by R. W. Peake
~ ~ ~ ~
Next morning saw the beginning of the work on the defenses that Caesar had outlined, with the men of the 10th assigned to digging the section of the ditch immediately next to camp. The men were not happy about the work, meaning that the Centurions were busy with their vitus, making sure that none of them were shirking. Meanwhile, the Legion armorers were put to work creating lead slingshot and javelins, signs that Caesar was going on the defensive.
I was standing with Scribonius, watching his Cohort at work when he motioned to me to walk a few feet away to where the men could not hear. “I think that what happened yesterday shook Caesar up pretty badly,” he said, his face turned towards the men so I could not look him in the eye.
If it had been anyone other than Scribonius, I would have rebuked him sharply, but we had been together too long and he was as staunch a supporter of Caesar as I was. For the first time, I heard doubt in his voice and realized that he was looking for some sort of reassurance from me that the situation was in hand, that Caesar was still master of our fates. Unfortunately, at least for Scribonius, I could not disagree with his assessment, because I had seen something in Caesar’s face the night before that I had never seen before, real worry and even worse, doubt.
I could do no better for Scribonius than shrug my shoulders, replying, “I can’t dispute that Scribonius, I think he was surprised by the number of the enemy and how quickly they showed up.” I turned to him and smiled, hoping that it did not look as false as it felt. “But we’ve been in tighter spots than this and he’s always gotten us out on top, hasn’t he?”
“I’m not worried about all the times in the past; I’m worried about this time. Everyone’s luck runs out and of all the people whose fortune has run longer than normal, Caesar is at the top of the list.”
“Just proof how much the gods favor him,” I retorted.
“But we both know how fickle the favor of the gods is, and how quickly they can turn their faces away.”
I always hated arguing with Scribonius, because he never got upset, nor did he let his emotions rule his tongue. Before he ever opened his mouth on any subject, he thought it through thoroughly, and this time was no different.
Finally, in exasperation, I threw my hands up, signaling that I surrendered. “Scribonius, I'm not sure what you're looking for, but if it’s reassurance that everything will be all right, you said it yourself. Everyone’s luck runs out and this might be Caesar’s time.”
“Thanks,” he said sourly. “If I wanted to feel bad, I would have kept my thoughts to myself.”
His expression was so peeved that I could not help but laugh, and I punched him in the shoulder. “What’s the matter? You wanted to live to a ripe old age or something?”
That got a laugh out of him, rueful as it may have been. “The thought had crossed my mind,” he admitted.
“Well, let’s see if we can survive today and the next couple of days, then we’ll worry about that.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed as we walked back to the men, who had taken the opportunity at our inattention to lean on their shovels and picks.
A couple of whacks with the vitus fixed the problem neatly.
~ ~ ~ ~
I suppose at this time it would be appropriate to talk about matters between Vibius and me. He was still Scribonius’ Optio, and even I could see that he was very good at his job. Our relationship was strictly professional, and we treated each other with a coldly polite correctness that would lead an outside observer to think that we did not know each other at all, which I suppose at that point was more true than not. I was secretly pleased to learn that he had actually not been one of the ringleaders of the unrest on the Campus Martius, in fact arguing against the idea of looting the homes on the Palatine, but men like Didius had carried that day. This is not to suggest that Didius was in any way a leader of the mutiny. However, he was more than happy to go along with the idea of grabbing as much loot as he could. Still, I was not willing to make peace with Vibius and he evidently felt the same way, for he never approached me, nor I him, and that was how matters stood between us. Poor Scribonius was the one caught in the middle, since he had managed to maintain his friendship with both of us, in fact serving as something of a go-between for the two of us. For instance, when I learned in a letter from Valeria that Juno’s husband had died in some sort of accident, I casually mentioned this to Scribonius, knowing that the news would make its way into Vibius’ ear. Sure enough, the day after I told Scribonius, Vibius was walking around camp smiling from ear to ear. I almost took a step towards reconciliation that day, because I was not only genuinely happy that Vibius was so clearly pleased by the news, I was also curious to know whether it was because the man who had stolen Juno from him had died, or if she were now free. Perhaps it was a combination of the two, but something kept me from taking that step, so I never asked him. When it came to our official duties, I did not have that much interaction with him, since he reported to Scribonius and Scribonius to me. I think we both liked it that way.
