Marching With Caesar-Civil War

by R. W. Peake

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  During the time that Caesar was busy extending the contravallation and cutting off Pompey’s water, he was approached by a delegation from the city of Dyrrhachium. Claiming that it was clear that Caesar was going to win the war, they wanted to show that they recognized this fact, making an offer to show Caesar in a tangible way that they supported him. What they offered was nothing less than the surrender of the city. In one stroke, Caesar’s supply problems would be solved, and Pompey would be gutted, effectively ending the civil war. It was too good an offer to pass up for Caesar, so he agreed to meet the townspeople, who told him that they would open one of the gates to the city near the temple of Artemis that very night. Like almost every city of any size in the Republic, it had long since outgrown the original town walls, meaning that Caesar would have to approach the gate down a street lined with buildings. Accompanied by Antonius, Caesar took with him only his German bodyguard, along with a single Cohort of auxiliaries to enter the gate, at midnight that night, as arranged. However, it was a trap; Pompey had men waiting for Caesar, hiding in the buildings along the road approaching the gate and Caesar was forced to fight his way out of the extremely difficult situation. At the same time, Pompey launched three separate assaults at various points along our lines, the most dangerous being against a Cohort of the 8th commanded by a Tribune named Minucius, with Pompey throwing an entire Legion against them. In order to prevent us from sending reinforcements to Minucius, Pompey also launched an assault on another of the redoubts, this one in Legion strength but composed of auxiliaries, along with a cavalry assault led by none other than the traitor Labienus on yet another point in our lines. The bucinae were sounding at every one of the 24 forts that had so far been constructed, each one further down the line picking up the alarm. The Second responded immediately, manning the ramparts and straining our eyes in the night, trying to determine what was happening. While we searched in vain for an attack on our position, Caesar was fighting for his life in the streets of Dyrrhachium, conducting a fighting withdrawal now that he realized he had been betrayed. Since Antonius was with Caesar, the next in command was Publius Sulla, the nephew of none other than the bloody dictator, but fortunately he acted with alacrity and prudence, leading a force to relieve the men of the 8th, hard pressed by a force many times its size. Rallying the rest of the 8th, along with one of the new Legions, Sulla marched to relieve the Cohort. Meanwhile, Caesar was still conducting his fighting withdrawal through the streets, and it was only through the bravery of his German bodyguards, buying Caesar and Antonius enough time to escape with the sacrifice of their lives, that they escaped the trap. By dawn, the fighting was almost over, although there was some mopping up being done by the relieving Legions. Nothing was officially said about what happened, yet there are no secrets in the army, and long before the sun was high in the sky, the word of what happened had whipped from one fort to the next. Men went running to the makeshift temples that each Legion has as part of their headquarters to give thanks that our general had not fallen, or worse, been captured, and I admit that I was one of those men. Losing Caesar would have been a catastrophe, and none of the officers had any illusions about what our fate would be if the unthinkable had happened. We were in a life and death struggle, and the only way to see it through alive was by winning.

