Claudius and the Camels

It’s long been my contention, ever since one bit my finger, that camels are nothing to snort at. I’ve read that they have longer memories than elephants. An elephant may never forget, but a camel never forgives. For example, it’s said among camel traders in Rajasthan that if you do something to make a male camel mad at you it’s wisest to trade him to another dealer asap because eventually, when you are not looking, that camel will kill you. He won’t kill his next owner, that is as long as that owner does nothing to piss him off. But if you happen to have a meet-up with the new owner, make sure you never get near your former pet. If he gets the chance, he’ll kick your head off. Camels are smarter than they look. Normally, I write about things in my life that have something to do with personal experience, but today I want to write about something that happened in 43 AD. You see, as I was stepping out of the bathtub last week, I happened to recall reading about a camel story and then, as I was toweling off, I began doing a stand-up comedy routine that made me laugh so hard I dropped the towel and wondered if I should try to repeat myself on video. No. I decided I’m not a stand-up comedienne, at least not on command. The solution was to write a blog about the story in my head. This is based on my recollection of a history book read ages ago and five minutes worth of Googling today. My apologies in advance to all history majors who know what really happened, or think they do. Here goes: A long time ago on a planet called Rome, there was a particularly nasty emperor named Caligula. He had the bad habit of murdering anyone among his huge throng of relatives who posed the least threat of possibly overthrowing him. It was best to stay out of his way, thought his uncle Tiberius Claudius. Uncle Claud was born slightly deaf, had a notable limp, and since he was raised outside of Italy he escaped Nephew Caligula’s notice for a long time. However, whatever Claud lacked in hearing, he more than made up in smarts. To save himself from an unpleasant mutilation, he pretended he was not only deaf but stupid. He did such a good job that no one thought he was worth offing. This stratagem worked so well that by the time Caligula was himself hacked to pieces, Uncle Claud limped forward to take his place as the last male in the Julio-Claudian Dynasty. This happened around 41 AD. Roman Emperors had a duty to expand the Empire. That’s what Emperors do. So Claud, eventually known as Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, decided it was time to invade Britain again and move the dividing line further north. In 43 AD, he sent his best general, who would have done a fine job if left alone. But to prove to the world that he was just as smart as his illustrious predecessors, Claud decided to join his troops and bring backups in the form of camels and elephants. The elephants turned out about as useful to Claudius as they were to Hannibal, so we’ll leave them for their own blog and concentrate on the camels. The Britains of the time were fairly mean fighters. Imagine a tattooed Mel Gibson with long hair and Arnold Schwarzenegger-sized arms wielding a nasty sword and a heavy-duty shield. Now picture him in a chariot that had scythes (curved knives) welded to the cart wheel spokes. Woe betide any enemy who got in the way of those chariots. There would no body left for Mel Schwarzenegger to slash the head off of. Or rather, of which to slash the head off. Quite often, the chariot wheels and its drivers never got the opportunity to do mayhem because of the ponies that pulled these buggies. Visualize short, blonde, hairy horses bred for notably bad tempers. Their use as plow horses paled in comparison to their enthusiasm for trampling people to death. Don’t blame them. It’s what they got paid for. Or rather, it’s for which they got paid. So here comes Claudius, showing up with a few more Roman cohorts, a few elephants and their mahouts, and a half dozen or more foul smelling camels and their drivers. They unload and set up camp in preparation for the next day’s battle. What Aulus Plautius, the commander already in charge, thought of these new recruits, is hard to say. Perhaps he was reminded of why everybody said Uncle Claudius was an idiot. That would be logical. Picture this: it’s the night before the battle. The Brits are feeling justifiably smug. Their ponies are feeling eager to chomp off a few foreign heads. No problem on that side of the battlefield. On the other side, Claudius is eager to execute his bright idea. He tells Plautius and his men to sit tight while he issues a few instructions to the camel drivers. He has them lead their camels right down the centerfield, the fifty yard line, halfway between them and us. First they walk, one foot in front of the other, from left to right, all the way across the open field. Then Uncle Claud has them turn around and retrace their steps to the other side. “Can we go home now?” The camel drivers are uncomfortable about being