Marching With Caesar-Civil War

by R. W. Peake

  While we were constructing the redoubts, Caesar, seeing that the slope of the hill was not much of an impediment to a determined assault, ordered a ditch dug about halfway down the slope, running the entire length of the ridgeline, which extended for more than a mile. This sounds like a great distance, and it is, but when you have several thousand men, all of them with as much experience at digging as we had, it is not as much work as it may seem. Of course, that is said as a Centurion who had not shoveled a spadeful of dirt in some time, so perhaps I am not speaking truthfully. Regardless, we dug the ditch, piling the spoil on the uphill side of the ridge to act as a further barrier should the Pompeians want to dislodge us from our position. One of the Legions was sent to build our marching camp on the eastern side of the ridgeline at the base of the hills. It was there that we retired at the end of the day, the men filthy and tired, complaining every step of the march back about all the work they had done. Century-sized guards were posted on each of the redoubts on the top to keep watch of Scipio’s camp, but we were all certain that after seeing the display they had put on earlier, we would be sleeping soundly that night, and we did.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The performance of Scipio’s tirones convinced Caesar that it would be wise to put more pressure on the Pompeians, so at the evening briefing we were informed that we would be arraying to offer battle the next morning.

  “I seriously doubt that he'll accept the challenge, but we must be prepared for that eventuality,” Caesar told us. “To that end, we're going to treat this as if we are going to fight. You all know by now what I expect from the men and I know that you won't let me down.”

  I, for one, knew that the men were not going to be happy, not about the idea of going into battle, but that Caesar always expected the men to look as if they were on parade, with all decorations and plumes in place and in perfect order. That meant that after a hard day’s work of digging, they would have a hard night’s work of polishing and cleaning. Such is the lot of the Legions.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  We marched out the next day, climbing over the hill, then descending down to the valley floor, where we deployed into the acies triplex, aligning so that the center of the army was directly across from the town of Uzita. This meant that we were at the point closest to Scipio’s camp, but he would have to align himself more or less in the same way to protect the town. As we approached, we could hear the sound of their bucina floating through the air, calling the Pompeians to formation. I must admit, however grudgingly, that it did not take as long as I thought it would for them to begin streaming out of the camp from all four gates, hurrying to form up across from us, while we had halted to dress our lines. Once that was done, we watched as Scipio’s army arrayed itself. Unlike our own three-line formation, Scipio employed four lines, with his cavalry in the front line acting as a screen. With Scipio’s army moving into position, the order was given to advance, but we only went another couple hundred paces before halting again, which is where we stayed. The Pompeians did not move either, as we began a now-familiar staring contest. Fortunately, we were too far away from each other for the men to hurl insults, so it was quiet for the most part, with only a low buzz as the men talked quietly while we waited.

  Perhaps a third of a watch after we moved into position, the rain started, a ripple of curses reaching my ears as the men saw all the hard work with their plumes and leathers literally melt away. The blacking we used for our plumes started running, streaking the men’s armor where the horsehair touched it, while the varnish on the leather dissolved after a few moments exposure. There would be a huge mess to clean up whenever we were done, which did not help the spirits of the army knowing what immediately awaited them. Still we stood, neither side moving, as it became apparent that Scipio did not have enough confidence in his army to go on the offensive. He did have the advantage of better ground, there being a gentle slope up to where the town sat, and Caesar was never one to fight on unfavorable ground if he could avoid it. The rain continued the rest of the day, through to about sunset, when we were turned about to march back to camp, sodden and miserable, our cavalry staying as a screen in the event the Pompeians suddenly took advantage of our retreat. We spent the evening cleaning our gear, the downpour continuing, turning the streets to a thick, sticky mud that clung to everything it touched, compounding our misery. At the evening briefing, Caesar informed us that he had decided that we would not repeat the tactic of the day. Instead, he wanted to extend the trenchline further south, basically lengthening the rest of the line all the way to the southernmost point where the slope started, wrapping it around to protect our left flank.

