by Ben Kane
A short distance from the entrance stood a number of legionaries and officers. Their awkward stance told Romulus that these must be the others up for a decoration. Sure enough, it was to the end of this line that Atilius urged them. ‘Good luck,’ he whispered.
‘What shall we do, sir?’ asked Sabinus desperately.
‘Salute, accept your award and thank Caesar,’ Atilius muttered. ‘Then wait to be dismissed.’
They shuffled into place, nodding at the other candidates.
The trumpeters lifted their bucinae and sounded a sharp burst of notes.
‘Attention!’ cried one of the senior officers.
Every man present snapped upright.
Romulus and his companions were well placed to see Caesar stroll out into the morning air. Dressed in his scarlet cloak, gilded breastplate and leather-bordered skirt, he wore a gladius with an ornate gold and ivory hilt and a scabbard inlaid with silver. A highly polished crested helmet and calf-length leather boots completed his attire. His thin face and long nose gave him a regal air. Caesar looked every part the general.
‘At ease,’ he said calmly.
Everyone relaxed except Romulus and the other men in the line.
Caesar walked forward and raised his hands. At once an expectant hush fell over the whole gathering. ‘Comrades,’ he began. ‘Yesterday was a long day.’
‘That’s putting it mildly, Caesar,’ shouted a wag from the depths of the assembled men.
A loud gust of laughter rose into the clear air, and Caesar smiled. He liked this badinage with his men: it increased the bond between them. ‘It was a hard fight, against terrible odds,’ he admitted. ‘The enemy did his best to annihilate us. But he did not succeed. Why?’ Again Caesar paused, and Romulus saw his art, how the man was a master of oratory as well as a great military leader. He glanced at the men around him, and saw how they were hanging on the general’s every word.
‘Why?’ Caesar repeated his question. ‘Because of you.’ He pointed dramatically at a legionary near him. The man grinned delightedly. ‘And you. You and you.’ His forefinger stabbed at a second soldier, and then a third and fourth. ‘All of you fought like heroes!’
He let the cry swelling in every man’s throat burst forth and, smiling, strode forward to the line where Romulus and Sabinus stood. The cheer went on and on, with the watching legionaries now drumming their swords off the metal rims of their shields to create a deafening wall of noise. Eventually, a single word rose above the crescendo, and Romulus struggled not to shout it himself. ‘CAE-SAR! CAE-SAR! CAE-SAR!’ the soldiers cried.
The man is a genius, thought Romulus, his own pride brimming over. There’s no mention of Caesar’s own ability, of the hours of fear and the terror, of the order to stay within four steps of the standards. Just stirring words to make every soldier here think he’s as brave as Hercules. It works, too. Romulus had never felt so glad to be a Roman legionary. Shoving back his shoulders, he looked down at his mail shirt and polished scutum boss, hoping that he looked respectable enough to meet his leader.
Eventually the din died away.
Caesar stepped up to the first man in the line, who saluted with alacrity. ‘Who is this?’ he demanded.
‘Centurion Asinius Macro, sir,’ boomed one of the senior officers. ‘First Century, First Cohort, Fifth Legion. Risked his own life on multiple occasions yesterday, most notably to rescue a section of his men who had been cut off by the enemy.’
Caesar half turned, and a slave stepped forward bearing a bronze tray covered with decorations and leather purses. Picking a gold phalera, Caesar fastened it among the others on Macro’s chest harness. He muttered a few words of congratulation, and handed over a purse before moving on, leaving the centurion beaming in his wake.
The process was repeated with each man: an announcement of his name and rank, and what he’d done to deserve his award. All the while, the watching legionaries shouted Caesar’s name over and over. The atmosphere was electric, helping to dispel any lingering fears about the previous day from their minds. When Caesar reached Sabinus, Romulus had difficulty in not looking sideways. His pulse began to race. As with the others, their general clapped Sabinus on the shoulder and awarded him a silver phalera and purse. Finally he moved to stand before Romulus.
He snapped rigidly to attention.
