The Autobiography of Osric

(Vita Osrici)

copyright, 2021, Joseph M. Isenberg

Chapter 1

My name is Osric, and I am a warrior of the Chauci, who live in the far north of Germania. If you Romans find it a little disturbing that a simple barbarian tribesman writes his memoirs in (I hope) passable Latin, you can console yourselves with this thought. At least I never learned any Greek, though that language would stand me far better stead in my old age as I sit in my desert hermit cave, not so very far from the great city of Alexandria.

Today, as I write, my kinsmen of the Chauci have become known among you Romans as cutthroats, and thieves, and pirates raiding along the coasts of Germania and Gallia, and even as far as Britannia. We were always people of the river and the coast and the sea, that much is true, but in my youth, seventy-five winters and more previously, we had no such reputation amongst you, or at least, a reputation no worse than any of the other Germanic tribes. Indeed, we were counted as friends of the Romans as often as not. By the time of my birth, we were at least no longer actively hostile, nor did we have any particular name for ferocity. The seeds of the change, from that day to this, were laid in the events that I am about to unfold to you.

I relate my tale, not because I had any great part in the events of the era. I was usually just an observer, when I wasn't cowering in fear or hoping not to be killed. Neither do I especially wish to remember the story I tell. If I knew in my youth what I learned over my years, I would have stayed in my little mud hut on the coast of the great Northern ocean, and gladly remained ignorant of the manifold horrors of the world I discovered in my youth.

Instead, I write because of the insistence of the elders of the community in which I now live in my dotage. They insist that the fell events I witnessed first hand may come upon us yet again, and that by recording what I remember, others may have use of my advice and counsel in their time of need, even after I have passed from the scene. [fn 1. Editor's Note: If correct, this is the earliest recorded reference to a monastic community in Egypt, slightly predating the eremitic life of St. Anthony and Paul of Thebes.]

Also, as I think, and remember, reluctantly, I also come to believe I should write of my many fine and brave friends; of Geldheim and of Lucius Calpurnius; of his kinsfolk, Sextus Calpurnius Agricola and Calpurnia Justiniania, and of those mystics, Ahab ben Eleazar, and Tiberius Claudius Coluber, whose uncanny sagacity I witnessed on many occasions. While I played no great role in events, all of them did, each in their way, and it is true that you Romans and we Germans were saved, along with everyone else, from very great evils because of their efforts and their sacrifices. So the friends of my youth, at least, ought to be remembered.

So attend, Romans, upon this, my tale, the tale of Osric of the Chauci.

Chapter 2

My origins, I think, were typical enough for the lands bordering the great Northern ocean. I won't say much about them. To give you Romans some idea of time, as near as I can tell, I was born early in the principate of the deified Antoninus Pius, of much beloved memory compared to what followed, during the consulate of Gaius Bellicius Flaccus Torquatus and Herodes Atticus, not that anyone amongst the Chauci paid the slightest attention to such things. [fn 2. Editor's Note: This would make the year AD 143]

The Chauci lived then, as now, on either side of the River Visurgis [the Weser], between two other rivers, the Amisius [the Ems] and the Albis [the Elbe]. We were hemmed in by the great Northern ocean, and while we had been fairly powerful in earlier years, by the time of my birth, we were certainly under threat from other neighbors. The Chatti and the Cherusci, south of us, were prolific, and spreading, so also were the Saxons on the far side of the Albis. All of them felt stronger than we were, and all of them felt free to make the occasional raid against us, even in my childhood.

It was not always thus with us. At the time of your Augustus, we were quite willing to fight the Romans, and Tiberius and Drusus both campaigned against us. On the other hand, there was no bitter hostility, and soon enough we saw the advantages of providing auxiliary troops to the Romans. We rescued Germanicus from his own folly. By the time of your Emperor Vespasian, we were fully allied with you Romans, and suffered for it in the revolt of the Batavii, under Cerialis, and that Bructerian witch, Veleda. Once that was suppressed, as I said, we had plenty of trouble with our neighbors close at hand without going to seek more from you Romans.

So as the Chatti and the Cherusci and the Saxons pressed upon us, we lost ground. We were raided and plundered as the chance arose for them, and only three things kept us from destruction there and then. First, we had long been accustomed to building our dwellings on or near water, on little islands, even building up little mounds on the coast that were accessible only at the lowest of tides. Second, while our lands were extensive, they were far from wealthy, and so grinding poverty was our best protection. There was, in my childhood, nothing worth stealing on our little mud islands. Finally, we were, if anything, happy about the presence of the Romans than otherwise. Our extermination would have been taken by you Romans as the signal that not all was well with the neighbors, that the frontier was under threat, and that it would be high time to thin out the 'barbarians' on the east side of the frontier. The Chatti or Cherusci would have paid for success dearly, and they understood that. So we were never finished off completely, though we were pushed and shoved.

