by R. W. Peake
“It’s the Germans,” someone cried, and in a moment it was clear that it was indeed the Germans, their camp being on the northernmost point of the ring of cavalry camps. This distance caused them to arrive to the battle late, but the impact of their charge was enough to shatter the Gallic attack. Gauls were now galloping headlong for the single gate, and even from where we stood it was clear that there would be a massive crush at the entrance, there being more men and horses trying to jam through a relatively small opening than could reasonably fit. Caesar saw this as well, giving us the order to advance closer to the Gallic position, in the event that in the panic that was about to result there would be an opportunity for us to rush the gate and force entry. The sight of our advance did indeed cause a panic among the defenders in the camp between their outer walls and the walls of the town, so what started outside the walls was now transferred to the men in the camp as they began to run wildly towards the town gates. Meanwhile, the Gallic cavalry reached the gates, with chaos ensuing as men tried to escape the onrushing Germans, who rode in cutting and hacking at the enemy trying desperately to jam themselves through the gate. Some men leaped from their mounts onto the wall, scrambling to get away from the certain death that awaited them. The screams of men being slaughtered carried across the field, mingling with the triumphant shouts of the Germans and the panicked neighing of the horses trapped against the wall and the mounts of the Germans. Just as the first of the men trying to flee into the town reached the gates, they were shut on them, causing even more of a panic as the locked out Gauls began hammering at the wood while looking up at the warriors along the wall, gesturing to them in a clear attempt to convince them to open the gate and let their comrades in. The men on the wall obviously refused, and now there were two scenes of mayhem and chaos, one by the outer gate, with the Germans finishing their slaughter of the Gauls who had not managed to squeeze through, and the other by the inner gate as the infantry milled about, waiting for us to come across the outer wall. Despite the obvious confusion, no order was given to advance and assault the wall, so once the slaughter was over at the outer gate, our cavalry retired back to their camps, leaving a field piled with the bodies of men and horses as we returned back to our tasks.
Work continued; now that the inner trench was finished, completing a circle some 11 miles around the town, we began work on the outer trench and finishing the forts. Before the forts could be completed, Vercingetorix ordered the remainder of his cavalry to break out at night, with each man going back to his own respective country carrying orders to raise whatever force they could to come to the rescue of the army trapped within the walls of Alesia. They broke out with the help of a contingent of infantry who stormed out of their camp, some armed with hooks on long poles that they used to pull part of the turf wall down, with others carrying bundles of wood thrown into the ditch then covered with the dirt that they pulled down to allow the horses to pass over. The whole operation took no more than the time it takes to march a mile, so by the time the alarm sounded and enough troops were rallied to the point of the breakout, the horsemen had long gone, heading in so many directions that any pursuit was pointless. However, it did serve to instill a greater sense of urgency in our work to build the outer trench. On the western side, with about a quarter mile between the inner defense and outer, we began work on the second trench, but this one was large, even by Caesar’s standards, some 20 feet wide and 12 feet deep, and most unusually, made with perpendicular sides to provide the most difficult obstacle. This hopefully would protect us while we fortified properly, with Caesar’s love of engineering fully expressing itself here at Alesia, albeit from the sweat off our brow. These extra works required more wood and since we had denuded the surrounding area of any tree large enough to suit our purpose, working parties had to range farther than before to bring back wood for the extra palisades and towers. Even so, Caesar had even more surprises in mind for the Gauls than our standard fortifications. Once the trench was completed, it was filled with water diverted from the flow of the streams, with yet another trench dug behind the outer one, this one only about five feet deep but lined with green branches, one end sharpened to a point before being hardened in the fire, with the other end buried on the opposite side of the ditch so it was pointed in the direction of attack. A few yards beyond the second trench, small pits were dug where smaller sharpened stakes were placed, then covered over; we called these things “Caesar’s lilies”, though I do not know where the name came from, since they looked nothing like lilies to me. There were eight rows of these. Even further along was another set of small pits, where we placed blocks of wood imbedded with iron hooks sticking up. All in all, these were the most formidable fortifications that we ever constructed, and they would need to be for the coming trial.
