Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  Feeling the man in front of me tense at the sound of the whistle before uncoiling his body as he heaved the man he was engaged with off of him, he then stepped aside so that I could step in, and I came forward, looking over the rim of my shield into the wild eyes of a warrior who could not have been much older than me. He wore no armor other than a leather jerkin, and if he owned a shield it was gone. His only weapon was a short hunting spear, which he jabbed at me, his face a mask of fear and hatred, but it took no more than a normal heartbeat for me to assess his abilities, and little longer to take his life with a quick thrust. He was immediately replaced by an older man wearing a coat of chain mail similar to my armor except it was fully sleeved and longer. On his head was a helmet in the Helvetian style, adorned with wings of what looked like a raven, and he had both his shield and long spear. This man did not rush me immediately, and I could instantly see the reason why he had lived to see his thirties; he was no wild-eyed youth and this was not his first battle. Additionally, he wielded his spear in an unusual manner, preferring to hold it farther up the shaft than most of the men I faced who used such a weapon. I could not see the value in this until he made his first attack, a lunging blow to my right that I automatically blocked by moving my shield across my body to parry, which is exactly what he wanted me to do. With what appeared to be nothing more than a flick of the wrist, he whipped the other end of the shaft around in a backhand blow that would have smashed into my face, breaking my nose and momentarily blinding me if it had not been for my reflexive action of turning my head so that the hard wood caught me on the ear and cheek guard of my helmet. Stars of a thousand different colors burst in my head as I felt my knees start to buckle, cursing myself for my stupidity, and I believe that it was only my sheer brute strength that saved me from falling, except I now found myself frantically on the defensive, struggling to clear my head as he pressed his attack. Only the many watches of practice and repetition saved me from his onslaught, when as of its own volition, my left arm moved my shield to block his thrusts while my right made half-hearted attempts to find my own opening. Despite myself, I felt myself step back a pace, only stopped by the strong arm of the man behind me bracing me and keeping me from falling over.

  “Kill ‘im Pullus. Gut that bastard.”

  Hearing the shout in my ear, I shook my head again to clear it even as my opponent made a thrust that I only partially deflected, the head of the spear glancing off the metal rim of my shield. There was a slicing pain high on my left arm, just below the shoulder as he cut a deep gash into my flesh. Fortunately the pain had the effect of clearing my head, and I let out a roar as I leaped back forward, catching him full in the face with the boss of my shield. I felt his nose crunch under the metal, and he let out a muffled groan, it now being his turn to step back and go on the defensive. But I was in no mood to give him any quarter; he had almost killed me, and for that he would pay. Now he was the one desperately parrying my blows as he sought to clear his own head, except he did not have the support that I had enjoyed. Even with men crowded around him, none of them thought to brace him or help him in any way; apparently it was against some sort of code of battle they had. More fools them, I thought, making a thrust at his gut that caused him to drop his shield before I gave him another taste of his own medicine, taking the pommel of my sword to smash him in the face, hitting him again on his already injured nose. This time the pain was too much for him to bear and a scream came from his lips as he dropped his shield to grab his face with his free hand, whereupon I killed him with a quick thrust to his unprotected chest. He went to his knees then toppled to the ground, still clutching his face, while I was already wading into the next man, moving a step farther down the hill, followed by my comrades.

  This was the nature of the fighting for perhaps two thirds of a watch, as we continued to chop our way through the Helvetii horde. Our front line was finally relieved by the second line, attaching their files to the rear so that one longer line was created, just in the manner we drilled it so many times, while we removed ourselves to rest. The butcher’s bill for our first shift was a half-dozen men down, although we only knew of two who were killed outright, the others being dragged to the rear. We stood there panting for breath, drinking our canteens dry as we talked about the battle.

  “They’re not very good, but there's so many of them it almost doesn’t matter,” gasped Vellusius as he tried to clean the caked blood off his blade so that it would not pit the iron.