~ ~ ~ ~
In addition to the ditch, Caesar had us add sharpened stakes, along with his favorite lilies, which we no longer thought of as useless after seeing the damage they did at Alesia. We worked hard, making the men wonder if Caesar knew that an attack was imminent, but I assured them that he was simply being prudent. What I did not share with them was the information gathered by a combination of deserters and prisoners, who informed Caesar of the real numbers facing us. Scouts were sent out to confirm what he had been told, and they came galloping back with grim news. Scipio was approaching at the head of an army consisting of eight Legions and about 3,000 cavalry. Adding these numbers to those already in the field under Labienus and Petreius, we were once again significantly outnumbered. Compounding our problems was a continuing lack of supply, since we had been stopped from actually harvesting the grain we marched out to gather. Unfortunately, the enemy had not, so the bounty from those fields was now in their granaries and not ours. Caesar was sending ships to every point he could think of with requisitions, yet to that point, only small amounts had made it to us. To augment our forces, Caesar pulled the rowers and crew of the ships of the fleet, training them as missile troops. Most of the Centurions were doubtful of what use they would be with only a few days of training, though I suppose it was better than nothing. He also pressed some of the locals into the role of skirmisher to work in conjunction with our cavalry in the same manner as the enemy had used against us.
We were also running out of timber, so some of the ships were sent back to Sicily to get wood of sufficient length and quantity to make the number of towers that Caesar had decided we needed. The men worked from dawn until dusk, digging and chopping, so exhausted by the end of the day that they would trudge back to their tents, chew their food listlessly, make only the most desultory of conversation, then fall back into their bunks. The best result for the officers was that the punishment list was non-existent, as the men were too tired to make their normal mischief of sneaking out of camp to go into Ruspina, not that Ruspina was much of an attraction. As we strengthened our position, we passed the next few days in this manner..Scipio arrived, making camp next to the one already occupied by Labienus and Petreius, so of course it was not long before the one thing that Caesar wanted most to keep quiet became known, causing a near panic.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Scipio has elephants!”
I heard the words yelled down the Cohort street and leapt from my cot, cursing whoever it was that had uttered them, both the man who had just yelled out and whoever had told him. I only grabbed my vitus, leaving my tent ready to thrash someone. As is normal in these situations, the bringer of the bad news had chosen the evening meal, when all the men were gathered about their fires, so there was the maximum audience. There have always been, and I suspect always will be, men who thrive on being the bearer of bad tidings. The only blessing with a group as veteran as the 10th was that the list of suspects was relatively short
and well known to all of the officers by this time. The men were on their feet, a sure sign that they were agitated, given their exhaustion, talking excitedly to their neighbors at the next fire or across their street.
“What the fuck are we supposed to do about elephants?”
“I’ve never seen one. Are they as big as people say they are?”
“Bigger than anything you can imagine. They step on you and you’re dead, no doubt about it.”
“It’s not their feet you have to worry about. It’s those damn tusks. They can spear three men just like chickens on a skewer.”
“Quiet!” I roared. I was happy to see the men immediately stop talking and while not coming to attention, at least shut up. “You sound like a bunch of old women! So what? The enemy has elephants. You’re the 10th Legion! How many times do we have to go through this, where you act like a bunch of scared tiros whenever something new pops up? Have you forgotten all the things we’ve faced over the years? And we have been and will always be victorious! So shut your mouths and eat your meal and let Caesar decide how to deal with the elephants!”
