Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  Seeing my concerned look, he glanced down, then shook his head. “Not mine.”

  Nodding thankfully, I continued scanning the faces of the men around us, as some semblance of order was slowly returning. Like herd animals, we instinctively started looking for our normal spot in the formation, and the Centurions began taking control, except for the Pilus Prior, who I could not see.

  “Anyone seen the Pilus Prior?” I asked of the men from my Cohort who were starting to gather in one spot.

  “I think he went down over there,” said Metellus, the Optio of the Fourth Century, pointing to a spot where there was a large pile of bodies.

  I looked where he was pointing, but we were too far away to make out whether any Roman body was wearing the transverse crest of the Centurion. Tribune Labienus came trotting up on his horse, calling for the Primus Pilus, who was on our side of the river. While they were conferring, I heard a commotion and looked over to see some of our men shouting excitedly and pointing back across the river. Following their arms to where they were pointing, I drew a sharp breath. There were two Legions who were being completely surrounded by the Nervii and looked like they would be overrun at any moment.

  “Form up, quickly you bastards!”

  The Primus Pilus bellowed the order, and the surviving cornici began blasting the signal. There was a scramble as men ran to their proper standards, and it was only as we formed up that we could see the gaping holes in our ranks. In our Century, there were at least ten men missing, including the Pilus Prior and in my tent section Romulus and Didius. Since I was Sergeant, it was my responsibility to find out their status then report it to the acting Centurion, Rufio, who had taken a spear thrust high on his shoulder, but quickly bound it up and was standing in the place of the Pilus Prior. Calienus moved into Rufio’s spot, the hours of drill paying its dividends now.

  “Did anyone see what happened to Romulus or Didius?”

  “I saw Achilles take a spear to the chest, but he was alive the last I saw him,” Vellusius called out, but on the subject of Romulus, there were only shakes of the head.

  It was something I would have to find out later, because by this time we were formed up. Labienus dismounted from his horse, and moving to the head of the formation, gave the command to quick time back down the slope, angling over so that we could come to the rescue of the two Legions who even now were being surrounded by Nervii. It was the 12th and the 7th, and what got them in trouble was the success that the other four Legions experienced in stopping the enemy advance, then counterattacking. Like us, the 9th, 8th and 11th crossed the river after repulsing their attack, the 8th and 11th in the center and the 9th and us on the left. They were still engaged with the Belgae forces however, while we drove our opponents into the woods. Labienus, seeing the desperate situation our sister Legions across the river were in, was now marching us rapidly back to their aid. As we advanced down the slope, the new Legions came into view following the baggage train, and they were now rushing forward as well, negotiating their way through the loaded animals and wagons. Meanwhile, the 7th and 12th were fighting for their life, with the 12th in particular having a hard time of it, though they were not helping their own cause. They managed to stay in formation, but because of the press of the Nervii, they had gathered so that they were packed together so tightly that they could not employ their weapons, and we could see Caesar’s standard beside them as he exhorted them to open up their ranks to fight. The 7th was surrounded on three sides, the only flank that was protected the one next to the 12th.

  “Silly bastards, they’re packed together like they’re on the march,” panted Scribonius.

  Coming to the river, we were forced to slow down as we waded across, then stopped briefly to re-form our lines after we got to the opposite bank. Once that was done, Labienus gave the order and the cornu blasted the command.

  “Porro!”

  Slamming into the rear of the Nervii, who were completely occupied with trying to destroy the two Legions before them, they were paying no attention to us as we approached their rear, to their own destruction. Almost at the same time, the 13th and 14th added to the weight of the assault, and it was now the turn of the Nervii to be surrounded.

  I will give credit to the Nervii; unlike other Gallic tribes that we faced, these men did not turn and run. They stood their ground, the rear ranks facing about to meet us, and they gave as good as they got. The 7th and 12th, the latter being dangerously close to falling apart and routing, saw that help had arrived, so they renewed their own attack with a fresh spirit, even their wounded joining in the fight. The fresh troops of the 13th and 14th, having arrived fully armed, began to shower the Nervii with javelin volleys, and soon there were heaps of bodies lying all around. On our side, we went straight to the sword as we pushed against the Nervii, and for the first time, established a normal rhythm of fighting. The whistles started to blow again, and we began working our way through the rotation, this return to normalcy helping us even further as we cut and thrust at the Nervii. When it was my turn, I fell to with a renewed fervor, letting the anger at the idea of Romulus and the Pilus Prior being struck down fuel my arm as I exacted my own revenge. The sound was deafening as the Nervii roared their hatred for us, or screamed when they were cut down, while on our side, we shouted out the names of fallen comrades as we struck men down for them. The fury of the battle was renewed as well, the Nervii fighting with the courage of the doomed, and it was not long before they were using the bodies of their own dead as platforms on which to stand. Some of them picked up the javelins that landed undamaged to hurl them back at us, and I blocked one with my shield that had been aimed at my chest. Luckily, it was an awkward throw, lacking the proper force behind it so it glanced off the leather cover of my shield, which I should have been happy about but instead got me to cursing afresh. It reminded me that I was going to have to purchase a new leather cover, which once again would be deducted from my pay, and angrily I sought out the man who threw the javelin, marking his face in my mind, thinking I would get to him as soon as I was done sending the man opposite me to the afterlife. We were advancing, slowly but surely as the pocket of Nervii was being reduced on all sides, until there was a pause by the entire army, despite no command given. While not completely silent, there was a noticeable decrease in the noise as we stopped for a moment, completely surrounding the by-now small knot of Nervii standing in an outward facing circle, their weapons in their hands, panting for breath as they stared at us with undisguised hatred. We glared back, and things remained this way for several moments, until the only sounds were the moans of the wounded and dying and the gasping of many thousands of men. There were perhaps 2,000 Nervii left in the last circle, and I wondered if they would be allowed to surrender, but then they answered my question for me when one of them took a step away from the circle, spat on the ground and motioned at us to come on, yelling something in his tongue that needed no translation. He was taunting us, asking what we were waiting for, and with a roar, we descended on the last bunch of Nervii from all sides.