‘Legionary Romulus, First Century, Second Cohort, Twenty-Eighth Legion,’ cried the officer.
‘And his reason for standing here?’ asked Caesar.
‘It was his idea to try and kill Petreius, sir,’ Atilius answered. ‘In just their tunics, he and two others crossed the battlefield to infiltrate the Numidians. They didn’t succeed completely, but legionary Romulus injured the whoreson. The enemy broke and ran, when just a few moments earlier, Petreius had been successfully rallying them. If it hadn’t been for Romulus’ action, our counter-attack would have been a complete failure.’
Caesar raised his eyebrows. Of course he’d already heard the story. ‘You vouch for this man?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Atilius confidently.
‘Used to be in the Tenth, didn’t you?’
‘I did, sir.’
Caesar nodded. ‘I heard about your little javelin throw yesterday. Well done.’
Atilius beamed. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Caesar turned back to Romulus. ‘A worthy deed, it seems.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘Have we met before?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Romulus, his cheeks flushing.
‘Where?’
‘In Rome, sir. You granted me my manumission at the arena.’
Recognition flared in Caesar’s eyes, and he smiled. ‘Oh yes! The slave who killed the Ethiopian bull.’
‘Yes, sir,’ answered Romulus, his face burning now.
‘Killing wild beasts is not your only skill, it seems.’
‘It was an honour to take part in the attempt, sir. Sorry that I didn’t kill Petreius.’
Caesar laughed. ‘Never mind, man! He ran away, and his men followed. That’s all we needed, and it’s thanks to you. There’ll be another day to settle the matter.’
‘Sir.’
Taking a gold phalera from the tray, Caesar attached it to Romulus’ mail. ‘Continue like this and you’ll end up an officer,’ he said, handing over two heavy purses. ‘Caesar does not forget good legionaries like you.’
‘Thank you, sir!’ Grinning from ear to ear, Romulus thumped a fist off his chest in salute.
The general gave him a friendly nod and returned to his senior officers.
‘I give you – Caesar’s bravest soldiers,’ cried one of the trumpeters. He lifted his instrument and blew a short fanfare.
A rousing cheer went up, with Romulus’ voice straining itself hoarse among them.
Then, followed by his subordinates, Caesar entered his headquarters.
It was where he stayed for the following few weeks. Although enemy activity in and around his camp at Ruspina was vigorous, Caesar calmly ignored it all. With the defences of the camp being increased daily – every craftsman available was making sling-shot balls and javelins, catapults were mounted on every guard tower and the walls were fully manned day and night – Caesar had the confidence to remain out of sight, receiving reports and issuing his commands in response. His assurance was proved correct by the Pompeians’ failure to attack. Even when Labienus’ forces were reinforced by the arrival of Metellus Scipio and his army, Caesar’s enemies did not act.
More legions and cavalry arrived from Italy, bringing with them much needed supplies. There were regular skirmishes with the Pompeians, but none were decisive. Caesar’s attempt to take the town of Uzitta, which was the main source for his enemy’s water, failed, but the Pompeians lost many soldiers in their unsuccessful attempts to dislodge Caesar’s forces from their positions. Eventually, realising that there was little gain to be had from continuing the siege, Caesar led his ten legions off towards a settlement by the name of Aggar. They were harassed all the way by the Numidi
an cavalry, and struggled at one stage to move a hundred paces in more than four hours. What helped the beleaguered soldiers then was the knowledge that if they stuck together and did not break ranks, the enemy horse was able to do little more than injure a few men with their throwing spears.
Romulus was pleased when new training began for all the legionaries, teaching them how to fight alongside their cavalry. Three hundred men from each legion were then picked to remain in battle order each day, their purpose to act as close support for their horsemen whenever a skirmish began. In this way, the probing Pompeian attacks were resisted more easily. On a number of occasions the frustrated Scipio offered battle, but each time Caesar refused it. Although he knew that his general was waiting for the best moment to fight, Romulus began to grow impatient as time dragged by. He lost count of the times both armies faced each other, ready to fight, only to march away a few hours later.