  “At least the ground will be soft,” Cartufenus said as we left the tent, pulling our cloaks up to try to block out as much of the water that was coming down so hard that one would think that the gods were simply dumping a bucket on our heads.

  “If it keeps up like this, we won’t be able to dig anything without it collapsing,” I grumbled.

  “I was trying to look on the bright side,” he retorted.

  We parted, heading back to our respective areas of camp, neither of us looking forward to the next day.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The rain did not let up. Since we had not marched with our tents, leaving them behind at the camp in Ruspina, the men were forced to create makeshift shelters using their cloaks, fastened together in whatever manner they thought worked the best. When the weather was clear, it was fine, but now with rain, then occasional hail, falling without letup, the misery of the men was manifest. Regardless, we went out, doing our work extending the trench as Caesar had instructed, the men coming back covered in the sticky mud, then cleaning themselves by simply stripping down while standing shivering as the rain washed them clean. Cleaning their gear was not so simply done. In recognition of the conditions, I suspended inspections, knowing that we would have the whole Legion, or the part that was here on the punishment list, which would only further damage morale. The conditions were so bad, that men resorted to using their shields, with the covers on of course, holding them above their heads as they struggled through the mud of the camp. It was in this manner that we passed the next several days, neither side making a move. Because of the rain, we could not finish the earthworks that Caesar had deemed necessary, so there was nothing for the men to do but sit huddled under their makeshift tents and talk, and men with time on their hands fill it by gossiping about whatever situation in which they find themselves. That usually means trouble for the officers. In this case, the topic was Juba’s approaching army, which was supposedly very close, in the men’s minds becoming larger and more formidable as each day passed. The men talked about not just the elephants; the defeat of Curio at Juba’s hands had built the Numidian king up into a formidable adversary while no amount of persuasion on the part of the Centurions seemed to sway the men back to the belief in themselves that is so crucial to winning. The rain picked up in intensity to the point that one night we could not even have our fires, forcing us to eat our meals cold, which only made matters worse. Finally, Caesar had enough. Calling a formation to address the army, he ordered us to assemble in the sea of mud that had become the forum of the camp. He wasted no time with any of his usual words of encouragement and expressions of pride in the job that we were doing, his displeasure evident in his words and bearing.

  “As you all know, the king of Numidia is now within one or at most two days’ march away and there has been much talk about the composition of the Numidian forces. Rather than keep you in suspense, I will tell you what our scouts have reported. Juba marches to Scipio with ten Legions, 100,000 light infantry, 30,000 cavalry, and 300 elephants. There, now you know what we're facing, so that should put an end to all the questions. You can believe me because I know what I'm talking about, and now that I have told you, if I hear any more talk about it, I'm going to put you on a boat and send you out to sea to fend for yourselves.”

  With that, he turned to stride back to headquarters, leaving the men standin
g shamefaced, but not a little worried.

  “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Scribonius whispered to me as we slogged back to our area.