  “I don’t know about that. There was one that almost did Pullus in. He damn near bashed his brains in.” I looked in annoyance at the man who said this, then bit my tongue when I saw that it was Rufio. True as it may have been, I did not want to be reminded of it. Pulling my helmet off, I gingerly touched the spot above my ear, wincing despite myself because of the pain.

  “Can you tell if your skull is broken by feeling on it?” I wondered.

  “The day that skull of yours is broken, I’m packing it in,” Vibius said, the lightness of his tone belied by the worried look in his eyes as he came over to examine the spot I indicated.

  While he prodded on it, I felt compelled to offer some defense. “It doesn’t matter how it starts, it matters how it ends, neh? And I’m still the one standing.”

  Rufio nodded. “Right enough. But you gave me a good scare there for a moment. I’ve never seen anyone handle a spear like that, and I thought you were a goner for sure. But you’re a stubborn bastard, and you ended up the victor. You’re right, that’s all that counts.”

  “I don’t think you broke your skull,” Vibius announced when he was finished. “You’re just going to have a headache for a few days.” He was right about that. “You need to worry more about that cut on your arm.”

  I looked down in surprise; I had forgotten all about it, and I was happy to see that the blood had clotted and despite being a little stiff, the damage was obviously not extensive. To be safe, I wrapped a strip of bandage around it then promptly forgot about it as we used our vantage point higher on the hill to watch what was unfolding.

  After stubborn resistance, the Helvetii began a fighting withdrawal back down the hill in the general direction of their camp. I will say this for them, they did not just turn and run, but made a true fighting retreat, leaving the field scattered with both Helvetii and Roman bodies. Once we had rested some, we were ordered back into formation, closing up behind what was now the first line, with the third line staying in place.

  “Lucky bastards, we should be in the third line now.” Even Didius said something that we agreed with from time to time, and this was one of them and I wondered why Caesar ordered this, but quickly dismissed it as one of those things that a common Gregarius did not need to know, instead just shrugging my shoulders as we moved back into position.

  In doing so, we also made sure that the Helvetii laying there were not still alive; it would not do to have a group of Helvetians faking their death suddenly rising up from behind us. The battle was gradually moving in the direction of the camp while the sun continued to travel through the sky. It was now well past midday, and the fighting showed no signs of letting up, leading us to speculate what would happen when the sun went down.

  “Knowing Caesar, we’ll keep on fighting,” Vibius sighed, something in his tone telling me that he did not mean it as a compliment, though I held my tongue, not wanting to argue about it. The subject of Caesar was becoming increasingly off limits to us, because in my mind Vibius had developed a totally unwarranted view of Caesar and his motives. Shuffling along behind the first line, we continued speculating on our immediate fate until the horn sounded alerting us that we were about to rotate once more, which was met by muffled groans and curses.

  “By Dis, why does it have to be us? It should be those bastards behind us,” Didius complained bitterly.

  Rufio told him to shut up, but we could tell it was half-hearted at best. Despite our feelings, we hoisted our shields and made ready to go back into the fray.

  T
he Helvetii did not try to get back to their camp, clearly understanding that trying to jam that many men through the camp gates would be a disaster of the first magnitude. Instead, they chose to withdraw to a hill on the far side of the camp, and we followed close behind. As we continued pressing, I heard the Pilus Prior and Rufio conferring about something, so like all good soldiers, I did my best to eavesdrop without obviously doing just that, stopping and pretending instead to work on a loose piece of gear.

  “I don’t know,” the Pilus Prior was saying, “but something about this doesn’t strike me as being right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look back the way we came,” the Pilus Prior pointed, and I darted my eyes in the direction he was indicating. “See the bodies?”

  “Yeah, I see them,” Rufio replied, clearly puzzled, “so what?”

  “There aren’t that many,” answered the Pilus Prior.

  “Aren’t that many? What are you talking about? There’s hundreds, more than hundreds, there’s a couple thousand at least, not counting ours.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” persisted the Pilus Prior. “You remember what Caesar told us. We’re facing something like 100,000 warriors, and they retreat and act like we’re beating them for a couple of thousand dead?”