  It was over quickly, with not a Nervii surviving unscathed, the wounded soon following their already slain comrades. The next few moments we spent walking among the bodies, quickly dispatching their injured with a quick thrust then finally, the battle was over. Looking up at the sun, I saw to my astonishment that little more than a third of a watch had passed since the Nervii first came streaming out of the woods. Very quickly, order was restored and we began the now familiar task of tidying up after a battle. For our part, we marched back to where our packs were laying, now surrounded by piles of bodies, both Belgae and Roman. One of Labienus’ attendants, a Gaul who knew of such things, identified the bodies of some of the enemy not as Nervii, but Atrebates, who had evidently thrown their lot in with the Nervii.

  Vibius grunted, “That explains why they broke and ran but those bastards over there,” he gestured over to where the 7th and 12th had made their stand, “stood and died to the last man. Not that I’m
complaining, mind you,” he grinned.

  I laughed at this, slapping him on the shoulder before turning to the task I was putting off yet could avoid no longer. Now I had to go examine our own dead and wounded to find my missing tentmates. Even as the battle raged farther downstream, the medici assigned to our Legion had already begun tending to the wounded, and a makeshift hospital was already set up, really nothing more than a cleared patch of ground where all the wounded were being gathered. Going there first, that was where I found Didius, who had indeed suffered a real wound high in his chest. The momentum of the spear thrust was slowed enough by his armor that the blade had not penetrated into his chest cavity, instead just slicing through the muscle and stopping there. It was a painful wound, but I had seen men with far worse wounds act less like a woman than Didius, who was moaning rhythmically while clutching the bloody bandage that the medici placed over the wound. Seeing me approach, he was sensible enough to at least stop the whining, yet he was uncharacteristically friendly, or what passed as friendly for him.

  “Salve Pullus. Come to check on me, eh?”

  I am not sure why, but I bit back the retort that rose to my lips that I was just doing my job, and instead merely nodded.

  “Thank you Pullus,” he said and I knew that he could see the shock on my face because his own turned a little red as he gave a self-conscious laugh. “Now I know what all the fuss is about when you almost get killed, neh?” He did not wait for me to answer, “I thought I was a goner for sure. That bastard waited until I was occupied with someone else and nearly did for me.”

  I was determined to match his pleasant tone, and I tried to sound sympathetic. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

  He grimaced and nodded his head, wincing at the pain the motion caused. “More than anything I’ve ever had before, I can tell you that. Still, it’s good to be alive. We gave those cunni a good whipping, didn’t we?”

  I nodded, again biting back a retort about how he was only around for the first few moments and then out of it, so how would he know, but I was honest enough with myself to know I was being unfair.

  “That we did, that we did.” I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m glad to see you survived.”

  Now it was his turn to be surprised, and for the briefest of moments, I saw Didius let down his guard as he opened his mouth to say something. But the moment apparently passed, he snapped it shut and merely nodded, not saying anything.

  “Did you happen to see what happened to Romulus? He’s not here, although I know that the medici haven’t gathered all the wounded. Do you know anything?”

  Again, the mask slipped and I saw what I will swear on Jupiter’s stone to my dying day was a look of genuine sadness, though it was gone as quick as it appeared. He looked me in the eye, and without saying a word, shook his head. My blood turned to ice; his meaning was unmistakable.

  “Where? Did you actually see it happen?”

  He nodded, then with a grimace, lifted his arm to point in the direction where there was a slightly larger group of bodies. “It was after I was wounded. I was down on the ground, but I saw it happen plain as day.”

  “How do you know he’s dead?” I demanded, not caring if my tone was harsh.

  Didius’ lips thinned in anger, and he opened his mouth, but there was……..something different this day for both of us, and I would like to think that at least for this moment, he was just as reluctant to break the fragile truce as I was.

  He paused, then replied tightly, “I don’t know for sure, but he was gutted, and I saw them fall out on the ground.”

  My stomach lurched; I would have to face it sooner or later, so I left Didius, still looking as close to sad as I had ever seen him, and walked unsteadily towards the heap of men that he had indicated.

