Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul mwc-1

by R. W. Peake

  “There’s no telling,” the Sergeant replied. “It all depends on whether or not it looks like they're ready for us I would guess.”

  This made sense to us, except that he was wrong, but only because we were marching with Caesar. Any other general would have done the prudent thing as Calienus suggested, a thorough reconnaissance before making any decisions, yet other generals were not Caesar. However, we were blissfully unaware of this as we marched towards the village.

  I do not know the name of the town, but it was easy to see. It sat perched on a hill that commanded the surrounding plain so the barbarians could see us coming just like we could see them sitting there. At first it was just a dark spot on the horizon, a speck sitting on a bump that ever so slowly got larger as we marched. All of our eyes were fixated on that spot, knowing that for most of us, we would be facing battle for the first time in our lives. This was not training, this was going to be the real thing, and none of us who had yet to be blooded could imagine what we were about to face. Perhaps Vibius and I, and some of the others with kin that served, had a better idea, yet even we knew that no matter how descriptive veterans were with us, it was going to pale in comparison with what we were about to experience. With the sun moving across the sky, while it did not seem to be any hotter than any other day up to that point, I found that my sweat poured more freely than during any previous day’s march. Glancing over at Scribonius, I could see that his face glistened with moisture as well, so I at least knew that if it was not the heat but nerves I was not alone. The chattering that was normal as we marched was also less than other days, kept to a few muttered comments between men who marched next to each other, the customary banter and catcalls that men in one Century or Cohort would call out across the ranks almost completely missing, so that the sounds of the clinking and clanking of our gear along with the rhythmic thudding of our feet dominated the air. Slowly, ever so slowly, the village became more distinct and started to take shape.

  It was just about two thirds of a watch before sundown when we were halted a little more than a mile from the town, which we could plainly see now. It had a wooden wall around it, but did not appear to have any kind of ditch or other defensive measures, relying on its position on the hill and the slope that would have to be climbed first to get to the base of the wall before any assault of the town could begin. The wall itself appeared to be about ten feet tall, and while made of wood, the parapet was crenellated, with men clearly seen in the gaps watching us as we slowly spread out before them. The 8th was given the vanguard that day, in honor of the fallen men, so they were arrayed first, in the triplexacies formation. We were third in line, just ahead of the baggage train, making it almost sunset by the time we arrived to take a place to the left of the 8th and the 7th, occupying the far left of the line. The cornicen sounded the signal for the Legion officers to join the command group, with the Primus Pilus and Tribunes for each Legion moving to where Caesar’s standard was displayed, the red pennant that denotes the presence of the commanding general. Being in the First Century of the Second Cohort meant that we were in the front line, although I was in the last row of the Century, with the Fifth Century immediately behind us, and I could hear them talking behind me, the topic the same thing that occupied all of us. Were we going to attack, this late in the day? We were standing easy, with our gear grounded, the only order given to that point indicating we might be going into battle being the order to unsling our shields, which we rested on the ground in front of us. Staring at the walls, I examined the men watching us as they moved about, gesturing at us to their comrades, saying the gods only knew what. I remember wondering if what they were thinking was similar to what I was thinking, which was wondering what they were thinking. Still, no matter what was in their minds they were certainly active, bustling about and starting fires behind the walls, their locations identified by the trails of smoke. That got me wondering what the fires were for, but none of the ideas that I could come up with gave me any comfort.

  As if reading my mind, I heard Romulus say, “Maybe they’re cooking us dinner.”

  This was met with a laugh by all of us; I think it was probably more hearty than the joke actually deserved, yet it served to relieve some of the tension as we waited to hear what we were about to do.

  I do not know how much time passed, but finally the Primus Pilus came back then ordered our cornicen to sound the assembly for the Centurions of our Legion, who quickly moved to gather around him to get instructions. Craning my neck, once again I was thankful for my height as I peered at the group of Centurions, watching them nod in acknowledgement of what the Primus Pilus was telling them. After just a moment, the group of men broke up, and all 59 Centurions came striding back to their respective Centuries. The Pilus Prior came to us and bellowed in his command voice, “Listen up ladies, we're going to be making a marching camp, but it’s going to be a little different than usual. We're going to create two camps, with two Legions in each camp. We're pairing up with the 9th, which is just coming up now.”

  Pointing to an area some distance away, when we looked over to where he was indicating, we saw a group of men that are part of the advance party. Their job is not only scouting for campsites, but also to provide any engineering and pioneer work to clear the way for the Legions should the terrain require it. To this point in our march the terrain, despite being hilly in places, consisted of low scrub vegetation, with only occasional patches of woods that we could easily bypass. It was not until we were in Gaul that I saw the real value these men provided, when we would advance through forests that lasted for days, but here in Lusitania it was not necessary for them to clear the way. Instead, they would usually have our camp boundaries already staked out and ready for us to start entrenching and building, except on this day they were held back from their normal task until the army had arrived and Caesar decided what to do. Now, they were using their instruments to survey and mark out our camp.

