by R. W. Peake
With Caesar going to get help and the Helvetii heading north, Labienus marched us west and south, generally back the way we came. From a soldier’s point of view, it is times like this when we reversed our tracks that we really regretted the practice of destroying the camp of the night. It would have saved us some trouble and labor, yet such was our lot that we often found ourselves sometimes within sight of the outlines of the old camp, digging all over again. However, that is just the grumbling of an old soldier. Despite it still being spring, it was early enough, now that we were in the more mountainous areas, for snow to fall, and this was Vibius’ and my first real experience with the stuff. We were not alone; most of the men of the 10th had no experience with snow, other than the glimpse of snow-covered peaks in Hispania, so that even the officers could not stop us from becoming a group of boys for a time. We tasted the snowflakes, made snowballs to throw at each other, and in general acted in a manner completely unworthy of Rome’s Legionaries. Very rapidly we discovered the cost of such beauty, since none of us had thought to pack our leg coverings or socks, much to our discomfort within a few moments. Our feet had been toughened up by the miles we marched, except they were as susceptible to cold as any other part of the body, and before long I was faced with the unpleasant sensation of being unable to feel my feet. Even as we marched they felt like two big lumps of meat, and it was only because I looked down and watched that I could tell I was wiggling my toes. My only happiness came from the fact that I was not the only one miserable; there is nothing more comforting to a soldier when he suffers than the knowledge that his friends are just as miserable as he is. Vibius was shivering uncontrollably; as we walked I could see his body spasm, fighting the cold. His lips were blue, and I suspected mine were as well, while even the normally patient and long-suffering Calienus was marking each step with a chatter of teeth.
“Not so fun is it now, eh boys?” called Rufio, marching out to the side.
We did not answer; despite the fact we all liked Rufio a good deal, he was still Optio and smarting off to a superior, while a way to get warmed up with a flogging, was not a method we would choose willingly. Truthfully, we did not worry so much about Rufio bringing up a charge, but Pilus Prior Vetruvius was still an unknown quality at this point. Being fair, he had not been markedly different than Crastinus, but we had yet to go into battle with him, and as I was to learn when I reached his place, the men are judging you just as much if not more than you are judging them. I was reminded of that when I left the ranks and faced battle the first time as a Centurion, thinking back to when I was a Legionary watching our new Centurion, trying to figure him out.
Luckily, the weather only lasted one more full day. On the second morning we actually woke to a camp covered in white, the tents blanketed in snow, glowing an eerie white in the pre-dawn darkness. The only marks on the ground were from the men on watch and their relief, although that would change quickly now that the camp was awake. It did not take long for us to discover another problem that snow, despite its beauty, gave in abundance. The leather of our tents had become soaked, making them much heavier than normal, something that may not seem to be an insurmountable problem. However, the amount of weight that every man, animal and wagon carries is calculated down to the pound, making the additional weight of the trapped water a serious problem. Normally the tent section mule carries the tent, the stakes, its own forage and our extra grain, but very quickly we discovered that something had to be removed from the animal’s burden, and I will say I was not surprised when all of my tentmates’ eyes turned to me. I knew better than to argue, just sighing and accepting the sack of grain, trying to balance it with the rest of my load. My pride would not allow me to act like it was anything but the most trifling of tasks, but I felt my knees shake a bit as I got adjusted to the extra burden. I also knew better than to hope that Labienus or the Centurions would account for all the extra weight we were carrying when calculating the day’s march, and in that I was not disappointed in my confidence. Fortunately we were still headed in a downhill direction, back to where we were to meet with Caesar, who would be bringing up the three Legions and whatever troops he raised. Not lost on us was the fact that these new Legions would be close to useless, at least in the first few battles, since they were literally training on the march. The 7th, 8th and 9th would be welcome, however, and those with friends among the other Legions speculated about how much money they could win, or win back as the case may have been. Out of all of us, perhaps Didius looked forward to the reunion more than anyone else, since for the most part he was out of willing opponents for his games of chance, if they could be called such. As I reflect on it, perhaps Didius taking the beating he did was not the best thing, because it made him more determined not to get caught, instead of showing him he needed to change who he was. Perhaps asking him to change was impossible; can we truly alter our nature, or is the best we can hope to do disguise it from the eyes of others? Given the problems he caused for himself and for others, if he had even tried at the least to hide his true colors from others, I cannot help but think how different things could have been.