  Seeing him while I was still several feet away, I smelled him soon after. Didius was right; Romulus had been gutted, and was laying on his side, with most of his insides in front of him, the flies already starting to swarm. The thrust that did this had sliced through his bowels, and it was this I smelled on my approach. Biting my lip to keep from crying out in despair, I walked up to him slowly, my shadow preceding me and covering his face in darkness. It must have been this change that did it, and I felt my knees almost give out when I saw his eyes flutter, then open as he peered up to see who approached. He squinted as he tried to focus, then recognizing me, opened his mouth to speak. Rushing to his side, I knelt next to him, careful not to touch any of him and quickly tried to hush him.

  “Romulus, it’s Titus. Don’t try to talk; save your strength.”

  A shadow of a smile crossed his lips as he looked up at me, his eyes telling me that there was no need to lie. “What for? I won’t need to be strong for much longer.”

  Opening my mouth to protest, I instantly realized the pointlessness, so instead merely nodded. Reaching down, I took the hand that was not clutching at his intestines in a vain attempt to pull them back into his body. It was cold already, not surprising given the amount of blood that was pooled around him and already being soaked up by the earth. A thought flashed through my mind as I wondered how much blood this world had soaked up over the years, but I was brought back to the moment by Romulus’ voice.

  “Titus, will you make sure that I’m put in our family tomb next to Quintus?”

  I was puzzled for a moment, since I had forgotten Remus’ real name. Seeing my confusion, he smiled again, “We weren’t born Romulus and Remus. Remember Titus, when we showed up at camp in Scallabis we were Quintus and Marcus Mallius?”

  I nodded, making a mental note to remember to use his proper name so that his ashes would make their way back to the right family. My vision started to blur, and I fought back tears as I began to absorb that both of these brothers were for all purposes now dead, but I was again jerked out of my thoughts by a squeeze of my hand, and I looked down to see Romulus gazing at me, his eyes rapidly dimming.

  “Don’t mourn for me Titus. I’m happy. Soon I’ll see Quintus again, and we’ll never be apart.”

  Again I nodded my head, and I heard my voice choke as I agreed with him. “That’s right, Rom….Marcus. You and your brother will be together. Be sure you wait for us, and then we’ll all be together, and we can sit by the fire again and lie to each other.”

  He smiled again, began to reply, then died before he could say anything. Sitting beside him for a moment, I started to weep bitterly, not caring this time if anyone saw me.

  Cleanup of the battlefield had to wait while we finished the building of our camp, then the next two days were spent with honoring our dead and cremating them. Once again we had to dig mass pits to bury the Nervii, Atrebates and the other tribe who had joined them, the Viromandui. The air was filled with the remains of our dead as their souls were released by the fire, and I made sure that the urn that contained the ashes we would send back to the Mallius family was correctly addressed, with Romulus’ proper name. The mood around our fire was somber for the next several days; Romulus had always been the most animated among us, and was usually the one to start a conversation about some topic that he would seemingly produce from thin air. It was a source of constant amusement to us how he came up with some of his ideas, and now that was missing, nobody really knew what to do. Our tent now had only six men in it, since Calienus had moved out when he was promoted. At that particular moment, it was down to five because Didius was still in the hospital tent, and it is with no little surprise when I say that we missed his presence. As sour and truculent as he may have been, we had become accustomed to having him around, if for nothing else than to serve as the butt of our jokes. We were not the only ones so affected; there was clearly a pall of sorrow and loss hanging over the whole camp, with almost every fire losing someone in such a manner. The 7th and especially the 12th were the hardest hit; in the 12th they lost several Centurions, along with the standard bearer of the Fourth Cohort. Their Cohort standard had even been lost, only for a short time, but to lose a standard for any length of time is a horri
ble blow to the pride and morale of not just the Cohort, but the entire Legion. I do not wish to be harsh, but of all the Legions, that day the 12th had not acquitted itself well, and a cloud now hung over every man in the Legion, the rest of the army looking at them differently. Until they had the opportunity to redeem themselves, they would be suspect in our eyes. On the matter of Centurions, our Pilus Prior Vetruvius was not killed, but had been wounded so severely that his arm had to be amputated, meaning his career was over. The subject of who would be our new Centurion was not yet decided; again, being the First Century of the Second Cohort meant that whoever was appointed to lead us was also the ranking Centurion in the Cohort, so he had to be senior to all the other Centurions, or there would be bitter resentment on their part. This also meant that Rufio would most probably be promoted to Centurion, but moved to some other Century, or even another Cohort. It was not out of the realm of possibility that we would have a Centurion from another Legion put in command of the Second Cohort, although this was always considered a last resort and did not happen often, at least in those days. These were the topics that occupied what little conversation did take place around our fire as we awaited our new Centurion. Over in the First Cohort, our former Pilus Prior Gaius Crastinus moved up to take command of the Second Century, the First Cohort losing two of their own Centurions. The fact that he was leapfrogged over two Centurions who led the Third and Fourth Centuries was very unusual, but Crastinus’ reputation was such that there was little grumbling about the decision, with the exception of the two bypassed Centurions. It was in this manner that the next few days passed, as the army reorganized and rested from what was our toughest battle to date.