by R. W. Peake
“Besides, hasn’t he made enough money already? Shouldn’t we have the chance to get something for ourselves? I bet he planned this all along with that Remi bastard.”
I glanced at Vibius in surprise, sure that he was in jest, yet his face was deadly serious. “Do you honestly believe that Caesar orchestrated all this, that he arranged for the Suessiones to surrender but still had us do all that work?” I asked incredulously.
When I put it like that, it made Vibius reluctant to agree, but I could see that I had not really convinced him. He just shrugged and said, “I wouldn’t put it past him,” then looked away, a clear sign that he was done with the subject. I opened my mouth to argue the point, then thought better of it; there was no reasoning with Vibius once he made up his mind, and it was clear that he had formed an opinion that he regarded as fact. All I could do was shake my head.
Once the hostages were handed over and the Suessiones’ weapons were confiscated, we turned west again, this time heading for the territory of the Bellovaci, following the Axona until it ran into the Isara (Isar) River, which the Axona flows into as the former runs in a north/south orientation. Crossing the Isara, we made camp for the night, then set out the next day for the main town of the Bellovaci, called Bratuspantium, arriving there shortly after midday. This time we did not even need to build any siege equipment, the headman of the town opening their gates in submission the moment we marched into view. The Aedui Diviciacus had joined the army by this time, and like Iccius, he pleaded the case for the Bellovaci, guaranteeing their good conduct. Like with the Suessiones, Caesar treated this town with clemency, demanding only hostages, and like the Suessiones, they were disarmed. Spending the night encamped next to the town, we did so with a double shift of guards on the walls of the camp, although I suspect that this was as much about keeping the soldiers from sneaking into the town as it was to guard against a surprise attack. Once again we set out the next morning, still heading west although turning a little more to the north, to the Ambiani town of Samarobriva. Word of our arrival preceded us, and like the Bellovaci, the Ambiani were waiting with a delegation of elders to offer their submission to Rome. The same terms applied, with the exception that Caesar did not disarm the Ambiani, deeming them not enough of a threat to us to worry about. Taking on even more hostages, they joined what had become a part of our train, guarded in the middle of the marching column by whichever Legion happened to be scheduled to be next to them on that day. By this time there were 200 or 300 of them, and since most of the hostages were of noble birth, they of course could not travel without their own retinue, so between servants, slaves, and other sorts of retainers, there were probably 1,000 people in that group, making them hard to manage, as we would learn.
Only a day was spent at Samarobriva before word came about a tribe that not only refused to submit, but were openly preparing for war. They were the Nervii, and were reputed to be the fiercest of all the Belgae tribes, adopting what we thought was a rather peculiar custom.
“I heard from one of those Belgae who speak Latin that the Nervii don’t let any traders or merchants of any kind into their lands,” reported Scribonius at the end of the first day’s march as we headed back to the northeast to confront the Nervii.
“Gerrae! Why would they do something stupid like that?” scoffed Vibius.
We were seated in our accustomed spots around the fire, chewing the evening bread and bemoaning that the olive oil was already starting to go rancid.
“I asked the same thing,” replied Scribonius as he sat mending a hole in one of his tunics. “The Belgae I was talking to, I think he was a Suessiones, said that they don’t let anything into their country that might make them soft. They think that all the other Belgae have rolled over for Rome too quickly, and they claim that they’ll show the other tribes that we can be beaten.”
“Hmmm, where have I heard that before?” I laughed, and the others joined in, amused by the thought that these Nervii were making the same mistake that a number of other Gallic tribes had already made.
I was surprised when Scribonius did not join in, frowning as he gazed at us. “I don’t know,” he said in his thoughtful way, “the way this Suessiones talked about the Nervii was……different. It wasn’t the usual boasting that these bastards are so good at. He just gave me examples of what make the Nervii different, and feared by the other Belgae.”
Dismissing Scribonius’ words of caution with another joke, we soon moved onto other more important topics, like the never-ending dice game between Romulus and Atilius, and which whore among the camp followers was the best.
