“The Cimbri are the most numerous of the three great German divisions,” said Sulla. “All told, four hundred thousand of them at least. Where the Teutones go straight down the Mosa to the Arar and the Rhodanus, the Cimbri will move down the Rhenus all the way to Lake Brigantinus, go north of the lake over the watershed and down to the source of the Danubius. They’ll go east along the Danubius until they reach the Aenus, then down the Aenus and cross into Italian Gaul through the Pass of Brennus. Which will put them on the Athesis, near Verona.”

“Led by King Boiorix himself,” said Marius, and humped his head into his shoulders. “I like it less and less.”

“The third group is the smallest and least cohesive,” Sulla went on. “The Tigurini, Marcomanni, and Cherusci. About two hundred thousand of them. They’ll be led by Getorix of the Tigurini. At first Boiorix was going to send them in a straight line through the great German forests—the Hercynian, Gabreta, and so on— and have them strike south through Pannonia into Noricum. Then I think he wondered if they’d stick to it, and decided to make them travel with him down the Danubius to the Aenus. From there they’ll keep on going east along the Danubius until they reach Noricum, and turn south. They’ll enter Italian Gaul over the Carnic Alps, which will put them at Tergeste, with Aquileia not far away.”

“And each segment has six months to make the journey, you say?” Marius asked. “Well, I can see the Teutones doing it, but the Cimbri have a much longer journey, and the hybrids the longest journey of all.”

“And there you are mistaken, Gaius Marius,” said Sulla. “In actual fact, from the point on the Mosa where all three divisions start out, the distance each division travels is much the same. All involve crossing the Alps, but only the Teutones will cross through country they haven’t traversed before. The Germans have wandered everywhere through the Alps during the last eighteen years! They’ve been down the Danubius from its sources to Dacia; they’ve been down the Rhenus from its sources to the Helella; they’ve been down the Rhodanus from its sources to Arausio. They’re alpine veterans.”

The breath hissed between Marius’s teeth. “Jupiter, Lucius Cornelius, it’s brilliant! But can they really do it? I mean, Boiorix has to bank on each division reaching Italian Gaul by—October?”

“I think the Teutones and the Cimbri will certainly do it. They’re well led and strongly motivated. About the others, I can’t be sure. Nor, I suspect, can Boiorix.”

Sulla slid off the couch and began to pace the floor. “There’s one more thing, Gaius Marius, and it’s a very serious thing. After eighteen years of homeless wandering, the Germans are tired. And they’re desperate to settle down. A huge number of children have grown old enough to become young warriors without ever knowinga homeland. There’s actually even been talk of going back to the Cimbrian Chersonnese. The sea has retreated long since, and the ground is sweet again.”

“I wish they would!” said Marius.

“It’s too late for that,” Sulla said, pacing up and down restlessly. “They’ve grown to like crusty white bread, you see, to put their butter on, and sop up their beef juice, and put into their awful blood puddings. They like the warmth of the southern sun and the proximity of the great white mountains. First Pannonia and Noricum, then Gaul. Ours is a richer world. And now that they’ve got Boiorix, they’ve made up their minds they’ll take it.”

“Not while I’m in charge, they won’t,” said Marius, and sagged in his chair. “Is that all?” he asked.

“All, yet nothing,” Sulla said, a little sadly. “I could talk about them for days. But that’s as much as you need to know as a beginning, certainly.”

“What about your wife, your sons? Have you left them to be knocked on the head because they’ve no warrior to support them?”

“Isn’t it funny?” Sulla asked himself, wondering. “I couldn’t do that! When the time came to go, I found I just—couldn’t. So I took Hermana and the boys to the Cherusci of Germania. They live to the north of the Chatti, along the Visurgis River. Her tribe is a part of the Cherusci, though it’s called the Marsi. Odd, don’t you find? We have our Marsi. The Germans have theirs. The name is pronounced exactly the same way. Makes you wonder.... How did we all come to be where we are? Is it in the nature of men to wander in search of fresh homelands? Will we of Rome grow tired of Italy one day, and migrate elsewhere? I’ve thought a great deal about the world since I joined the Germans, Gaius Marius.”

For a reason he couldn’t quite grasp, this last speech of Sulla’s moved Marius almost to tears; so he said in a gentler voice than usual, “I’m glad you didn’t leave her to die.”

“So am I, even though I couldn’t afford the time. I was worried that I wouldn’t reach you before the consular elections were due, because I thought my news would be a terrific help.” He cleared his throat. “Actually I took it upon myself—in your name, of course—to conclude a treaty of peace and friendly alliance with the Marsi of Germania. In some way, I thought, my German sons would then have the faintest whiff of Rome under their short straight Cherusci noses. Hermana has promised to raise them to think kindly of Rome.”

“Won’t you ever see her again?” asked Marius.

“Of course not!” said Sulla briskly. “Nor the twins. I do not intend ever again, Gaius Marius, to grow my hair or my moustaches, nor journey away from the lands around the Middle Sea. A diet of beef and milk and butter and oaten porridge does not agree with my Roman stomach, nor do I like going without a bath, nor do I like beer. I’ve done what I could for Hermana and the boys by putting them where their lack of a warrior will not mean they have to die. But I’ve told Hermana she must try to find another man. It’s sensible and proper. All going well, they’ll survive. And my boys will grow up to be good Germans. Fierce warriors, I hope! And bigger than me by far, I hope! Yet— if Fortune doesn’t intend them to survive—why, I’ll not know about it, will I?”

“Quite so, Lucius Cornelius.” Marius looked down at his hands where they curled about his cup, and seemed surprised that their knuckles were white.

“The only time I ever take credence of Metellus Numidicus Piggle-wiggle’s allegations about your vulgar origins,” said Sulla, sounding nothing but amused, “is when some incident rouses your dormant peasant sentimentality.”

Marius glared. “The worst of you—Sulla!—is that I will never know what makes you work! What makes your legs go up and down, what makes your arms swing, why you smile like a wolf. And what you really think. That I’ll never, never know.”

“If it’s any consolation, brother-in-law, nor will anyone else. Even me,” said Sulla.