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  Despite these setbacks to our cause, Pompey was feeling the pressure at least as much as we were, if not more so. Their supply of fresh water was substantially reduced, while we had all the water we could drink. We had finally begun the turn towards the sea to finish the enclosure of Pompey’s forces, but there was still treachery afoot, this time coming from within our own forces. There were two traitors, commanders of the Gallic cavalry, faithless bastards named Roucillus and Egus. Their father was the chief of the Allobroges, and they had been with the army since early in the Gallic campaign, making their treachery all the more infuriating. The word was that they were caught shaking their men down, similar to what Longus was doing, but on a much larger scale since they commanded several thousand men. Learning that they were discovered, the pair deserted one night, going over to Pompey. In exchange for safe entry into enemy lines, they offered Pompey information about a weakness in our defenses. Despite having almost completed the contravallation, we had not yet linked the inner and outer trenches. There was a distance of about 300 paces between the two trenches and while the trenches themselves were complete, a transverse ditch linking the two had yet to be built, and it was this fact that the two traitors relayed to Pompey. To his credit, Pompey understood that this was his chance to break the blockade by launching a simultaneous attack. Pompey knew that the men in the nearer trench could not be relieved by reinforcements from the outer trench. He was further armed not only with the knowledge supplied by the traitors, but how we operated, and he launched an assault at the precise moment that the 9th was in the process of relieving the guard at the farthermost point in our lines, closest to the sea. The nearest reinforcements were almost two miles further up the line and inland, where the rest of the 9th was placed after they were forced to abandon the hill. Pompey sent more than 60 Cohorts, composed of equal parts Legionaries and auxiliaries across the flat plain from within his own lines. At roughly the same time, he landed a force in between the two trenches, consisting of a large number of archers and slingers, along with a force of auxiliary and Legionaries, and finally a force of equal size to the south of the outer trench. Consequently, the men of the 9th were caught completely by surprise, while Pompey did everything he could to give his men an edge, including equipping his men with special wicker faceguards to protect them from any slingshot. As it happened, the precaution was unnecessary, since the relief had not brought their slings with them, and as a substitute were forced to resort to picking up rocks and throwing them at the Pompeians, with the effect you might imagine. The two Cohorts of the 9th were quickly overwhelmed, but not before the alarm was raised, the other eight Cohorts of the Legion immediately running to the aid of their comrades. This was exactly what Pompey was counting on.

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  It is easy to say, looking back, that Caesar made a mistake when he placed the men of the 9th in the most vulnerable point in our defenses. They were, after all, still unhappy about their overdue discharges, a fact that the two traitors clearly communicated to Pompey, making it a question of whether they would fight hard. Coupled with the nature of the attack, coming at dawn when one Cohort was relieving the other guarding the westernmost redoubt, the two Cohorts were quickly surrounded. However, they were only acting as the bait for the rest of the Legion. Their Legate, a patrician named Marcellinus, was a sick man and confined to bed at the time of the attack, but he roused himself to assemble the rest of the Legion, save for two Centuries left behind to guard the camp. This was precisely what Pompey wanted, since even with these reinforcements he outnumbered our men by ten to one at the point of the assault.

  Dawn found us running to the ramparts at the alarm being passed from fort to fort. The 10th was several redoubts away, about midway in the line of defenses, so we knew it was unlikely that we would be called on, but Crastinus still gave the order for the men to make ready and assemble in the forum of the fort. I could not tell what was happening, but we knew something big was taking place, with mounted couriers seen galloping over the ground between the two trenches, carrying word to Caesar of the attack. In the growing light, I could just make out the sails of the transports that carried the Pompeian assault force, but truthfully, I was not overly concerned. I could see that Pompey had committed a large number of men, who at this distance looked like a swarm of ants pouring into the interior trench, yet I did not think that they would pose a threat to our whole position. The Pompeians would have to fight up both trenches, and despite it appearing that they were getting the best of the 9th, they still had a number of redoubts manned with Caesar’s veterans before they got close to us. To say they were getting the better of the 9th would be an underst
atement; in the First Cohort, one of the Cohorts performing the relief, five out of the six Centurions were killed, including their Primus Pilus, who died protecting the eagle of the Legion. When the two Cohorts were pushed back, they ran into the first of the Cohorts rushing to relieve them, creating a panic, since by this point the men who bore the initial onslaught were only concerned with getting away from their attackers, running across the open ground between the two trenches to do so. Of course, this was the most direct route to the rear, meaning that the reinforcements were blocking their way and the resulting confusion as the two forces collided made things even easier for the Pompeians. Nevertheless, the men of the 9th managed to delay Pompey long enough for Antonius to assemble a mixed force of about 12 Cohorts of the 7th and 8th, and they hurried to reach Marcellinus’ camp before the Pompeians.

