From Part One: Cruelty

And the re-reading indicates that the bridges on the Rhone were burned immediately upon his arrival in Geneva. Proconsul Caesar had powerful reasons to burn the bridges: some things had to happen quickly and at any cost.

The proconsul realized perfectly that such an opportunity might never knock again. He had to act. He had waited for decades, and there it was, at last, right in front of him: His Opportunity.

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The original plan had been different: it was supposed to be Egypt, not Gaul. But… better Gaul than nothing.

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The word had come to him in Rome that cities were burning on the other side of the river. This is why he traveled posthaste from Rome. When he arrived, the news was confirmed. Yes. These fellows were actually burning their cities.

The proconsul was impressed: what a steely determination! Well, well, they’re burning their cities and all their surplus grain!

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Well, well! What a pity this wasn’t Egypt! Egypt was cultured. All those Greek intellectuals passionately debating esoteric subjects—enough to prevent a simple mass mobilization. And all these politicos feeding at the trough and always on the lookout out for something to pocket.

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One knocked such countries over with one’s pinky.

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But here, ouch! Damned barbarians, disciplined and systematic: burning city after city, no philosophers of any sort in sight, the society uncouth and capable of complete self-sacrifice.

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This was going to be hard.

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This was a curious business, by the way: what was this Divico fellow thinking? He was going to be Caesar’s first opponent: a barbarian, a raw intellect, but— oh!—what a towering ambition! Making his whole nation get up and walk clear across Gaul from their old homeland in Switzerland to a new promised land on the Atlantic shore. This was no joke, even if the nation was unused to civilized comforts. Yet, Divico dared it, and his people were prepared to march. They took along only the grain they could load on their wagons, and the rest they burned.

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Leaving no way back.

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A point of no return.

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They burned it all, too: not just towns but also villages and even isolated single homesteads. Romans calculated there were some 400 villages there.

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The tactic of scorched earth. Ha ha. And against his own people!

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This showed a rare political talent: to leave your own people without a choice. A political genius: the barbarian leader of the Helvetii showed as much intelligence as daring.

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But what was he hoping to achieve? Surely, he was not setting out to conquer Gaul, not with women and children in tow? (Even if the proconsul would trumpet that “conquest” version from now on. Because here, standing here by the river, Caesar thought this version the most useful: it would play well in Rome and terrify the Gauls).

But what were Divico’s true intentions? What was he aspiring to be? The man of providence? His people’s savior? The providential man who had led his people from the rough mountains onto the rich seashore? The hero of his people’s songs? Their great reformer?

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Well, little Divico would not become any of those things.

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Sorry, but those roles had already been reserved for Caesar – and on a somewhat grander scale, too. Divico would only serve Caesar’s cause this much, and unknowingly, too: he would cause a little stir, just enough to allow Caesar finally to begin.

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Yet, what a curious coincidence of ambitions. And quite amusing, too: Julius Caesar, the Roman proconsul, and Divico, the chief of hairy barbarians, both had identical life goals.

Spring arrived late in the north. In March, it was still cold. The weather prevented campaigning, and everything had happened so quickly that Caesar had not even managed to raise a sufficient force. His contingent was meager: just one legion. Five thousand men.

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Thus, he would have to start from zero. Or nearly zero. Of course, he immediately issued orders to raise provincial troops. On the double. But for the moment, his command of geography and his diplomatic skills would have to suffice – until the new troops arrived.

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Galia est omnis divisa in partes tres, he will write later.

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That is: all Gaul consists of three parts. (In the future, we will make more parts and make sure those parts fight each other like mad dogs). But for the moment, here was the lay of the land: Acquitaines, Celts, and Belgians. The bravest of them all were, of course, the Belgians because they lived furthest away from civilization. They had no trade with Rome at all, and luxury goods, of the sort that weakened manly resolve, never got that far north. Sadly, Belgium was definitely not Egypt. Besides, their main occupation was waging war against the Germans, so you get the idea.

But that was also the Celtic Helvetii’s main business, and they were now preparing for mass migration. They had remained, until now, in a deep mountain valley, deep and dark, like a leather sack. They had not imported too many of those manhood-weakening Roman luxury goods, either, even though they’d been close neighbors. In any case, they had had enough Germans and wanted to get out of their sack and seek a greener pasture. The question was: which route would they take?

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It wasn’t too hard to guess. There were only two possible routes.

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The first, through the Roman territory, would be easy; the other, through the territory of the Sequanians—extraordinarily hard. Over there, they’d have to push their way between the river Rhone River and the mountain range of Jura: a narrow passage indeed. A wagon would pass, but only one at a time, single file; two side-by-side wouldn’t make it. Conclusion? Easy. They will try to cross the Rhone and then sneak through the Roman territory along this side of the river. That’s why the proconsul ordered the bridges destroyed.

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But they can’t stay at home because they have burned their cities, see? So the unfortunate Divico will have to run into Caesar eventually. Let anyone then claim that Caesar had not been provoked!

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When a man has turned forty-two, it is hard to wait for better opportunities. After all, one has to begin someday. It is all well and good to wait when you are twenty. Up to thirty, maybe. At such an age, you’re inclined to think everything is temporary. You’re not really living your life, you’re just trying different things. But then, suddenly, the realization hits you: this thing is your life, and one-half of it has passed already, and there will never be a second chance.

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Alexander the Great had been quicker. He had started younger. Now, you have to catch up.

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How many Gauls are there, all told? Must be five million or so. One would have to kill about half of them to amount to something. Clearly, there was no time to waste.

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