by R. W. Peake
Daylight illuminated a scene of gruesome carnage; Caesar’s lilies, along with the other obstacles were highly effective, leaving men impaled and unable to gird themselves sufficiently to pull their bodies off of the stakes. The men who stumbled into Caesar’s lilies had gotten hooked like fish, either in their feet or through their calves, and despite their wounds, still were dangerous to approach. Accordingly, they had to be finished off from a distance, giving men the opportunity to practice their javelin work, wagering on who could kill one of the poor bastards with one throw and the like. Once they were bored with trying to affect single shot kills the wagering then turned to how many throws a man could survive, and shortly, the screams of the Gauls who were the object of this game could be heard ringing up and down the walls. Despite ordering our Century to not participate, of course a few men managed to sneak off to have their fun, Didius among them. My one consolation was that he came back broke, having bet everything on one Gaul who managed to survive three javelins longer than Didius wagered. Finally, the betting stopped as the last Gaul died, some of them looking like blood-soaked porcupines before they were finally finished off. Once it was safe, burial details were sent out to try to clean up the area, and since we were not one of the Cohorts hard pressed the night before but were close to the action, we were one of the lucky ones. It was times like these I was thankful I was Optio, convincing myself that this was the one small reward for all the other onerous duties I had to perform, since I did not have to dig the mass grave, or drag the bodies to throw them in. What I did have to do was walk around to make sure that no Gaul was thrown into the pit still alive; many of my comrades were not very scrupulous about such matters, but because of my fear of enclosed spaces, I could not bring myself to let someone, even an enemy, suffer such a fate. Thinking about it now, it is somewhat peculiar that I tried to avoid digging or dragging, but viewed killing essentially defenseless men as a less onerous task. That is what army life does to you I suppose, hardening your heart. And truth be told, most of the men I dispatched were alive only in the sense that they were still breathing, while those few who still had their wits about them were in such pain that when I stood over them, they looked up at me with thankful eyes, knowing that I was about to end their suffering. That is what I tell myself at least; it helps me sleep better at night, although it does not keep the faces from appearing in my dreams.
The Gauls were down to their last throw of the dice, deciding to try their luck at another spot in our defenses, on the north side of the town. It was on the north side where the terrain was arranged in such a way that there was a hill that we could not completely enclose within our works, so that one of the camps was actually located on the downward slope of the hill, with the bulk of the hill above them. It was at this point that the relieving Gauls would make one final attempt to assault, break through and link up with the besieged force. Vercingetorix’s kinsman Vercassivellaunus would lead 60,000 men in the assault. Realizing that the element of surprise was essential, they crept out of their camp on the hill to the southwest of the town at night, taking a circuitous route, consuming all of the remaining night and part of the next morning before they reached their attack position. At a prearranged time, or signal, we never learned which, the remainder of the Gallic cavalry came thundering out of the internal camp, heading for the western wall once again, with the remaining infantry in the relief camp arraying themselves on the slopes of their hill, preparing to move forward. Simultaneously, Vercingetorix’s army came out of the town, heading for the same spot where they first attempted to cross and some of the ditch was indeed filled in, which we were unable to clear out. Their intent was obvious; they were going to breach the inner wall at the most vulnerable spot, and then in the space between the two, swing up to the northern part of our works, where the assault element of the relieving army was attacking. Their goal was to hit the two Legions, the 8th and 13th, in the left flank while they were engaged to their front. Every redoubt was given a number, with the numbers moving from left to right if one was facing north; the redoubts under assault from the outside force, along with the camp were 21, 22 and 23. My Cohort occupied redoubts Seven, Eight and Nine, with my Century and the Fifth Century manning redoubt number Seven. The spot they chose was relatively close to our redoubt, directly to our left, and it was to this spot that Caesar came to direct the defense of our works, his presence signaled by his red standard, and his paludamentum. We were close enough to see the desperate struggle of Vercingetorix’s men frantically flinging their long hooks up at the wooden palisade, trying to pull it down, the first step in breaching a wall. Our men were just as vigorously knocking them aside, striking down Gauls who were too impatient to wait for the wall to come down and instead were trying to clamber up by hand and foot. The main thrust of the attack of Vercingetorix was focused between redoubts One and Two, yet for the moment our men were holding. A rider came galloping up to Caesar and despite being too far away to hear, by his gestures and posture it was clear that the northern camp was in serious trouble. Labienus was sitting his horse next to Caesar, and we could see Caesar turn to say something to him. Labienus gave a quick salute, then came galloping in our direction but did not stop. A few moments later, men came double timing past us and we saw that the size of the detachment was a number of Cohorts. As they ran by we shouted to them, wishing them good luck, while they called back to us with the usual good-natured taunts about being left behind. A total of six Cohorts, led by Labienus, went running to relieve the camp; three Cohorts from the 10th and three from the 9th, which was positioned next to us and with whom we shared our camp. After they left, we turned our attention back to the fighting, wondering if we would be called to move to where the battle was raging. As it turned out, we did not need to, because the fighting came to us.
