Marching With Caesar-Civil War

by R. W. Peake

  I stood and wished Didius luck, then went to find the physician, relaying Didius’ permission for the amputation to proceed. If he was surprised, he did not show it, instead turning to one of the orderlies, telling him to make the necessary preparations.

  “How long before he can have visitors again?” I asked, and he considered.

  “Provided he survives, he should be able to see visitors in three or four days, though I don’t know what frame of mind he will be in then.”

  I nodded that I understood, thanked the doctor while handing him a bag of coin over and above what I had already paid him and returned to my tent, shaking my head. Didius had gone straight, I mused as I walked down the street towards the Legion area. Maybe there was hope for all of us.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The amputation went smoothly, or as smoothly as such an operation can go, I suppose, because Didius survived. He only had a few inches of stump left, and he was still very sick for longer than the doctor had foreseen, but the immediate danger was over. He would remain in the hospital tent for the next several weeks, as life in the camp went on as normal. About a week after the garrison attempted its breakout, a scroll was launched towards our lines from the town walls. When it was retrieved, it was from Munacius, offering his services to Caesar along with the surrender of the town. Caesar mulled this over for a day before accepting, so the town of Ategua became ours, where we hailed Caesar as Imperator once more.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Gnaeus, having lost Ategua, began to withdraw southeast towards Ucubi in order to shorten his line of supply, which we had been disrupting with some success, while securing the town itself. Ucubi was south of the Salsum River, the walls of the town about three miles from the riverbank, so Gnaeus had his men construct an earthworks between the town and river in order to stop us from enveloping Ucubi the same way we had Ategua. We followed shortly thereafter, arriving on the northern bank of the river, making camp directly across from the Pompeian earthworks. Once camp was constructed, Caesar put us to work pushing across the river, building a series of redoubts that protected the riverbank while allowing passage back and forth across the river, which was shallow and had a rock bottom. As we worked, Gnaeus seemed more concerned with exacting reprisals against those he suspected of having Caesarian sympathies among the townspeople. Encouraging the citizens to inform on each other, he executed some 74 citizens who were identified by their neighbors as being aligned with us. What Gnaeus did at Ucubi was nothing new. In fact, one of the most powerful weapons we had were the actions of Gnaeus Pompey and his generals towards the local Roman citizens, who the Pompeians seemed intent on alienating and brutalizing, just as Scipio had in Africa. Not just the civilians bore the brunt of what I have to believe were their frustrations at being constantly defeated by Caesar. We were accepting deserters into our ranks in ever-growing numbers, and even taking into account the typical amount of exaggeration that a deserter will voice about their horrible treatment at the hands of their officers, conditions in the Pompeian army had to have been grim. I believe that the state of his army forced Gnaeus to pull up stakes yet again, continuing what had become a retreat, just about a week after we encamped on the river’s opposite bank. This time, Gnaeus continued his easterly track, though moving further north to another fortress town called Soricaria, which was located farther down the river from Ucubi, but on the northern bank instead of the southern. This proved to be yet another mistake, because Gnaeus had ordered that the supplies kept at Ucubi be transferred to a fort about six miles almost directly south of Soricaria. I can only assume his reasoning was that he believed Caesar would stay on the northern side of the river to concentrate his forces on the Pompeian army at Soricaria, but as usual, young Gnaeus outthought himself. Perhaps he did not believe that Caesar would learn that his supply base was being moved to this fort, called “Aspavia” for the small village located there. Yet I find that hard to credit, given that it had to have been clear in the preceding months that Caesar knew a great deal of young Pompey’s movements and plans, which he consistently thwarted. Now, instead of following the Pompeian army, we struck south to head towards the fort. For once, Gnaeus acted quickly, no doubt spurred on by the knowledge of the disaster that would befall his army if we captured his supply base. His hold on his army was now tenuous, as he was forced to resort to blatant lies, going so far as to take slaves, dressing them up in the uniforms of some of our dead to parade them in front of his men, claiming that they were deserters. Daily deputations were coming to Caesar from towns and cities, both in the region and in other parts of Hispania, claiming their loyalty