Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  “Right, now listen up,” the Pilus Prior spoke quietly so that only I could hear. “I turned in my report to the Legate, who forwarded it on to Caesar, who interviewed me himself. He wants to meet you.”

  It is hard to describe which emotion I felt first or the strongest between exhilaration and fear. The best way to put it is that it was not dissimilar to the feeling one gets before going into battle, and I swallowed down the lump in my throat.

  “So what should I do?”

  He looked at me sharply. “Do? You don’t do a damn thing. You answer his questions with a Yes, Sir or No, Sir and otherwise keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

  I nodded, except I was still troubled. “What if he asks me a question that doesn't have a yes or no answer?”

  The Pilus Prior puffed out his cheeks impatiently, and snapped, “Then you answer the damn question, but use as few words as you possibly can.”

  Nodding again, I was about to say something else but knowing the look that the Pilus Prior had on his face, I kept my mouth shut. Approaching the guards, we were stopped and the Pilus Prior stated our business. One of them entered the headquarters tent, returning a moment later to motion us in. The Pilus Prior removed his helmet, placing it under his left arm, and I followed suit, then he took a breath, squared his shoulders and marched inside, with me following behind him. The tent was brightly lit with many lamps, and there were a number of scribes, all of them with their own desk, copying out orders of one sort or another. Tribunes were hurrying about carrying wax tablets, looking their normal officious selves, and out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Doughboy engaged in conversation with another Tribune slightly younger than he was. I had seen him before but did not know his name, and made a mental note to ask the Pilus Prior about him. He was a little unusual for a Tribune in that he had an air about him that betrayed a sense of competence, and the few times I was around him, I also noticed that he did not speak to us Gregarii as if he thought his cac did not stink. Crastinus and I made our way across the outer room and into the section that acted as Caesar’s office, separated by a doorway made from a leather flap that could be pulled aside. I am not sure what I was expecting, but it was not what I saw. Knowing that Caesar was a patrician from an old family, I expected his office to reflect his status and be filled with all sorts of luxury items and ornate decorations. Instead, there was a simple desk directly across from the flap, noticeable only because it was larger than the other two in the room, those against each wall of the tent, and each with its own scribe. Caesar was standing behind his desk, reading from a scroll while simultaneously dictating to the scribes and it was here that I got my first glimpse of one of the things that most people know about him today and made him the greatest man of our age, or any other for that matter. He would dictate a sentence to the scribe on his left, who would begin writing rapidly, and while waiting for him to finish, he turned to the scribe on his right, dictating yet another sentence on a totally different topic, all the while his eyes never leaving the scroll that he was reading. He only stopped when the Pilus Prior and I approached, with the both of us halting the prescribed distance from his desk to give him our best parade ground salute.

  “Secundus Pilus Prior Gaius Crastinus, of the 10th Legion, reporting with Legionary Gregarius Titus Pullus as ordered sir.”

  Caesar laid the scroll on the desk to acknowledge our salute with the same solemnity and gravity that it was given. For a moment he said nothing, just inspecting the two of us, spending more of his attention on me as I kept my eyes locked at a point above his head, yet even so, knowing that I was being inspected by the general commanding the entire army ignited in me the queerest feeling I had ever experienced in my life to that point. It was a mixture of pride, apprehension, exhilaration and not a little bit of anxiety, all while I tried to remember the Pilus Prior’s instructions. His inspection done, Caesar smiled then walked around the desk to face me, doing something that I will never forget.

  Extending his hand, he said with a smile, “Salve, Gregarius Titus Pullus. The Pilus Prior has told me of your valor in your engagement, and I wanted to offer you my hand in thanks.”

  I did not know what to do; this was so far out of anything I had contemplated that I was flummoxed, but the habits of a lifetime saved me and more importantly Caesar any real embarrassment, as before I could even think about it I extended my hand and we shook hands in the Roman manner, clasping each other’s forearms. His hand was warm, and I could feel the calluses formed by many hours practice with the sword. Most importantly, his hand was not like a wet and clammy fish, his grip instead strong and dry. Before I could stop myself I looked down at him, meeting his eyes, yet despite my horror at this slip in discipline, he did not seem to take any umbrage whatsoever. His eyes carried a measure of warmth that I was not expecting, with none of the disdain I saw in those of men like Doughboy when talking to their social inferiors. It was the appreciation of one fighting man to another, and I am not ashamed to say that in that moment, I became Caesar’s man forever.