The Gauls were busy as well; the cavalry that escaped the town scattered to the four winds going to their respective people to sound the call for reinforcements to hurry to Alesia. In preparation for this, Caesar stepped up the foraging effort, ordering that a reserve of 30 days’ supply be laid on, in the anticipation that we would be cut off from food when the inevitable relief column arrived. Work continued on improving the fortifications, through all watches, towers being erected every 120 yards, while smaller turrets that could house a single scorpion and serve as a shelter for the sentries were set every 80 feet. Several deserters informed us that all the Gallic food was brought into one place, to be rationed by Vercingetorix, and there were barely 30 days’ rations left. This told us that we could expect some sort of relief effort almost any day; everything depended on how quickly the Gauls could gather their forces and set out on the march. Every day we worked on the fortifications, strengthening them in preparation for the coming onslaught, while almost every night the Gauls sent out a sortie from their camp in an attempt to disrupt our work and to affect a breach at some point in our fortifications. It was clear to all of us that Vercingetorix was determined to attempt a breakout of some sort, whether it was on his own or with the assistance of the relieving army. The forces coming to the relief of the Gauls were gathering in the lands of the Aedui, and such was the valor and notoriety of Vercingetorix by this point that of the 45 different tribes that inhabited Gaul, 44 sent contingents of men of varying size, so that the army that gathered numbered 250,000 infantry and 8,000 cavalry. Only the Bellovaci refused to send a contingent of any size, claiming that they preferred to deal with Caesar and his army on their own. But it was who was at the head of this vast army that angered us. Because of the tribal jealousies, the Gallic army had to be led by four different generals, and when we learned their identities it only strengthened our resolve. One of them was Commius, who traveled with us to Britannia; another two were the faithless bastards Eporedorix and Viridomarus. The fourth was the only one that we understood and held no malice towards, and that was the cousin of Vercingetorix, Vercassivellaunus, who was only marching to the aid of his kin, something that we understood and accepted. Despite managing to gather relatively quickly, moving such a vast host takes not only a fair amount of time but a huge amount of food and water, and to administer such a force the Gauls selected tribal elders to oversee the administration of the feeding and care of the army. It was this council with which the generals had to contend on a daily basis, meaning there were disputes almost every day, according to the deserters and scouts we managed to capture. Whatever disputes there may have been, the Gallic army was still approaching.
For once, the situation inside the walls was more desperate than outside; while we were forced to range farther and farther for food, the people stuck in Alesia had no way to resupply and with every day that went by, their plight became more serious. The relief force was moving towards us, their whereabouts easy to track because of the huge size of the army, and it was the topic of conversation around every fire.
“So there’s about 80,000 men on that side,” Atilius mused, looking in the direction of the town. “And there’s, what, 250,000 heading towards us from that
direction,” he pointed in what was essentially the opposite direction. “So, that would be………” his face wrinkled up as he tried to work the sum out in his head.
Because Scribonius had helped me learn how to calculate sums I wanted to show off a bit, so before he could answer, I replied, “That’s 330,000 men that we have to kill.”
We sat silent for a moment, I think all of us stunned at the thought of facing an army of such momentous size.
“And what’s our strength, Pullus?”
For a moment I considered the idea of adding to the sum of our forces, but immediately dismissed it. There was no sense lying to my own men, so I replied, “We have ten Legions, but we’re all understrength to one point or another. I can tell you that the 10th can field about 3,800 men; we have more than a hundred out of action for one reason or another. I haven’t heard but I’m guessing that most of the other Legions are in the same shape, so we can probably field about 40,000 Legionaries. We have about 8,000 auxiliaries, and about 3,000 cavalry. So that’s about 51,000 men.”
“To face 330,000?”
Vellusius sat glumly, throwing twigs into the fire as he asked his questions.
“So, that means we have to kill how many of those bastards apiece?”
“About seven,” I said quietly, for I had done the figuring on this the day we heard about the size of the relief column.
“Well, that’s a whole lot of killing to do. I think I’m going to turn in early,” I tried to sound cheerful, waving goodnight to my comrades, eager to be away and free to think my own thoughts.
