a pack of merchants had arrived and a veritable market day was in progress. The camp’s forum had sprouted booths and the off-duty soldiers were allowed, a cohort at a time, to go there and purchase necessities or waste their money as they saw fit. I dismissed my ala and the men who had taken heads rushed away to show them off to their friends. Gauls set great store by these grisly trophies and even decorate their shrines and homes with them. They fancy the head to be the repository of many virtues such as courage and wisdom. We Romans hold that these qualities reside in the liver. Personally I am neutral, but I would regret losing either of them.

That evening Caesar entertained the envoys at dinner and I got a good look at them. The Helvetii were elders dressed in richly patterned cloaks and a profusion of massive, golden jewelry. The Druids, differing from the usual Gallic fashion, had long beards, white in the case of the two elder priests, short and red on a younger man. Unlike the other two he wore no silver diadem around his temples, so I took him to be an apprentice or acolyte. All three had slender, long-fingered hands that had never been hardened by labor or practice at arms. In their long, white gowns and holding their staffs they might have been heralds.