14
HAVING promised the Gallic leaders the protection of Rome, Caesar sent an ambassador to Ariovistus asking him to meet him at any place midway between their two armies. Ariovistus, far away in Suebia, had no intention of crossing the Rhine into territory where most of the Gauls hated him. He sent a message back that he could not come to see Caesar without being accompanied by an army. “If,” he added ironically, “he had wanted to see Caesar he would have gone to see him, but since the reverse was the case, then let Caesar come to Ariovistus.”
He pointed out that the Aedui owed him money in accordance with a treaty which they had made with the Germans, but the presence of Roman troops meant that the Romans were taking what was rightfully his. The Aedui had given him hostages as guarantees for this treaty, and he had no intention of returning them until they showed that they were prepared to keep up their regular payments of tribute money. Caesar’s reply was to send further ambassadors to the Suebian leader stating the conditions under which the Romans were prepared to continue their friendship with Ariovistus: these included a return of the hostages and a renunciation of the use of force against the Aedui or any of their allies. But Ariovistus had really won this contest of words: he had given his reasons for retaining the hostages, and his unwillingness to venture halfway to meet Caesar without an army to protect him was justified enough. Caesar had sought a casus belli, but the German, while remaining intransigent, had not provided him with one. Meanwhile, whether acting on Ariovistus’ instructions or not, numerous Germans continued to cross the Rhine and pour into France.
Caesar considered that he had cause enough for action—even if many of those who were with him were to show that they disagreed. He ordered the legions to march on Vesontio (Besançon), thus forestalling Ariovistus who was already moving in the same direction. He was full of elation, seeing ahead of him a further campaign that would crown the year during which he had already defeated the Helvetii and had, to his satisfaction, solved the problem by getting them to return to their former country. He looked forward to throwing the Germans back across the Rhine and of being able to write to Rome that he had completely stabilized and secured the security not only of the Narbonese province but of their Gallic friends to the north of it.
His enthusiasm was not shared, however, by his officers—and certainly not by his troops. The latter had been hearing from the Gauls horrific stories about the fighting prowess of the Germans, their barbarism and their cruelty. The soldiers had been enjoying themselves in a rich and pleasant country after a hard campaign, and now they had been suddenly ordered by forced marches to a land unknown to Romans, to find that, having already fought well for Caesar, they were going to be ordered out once more against what appeared to be monsters. The legionaries could be calmed down if Caesar could only secure the undivided enthusiasm of their officers for the fight that lay ahead. But here—to his surprise and no doubt to his inner fury—he discovered that the latter were practically in revolt. Young Romans of good families and no doubt the products of soft living had thought it would be “interesting” or “amusing” to take a look at the barbarous Gauls; it would give them something to talk about when back in Rome. Instead, they had been hauled off at breakneck speed into Switzerland, confronted by a savage race migrating to the west, and then—just as this seemed to have been satisfactorily settled—told to march again and make war upon the very people whom they had happily considered pacified.
There had been heavy fighting, with many dead and wounded in the last battle against the Helvetii: they themselves had survived and had congratulated themselves on a good campaigning year. Now Caesar was leading them into even more barbarous territory to fight a people whom, they heard, even the Gauls and the Helvetii considered irresistible. Caesar of course does not say as much, but it seems very probable that some of this apparent indiscipline among his officers was not due to fear at all but to pressure from Rome, where it was constantly being said by his opponents that Caesar’s campaigns were unnecessary and that he was bent only on self-aggrandizement, whereas he had been sent out to administer a province: no more. Dio Cassius records that it was said everywhere that they were entering upon a war merely to satisfy Caesar’s personal ambitions. It was a war that was neither just nor sanctioned by public decree.