The day before the relief army arrived, an event took place that was difficult to watch, even for hardened Legionaries like ourselves. Early in the morning, the gates of the town were flung open; amid a cacophony of howls and cries of protest, a pathetic group of people, obviously civilians and either too old or too young to fight were forcibly ejected from the town. It turned out that this poor lot was none other than the Mandubii, the tribe to which the town of Alesia belonged, and their guests were expelling them by force. This was the most concrete sign of the state of Gallic supply; there was no other reason for these people to be ejected other than to save what little food was left. The mass of people, about 20,000 in all, were pushed along towards our lines, causing the alarm to be sounded and a scramble to man the walls. When they reached the first ditch, they stopped and cried out to our men on the wall, with those civilians who could speak Latin asking to be allowed to leave, saying that they had no part in this and were just innocent victims. Word was sent to Caesar, asking for instructions, but he refused to allow them to depart, not wanting to relieve the pressure on the Gauls in any way. The cries and lamentations of the Mandubii carried all the way to our positions, where we stood watching as the mass of people milled about, not able to leave the siege, but not able to go back into the town. A few tried to force their way back in, and were cut down by their own warriors, dissuading the rest from trying the same thing. They were not allowed to remain in the camps of the Gallic army either, so they wandered to the far eastern side of the siege, sitting down to await their fate.
“That Vercingetorix is a hard bastard,” the Pilus Prior commented. “Those are his own people he’s doing that to.”
I nodded; while Caesar was essentially doing the same thing, the Gauls were not our people. Their crying and shouting lessened to the point that there was only a dull moan, sounding more or less continuously as the women and children cried softly, bewailing their fate. It was hard to listen to, making nerves already stretched and raw even worse, so it was not long before a number of quarrels broke out among the men. I found myself running from one fight to the next, bashing men about the back and head with my vitus. The only way things calmed down was by the bucina sounding the signal to let us know that an army approached. Instantly, all petty squabbles were forgotten as we ran to the ramparts to get a glimpse of the relief column.
It was the biggest army we had ever seen by far, looking like a black swarm of ants that completely covered the hills to the west, a pall of dust hanging over them like dirty brown rain clouds hovering on the horizon. I was struck by the thought how apt that was, since a storm of sorts was certainly brewing. Once we got a good look at the approaching host, I sent the men back to our area to begin preparations for battle. I did not know exactly when we would hear the call to assemble but it would have to be soon, because we were now effectively cut off and surrounded, with no chance of supply. Back in our area, the men began making themselves ready, as did I, each of us performing by-now familiar rituals. Some of us once again set up our personal shrines with our household gods, making sacrifices to them. Others went to visit the augurs, paying a little extra for a clean liver and good omens. Not being particularly religious, I preferred instead to rely on the things that I could control, like making sure that the blade of my sword was razor sharp, along with that of my dagger, although I had only used it once in battle. I also polished my helmet, along with my phalarae, since it was the practice in Caesar’s army to wear all decorations when we marched into battle. Combing the horsehair plume, oiling my armor and varnishing my leathers, I was lost in thought as I performed what was by now a comforting routine. Once done, I passed the word of a full inspection in a third of a watch, smiling when I heard the sound of cursing move from one tent to another as Zeno relayed the order. Some things will never change, I thought.
Fighting started not long after the Pilus Prior and I held inspection, with the cavalry engaging on the western plain again. In order to support the cavalry, Vercingetorix sent a large contingent of his infantry hauling bundles of wood to throw into the ditch, with other men again carrying the long poles with hooks to pull down the wall to create gaps through which they could send armed infantry and bowmen to provide support for the cavalry force of the relieving army. For another time we were relegated to being spectators as Caesar ordered the 10th to man both inner and outer wall. With our Century arrayed on the inner wall, we did not have a clear view of the ensuing battle, forcing us to try and determine what was happening by the behavior of the Gauls inside the walls that we were watching. From their reaction things were looking grim, the battle raging first for a third, then two parts, then a full watch. Standing on the parapet of the town, the Gauls trapped within soon went hoarse from cheering the efforts of their comrades, while our men began getting more nervous. I was standing by the Pilus Prior for a bit, chatting quietly about what we thought was going on, then after some time passed he sent me to the outer wall to see what was happening. Staying for a few moments, by this point the dust clouds completely obscured the plain, making it impossible to tell exactly what was going on, so I turned to an Optio of the Sixth Cohort, stationed on the outer wall since the beginning, asking him what he knew.
