I smiled. 'Not unless I were so wicked I needed an extra day to complete my confession.'
He nodded. 'Exactly,' he said. 'And between one day and the next, how small is the difference? I will die eventually. To me it is no great thing to die tomorrow rather than twenty or fifty years later.'
I said nothing, but pondered his strange fatalism. To Julian, one day or two might be of no concern — but to the thirteen thousand legionaries marching under his command, whether their leader emerged from battle dead or alive made all the difference in the world.
'The Fates,' he said, 'will take me when they will.'
Thus we found ourselves that day in late August, picking our way carefully across the silent plains toward the barbarians' stronghold at Strasbourg, twenty-one miles from our starting point that morning. The infantry advanced steadily along the road, the engineers and drovers marching in the van to remove the logs and other obstacles the barbarians had used to impede our advance. Our flanks were protected by roving squadrons of sagitarii, sharp- shooting archers, who often disappeared into grain growing higher than their heads. The cataphracti, heavily armored horsemen led by a crack cavalry officer named Severus, ranged ahead and far to the sides to occupy prominent positions along the route and capture any Alemanni scouts they might encounter. I had the good fortune to be riding a cavalry horse, but it was unimaginable to me how the infantry troops were able to keep up their spirits in the deadly heat, bearing eighty-pound packs with their gear and weapons, on a diet which for the last two weeks had consisted largely of hardtack, gnawed stale when on the march, or softened in warm lard when in camp. Amazingly, morale remained high, as if Barbatio's retreat had actually removed a burden from our shoulders rather than created one.
As we crested a low hill, three mounted enemy scouts burst out of a hedgerow in which they had been hiding and raced away to the east on small Hunnish ponies that our cavalry were unable to run down. One enemy soldier on foot, however, whose horse had been lamed and who was found cowering in the hedge where his faithless colleagues had abandoned him, was captured. Under interrogation he informed us that the Alemanni had been crossing to our side of the river for three days and nights, a sign that the enemy troop strength was greater than we had feared. Julian called a halt at the crossing over a small stream, the water of which had been reduced to a brackish trickle, summoned in the scouts and snipers, and assembled the troops in the little shade that was available beneath a copse of sparse chestnut trees.
Climbing the low bank to a boulder protruding from the side to form a natural platform, he stood in the open sun and removed his battle helmet, then stripped off the woolen caul fitted to his scalp to protect his head from the inner seams and rubbing of the helmet. This he ostentatiously wrung out in front of the men, grinning as the stream of sweat poured onto the rock and steamed. Many of the troops did the same. His face then became serious, and rather than the orator's harangue he normally delivered before battle, he assumed an informal, conversational tone so soft that the men stifled their restless shuffling and edged forward to a close circle around him, to better hear his words.
'Men, hear me well; I tell you this only out of concern for your safety and well-being, for I do not doubt your courage. As your Caesar I offer you the advice a good father would to his sons: choose caution rather than risk. Warriors must be bold when the occasion requires, and you have proven your valor well; but when in danger they must be obedient and deliberate.
'I will tell you my opinion. Heed what I say. It is now noon. Already we have marched ten miles in full panoply under a burning sun, and we are tired and hungry. The road ahead of us to the river is even rougher than it has been thus far, and if night catches us still marching, there will be nothing to light our way, for the moon is waning. The country ahead of us is burnt up by the heat — our scouts report there is no water to be had for miles. And when we do overcome these difficulties, what we will face at the end of the road is a body of enemy three times our number — rested and refreshed, camped by an enormous river of cool, fresh water, and now warned of our approach by the enemy scouts who just slipped through our grasp. What strength will we have to meet Chonodomarius and his fellow giants, when we ourselves are worn out by hunger, thirst, and marching? I propose we set a watch and remain here tonight, where we have a broad view of the plains all around and protection in this dry ditch, with a bank of scrub trees for a rampart. Then at first light, after a good sleep and a hot breakfast, God willing, we will march our standards to victory…'
His voice was drowned out by an uproar and the fierce clashing of spears against shields. The men were actually shouting him down, venting their impatience and even rage, roaring their determination to continue the march and attack immediately. He watched for a moment, expressionless, then raised his arms for silence, and the shouting gradually died down.
