by R. W. Peake
“Form square!”
The command echoed down the line, but we needed no extra instruction on where we were to form square, each Cohort from each Legion running quickly to their preassigned spots around their baggage train, forming a square around our most precious possessions. Despite the fact it takes a while for a single command to a column consisting of ten Legions to be passed along, we were experienced enough to know what needed to be done without waiting for orders, making the move more or less simultaneously all up and down the long column once the initial command was given. Standing in my spot, just behind the last rank in the Century, I used my height to survey the ground, trying to see through the dust that swirled around the hooves of the Gallic cavalrymen. Never before had I seen so many horsemen in one place, the dust they churned up soon obliterating my view of anything other than the few feet in front of the first rank. Suddenly out of the haze a number horsemen came bursting into view, riding directly towards our front line. Men immediately behind the front row grabbed onto the man in front to brace them for the impact, as the men in front, instead of throwing their javelin like they normally would, thrust them out as lances to spear the onrushing horses. The beasts, seeing what was in front of them, tried desperately to skid to a halt, yet between their own momentum and the savage whipping they were being given by their riders, the poor things had no chance. Screams of animals in agony rent the air as the impact of the combined weight of men and horses slammed into the Century, and I could feel the shudder through the very ground on which I stood. For a moment the men in front leaned backward, struggling under the weight pressed against them while the Gauls, still astride their mounts struggling to free themselves from the points imbedded in their flesh, whipped their long swords down onto the heads of the front men. The men in the second rank were using their javelin to stab upwards at the Gauls and it looked for the slightest time as if the force of the Gallic horsemen was going to overwhelm us. However, we all knew that any break in our formation meant death, not just to the men around the hole but to all of us, since the Gauls would whip their horses into the gap to exploit it. We had seen it happen enough to know what fate awaited us, so despite the intense pressure, we held. Finally our javelins hit their marks, stabbing the Gallic riders. In a matter of a few heartbeats from when they first appeared, there were several dead men at our feet, along with a horse that only managed to walk a few unsteady paces before collapsing. The other animals, less seriously wounded, went galloping away with blood streaming down their hides, driven by the mindless instinct to flee from what had hurt them. The remaining horsemen sheared away to disappear into the haze of dust. I always felt badly for the horses in war; they had no say in the matter and they suffered some of the most horrible deaths. It was something I never spoke of, because I would have been teased unmercifully, but it did bother me nonetheless.
All around us, similar small skirmishes were taking place, before our own cavalry came thundering past us to confront the Gauls. In the same manner as our enemy, Caesar split our horsemen into three columns, each one assigned to one of the enemy formations. Once the Gauls tried to break through our lines a couple of times, only to be bloodily repulsed each time, we became spectators to the action. With the battle wearing on, our Germans began carrying the day, much to our delight, and we heartily cheered them whenever they would go hurtling past as we caught just a glimpse of them.
“This is like watching the chariot races in Rome,” remarked Scribonius, and I looked at him in some surprise. As close as we were, Scribonius talked very little about his past, where he had come from or where he had lived for that matter. And normally, this was not a thing that we talked about in the army; if a man did not want to discuss his past, we assumed it was for good reason and did not pry, but I was so surprised, I blurted out, “You’ve been to Rome?”
Giving me a sidelong glance, he hesitated, then nodded. Keeping his eyes on the action, he said, “I lived there.”
I will confess that I was astounded. Here was one of my two or three closest friends, boon companion since being tiros together, and this was the first I heard that he had lived in Rome! Suddenly, the battle was completely forgotten as I asked eagerly, “Pluto’s thorny cock! What’s it like? Is it as wonderful as they say?”
I could see him make a face, his reluctance clear to see, but then he glanced at my own face and laughed. “You’re not going to let this be until I tell you, are you?”
I shook my head emphatically, and he sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you all about Rome. But not now. Later.”
“When later?” I demanded.
Rolling his eyes he replied, “Tonight, by Dis. Is that good enough for you?”
Nodding, we turned our attention back to the fight and watched as our cavalry carried the day from the Gauls.
Our German horse swept the Gallic cavalry from the field with heavy losses, yet one of the great mysteries of the day, and the mistake that I referred to earlier was why Vercingetorix did not order his infantry into the battle. They were formed up, outside of their camp with a view of our column as it approached, yet never left that spot. Once it was clear how the day was going, they broke down their camp and marched hurriedly away. Their army was much too large for our cavalry to try to engage while we shook ourselves out into battle formation, so we watched the dust cloud that signaled their marching away to Alesia. Vercingetorix, with the remnants of his cavalry, followed behind the rest of their army, leaving almost 3,000 horsemen dead on the field. All that Vercingetorix worked so hard to achieve in the last six months was lost in a day when he kept his infantry back from the battle, because the truth on Jupiter’s stone is that we were surprised, just like we were by the Nervii when making camp that day. Now, however, Vercingetorix was running, and the place he was running to would be his last stand at Alesia, so it was there that we now marched. That night around the fire, Scribonius had a rapt audience as he described Rome, but even with his attempts to make it sound squalid, dirty and dangerous, by the time he was through telling us of the sights to be seen, all of us were afire to see the city for which we marched to glory.