Reaching the confluence of the Rhodanus and Aras (Saone) rivers on the third day of our march, we turned back north along the Aras; the branches of the Aras and Rhodanus roughly form the letter “V” with the Aras continuing to the north. It is one of the most sluggish rivers I have ever seen, and it is almost impossible to tell which way it is flowing, although it is actually to the south and gradually empties out to Our Sea. At the junction of the two rivers was what is now known as the town of Lugdunum, except at that time it was just a hill fort that commanded the junction of the rivers. If the tribe that held it had been hostile at that time it would have posed a large problem for us to get around, as we could see the men lining the walls clearly watching us go tramping by, but given that we were trying to stop the Helvetii from trespassing into their territory, it is easy to see why they let us pass unmolested. Nevertheless, we were grateful for their lack of hostility and we marched past as quickly as we could. Once we were a safe distance away, yet still within sight of not just the hill fort but the river fork, we made camp to await Caesar and the other Legions, making it large enough to accommodate the rest of the army when it arrived. They marched in a couple of days later, and it was a welcome sight seeing the rest of the army, their eagles and standards marking their progress up the valley to join us, with the obligatory cloud of dust hovering above them. Labienus and the Legion’s command group went to meet Caesar, while we were called to formation outside the camp to welcome Caesar and our comrades.
“About time is all I can say,” grumbled Vibius, who eyed the hill fort every day, openly worried that our presence would provoke the Gauls inside it to come out to cause us some mischief.
In fact, the opposite was happening, as we would find out shortly, when a Gallic deputation rode out to meet Caesar, not to warn or threaten us but to ask for help. By this time, the Helvetii had passed over the mountains that currently lay to our east and served as the western border of their former lands. Moving through a narrow pass at the northern end of the range, with a detachment of our cavalry trailing to keep an eye on them, the Helvetii were now sweeping back to the south, preparing to cross the Aras River a bit further to our north. They were supposedly a dozen miles away, having commandeered every boat in the area to make a bridge over which they could cross. While Caesar met with his officers and the representatives of the Aedui, Allobroges and Sequani, all of whom had come to us to ask our help with the threat to their lands, we retired back to camp to await further orders. There was an air of excitement crackling through the Legion streets; from our perspective, we were happy to no longer be alone in enemy territory and to be reunited with Caesar, yet we shared the belief with all the other Legions that now that Caesar was here, we would soon be seeing more action.
We were not disappointed. Shortly before dusk, an assembly of the Centurions was called, leaving us to sit by our tents waiting to hear w
hat was going to happen, passing the time in our usual manner of gambling, talking about women and speculating on where we were headed. All of us were sure that we would take off in pursuit of the Helvetii, but what we were not prepared for were the orders the Pilus Prior brought back to break down our tents, pack up and be ready to move by midnight. Caesar was taking ourselves, the 8th and 9th in pursuit of the Helvetii, leaving the other three Legions behind, except he was not content to wait for daybreak, planning instead to steal a march on the Helvetii, making for a hard slog ahead of us. Quickly understanding that the sooner we broke down our gear, packed it up and made ready to move, the more chance we would have of snatching some rest before the appointed time of march, we turned to our tasks with a vengeance. Within two parts of a watch we were done and ready to move, our reward the chance to lie on the now bare ground where our tent had been, using our pack for a pillow, and getting as much sleep as we could. I dropped off immediately, as did almost all of the rest of us; we had all learned by this point the wisdom of sleeping when there was time and eating when there was food because one never knew when the chance for either would come again. Roused shortly before the march was to set out, we were thankful that the sky was clear and the moon, while not completely full, was still bright enough to clearly illuminate the path we were about to take. Even so, when we started out, with the 10th in the lead, we moved with more caution than if it were fully daylight, sending two Centuries ahead instead of the standard one to scout the ground and keep us from falling into ambush. Ahead of the Centuries even farther were the cavalry ala, ranging a mile or two ahead of the advance guard, and it was in this manner that we set out. Caesar ordered strict silence on the march, so we tore strips of spare cloth, wrapping them around the noisier bits of our gear to keep them from clanking together, producing a sound as we marched that none of us had ever really heard before. That night made me realize how one can get accustomed to certain things and accept them as a normal part of their world, but the only time they are noticed is when they are gone. Such was the case with the normal sounds of our march, the only exception being the tramping of our boots, and it was frankly somewhat disturbing, like we were an army of mute spirits marching along. Because of our slower pace, it took us more than a full watch before we pulled close enough to the spot where the Helvetii were crossing that the cavalry ala came galloping back to report to Caesar, marching at the front with Labienus and the other Tribunes in command of the other two Legions, that they had spotted them. Dawn was rapidly approaching, so Caesar wasted no time; we were quickly given the order to draw up into formation, ground our gear and leave it with a rear guard before moving about a half mile further to the north, where we were halted once more. There we were arrayed in a duplex acies, with the Second Cohort anchoring against the banks of the river, the First forming the other end of the first line, and the Third and Fourth between us. We took off the covers of our shield, and were allowed to kneel and wait for the other two Legions to arrive and form the same formation to our right. By the time all this was done, the sky was lightening rapidly, and I realized with a sinking feeling that our chance of total surprise was diminishing as quickly.
