Meanwhile envoys from the Senate had an interview with Germanicus, who had now returned, at the Altar of the Ubii.Two legions, the first and twentieth, with veterans discharged and serving under a standard, were there in winter-quarters.In the bewilderment of terror and conscious guilt they were penetrated by an apprehension that persons had come at the Senate's orders to cancel the concessions they had extorted by mutiny.And as it is the way with a mob to fix any charge, however groundless, on some particular person, they reproached Manatius Plancus, an ex-consul and the chief envoy, with being the author of the Senate's decree.At midnight they began to demand the imperial standard kept in Germanicus's quarters, and having rushed together to the entrance, burst the door, dragged Caesar from his bed, and forced him by menaces of death to give up the standard.Then roaming through the camp-streets, they met the envoys, who on hearing of the tumult were hastening to Germanicus.They loaded them with insults, and were on the point of murdering them, Plancus especially, whose high rank had deterred him from flight.In his peril he found safety only in the camp of the first legion.There clasping the standards and the eagle, he sought to protect himself under their sanctity.And had not the eagle-bearer, Calpurnius, saved him from the worst violence, the blood of an envoy of the Roman people, an occurrence rare even among our foes, would in a Roman camp have stained the altars of the gods.
At last, with the light of day, when the general and the soldiers and the whole affair were clearly recognised, Germanicus entered the camp, ordered Plancus to be conducted to him, and received him on the tribunal.He then upbraided them with their fatal infatuation, revived not so much by the anger of the soldiers as by that of heaven, and explained the reasons of the envoys' arrival.On the rights of ambassadors, on the dreadful and undeserved peril of Plancus, and also on the disgrace into which the legion had brought itself, he dwelt with the eloquence of pity, and while the throng was confounded rather than appeased, he dismissed the envoys with an escort of auxiliary cavalry.
Amid the alarm all condemned Germanicus for not going to the Upper Army, where he might find obedience and help against the rebels.
"Enough and more than enough blunders," they said, "had been made by granting discharges and money, indeed, by conciliatory measures.
Even if Germanicus held his own life cheap, why should he keep a little son and a pregnant wife among madmen who outraged every human right? Let these, at least, be restored safely to their grandsire and to the State."When his wife spurned the notion, protesting that she was a descendant of the Divine Augustus and could face peril with no degenerate spirit, he at last embraced her and the son of their love with many tears, and after long delay compelled her to depart.
Slowly moved along a pitiable procession of women, a general's fugitive wife with a little son in her bosom, her friends' wives weeping round her, as with her they were dragging themselves from the camp.Not less sorrowful were those who remained.
There was no appearance of the triumphant general about Germanicus, and he seemed to be in a conquered city rather than in his own camp, while groans and wailings attracted the ears and looks even of the soldiers.They came out of their tents, asking "what was that mournful sound? What meant the sad sight? Here were ladies of rank, not a centurion to escort them, not a soldier, no sign of a prince's wife, none of the usual retinue.Could they be going to the Treveri, to be subjects of the foreigner?" Then they felt shame and pity, and remembered his father Agrippa, her grandfather Augustus, her father-in-law Drusus, her own glory as a mother of children, her noble purity.And there was her little child too, born in the camp, brought up amid the tents of the legions, whom they used to call in soldiers' fashion, Caligula, because he often wore the shoe so called, to win the men's goodwill.But nothing moved them so much as jealousy towards the Treveri.They entreated, stopped the way, that Agrippina might return and remain, some running to meet her, while most of them went back to Germanicus.He, with a grief and anger that were yet fresh, thus began to address the throng around him-"Neither wife nor son are dearer to me than my father and the State.