The Chauci were glad of the Romans for another reason. While a free man of the Chauci could be born, live and die right there on the coast, the Roman frontier was close enough that an ambitious free man could go to any auxiliary post, enlist, and make a place for himself amongst you Romans. Many of our warriors did so. The time then was one of profound peace, so it was quite possible for a warrior to go, serve his time, retire, and either stay there near his friends, or, rarely, return to the lands of the Chauci with his tales of adventure, and his new wealth. There were many such amongst us.

My father, Oswulf, was one such ambitious, adventurous man. As soon as he reached his manhood, he started at once for the limes, accompanied by his kinsman and fellow adventurer, Geldhelm, bent on a career in the Roman army as auxiliaries. They reached the frontier of Germania easily enough, then wandered their way along the Rhenus, until they reached Moguntiacum [Mainz] in Germania Superior.

Near Moguntiacum, they found a mixed auxiliary unit, a cohort equitata, made up of infantry and cavalry, and talked their way into enlistment. Geldhelm was able to speak some Latin already, and could ride a horse. He was posted at once into the cavalry as a scout. Oswulf, my father, was immensely strong in those days, and so in addition to being put on the rolls as an infantryman, he was detailed to assist the farrier at his forge, and so discovered the rudiments of iron working. He learned the skill well enough and took on more and more of the smith's work in the unit over the next few years.

Shortly before the old Emperor, Hadrian, died, disaster struck my father. It was a perfectly minor event in the eyes of you Romans, not worth the recording at all in your histories. The tribesmen on the east side of the limes were forever raiding over the frontier, seeking anything that could be looted or devoured. You Romans were forever fighting to prevent that or launching little raids of your own to discourage such behavior.

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On such expeditions, all of the soldiers of the unit were expected to fight; even the specialists like the blacksmith and his assistants went into the line. So it was that on one such raid, father was slashed in the leg by a well-aimed blow. He survived, and he recovered, but he walked forever afterwards with a limp.

A soldier who cannot march at speed is of limited use to you Romans, no matter how hard-hitting he may be when he finally arrives at the battlefield. After it was clear that my father would never recover fully, but would always hobble and drag that leg along, the tribune of the cohort had no choice but to discharge him from service early. So Oswulf, my father, received his little lead plate, his accumulated pay, and a firm handshake from both the tribune and his centurion, who told him that he was a fine fellow, that it really was bad luck and wasn't it a shame. They were decent enough about it; had he settled down near the post, they probably would have found as much blacksmith work for him as he could want, for, after all, they still needed his skills. He was, even then, an accomplished iron worker, and could still do most of his work, even seated.

But my father had it in mind to go back to the lands of the Chauci, and to marry my mother. He took with him, besides the best wishes of his comrades, a set of blacksmith tools, and an understanding of how to build a forge of his very own.

Geldhelm stayed with the unit, and became father's source for iron ingots. We Germans, on the east side of the frontier, are forever short of iron and this presented an opportunity. As he went on his scouting missions over the frontier, Geldhelm was happy to meet the need, as he could then pose as a trader among the other German tribes. My father worked up the iron ingots into finished products and these made Geldhelm welcome wherever he went.

A couple of years after my father left the service of you Romans and returned home, I was born. I won't say much of my childhood. There was mud; there was water. There were fish; there were deer. There was the incessant smoke of the forge, and the ring of father's hammer. We were prosperous among the Chauci, which means, of course, that we were still poor so far as anyone else was concerned, both Romans and other Germans alike.

When I was eleven years old, or so, Geldhelm came to our little homestead, as he did every spring when the weather had thawed enough to move comfortably and safely. He had his mules laden with iron ingots for father, and he had other mules, laden with clay jars of wine. When he unloaded the iron ingots, and packed the finished iron goods on the mules, he had a surprise for my parents.

Geldhelm said, “Why don't I take Osric along with me this season. He can help me with the work, and I will teach him how to throw the Roman spear, and sword work in the Roman way. I can show him how to trade for best advantage, how to speak Latin, and perhaps even to write Roman letters and keep numbers like a Roman. Then if he wants, he can follow in our footsteps in a few years, and have even more advantages than we ever had.”

My father liked the idea well enough. My mother, thinking Geldhelm lived a very dangerous life, was dead set against it. I thought it would be a great adventure, and pleaded until my enthusiasm overcame her common sense, and I went off with Geldhelm on his circuit of the northern tribes of Germania.

It was a big adventure. That much was true. Geldhelm was good as his word as well. He taught me how to throw the Roman spear, the pilum, and how to use the Roman sword. I learned to ride a horse from him; we had few of the beasts at home, and the Germans were not the first place you Romans looked for cavalrymen as a rule. I was a less apt student in other ways. I mastered your Roman speech well enough, and had the rudiments of your Roman letters. But the numbers were always confusing, even with the little beaded counting machine you use, and I was no trader.

So I was of little practical use to Geldhelm in his buying and selling, which was a frustration to him. It was a sorrow to me, for I genuinely regarded him as an “uncle” and loved him more than many of my closer relatives. I truly wanted to be useful to him and not just a burden.