to him. We learned from them that Gnaeus was sending letters to these locations where he claimed that, in fact, Caesar’s army was trying to avoid battle and not the other way around. One of the men belonging to a deputation from one of the towns even brought the letter that Gnaeus had sent to their town, which Caesar read aloud to us at our morning briefing. By the time he was finished, most of us were doubled up with laughter, tears streaming from our eyes as we listened to the fantastic claims that Gnaeus was making. His army, according to him, was only growing restive because they so longed to lay into us, while we were cowering like dogs because Caesar’s army was now full of raw troops. Gnaeus was claiming that the bulk of the army consisting of us Spaniards had demanded that our enlistments be ended and that we had returned to our nearby homes, leaving Caesar with several Legions worth of raw tiros that he had basically pressed into service against their will. The fact that this was indeed the exact thing that Gnaeus was doing made his claims even more outrageous, further proof just how far above his head command of an army actually was. The only thing that Gnaeus had been close to correct about was that the 10th’s enlistment could now be counted in weeks, it being late March by this time, but nobody had gone home. Now Gnaeus was forced to confront this army of “raw” troops because he had effectively allowed Caesar and the army to get behind him, again.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  As Diocles reads my words back to me, I realize that I may be a little harsh concerning Gnaeus and his abilities. He was extremely young, and it had to have been a difficult proposition for someone of his youth to control not only his army, but his generals. All of them were old enough to be his father by a number of years, and all vastly more experienced than he was, particularly Labienus. The only thing that Gnaeus had going for him was his name, but because of his harsh treatment of the locals and the men of his army, the luster of the name was rapidly waning. Still, he chose to continue the struggle. Young he may have been, but he was legally an adult and certainly was smart enough to understand all of the ramifications of his actions. His army seemed willing enough to obey his commands when they moved to intercept us before we could reduce Aspavia, but still Gnaeus would not meet us in open battle, choosing instead to try fortifying a rocky knoll a short distance from the fort that would allow his men to fall on our rear when we besieged the town. Seeing the strategic value, Caesar gave the order for the 10th, the 7th, and the 5th to move from our place in the marching column, drop our packs, pull the covers off our shields, then move directly into battle, the objective keeping Gnaeus from occupying the knoll while taking it for ourselves. We formed up quickly and smoothly, in an acies triplex with the 10th on the right, the 5th in the center and the 7th on the left, then began the advance towards the knoll. Gnaeus, instead of detaching part of his army to move ahead of the main body as we had, was trying to maneuver his whole army to face our three Legions and beat us to the knoll. The combination of the sheer size of his army, along with the fact that most of them were raw tirones meant that the maneuver was mass confusion as conflicting orders were given to different parts of the army, causing Legions to march into each other, becoming hopelessly entangled. It was comical to watch, while we could clearly hear the cursing and frantic orders of the Centurions as the officers tried to restore order. In contrast, we were marching smoothly and quickly towards the knoll, as finally Gnaeus returned to his senses, the Pompeian cornu sounding t
he call that sent just three Legions from his army to meet us and try to take the knoll for themselves. As we closed, I strained my eyes, trying to identify the Legions opposing us, as the one thing that I, and I am sure the other Primi Pili, were worried about was if any or all of those Legions were our former comrades of the 8th, 9th, or 13th. If they were the ones facing us, I could not honestly say what my men would do. I remember thinking that if I was Gnaeus, I would have sent those Legions to take the knoll; almost as quickly I realized that he had to have the same fears that my counterparts and I did. Just as there was no way of telling what our men would do, Gnaeus had even less of a history with our former comrades to know whether they would fight us or not. In any event, it did not make any difference, as two of the Legions were made of raw tiros, the third being a native levy, none of them being the 1st, 4th, or the other part of the 6th. Their youth and inexperience was clear to see as their Centurions and Optios tried with only partial success to get them to maintain proper spacing as they approached the knoll. We were closing from opposite sides, but despite our superior speed of movement, the Pompeians had the advantage of being much closer to the knoll, so the Pompeians reached it first.