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  The Pompeians began the assault on Marcellinus’ camp itself just as Antonius and his force arrived, and despite Antonius being unable to prevent the Pompeians from taking the camp, he was able to stop the Pompeian advance from going any further. Caesar had assembled his own force consisting of another 12 or 13 Cohorts, but again we were not involved, instead being ordered to remain at our station to keep an eye out for any other tricks that Pompey had planned for us. And Pompey did indeed have some more in his bag; even while we watched, he set part of his force to the task of building a camp on the outside of our lines, which would effectively end our blockade. At the same time, yet another force of Legion size marched in our general direction, taking position on the hill that the 9th had been forced to vacate. In one stroke, Pompey ended the blockade, and if this position on the hill remained, he would have a force effectively in our rear, able to strike us and disrupt our supply. Even more than the new camp near the sea to the south of our lines, this position was exceptionally dangerous to our campaign, a fact that Caesar recognized immediately. Now that the attack on the southern end of our lines was contained, he took the men of the 7th, and 8th, along with the survivors of the 9th, marching them through the trench to a point near the hill, leaving behind two Cohorts to keep those Pompeians occupied. The Pompeians on the hill turned out to be the bastards of the 24th who defected to Pompey when Antonius’ brother had botched his operation in Illyria. Despite it being a green Legion, they possessed an advantage in that the 9th had done a fair amount of work in fortifying the hill before they were repulsed, so dislodging them was not a given under the circumstances. There was no choice in the matter; the Pompeians could not be allowed to remain on that hill, therefore Caesar sent everything he had in an assault. Dividing his force into two columns, he sent one swinging around to the eastern side of the camp, and the other marching past it to come down from the northern side. I cannot help think that things might have been different if Caesar had called on the 10th instead of using the boys in the other Spanish Legions, who not only had already done some hard fighting, but had taken some casualties and were ill-used. However, that is just an old man and his pride talking, and it does not really matter. Caesar led the left column that attacked from the east, assaulting the gate and forcing entry into the camp. Unfortunately, the right column got confused by a trench that the Pompeians had added when they first took the camp, designed to give them access to the nearby river, thinking that it was the rampart of the camp. Following the dirt wall to look for the gate to the camp, they only realized their mistake when they reached the stream itself. Deciding to cross the trench at that point rather than backtrack, they tore down the wall, filling in the trench with it before crossing over. The second column was now well north of the camp by several hundred paces, and began to march towards it.

  Pompey was warned of the attack on the camp on the hill and in consequence, he immediately suspended work on the camp to the south of our lines in order to lead a force of five Legions along with a strong contingent of cavalry to relieve the defenders. The cavalry moved quickly, sweeping north parallel to the sea before turning to the east to strike down on the right column, which itself had a small contingent of cavalry to act as a screen. The Pompeian cavalrymen made short work of our own cavalry screen, all of whom turned and ran like rabbits, making for the narrow breach where the 9th men had filled in the ditch. Naturally, there was not enough room for so many men and horses at the same time, with chaos ensuing as men abandoned their horses to jump into the ditch in their haste to escape. Panic infected the Legionaries of the right column as well, now more mindful of the cavalry threatening their rear than their duty, and they began running after our cavalry, compounding the problem at the ditch. Horses were milling about, some riderless and some still with their riders aboard trying desperately to make good their own escape. Once the Legionaries arrived on the scene, they began pushing into the already packed mass of man and horse, many of them trampled to death by their own comrades coming up from behind.

