by R. W. Peake
Caesar sent Vertico’s slave ahead to try getting word to Cicero, which the slave did, although in such a manner that it was not noticed for a couple of days. Tying Caesar’s dispatch around the shaft of a javelin, the slave hurled it while taking part in a Gallic attack on the walls, where it buried itself in one of the stakes of the palisade, remaining lodged there until a Centurion noticed it. That was the official story; more likely one of the rankers found it but his Centurion took the credit. Whatever the case, the men behind the walls were heartened by this news, yet were still pessimistic that Caesar would arrive in time. Nevertheless, Caesar moved with his usual speed, and in fact the signs of his approach could be marked by the columns of smoke rising in the air as he laid waste to every farm and village on the way in punishment. It was the signs of this punishment that actually raised the siege of Cicero’s camp, the Gauls seeing what was happening behind them and thereby turning to stop Caesar. Caesar’s scouts warned him of this new movement, so he gave orders to immediately stop the march and make camp. He had some 7,000 men and 300 cavalry that he had thrown together against perhaps 60,000 men, so he knew that he could not face them in pitched battle. His only hope lay in the strength of our camps and the discipline of the Legions, both of which he used to their fullest extent. Ambiorix and his allies stopped on the other side of a small river when they saw Caesar’s camp, which he sited so that from a small knoll the enemy could look down into the camp, far enough away where they could not deploy missile troops with any effect, yet close enough that what was taking place in the camp was clear to see. Caesar then instructed his men to act like they were in a state of panic as they hurried about the camp, apparently trying to improve the defenses. His cavalry screen went out and on his orders, fled when the enemy tried to engage with them, as if reluctant to do battle. The combination of these ruses served its purpose and the enemy rode across the river to surround the camp. Judging the gate too sturdy to attack, they began to fill in the ditch at a couple of points in preparation for their assault. So confident of victory were they that they did not worry about any kind of attack from within the camp, exactly what Caesar was planning on. Instantly, from both side gates our men came boiling out, led by the cavalry, immediately striking deep into the flanks of the Gauls, who were completely unprepared for an attack of any sort so it did not take long to rout the whole force, with our men inflicting heavy losses before Caesar called off the pursuit. Now with the enemy scattered to the winds, Caesar left his camp and completed the march to relieve Cicero, arriving at the gates of the 7th’s camp in the middle of the afternoon where he was understandably met with much jubilation. Caesar had broken out of his camp and inflicted heavy casualties without the loss of a single man; the same was not true for Cicero, where only ten percent of his men had no wound of any kind. Word of Caesar’s victory reached our own camp at midnight of that day as a dispatch rider used the darkness to slip past the Treveri watching our camp. Indutiomarus, at the head of the army of the Treveri, decided that the time to strike had not yet come, and ordered the army around our camp to disperse for the time being. But he was not through yet.
Because of all the turmoil in Gaul, Caesar abandoned his usual custom of leaving the area and going back to the Province or elsewhere, deciding it was best if he kept an eye on things. There was also the matter of punishing the tribes involved in the massacre of the 13th and 14th Legions, which had given the Gauls the first sign that we were not invincible. I believe it was this knowledge more than anything else that set in motion the events that were to transpire, and even we rankers knew that this winter was going to be unlike any we had ever spent since we had been in the army. Remaining at our spot, Labienus ordered us to spend more time than was usual in erecting proper fortifications to protect us, an order we cheerfully obeyed despite the extra work. Meanwhile, Caesar decided to winter at Samarobriva, summoning all of the Gallic chiefs, many of whom were involved to one degree or another in all the plotting, to come to Caesar to explain themselves. Most complied; some did not, Ambiorix being the most notable, although I cannot say that I blamed him. Neither did Indutiomarus, for the same reasons. The chiefs who did show up were thoroughly cowed, as Caesar gave them detailed accounts that showed them the extent of his knowledge of all of their intrigues with each other. They were allowed to leave, but only after renewing their oaths of loyalty and providing even more hostages as surety of their word. While Caesar was working on strengthening the bonds of the tribes of Gaul to Rome, Indutiomarus was working to solidify his own power within the Treveri. He was co-ruling at that time with his son-in-law Cingetorix, but Cingetorix was too friendly with Rome for his tastes and family or not, Indutiomarus decided that Cingetorix had to be replaced. He also was working on strengthening ties with the other tribes who had not answered Caesar’s summons, particularly the Sennones, who sentenced to death the chief that Caesar had appointed to lead them. Unfortunately for Indutiomarus, Rome had plans of her own concerning him and his future, plans that he would not like very much.
