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Against Rome |
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Back to section ii of this chapter IV. Vendorix, Southern
Gaul, iii Half
a month passed. Anticipation for some, like Borix and Dorix. Dread for others,
like Geta and Borva. Vendorix himself felt the suspense keenly. He’d done what
he could to head off trouble when Hannibal descended upon them. But would it be enough? After
all, he already knew, in heart as well as mind, how vast Hannibal’s army was.
When they descended upon his oppidum, it would be a visitation of
locusts, checked only as much as one man could check them. Hannibal had given
him assurances, but in the end they would be worth only so much. It would be the
locusts who decided the outcome. And
his own people were, in truth, almost as problematic. No doubt he had more
control than Hannibal had, but would that be enough? Vendorix
knew immediately when Hannibal drew near to his oppidum a month after his return from the Pyrenees. His scouts had
shadowed Hannibal’s army for days. Mysteriously, Hannibal did not send
emissaries ahead. Vendorix had to wait without any good sense of how it would
go. For
all he knew, they might yet sweep through like the locusts he’d compared them
to. When
the scouts reported the army three days from the oppidum, Vendorix gave
orders. “Move
the remaining valuables, especially the women and children.” And
it was done. The women and children departed laughing nervously, waving a
temporary goodbye to their men, finally relieved of the worst suspense, waiting
for the big event. They moved off to cross the little river and take smokeless
refuge in the well-hidden caves above it. Vendorix
said goodbye to his wife, Borva, who looked tense. She had beset him with a
thousand questions about Hannibal, for she saw nothing but risk. “You’re
sure you’ve judged this Hannibal correctly?” she asked, eyes burning into
his. “I
met him myself, and I talked to many of his men. You know I’m a good judge of
character.” “Well,
you’d better be right, or we could lose everything.” But
off she went with the other women and the children. As his wife, she would put
on a good face for the others even if she did harbor doubts. Geta
had been as big a problem, eternally pessimistic. Hannibal would not prove to be
a man of honor. His men would be wild barbarians. They would all be ravenous,
eating the oppidum out of everything it had, destroying everything in
their path. They would find the caves across the river. They would rape and
murder the women. Vendorix
took to avoiding him. A
few of the older women had volunteered to remain behind. These, and the men,
whistling cheerily and calling to one another in passing, went about their
business, although most of it managed to be near the oppidum. When
the lead elements of Hannibal’s army reached the oppidum,
Vendorix went out to meet them, walking up the road between ranks of oak trees
with Geta and the other leaders, accompanied by some of the younger men as well,
including Borix and Dorix, whom Vendorix could not have kept away for ten
talents of gold. They
waited in the heat, the sun beating down without mercy. They had seen a great
dark cloud approaching all day, and it seemed to take forever to come close. Finally,
Hannibal came riding down the road on a huge elephant, followed at some distance
by an even greater beast with many tens of thousands of legs, seeming to
materialize out of that tall brown cloud trailing behind it. Vendorix
recognized Hannibal from his visit in the Pyrenees, although the man looked
different without his swarm of gaudy butterflies. Hannibal would have seemed
diminished—to Vendorix, though not to the others—except for the elephant he
bestrode, which went a long way towards magnifying him. He somehow looked a
colossus on the monstrous gray beast. Vendorix could hear his people muttering
in awe. As
Hannibal approached, he waved, obviously recognizing Vendorix. “Ho,
Vendorix,” he called. His smile seemed genuine enough. “Hannibal.” Behind
him, there was a sudden hush, as if the thirty or so men in the greeting party
had stopped breathing. “I
trust we’re still welcome?” Hannibal said. “As
welcome as a horde of locusts can be,” Vendorix said. But he said it with a
smile. “Well
said, my friend. We’ll trouble you as little as possible.” “Thank
you.” That
had better be true. As Borva said, everything was riding on it. Hannibal
