by R. W. Peake
Withdrawing his hand, he continued, “It's good to know that Rome will be served by young men such as you in the coming years. I fear that she will have more need of your services than either of us would like.”
I was confused as to the proper response; this was not a question. Did he want me to comment? The best I could do was to say, “And I'll be ready, sir, whenever Rome needs me and wherever I'm needed.”
He smiled again, nodding his head as if I had passed some sort of test. “This is what I wanted to hear. I must confess, when I was told that a young Gregarius was being selected as the weapons instructor for their Century, I was a little hesitant to approve. But the judgment of the Pilus Prior has been confirmed in a way that leaves no doubt in my mind.”
My chest swelled and, for a brief instant, I wished that by some miracle, my family could be there to hear his words, even my accursed father. Perhaps then, he would relent in his hatred of me, I thought.
Concluding the meeting, Caesar finished, “Well, I just wanted to meet the young Gregarius I had heard so much about in the last couple of days. I will be keeping an eye on you, Pullus. I expect great things from you in the coming years.”
I did not even try to hide my pleasure. We were dismissed, and I felt I was a foot taller than when I had walked in.
As we walked back to our area, the Pilus Prior grumbled, “Don’t go getting a big head now, boy. I'll still knock the cac out of you if you mess up.”
Despite the harshness of his words, I could tell by his tone that he was as pleased and proud as I was, so all I said was, “Yes, Pilus Prior.”
That evening, Vibius, waiting until Didius went wandering off in search of victims to fleece, brought up the subject of what Didius had done.
“I’m not willing to see him scourged and crucified,” was how he began. “But we can’t let this kind of thing go unpunished.”
The moment Vibius brought the subject up, I resolved to keep my mouth shut; it was no secret that Didius and I hated each other, so I knew that anything I proposed would be considered to be based in our mutual antagonism. However, just looking at the faces of my friends, I could tell that they all seemed to be in agreement with Vibius’ basic position.
“So what do you have in mind?” Scribonius asked.
Vibius hesitated for a moment, then replied, “I’ve been thinking about it, and the most obvious solution would be for us to beat him so badly that he’ll never consider doing something like that again.” Before anyone could voice an objection, he held up a hand. “But,” he continued, “I don’t think we can do that.”
“Why not?” demanded Remus, who of all of us seemed to be the angriest about the matter, which was understandable considering his brother was spending the night in the hospital. “What else will work with that bastard? You know how he is. That’s the only thing he understands is brute force.”
“And are you ready to answer all the questions that will come when he shows up on the list?” Vibius asked, referring to the twice-daily call for those either sick or injured. “Because I’m not.”
Remus seemed about to argue, but then sighed and shook his head.
“No, I suppose not. But it’s just…wrong,” he grumbled.
“Which is why I don’t think he should go unpunished.” Vibius took a breath, then came out with what he had in mind. “But if we shun him, and I mean we don’t even allow him in the tent and force him to look for someplace else, I think. No, I hope,” he amended, “that will be enough of a message for him not to do it again.”
There was a silence as everyone digested this, then once more it was Scribonius who asked the most important question.
“How long?”
“A month,” Vibius replied immediately.
There was an audible sound as more than one of us took in a sharp breath, and I will admit I was one of them.
“A month?” Vellusius asked, his tone doubtful. “I don’t know about that.”
For the first time, Vibius looked irritated, and he argued, “Anything less than that isn’t going to work, I know it!”
“I don’t think there’s any way to know if it will be or not,” Scribonius interjected, once again adopting a tone that somehow kept Vibius from boiling over because he was being challenged. “And,” he pointed out, “I think a month is going to draw the attention of Rufio at the very least, and most likely Crastinus. Then there are going to be the kind of questions that we don’t want to come up in the first place.”
All eyes were on Vibius, and I knew him well enough to see that Scribonius’ argument had scored with my best friend. His eyes narrowed and, for a moment, I thought there might be an explosion of argument, but then he gave a hiss in frustration.
“Fine,” he said, although he spat the word out; Vibius had never been a gracious loser, although I have no room to talk. “So how long do you think it should be?”
“I think no more than a week,” Scribonius replied.
Vibius opened his mouth to protest, but I saw his eyes dart around the circle and he saw what I had seen, that the others accepted this as the term of Didius’ punishment.
“All right,” he grumbled, but then pointed a finger, moving his hand to include each of us in turn. “But when that turns out to be not nearly enough, don’t forget who told you that!”
I finally spoke up, assuring Vibius, “Don’t worry. I know you; you won’t let us.”
That had the effect I was hoping for, as my comrades laughed, while Vibius scowled at me for a moment, before he could not fight it and joined in.
When Didius was informed by us, confronting him as a unified group, for the first time since we had known him, he did not react with his usual bluster. His face turned pale when Vibius, elected as our spokesman, calmly informed him that while we were disgusted with his behavior, neither did any of us want to see him scourged and crucified. I believe that was the first time it occurred to him just how serious an offense he had committed, and much to at least my surprise, he meekly accepted his punishment. And while it did not wreak any miraculous change in him, I will say that he never did anything so cowardly after that.