Shrugging, he said, “About as much as you do. I will say that before the dust got too thick, it looked like our boys were taking a good drubbing. Their archers were picking 'em off pretty good, but that was a watch ago now. Now, your guess is as good as mine.”
I stifled a curse; it was not his fault that we could not see, so I thanked him and returned to the Pilus Prior to tell him what little I knew.
“Pluto’s cock,” he swore bitterly. Then, shrugging, he said, “Well, we’ll find out one way or another.”
It was just about sundown when something happened, a change that we could hear, as the fury and pace of the battle suddenly increased. Even as we watched the Gauls in the camps and town their animation and cries suddenly became alarmed, their tone quickly turning to despair, and shortly after, we saw the beginnings of a general retreat of the infantry back up the hill, in much smaller numbers than had headed down.
“Looks like we finally broke them. I bet it was the Germans again,” the Pilus Prior mused.
He turned out to be right. As usual for them, they arrived late, yet when they arrived it was with devastating effect, turning the tide of the battle. Once the dust settled, we could see the plain littered with the dead
and dying and despite the majority being Gauls from the relieving army, there was a fair number of Gallic cavalry who fought for us laying there as well. We stood on the walls through the night, but there was no more action, the Gauls in both camps content to lick their wounds and prepare for another assault.
The whole of the next day was quiet, for which we were thankful since it gave us a chance to get some rest. Then in the middle of the third watch, the bucina blasted again and we scrambled up, donning our gear before heading to the walls, to be greeted by a huge racket and the sight of the Gallic army in Alesia streaming towards us in the dark. They were alerted by their brethren on the outside of the walls that the relieving army was assaulting with the sound of horns, their own blaring the signal to advance in response. Running forward with the hurdles of wood, the Gauls began to throw them into the outer ditch. The relieving army brought with them a fair number of missile troops, especially archers, the first time that we faced such troops in large numbers, and they fired at the men on the outer wall, forcing them to seek shelter behind the palisade. The main thrust of the assault on the outer walls was occurring behind us to our left, so it was in this general direction that we could see the bulk of Vercingetorix’s troops heading. They were crossing the expanse in front of us, exposing their flank to our artillery, and the twanging sound of the torsion ropes of the ballistae, scorpions and catapults began singing in the night, followed by the screams of men being alternately impaled, or struck by the one pound rocks thrown by our artillery. Because the Gauls were out of range of our javelins, we used slings, which each of us carried and practiced with whenever we had time. Despite the darkness, the Gauls were tightly packed enough that it was easy to hit someone and the night air filled with the thudding of our missiles, most of them made of lead, striking flesh or bone, followed by shouts of pain and curses of rage that needed no translation. Our arms soon grew weary from whirling the sling overhead, releasing one end of it to send another missile crashing into the mass of men that reached the inner wall and were now trying to pull it down in the same manner that the men on the other side had the day before. All along our walls, we could hear the blasts of cornu and the shriller sounds of the bucina, alerting men in the area that there was danger of a breach, while the Tribunes were busy sending men hither and thither to defend a threatened area. Time passed, and despite suffering no direct assault on our area of the wall we were still busy, helping carry ammunition to the artillery pieces that constantly needed to be fed like some beast, or using our slings until our lead shot was gone, whereupon we stumbled around, trying to find stones of a sufficient size and smoothness that would work as ammunition. The Gauls fought with the desperation of trapped animals, yet their raw courage was not enough; Vercingetorix’s men were unsuccessful in creating a breach of a sufficient size to affect a breakout, despite it being a close-run thing. Before the sun rose, and obviously in fear of a counterattack on their flanks by those of us who remained unengaged, the besieged Gauls retreated back up the hill, their own horns signaling to the men on the other side trying to break in, who in turn retreated from the walls, leaving heaps of dead and moaning wounded laying before our works.