The men looked suitably ashamed, shuffling and looking at the ground, mumbling that they had gotten the message. With that, I turned to make my way to the next street over to repeat the same speech, knowing that I was going to have a long night before I was done. Being truthful, I was just as worried as the men were. I had never seen an elephant in anything but chains, and that had been relatively recently in Alexandria, the beast being part of the large menagerie of animals belonging to the Ptolemies. It was huge, dwarfing even as large a man as myself, which was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. I had been told by Apollonius that when used for war, the animals were covered in armor plating, while a miniature fort was strapped atop their backs where several men, usually archers or javelineers were perched. They had a driver as well, but from everything I had been told before, the animals are notoriously hard to control, prone to fits of temper that make them almost as dangerous to their own side as to the enemy, which was why Caesar disdained using them. The biggest effect of elephants is psychological, and that effect was clear to see on the men before they even laid eyes on one, but as bad as it was with the 10th, it was much worse with the youngsters in the other Legions. They were positively beside themselves, as for a day or two it was the only topic of conversation, with the men getting closer and closer to the point of hysteria. Finally, the Primus Pilus of the 5th Legion came to Caesar with a request that they be given the responsibility for combating the elephants, a gesture that the rest of the army simultaneously thanked them for and thought them quite out of their collective minds for doing. Nonetheless, it had the effect of quelling the fears of the army, and while it was never confirmed, I smelled the hand of Caesar in this.
Speaking of Caesar, he was in an increasingly foul temper, spending a good part of the day down at the docks simply standing there looking out to sea for the rest of the army to arrive. We were still waiting for the rest of the 10th to arrive, as well as the other Spanish Legions, while I was waiting in particular for Diocles to show up. I was getting tired of all the paperwork I was being forced to do, though I pushed as much on Silanus as I could. As Caesar kept vigil over the sea, we kept working. The enemy’s vast superiority in numbers of cavalry meant that we could not venture outside of the camp, instead having to rely on our supply by sea. This in turn meant that we had to deal with constant and chronic shortages of food and materials, as we were still waiting for the shipments from Cercina, Sardinia and other points. Somewhere in that time came further bad news, when word reached Caesar that King Juba of Numidia himself was coming with the rest of the Numidian army that was not already with Scipio and his bunch. He was supposed to be less than a week’s march away when we learned, sending the morale of the army even lower than it had been with news of the elephants. We were even forced to dry out seaweed in a manner similar to what we had done in Alexandria as fodder for the horses, yet unlike the forage from the lake, this had to be rinsed thoroughly of all salt water before it was edible for the animals. The wagering in camp was running very strongly that as soon as Juba joined the Pompeians, they would not waste any time in attacking. I was reminded more and more with each passing day of the conversation I had with Scribonius, and I was beginning to think that perhaps this time the gods had turned away from Caesar for good. Just as suddenly, the gods turned back and, if not smiling at Caesar, at least they were favoring him with their gaze. Finally, Caesar’s forays down to the docks finally paid off, a fleet of ships finally sighted, making their way for Ruspina. The ships carried the 13th and 14th Legions, along with another 800 Gallic cavalry and 1,000 archers. A second convoy arrived at roughly the same time, this one carrying the grain from Cecerna, relieving our supply situation temporarily, as Caesar began making plans to start offensive actions again. While the Legions were occupied in strengthening our defenses, the cavalry had been running regular patrols. There were clashes between our horsemen and the Pompeians on a daily basis, with both sides taking and inflicting casualties. Hopefully our turn would come to get stuck into the enemy, as the men were heartily sick of digging, but as usual, Caesar was not sharing what he had in mind with anyone, because if he had we would have realized that the digging had just begun.