After three days of marching, through the same very gently rolling terrain, skirting the patches of woods whenever we came across them, we stopped for the night on the edge of a scrub forest as Caesar’s scouts came to report that the Nervii were camped some nine miles away, having gathered in force at a place where they thought it was likely that we would cross the river Sabis (Sambre). During the night, some of the hostages slipped out of camp, going to the Belgae to warn them of our approach, and to pass on what they thought would be our order of march. Meanwhile, Caesar ordered the pioneers and a group of Centurions, along with an ala of cavalry to move ahead to scout a place for the next day’s campsite. Word shot around the fires that the Nervii were close, so we began to prepare ourselves for a battle, each of us having developed our own little rituals and ways of doing things that is unique to every Legionary. Some men set up little shrines to worship their household gods and the gods that look over the Legions; I preferred a more practical approach and would spend the time sharpening the blade of both my sword and dagger. Running the blade along the stone that evening, I began to dream of a new sword, using the metal that the Gauls used. Despite their swords being too long and inferior to ours for the type of fighting that we did, the quality of the blades themselves and the workmanship had left all of us impressed. Some of the Centurions had commissioned Gallic craftsmen to make swords for them, and I dreamed of having one made for me, perhaps as early as this winter, since I was saving the money that I had not designated as the funds that would free Gaia and Phocas. But first, I had to live to see the winter, and I sighed as I put my weapons aside to begin the inspection of the arms of my tentmates, thinking to myself that a Sergeant’s work was never done.
Breaking camp the next morning, we received our order of march for the day, an everyday occurrence that would prove to be critical on this of all days. Part of the information that the Belgae hostages that fled the previous night gave to the Nervii was that our usual order of march would give them a perfect opportunity for an ambush. Normally, when we were marching with no expectation of contact with the enemy, each Legion’s baggage train is behind them. A Legion’s baggage train on the march, during Caesar’s time, consisted of more than 500 mules, with each animal having a servant or slave to drive it. This was where our tents and extra rations, a mule for each section of men, plus tents for the Centurions, Optios, Tesseraurii, and Signiferi were carried. Then there were the wagons carrying the Legion artillery, along with the other essentials for a Legion on campaign. As you can imagine, gentle reader, all of this takes up quite a bit of space, and while every morning we were aligned in a proper formation with our spacing parade ground-exact, even then the baggage train would extend for almost a furlong, and that was before we started. But on the march, matters get a bit more complicated, since there is a tendency in even the most disciplined army, which we were, to extend that distance a bit, so that the gaps between the animals widened. Although the men of the Legion are orderly and able to maintain the proper distance for the most part, the servants driving the animals, despite being part of the army, are not soldiers and do not value the maintaining of the proper gaps the way we do. Therefore it is not uncommon for a Legion on the march to have a baggage train stretch to almost a quarter mile in length. In Caesar’s army, we tried to march nine miles for every watch, except that we were almost always consigned to marching as slow as the baggage
train, which at best would average perhaps six miles for every watch, unless we were on a forced march and left the baggage train behind. That distance translates into time, and adding the gap between the baggage train and the next Legion, usually following a furlong behind the one in front of it, this distance translated into an advantage for a huge army like the Nervii. Their plan was simple; once the first Legion marched by and as soon as the baggage train was in sight, they would swoop out of a large forest that they were hiding in to ambush the leading Legion, counting on the delay that would inevitably happen as the trailing Legions scrambled to the aid of their comrades while first having to make their way past the baggage of the Legion being attacked.
