De Bello Lemures, Or The Roman War Against the Zombies of Armorica
Page 1
Lucius Artorius Castus
DE BELLO LEMURES
Or,
The Roman War Against
the Zombies of Armorica
ANNOTATED AND WITH AN
INTRODUCTION BY THOMAS BROOKSIDE
HISTORIC Ω CLASSICS
Copyright © Thomas Brookside 2009
All rights reserved.
Set in Monotype Georgia
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise recirculated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
FOREWORD
At the close of the last century, the revolutionary advances in the imaging of ancient manuscripts achieved by the team assembled by Baltimore’s Walters Art Museum to recover the Archimedes Codex C ushered in a new era in paleography.[1] Documents that had been believed to be irretrievably illegible due to the ravages of time, dirt, weather, vandalism, and even volcanic eruption were now decipherable using the team’s cutting-edge multispectral imaging and synchrotronic x-ray techniques. New technology made it possible to imagine that “lost” works by ancient playwrights, essayists, scientists and mathematicians might be rediscovered hiding in virtually any repository of ancient or medieval documents, and researchers swarmed through libraries and museum collections to seek them out.
Although the techniques in question were of great value in uncovering text obscured by water damage or carbonization, their greatest utility was in assisting the reading and deciphering of palimpsests.[2] Even the most faint and obscure writing could be thrown into vivid relief by multispectral imaging of the materials used in different ink types. In the case of the Archimedes Codex C, although the original ink had been scraped off the pages with a pumice stone and the writing surface cleaned with acid by the 13th century monk who re-used the parchment to make a prayer book, researchers armed with the new technology were able to see past the monk’s handwriting to the Archimedes text below it. As the technique was refined, even multiple palimpsests – where the erasing and overwriting process had happened more than once – yielded up their secrets.
It was perhaps inevitable that this process would lead to the discovery of so-called secret palimpsests [or “Yetis”, as they are sometimes jokingly named in the paleography community]: documents which had not previously even been identifiable as palimpsests because the original handwriting had been so thoroughly erased that it was no longer visible to the naked eye, or even under an ultraviolet lamp. After Oxford researchers discovered the first “Yeti”, literally every ancient or medieval document had to be considered a potential palimpsest, and the amount of material that could be usefully subjected to analysis as part of the search for lost works expanded by several orders of magnitude.
It was during a comprehensive multi-spectral search of the document trove held at the Universitätsbibliothek Salzburg that the curious and much-debated work that follows was discovered. A contemporary copy of Freidank’s Bescheidenheit that had not previously been identified as a palimpsest was revealed to be a “Yeti” by synchrotronic x-ray analysis. The Freidank copy had been assembled out of a pastiche of parchments from different documents. A portion of the underlying text was quickly determined to be a fragment of Vitruvius’ On Architecture; the balance, it eventually became clear, was something else indeed.
Lucius Artorius Castus was a minor figure in 2nd century history, known primarily from inscriptions, including his funerary inscription. Despite his personal obscurity [some might say insignificance], Castus is relatively well-known in the modern era, due mainly to the fact that his nomen[3] and some details of his life history and legionary cavalry service in Roman Britannia have caused him to be advanced as a candidate to have been the historical basis for the “Arthur” legend. When it was recognized that the new work purported to be a copy of a history written by Castus in the form of a long letter or address, delighted scholars hoped that it might shed light on this curiously interesting figure, as well as upon the broader history of the declining years of the Antonine dynasty. As the complete – or nearly complete – work was uncovered, that initial hope and delight turned into shock, and furious controversy.
The controversy, of course, arose from the fact that the letter purported to be an account of a supernatural event - or an epidemiological event so badly misunderstood as to appear supernatural - involving Roman legionaries and auxiliaries on the Brittany peninsula in the late 2nd century.
Immediately, accusations were leveled that the work was a forgery or hoax, but it was rapidly determined that this was virtually impossible. The chain of provenance of the Salzburg Freidank was beyond question, and that undisputed 13th century work was written over the Castus text. If De Bello Lemures, as the work became known[4], is a hoax, it has to be a 13th century hoax – and the questions that would be raised if that were so would be almost as profound as those raised if the work is a genuine recounting of the experiences or perceived experiences of a 2nd century Roman nobleman. In the production of this translation I have worked with the assumption that the work is genuine.
