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Against Rome |
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Back to section i of this chapter IV. Vendorix, Southern
Gaul, ii Six
days later, in plenty of time for the harvest festival of Lughnasa at the
beginning of the coming month, he approached his own oppidum, a
stone-walled fortress situated on a hill in the center of a broad, lush plain
sown with crops. The outermost lookout whistled as Vendorix passed. The
oppidum, really a high stone wall
around several sturdy stone buildings, was defensible, though small, having just
enough space to store the clan’s few treasures and their valuable foodstuffs,
more to shelter perishables from the weather than anything else. It could be
held against small groups of raiders but not against an army like
Hannibal’s—part of the reason for the plan he was preparing against
Hannibal’s arrival. Several
warriors rode out to meet him on hearing the lookouts’ whistles. They wore the
same colorful fine-woven woolen shirts over woolen trousers that he did, topped
with bright shawls, carrying only spears and their swords on chain belts, bare
heads helmetless. All of them sported a good deal of jewelry, though, and had
elaborate blue curlicue paintings on arms and hands, as did Vendorix when he
hadn’t been on the road for many days. Most were bearded like Vendorix. Half
a dozen large dogs accompanied them, barking and milling around the horses’
legs as the men met. Among them were Vendorix’s Pyrenees shepherds, large
white dogs he called Artio and Belenus. These came to him immediately, and he
reached down a hand to stroke their shaggy heads. But
it was Borix and Dorix he liked most to see. These greeted him affectionately,
sidling their horses up to reach and clasp his hand in their own big paws, wide
faces alight and hair aflame. It reminded him of the corona of butterflies
around Hannibal’s dark head, but orange rather than gold. “Father,” they
said in unison. Both looked about to burst with their curiosity, though they
knew their place as sixteen-year-olds among the seasoned warriors around them. “How
did it go?” asked Vendorix’s brother-in-law Geta, a big man, broad of
shoulder and thick of neck, hair whitened and spiked back with chalky lime
water, so he looked like a bleached woodpecker. His beard was dirty blond.
(Vendorix would look much like Geta had he not been on the road.) Geta seldom
smiled, nor was he smiling now. Geta’s three boys were there behind him, avid
as Borix and Dorix. “It
went very well,” Vendorix said, now not looking nearly as stupid as he had in
Hannibal’s camp. “What’s
this Hannibal like?” Geta asked. “I
think he’s a very great soldier, a formidable man. The Romans I saw in
Massilia will not overcome this one. The battle will be interesting when it
comes.” “How
long do we have before he arrives?” “Perhaps
a month. With so large an army he’ll travel slowly, I think.” “How
many?” “At
least half a hundred thousand, maybe almost a hundred,” Vendorix replied.
“And he has elephants.” “I’ve
never seen an elephant,” Borix said. “What are they like?” Beside
Borix, his twin brother Dorix was just as excited. Both young men hulked bigger
than Vendorix himself, almost as big as their Uncle Geta. “Huge.
As big as our smokehouse.” The
boys goggled at this. He could almost see them trying to picture the smokehouse
thumping along on legs like tree trunks. “We
may not survive their passage,” Geta said. *
* * In
the village, Vendorix became again the chieftain of this branch of the Volcae
Arecomici, the largest tribe in this part of southern Gaul, living on a wide
Mediterranean seaboard plain west of the Rhodanus River. Most of the people who
lived here—some five hundred of them—were related to him in one way or
another. Much
had already been done in his absence, but there was more to do. Outside
the stone-walled oppidum stood forty
rectangular houses with thatched roofs, several of them rather large. Beyond
these lay the farmsteads—smaller thatched houses, most of them, with a few
outbuildings: pigpens, chicken coops, smokehouses, storerooms, privies. As
usual, activity buzzed around all of these. A gang of men were erecting a new
barn at one of the farmsteads. Others—men, women, and children—hurried about
hundreds of other tasks. Not a one of them was idle. The
problem, as Vendorix saw it, was to arrange matters so that even if Hannibal’s
word was not good he would do as little damage as possible. The
dwellings and other buildings were surrounded by fields of grains and
vegetables—a largely self-sufficient community, with crops including emmer,
spelt, breadwheat, barley, millet. Other fields grew beans, peas, lentils, and
other vegetables, and some fruit trees and berry bushes. Here and there a field
was sown with flax for linen and flaxseed oil, and there were also some olive
trees and grape vines. Some
large areas were devoted to pasture for cattle, horses, sheep, and goats. Narrow
lanes connected the farmsteads to the oppidum.
Most of the farmsteads were encircled by groves of trees, especially oaks, which
the Gauls and their stock used as shelter in hot weather. Their pigs also prized
the acorns. No
doubt some of the pasturage would have to be sacrificed, for a large area had to
be set aside for Hannibal’s tents, his baggage and artillery, his thousands of
horses and his elephants. As
it was already a third of the way through the month the Romans called Sextilis,
with autumn approaching, many of the fields were well along, though hardly any
were ready to harvest yet. As much of this bounty as possible must be preserved
from Hannibal’s tens of thousands of mouths, lest winter find the oppidum
empty long before next year’s seeds could produce anything harvestable. Half
an hour later, standing in front of his house, the largest in the village, just
outside the fortifications, Vendorix spoke to his lieutenants. “You’ve
taken care of the gold and other valuables?” he asked. “Yes,
including the gold that Hannibal’s emissary brought us in exchange for safe
passage through our lands. There’s a little left, but not much.” “And
there is food for his men and animals?” “Yes—but
not all of our food. There will be enough for us after he passes, though it will
be a lean winter.” “Good.
Let’s finish that. And when the time is right, we’ll see to the women and
children as well.”. *
* * After
six more days, Vendorix rode out of the oppidum, heading east to cross
the Rhodanus, then southeast to Massilia, which he had already visited more than
a month ago to learn the truth that the Romans were there. Now he must report to
the Romans as he had to Hannibal, although they would hear a version of events
that would keep them near Massilia rather than advancing anywhere near his
lands. He was well satisfied with his work when he returned home twelve days
later, at the beginning of September. Let
the giants wrestle far from his women and his crops. Next section of IV. Vendorix, Southern Gaul, 218 B.C.
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