  I told him I did not know, though I doubted it, even if I could not give a good reason why I felt that way. If Caesar’s only goal was to shut the men up, he was successful, though his declaration did nothing to improve morale. Fortunately, the rain finally ceased about the middle of the next day so we went back to work extending the ditch, the finished portion now a moat from all the rains. There were a total of six hilltops that were part of the ridgeline and we had fortified all but one, the southernmost point. Meanwhile Labienus, who saw what we were about and understood its importance, had fortified it himself. To support this redoubt, he left Scipio’s camp to build his own to the south of the end of the ridge, perhaps two miles from it. Making matters more difficult was the terrain itself, this last hill being separated from the chain by a steep ravine, the floor of which was covered with a stand of olive trees. In order to secure our position, that last hill had to be taken from the enemy, so Caesar sent the cavalry down into the ravine through the olive grove. Labienus had anticipated this move, actually setting an ambush, but his men panicked at the sight of Caesar’s Germans and Gauls, so instead of attacking as a unit, they burst from their hiding spot further up the ravine in small groups, intent only on escape, and as a result were cut down. The rest of the Pompeians, seeing their comrades being slaughtered, turned to run up the hill with our cavalry in pursuit, not even stopping to make a stand at the top. It was in this manner we took the hill, which Caesar immediately ordered to be fortified in the same manner as the others. Now that the ridgeline was secure, we could begin the advance on the town, which meant more digging for the men. Caesar divided the army into two groups, one group digging while the other group stood in formation out a short distance in the valley in the event that Scipio wanted to stop us from what we were doing. This was when I began to suspect that Caesar still harbored a grudge against the 10th because we found ourselves digging again instead of standing guard, and it had happened too many times now to be a coincidence. This fact was not lost on the men either, and their muttered complaints were hard to stop because their officers heartily agreed with them. I suppose that it was harder on the men of the 10th because for so long we had been Caesar’s favorite, so our fall from grace was more spectacular. Of course, none of the rest of the army held any sympathy for us, particularly the veterans of the 13th and 14th, who had their collective faces rubbed in our glory for longer than any of the rest.

  Even Cyclops, a relative newcomer to the 14th spared me no comfort when we visited each other. “What do you expect? From what I’ve been told, your boys have walked around for years thinking that their cac doesn’t stink like the rest of ours.”

  “For a long time it didn’t,” I retorted, though I knew how weak it sounded as I said it.

  Cyclops just laughed. “Well, it certainly does now, and you can’t blame the others for taking a little pleasure in it.”

  I stopped arguing about it, thanked Cyclops for the wine, then went back to our area.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  At about the same time that we took the final hill, Juba and his army finally arrived on the scene. While his army was not as large as Caesar had told us, it was still big. The number of elephants was of the most interest to the men, both for the obvious reason and because there had been considerable wagering on the number, so when the final tally was made whoever had picked 30 found themselves rich men. Judging from the sounds of despair when the number was announced, not many men did. To advance on the town, Caesar ordered two parallel trenches running from the base of the ridge towards Uzita, spaced widely enough apart so that the army could array itself between them. This protected our flanks while providing cover to move from the forts on the ridge to a forward camp that we would construct as soon as the trenches were completed. It was from the forward camp that we would besiege the town and be able to do so in relative protection.

  At the end of the first day, a force of Numidians from Juba’s camp came boiling out to fall on our cavalry, acting as rearguard for the rest of the watching Cohorts as they retreated to our camp on the other side of the ridge. However, our Gauls and Germans, after recoiling in surprise from the initial attack, turned about to rout the Numidians with heavy loss to the enemy. The next day the work on the entrenchments was finished, then without any delay we began working on the camp, situated just out of range of the enemy archers. Fortunately, the Pompeians either had not thought to bring or did not have any heavy artillery with which to defend Uzita, and now it was too late for them to get any inside the walls. Again, the men of the 10th were chosen for the work of building the camp, and I seriously thought of going to Caesar to ask him to relent, but almost immediately dismissed the idea. He had put me in this position because he trusted in my ability to lead the men in the manner in which Caesar thought was proper, so for me to go to him now would mean that I was unable to do so. Instead, I instructed the Centurions to crack down, literally, on those complaining the loudest and there were a few viti broken in the construction of that camp. The front facing Uzita was more heavily fortified than was our normal practice, with the turf wall and parapet made wider so that scorpions and ballistae would fit. This camp was our new home, though we marched back to the old one to pick up our meager possessions, returning to the forward camp after dark.