I do not know what prompted it, if there was a decision made, or if it just happened. Whatever the case, on some sort of unseen and unheard signal, Vercingetorix’s force broke off their attempted assault then headed straight for us. Perhaps it was the sight of Caesar’s standard, but suddenly there was a large group of very angry Gauls pounding down the gentle slope to our position.
“By the gods, they’re going to overrun us,” I heard someone shout, and I snapped back, “If one of you bastards takes one step back, I’ll cut you down where you stand.”
Then the first of them reached the ditch to begin throwing in their bundles of wood and clumps of turf as we began hurling our javelins, mowing men down, most of whom seemed to either fall, or knowing they were dying, throw themselves into the ditch in order to help fill it up. Within a matter of moments, it was filled and the Gauls came pouring across, waving their long hooks about in an attempt to grab one of the stakes of the palisade. Moving close to the edge, I slashed down at one of the poles, my blade slicing through one as big as a man’s wrist like it was a twig. However, there were hundreds of poles and despite our frantic attempts, some of them managed to find their mark, with first one, then another stake tumbling down. Some of the Gauls used their hooks as weapons, and out of the corner of my eye I saw one grab a man by the neck. The Gaul gave a mighty heave, sending our man’s head tumbling into the air, blood spurting from the stump of his neck a few inches into the air before his body tumbled over the parapet. The noise was deafening, the Gauls roaring out their anger and desperation, as we roared out our own back at them. Soon there were gaping holes in the parapet where several stakes were pulled out, whereupon the Gauls turned their attention to the turf wall, men using the hooks or their bare hands to try bringing the wall down. Our men were standing above them, slashing and thrusting down so that whenever they landed a blow it was usually to the head and face of the Gaul in front of him, who would tumble back, howling in pain, hands covering the horrible wounds. Yet the instant one man fell away, it seemed there were two more to take his place, and in several spots the wall began tumbling down. Running to the nearest area under threat, I was just in time to see the main part of the wall tumble away
, a man in the first section named Sido falling screaming onto the spears and swords of the Gauls below, his shrieking cut mercifully short. Into the gap clambered two Gauls, scrambling as quickly as they could to their feet on the undamaged part of the parapet. Without hesitating they threw themselves at me, screaming their war cries. One carried a spear, the other a sword, and I found myself desperately parrying first one blow, then another, backpedaling away and praying that I did not trip over a body behind me. I did not have an opening for an offensive move as they continuously pushed at me. Then, the man with the spear, eyes wild with bloodlust and fear, managed a solid blow that pierced my armor, breaking several of the links. When he lunged, I desperately twisted to one side, yet even as I did, it felt like I was being struck along the ribs with a stave, the wind bursting from my lungs from the force of the blow. A searing pain shot along the length of my ribs and it was only instinct that caused me to reach out with my left hand to grasp the shaft of the spear with all my strength. Trying to withdraw the weapon, he was jerked off balance when it did not budge from my grasp, and I used his momentum to fling him to the side off the parapet, where he fell, losing his grasp of the spear to land heavily on the ground in the space between the two walls. With him out of the way at least temporarily, I gritted my teeth against the pain, using the butt end of the spear, swinging it quickly at the second man, who took a glancing blow on his right elbow, causing him to gasp and drop his sword. Before he could recover I was on him, and he frantically parried my thrusts with his own shield. However, now that I possessed a second weapon I quickly reversed the spear to begin jabbing with it, while thrusting with my sword. Now it was his turn to back up and in a matter of a few heartbeats I forced him to the edge of where the wall had been pulled down. He obviously felt the edge with the back of his heel because the panic on his face was clear to see. Despite himself, his eyes darted down to see how close he was to tumbling off, and that was all the opening I needed, my blade making a quick thrust to catch him directly in the throat, feeling the grate of bone as it exited the back of his neck. His eyes widened then rolled back in his head as I used my foot to kick him off my blade, sending him tumbling down onto the heads of some of the other Gauls who were just then scrambling up into the breach. The pain in my side was excruciating and I could feel the warmth of my blood spreading down my side, yet I could not spare a moment, the Gauls still swarming out from the nearest breach, making it look very much like our position would fall.
