by R. W. Peake
Chapter 7- The Belgae
At the first sign that the snows in the passes had melted enough, Caesar sent the new Legions marching to us, led by a new Tribune, Quintus Pedius. Overall, the situation was rapidly deteriorating, with more news of defections by tribal leaders to the cause of the rebels reaching us every day. By the time March arrived, we felt like we were surrounded by enemies, and while this was the first time, it would not be the last that we were witness to the fickle nature of the Gauls. We had already seen how quickly their passions became inflamed when we faced them in battle; now we also witnessed how quickly their morale and spirit fled at the first sign of adversity. With the passing of time, I finally reached the conclusion that the Gauls are very much like large children; their delight knows no bounds, while their despair knows no depths. They had no discipline, and probably still do not; I often wonder how much we have managed to civilize the Gauls in the years since Caesar conquered them. Despite living among them now, and liking them very much as people, I also have come to realize that I will never understand them. Ultimately I just think that the Gauls have a natural dislike for peace and quiet, preferring noise and chaos because they find it exciting. Truly, I can think of no other real reason for their behavior, especially in those early years when we had not laid waste to much of the countryside and most tribes finally were at peace, not just with Rome but with each other and more importantly, with the tribes across the Rhenus for the first time in living memory. Perhaps that was the problem; things had gotten boring for them. Whatever the cause, not a day went by where a dispatch rider did not come in with news of some new intrigue or development in the ever-changing scene of tribal politics. Alliances were seemingly made and broken in the blink of an eye, and it was not unheard of for one rider to inform Labienus, in the same report, of an alliance made and broken within the space of a watch or two. It was easy to see why Caesar was so alarmed, since he not only raised two more Legions but came as early in the spring as he did, following the arrival of the first Legion he raised by no more than a single week. After his arrival at Vesontio, he quickly gave orders to march, so that within three days the entire army, minus a detachment of auxiliaries and a couple of Cohorts left to guard the camp, went marching out the main gate, headed northwest. By this point we were now an army of eight Legions, the largest force that Caesar had commanded to this point, with the resulting train going on for miles, and no matter how much it chafed at him, our progress was that much slower because of the larger force. While it might not have made Caesar happy, we in the ranks were ecstatic, since it meant that we would not be pushed to our limits the first few days after our time in winter quarters, the way we had the year before. In turn, this kept our spirits up during the march, and when men have good morale, it helps pass the time as we plod along, singing marching songs and swapping stories. Caesar had no such problems staying occupied; indeed, his hands were full dealing with the constant stream of Gallic tribes who came to meet with Caesar, each of them pledging their loyalty to him. The fact that some of these envoys were from the very tribes who were linked to the secret alliance with the Belgae was not lost on any of us, and did not help to raise the Gauls in our esteem any.
“Not one of them can be trusted with a brass obol,” Vibius muttered when one such delegation came trotting by, the men decked out in their tribal finery.
I had to agree, since nothing I saw from the Gauls at this point would lead me to argue the point he had made. Things had been somewhat strained between the two of us over the winter, yet I could not quite put my finger on the cause. I did not think he was jealous that I was promoted because he seemed to be just as happy for me as I was myself. Vibius had taken to writing to Juno at least once a week, sometimes more, and he was always overjoyed when he got a letter back from her. She was still remaining true to him, though I knew that he worried about it constantly. Juno was, after all, many, many miles away and was well past the normal age that women marry, yet she remained adamant that she would wait. My feelings for Juno, while not changed, had at least cooled somewhat; my heart no longer beat faster at the thought of her or mention of her name. I still cared for her, but I recognize now that at some point I must have come to a realization that she would always love Vibius more than she could ever love me, and had since we were children. Only recently had I begun to think of the idea of finding a woman like Juno to settle down with, but those thoughts were still intermittent, and whenever they popped into my head I would immediately dismiss them. During that particular conversation, I turned my mind back to the problem with Vibius, even while we continued to chat about some topic long forgotten. Could it be that he was jealous after all? Vibius was as brave as any man in the Legion, and he was a skilled soldier in his own right, but could all the attention I was receiving have rubbed him raw and made him resent my success? Almost opening my mouth to bring it up with him, I then thought better of it. There are just some things that are better left unsaid, I mused, and whatever was wrong between Vibius and I would work itself out over time, I assured myself. We had been friends much too long to let anything ruin that. Or so I hoped at least.