Even with my limited grasp of details, I could see that Geldhelm was doing a roaring trade along the Mare Suebicum [the Baltic Sea]. His scheme, basically, was this. Because he was on a scouting mission for them, the Roman officers considered it quite reasonable to finance him, either out of their own purses, or out of the auxiliary unit funds. You Romans have always been a bit vague on keeping public and private money separate when there is a chance of gain to be had, and here it worked for Geldhelm's advantage. He was also allowed to take iron ingots from the accumulated stockpile kept by Roman officials here and there in the province, and I have always wondered about the source for the pack mules that carried those ingots. To this he added the wine, and other fine wares likely to please the big men of the Germanic tribes in the interior, carried on his own account and that of his patrons.

His first stop was invariably at our homestead among the Chauci, where he swapped with my father, trading the raw iron for finished goods. Very occasionally, this might include sword blades or spear points (though never anything that looked like a Roman pilum), or arrowheads. More usually, the finished ware consisted of horseshoes, or cloak pins, or small knife blades, or other such harmless tools.

When this was done, and when he had finished visiting his friends and kinfolk, he moved off along the coast of the Mare Suebicum, a place poorer in iron the further along you went, and he traded along the way. He shed the iron, and he shed the wine, and occasionally he shed the pack mules. These he swapped for amber and honey and furs and slaves to carry it all back. When he was out of trade goods, he usually returned at once to his unit near Moguntiacum, where he settled his account with his officers, who were also his investors, and, I assume, made his report about conditions over the frontier.

His Roman commanders would have been pleased enough to have his information alone, or the profits alone, but the two together were an irresistible combination. Geldhelm was, as you Romans say, the 'fair-haired boy' of his auxiliary cohort. I imagine his officers, able to predict trouble long before it arrived, also prospered in their careers in the same way, but I will have more to say about one of them further on and you can judge for yourselves.

So it was that I spent first one year, and then another, in the train of “uncle” Geldhelm and being taught with mixed results. Because of me he varied his usual routine in one particular. He absolutely refused to take me over the limes to his unit amongst you Romans, but always took me home at the end of the season first, before he made his in-bound trip to his post.

Finally, when I was thirteen or so, he deposited me with my father at the end of the season, as before, and it was a very unhappy parting for everyone involved.

“Oswulf,” he said, “in Osric you have a very fine son and you should be proud of him. He's as skilled as you or I were with the spear at his age, and neither of us were bad. He's also decent with his sword work. He rides well enough for his age, I think. He will make a fine warrior in a few years' time. He speaks enough Latin to be understood, and he can scratch out letters that make sense. His numbers are poor, but I don't think that can be helped. I like him, and I will gladly help him, but I've taught him about all he can learn in this way. It is down to practice now. I could keep taking him along, sure, but if I'm honest, right now things are getting bad out in the east right now, not along the coast but further to the south. I'm hearing things I don't like, and it isn't safe for a half-grown boy. It isn't safe for a full-grown warrior, but I have to do what I do and I don't have a choice.”

My father scowled at this and wondered if Geldhelm was hiding some backwardness on my part to spare their friendship on his part. My father said if this was the case, he shouldn't hold back but should say what he really thought.

Geldhelm tried to reassure him, and offered my father both a fair bit of cash, which was hard to come by, and some of his trade goods, “on account” as it were, to be settled for on his next swing round, to placate my father.

“I'm serious, Oswulf,” Geldhelm began. “If I thought you would go, I would pack the lot of you up and take you back over the frontier. It really is 'flee-to-the-limes' bad. If the time does come, I will do just that, I'll take you and yours back along with me at the end of one of my trips. In the mean time, you're still as good as any with spear and sword, you know the Roman drills, and you can work with Osric as well as I can, and for more time each day. So you practice with him for a couple of years or three. When he's ready, I'll take him on a hunt and sponsor his passage into manhood. Osric is a good lad, and I'd be happy to do that for him and for you. But I won't be responsible for him as things are now. That's not to do with him, or me, or you, but with the world out there. Anyway, after a couple more years, if he wants to come with me to the Roman cohort, he can. I'll be happy to introduce him there as well.”

Well, that settled the matter. Geldhelm rode off. My mother was happy. My father was unhappy, but I only had to endure the scowls and the side-long glances from him for a few days before he realized that Geldhelm wasn't lying about my skills.

For the next couple of years, I practiced with father, learning more about the spear, and more about the sword. Father also decided it would be well if I learned a bit more about the detail work of his iron smithing; I had done the lifting and fetching and carrying as soon as I could lift, fetch and carry; he taught me some basic skills now.

We also kept our ears to the ground, as best we could, and sure enough, word soon began to circulate even in our area that all was not well to the lands far to the south; the tribes there were restless, they had an odd deity amongst them, and a brutal tribe, and a prophetess that rivaled even Veleda, who gave you Romans such fits. They were brutal, they were evil, and they were beginning to move.

Had we any sense, we would have fled there and then, but father stayed put. My fourteenth year passed and I entered into my fifteenth. Geldhelm promised that when he next came through, he would indeed make good on his word and help sponsor my passage into adulthood as a warrior. Since he was a good reputation among my people, both as an honorable man, and as a warrior, this would be a fine distinction in its own right. So we watched, and we waited and we listened.