  “All right, boys,” I called out. “Looks like those kids over there want to make us work for our pay today. Let’s push those bastards off that hill!”

  The men roared their agreement. Shortly before we reached the lower slope of the knoll, I looked over to the center to see Primus Pilus Battus of the 5th signal the halt to allow us to dress our lines and catch our breath before we began the assault. The formation stopped as one man, the next few moments spent with the Centurions and Optios inspecting their Centuries, ensuring that the men were properly spaced. I walked quickly along the front, using the trick of looking diagonally across each Century to see if I could see the man on the other side of the man closest to me, grunting my approval when I could not see them. It was no surprise, but it was still gratifying to see men continuing to act as true professionals, despite being so close to the end of their time in the army. I moved to my spot at the far right corner of the first line, signaling to the center that all was ready on our side. A moment later, the cornu sounded the advance, the first two lines beginning their move forward.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  As a battle, it was not much to write about. The youngsters of Pompey’s army tried to put up a fight, but they were too disorganized from the very beginning to be effective, so it did not take long for what little cohesion they had achieved to break down completely. As is always the case, almost all of the casualties we inflicted came when they broke and turned to run, our men hot on their heels, cutting them down before they went more than a few paces. The opposite slope of the knoll was littered with Pompeian bodies, while it took a few moments for the men to stop their pursuit and return to the knoll to begin fortifying it. There was a moment when we were vulnerable; if it had been Caesar leading the opposition instead of Gnaeus, we could very easily have seen the tables turned on us and been in real trouble. We built a redoubt on the knoll, finishing shortly before dark. The next morning, Gnaeus tried to take it with a force of cavalry, using a Legion in support, but we easily repulsed them while inflicting heavy losses. We were whittling the Pompeians down with every engagement, not just by inflicting casualties on them, but by the resulting desertions that inevitably happened after each defeat. Later in the day of the Pompeians’ second attempt to take the knoll, a deserter from Gnaeus told Caesar that all of the members of the equestrian class who aligned themselves with the Pompeian cause were planning to desert en masse, then were betrayed by one of their slaves, Gnaeus putting them all in chains. After losing the knoll, and in the face of mounting losses and desertions, Gnaeus evidently decided that it was wiser to preserve his army than to lose even more men fighting for Aspavia. In order to do that, he broke his camp in the night then began marching again, this time towards the southwest. We did not follow immediately, as Caesar deemed it prudent to secure the surrender of Aspavia, which did not take long, the garrison commander having the same reaction as Munacius back at Ategua at being abandoned by his general. Once the fortress was secured, we marched off in pursuit of Gnaeus, who appeared to be heading for another large town called Urso, which was a good joke to us, because it had been one of the elders of Urso who brought us the letter which caused us such amusement. Gnaeus was in for a surprise when he got there, or so we thought anyway, but what happened just shows the lengths people will go to in order to appease a man who is marching at the head of an army.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  As Gnaeus marched, his army either took or destroyed anything of value in the way of food and supplies, including setting small farms and villages to the torch, making it easy to follow their progress by the lines of smoke rising in the air. When Gnaeus reached Urso, the citizens welcomed him, despite the oaths of their elders to Caesar to be loyal to our general. I understand why the citizens of Urso flipped back and forth so; it’s hard to say “no” to a man with a sword in his hand. Nonetheless, it rankled. Gnaeus immediately put his army to work, using the same tactic of taking anything that might be of value to us, stripping the countryside of all usable timber. About six miles east of Urso was another fortress called Munda, situated on the highest of a series of hills that overlooked the plain between the town and fort. Gnaeus built his camp at the foot of the hill on which the fort sat, on the other side of a small stream that bisected the plain. We were approaching from the east, making camp for the night just a few miles away from the plain. The next morning, on the 17th of March, we were about to break camp and move to a better position, when the scouts assigned to watch the Pompeians came galloping in to inform Caesar that finally it appeared that Gnaeus was ready to risk all on one throw of the dice and do battle. He was forming up his army on the plain outside of his camp, so Caesar decided that it was time to end things with Gnaeus once and for all. The red standard was raised outside the Praetorium, followed by the bucina calls summoning the Centurions. Knowing that something was going on, but not knowing what, I passed the order for the men to stop breaking down their tents to don their armor and weapons while I went to the Praetorium.