  Continuing, Pilus Prior Crastinus said, “The way it’s going to work is that we're going to stay here in formation, while the 9th makes the camp. Same for the other two Legions; one works, the other watches. The one thing that we're going to change is that we're changing to single line to extend our coverage of the ground here.”

  What this required was the Legion to counter march, in this case to the left, and extend the spaces between each Century so that the second Century of each line could then move forward and to the oblique to fill in the space created. Consequently, instead of three lines of double Centuries, we would have three longer lines of single Centuries. Although it did not provide the depth, it would extend the coverage, making it harder for the barbarians to sally forth and move around our flank. As far as we were concerned, the news could not have been better; no digging, no carrying, no chopping for us! It was hard for us to contain our grins, but the Pilus Prior saw some of our expressions and snapped, “Go ahead and laugh now, because sooner or later, Fortuna is going to piss all over us.”

  That killed the mood of joy immediately, because we knew he was right. Not for the first time I cursed the Pilus Prior and his talent for taking the fun out of any occasion.

  It was more than a full watch past dark before we were given the order to fall back and into the camp, and while nothing exciting happened, we still learned a valuable lesson that day. Even when one is standing still, when it is a requirement to stay vigilant and ready to go into action at a moment’s notice, it can be just as tiring as making a camp. I for one was surprised to find how fatigued I was, but the others confirmed that they were in the same state, making me feel somewhat better. Additionally, we were ordered to have no fires either, confined instead to chewing our fat bacon and gnawing at whatever bread we managed to keep to the side. That night the guard was doubled, so the prospect for sleep was not auspicious either. All in all, our first sighting of the enemy was proving to be more boring and troublesome than anything else. While we sat in a circle outside the tent finishing what passed for our meal, the P
ilus Prior came by, accompanied by Optio Vinicius. He had just been to the command group briefing, and was spreading the word about what we could expect the next morning, and he called all of the men in our Century to gather in the Century street, then motioned for us to sit down while he talked. Squatting in front of us, we could just make out his bulk by the light of the half moon and the glow of the few torches that were allowed to be lit along the walls.

  “We attack at first light,” he announced, causing all of us to stop chewing our food to listen intently. “The engineers are going to be busy tonight making scaling ladders, and we’re going to assault the town from two sides. The artillery will begin a barrage a third of a watch before first light, and soften up the defenses. I doubt that what we have with us will be big enough to knock down any of that wall because it looks pretty strong, so it'll probably be the ladders that'll get us over the quickest. The 8th is going to use the ram,” he was referring to the mobile ram that was broken down and carried as part of the baggage train, “to assault the main gate, which is the most heavily defended. The other two Legions will be support, which is why we're in the camp together.”

  Suddenly, I understood why two camps were made, and in the darkness I could just make out Vibius’ face and saw that he recognized it as well. Thinking about it more, I realized that the 7th and 8th’s camp was directly in front of the main gate of the town, while our camp was arrayed opposite the side of the town where we would be assaulting. Maybe this Caesar did know what he was doing after all.

  The Pilus Prior paused a moment to let all this sink in before finishing, “You’ll receive more detailed orders in the morning, but I just wanted all of you to know now what was going to be happening. In the morning we’ll assign the sectors of the wall and who'll be the first over it. So get some sleep, because tomorrow is a big day.”

  With that, he stood and strode off, leaving us to talk excitedly to each other. Looking over at Vibius, he gave me a tight smile, his teeth shining dully in the moonlight.

  “I bet we’re one of the first over the walls,” he said, his voice quavering just enough so that only I, his closest friend who had known him for all these years, would recognize the fear in his voice. I felt my throat constrict, so instead of answering, I just nodded.

  “That just means my first Corona Muralis”, Didius’ voice cut the air between us; neither of us had realized that he was within earshot or even listening.

  Feeling the familiar tickle of my anger rising, instead of lashing out, I replied as coolly as I could, “Or you’ll be the first man dead.”

  I could see the whites of his eyes as he glared at me angrily and snapped, “As you could be Pullus. Don’t forget that.”

  Then he turned heel to stalk away, but despite feeling a little sense of triumph for having rattled him, his words and the warning of Optio Vinicius collided in my mind, sending a shiver up my spine. Was I going to have to watch both my front and my back, as the Optio had warned me?

  There was little sleep that night, I suspect by any of us in the army, with the possible exception of the veterans. The Centurions certainly did not sleep; they were prowling around the camp, checking on the men in their Century, conferring with each other about the coming day. In our tent only Calienus lay snoring softly, oblivious to our whispered conversations. Vibius tossed and turned for a while, and I could hear him mumbling to himself, while I lay just staring at the roof of the tent, trying to think of other things that had nothing to do with what was happening in just a couple of watches.

  Finally giving up his attempt to sleep, Vibius rolled over to face me and whispered, “Do you have it in a safe place?”

  Inwardly I cursed; this was probably the fourth or fifth time he had asked me that question this night. Biting back a sharp retort, instead I sighed, “Yes Vibius. I have it in a safe place. It’s wrapped in the greased leather bag in the bottom of my pack. The same place it’s been the last four times you asked me about it.”