All in all, it was a good plan, but it was doomed to fail because Caesar, as always, was thinking one step ahead of them. The Belgae hostages who escaped to warn the Nervii were right; under normal conditions Caesar marched with the Legion baggage train immediately following it, except Caesar did not consider these to be normal conditions. With an enemy known to be lurking less than a half-day’s march away, Caesar gave orders that we would march in the manner that we did when contact with the enemy was expected, with all the army’s baggage train congregated into one group, which was trailed by the new Legions, the 13th and 14th. When the army finally came into view, masked as we were by a thick stand of trees, the Nervii were confronted by the sight of the Legions, with the 9th in the lead this day and ourselves immediately behind, following each other in close order without any baggage train in between. Our march was delayed by a series of thick hedges, which we were told had been planted by the Nervii as a method of deterring just the type of advance that we were making, and I must say they did an admirable job of it. Being the lead Legion, the boys in the 9th were the ones who had to either find a way around the hedges, or cut through them, making for a considerable amount of work. Most of the time their commander ordered the 9th to cut through them; Roman armies are not much for going around an obstacle. We would much rather just march right through it and will spend the time necessary making the terrain bend to our will so that we can do just that. Once past the hedges, we marched up to the site that the pioneers had selected for the day’s camp, a small hill with a gentle slope down to the river, the camp site being on the north side. The river Sabis is a river in name only, not being much more than three feet deep in that area, and we knew that it would not provide much of an obstacle to the Nervii, whose sentries and pickets we could see watching us from across the river. Being the second to arrive, we received orders to begin building the camp immediately while Caesar sent the cavalry, who had been screening our advance, across the river to chase the pickets away. On the opposite side of the river was another hill, with a forest roughly bisecting it running east and west just at the crest, and as our horsemen went charging up the slope it was into this forest that the pickets fled. Every one of us would have been content to stand or sit watching our cavalry charging into the line of trees, then be repulsed before trying over and over again, but we had a job to do so we grounded our packs to begin the routine of building a camp. While we worked, the other Legions began arriving; we were followed by the 11th, with the 8th behind them, the 12th, and then the 7th. The baggage train was still some way off, moving more slowly as usual and guarded by the new Legions who marched behind it. It was perhaps third of a watch after we arrived that the baggage train came plodding into view, and it was this sight that triggered the Nervii attack.
They came swarming out of the forest across the river, sweeping aside our cavalry screen as if it were not there, thousands upon thousands of them running down the slope and across the river, almost before we knew what had happened. From the moment that they burst out of the woods until they hit our lines was less time than it takes a man to run a fast mile, and when an army as large as ours is caught unprepared like we were, it is no simple matter to array for battle. Suddenly the air was split by the sounds of bucina and cornu, accompanied by the bellowing of the Centurions who ordered us to drop our implements and form a battle line as quickly as we could. The scene was utter chaos, with Legionaries madly scrambling back to their packs to pick up their shields and helmet, grounded with the rest of our marching gear. The standards were quickly grabbed from wherever they were planted in the ground as we worked, forming a rough line parallel to the river. Looking across the river at the onrushing horde, it was clear that we could either form up in our proper Centuries and Cohorts, or we could go grab our gear, but we could not do both. Immediately realizing the gravity of the situation, and knowing that we were in for the fight of our lives, most if not all of us chose to get our gear and hastily don our helmet, although none of us had time to take the cover off of our shields, before looking for the nearest standard. Seeing the standard for the Third Century of the Fourth Cohort nearby, Vibius and I ran to form up the best we could. There was a mess of confusion as each of us instinctively looked for the spot where we normally lined up, yet we were just as likely to find it occupied by a man who had the same spot, but in a different Century. Consequently I found myself with Vibius by my side on the front rank, giving us a grand view of the Nervii horde pounding up the riverbank at us, water streaming from their clothes as they waved their weapons in the air, their war cries filling the air to envelope us with sound.
We could feel the ground shaking beneath our feet as they drew closer and there was just enough time for Vibius to say, “We are truly fucked,” before the first ranks slammed into us.
