Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  Apparently, Ariovistus held no such inclination, and although it was not until I read Caesar’s account years later that I learned exactly what took place, all we knew at the time was that Ariovistus had been very insulting, not just to Caesar but to Rome, and more importantly to us, the Legions. He made it clear that he did not think much of our army, nor our skills in battle, despite what we did to the Helvetii, and it was not long before word began circulating that we were going to head for a confrontation with this Ariovistus. Orders were given to repair all gear, replenish our stock of javelins and draw marching rations, because we would be on the move in a matter of a couple of days.

  Chapter 6- Ariovistus

  We were ordered out of the camp and on the march exactly two days after the rumor circulated; it is an interesting thing about the way this gossip circulates throughout an army. Any rumor is considered to be as close to fact as one can get, and when questioned, the man passing it along will always bring up past examples that had come true. However, somehow we all tended to forget the ones that did not turn out the same way and thinking back on it, I realize that for every one that turned out to be the truth, or close to it, there were probably five that were completely off the mark. Yet we always seemed to forget those, instead only remembering the times where someone passed along a piece of information that turned out to be accurate. Accordingly, we had an idea of what was in store, although it would turn out that in this campaign, rumors would almost undo us. Marching northeast, we headed back towards the town of Vesontio, which Caesar learned was in the plans of Ariovistus to appropriate. Since it contained supplies and weapons, it was strategically vital that we not only keep Ariovistus from seizing it but take it for our own needs. All of this we were happily ignorant about, knowing only that we were marching at Caesar’s usual cracking pace, while he sent word ahead for the Aedui, Sequani and the Lingones to supply us with food as we marched so that we could travel more lightly, and he had us marching well after dark, forcing us to construct camp under trying conditions. It was in this way that we arrived in Vesontio in the middle of the third day, having covered a hundred miles of open territory in little more than two and a half days. Needless to say, we were all exhausted, but Caesar could not spare us the rest, having a camp to construct, which we built on the outskirts of the town. Vesontio is an eminently defensible position, and it was easy to see why Caesar thought it was so important. Nestled in a loop of the Dubis (Doubs) River, it is surrounded on three sides by water, while the narrow neck of land connecting it to the rest of the area is not much more than 500 paces wide. Guarding the neck is a low hill, where a wall of stone is built protecting the town itself. It was just outside of this wall where our camp was built, situated in such a way that we could easily leave the camp to man the wall in the event of an attack, there not being enough space for our camp in the space between that wall and those of the town. It was thrown up with our usual speed, though also with the same thoroughness and exacting standards that Caesar had come to expect from us. While we were busy with our constructing, he sent a Legion into the town itself to provide a garrison, this being the start of our problems. I will not mention the number of the Legion, since their actions caused us considerable embarrassment, only saying that it was not the 10th. We were part of the force building the camp, and played no part in what was to happen.

  It was here where Caesar decided to wait for Ariovistus and during the idle time of the next couple of days we began to learn more about the men we were facing, and with what seemed to be every passing watch, our situation became direr.

  “I was talking to my cousin in the 8th,” was how it started among our Century, when Romulus relayed what he had learned one evening. “And he was telling me that the townspeople have had a lot of dealing with those Germans of Ariovistus, and they’re scared to death of them.” This was naturally met with interest, although Romulus needed no prodding. “He said that the townsfolk swear that the small ones are the size of Pullus, and most of them are almost seven feet tall.”

  “Gerrae! I don’t believe that for a minute,” I snorted, not for any other reason than I refused to believe that there were men taller than I was.

  “It’s true,” he insisted, “that’s how they were able to subdue the Gauls so easily.” Warming to his subject, he continued, “And he said that their secret weapon is some spell that their witches taught them to cast on their enemies when they line up to do battle. They gaze at their enemies, and if you make eye contact with any of them, it casts a spell on you that paralyzes you so that you can’t fight.” I laughed at this then quickly realized that nobody was joining in. Looking about at my friends, I saw that they were indeed taking this seriously.

  “Well,” Atilius said thoughtfully, “given how much of a fight those Helvetii put up, I can’t imagine that the Aedui or those other tribes are any less fierce. Look what it took for us to beat them. Maybe that’s why Ariovistus was able to take their lands so easily.”

  I looked at Atilius incredulously. “You’re not believing this, surely? This is just talk.”

  Romulus bristled at the unintended slight. “I know my cousin, Pullus. He’s not the type to get worried easily, and he’s a good man. If he believes it, I believe it.”

  Trying to head this off, I apologized to Romulus for the offense, then asked him what else was said, hoping that this would move us to safer subjects. I was wrong.

  “He also said that before they can be considered men, each German must kill ten men in single combat, and drink the blood of their enemies. That’s why they’re so strong; they gather the strength from the men they’ve killed.”