That was not the only lingering problem after the action on the hill that affected our tent section. As I mentioned, Calienus had been decidedly cool towards me when I returned to my section after the talk with the Pilus Prior the morning after the fight on the hill, and it continued through that day and night. In fact, it was not until the next night when, in frustration, I sought him out and asked to speak to him privately. He was clearly reluctant, but he did walk with me as we moved away from our own tent, which is the only way to get any real privacy in a Legion camp. After silently debating the best way to approach the subject, I decided on the tactic that I say with some reluctance is the most common method I employ when confronting something I consider a problem, head on and swinging away.
“Why are you angry with me?” I blurted out. “What did I do wrong?”
A look of surprise flashed across Calienus’ face, but he smothered it quickly.
“Who says I’m angry?” he asked, but there was no mistaking the coolness in his tone.
“I do,” I shot back. “You haven’t said more than two words to me since the other day.”
“That’s not true,” he protested. “It’s been more than that.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “You’ve said three words. Is that better?”
While I was at the very least upset, as I hoped, my clumsy attempt at humor seemed to reach him, and despite the fact he clearly did not want to, he chuckled. Still, he said nothing, and I recognized he was not going to, so before I did lose my temper with a man who was not only my superior, but who I respected a great deal and admired almost as much as I did Rufio and Crastinus at this point, I turned to stalk away. Behind me, I heard him utter a curse under his breath.
“Wait,” he called out.
I stopped and, with a sigh, he walked over to me, an expression on his face that was hard for me to identify.
“Believe it or not, I’m not angry with you.” He paused, then plunged on, “I’m angry with me.”
Of all the things I had braced myself to hear, about my hubris, or my refusal to obey his order to stay put, this was the last one.
“With yourself?” I echoed, not understanding in the slightest. “But why? You’re not the one who disobeyed an order.”
“But I should have,” Calienus replied quietly. “I knew it then, that you were doing the right thing.” Suddenly, he looked down at the ground as he shook his head. “But instead, I chose to hide behind the fact that we were given orders and stay where I was, rather than jump into a fight where I was needed.”
Frankly, I still did not understand, and now, looking back on the other side of this conversation, I often wonder if I was right to continue.
“But…why?” I asked again. “You were doing what you were supposed to do, but if you knew what I was doing was right, why didn’t you come with me?”
“Why do you think?” Calienus snapped, looking up to meet my gaze.
Again, I could not identify the look he was giving me, although I can now; it was a look of shame. Shame at what he considered his weakness.
“I was too scared to, Titus.” Calienus barely got this out in a whisper. “I didn’t know what was going on, that’s true, but I’ve been in enough fights to know that this was a bad one. And,” he shrugged as he closed his eyes, “my nerve failed me.”
“No,” I shot back, probably more sharply than I should have, but I was not about to accept this. “That’s a pile of cac. Your nerve didn’t fail you. You did the smart thing.” I could tell he was unconvinced, so I pressed my point by continuing, “What Didius did? That is someone whose nerve failed. If he has any to begin with,” I could not resist adding, heartened to see Calienus at least give a smile. Now it was my turn to shake my head, and I finished, “Calienus, you did nothing to be ashamed of. By the end of the night, you got your gladius as bloody as any man there.”
“Not as bloody as yours,” he said, and there was a rueful quality that made me laugh.
“That’s true,” I granted. “But nobody has ever accused me of being smart.”
I offered my hand, which he took, and we clasped forearms, saying nothing for a moment.
Finally, I broke what to me was the awkward silence, and said, “Well, at least I’m happy to know that it’s not me you’re angry with.” I turned and started to walk away, heading back to our tent, calling over my shoulder, “Now, let’s get back before those greedy bastards eat all the chickpeas.”
Calienus did not move, and once I became aware of this, I stopped, turning around again to face him.
“You won’t mention this to any of the others?” he asked, his worry plain to see. “Even Domitius?”
“Mention what?” I replied blandly.
Then, without saying anything more, I resumed my way back to our tent. And I kept my word; until now, I never mentioned our conversation to anyone, ever.
Continuing our northward push, the army entered the lands of a tribe known to be particularly warlike and never fully accepting of the Romanization of Hispania to that point. They were called the Gallaeci, and were supposedly a branch of the Lusitani, yet to the Gregarii like me, it did not really matter much. They were enemies to be defeated because that was what Caesar and, by extension, Rome, wished, so it would be done. There was one material difference between the rest of the Lusitani and the Gallaeci, and it was in their use of horses. While we had seen and been harassed by Lusitani cavalry before, the Gallaeci took it to another level, specializing in using missiles, either throwing something similar to our pilum or using bows. Although this was not unique, what made them different was in the way they would employ their cavalry, their warriors having learned the art of galloping around in a large circle, providing them with the security of constant motion and making them extremely hard to hit. When they were in part of the loop nearest to us, they would launch their missile attack, then keep riding in the loop to repeat it over and over again, until they either ran out of missiles or we found some way to drive them off. By this point in our campaign, Caesar had partially rectified the dearth of cavalry on our side by having cavalry auxiliaries sent to him. There was an ala of auxiliary cavalry, consisting of ten turmae attached to each Legion, so the ala consisted of a total of about 300 men at full strength. The trick was to use our cavalry properly as a screening force and as exploratores, but not send them out so far that they could not be recalled quickly to repel attack by the Gallaeci horsemen. The closer we approached the Durius (Douro) River, with the last Roman colony at the time being Portus Cale (Grando Porte, Portugal), the more lurid the tales became of the skill and devastating accuracy of these mythical horsemen. I believe that in every Legion, there is a group of men determined to paint the grimmest picture that they can, and they foretell our defeat and slaughter in every upcoming battle. Why they do so I have no idea, but they are always given more credence than I think they deserve, and as I was to find out a few years later, their dire outlook could infect a whole Legion if the Centurions did not put an end to it.