The fighting continued with this intensity, as I found myself running from one spot to the next along the parapet wherever I saw Gauls get a foothold and our men hard pressed. The Gauls fought with the intensity of wild animals trying to escape a trap, which in a sense was exactly what they were, and we quickly discovered that the only way to give ourselves a chance of survival was to match them in their fury. My arm was heavy from constantly using my sword, but it was my side that bothered me most, the blood continuing to seep and now running down my leg. Our wall was breached in several areas by this point, with the Gauls still climbing up onto the parapet and there were a number of small skirmishes all along the wall between the redoubts. The bucina sounded the call for reinforcements, yet I was not optimistic that they would arrive in time. Immediately after the call I looked over to see a couple of our men leap down from the parapet, retreating from the Gauls. They were men from my Century, and I was overcome with a sudden fury, even as the Gauls gave a triumphant roar. One of them turned back to his comrades down below, indicating that the breach had widened where he stood, and was quickly joined by another man. Before I could stop to think about the folly of what I was doing, I let out a bellow of my own, rushing at the men who forced my comrades to retreat for the first time ever, determined to redeem our reputation. I must have looked like I was coming from the gates of Hades, covered both in my blood and the blood of the men I had slain up to this point. Feeling my lips pulling back in a savage grin, I saw my enemy’s eyes widen in fear at the sight of my approach. Even before they could bring their shields up I slammed into both of them, using a shield I had picked up from a man who no longer needed it despite having no memory of doing so, sending them both reeling backwards. The two men bounced into the Gauls behind them that were just climbing to stand on the parapet, causing several of them to tumble in a heap at my feet. There was a mess of arms and legs as they tried to scramble back upright, with the men on top looking up at me in terror, trying their best to protect themselves. I thrust and slashed with my blade, along with using the edge of the shield as another weapon, so that the cries of triumph that they were sounding a heartbeat before turned into screams of pain as my blade found its mark over and over. I could feel the razor sharp blade cutting into flesh and bone as I severed a man’s arm above the elbow when he held it up in a futile attempt to protect himself, while in the same instant I chopped down with the metal edge of my shield to cleave into another Gaul's skull. Blood splashed all over my legs and torso while the men on the ground flailed at me with their own weapons, all of which I easily blocked with my shield or parried with my blade. In a matter of moments, what was just a threat an instant before was nothing more than quivering, steaming chopped meat, and I could feel their blood on my face and arms, my chest heaving and legs trembling from the exertion.
Turning to the two men who were still standing below the parapet, their faces blank with shock as they watched what I had done, I pointed at them with my sword and snarled, “You two bastards are on a charge. You better hope you die because I’m going to flay the both of you.” Without waiting for any reply, I ran off, looking for the next danger point.
Hearing the clanking and pounding of boots approaching before I actually saw reinforcements arriving, a total of seven Cohorts were sent to help, and they turned the tide of the battle fairly quickly. Once Vercingetorix saw that there was little chance of creating a breakout at our positions, the Gallic horns sounded again, the remainder of his force hurrying away, this time heading to the northern edge of the works, where the relief force was still furiously attacking the camp and redoubts Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three. As suddenly as it started, the fighting ceased in our sector, the sounds of battle disappearing to be replaced by the moans of the wounded and dying. Standing for a moment, I fought the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me, brought on by the combination of my exertions and loss of blood. Luckily, the bleeding finally stopped, but it had dried, caking my armor all down my side, making movement difficult and I knew that any violent movement would tear the clots free and the bleeding would start again. Regaining my breath, I surveyed the damage, feeling my stomach tighten at what I saw. Every inch of the parapet in both directions was covered with bodies, and although most of them were Gauls, it was not by much of a majority. Even as I stared at the sight, the earth of the parapet seemed to move, with wounded men either struggling to pull themselves upright, or going through their death throes before they succumbed to their wounds. For a moment I did not know what to do or what direction to head, instead trying to decide the best place to start finding all the men of my Century, since I did not see the Pilus Prior anywhere about. Finally determining that it was best, and easier on me to stay where I was and call the men of the Century to rally on me, I tried to use my command voice, yet found the effort made me extremely lightheaded. Instead, I called for our cornicen to sound the assembly, but he did not answer. Cursing, I took a few breaths then bellowed out the call to assemble, almost keeling over in the process and only then men began to gather. I was relieved to see Vibius, covered in blood not his own, along with Scribonius, Vellusius and even Didius. Atilius did not show up, nor did almost a third of the Century, and it took a moment for the import of this to register. Yet the biggest shock was yet to come; the Pilus Prior was nowhere to be found, even after I sent men to search through the bodies. We had come to respect and admire Pulcher a great deal, despite the differences between our two previous Centurions, and I hoped that he was alive. Whatever his condition, we did not ha
ve time to dwell on it, because once more the cornu sounded, this time giving the signal to advance. Looking over, I saw Caesar jump up to the parapet from Toes, and he called out to us.
