Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  Forcing myself to be patient, I replied, “I know it’s a lot of work, but ultimately it’s for our protection.”

  Warming to the topic, I tried to light some sort of fire of enthusiasm for what was going to be a brutal amount of work, no matter what. “Boys, this is it! We have that bastard bottled up, with the bulk of his army. We finish him here, and we’re done. Nobody is left for us to fight!”

  “I don’t know,” Vibius repeated doubtfully, “the way these Gauls breed, there's still a lot of 'em running around that aren’t part of that lot up on the hill.”

  “Gerrae! By Dis Vibius, must you find a turd in the porridge in everything Caesar does?” I stormed. I had lost my temper, and even as I swore at myself for losing control, I continued to rage. “I’ve listened to you moan and complain about every order you’ve been given by Caesar since…..since I can remember, and by the gods I’m sick of it! I’ve put up with it because you’re my best friend since we were kids, but enough is enough!” My voice hardened into the tone I used when giving commands or officially chastising one of the men. “You forget yourself, Sergeant. Your place is not to question our commander’s orders, your place is to obey them and carry them out to the best of your ability. This is the last time I'll tolerate such a display, do you understand me?”

  The shock was clear on Vibius’ face, as it was on everyone else around the fire; never before had they heard me speak to Vibius in this manner, but I had reached my limit.

  “Titus, I meant no………”

  “Tacete!” I surprised even myself at the volume of my voice. “And stand at intente when I’m addressing you, Sergeant!”

  As shocked and angry as he may have been, discipline in the Legions runs deep, and he snapped immediately to the position, eyes locked straight ahead.

  “You’re not addressing your friend Titus Pullus, you’re addressing your Optio right now, Sergeant,” my voice was a bit softer, but only by a fraction.

  “Yes, Optio,” Vibius replied, and to anyone else his tone sounded perfectly correct, but I could detect the barely controlled fury. We stood there for a moment; he could not speak unless I gave him leave, and I was suddenly at a loss at what to say. Things had gotten out of hand and I knew that, except I did not know what to do. In my defense, it was not just a matter of youth. I knew that to back down in any way at this point was to undermine my authority; a leader cannot be seen to be indecisive and weak, and backing down now would cause me problems down the road. Nevertheless, I also knew that my friendship with Vibius had just suffered a tremendous blow that might not ever be repaired.

  “Very well, carry on. We've got a big day tomorrow so I want everyone in the tent early tonight.”

  Without saying another word, I turned and walked to the next section to pass the word, thinking that at least I would not have to deal with Vibius.

  Beginning work the next morning, nine Legions worked while one Legion, the cavalry and the auxiliary troops kept a vigil on the town and camp of Vercingetorix. The camp covered the eastern slope, where they had dug their own ditch and erected a wall six feet tall, covering the distance between the two streams in the same manner as on the western side. The result was a rough rectangular shape, which we needed to completely encircle. Dirt flew as thousands of spades dug; axes rang out as the wood needed for the forts was chopped down and dressed appropriately. Within the day, we built a number of camps to spread the Legions out, with two camps on the north side, and two camps on the south side. Arranged around the western side of the town, camps were built specifically for the cavalry and the auxiliaries. The inner trench and wall was dotted with smaller forts, 23 of them, ranging in size from just large enough for a Century, with one or two artillery pieces, to a couple large enough for a Cohort, with several artillery pieces, the latter being placed in areas where Caesar deemed it more likely that there would be an attempt to break out. The camps were completed, along with perhaps half of the inner trench and wall, by the time it got dark the first day. Work continued in shifts through the next day and into the night, in the same manner as at Avaricum. The major difference is that we were not hurting for food at Alesia, and I think this along with the belief that we were in the final stages of crushing the rebellion spurred us to work at a furious pace. Our Cohort worked through the day shift, retiring to one of the camps on the southern perimeter just erected, tired and filthy. Listlessly eating our meal, too tired even for a bath, once finished the men collapsed on their cots, while I plodded to my tent, where a report on our supply situation and the daily report were waiting for me.

  By the third day, about half of the forts were completed, the inner trench and wall was finished and we were beginning work on the outer wall when Vercingetorix sent his entire cavalry force out in an attempt to destroy our cavalry, his intent to cripple our ability to forage, the main job of the cavalry during a siege. The bucina sounded the call to assembly and we dropped our tools to run to where our gear was gathered, forming up in battle order as we watched the cloud of dust to our left grow in size, the sounds of the clash carrying to us. We had no real idea what was happening, only glimpsing the blurred forms of horsemen hurtling in one direction or another in random moments when the dust clouds would briefly dissipate, before a fresh spate of action dropped a curtain back down on the scene. All we knew was what we could glean from the sounds of the various horns, giving signals that were relayed from one fort to another. Despite being naturally absorbed in what was taking place to our left, we actually were assembled to keep an eye on the town and camp in the event that the Gallic infantry were ordered from their positions to support the cavalry. The battle raged for the better part of a third of a watch, then seemingly for no reason, we saw the Gauls turn about and begin whipping their mounts back towards their camp. Surging back towards their position, they finally broke clear of the dust cloud and in a few heartbeats, we could see what started the rout.

  “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 w
as 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 t
he 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.