Others have argued that, given the subject matter, it is plain that the work was intended to be a work of fiction or proto-novel after the manner of the Satyricon. This is, of course, a position that has in its favor the fact that it does not require us to explain the bizarre events the author describes. But this view is undermined by the fact that the type of narrative contained in De Bello Lemures was only attained elsewhere by Roman authors in the production of histories; as a proto-novel it would represent an advance in literary form, achieved just once for this work and never achieved again by any Roman author. In addition, the work would not merely be a literary advance as a proto-novel; it would represent a proto-novel written as a faux history, essentially leaping over the entire early history of the form and landing squarely in the middle of post-modernism. The proto-novel theory is also undermined by the fact that we have absolutely no evidence that Castus was a literary figure in addition to being a military one – no literary activity is mentioned in the inscription on his funerary monument, and no fragment of his writing or reference to his writing appears in the work of any other Roman author. To support the proto-novel thesis we would have to conclude that Castus was a unique literary figure who produced a unique literary work; and that despite this work being completely un-noticed by his contemporaries it was preserved by copyists for a thousand years before it was finally forgotten. Next to this string of unlike-lihoods, the idea that De Bello Lemures is exactly what it claims to be is not that incredible.
Archaeological research at sites referenced by Castus is ongoing. It is greatly aided by the precise description of locations and distances the author provides in his narrative. We may be just one turn of the spade and one more “discovery” away from settling the question of which camp in the debate over this work is correct. Until the question is settled, we have to be satisfied with the work itself.
A Note on Punctuation:
All punctuation used here is interpolated from the text. Classical Latin did not employ punctuation. In some cases, to aid the readability of the text and for aesthetic purposes conversations Castus recounts in the third person have been rearranged into the dialogue form, including conversation marks, that is customary and familiar to modern readers.
ONE
In the year when Marcus Umbrius Primus was consul suffectus[5] the deserter and traitor Maternus[6], drawing to himself the worst criminals and desperadoes, launched his revolt in that portion of Gallia Comata[7] called Armorica.
Armorica consisted of a broad peninsula, extending a considerable distance out into Oceanus, along with the land watered by the river Liger[8] and its tributaries. Although included in the province of Gallia Lugdunensis, it has long been a backwater, with many of its villages as rude as they were when the great Julius first brought our civilization to the northern Gauls. The long traffic and commerce between the Armoricans and the tribes of Britannia, including the savage Selgovae and Caledonii beyond our defenses, is no doubt responsible for this backwardness.[9]
Maternus preyed upon the simplicity of the Armoricans, gaining their allegiance with false promises and deceptions. He took great advantage of the resentment of the peasant for the tax collector, as brigands of his kind always do. In each city his men freed all the prisoners, no matter how degenerate their crimes, and promised these men freedom in exchange for service;[10] this same offer was made to many slaves. He also cruelly played upon the superstitions prevalent among the tribes of the peninsula, which the governors at Lugdunum[11] have never been able to fully stamp out. His promises to restore the ancient religion of the grove won many of the uncouth to his side, and brought many secret Druids out of hiding.
I, Lucius Artorius Castus, was made dux[12] of the cohorts sent by the Emperor to crush these bandits and to restore the writ of law. Crossing from Dubris to Gesoriacum[13] with my Iazyges[14] and with such cohorts of the VI Victrix as could be spared from duty at Eboracum[15], I rapidly drove Maternus and his lieutenants into hiding[16], and snuffed out the revolt as water will a flame.
It is not necessary for me to recount that campaign in any great detail here, as it has been exhaustively recorded in my letters to Publius Helvius Pertinax[17], copies of which were read to the Senate. I mean instead, in this letter, to describe the strange and horrible events that followed the revolt, after the last open defiance had been defeated in the field and those survivors who had not been captured and executed had melted away into the countryside. For in Armorica I met a greater enemy than any bandit chief or usurper. A horror stalks the forests there that cannot be propitiated, and this history must be heeded if it is not to devour us all.
TWO
We crucified the last of the rebel die-hards on a hill overlooking the thirteenth milestone outside of Portus Namnetus[18] on the eve of the Kalends of November[19]. They had been captured by ruse the day before, as they raided a nearby villa. Short of food and maddened by shame at our many victories over them, their foraging could no longer be distinguished from rapine, and their desperation made them careless. I had ordered lightly armed scouts and javelin-men from the provincial auxiliaries hidden among the farm outbuildings and in the ergastulum[20] of the estate, and these had sprung forth when the raiders arrived; they fixed the enemy in place until cavalry hidden nearby could engage and capture them. We had piled the dead into an open offal midden and marched the prisoners to a site where their horrible end could be instructive to the passers-by.
The crucifixions were just a last bit of business to attend to prior to closing out the campaign. Each palus[21] had been set to face as many of the others as possible, so that the rebels could all see the end to which their crimes had brought them and their fellows. I wished to conclude the executions that afternoon, in order to return my men on the following day to the main encampment outside the port; as the prisoners hung in the bronze autumn sun, we waited and fretted, impatient to leave. To speed matters along I had ordered that the crurifragium[22] be performed; the executioner’s boys had gone to each gibbet in turn and broken the condemned man’s legs with a heavy iron bar, to hasten the moment at which their strength and breath would fail. This would save us much time, even if it was a mercy that the rebels did not deserve; a man with his legs intact can survive on the cross for days, but without the ability to support his weight a prisoner will expire quite quickly.