After almost two weeks we arrived at the banks of the river Matrona (Marne), at the edge of the territory of the more hostile branches of the Belgae, in the middle of the territory held by the Remi branch of the tribe. Even as slow as the march seemed to us, at least when compared to past marches with Caesar, we once again arrived so rapidly that the Belgae were caught by surprise at the sight of an army our size sitting in their territory, poised to strike. The Remi in particular, whose territory we were now in, made a quick calculation that their chances were better with Caesar than against him. Consequently, two of their leaders, Iccius and Andebrogius, came to Caesar to offer their assistance, promising to help provide the army with supplies, and most importantly information about the enemy tribes who were aligning to face us. These Remi had originally been part of a two tribe confederation, led by one chief named Galba, who was the chief of the other branch, the Suessiones, and the Remi had tried to persuade the Suessiones that their best interests lay with Caesar. They were not successful; in fact, the primary chief Galba was unanimously named by the other tribes aligned against us to be the overall commander of their host, and quite a host it was. It did not take long before the clerks in the Praetorium, who were our chief source of information, even if it was in a roundabout way after it had passed the lips of many other men, told their friends in the Legions that the Remi were able to provide Caesar with an exact count of the warriors that we would have to defeat. The Bellovaci were the largest contingent, promising 50,000 picked men out of an available army of 100,000 men; the Suessiones led by Galba were to provide another 15,000 men. So were the Nervii, while the Atrebates would send 15,000 men; the Ambiani 10,000; the Morini 25,000; the Menapii 7,000; the Caletes, Veliocasses and Viromandui 10,000 men each; the Aduatuci 19,000 men. Finally, the Condrusi, Eburones, Caeroesi, and Paemani would send a combined 40,000 men. All told we would be facing an army numbering a little short of 300,000 men, compared to our strength of around 37,000 Legionaries, 5,000 cavalry and about 10,000 auxiliary troops. If we faced a host this large the year before, I shudder to think how the army would have performed, given how shaky morale was before we faced Ariovistus. However, our confidence now was such that it did not shake us in the least. In fact, hearing these numbers had the opposite effect, the men mentally tallying up how much booty we could expect to gain from defeating an army of this size.
“Let’s just say that each of those barbarians has the equal of one gold denarius on him,” mused Romulus as we sat by the fire the night we heard the size of the Belgae army. “And you know some of their nobles will be carrying a lot more than that, right?” There was general agreement to this as we sat and listened to Romulus, who was growing enthused the more he talked. “So that’s at the very least 300,000 gold denarii just waiting for us to take.”
Turning to me, he asked, “What did you say our strength was
again, Pullus?” After I told him the number relayed to me, he sat there with his face screwed up as he tried to calculate the sum in his head.
Finally, he just shrugged and finished, “Well, it'll be a lot of gold pieces for each of us is all I know.” His face turned red as we laughed at him, while Scribonius supplied the answer.
“It’ll be about six gold pieces for each of us, give or take,” he said, eliciting looks of astonishment that he was able to work such huge sums in his head.
Romulus’ eyes narrowed in suspicion and he blurted, “That can’t be right. It’s a lot more than that.”
“No, I promise you that it’s just a little shy of six pieces per man, using your example,” Scribonius pronounced this with a confidence that convinced me that he was right, but Romulus was having none of it.
“How is that possible, that you say out of 300,000 gold pieces, each of us would only get six?”
I could tell that Romulus was really getting worked up over this, and I began to have a nagging worry that this might turn into a full-blown quarrel. Scribonius and Romulus got along well enough, yet they had nothing whatsoever in common, and were opposite in temperament as well. Romulus was quick to laugh, although he did much less of that since Remus died, except he was equally quick to take offense. Romulus loved nothing more than to be with his friends getting into all sorts of mischief, whereas Scribonius was much more thoughtful and deliberate, always thinking things through carefully before opening his mouth.
Now, Scribonius was clearly doing his best to be patient, sighing as he tried to explain. “You’re worrying about the zeros for nothing, Romulus, that’s why you’re not working it out right. Look,” he squatted in the dirt and drew the number thirty and the number five in the dirt. “All you’re really doing is seeing how many times five will go into thirty.”
I was confused as well, so I kept my mouth shut, but I instantly saw what he meant. Romulus still was not convinced. “Thirty,” he snorted, “where did you get thirty from? We’re talking 300,000, not thirty.”
Shaking his head, Scribonius replied with a thread of impatience that I hoped only I could detect. “It doesn’t matter. All right then, let’s try this. Tell me how many times 50 will go into three hundred.”
Finally, here was a cipher that Romulus could understand, and I suppressed a smile as I saw his face run the gamut of emotion, going from irritation to the dawning of understanding the correct answer, then quickly back to irritation again as he realized he was in the wrong. He stood there, his lips pressed into a thin line as he scowled at the dirt, arms crossed.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he mumbled, “Six. The answer is six.”
Scribonius, bless him, did not pursue his victory over Romulus in any way, instead nodding his head enthusiastically as he exclaimed, “Exactly! You got it! The zeros in this problem are meaningless. Good job, Romulus. I knew you’d figure it out.”
Romulus’ head shot up at Scribonius’ last words, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he stared at the other man, clearly trying to determine whether or not Scribonius was mocking him in any way, but that was not in Scribonius’ nature. He was truly happy at being able to teach Romulus something, and Romulus obviously saw that, so that he began to smile, beaming with pride just like he was a student in class who had been called on and given the correct answer.
“Yes, I see now. The zeros don’t matter,” he nodded.