It was near the Ides of Sextilis, meaning the campaign season was drawing to a close and, in consequence, Caesar picked up the pace of the operations. Portus Cale had been taken by a confederation of the Gallaeci Bracari and the Gallaeci Lucenses, who normally warred on each other, but were now united in their common hatred of Rome, and slaughtered all the Roman citizens who did not flee.
By the time we arrived at the walls, Caesar’s practice with the last few towns and cities was well known, so there was never any question, as far as the enemy was concerned, whether or not he would offer terms. To delay the inevitable, they burned the bridge across the Douro, which at that time was made of wood, and it was here that Caesar made a demonstration of his abilities as an engineer. To be fair, it was a demonstration of his ability at design, since it was the praefecti fabrorum who actually had to put his design into use. It was not as large or ambitious as his later bridge over the Rhenus (Rhine); still it clearly awed the Gallaeci, who stood watching helplessly from a distance as in the space of a day, a pontoon bridge was built over the river using confiscated boats. On top of the boats, planking was laid of a sufficient strength that a Legion and an ala of cavalry could march across to set up a defensive camp protecting the selected site. The main problem of building a more permanent bridge, besides the Gallaeci trying to destroy it, stemmed from the banks of the Douro rising up steeply from the river, with very little flat and stable riverbank on which to build. Much later, a bridge of stone was erected, but at the time, our orders were to erect one that was sufficient to allow the Legions, along with their baggage trains and artillery to pass over, just not one that would take more than a few days to build. One challenge was finding timber suitable for using as the piers to hold the bridge up, but within a half day of our arrival, Caesar had seen what needed to be done. Simultaneously ordering the construction of the pontoon bridge, he also sent several Cohorts and wagons out to scour the area for wood of sufficient size for a more permanent structure. It was found a half-day’s march from our location, and it was a good thing that Caesar did not tarry, because fairly quickly the Gallaeci succeeded in destroying the pontoon bridge, sending several fire rafts downstream to run into the boats holding the bridge up. This effectively cut the 9th off on the far bank, not as much of a military threat as it meant that the three days’ rations they marched over with would have to suffice. The 7th and 10th were left on the south side of the river as a labor force, while the artillery was set up on the high bank of the Douro to provide covering fire and to keep the Gallaeci from getting any more ideas. By dawn on the fourth day, the bridge was finished, and even from a distance, it was easy to read the despair of the mounted men who were our constant shadows while we worked and the 9th watched. They made no attempt to attack the 9th in its camp, which was probably a mistake, although it was one that suited us perfectly fine. It was cl
ear to us that they thought that they had earned enough of a reprieve that it would allow time for the Gallaeci Lucenses to send fresh reinforcements down from the north to help them stop us, but the problem for them was that Caesar knew it as well. However slight the delay was, we still had to be quick about taking the town, and it was here that Caesar made another one of his decisions that is a demonstration of his tactical brilliance. Leaving the 7th to besiege the town, he continued the march north with the 9th and 10th to confront the Lucenses separately, trusting the 7th to take care of the Bracari. This was totally unexpected by both parts of the enemy force, and it was no more than two days after we crossed the Douro that our scouts came galloping back to the main column to report that they had spotted the advance scouts of the Lucenses column. Approaching to within sight of their own advance party, for the better part of a third of a watch, the two sides sat on opposing hills no more than two miles away while the Lucenses scouts and what we presumed were their leaders talked over what to do. Not that we were idle; the cornu and bucina were blaring out orders that told us to array along the top of the hill in a triplex acies, although we still were waiting for the 9th to arrive in full since they were marching drag. But as usual, Caesar knew what he was doing.
Just the sight of our one Legion making preparation for battle was enough to convince the Lucenses that they needed to fight another day, and even before we finished shaking out into battle formation, the dust cloud that signaled the location of their column began to rise in the air again as they reversed march to head back north. Resuming our own progress, as soon as we approached the hill from which they had observed us, we saw in the distance beyond that there was yet another formation a short distance behind the original column, traveling on a parallel track that was more to the east than the one that we had been observing. Seeing this other force, Caesar decided to wait and see what they would do, deciding that we had gone far enough that day and ordering us to make a marching camp on top of the hill. It was while we were in the process of making camp that a courier from the first column obviously made it to the second, because they also turned around to head back north, deciding to find better ground, which we expected. What we did not expect was that they would pick an island, or rather, a number of islands.