Indutiomarus was rebuffed by the Germans when he sent for aid at the beginning of the uprising, reminding him of the fate of Ariovistus, and I would like to believe that the identity of the Legion he was facing was part of that warning. However, Gauls and reason do not go in the same sentence together comfortably, if at all, and perhaps it was in fact our identity that spurred him to his next move. When Caesar relieved Cicero, at the same time he ordered the Treveri to disperse, yet now Indutiomarus summoned them again, so that late one morning the bucina sounded the alarm that an armed force was in sight of the camp. Dropping what we were doing, we rushed to our tents to gather up our gear and were in formation on the forum very quickly. Meanwhile, the sentries reported that it was Indutiomarus again, except instead of being content to watch us like the last time, he moved his army across the river to surround our camp. Before the Gauls managed to encircle us, however, Labienus sent couriers riding to the neighboring tribes who had submitted to Rome, demanding that a force of cavalry ride to our camp. Labienus also gave us strict orders not to retaliate or respond in any way to the insults that were being hurled at us by warriors who would gallop near the wall to perform their usual ritual. By this time, both sides had learned enough of the others’ language that we could at least tell when we were being insulted and what was said. As an aside, I find it amusing and somewhat interesting that whenever a soldier enters new lands, the first words of the other people’s language he picks up are invariably either curse words or words that one needs when negotiating for a whore. In our case, we simply guarded our area around the wall, watching impassively as each of the Treveri tried to outdo the man before in the inventiveness of his invective. Far from making us angry, some of their barbs brought much amusement, yet our orders had been interpreted that we were to betray no emotion, no matter what it was. The day was spent in this manner, us watching them as they gradually got bored with hurling insults at us, finally understanding that we would not be answering back.
Labienus was very specific in his instructions to the cavalry that would be coming to the camp, and in giving them, demonstrated a knowledge of the Gallic mind that only comes from fighting them for almost five years. He understood that unless you were very specific in your orders, the Gauls would give them only the loosest interpretation, so he told them that they had to arrive at our camp one third of a watch after midnight. If they arrived any sooner, or later for that matter, he would not let them in the camp, meaning they would be on their own to face Indutiomarus. This would never have worked with a Roman Legion outside the camp, since the penalty for letting an enemy slip by undetected while on watch is death, so no matter how tedious or boring, Roman sentries stay alert. Not so with the Gauls; they would watch us and be alert for a while, then those assigned to guard duty would hear their comrades by the fire, drinking and boasting of their various exploits. Unable to resist the lure, they would slowly edge closer until they could usually be found sitting amongst their friends, laugh
ing and talking. If any chief had bothered to execute one or two of the miscreants, they would not suffer surprises like the one Labienus planned to spring on them. For once, the Gallic cavalry proved to be prompt, riding quietly through the Treveri sentries to appear at our front gate precisely at the appointed time. They were let in, whereupon Labienus immediately had them dismount, keeping their horses as quiet as possible, ordering both men and beasts stabled in the same quarters. Additionally, they were given express instructions that none of them were to leave the buildings they were housed in until Labienus himself gave them permission to do so. They were not even allowed out to answer calls of nature, so thankfully the period of time they were to stay hidden was brief. Dawn came to find that, to the eyes of the Treveri, things were exactly the same as the day before, with a fifty percent alert on guard through the night. My Century was one of them, standing on the wall, bleary-eyed and quietly cursing the lack of sleep. To our eyes, things also appeared the same; the force of Indutiomarus had not increased appreciably in size, but it was still large enough that it was a sobering sight to greet the day.