I let out a silent sigh of relief, happy that things had not turned ugly. The instant I had the chance, I pulled Scribonius to the side to thank him for the way he treated Romulus, then made a request of my own.
“Do you think you can show me some of those tricks?” I asked. “It’s just that I’m having to do a lot of counting and addition and such, and it takes me forever to do the accounts I’m supposed to turn in.”
Scribonius frowned, and for a moment I thought he would refuse me, yet that was the farthest thing from his mind.
“They’re not tricks Pullus, they’re…..rules. It’s just like the army. Once you learn the rules, it’s easy.”
I immediately saw the sense of that, and I told him so.
“How about this instead?” he asked, catching me a bit by surprise. “Why don’t I sit with you and I can do your reports for you, while you watch and learn how I do it? That way, you don’t have to worry about writing all that nonsense, and you’ll learn how the rules work.”
This made eminent sense to me, as well as pleasing me that I would have one less burden on my shoulders, and I thanked him for his offer.
“Pullus, it’s the least I can do,” he replied quietly. “Remember, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here now.”
I did not know what to say, trying to laugh it off with some lame joke, but his words touched me. We parted as I went to make my nightly report to the Pilus Prior, and again I was thankful that I had done what I did that day against the Helvetii.
Scouts brought word that the Belgic host was drawing nearer, so Caesar ordered the camp broken down and we went on the march, this time moving north to another river called the Axona (Aisne), crossing over it by the one bridge in the area. Then, with the river to our back to protect us, Caesar directed the camp to be built a short distance away. This was the most elaborate marching camp we ever created up to that point, with Caesar seeking to make the best use of the terrain. There was another small river a short distance to the north that branched off the Axona, the area around its banks a swampy mess. Caesar positioned our camp on a low hill running roughly northwest to southeast, with the southern wall of the camp a short distance from the Axona. Instructing us to make the ditch extra wide, it was 18 feet compared to his normal 15, thereby making the earthen portion of the rampart eight feet, with the stakes for the palisade adding another four in total height. In addition, he had us dig a trench extending along the axis of the Porta Praetoria of the camp further north down the hill, extending for almost a half mile beyond the walls, where a small fort was constructed with a scorpion and catapult for protection, manned by a Century. He had another trench dug running along the axis of the Porta Decumana to the south down the opposite slope towards the river, the same length and armed in the same manner. The bridge was fortified as well, and was located perhaps a mile and a half from the main gate to our southwest. The orientation of the camp was built so that the Belgae would have to pass directly across our front to get to the bridge, which was the only way across the river for several miles. If the Belgae wanted to attack the camp directly, they would have to negotiate the morass along the smaller river, while under fire from the northernmost fort. It took us most of the day to complete the work, and it was only due to the size of the army that we were able to accomplish all that in a single day. The fort at the bridge was under the command of a Tribune named Sabinus with four Cohorts and a squadron of cavalry. It was within these fortifications that we waited for the Belgae to sweep south.
At around midnight that first night, a messenger arrived with an urgent request for help from Iccius, the Remi leader who had approached Caesar about an alliance. It turned out that the Belgae, having learned of the Remi’s choice to side with Rome, changed the direction of their march to the west to besiege the Remi’s capital at a town called Bibrax. Iccius begged Caesar to send help, since he was not confident that his small force could withstand a siege by a force of the size that was facing him. Caesar responded by sending a detachment from the auxiliary forces, consisting of Numidian javelineers, Cretan archers and Balearic slingers, all missile troops, who left shortly before dawn. Lightly armed, they were able to quickly travel the seven miles to the town, finding it completely blockaded by the Belgae, whose idea of siegecraft was to surround a town with their warriors then use missiles to scour the parapets of the enemy. Apparently their hope was that the warriors holding the town would finally become discouraged and just give up. The Belgae had no conception of siege engines, and Bibrax was built on a steep hill, with the southern approach being an escarpm
ent, which the Belgae did not think to invest. Consequently, it was short work for our auxiliaries to drive the Belgae away from the town, who instead took out their frustration on the surrounding countryside, putting it to the torch. Satisfied that they made their point, the Belgae resumed their march towards our encampment, arriving after nightfall of the same day that they were repulsed from Bibrax, proceeding to build a camp that was so huge that they were required to use signal fires to communicate from one end to the other. Their campfires extended as far as the eye could see, with the nearest end of their camp perhaps a mile on the other side of the small river and even with the eastern end of our camp. Since the terrain was fairly flat and open and we still could not see the far end of their camp, it had to have been more than three miles in length, a fact that, even with our confidence, unnerved us a bit. It even instilled in Caesar a sense of caution, prompting him to decide to give himself more time to judge the fighting qualities of the huge army before us. To that end, the next morning he sent out a number of cavalry patrols that clashed with similar contingents of Belgae presumably sent out by Galba to do the same thing in testing our ability to fight. We were pleasantly surprised when we saw that our cavalry took the measure of their foes in every skirmish they fought that day, and this outcome convinced Caesar to send us out to challenge the Belgae the next morning.