~ ~ ~ ~
Now that we had more veterans salting our ranks, Caesar ordered us to prepare to move out and leave this camp behind. All we were told was that we were going to march to the town of Uzita, which was one of Scipio’s main supply bases, with the twin goal of denying Scipio while relieving some of the pressure on our own situation. Scipio was marching his army out of his camp to array for battle every morning, but Caesar was not having any part of it, completely ignoring the challenge. I suspect that Scipio was making this move knowing that Caesar was not likely to give battle, but needed a way to instill in his raw troops a sense of superiority, for that was what the Pompeian force was almost exclusively composed of in the Legions, raw tirones. If the rumors were true, many of them were pressed into service against their will. In fact, the Pompeians had been exceedingly heavy-handed with the local populace, so much so that once the natives finally accepted that it was indeed Caesar who had landed, and not one of his generals, they were coming in increasing numbers to ask for Caesar’s protection from their supposed guardians. Like so many of the upper classes, Scipio, Labienus, and the rest of that lot had assumed that the natives would offer not just obedience but support, thinking that it was nothing more than their due. When it had not been as enthusiastically forthcoming as they thought it should be, these noblemen exacted reprisals against the populace. Now the leading citizens of many of the towns were coming to Caesar in response to the Pompeians’ actions, with one of those delegations coming from the town of Uzita, telling Caesar that if he appeared before their walls, they would throw open the gates to the city. The problem was that we had to get there, despite still being significantly outnumbered, particularly with cavalry. The ground between our camp and Uzita, which lay slightly to the southeast, was an entirely open plain, with no undulations in the terrain if we were to take the most direct route.
With a force of infantry to block our way, Scipio could use his cavalry in the manner that we had encountered during the previous battle that had given us so many problems, thereby whittling us down. We would reach Uzita, but a trail of bodies would be a clear marker of our passage, losses that we could ill afford. Directly south of our camp was a line of low ridges, running roughly from the northeast to the southwest, with Uzita directly west of these hills. We left the camp at Ruspina under the guard of a few Cohorts, then began marching parallel to the coast, using the line of hills to screen our intentions from Scipio, whose own camp was perhaps a mile to the north of Uzita, directly blocking the natural line of approach from Ruspina. Moving south, we marched within sight of the sea. Once the bulk of the army passed the northern-most hill of the ridge, obscuring Scipio’s view of our march, we turned inland. The hills were not
much, yet given that the surrounding terrain was as flat as a table, it meant these heights commanded the valley that lay between the ridge and Uzita, so Caesar immediately ordered that we fortify the ridgeline. There was also a series of hilltops running the length of the ridge, which we were ordered to fortify as well. It turned out that there was an enemy outpost on the next to last of the hilltops to the south, a small force of Numidian infantry and cavalry that was scattered quickly. However, now our presence was no longer a secret.
As we worked, we saw the Pompeian force streaming from their camp to array themselves for battle. A large contingent of enemy cavalry detached itself from the main body, then came galloping across the plain towards us, meeting the fleeing Pompeian sentries a few hundred yards out on the plain from the base of the western slope of the ridge. The cavalry stopped briefly as the leader talked to the sentries, obviously asking about the size and composition of our force, then pressed on, heading towards us at a gallop. Caesar immediately saw an opportunity, because the enemy cavalry now at the base of the slope had far outpaced the rest of their army and isolated themselves. He sent our own cavalry, still on the opposite side of the ridge and out of view, circling around the southern end to get in the rear of the enemy cavalry. Helping our cause was a large farm building located at the base of the slope at the southern edge that further shielded our men, allowing them to circle all the way around to fall on the Pompeian rear, just as their horses were ascending the slope, forcing them to slow down. Our force slammed into the rear ranks of the enemy horse, catching them completely by surprise and it was only a matter of moments before a panic ensued as the men further toward the front became aware of the threat to their rear.
As they drew closer, we could see that the enemy force was composed of Numidians, Germans, and Gauls in almost equal proportions. True to their nature and as we had seen before, the Numidians broke contact to go galloping across the face of the slope to escape. The Germans and Gauls chose to stay and fight, where they were quickly surrounded, then cut down to the last man. The sight of this slaughter so infected the advancing infantry with fear that they turned en masse, fleeing back to their camp, running for their lives though nobody pursued. We stopped working to watch the spectacle of an entire army running for their lives without shedding a drop of blood, giving us a lift of spirits to see it.