It is a pleasure to see the rule of a man like Saturninus. He cannot scan a verse of Alcæus, but he knows how to arrange a camp according to the demands and advantages of the location, better than I can write an Alcæan strophe. Here, on this steep hillside in the midst of the Barbarian forests, he had applied Frontinus's rules to the given space most admirably. It would please an old soldier like you to see our camp, the strength of wall and moat, the arrangement of the spaces between the tents, the distribution of horse and foot-soldiers, luggage, and camp followers.
III. BEFORE THE KALENDS OF SEPTEMBER.
And why should you not see it? For what purpose has Athene or the clever Phœnicians taught us the art of writing? I begged Saturninus to dictate to his fat slave scribe a sketch of our whole camp, with all the points important for defence and the distribution of our troops. I will put it on the papyrus.
How stately is the entrance! Four squadrons of mailed warriors at the Porta Decumana, and all the baggage also piled up there. The wall eight feet high; the ditch five feet deep. The weakest point is the northwest corner, so the best troops are there: Batavian and spearmen of the Emperor's Thracian Guard: etc.
I will not repeat here in detail what the inclosure will contain; but the paper is not yet finished. He has taken it away to make the drawing more accurate.
II. BEFORE THE KALENDS OF SEPTEMBER.
Ah, what avails dissimulation, playing hide and seek with myself? If you drive her out with a pitchfork, Nature will always return, says the Bandusian fellow. I am trying to make you--and myself--believe that my thoughts are on ditch and wall and mailed soldiers. It is not true. I think only of the little maid. Her image alone hovers before my eyes day and night. It is already half decided that you shall see her.
When this expedition is over, I at any rate shall return to Gaul, perhaps the whole army; for the Emperor Valens seems to be able to deal with the Goths without needing our aid; he does not ask for us. Then I can take the little maid as my guest for a short visit to Burdigala.
True, she is still considered the Tribune's slave. It is an odd caprice of the valiant soldier. No, no, my Paulus! It is not what you suppose that influences him. I have watched him suspiciously, almost jealously, as sharply as a father--or can it be a lover? But I did him injustice--or too much honor? He has nothing in his head except those invisible Alemanni and our ships, still delayed at Arbor.
* * * * *