jumped down to walk with Vendorix, a muscular arm companionably thrown around
Vendorix’s shoulder. He presented Vendorix with gifts for himself, his wife,
and the oppidum’s elders. Expensive gifts of gold and silver, well
wrought though plainer of style than Vendorix’s people liked. “Where
is your wife?” Hannibal asked. “Tending
my pigs.” “Well—see
how she likes this.” He held out a beautiful mirror, its silver surface
polished so it presented almost no distortion of Vendorix’s placid face and
limed hair when he looked into it. “Thank
you,” he said. “She will be pleased.” Behind
Vendorix, Borix and Dorix were nearly tripping over each other, panting for
recognition. Vendorix gave it to them. “These,”
he said, sweeping a hand back to indicate them, “are my sons.” “Ah,
good sturdy lads,” Hannibal said. “And nearly warriors.” “Not
quite,” Vendorix said. “Only sixteen.” But the twins were beaming, big
sloppy grins creasing their broad farm boy faces. They reminded Vendorix of his
dogs. He felt intense pride in them. Not only had Borva given him sons, but
great strong sons, whom he’d watched with wonder and joy as swaddled babes, as
toddlers in constant trouble, as ten-year-olds enduring frequent scoldings from
Borva and Alla, his sister, winking slyly to each other even as they were
berated. They’d run wild in the hills and creeks around the oppidum,
dragged home fish nearly as big as themselves from the river, committed every
brand of mischief conceivable. Dorix, especially, was a prankster, ever full of
laughter, loving nothing better than to trick Borix, the more sober one, or,
better still, get him into trouble. Not that Borix was immune to deviltry, not
at all. Vendorix
loved every sly, mischievous bone in their hulking bodies. His heart warmed to
see Hannibal smile at them, and them rising like cats to this exalted attention,
preening beneath it. Vendorix
showed Hannibal where he’d set aside a very large area for their camp. His
people had quickly harvested the crops in these fields at the last minute—much
too early to harvest, but at least not a total waste. Now he sold the
prematurely reaped crops to Hannibal to feed his animals, making a profit while
reducing the damage the animals might do to crops still in the fields. Even
so, he’d missed his guess as to how much space an army of perhaps seventy or
eighty thousand would require. Hannibal kept them from spilling out across too
much more of Vendorix’s land, but there was more damage than he’d hoped to
see. Still, Hannibal seemed sensitive enough to his hosts. He sent part of his
vast company ahead several miles, just beyond Vendorix’s fields, somewhat
relieving the burden. Hannibal’s
camp was nearly the largest thing Vendorix had ever seen—in the Pyrenees, much
of it had occupied successive valleys, so that he could never see it all. Now he
saw something almost to rival the few cities he was familiar with, principally
Narbo and Massilia. The
day after Hannibal’s arrival, Vendorix and Geta walked the camp’s crowded,
narrow streets, taking it all in. “Look,
there are shops, just like in Narbo,” Geta said. Indeed,
strolling down the long crooked main street of the camp, Vendorix saw a
shoemaker bent over to drive a nail into the thick leather sole of a boot on his
small workbench. Behind him stood several low shelves filled with new boots, and
a tall stack of well-tanned hides was visible inside his little tent. He
probably slept on them. Down
the street there were also tanners, farriers, tailors, and a dozen other trades
with small shops operating from many tents. There were even a few brothels,
though it would have taken several thousand prostitutes to fully service so many
men. The
two paused longer when they came to an area where Hannibal had parked his
wagons. Hundreds of wagons bore siege artillery, spare armor, arrows and spears,
extra horse tack, and huge amounts of feed for the men, horses, mules, and
elephants. The noise and dust were overpowering. “Now
this is an army,” Geta said, clearly awed and, for once, impressed rather than
dismayed. Vendorix
pursed his lips and said nothing. This was a beast that could eat his people in
an eye blink. As
for Vendorix’s plan, Geta had been the chief skeptic. “He’ll
never fall for it.” “If
we make it believable enough, he will. Besides, I’m going to ensure he thinks
well of us.” “Fah,”
Geta said. “Good luck at that.” Next section of IV. Vendorix, Southern Gaul, 218 B.C. Back to Top
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