“You think they’ll try today?” Scribonius and I were standing on the parapet, gazing out at the array before us, the Treveri beginning their pre-battle rituals.
Nodding at what they were doing, I replied, “Looks like it.” I turned and grinned at Scribonius. “At least we won’t be bored, neh?”
He laughed and nodded at that. Similar conversations were taking place up and down the walls, as we quietly waited for the Treveri to get down to business.
“When do you suppose Labienus will let the cavalry out?” Vibius wondered.
I shrugged; nothing had trickled down to our level that might give us a good indication one way or another. Despite our dislike of Labienus we did respect his fighting ability and I said as much, reminding my comrades that we could be sure that it would be at the best possible moment. Finally we were relieved off the wall, retiring to our tents for a meal and some sleep when we were told of Labienus’ intentions. The Pilus Prior came by, tapping his vitus against his leg as he relayed what he knew.
“After it gets dark, we’re to form up in battle order at the PortaDecumana,” he told us. “We’re to prepare as quietly as possible, and move by Century to the gate. That’s when the cavalry will come out, and once we see those bastards relaxing like they did last night, we’re out of the gate quick as Pan.”
He motioned in the direction of the other Cohort areas.
“We’ll be part of five Cohorts that’s going out in support of the cavalry, and we’re going to be moving fast. We only have one goal, and that’s to find and kill that cunnus Indutiomarus. Labienus has offered a thousand sesterces reward for the man who brings back his head.”
This was naturally met with approval, and he left us to talk excitedly about who among us would be the man to take the prize. Within moments, Didius was taking odds, and the betting was spirited. We ate our meal then retired in a good mood at the prospect of action and a reward on top of it.
At the appointed time, we moved quietly into position by the rear gate, smelling our cavalry escort before we saw them, looming black shadows in the night, speaking quietly to each other in their own tongue. Seeing Vibius grin, his teeth showing faintly in the gloom, I smiled back. Normally, when such a situation arises where speed is of the essence, it is smart money to bet on the men riding horses, but for once we thanked Didius’ underhandedness. As hard as it was for me to understand, he did have friends in other Centuries, and not just in our Cohort. One of those friends was part of the guard Cohort that night, and had managed to be stationed in the tower next to the PortaDecumana. It was from this vantage point that he could look out and watch the movements of Indutiomarus; even in the night he was distinguishable by the large contingent of bodyguards who followed him. Once it got dark, some of them carried torches as he moved from one fire to the other, and it was in such a manner that our comrade in the tower could track him. He was ordered to give everyone the direction in which to head, but at the same time, claiming that there were a number of possibilities, give the cavalry one direction and his friend Didius the true direction where Indutiomarus actually was. Of course this was not given for free; Didius had to offer him 20 percent of the amount in case we won it, to which we grudgingly agreed, knowing that without that head start and tipoff, our chances were next to nothing. Knowing that the fix was in, it was all we could do to contain ourselves and keep from babbling to each other about it, though we just managed. The Gauls were ready, and we all strained to look upward at the tower, waiting for the signal. At the last moment, there was a bit of a commotion at the rear of the Gallic column, and it was only when I heard Atilius give a slight groan that I got an idea about the scope of the calamity. Whenever an officer is present, the mood in the air instantly changes among the rankers, and now that I had been in long enough to recognize that change, my heart sank. Nevertheless, I held out a small hope as I turned my head in the direction of the sound, then bit back a curse when I recognized the ruffled feather helmet that signaled the presence of Labienus himself. There was no way that our man in the tower could risk sending us in two different directions now, with Labienus on horseback riding with the Gauls, and we all knew it. Still, I thought, miracles can happen; maybe we would still be able to claim the prize.