  Meanwhile, in the camp, Caesar had pushed the Pompeians all the way to the rear gate, where the Pompeians were preparing to make their last stand, knowing that because of their treachery they would not be given any quarter. It was at this point they saw the five Legions coming to their rescue, giving them heart to continue the fight. Launching a spirited attack, the combination of this Pompeian counterattack and the sight of their own comrades fleeing the field took what little fight our men had left, and they immediately began to turn and run for the gate through which they had entered. Running like that was shameful enough, but when Caesar tried to stop them, taking hold of one of the standards in an attempt to rally them, the signifer holding the standard tried to stab Caesar with it, so panic-stricken was he that he would have struck down his own general. Only Caesar’s German bodyguards saved him, cutting the signifer down then forming a barrier around Caesar as the men ran for their lives past him. In one stroke, Pompey had put himself in a position to end this war, along with ending Caesar’s life and career right then. Fortunately, the gods were still looking out for our general.

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  To my dying day, I will never understand why Pompey did not finish Caesar off at that point, but I have thanked the gods many times, sacrificing a small herd of goats and lambs in offerings to them for stopping Pompey. Caesar’s force was completely routed, running for their lives and unwilling or unable to offer any resistance to even a half-hearted effort by Pompey to overwhelm and take Caesar, dead or alive. Yet as unprepared as Caesar may have been for defeat, Pompey was at least as unprepared for victory. Seeing the men of Caesar’s army running for their lives, Pompey refused to believe that it was anything but a ruse on the part of Caesar. Accordingly, he stayed put, not ordering any kind of pursuit of Caesar or his Legions as they fled for their lives. Instead, his men stopped the chase to begin celebrating their victory, hailing Pompey as Imperator and offering him a grass crown, which he refused to accept because his victory was against other Romans. That did not stop him from sending word back to Rome that he had crushed Caesar and that the war was all but over. For our part, while we were far from defeated, the mood was somber to say the least, especially once the final butcher’s bill was presented. The toll was grim; 32 Centurions, 960 Gregarii, and 200 cavalry were either killed, badly wounded and could no longer serve, or captured. The fate of the captured was especially bitter because they fell into the hands of Labienus, who showed them no mercy, having every one executed, but not until he paraded them in front of the jeering Pompeians and scorned them for running away. Even more bitter was the loss of 32 standards, even though no eagles were lost, but now Caesar was faced with the ruin of all his plans unless he did something, and as usual he did not wait long to make a decision. That very night a courier arrived at our redoubt, relaying orders for us to assemble near the former camp of Marcellinus, now occupied by the enemy, at daybreak the next morning. Leaving behind a Century to guard the redoubt, we marched to the designated point, discovering that the entire army was assembled to hear Caesar’s plans for us. It did not take long for us to settle down, since we were all anxious to hear w
hat our immediate future held. As always, the wagering was fierce and even I, who rarely gambled, threw a few denarii down, and now we would all find out whether we had bet the right way. The 10th was in its normal place of honor, putting us near the makeshift rostrum made of a bunch of crates thrown together, and from my vantage point, I could clearly see the wear on Caesar’s face, looking drawn, tired, and even paler than normal. However, he still moved with the same sense of confidence and authority that he always displayed as he stepped up onto the rostrum, waiting a moment for us to fall silent. Then, raising his hands in the classic orator’s gesture, he began speaking, his tone pitched high, voice carrying clearly across the distance, though he still had to pause, waiting for the Centurions farther back to relay his words.

  “Comrades,” he began in his customary style, but his next words felt like a lash. “Why do you stand here looking so downcast? Why are you acting as if we are defeated? Is this the army that I have led these many years to victory after victory, that they would let one minor defeat take their courage?”

  I could feel the ripple of surprise and dismay pass through the ranks, along with some muttered exclamations.

  “Silete!”

  I could see that Primus Pilus Crastinus was genuinely angry, not just putting on a show like he normally did. “The next man to utter a word I’ll flay the skin off myself, damn you!”

  His words had the desired effect, and I was thankful that Caesar acted as if he had not heard anything and was merely waiting for his words to be repeated. Then, he continued.

  “We have conquered Gaul; we have conquered Hispania; we have conquered Italia, and we crossed through stormy seas to land here without losing one man, yet you still doubt that I am unable to overcome even such a slight setback? I have done all that a general can do to ensure our success.”