  I could not resist this last gibe, but fortunately for both of us, and for the rest of the tent section, he was too agitated to take offense.

  “I know, I know. I'm sorry I keep asking. It’s just that……”

  “I understand,” I whispered.

  And I did; if the truth were known, I had found myself wanting to ask him the same question about my will. As my designated comrade, one of the primary responsibilities we had concerning the other was keeping each other’s will in a safe place. Each of us was also responsible for carrying out the bequests made in the will, ensuring that we carried out the last wishes of our closest comrade and friend. We were ordered to draw up the wills in the days prior to starting our campaign, just another somber reminder that this was indeed serious business, and we did so with the guidance and help of our Sergeant, along with the Tesseraurius Cordius who had experience in these matters. One of the duties of the Tesseraurius, besides keeping the watchword, is to act as the Century’s banker, and also in the case where a man lost his comrade, hold the will of the lone man until he found another comrade to do so. Cordius was well liked and trusted by all of us, a critical trait for that position, almost as important as the ability to calculate sums. Both Vibius and I knew our letters, but neither of us had much practice at actually writing a document, a very common fact in the Legions. Some were even illiterate, so instead they dictated the terms of their will to their Tesseraurius who wrote it for them. Didius was one of those illiterates, a fact that brought on him much derision and jeers from the tent section, especially since each of us had been subject to his bullying or boasting. Consequently, this piece of information was filed away by all of us to bring up at opportune moments, much to Didius’ rage and consternation.

  “And you remember what to do?” Vibius pressed and this time I could not keep a groan from escaping.

  “By the gods, yes Vibius I remember!”

  But he would not be satisfied just with that. “Tell me,” he insisted. “What are you supposed to do?”

  Sitting up, I glared at him, although it was pitch black.

  Since he obviously was just not going to let this go, through gritted teeth, I replied, “I’m to take your ashes not to your family, but to Juno and give them to her. Then I’m to tell her that she's no longer bound to you, and has your blessings and prayers for her happiness.”

  “And what else?”

  Sighing, my anger deflated; it was hard to stay that way when you were talking about your best friend’s possible death, especially when it was that same friend who brought it up.

  “I'm to tell her you died well, facing the enemy. Even if………” I did not finish, because I did not want to.

  “Even if it’s a lie,” he finished quietly. “I want her to always remember me in a good light, Titus. Surely you can understand that.”

  I nodded, although he could not see me and responded, “Yes, Vibius I do understand that. It’s just that neither of those is going to happen. I won’t have to lie because you’re not going to die, and even if you do, you're not going to die with your back to the enemy. It’s just not in you.”

  “I hope you’re right,” was all he said to that and I dropped back down on my cot, willing the time to pass more quickly.

  Somehow I managed to doze off, because when the bucina sounded the signal for waking, I about jumped out of my skin. Sitting up, I heard the others rustling about, along with the cries and calls of the Centurions greeting their men that signaled the start of the day. Looking through the flap, I saw that it was still dark, which was not unusual. It was the shade of darkness that told me that we had been roused even earlier than normal. The one change from the night before was that now we were allowed to start fires and actually cook our breakfast. Immediately the men designated to cooking duty that day began gathering the ingredients from their comrades that would make breakfast. It would be the standard porridge, with salt bacon thrown in, and as many spices and flavorings as could be scrounged up. Soon enough, the smells of simmering porridge
sent the signal to my stomach via my nose and despite my anxiety, I found I was famished. Since our officers evidently wanted us fortified with a good hot meal before battle, I felt obligated to eat, despite my misgivings. My comrades all seemed to feel the same way and more quickly than normal the porridge pot was emptied. Once we were finished, the Pilus Prior again summoned us in the darkness, although this time Optio Vinicius carried a torch, the light from it dancing on the rugged features of Pilus Prior Crastinus, the shadows accentuating even more the hook of his nose. One difference I noted immediately in his demeanor is that it seemed as if the invisible man waving the turd was given the day off, and he looked at all of us with an expression that we had not yet seen on his face. Could it be pride, I wondered? Might this man actually be proud of his Century and the men we were becoming? While the Pilus Prior was in direct command of our Century, he was also the senior Centurion for the entire Cohort, so he called for the entire Cohort to be assembled to ensure that he only had to relay orders one time.

  “As I told all of you last night,” his voice rang out, “we've been selected by General Caesar to be the assault element on the walls of the town, while the 8th Legion will be conducting a simultaneous assault on their front gate. Our assault is going to work like this. First, Second, Third and Fourth Cohort will be first over the walls. The First and Second Maniple of our Cohort, commanded by me will scale the walls, while the Third Maniple will provide covering fire at the base of the hill. Once we're over the Third Maniple will follow suit. We'll be followed by the other Cohorts, in numerical order. An artillery barrage will precede the assault, and all the Scorpions for both the 9th and 10th are being assigned for our use. They'll station themselves on a small rise a couple of hundred paces away, and they'll be providing close support, only lifting their fire when we begin climbing the ladders. That should make those bastards keep their heads down while we take care of business.”