There was no miracle; Indutiomarus was indeed caught as he tried to get back across the river, his head removed from his shoulders by a Gallic cavalryman, a particularly smelly, nasty brute who should have used part of his reward to buy new clothes since his were so filthy that burning them was the only right thing to do. Consequently, the coalition of tribes that Indutiomarus was trying to form instantly collapsed, and it was not a complete loss, especially for me. During our pursuit of Indutiomarus, we were trailing just behind the cavalry and came across what had to be the chief’s own marching camp. Our Gauls, or most of them anyway, were too hot on the heels of Indutiomarus to stop and properly loot the camp, yet we were under no such orders, so in the confusion we took the camp, killing everyone who had not fled before going through the wagons and tents of those we had just slain. I came across a small treasure trove, and even after splitting it with my tentmates, I had about 5,000 sesterces worth of gold and jewels. At that time this was almost six years’ pay, and given what I won in the years before, I now had more than enough to pay for the freedom of Gaia and Phocas a few times over, no matter how much my father wanted to force me to pay. I also decided that I would buy one thing for myself, something that many of the men were doing, and that was a Gallic sword. The Gauls were, and are today, the finest craftsmen of just about every type of metal, but their work with bladed weapons is unparalleled. Accordingly, a good sword, one of perhaps not the same quality that a Caesar would carry, but close to it, would cost me at least two years’ pay, yet I viewed it more as an investment in my life than an expense. It would prove to be one of the best and smartest things I ever bought, and I am looking at it hanging above my fireplace even now as I dictate. My first seven years in the Legion, I ruined a good dozen blades, and even had two snap on me, although fortunately it was not in combat but in using it to hack down small brush and the like. This Gallic blade would never once fail me, and although I did not know it, I had much more fighting to come.
While the death of Indutiomarus stopped the immediate threat that we faced, this winter proved to be no winter at all in the sense of our normal routine. Instead we were marched and counter-marched all over the country, as first one tribe then another began making noises about rebelling against Rome. The one event of any moment, at least for me, was my promotion to Optio of the First Century, Second Cohort of the 10th Legion. A Centurion in the Tenth Cohort had died and Rufio was promoted, which was expected since he was of the right seniority and qualifications. However, my promotion was a surprise to many people, myself included. By rights, Calienus should have been promoted, and I was more than a little apprehensive about the first time I faced him
after my elevation, despite the fact that I outranked him. For a couple of days I tried to avoid him, then quickly realized it was pointless, since in the course of our duties we would have contact several times a day. Finally, I went to his hut, stood outside and drew a breath, about to ask permission to enter before I caught myself. I now outranked him, and I think more than anything that idea bothered me the most, because I looked up to Calienus like we all did and it was a hard adjustment to make. Still, I cleared my throat then made enough of a scuffle outside to let him know that I was coming in, and while I should not have been, I was still surprised when I found the hut empty. It was in the evening after our daily duties, and I instantly knew where he was, cursing myself for not thinking about it sooner. Calienus would be with Gisela; she lived in a small house behind the wineshop where she worked as a barmaid, a place called Pride of Bacchus or some such, a wineshop no better or worse than any of the other cesspits where soldiers on their off-duty time went to drink. These places, and the buildings where the people who ran and worked in them lived, always sprang up outside of a winter camp and the construction of them, if that was what it could be called, was so slipshod that there was always a considerable amount of wagering done about when the first one would fall down, which one it would be, and how many people would be killed. Because she was Calienus’ woman, Gisela had a much better constructed house than almost everyone else in the camp town, primarily because he helped build it and some of the Legion’s own building supplies went into the job. This was such widespread practice that I have to believe that it was like the unofficial marriages; our officers chose to turn a blind eye, as long as it was not too flagrant or egregious. Walking down the mud-churned street to the wineshop, I remember wishing that I had thought to stop and get something to drink somewhere else before talking to Calienus and was about to do that, except just then he emerged from Gisela’s house, walking to the door of the wineshop. He looked up and saw me, then stared at me for a moment, making my heart sink as I thought, he is angry with me. But then a smile crept across his face and instead of walking into the bar he turned to greet me with his hand outstretched.
