nd the Batavians, should be
separated from the standard of Julian, under which they had acquired
their fame and discipline; that in each of the remaining bands three
hundred of the bravest youths should be selected; and that this numerous
detachment, the strength of the Gallic army, should instantly begin
their march, and exert their utmost diligence to arrive, before the
opening of the campaign, on the frontiers of Persia. [4] The Caesar
foresaw and lamented the consequences of this fatal mandate. Most of the
auxiliaries, who engaged their voluntary service, had stipulated, that
they should never be obliged to pass the Alps. The public faith of Rome,
and the personal honor of Julian, had been pledged for the observance
of this condition. Such an act of treachery and oppression would destroy
the confidence, and excite the resentment, of the independent warriors
of Germany, who considered truth as the noblest of their virtues, and
freedom as the most valuable of their possessions. The legionaries,
who enjoyed the title and privileges of Romans, were enlisted for the
general defence of the republic; but those mercenary troops heard with
cold indifference the antiquated names of the republic and of Rome.
Attached, either from birth or long habit, to the climate and manners of
Gaul, they loved and admired Julian; they despised, and perhaps hated,
the emperor; they dreaded the laborious march, the Persian arrows, and
the burning deserts of Asia. They claimed as their own the country which
they had saved; and excused their want of spirit, by pleading the sacred
and more immediate duty of protecting their families and friends.

The apprehensions of the Gauls were derived from the knowledge of the
impending and inevitable danger. As soon as the provinces were exhausted
of their military strength, the Germans would violate a treaty which had
been imposed on their fears; and notwithstanding the abilities and valor
of Julian, the general of a nominal army, to whom the public calamities
would be imputed, must find himself, after a vain resistance, either a
prisoner in the camp of the barbarians, or a criminal in the palace of
Constantius. If Julian complied with the orders which he had received,
he subscribed his own destruction, and that of a people who deserved
his affection. But a positive refusal was an act of rebellion, and
a declaration of war. The inexorable jealousy of the emperor, the
peremptory, and perhaps insidious, natu