  “Maybe they’re not as fierce as they’re cracked up to be,” Rufio said, but I could hear the doubt creeping into his voice while I felt the first icy fingers of dread walking up my spine.

  “Does it seem that way to you?” asked the Pilus Prior quietly. “Do they act like they’re beaten?”

  “No,” admitted Rufio. “So what do you think is going on?”

  “I think that maybe they’re not going back towards their camp for a reason. I think that maybe they’re pulling us up that hill so that the camp is to our back.”

  A lump formed in my stomach as I realized that the Pilus Prior was probably right, and in that moment, my respect for him went up a notch. I finished what I was pretending to do, then hurried on to join the rest of the Century to relay what I had just heard.

  “By the gods, I hope he sends word to Caesar,” Romulus exclaimed.

  “Send word to Caesar? Are you crazy?” Calienus laughed. “Do you think a Pilus Prior is going to stick his neck out to warn Caesar of something that might or might not happen, especially after what happened with Considius?”

  He was right; it was too much to expect for a Centurion, no matter if he led a Cohort, to risk his career on a hunch, especially after the fiasco that had occurred shortly before. Nonetheless, that is exactly what Pilus Prior Vetruvius did, sending Rufio off to relay his suspicions, an act that gained him even more respect from the Century and the Cohort. Finishing our move back into the first line, we resumed where we left off, exchanging smoothly with the second line, most of them gasping their thanks as they moved down the files between us. My head was pounding, and my left arm was beginning to stiffen a bit, though I knew that once I was back in the fray I would forget such things. Meanwhile, the Helvetii were slowly moving up the hill, and I could not help noticing that the piles of bodies did not seem to be as deep as one would think they should be for a retreating enemy.

  Once the Helvetii made it to the top of the hill, suddenly their retreat stopped and on some unseen signal, the pace of the fighting picked back up as they unleashed the ferocity present in their first assault. For a few moments we found ourselves being pushed, ever so slightly, back down the hill and I was forced to dig my heels in, pushing hard against the man in front of me in an attempt to stop the backward slide. It was right about then that we heard a sudden roar from our right rear, coming from the direction of their camp. Risking a glance back, my heart seemed to stop at what I saw. Boiling out of the camp was another mass of warriors, not as large as what we were facing, though probably in numbers matching the size of the four Legions that were currently engaged. A series of blasts on the cornu alerted Caesar and the command group then we saw one of his Tribunes scrambling down the hill towards the third line, the only ones in position to meet the new threat. Even as this was happening, an idea dawned on me that perhaps this was why Caesar had insisted that the third line stay unengaged and fresh, and I was gratified to see how rapidly they reacted to the new attack. There was nothing more that I could do about it, so I turned my attention back to the fight in front, trusting in my comrades and Caesar to make sure that they stopped the advance of this second threat. Soon enough, my turn came again, except this time I was the one moving uphill, and I found myself thanking the gods yet again for my great height, since it helped negate the disadvantage. Also, I was determined not to make any further mistakes, making me more cautious than before, consequently taking longer for me to make a kill, but I contented myself with the thought that I was giving my friends more time to rest. I quickly disposed of three men and had just sliced into the thigh of a fourth when the whistle sounded, and I went back to the back of the line. The intensity of the fighting, if anything, was increasing, with the sight of the Helvetii counterattack heartening the main force while it had the same effect on us, albeit for different reasons. By this time we knew we were now fighting to stave off the destruction of our entire army, placing our trust in our comrades to the rear, and in turn we did not want to betray that trust by letting them down. With the pace becoming more furious, the relief period became shorter, and it was only a matter of a few moments before I was back in front again. Now the bodies were piling up in earnest, making the footing difficult, between the slippery blood on the grass and having to step over corpses. The job of the second man in the line is not only to brace his companion, but to end any foe that has fallen and is not yet dead, and those in the second rank were now busier than ever. Just as I was dispatching my opponent, I heard a cry of pain to my left and looked over to see Scribonius fall to the ground, writhing in agony but still trying to use his shield to protect him from the man who knocked him down. The Helvetii warrior in turn let out a roar of triumph and stood over Scribonius, his arm pulled back for the killing blow with his spear. Without thinking, I leapt sideways, crashing into the man just as he thrust down at Scribonius’ unprotected face, the point instead burying itself in the ground several inches deep no more than a hand width away from my friend. In making that move I had helped Scribonius, yet I left myself exposed to a blow from the rear from the man I was facing, and I felt my shoulders involuntarily clench in expectation of a thrust that never landed. Instead, I heard the part-crunching, part-squishing sound of a blade being thrust into the man’s chest by my relief, who had lost his grip on my harness when I jumped, but thankfully not his wits. Simultaneously, I made a quick thrust to the throat of the man who had tried to kill Scribonius, his blood spraying all over my arm and face as he made a choking sound and fell to the ground. In almost the same motion, I dropped my shield and with my left hand, grabbed Scribonius by the front of the armor, ignoring his screams of pain, half dragging, half flinging him backwards out of the front line. Once he was out of the way, I picked up my shield and turned back to face the enemy, ready to continue killing.