With me was Radamyntos, the decurion of the senior turma[23] of the Iazyges contingent, along with a group of local notables led by Gaius Iulius Rufus, called Rufus, the region’s major landlord. Radamyntos and his countrymen were nearly as great a spectacle for the Armoricans as the punishment of the rebels; although they were a common sight on the frontier, no men of their race had ever penetrated this deep into the northwestern countryside of Gaul, and their odd appearance and kit drew much attention. Although I was in standard undress uniform, wearing merely my paludamentum[24] and belt, Radamyntos was in full armor even for this light duty, as was his custom. The citizens and the peregrini[25] freely gaped at him. The Iazyges wear long-sleeved tunics of mail that extend down to the knee, and their sturdy conical helmets have iron nose guards that cover most of their faces. They drape their horses in thick leather set with bronze scales, and carry a heavy spear they call a contus[26]. Radamyntos wore a belt to spread the weight of his mail: a golden hedgehog with unpolished gems for eyes, roughly crafted in a crude manner that accentuated his barbaric origins. Rufus, who had no military background at all, was properly intimidated, and he could barely contain his own trembling at the sight.
The prisoners’ wailing, loud and desperate in its pleading at first, quickly trailed off to whimpering an hour or so after the crurifragium. One by one, their voices fell silent. When only a few were left, some of the witnesses began to bet on which prisoner would last the longest, and the air was filled with the calls familiar at any horse race or at thanksgiving games. This greatly distressed Rufus, who did not even attempt to conceal his disapproving frowns and sighs. The landlord’s obvious discomfort brought to the face of Radamyntos the bare, tight-lipped smile that is the substitute for great laughter among those of his tribe. Thinking that I might trick him into making an unguarded statement in sympathy with Maternus, I asked Rufus for the source of his disquiet. He gave nothing away, but merely replied, “Dux, it grieves me to hear the catcalls of the crowd directed at men hanging on the cross, even such scum as these.” This struck me as very softhearted, and not a very good reflection on his class, but I could detect nothing politically objectionable in it.
At length, as the sun drew low, only two prisoners survived: one of Maternus’ fellow deserters from the legions, a great brute with a square head, and a shriveled old man with spots on his bald pate and the look of boiled leather. This looked to be no contest, and nearly all present expected the legionary to be the last. It surprised us all when his death rattle came just as twilight began to creep down the hillside. Those few who bet on the old man did not have long to cheer or gloat, though, for as soon as he realized he was now without his fellows, his face took on a look of great determination, and he began to declaim in a strange tongue, in a strong and piercing voice that was scarcely to be believed possible from one as frail as he at the end of a terrible punishment.
At the sound of that voice Rufus and his fellow landlords, as well as those peasants whose curiosity had drawn them near, blanched with fear. Many of them made obscene hand-gestures or clutched at some fascinum[27] on their person, as if to ward off the evil eye. Some seemed to recognize the strange speech and the particular curse or spell, while some seemed to suffer a more general fear. Certainly the Iazyges did not need to understand the words to recognize a curse when they heard one; they held their formation, but muttered to one another. I thought to call for a ladder and tongs, so that the man’s tongue might be struck out, but before I could do so his voice rose to one last great height and then was stilled. His head bobbed about and then hung down on his spindly neck.
After an interval where all stood still, disturbed and hushed in the half-light, I asked if anyone present had understood the dying man’s words. Rufus spoke up, with great reluctance.
“Dux…” he said, “…the old one was one of those who claimed to be one of the hidden college o
f druids. Whether he truly was, or merely pretended to be in order to spread fear and to gain a position among the traitors, I cannot say. But in the language of the country, he declared that we were impious to dare to slay him at the beginning of Samonios.” Before they adopted our civilized calendar, the Gauls celebrated their new year at this time, and also a festival honoring their ancestors and begging favors of the dead.[28] “He says that since we have killed him, he will return and lead the vengeful dead against us.”
Many who were present shuddered to hear this, and held their charms fast yet again. But Radamyntos did not, and I did not. Radamyntos considered that living enemies were better to be feared than dead ones, and I – I, to my regret, thought that the old man was a charlatan or a fool.
His charge of impiety was correct. My respect for the gods has long been a matter of my duty to the state, and has never been truly rooted in my breast. I have always given the gods their bare due, but not more; and I have never feared them. In my pride I laughed at the old man’s curse thus explained, and showed his corpse my back.
THREE
Our soldiers I sent back to their marching-camp at the tenth milestone, where they joined the two cohors peditata[29] and one cohors alaria[30] who had not already been sent on to Lutetia[31] following the defeat of the main body of our enemies.
Radamyntos and a tribune, Aulus Furius Pacilus, called Pacilus, accompanied me to the nearby estate of Rufus. Pacilus was not well known to me; he was attached for service to one of the legions of the Rhine frontier, and had been lent to me for the space of this campaign. He was said to be an eloquent dinner-companion, however, and I brought him with me on this occasion to improve our acquaintance.[32]