  I must admit that even my heart fluttered a little hearing that, although I would like to think that it was due more to the barbarity of drinking your enemy’s blood than what it supposedly attained for the Germans. This was the tone of the conversations taking place in every part of the camp, and it did not take long before some sort of panic swept through the army. In my opinion, what made it worse was the reaction of our officers, who not only did not stamp out the rumors, but actually believed them and were in turn infected with the same madness that the common soldiers were suffering. Suddenly, a large number of the fine young men attached to the army as Tribunes suddenly found reasons that they were urgently needed back in Rome. They began rushing about the camp, looking for their high-born friends in other Legions to confer about the best course of action, given that the army was about to be slaughtered by the invincible Germans. Not even the Centurions were immune to this panic, although it was a relatively small number out of the whole. Out of our 60 Centurions, perhaps three of them seemed to be of the same mind as the Tribunes. It must be said that the Tribunes and even the Legates we understood; for the most part they were soldiers in name only, and although there were some of them we respected, Labienus being one, along with young Publius Crassus, they were the minority. Now these puffed up nobles showed all of us their true value, infecting the army at every level with their constant chattering about the impending calamity. But the final blow came when some veterans we respected began voicing fears about our supplies and the forests that we would have to march through. It appeared that we were beaten before Ariovistus even bothered to show up.

  Caesar, as he was wont to do, acted swiftly, calling a meeting of the Tribunes and Centurions, where he gave them a severe chastising. Demanding an explanation, he let them know that their actions were not only having a devastating effect on the morale of the army, they were also calling into question Caesar’s abilities as a commander, and I suspect of the two, it was the latter that infuriated Caesar more. Reminding them of his uncle Marius, who dealt crushing defeats to the Germans, Caesar minimized the accomplishments of the Germans against the Gauls, pointing out that we had defeated the same men as the Germans, which hardly hinted at their superiority. He was especially harsh with those who, rather than express alarm at the valor of the Germans, disguised their fears as concerns about supplies and terrain, because he v
iewed these men as questioning his capacity for command. There was even muttering that when he gave the command to march, the Legions would refuse, and it was this rumor that caused Caesar to say something that cemented his place in our heart. If it came to that, he said, he would march with the 10th and the 10th only, since he trusted it implicitly and knew he could count on it to follow him wherever he led. I believe it was this statement more than any that turned the morale of the army around in an instant. Despite the fact that he was speaking only to the Tribunes and Centurions, he had to know that what was said at that meeting would flash through the camp in a matter of moments. For us in the 10th, it made us determined that we would never let Caesar down, because he gave us perhaps the greatest honor a general can give his men, and we made sure to send a message of thanks to him, along with our solemn vow that he would never have reason to regret his words. Many years later, some of the men of the 10th would go back on that promise, but that was far in the future. For the other Legions, they were now shamed by the idea that he felt he could only count on the 10th for support, and they were now determined to show him that their loyalty matched ours. It was a brilliant piece of work, perhaps not what historians will write about, yet is just as important as any maneuver on the battlefield, because it was like a lamp was lit in a previously darkened room, the gloom suddenly banished in the instant it takes for the light to flare to life. Now, instead of worrying about our fates, we were anxious to be put to the test, and the army began clamoring for Caesar to give the orders to march to meet Ariovistus. We were not to be disappointed; on the last day of the month that is now known as August, we marched out of camp, leaving a force of three Cohorts behind to guard the town and the camp. In order to avoid those thick woods that some of the men were worried about the Vergobret Diviciacus, who was acting as our guide, led us in a wide swing to the north before turning towards the east where Ariovistus was located. This added two days to the march which, given the mood of the army before we set out, could have been a problem because it gave men time to think. However, such was Caesar’s chastisement of the Tribunes and Centurions that the men were instead chafing at the delay of facing Ariovistus and his Germans. Finally coming within a day’s march of where the Germans were camped, we made our own camp on the banks of a river, settling down to wait for further developments. Ariovistus was to the north, and he sent messengers saying that now he was willing to parley with Caesar, with a meeting set for five days’ time. Speaking personally, every day’s delay was a good thing, since it meant that Scribonius was closer to full strength, thereby bettering his chance for survival in the next battle. His shoulder wound had caused his left arm to shrivel, and he worked extremely hard to restore it to full use, the fear of being found unfit for duty and discharged spurring him to work harder than I had ever seen him. It also meant that I spent extra time with him individually, working on weapons drills, which I was happy to do, despite its meaning that with my other duties as Sergeant, sleep was something with which I only had a passing acquaintance. Calienus had been less than truthful about the duties of a Sergeant, yet when I confronted him about it, he had just laughed.