Chapter 13- Alesia
We came within sight of the hill that Alesia sits on at the end of the next day. The enemy army managed to retreat in good order and had invested the town. Since Vercingetorix decided to make Alesia his base of operations and his final redoubt some time before, the fortifications at Alesia were well developed, and the Gallic army was working on improving them even as we marched up. Our approach was from the east, and while the hill is not as high as Gergovia, it is at least as steep if not steeper. Unlike Gergovia, there was not a string of hills immediately surrounding the town where we could entrench. Perhaps a mile to the east are two hills, side by side with a narrow valley in between that leads straight to the foot of the hill on which Alesia stands. At the foot of the hill on either side lay two small streams, one on the northern side and one on the southern side. On the other side of Alesia, to the west, lay a relatively flat plain, extending for about three or four miles, and it was on this western side where the Gauls were putting the most effort in improving the defenses by building a stone wall that ran north and south between the two streams. Caesar stopped the army on the northernmost hill on the east side of the town, while he and his staff conducted a reconnaissance as we made camp. The bucina sounded Caesar’s return shortly before dark, and less than a third of a watch later it sounded the signal for all Centurions to report to the Praetorium. Since it was only Scaevola and I left sitting by the officer’s fire, and he was not very good company, I got up to wander around our area, stopping at every fire to chat for a while as we waited to hear what was in our immediate future. The wagering was already started of course, and the best odds were a complete investment of the town.
“It only makes sense,” one of the men of the third section, a swarthy veteran of Pompey’s army named Valens was holding forth at his fire. “Now that Labienus and his four Legions are here, we’re going to
be digging like moles in a great big circle all the way around that fucking town.”
“I don’t see it,” argued Crispus, who had been a tiro the same time as us. “I think he’s just going to order us to assault the damn thing and be done with it. It’s been dragging on too long, and Caesar is going to want to end it.”
Naturally, my presence meant that my opinion would be solicited, and Valens turned towards me, confident that I would agree. “Well Optio? What do you say? Are we going to invest the place, or are we going to do what this dunderhead thinks and go charging in like amateurs?”
I had to fight a smile at the way he put it, but the truth was I agreed with him.
“I think you’re right Valens,” I replied, to his cry of glee and Crispus’ moan of disgust.
The way I looked at it, either way I went, I was going to make somebody mad, so I may as well tell them what I thought. But I did not want to sound unreasonable; I was green enough back then that I worried that the men understood where I was coming from. “I think Valens is right, we have four more Legions, and just by eyeballing the place, it’s not as big around as Gergovia was,” I explained, but Crispus was having none of it.
“Then that means that Caesar is willing to stay here through the winter, Optio? I don’t believe that; he wants to get out of here just as much as we all do.”
I nodded. “That may be, but I also think Caesar is going to do what he thinks gives us the best chance to win, and that’s using our engineering skills.”
“You mean our strong backs,” Crispus said miserably.
In that he was right at least; whatever the work, it would be done with our sweat. “Just remember Crispus,” I tried to put a cheerful face on it, “the more you sweat now…”
Before I could finish, the whole section chimed in, “….the less you bleed later.”
“We get it Optio,” concluded Crispus, “but we don’t have to like it.”
I smiled. “I’d be more worried if you did.”
Pilus Prior Pulcher returned and took a seat at our fire, not saying anything for a moment. He chose instead to stare into the flames, the line of his scar in the shadows cast by the fire making him look older. Finally, he looked up and announced, “Well, we’re going to invest the place.”
I was not surprised, so I merely nodded while Scaevola gave a grunt. Over the years I had learned that Scaevola was a simple soul; not very intelligent, but smart enough to know what needed to be done, and absolutely ferocious in a fight, to the point that sometimes it was hazardous being near him, because when he got carried away, he tried to kill anyone within reach.
“That'll make Valens happy at least,” I finally replied, and Pulcher looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I related the conversation we had, and he laughed. “These bastards will bet on anything, won’t they? That’s really why Crispus is mad, not because he has work to do, but because he bet the wrong way.”
His smile disappeared as he continued soberly, “And we’re going to have work to do, right enough. Caesar's decided on a double envelopment, with one set of fortifications turned inwards and another turned out. He’s betting that this is the last stand, so that the Gauls'll do everything they can to keep Alesia from falling, so we need to be ready for an attack from both sides.”
We sat absorbing this, then Scaevola grunted again, this time loudly enough that we knew it was the signal that he was about to say something, a rare enough occasion that we looked at him in some surprise.
“Well, if we finish these bastards here, maybe we can go home.”
Our mild surprise turned to shock; this was the first time I ever heard Scaevola say anything that indicated he had a home other than the army. I glanced at the Pilus Prior, who returned it with a raised eyebrow and slight shrug. “Scaevola, where would such a heartless bastard like you call home other than the army?” the Pilus Prior teased.
“Rome,” Scaevola said quietly, staring into the fire. “The Subura, to be precise. It’s where I was born.”
You could have knocked both of us over with a feather; I had been marching with Scaevola since the Legion was formed, the Pilus Prior a few years less, but still a good stretch of time, and this was the first we ever heard that our standard bearer was born in Rome. First Scribonius, now Scaevola, I thought; will wonders never cease? I knew that he was one of the veterans from Pompey’s Legions salted into our ranks, and once I thought of it, it made sense. It was still a shock, however, but my questions about Rome would have to wait.
I rose and looked to the Pilus Prior. “Shall I tell the men, or do you want to?”
He waved me along, “You do it Pullus. I have some questions for Scaevola about whether all the things I’ve heard about the whores of Rome are true.”
With a laugh, I left to go tell our comrades what awaited them.
“A double investment? Pluto’s thorny cock, that’ll take…..I don’t know, but a long time,” Vibius swore, and I bit back a retort.
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, whe
re 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.