so exposed, with good reason, except that it’s pitch dark and no one but Claud and the camels know what they’re doing. The Brits are in a drunken sleep and the Romans are figuring Caligula made a mistake. “Hmm,” says Claudius. “Nope, I’ll tell you what. Let’s go back and forth one more time, just to make sure.” The camel drivers are thinking “Sure of what?” But they can’t say anything because they’re getting paid by the hour. Eventually, Claudius is happy with his handiwork and lets the camels go to the back of the encampment to get a good night’s sleep, or what’s left of the night. Comes the morning and the war horns are blown, the ponies are snorting in their traces, the Brits are pounding their shields with their hammer-like fists and the Romans are lining up in neat rows. At the sound of the final blare, the Britains attack. “Now?” Plautius asks Claudius. “Nope.” Claudius gives the order to do nothing. Meanwhile, war chariots emerge from the forests, fire steaming out of the ponies’ noses. “Now? Plautius repeats, thinking he should give the order to charge. “Not yet,” replies Claudius. “Hold on. You’re going to love this.” Plautius is now of the opinion they’re all going to die unless Claudius happens to immediately meet with an unfortunate accident. Claudius turns to him and says, “I actually do know what I’m doing. Wait. It won’t take long.” Plautius thinks to himself he’ll give the Emperor until the twenty-five yard line. Then he orders his troops to do that thing where they kneel and put their big old shields in front of them, forming a wall to protect themselves from an onslaught. Back to the chariots. No one is opposing them. Pan the camera to the two center chariots led by the biggest, baddest of the war ponies: Awarnach and Osbert. Says Osbert, “Hey, Awarnach! Can you get a load of those guys? I’m going for the one left of center.” Awarnach snorts,”Good one, Osbert! I’ll take out the one to the right and then we’ll eat the rest for lunch.” Everything is going great for Awarnach, Osbert and their buddies until….until they reach the fifty yard line. Suddenly a stink rises up from the earth as has never been smelled in the history of the British Isles. The reek is so bad it turns the ponies brains to mush. They panic; they rear up; there’s nothing their drivers can do to steady them. When they’re hit with lashes, they begin kicking the floors out from under the chariots in their hysterical drive to get the hell away from the fetid stink that’s driving them insane. Awarnach is in the middle of the bad smell mush but he’s managed to retain a trace of his normal vile wits. “Hey, Osbert! I think if we just keep going forward we’ll be okay.” He looks to his left, to where Osbert should be. “Osbert? Osbert? Where are you, buddy?” Twisting his head over his haunches, ignoring the beating he’s getting from the man in the wooden box behind him, he hollers “Osberrrrttt!” “I’m heeerrrr….” Awarnach hears a voice fading into the woods, and sees Osbert’s tail disappearing from sight. The next sound is a faint “Awarnach…pal….ruuunnnn!” Awarnach looks around. All the other ponies are bucking, kicking, and/or running back to the safety of the trees. In front of him, a pack of foreigners have put down their shields and are laughing their heads off. Awarnach may be mean spirited but he’s also not a good sport. In spite of the man holding the sides of the chariot while trying to keep Awarnach from killing him, the pony turns around and gallops off, neighing “Osberrrttt….budddy….wait for meeee!” When things settled down and the Legionnaire leaders gathered for the night in their tents—shelters pitched on the other side of the battlefield they’d just conquered—Plautius has a chance to ask, with all due respect, “Dear Emperor, what the hell just happened there?” Claudius, the sly old dog, smiled his crooked smile and replied, “Have you ever noticed that horses and camels are kept far apart?” “No," replied Plautius, “I can honestly say I’ve never before been in a battle with horses and camels.” Emperor TCCAG’s smile grew more smug. “Camel scent scares horses. You should remember that. I remembered it. That’s why when I learned you’d be facing war chariots I decided to bring along a few camel reinforcements.” Leaning toward his now very uncomfortable commander, Claudius added, “You thought I was nuts when I told the drivers to take their camels for a walk in the middle of the night. But I knew I was laying down a smelly trail that would put the ponies in a panic.” Feeling very proud of himself, he added. “There’s a reason I survived and all my cousins did not.” Patting Plautius on the back as he rose to dismiss them all, he said “You should read a little more about history. It’s amazing what it can do for one’s longevity.” (Footnote: Claudius was smart and did a lot of good things in the ensuing eleven years. Unfortunately, it appears he was not smart enough to avoid being poisoned to death by his wife and replaced by Nero, who dismissed the camel brigade. We all know how well that turned out.)