The Death of the Gods

by Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

  XVIII

  Late one evening in a marshy wood not far from the Rhine, between thefortified post, _Tres Tabernae_ and the Roman town of Argentoratum,[1]conquered a short time previously by the _Alemanni_, two soldiers whohad lost their way were slouching along. One named Aragaris, anawkward and red-headed giant, a Sarmatian in the Roman service; theother Strombix, a lean and frowning little Syrian.

  [1] Strasburg.

  The spaces between the trunks of trees were densely dark. A fine rainwas falling through warm air. The birches diffused an odour of dampleaves, and far off a cuckoo was calling.

  At every crack of the branches the startled Strombix began to quakeand seized the fist of his companion.

  "Oh, cousin! cousin!"

  He used to call Aragaris cousin, not through blood relationship, butfor friendship's sake. They had been taken into the Roman army fromopposite ends of the world. The northern barbarian, a huge guzzler buta chaste liver, despised the voluptuous and timid Syrian who was sofrugal in his eating and drinking. But while mocking him he pitied himas a child.

  "Cousin!" wailed Strombix.

  "Well, what is it? Can't you be quiet?"

  "Are there bears in this wood?"

  "Yes!" answered Aragaris sullenly.

  "And suppose we met one, eh?"

  "We should knock him on the head, sell his skin, and go and drink."

  "And suppose the bear, instead of being killed..."

  "Poltroon! it isn't difficult to see that you're a Christian!"

  "Why must a Christian be a coward?" said Strombix with a vexed air.

  "You've told me yourself that in your Book it is written _whosoeversmiteth thee on thy right cheek turn to him the other also_."

  "True."

  "Well, I'm right; and if so, to my thinking you mustn't go to wars;the enemy will strike you on one cheek and you turn him round theother. You're a set of cowards, I say."

  "The Caesar Julian's a Christian, and _he_ isn't a coward!" retortedStrombix.

  "I know, my boy," continued Aragaris, "that you can pardon enemieswhen you have to fight them, poor chicken! Your belly is no biggerthan my fist. With a clove in it you're fed up for the whole day; andso your blood is no better than marsh-water!"

  "Ah, cousin! cousin!" observed Strombix reproachfully, "why did youtalk about food? Now I've got another gnawing ache in my stomach. Giveme a little garlic! There's some left in your bag."

  "If I give you what there's left we shall both starve to-morrow inthis forest!"

  "Ah, but if you don't give me some now, I shall fall from weakness andyou will be obliged to carry me."

  "Well, stuff and swill, dog!"

  "And a little bread too," begged Strombix.

  Aragaris gave him, with an oath, his last ration of biscuit. Hehimself had eaten overnight enough for two days, of fat pork and beanpottage.

  "Attention! Hark!" he said halting. "There's a trumpet! We're not farfrom the camp. We must steer round to the north.... I don't mindbears," added Aragaris thoughtfully, "but that centurion..."

  The soldiers had nicknamed this hated centurion "Cedo Alteram,"because he used to cry out gleefully every time he broke the rod withwhich he was striking a delinquent, _Cedo alteram!_ that is to say,"Give us another!"

  "I'm certain," said the barbarian--"I'll wager that Cedo Alteram willtan my back as a tanner whacks a bullock's hide. It's abominable, myfriend, abominable."

  The worthy pair were now stragglers behind the army, because Aragarisaccording to his custom had got dead drunk in a plundered village andStrombix had been thrashed. The little Syrian had made a fruitlessattempt to obtain the favours of a handsome Frankish girl. Thissixteen-year-old-beauty, daughter of a barbarian killed in the fight,had administered to him two such blows that he had fallen on his backand had then fairly stamped upon him.

  "She wasn't a girl but a devil," declared Strombix. "I hardly tookhold of her and she nearly broke every rib in my body."

  The note of the trumpet became more and more distinct. Aragaris,sniffing the wind like a blood-hound, noticed the smell of smoke; thebivouacs must be but a short way off.

  The night became pitch dark. They could hardly make out the road; thepath was lost in marshes in which they leapt from tussock to tussock.Fog began to rise. Suddenly from a great yew, with branches from whichmoss hung like long grey beards, something fled away with a harsh cry.Strombix crouched down with fear. It was a black cock.

  They finally lost their bearings. Strombix climbed a tree.

  "The bivouacs lie northwards--not far off. There's a wide riverbelow."

  "The Rhine, the Rhine!" exclaimed Aragaris. "Now go ahead!"

  They slid down through the birches and aspen trees a hundred yearsold.

  "Cousin, I'm drowning!" yelled Strombix. "Somebody's hauling me by thefeet!"

  "Where are you?"