  Fortunately the third line moved quickly, forming up in a single line, angling across our rear partway up the hill to meet the threat posed by the Boii and Tulingi. Fighting in that area was ferocious, the Helvetii knowing this was their one and only chance to overwhelm us and destroy Caesar’s army. Understanding that as well, that knowledge kept us going through the day, the sun moving steadily towards its home in the west. Neither side would relent, both knowing the stakes, yet the bravery of the Helvetii was no match for the iron discipline and teamwork of the Legions, as we chewed them up like some huge beast will gnaw on its prey, spitting out heaps of dead and dying men in our wake, relying on the watches of drill that enable us to perform without any conscious thought. First position, bash with the shield, thrust while remembering to turn the hips, withdraw, recover. Over and over, variations on the same theme of killing, not thinking, just doing, ignoring the pain and
fatigue in your body, knowing that by giving into it, you will not only shame yourself, you will cause the death of your friends and comrades. So you move forward, your mind empty of every thought that might distract you, and you kill, over and over. We were only vaguely aware of the struggle taking place behind us, while the third line stood firm, battered over and over as if by a huge wave, yet never giving in, never giving ground that might lead to the destruction of the army. Instead, slowly but surely, they began to advance on their foe, who in turn gave ground very grudgingly, at least at first. Then, the second Helvetian attack suddenly disintegrated, and quickly a retreat became a rout, with men running for their lives, heading to their last defense, the hill on which all the wagons gathered. The main force of the Helvetii, the force we were engaged with, having the advantage of being higher on the hill, was able to see the crumbling of the second attack. Seeing now that all was lost, the men in the rear of their formation began to stream away, seeking safety by fleeing the battle, but the men in the front lines had no such luxury. They understood that the instant they turned their back we would cut them down and this knowledge made them fight even harder, something that I did not think was possible until I saw it. They resisted in the manner of men who know that they are doomed, yet are determined to take as many of their enemy with them as they can and indeed, many of us fell, some to never rise again. One of them was Hirtius, our Tesseraurius who replaced Cordus, disemboweled by a spear. Thankfully, I did not see it happen, but it was a painful loss nonetheless. For my part, I do not know how many men I killed that day; I lost track around ten men, worrying me a bit because I had been told that when I sacrificed to the gods, being accurate was very important so one knew the size of the offering to give. We sensed more than saw the thinning of the force in front of us, until finally, there were no more men to kill; only then did we pause to stand there for a moment, chests heaving, standing in a heap of dead and wounded, trying to make some sense of what had happened. As I was catching my breath, I looked up in surprise to see that the sun was hanging low above the hills; this battle had lasted almost two full watches, and it was still not over.