Romulus was pleased that his comrades shared his sentiments. Fully part of his contubernium and century now, he sat around each night gossiping, wondering when the campaign would end. It seemed that everyone wanted the conflict to cease now. For some of the veterans who’d crossed the Rubicon with Caesar, the war had gone on for more than three years, and while he didn’t say so, Romulus had been on campaign since he’d left Italy nearly a decade before. A sense of weariness that he’d never acknowledged before was awoken by the conversations about home, family and planting crops. Romulus’ loyalty to Caesar was unswerving, but he too began to wish for a quick victory in Africa. Only Hispania would then remain as a potential campaign before they could all be demobilised. Yet Romulus’ desire to leave the legions was always underpinned by his doubts as to what he’d do with his life. In some ways, dying in battle would be a simple way out.
It wasn’t until Caesar’s legions abandoned their attack on Aggar and made a night march to begin the siege of the coastal town of Thapsus that things started to look as if they might change. The fortifications had barely been finished on the first evening when news came of the Pompeian army’s arrival. Scipio had come in hot pursuit. The ground around Thapsus was flat, facilitating a hard face-to-face encounter. At first glance, the situation didn’t look good. The enemy outnumbered them in all parts of the army: infantry, skirmishers and cavalry; they also retained more than a hundred elephants, while Caesar had none. However, more than half of Caesar’s men had fought under him for a decade or more, while the majority of the Pompeians were new recruits. Enemy deserters had also revealed that the elephants had only recently been captured and were thus not hardened in combat.
As well as sitting on the coast, Thapsus was protected by a large salt-water lagoon and an inward-pointing tongue of sea, which meant that it could be attacked in only two places. Shrewd to the last, Caesar had ordered a fort constructed on the route which afforded the best options to attack the town. This left a spit of land a mile and a half wide which ran between the sea and the lagoon as the only way to approach his forces.
As Romulus and his comrades had discovered at dawn, it was an avenue which Scipio had taken. Word had come from the outlying positions that a large army was advancing towards Thapsus in triplex acies formation. The classic three lines of soldiers used by most Roman generals, it had been strengthened by the presence of Numidian cavalry and the feared elephants on both flanks. In a surprise move, though, half the Pompeian army – including most of the Numidians – had been left to cover the second route by the fort. Consequently, Caesar’s veterans now almost equalled their opponents. To the understandable delight of his entire army, the wily general did not attempt to avoid battle this time.
Instead his legions had marched out to meet the enemy.
The opportunity was too good to miss.
By mid-morning that day, the two forces filled the spit of land entirely. Facing each other from a distance of no more than a quarter of a mile, they eyed each other closely, wondering what would transpire. The Twenty-Eighth, with Romulus in its midst, formed part of Caesar’s centre along with two other less experienced legions. His veterans from the campaign in Gaul, including the Fifth and the famous Tenth, were stationed on each wing, supported by hundreds of slingers and archers. Outside these were the horsemen, although the presence of water on both sides meant that any cavalry action would be limited. There simply wasn’t enough space for them to manoeuvre.
Another reason to fight today, thought Romulus. Leaving the brunt of the fighting to the legionaries took away the advantage of the enemy’s Numidians. Caesar’s men were facing a greater number of Pompeian troops, but they were known to be inexperienced. There were about sixty elephants on each flank, and a large number of cavalry. None of this was causing much concern in Caesar’s lines either. Five cohorts had been trained how to fight the massive beasts using their pila, and both they and the missile troops were aware of their vulnerable spots. Romulus eyed the eager-faced men around him. In a marked difference from Ruspina, confidence oozed from them. It was even more exaggerated among the veterans on the wings. Already their ranks were swaying backwards and forwards like reeds in the wind. Only the blows and curses of their officers was keeping them in line.
The day was to continue in this bloodthirsty vein. As Caesar prepared to address his men, his officers began beseeching him to allow the attack to start. Atilius and other cohort commanders were no different, breaking ranks to walk by the side of the general’s horse and pleading for the honour of charging first. Smiling, Caesar told the senior centurions that the time would be right very soon. He had not anticipated the eagerness of the Ninth and Tenth legions on the right flank. Bullying their trumpeters to sound the advance, they ignored their centurions and pelted forward towards the enemy.