  With great difficulty Aragaris extricated him, and, swearing, took himon his shoulders. Under his feet the Sarmatian felt the stems offaggots laid down by the Romans. This causeway of faggot work led tothe great road hewn not long before through the forest by the army ofSeverus, Julian's general. The barbarians, according to their custom,had blocked and encumbered the track with enormous trunks of trees.These trunks had to be clambered over. Sometimes rotten, moss-covered,and crumbling under foot, and sometimes hard and slippery with rain,they made the march most difficult; and it was by roads like these,always in fear of an attack, that the army of about thirteen thousandmen had to move. That army every Imperial general except Severus hadtraitorously abandoned.

  Strombix was cursing his comrade--

  "I won't go a step farther, heathen! I'd rather lie down on the deadleaves and die; at least I should not see your damned visage--huh!Unbeliever! It's easy to see that you don't wear the cross! Is it aChristian's business to drag along a road like this, and what are wepushing on to? The rods of the centurion. I won't go a step farther."

  Aragaris hauled him on by main force, and, when the road became morepracticable, carried shoulder-high the whimsical companion who keptabusing and pummelling him all the time and shortly fell soundlyasleep on those mighty pagan shoulders.

  At midnight they reached the gates of the Roman camp. Everything wasstill. The drawbridge had long been raised. The friends had to sleepin the wood near the hinder gate, usually called the Decumanal.

  At dawn the trumpet sounded. The nightingale had been singing in themisty wood; he ceased, frightened by the warlike notes. Aragarissnuffed the smell of soup and woke Strombix. They made their way intothe camp and sat down near the cauldrons. In the principal tent nearthe Pretorian gate the Caesar Julian was keeping watch.

  From the day on which he had been nominated Caesar at Milan thanks tothe protection of the Empress Eusebia, Julian had applied himself withzeal to soldierly exercises. He not only used to study the art of warunder the direction of Severus, but desired moreover to master everydetail of the work of the rank and file. Within sound of the trumpet,in barracks, on the Campus Martius in company with new recruits,during whole days he would learn to march, to use the bow and sling,to leap ditches, and to run under the heavy weight of full marchingorder. He became also an adept in swordsmanship.

  The blood of the race of Constantine, a race of austere and obstinatewarriors, woke in the young man and overcame his monkish hypocrisy.

  "Alack! divine Iamblicus and Plato! if you could only see what yourpupil is becoming!" he would sometimes exclaim, wiping the sweat fromhis brow.

  And pointing to his armour he would add--

  "Don't you think, Severus, that this steel sits as badly on a pupil ofphilosophers as a war-saddle on an ox?"

  Severus would only reply by a mischievous smile; he knew that thesesighings and complaints were not sincere, and that in reality Julianwas delighted with his military progress.

  In a few months he had been so transformed and hardened into manhoodthat it was not easy to recognise in him the "little Greek" of theCourt of Constantius. His eyes alone had
not changed, still shiningwith a strange and unforgettable keenness which had in it something offever. Julian felt himself growing stronger every day, not onlyphysically, but morally also. For the first time in his existence hefelt the happiness that comes from the love of simple and common folk.

  From the first it had gratified the legionaries to see a real Caesar,cousin of the Augustus, learning soldiering in barracks, with norepugnance for the coarse fare of soldiers. Austere faces of theveterans would light up with grim tenderness as they watched youngCaesar, and remembering their own youth wondered at his rapid progress.Julian used to hail them, listen to their gossip over old campaigns,and advice about fastening the breastplate so that the straps mightchafe less and the best way of holding the foot while marching toavoid over-fatigue.

  The rumour went round that the Emperor Constantius had sent theinexperienced young man among the barbarians of Gaul to get killed,that he himself might be rid of a rival. It was said that thegenerals, following the hints of Imperial eunuchs, had abandoned andbetrayed the young Caesar accordingly. All this increased the affectionof the legions for Julian.

  Skilled in the arts of winning favour, acquired during his monkisheducation, Julian cautiously used every means to strengthen the lovefelt towards himself and to deepen the unpopularity of the Emperor.Before the soldiers he would speak of his brother Constantius withmeaning humility, lowering his eyes and affecting the aspect of avictim. It was the easier for him to captivate the warriors byfearlessness, inasmuch as death in battle seemed to him a thing to bedesired. The kind of death to which Gallus had been subjected formedno part of his designs.

  Julian had organised his life after the austere example of ancientconquerors. His stoic education by the tutor Mardonius helped him toendure total absence of comfort. He allowed himself less sleep thanthe meanest soldier, and lay not on a bed but upon a coarse roughcarpet, like that called in popular parlance _suburra_.

  The first part of the night was devoted to sleep, the second to thebusiness of state and war, the third to the Muses. For Julian'sfavourite books were never left behind when he was campaigning. Heinspired himself with Marcus Aurelius, Plutarch, Suetonius, and Catothe elder; and by day he endeavoured to put in practice what he hadmused over with them by night.