'Men,' he cried, 'strong arms are nothing if not supported by full bellies and stout legs! I seek only to make our victory all the more certain by…'
More shouts, and then Marius, an older centurion who was one of Julian's trainers in swordsmanship, clambered onto a small mound in the middle of the riverbed and raised his own hands for silence. The tanned, hard-looking veteran showed every day of his thirty-odd years of service to Rome in the weather-beaten lines of his face and arms.
'Caesar — you concern yourself with our safety, but by holding us back you keep safe the barbarians instead! The warning they are receiving of our approach is a chance for them to escape. If we wait until tomorrow, they'll have time to flee, and you will have deprived us of a certain victory. This, Caesar, we will not allow!'
Cheers roared up from the men surrounding him on the riverbank, and the troops surged forward to where Julian stood unflinching on his rock, facing Marius with an expressionless gaze. The men again clattered their shields with their spears, this time setting up a chant — 'Vic-to-ry! Vic-to-ry!' — imploring their Caesar to lead them on to the invading Alemanni.
Julian raised his hand for silence. 'Men! How often have I heard you, the bravest of you, exclaim 'When will we find the enemy? When will we fight?' Well, here they are, chased from their lairs. The field is open, as you hoped it would be. An easy path awaits you if you win, but know this — know this! You will have a terrible, uphill struggle if you lose. The miles of hard march behind you, the dark forests you have conquered, the rivers and swamps you have crossed — all these are witness to your bravery and determination, but only if you win! If you retreat, all these become deadly liabilities. You will die!
'We do not have the enemy's local knowledge of the area, nor their abundant supplies. But we have strong hands, and the swords they hold are of Roman steel, and we have the power and might of Rome behind us, and I defy any enemy to vanquish us with God on our side! No army, no general, can safely turn his back on the enemy — nor shall we! If you are determined to press forward now, we shall do so to complete victory or death. I yield to your obstinacy — I yield to your valor! Fall in by company and march out. God grant us victory this day, and the devil take the Beast!'
The men roared and scrambled out of the dry riverbed, pouring from the depth of the ditch onto the road like ants from a hole, sharpened spears held high, gleaming in the blinding sun. Incredibly, despite the heat, they set off in perfect company formation, not marching but trotting, reciting as their cadence an obscene old victory song about devastating the Gauls, and even the Gallic auxiliaries joined in with grins, in their sheer exuberance at preparing to rout the Alemanni. Julian sat astride his horse at the side of the road, his right arm outstretched in salute as his troops passed in formation, looking the men in the eye as they marched, nodding solemnly at those whom he knew. As the last company of auxiliaries strode by, cheering, he glanced casually over at Sallustius, next to him on his own mount.
'Well, that worked,' he said simply.
Within three hours we topped a low rise, yielding a vast view of the horizons below us, with the Rhine not more than two miles distant and the great walled city of Strasbourg just before that. The tiny Ill River meandered across the foreground, through the walls and heart of the city, to emerge on the other side, a languid stream gliding gentle and smooth, like a slow trickle of olive oil. Before the stream, in a vast display of color and strength, was a heart-stopping sight. With an order and precision unprecedented in our months of fighting the Alemanni, Chonodomarius and his chieftains had arrayed their troops below us, thirty-five thousand strong, in a series of six dense, wedge-shaped units, forming a solid block of men across a distance of a half-mile, their backs to the river, their faces all turned expectantly and silently toward us as our column marched over the rise and down the other side.
Hundreds of pennants, each painted and embroidered with their family and clan crests in differing levels of crudeness or expertise, fluttered from cavalry lances. The men, in varying states of armor and undress and with their bodies, faces, and shields hideously painted, stood motionless and massive in perfect formation. Their broad