  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.”

  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 javelin 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 o
ur 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, 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 had to actually 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 day’s 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, though it was one that suited us perfectly fine. It was clear 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.

  Over the next two days, we were never able to catch the Lucenses, although I am not altogether sure that Caesar wanted to, given the length of our marching column, strung-out as it was because of the terrain. Coming to the Minus (Guadiana) River, it was here that we ran into a challenge bigger than the one that we faced at the Douro. This river empties into the great ocean, and is guarded on both sides by high hills. On the opposite bank, there was a good sized fortified town, right at the mouth of the river and with a commanding view of the area. Compounding the problem, this was the best area for miles to build a bridge, but was out of the question because of the position of the town. There was no bridge in place; instead, the Lucenses were using a large number of flat-bottomed boats to ferry their army across, and we were greeted by a frustrating sight. Climbing the last hill of the opposite bank just in time to see the last boatloads cross, we could only stand helplessly and curse as of course they did not send the boats back. The Minus was too wide and deep to cross by fording; even a pontoon bridge at that location was out of the question because of the vulnerability to the Gallaeci army and the swift current as the river emptied into the ocean. Consequently, we would have to march upriver and Caesar wasted no time in giving that order. We were in the vanguard that day, so Caesar diverted the 9th to send them east up the river, while we now became the rearguard. A cavalry ala was left behind to keep watch on the Gallaeci in case they thought to go back across the river and follow behind us. To further forestall that, once we moved up the riverbank and crossed over another hill out of sight from the town, Caesar dropped the 8th, 9th, and 10th Cohort of our Legion off on the reverse slope, directing them to build a camp. By climbing the short distance up the hill to the summit, sentries could keep an eye on the Gallaeci to make sure that they did not come after us. If they did there would be a blocking force that could intercept them if they came onto our side of the river, or at the least warn us if they followed on the other side. We knew that we could not keep them from observing our actions, yet that did not mean we had to make it easy on them.

  Another ten miles had to be covered before we found a suitable site on which to build, and the one blessing was that the surrounding hills possessed enough t
imber that we did not have to travel much farther in order to supply the building materials. This bridge took longer than the one at the Douro because we had less manpower. The 8th had been left behind more than a month ago; the 7th was besieging Portus Cale, and my Legion was reduced by the three Cohorts we left to guard the route behind us. Meanwhile, Caesar kept all of the ala still with us busy scouting the area in order to provide us with enough warning in the event of any surprise the Lucenses might care to come up with. Once our camp was prepared, and the artillery that came with us was arrayed to provide covering fire against the opposite bank, we immediately set to work on building the bridge. For five days we labored, with our artillery driving off those Gallaeci who came too close. We could not keep what we were doing secret, but we could keep them from doing anything to stop our progress. Some of the auxiliary cavalry had forded the river and stood by to drive off any of the enemy who got too close, or delay an enemy sortie if it came in force. However, for whatever reason, the Gallaeci seemed to be resigned that we would not be denied from crossing the river, an accurate judgment. Once the bridge was completed we marched across, heading back towards the coast and the fortified town. Along the way, we ran into an attempted ambush but brushed it aside with few casualties on our side and heavy losses to the Gallaeci. Nevertheless, it was enough to delay us so that we could not begin an assault on the town until the next day. For what seemed like the hundredth time we found ourselves digging and building a marching camp within sight of a town’s walls. Unlike the other towns, this one was more of a fortress than anything we had seen before, with walls made of stone, as were most of the buildings. It was also on the shelf of an extremely large hill, almost at the top, forcing us to climb up in the face of heavy fire. The truth is that nobody, especially the veterans looked forward to assaulting this place, and the mood was grim as we gathered around our fire that night.