  On the memorable morning before the battle of Argentoratum, when heheard the _reveille_ at dawn, Julian quickly donned complete armour,and ordered his charger to be brought round. While waiting he withdrewinto the inmost part of the tent. There was ensconced a lovelystatuette of the winged Mercury, bearing the caduceus--the god ofmovement, gaiety, success. Julian bowed before the image and threwsome grains of incense on a little tripod. According to the directionof the smoke the Caesar, who flattered himself that he understood thedivining art, sought to ascertain the influence of the day. Overnighthe had heard a raven crying three times--a bad omen.

  Julian was so convinced that his unexpected military success in Gaulwas due to some supernatural power that from day to day he became moresuperstitious.

  When issuing from the tent he stumbled over the wooden beam at thethreshold. The face of the Caesar darkened. All the omens wereunfavourable; he inwardly resolved to postpone the battle till themorrow.

  The army began its march. The road through the forest was painful.Masses of trees embarrassed every step. The day promised to be a veryhot one. The army had only done half its journey, and there remainedmore than one and twenty Roman miles to cover to reach the camp of theGerman barbarians (Alemanni) which lay on the left bank of the Rhinein a great plain, near the town Argentoratum.

  The soldiers were worn out. As soon as they had crossed the forest andreached open ground Julian assembled them round himself in a greatcircle, like spectators in an amphitheatre, so as himself to be thecentre of the centurions and cohorts, extending from him like thespokes of a huge wheel. This was the custom of the Roman army, so thatthe greatest possible number could hear the words of their general.

  Julian explained to the legions in a few brief and simple sentencesthat fatigue might prevent success, that it would be safer to camp forthat night in the field where they were, to rest, and attack thebarbarians the following morning, with vigour renewed.

  Discontented murmurs ran through the army; the rank and file strucktheir shields with lances--a sign of impatience--clamouring thatJulian should lead them without delay to the field of battle. TheCaesar understood by the general expression on faces around him that inresisting he would commit a grave mistake. He felt in the crowd thatthrill of ferocity with which he was so familiar, which was soindispensable to victory, and by the least maladroitness so easily tobe changed into mutiny. He leapt on horseback and gave the signal tocontinue the march. Peals of enthusiasm answered him and the armymoved off.

  When the sun was beginning to sink they reached the plain ofArgentoratum. There the Rhine was shining between low hills. To thesouth rose the sombre mass of the Vosges Mountains, and swallows weresweeping over the surface of the majestic German river.

  Suddenly, on the nearest hill, three riders appeared; they were theAlemanni.

  The Romans halted, and disposed themselves in battle-order. Julian,surrounded by six hundred steel-clad horsemen, the Clibanarii,commanded the horsemen of the right wing. On the left extended theinfantry, under the orders of Severus. Julian himself was also underthe command of this general.

  The barbarians opposed their cavalry to that of Julian. At their headrode the Alemannic king Chlodomir. Fronting Severus, Agenaric, theyoung nephew of Chlodomir, led the German infantry.

  War-horns, trumpets, and fifes resounded; ensigns and flags inscribedwith the names of cohorts, the purple dragons and Roman eagles,assembled at the head of the legions. In the van strode axe-bearers,chief centurions, and _primipilares_, men bred to victory. Theirregular and heavy tread shook the earth. Suddenly the foot soldiers ofSeverus halted. The barbarians, who had been lurking in a trench,sprang from their ambuscade and attacked the Romans. Julian from adistance saw the confusion that ensued and galloped up to restoreorder. He attempted to calm the soldiers, speaking hastily now to onecohort, now to another, in something of the concise style of JuliusCaesar. When he uttered the words, "_Exurgamus viri fortes_" or"_Advenit, socii, justem pugnandi jam tempus,_" this young man oftwenty-two was thinking with pride: "At last I am like such and such afamous soldier!" Even in the very fire of action he never forgot hisbooks, and rejoiced to enact over again familiar scenes of Livy,Plutarch, and Sallust. The well-tried Severus restrained his ardour,and, while giving a certain liberty to Julian, retained the generaldirection of the action. Arrows whizzed and barbarian javelins,dragging long cords; and war-engines flung huge stones hundreds ofyards.

  The Romans now found themselves face to face at last with the terribleand mysterious inhabitants of the North, about whom so many incrediblelegends were afloat. Some wore bear-skins on their backs, and on theirshaggy heads the gaping jaws of wolves. Others had their helms adornedwith the horns of stag and bull. The Alemanni were so contemptuous ofdeath that, keeping only lance and sword, they frequently flungthemselves into battle stark naked.