We did not even try to throw our javelins, not only because there was not enough time, but most of us forgot to grab them, instead instantly resorting to the sword, much the same as when we faced the Germans. A man a little older than me, with a full red beard and his hair sticking up in some sort of wild pattern came hurtling at me, his long spear thrusting at my throat. Drawing my shield up to block the thrust before answering it with my own, I delivered my blow under the rim of my shield, the blade angling upwards to drive into his groin. He let out a horrific screech and fell to the ground, but the man behind him did not even break stride as he hurtled the body to slam into me. My shield was driven back into my chest, almost knocking the breath from me as I felt my heels sliding and I waited for the supporting hand grabbing my harness, but none came. Cursing, I strained to push my shield out away from my body, back to the proper position, except the man was now aided by the weight of the other Nervii who had come crashing into him, so I stood there pinned, with no room to use my sword. The stalemate lasted for a few heartbeats before, in an act of desperation, I lowered my shield just a bit while whipping my head forward, driving the rim of my helmet into the man’s face. Instantly my head exploded in pain, yet the effect was enough to cause him to recoil backward into his comrades, freeing me up just enough. Lashing out with my shield, I caught him with the boss square in the chest, hearing the breath escape him in a whooshing sound as I whipped my blade over the top edge of the shield this time, the point catching him at the base of his throat. I obviously hit an artery, because I was showered with a spray of bright red blood, and he staggered back, falling against the man behind him, who in turn was covered by the dying man’s blood, his heart pumping jets of the sticky fluid into the second Nervii’s eyes, causing him to shut them in reflex, giving me the opportunity to take advantage of his temporary blindness. Taking a step forward and regaining the ground that I had lost, I killed the second man with a quick thrust to the chest while he was still struggling to wipe the blood from his eyes. With three kills in perhaps the first thirty normal heartbeats, all around me the fighting was going at the same furious pace. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vibius ducking a wild swing of a Nervii sword before coming up from his crouch with a powerful blow from his shield that smashed his opponent in the elbow of his sword hand, causing him to drop it, whereupon Vibius instantly dispatched him with a sweeping move of his blade that opened the man’s throat. Meanwhile, I heard frantic shouting all around me as Centurions barked out commands, trying desperate
ly to plug holes where there were still gaps, or strengthen lines that were still only one or two men deep. Very quickly I realized that this was the case with us; the reason nobody grabbed my harness was because there was nobody there, yet I could not dare look back to see if any help had come. The Signifer we formed up with was using the staff of his standard as a weapon, swinging it in short, sharp blows, finishing each opponent off with the spiked end. A couple of men came to stand around him, and I could see others running to our formation, but we were still horribly disorganized, except that was all the time I could give to the overall situation as more Nervii came roaring at us. Once again one came slamming into me, and I felt my upper body twisting backwards under the pressure as I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stand back upright to hammer at my foe’s face with the pommel of my sword. He had no shield and was using his free hand to try blocking my blows, while with the spear in his other hand, he kept jabbing at me in short, vicious thrusts aimed at my gut. On one of his thrusts, the blade of his spear punctured my shield, and I felt the point bury itself in my left forearm. Despite myself, I let out a cry of pain, while I wrenched the spear out of his hands by jerking my shield down and away from him, ignoring the fact that doing so hurt my arm even more. In an instant, he was disarmed, and I stepped to my left to give him a backhand slash that caught him across the face. Now it was his turn to scream as his hands flew to his face, giving me all the opening I needed to drive my sword deep into his gut, feeling a savage satisfaction.
I do not know for sure how long the fighting went on at this pace, but all along our line, which was a line in name only, every Legion was being pressed to their limit as men fought without any real direction or orders from our Centurions. This was a fight of man against man, or at the most, small groups of two and three men against each other, and this type of fighting brings out the most savage aspect of every one of us. At one point I remember suddenly becoming aware that I was snarling as I hacked away at a Nervii, spewing out sounds that were completely unintelligible, and I could feel my lips curling from my teeth as I waded in the gore of the bodies that we were chopping up. There were no tactics, no maneuvers, just men intent on killing each other, mindless of any higher goal other than the complete destruction of the man across from him. I was vaguely aware that I saw Caesar, holding a shield, calling out to us to continue fighting, exhorting us to greater effort, his own blade bloody.