Romulus watched, first in amazement and then with growing impatience. Surely they had to join in? Otherwise the veterans’ impetuous action could cost them dearly. His emotions were mirrored by the nearby legionaries. Despite the centurions’ liberal use of their vine canes, the entire legion moved forward a good fifty paces towards Caesar.
With Atilius and his companions still by his side, their general took this in.
Pausing, the men of the Twenty-Eighth held their breath.
To Romulus’ delight, Caesar shrugged, and then grinned. ‘It’s as good a time as any. Felicitas!’ he shouted, turning his horse’s head. Drumming his heels into its sides, he headed straight for the enemy.
Atilius and the other senior centurions looked to their men. ‘You heard the general!’ bellowed one. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Romulus, Sabinus and thousands of others answered with a deafening, incoherent shout. The cry was echoed by the entire army, which broke into a run towards the Pompeians. Soon it was possible to see the still stationary enemy already quailing at the ferocity of their attack. This of course increased the Caesareans’ determination, and they crashed into their opponents’ lines like Vulcan smiting a piece of metal. First to hit the Pompeians were the Ninth and Tenth, who used their javelins to great effect. Thrown in dense volleys, they caused instant panic among the war elephants, which turned and stampeded back through their own lines. Without pausing, the veterans crashed into the bewildered ranks behind, breaking them apart like so much firewood.
The enemy troops did not know how to react, and the same story was shortly repeated all along the battle front. Spurred on by the success of the Ninth and Tenth legions, every soldier in Caesar’s army flung himself at the Pompeians like a man possessed. Unprepared for this fervent zeal, their adversaries simply broke and ran. Dropping their weapons, they turned and fled along the spit. The narrow bridge of land, which had seemed so perfect for an attack, soon became a perfect killing ground. There was no escape to either side, and the Pompeians could not run fast enough to outstrip the enraged Caesarean legionaries. No quarter was spared, and thousands of the enemy died pleading for their lives.
It was almost as if every man was trying to end the civil war himself, thought Romulus as he watched his comrades cut down eve
ry soldier they encountered. It didn’t matter whether they tried to fight, to run or to surrender. Wounded, whole or unarmed, they were slaughtered anyway. More than one Caesarean officer who tried to intervene was killed, and Atilius wisely let his legionaries do what they would. Although Romulus knew his comrades’ reasons – they were sick of defeated Pompeians who had been pardoned by Caesar reneging on their words and rejoining the struggle – he could not bring himself to kill defenceless men. After their initial charge, when he’d downed a number of Pompeian soldiers, Romulus just ran alongside Sabinus and the rest, doing little other than watch the battle turn into a rout. His companions were so consumed by battle rage that they didn’t even notice.
It was perhaps for this reason that Romulus saw the elephant before anyone else.
Terrified by the number of javelins and arrows launched by Caesar’s legionaries and missile troops, almost every one of the great beasts had turned and run away. From what Romulus could see, they hadn’t stopped yet. Except for this one. With numerous pila sticking from its thick, leathery skin like so many pins in a cushion, the elephant had done an about-turn and was now charging through its own retreating soldiers towards Caesar’s lines.
Towards the Twenty-Eighth.
Bugling with pain and anger, it was smashing men out of its path like twigs. Its mahout was long gone, probably brought down by a spear or arrow, so the elephant was rampaging wherever it wished. Maddened now beyond reason, it killed everything in its path. The reactions of the Pompeians as they saw it coming varied, Romulus saw. Some panicked and ran towards the Caesareans, desperately pushing their comrades out of the way. Others managed to remain calm, throwing their pila at its eyes or trunk in an attempt to head it off. Another group froze on the spot, unsure what to do when faced with such a leviathan. All of these strategies were limited in their success, and Romulus’ heart raced as he wondered what he would do.