Caesar was faced with what looked very much like mutiny, not only from his troops but also from the military tribunes and prefects. Despondency prevailed, and “throughout the camp there was nothing but the sealing of wills.” When it became evident that even the centurions, the backbone of discipline and the legions, were infected by the malaise Caesar realized just how dangerous the situation was. He knew at once where to strike—and that was with them. Convince and win over the centurions, and the army was his. As for the senior officers, he could deal with them himself. He knew how to handle the centurions: “To argue that we ought not to go to war is only to say that we ought not to be rich, that we ought not to rule over others, that we ought neither to be free nor to be Romans.” Yes, they were a thousand miles away from home, but the centurions were men who were in the army of their own choice and “because of the honors and advantages that can be gained by war.” He spoke to them as a soldier to soldiers and his approach was successful. He disparaged these absurd legends that the Germans were unconquerable, reminding them that Marius had soundly trounced them some forty years ago. (He did not need to remind centurions, steeped in all the history of the army, that Marius had been his uncle.) He did remind them, however, that there had been many Germans in the army of slave-revolt led by Spartacus—and look what had happened to them!
It was true that the Germans had achieved some success over the Gauls, but the Gauls were “barbarous and inexperienced,” as they themselves had found out. He reminded them of his success against the Helvetii and said that he intended to march that very night—alone if need be, but he knew that the Tenth Legion would never let him down. The Tenth Legion under his friend Labienus was, of course, certain to obey, but Caesar had played cannily upon that rivalry between the legions which the Marian system of individual numbers and eagles had fostered. When he had finished speaking, “his words were applauded by all” and particularly by those who had given credence to the previous rumors, and who now wished to show that their legions were every bit as reliable and stout-hearted as the Tenth. They came forward to offer their apologies and excuses and, as he puts it tersely in his account, “Caesar accepted their explanations.” Six days later, with all doubts and hesitation quashed by his own superlative self-confidence and by the trust in him now so clearly felt by the centurions, he was some twenty miles from the camp of Ariovistus in the Upper Alsace. The German leader certainly knew of the trouble there had been in Caesar’s camp, for he was kept posted with intelligence from Rome and knew that the proconsul had many enemies there. He must therefore have been somewhat surprised when Caesar, having apparently overcome the opposition and any semblance of mutiny, suddenly appeared within an easy march of his own lines.
He could no longer prevaricate. He had asked Caesar to come to meet him if he wished to have a discussion, and the latter had done so. Accordingly he sent envoys to the Roman camp to inform the proconsul that Ariovistus was now prepared to meet him personally. Five days passed, with the almost inevitable haggling about how many should be present at the conference and what kind of escort each should be allowed, both men naturally being suspicious and fearing some kind of trap or ambush. It was a historic moment when the great German leader met the Roman proconsul: the representative of the powerful, unknown North and the representative of the Mediterranean world.
Gallic was the lingua franca used by the interpreters between German and Latin, Caesar speaking in his own tongue but Ariovistus, long familiar with Gallic, being able to speak directly through the interpreters. On and on went the long arguments: Ariovistus maintaining that the Romans were interfering in his sphere of influence, Caesar maintaining the opposite, that if the Germans kept out of Gaul then there was no reason for any quarrel. In his Commentaries Caesar was anxious to establish that he was doing no more than his duty in protecting the Roman province (now far away to the south). He was also pleased to be able to insert a statement by Ariovistus that there were many men in Rome who would be happy to see Caesar removed—thus showing up his political opponents as traitors who had inspired disaffection in the legions and were also guilty of trying to betray a Roman proconsul and his legions almost on the field of battle! And Caesar was determined that it should come to battle, for he realized that this powerful and wily German could never be trusted to hold to any agreement that might be hammered out between them. The long dialogue was cut short by a more or less trivial incident in which some of the German troops made a half-hearted attack upon Caesar’s bodyguard. It was enough. Caesar ceased his speech, rejoined his troops, and hastened back to camp. A stupid indiscipline had given him the opportunity he sought.