  “Pompey is offering battle, and I believe that this time he means to fight,” Caesar announced as soon as we had all gathered in the forum.

  He was standing on a makeshift rostrum, having already donned his scarlet cape, a sure sign that he planned on accepting the challenge. Caesar went on to give us our order of battle, putting us on the right, with the 5th on the left, placing the tirones of the 3rd next to them. Next to us was the 7th, with the men of the 6th occupying the center, along with the 21st and 30th. There was really nothing much for Caesar to say; we all knew what the stakes were, and what needed to be done, so we hurried away to prepare our men for what lay ahead.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  With an army as veteran as ours, it did not take long for us to shake ourselves out into the three-line formation in front of our camp. Across the plain, the ranks of Pompey’s troops were just dark lines at the top of the hill on which the enemy camp was built. This hill was part of a small group of hills, the largest on which Munda was built. Once the men were in their spots and settled down, there were a few moments of delay while we waited for Caesar to make his appearance at the head of the army to give his speech. I took the opportunity to speak to the men, something that I did not normally do, but I had the feeling that we were at the true and final ending of what had become a four-year struggle, and it was happening literally days before the enlistments of the men of the 10th were set to expire.

  “I truly believe that this is our last battle,” I said to the assembled men, and I could see that while there were some who looked hopeful, just as many had an expression of disbelief and doubt at my words. Ignoring these men, I continued, “Our time together is almost up and it’s been a long, hard and bloody road that we’ve traveled. Look to your right, and to your left.” I waited as the men did so before speaking again. “Those faces you g
aze at are more familiar to you than even your most loved members of your families. Some of you don’t even remember what your mothers and fathers look like. I know this is true because I’ve heard more than one of you say as much around the fires. But for every face that you see, for every man that's here, we can all think of men who are missing, and there are almost two of the missing for every man that's standing here today.” I paused as I felt a lump forming in my throat, and I could see that most of the men were similarly affected, so I knew that I had to finish quickly before I unmanned myself in front of them. “Fight for them today, just as you fight for the man who is standing beside you. Remember them,” I finished, then quickly turned about to face to the front so that the men could not see the tears forming in my eyes.

  The silence was thick in the air for a moment before someone started beating his javelin against his shield. In a couple of heartbeats, the rest of the men joined in, destroying the silence with the sound of a few thousand men honoring the dead in their own way. Caesar appeared at the head of the army riding Toes, his cloak billowing behind him as he trotted along the front of the army so that the men could see their general. A rolling cheer followed his progress as he started at the opposite end from where we were standing, then headed towards us. The men were still beating against their shields when Caesar drew near, whereupon they began shouting his name, adding to the din. He pulled Toes up in front of us, then sat there looking out over the men, his face set in what I recognized as his command face; regal, with a touch of arrogant contempt for the enemy. The men, even after all that had gone on between them and Caesar, still loved him, in much the same way a boy in his teen years can simultaneously hate and love his father. They had known nothing but victory with Caesar, and he had made every one of us richer than we had ever dreamed, even if men like Didius had pissed most of their fortunes away. More importantly at that moment though, was the fact that we had always won under his command, and we held no thought that this day would be any different. He let the men demonstrate their affection for several moments before he lifted his hand for silence, though it took a bit longer than normal for the men to fall quiet, causing some of the Centurions to lash out with their vitus.