  While we were working, Caesar was busy as well, but on the seas, as trouble had struck the fleet on its way back to pick up the remaining men of the army. One of the Pompeians, Varus was his name, attacked our vessels as they approached Leptis, scattering them and burning some of the transports, which fortunately were only carrying food, though it was badly needed. Caesar was given word of the trouble while he was in the main camp by the sea. Galloping off to Leptis, six miles away, he boarded his flagship and with a scratch force sailed out to confront Varus. Pursuing him to Hadrumentum, Caesar went into the harbor itself, recapturing a ship taken by Varus while setting fire to a number of the enemy’s own transports before sailing back. The rest of the fleet arrived safely, containing the rest of the 10th, along with the 9th, so there was much rejoicing in the camp as comrades were reunited. Unfortunately, the happiness was destined to be short-lived, at least for the 10th.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Now that the 10th was back together, Caesar took the opportunity to inflict the punishment he had been forced to defer back at the Campus Martius, calling a formation in the main camp the day after the reinforcements arrived. He had not informed me what he was up to, but I suspected that it had something to do with the mutiny. So did the men, who were subdued and uneasy as we marched the short distance over the hill to the main camp. The fact that Caesar was having us assemble in the main camp, away from the eyes of the enemy, was a hint that he did not want them to witness what was to happen. Coming with the rest of the 10th were the two Tribunes, Avienus and Fonteius, and they were two haughty young bastards, barely deigning to speak to me, a lowly Centurion, at least one who was not one of their toadies, in the limited number of watches I was in contact with them. There were a few of those, the kind that always somehow make their way into the Centurionate, usually because of pressure from their friends higher up on men like me. Sometimes the pressure is in the form of a threatened exposure of a secret that would prove damaging, or sometimes it is in the form of outright bribery. So far, I had been lucky in that I had not been forced to face such a trial. I knew that it would be coming if I lived long enough, but at least it would not be coming from these two, because as soon as we were assembled and we had gone through the formalities that are a ritual of the army, Caesar wasted no time, calling both of them to the front of the formation. Even through their natural arrogance, their unease and worry was plain to see, and for this, they had good cause.

  Looking down on them from the rostra of shields that had been constructed, Caesar’s gaze was cold, while contempt dripped from every word as he s
poke. “Gaius Avienus, you instigated troops in the service of the Republic to mutiny, you plundered lawfully constituted municipalities, and you have been of absolutely no use to me or to Rome. In direct contravention of my orders, instead of embarking troops on your ship, you boarded your personal slaves and horses. Because of your misconduct, we are now short of men, and for this and all that I have stated you are hereby dismissed from this army without honors and directed to leave Africa today.” He turned to Fonteius, leaving Avienus white with shock, shaking with shame and humiliation. “Aulus Fonteius, you too are dismissed from the army for insubordination and conduct unbecoming an officer in the Roman army.”

  Then it was time for a surprise, because Caesar then called three of my Centurions to the front of the formation, and I was happy to see that they were the two disgraced Tribunes’ lackeys.

  “Titus Salienus, Marcus Tiro, and Gaius Clusenas, the three of you have reached the rank of Centurion in my army not by merit, but by favor. You have not been distinguished for valor in war or good conduct in peace, and instead of being obedient and exercising self-control you have been active in sedition and in inciting your men to mutiny against their general. Therefore, I deem you unfit to command Centuries in my army, and you are hereby dismissed as well, to leave Africa immediately.”

  As soon as Caesar finished, the provosts who had been waiting stepped forward, two men surrounding each of the disgraced men. None too gently they were led away to their fate. While I was happy to see that one pressing problem was solved in a manner that would have been too difficult for me to accomplish, at least as far as the Tribunes were concerned, I was somewhat disappointed because I did not think Caesar had gotten everyone. I had really hoped that Celer would have been one of the men sent packing, but I would just have to let Scribonius deal with him. I must admit he was probably doing better than I had when I was in command of the Second. I now had vacancies in the Fifth, Seventh, and Eighth Cohorts respectively, and I began thinking of possible replacements. Caesar had nothing more to say; his message was clear and understood by every man in the Legion. My only hope as he stepped down from the rostra, then headed for the praetorium, was that now the 10th was no longer going to bear the brunt of his displeasure.