  Their reddish hair was knotted on the top of their heads and fell backon the neck in a thick mass or plaited mane. They wore long sweepingbroad moustaches and their skins were deeply bronzed. A great numberwere so savage that, unfamiliar with the use of steel, they foughtwith bone-tipped lances dipped in violent poison. A scratch from thisprimitive barb was sufficient to produce a slow death in terribleagony. From head to foot, instead of armour they wore thin scalespared from the hoofs of horses and sewn on linen, a kind of hornymail. In this array the barbarians seemed strange monsters, clad inbirds' feathers and fish scales.

  There were also Saxons with pale blue eyes, men for whom the sea hadno terrors, but who feared the land.

  The foremost _primipilares_, locking their shields together, formed acompact wall of steel, and advanced steadily, slowly, almostinvulnerable to blows. The Alemanni rushed upon this wall withferocious cries, like the
hoarse growls of bears. The main fightbegan, breast against breast, shield against shield. Dust was so thickover the plain that the sun was darkened. At this moment on the rightwing the iron-clad horses of the Clibanarii began rearing and takingfright. The stampede threatened to crush the legions of the rearguard.Through the cloud of arrows and lances, the fire-coloured scarf of thegigantic king Chlodomir was shining in bright sunlight.

  Julian in the nick of time galloped up on his black charger,bespattered with foam. He grasped the situation. The barbarianfoot-soldiers, placed for the purpose between their horsemen, wereslipping under the legs of the Roman horses, and disembowelling them;the horses fell, dragging down in their fall the _cataphracti_, ormen in scale-armour, who, overwhelmed under its weight, were unable torise. Julian placed himself directly behind the flying horsemen; itwas a question of either stemming the flight or being crushed himself.The tribune of the Clibanarii came into collision with him. Pale withshame and terror, he recognised Julian. Julian's forehead flushedpurple, he forgot his classical books, leaned over, seized the flyingman by the throat, and shouted with a voice which appeared to himselfstrangely savage--

  "Coward!"

  Then he faced the tribune round to the enemy. The _cataphracti_halted, glanced at the purple dragon, the Imperial ensign, andremained motionless. In a moment the mass of iron recoiled and sweptback anew against the barbarians. The fight became a wild confusion. Alance struck Julian full in the breast; he owed his safety to hisbreastplate. An arrow hissed by his ear, grazing his cheek with itsfeathers. Severus now sent the legions of the Cornuti and Brakathi,half-savage allies of the Romans, to succour the wavering cavalry.They were wont to sing their war-hymn, the Barrith, only when theirblood was up in the joy of battle, intoning it in a low and plaintivevoice. The first notes were calm as the nocturnal sighing of woods;but little by little the Barrith became louder, more solemn, andterrible, until at last, raising a furious and deafening roar like astormy sea, all the singers were beside themselves.

  Julian ceased to see or understand the surge of battle round him; hewas conscious only of intolerable thirst and a sharp aching in thebones of his sword hand; he had lost all reckoning of time. ButSeverus kept all his presence of mind, and directed the fight withincomparable skill. Perplexed and heart-broken, Julian perceived theorange scarf of Chlodomir in the midst of the legions; the barbarianshad penetrated obliquely into the centre of the Roman army. Julianthought "All is lost!" He remembered the unfavourable presages of themorning and addressed a last prayer to the gods of Olympus--

  "Come, help me! For who is there but I to restore you to power uponearth?"

  In the centre of the army were stationed the old veterans of thePetulant legion, so called on account of their rashness. Severuscounted on them, and his reliance was not in vain. One of themshouted--

  "_Viri fortissimi!_ Bravest of the brave, let us not betray Rome andour Caesar! Let us die for Julian! Glory and prosperity to CaesarJulian!"

  "For Rome ... for Rome..." stern voices responded, and these triedlegions, grown grey under the flag, once again went to meet death,steady and cheery. The inspiring breath of great Rome swept over thewhole army.

  Julian, his eyes full of enthusiastic tears, rode towards the veteransto die along with them. Again he felt the force of sheer affection,the force of the people lifting him on its wings to carry him tovictory.

  Then terror seized the barbaric masses; they trembled, broke, andfled; and the eagles of the legions, their rapacious beaks andoutspread wings glittering in the sun, swooped down again amongst therouted tribes, proclaiming the victory of the Eternal City.

  The Alemanni and Franks perished fighting to the last gasp.

  Kneeling in a pool of blood, the savage would wield his sword orlance with a slackening hand, but in his troubled eyes were to be seenneither fear nor despair, only thirst for vengeance and contempt forhis conquerors. Even those who were left for dead arose, half-crushed,and fixed their teeth in the legs of their enemies. Six thousandbarbarians fell in that battle or were drowned in the Rhine.

  The same evening, as Julian Caesar stood on the hill, enveloped by therays of the setting sun, King Chlodomir, who had been made prisoner onthe bank of the river, was led before him. He was breathing withdifficulty, his face livid and sweating, his enormous hands boundbehind his back. He knelt down before his conqueror, and the youngCaesar of twenty-two laid his slight hand upon the shaggy head.