It was clear that Ariovistus did not want to fight, for he sent a further delegation to the proconsul, seeking another meeting. But Caesar now had his excuse for battle and he was not relinquishing it. He sent back two comparatively insignificant envoys with orders to listen to Ariovistus and report back what he had to say. The German was justifiably angered at what seemed clearly intended as an insult, and had the two men imprisoned in chains. This was, indeed, against all the conventions and Caesar had a further (quotable) excuse for having nothing more to do with this barbarian. War was now inevitable, and both sides began to maneuver for position, Ariovistus attempting to cut off Caesar’s supply route and the latter denying him this advantage by establishing a secondary camp south of the Germans. The battle when it came was swift, bloody and decisive.
Caesar made the first move. The autumn rains were approaching and he wanted to capitalize on the new mood which had been aroused among his troops. To delay would be to the advantage of the enemy. He attacked the camp of Ariovistus with his six legions, advancing in three lines, and the German, forced to fight, ordered his troops out in a counterattack. Caesar himself took command of the Roman right wing, and before long the German left began to yield before the weight of his attack. But in the turmoil of battle Caesar seems to have lost command of the overall picture, and failed to notice that on the left it was the Romans who were giving way before the onslaught of the Germans. The situation was rectified by the young son of the millionaire Crassus, a youth fresh from the soft life of Rome who showed an instinctive grasp of tactical opportunities. Stationed in the rear with his cavalry he observed the position on the Roman left and, without waiting for any orders from his commander, immediately sent up the third legionary line (the reserves) to the relief. Both German wings finally fell back, and the battle turned into a rout. (Like most barbarians they were fine offensive fighters, but they lacked the discipline to maintain an ordered withdrawal.)
There followed a disorderly flight toward the Rhine, a race between pursuers and pursued that was made doubly tragic for the Germans by the fact that their camp lay in the path of the advancing legions. Their wives and children were put to the sword. The two wives of Ariovistus himself perished in this slaughter, one of his daughters was killed and another was taken prisoner. The German chief himself managed to cross the Rhine but he had probably been badly wounded: all we know is that he died soon afterward. The great reputation of the Suebi was destroyed. Only the scattering of a few German tribes, of little importance in themselves, was left in Gaul. For many years to come it was as if a great silence hung over the grand, divisive river of the Rhine. The peace of the sword had descended.
By the end of 58 the first year’s campaigning was over, the threat of the Helvetii eliminated, and the most powerful German tribe so heavily defeated that all the others in that dark land heard of it and withdrew into their forests. If he had acted in accordance with the wishes of the senate Caesar would now have led his troops back into the Roman province. Instead of this he ordered the legions under the command of Labienus to take up winter quarters in and around Vesontio (Besançon), the heartland of the Sequani tribe. The Sequani, who by soliciting German assistance against their neighbors had been so largely responsible for the recent trouble, now found firm shackles laid upon themselves. One thing was clear to all, from tribune to centurion to legionary—they would not have been quartered so far north of Narbonese Gaul if Caesar had no intention for further expansion in the year to come. He himself was off and away before the onset of winter to Cisalpine Gaul: there in the north of Italy to make his circuit administering justice, to raise new legions, to secure close contact with his friends in Rome, and to appraise the situation in the city.
This had changed greatly since his departure in March, and the change cannot have been agreeable to Caesar. Clodius, without a firm hand to rein him in, had exceeded any latitude that Caesar might have allowed. He had turned against Pompey to such an extent that the latter had inclined toward the Optimates. Then, on the disclosure of a plot by Clodius to have him murdered, Pompey had withdrawn into his house with the avowed determination not to leave it until the end of the tribunician year, when Clodius would no longer be protected by his position. Crassus was preoccupied by business and, apart from his aptitude for making money, seems to have been without political ability or real character. Pompey had long shown himself incompetent politically, and Caesar had recognized—as probably he had done all along—that without his presence the triumvirate ceased to function. In this desperate situation, when the city was at the mercy of thugs employed by rival political parties, it was not surprising that a move was afoot to recall Cicero. After all, it was now remembered how well he had dealt with the Catiline conspiracy, and Clodius was another Catiline, equally unstable and violent. One of the senators who supported Cicero’s recall traveled north to see Caesar to try to secure his approval of such a move. Caesar might possibly have agreed if he himself had been in the city, able to keep an eye on Cicero and Clodius alike, but as things stood he gave a temporizing reply. Cicero did not receive permission to return to the city until the summer of the following year.