“Hurry up you lazy bastards,” I muttered as I peered to my right, barely making out the dark blob of movement that signaled the other Legions hurrying into line.
“Quiet Pullus,” hissed Rufio from just behind me, and I started a bit, not realizing that I had said anything out loud.
Finally, a messenger on horseback came galloping across our front to find Labienus, who was standing with the first line further down the formation. Without being told anything, we came to our feet, hoisted our weapons and prepared to advance.
The order was not long in coming, and we began the approach. There was a line of trees across our path of march that, while performing the service of screening us from the sight of Helvetii sentries, was now an obstacle to be negotiated in the semi-darkness as we moved through. Perhaps even worse than the possibility of tripping was the fact that it is practically impossible to keep a large group of men in any type of alignment while moving through such terrain, since being in alignment during an attack of this nature is absolutely essential. Because of this, after we broke through the line of trees, we would have to halt to reorder the lines, taking even more out of the element of surprise than the dawn would. Once I heard the racket we made as we entered the woods, with men tripping over roots and banging into trees, all worries about alignment fled from my head instantly; there was no way that they could not hear us coming, so it would be a miracle if we even got a chance to get properly aligned. Seeing a patch of light ahead that signaled the end of the small forest as we drew closer, I felt the familiar knot in my stomach tighten, fully expecting that the instant we burst through the trees we would be met by a horde of Helvetian warriors alerted by our clumsiness and now waiting for us like butchers wait on lambs brought to the slaughter. Glancing over, even in the gloom I could see Scribonius’ face tight with worry, and he met my own for a moment before shrugging then looking away, his expression communicating everything either of us needed to know. He was right; nothing could be done about it now, we just would have to make the best of it no matter what the circumstances. Usually, Legionaries do not like being trapped in places like forests; our style of fighting is not suitable for areas where we are confined in such ways, but this was one time that none of us looked forward to exiting what we now regarded as the safety of the trees, convinced that now that the dawn had arrived, coupled with the noise we were making, we were going to meet trouble.
By the time we inevitably burst out of the woods, the dawn was now fully upon us, but even if we had not been given the order to halt so that we could dress the lines, we probably would have staggered to a stop anyway at the sight that greeted us. Although it was not a battle line of Helvetian warriors like we expected, it was not much better; it was the largest camp any of us had ever seen. As far as the eye could see there were clusters of wagons, each cluster grouped together to form some sort of barrier, except as we were to learn, the Helvetians did not sleep within their protection, however meager. They chose instead to sleep on the ground, huddled together in groups around fires, with only the meanest shelters of skins lain over poles above them to provide protection from the elements. The fires and the smoke from them, as the people designated to restart them in the morning had begun stoking their particular fire, spread so far along the bank of the river that it was impossible to estimate just how large the camp was. Perhaps even more disturbing was not the camp on this side of the river, but the one on the other side, no more than two hundred paces away on the opposite bank.
“By Dis, I think we’re in trouble,” I heard Calienus gasp, and it was only when I turned in his direction and saw he that was not looking at the scene before us, instead following his gaze that I saw what had caused such a reaction. The camp on the other side was a camp in name only; in area it was a city the size of Corduba at the least.
“There must be a million of ‘em,” this was from Scribonius, who was not one to normally be so flustered by such things, but then, none of us had ever seen anything like this.
In the moment I took to gaze across the river, I saw a single bridge made of two lines of boats side by side with rough-hewn planks laid across, stretched across the water, allowing perhaps two wagons at a time to cross. This sight at least explained why they had not yet all made it over the river, but that bridge posed a serious problem for us, because it enabled the Helvetians on the other side to come to the aid of their fellow tribesmen. And since we were closest to the river, it also meant that we would bear the brunt of the attack. In the moment it took for all of this to sink in on me, my friends saw the same thing and reached the same conclusion.