  “You really didn’t expect me to tell you the truth did you?”

  “If I had known what all was involved, I might have thought differently about it,” I retorted.

  “Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I did you a favor Pullus.”

  Somehow I did not see it that way.

  In the predawn of the day of the conference, the Primus Pilus paid the Second Cohort a visit.

  “Pullus,” Primus Pilus Favonius said without any preamble, “Caesar summons you. Get your gear on and meet at the Praetorium immediately.”

  He turned to walk away, but then thought of something.

  “And wear your dress uniform, with your decorations.”

  There was no time to wonder what this was about; I had to dig my phalarae and plume out of my pack, where they were carefully wrapped in cloth to avoid rough treatment. I was just thankful that we had been idle for the last few days, since it gave me time to polish my decorations and clean my armor and helmet. Putting on the tunic I wore for inspections, I donned my gear then stood while the Pilus Prior came to inspect me by the light of the fire. Grunting, he said, “I suppose it'll have to do. Now hurry up and get over there!”

  I made my way down the Cohort street and over to the Via Principalis, which leads directly to the Praetorium. Standing in front of the tent was a small group of men, all from the 10th, but from different Cohorts. With them was the Primus Pilus, who explained what we were doing.

  “Each of you has been selected by your Cohort for a very important mission. Today is the day that Caesar is supposed to meet with that bastard Ariovistus.” We all nodded, this being common knowledge.

  “That smug cunnus….suggested to Caesar that they meet only with an escort of ten men each. Caesar doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him, and he thinks he’s up to something,” Favonius continued. “And we all know how useless our Gallic cavalry proved to be when we whipped the Helvetii,” this also was common knowledge and had been one of the reasons some of the men were scared. The Germans were reputed to have excellent cavalry, and ours had not acquitted themselves with any distinction against the Helvetii. “So Caesar is going to trick the trickster. Instead of those useless bastards, he wants boys from the 10th to accompany him. Each of you was put forward by your senior Centurion as being the best in your Cohort if it comes to fighting, so you’re going to be going with Caesar.”

  Words cannot describe the feeling those words invoked in me, and even after all the awards and decorations I have won, that moment still ranks as one of my proudest. Even as I dictate this, I can feel the shiver of an absolutely delicious sensation of joy recalling these words. Finished with his instructions, the Primus Pilus led us over to the cavalry section, ordering us to pick a horse from the pool of spares, which is when I had my first moment of doubt. As was usual in the army, nobody had bothered to ask me if I even knew how to ride a horse, although in our training we were taught how to vault into the saddle wearing all of our gear. I could count on one hand the number of times I had actually gone for a ride on a horse and have all my fingers left over, and the thought that I would humiliate myself came bursting into my head. My heart started hammering as I gazed at the horses, pretending to consider which beast was best suited for me, and my only hope was that riding a horse was similar to riding a mule, because that I had done many times before I became too large for ours to carry me. With that in mind, I picked out a roan that was larger than the rest, thinking that it would not do to have a horse collapse under me because of my weight. The cavalrymen who had been roused to help us with our selection put my mind at ease a bit when I saw him nod with approval at the mount I chose.

  “That’s a good strong horse you’ve chosen Gregarius,” he commented as he helped me saddle it. “He’s got a lot of bottom to him so you won't have to worry about him foundering.”

  Nodded sagely, as if this were something more than just dumb luck, I leaped into the saddle with all the aplomb I could muster. Fortunately my luck held, the horse accepting me onto his back without rancor, just sidestepping a bit as he adjusted to my weight. Riding from the enclosure back out onto the street and down to the Praetorium, we stopped there to wait a few moments for Caesar. Dawn had now come, and the army was awake, with the men gathering to watch the procession leave the camp. Caesar came striding out, bedecked in his best uniform, a muscled cuirass made of silver, inlaid with gold, his helmet made in the same fashion, with a crest made of black feathers. Leaping onto his horse, he disdained the assistance offered to him, then pulled his mount around to inspect those of us who were to be his escort and were aligned in a single row to greet him. Sitting as erect as I could, my eyes were straight ahead as I sensed him moving towards me in the line. He said something encouraging to every man, complimenting them on their awards, or on their fierce countenance. When he pulled up to me,
despite myself my gaze broke to look him in the eyes, immediately cursing myself for the breach in discipline, but he did not seem to mind, favoring me with a smile that made my heart soar.

  “Sergeant Pullus, it’s good to see you again. I’m glad to know you'll be by my side for this adventure.” My face must have registered the surprise I felt that he remembered my name, because he laughed and said, “Surely you aren’t surprised that I remember you? How could I forget such a giant who marches for me, especially one so valiant who I personally decorated?”