The situation in Gaul demanded Caesar’s return and for the moment Rome must wait. The quartering of the legions among the Sequani, deep in the heart of Gaul and far removed from the Roman province, had naturally provoked considerable concern among the native peoples. They were not stupid and could read the writing on the wall: the Romans are here to stay. Labienus had not helped matters by actively concerning himself with local politics, favoring the pro-Romans and persecuting those whose nationalism was openly declared. Caesar also heard that the northern tribes of Belgic Gaul, alarmed by what had happened the previous year in the south, were mustering for a collective action against the invaders of the homeland. As evidence of his intentions (though quite unknown to the senate in Rome) Caesar raised a further two legions in Cisalpine Gaul, thus bringing his army strength up to twice that which had been authorized. Hardly had the legions been formed than he sent them across the Alps, under the command of his nephew Q. Pedius, he himself following about a month later at a time when “it began to be possible to get fodder.” The campaigning year of 57 was about to begin.
In these and all subsequent campaigns the Roman attitude was very different from that of other imperialistic and colonizing nations in later centuries. There was not even the pretense of bringing a superior culture or religion to the conquered. It is true that over the years the civilization of the Mediterranean did spread northward throughout Gaul, finally even reaching Britain, but this was an accidental byproduct of the presence of the legions in the conquered countries. First in the wake of the soldiers came the slave-dealers, always ready to conduct business as soon as a battle or a campaign was concluded. Healthy strong slaves such as Gaul was to provide were always welcome in a civilization based on slave-labor. Even so, the dealers did not like a glut on the market and, to maintain the price, would tend to regulate their quotas for release, keeping back much of their “raw material” in slave-camps for training in talents suitable for the home, while simple brutish strength could be quickly disposed of to farm or mine. All roads did indeed lead to Rome, but precious little came back in return. The city was not, as Carthage had been, a great manufacturing center and furthermore it lived largely on grain imports from Sicily, Egypt and North Africa. Rome, at any rate during this period of its history, ran much as did the later Ottoman Empire on a principle of “ever-extending conquest.” The loot of conquered lands and captured cities went back to swell the city’s wealth and power—as well as rewarding the conquering generals, officers and legionaries—while the permanent possessions of a country, iron and silver for example, would be worked on the spot by the conquered inhabitants for the benefit of the ruling power.
After the soldiers and the slave-dealers came the merchants and the tax-gatherers, the former (as in later colonial Africa, for example) to trade the insubstantial for the substantial, and the latter to drain into Italy the wealth that had previously gone to tribal chieftains. No missionaries followed the eagles, for in one thing Rome was, however unwittingly, more farsighted than later conquerors—completely tolerant or indeed indifferent to foreign religions. (Most of the Sky Gods, Mother Goddesses, Gods of War and so on were usually easy to equate with those already existing in the Greco-Roman pantheon.) The Romans did later persecute the Druids, the center of whose Celtic cult was in Britain, but this was less because of their practice of human sacrifice than because they were at the heart of nationalism, and therefore resistance to Roman power. As for Caesar, he had no civilizing mission, nor real sense of racial superiority. From the conquered he sought money and fame, and above all fame as a world general sufficient to eclipse Pompey. The slaves, the loot from temples and chieftains’ houses, the profit from metals and mines, all helped to enrich him. But the bodies, living and dead, of the conquered were the raw material which he used to further a political career. Pompey had erred in thinking that the fame he had gained by his conquests in the East and his reorganization of ancient states for the benefit of the republic would make his position unassailable. Where he had erred, and where Caesar did not err, was in failing to understand that the real levers of power lay always in Rome.