by R. W. Peake
“Salve Pullus! I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you on your promotion!”
Startled, I took his hand and without thinking I blurted, “Thank the gods! I thought you’d be angry with me.”
His smile disappeared as he looked at me for a moment, then realization flooded his face and he laughed. “So that’s why you’re outside the camp. That’s why I gave you such a look when you first approached; I couldn’t believe my eyes. You never leave camp to come crawl in the gutter with us.”
I flushed; what he said was true enough, but no man likes to be thought of as a prude, and I opened my mouth to protest.
Before I could he slapped me on the back and said “Come on, if this isn’t an occasion for a drink, I don’t know what is. You can say hello to Gisela.” Without waiting for a reply, he entered the bar.
We found a table, and Gisela came over, smiling at us as she brought two cups of wine. "Salve Titus Pullus,” she spoke in heavily accented but understandable Latin. “Congratulations on your promotion. Calienus told me all about it.”
I thanked her, suppressing a chuckle at how she had picked up the army habit of calling everyone by their last name, even her man.
“So,” Calienus lifted his cup in toast, which I answered, “why would I be angry with you for being promoted?”
“Because by rights it’s yours,” I replied, somewhat surprised by his attitude. When you are young it is hard, if not impossible, to look at the world through another man’s eyes, so I attributed to Calienus the same reaction that I would have had, if the situation were reversed. However, I was not Calienus, and it would be a few more years before I understood this. In answer to my response, he shook his head.
“Not if you don’t want it,” he said, taking a drink.
I was still puzzled. “Why wouldn’t you want to be promoted?” I asked, truly mystified at the idea that someone could be content with their lot in life.
“Because I’m not you, Pullus,” his tone was quiet, telling me he meant no offense. Gesturing with his head to Gisela, he continued, “I have all that I’ll ever want or need. Being made Optio means even more responsibility, and after my enlistment is done, I plan on getting out. You,” he tapped my arm, “are different. You were made for this, Pullus. You were born to be in the Legions, whether you know it or not. For me, it’s just what I do for now.”
He shrugged then finished his cup of wine, leaving me to ponder what he said. Calienus was right, at least in the sense this was something I had been born to do. I took to the Legions in the same way that a young duckling will know how to swim, or a young horse to gallop. Although I had not known it, my childhood and teenage years were merely preparation for this, and in the army I experienced a sense of belonging that I never had before. Oh, I was close to my sisters and loved them dearly, yet because of the hostility my father held towards me, he never imbued in me any sense that I was part of a family, clan or tribe. Perhaps that was because he was an outcast too, and as I have grown older I am forced to acknowledge, however grudgingly, that perhaps Lucius was merely passing on to me the only way he knew how to treat a child. I had obviously let my thoughts meander, prompting another laugh from Calienus as he signaled Gisela to bring another round, “By the gods, don’t tell me that one cup of wine robs you of your senses. I expect more out of an Optio of the 10th Legion!”
I really do not remember much more of that evening, since it was one of those relatively rare occasions where I got gloriously, roaring drunk. It was only because Calienus possessed a better head for wine than I that I did not hold the record for the shortest promotion in the Roman army, helping me get back to camp and on my cot in time for me to be counted as present for roll call. As Optio, I rated my own tent and servant, although it was a good deal smaller than the Pilus Prior’s, but it was still more room than I ever had to myself the whole time I was in the army. The servant’s name was Zeno, and Rufio warned me before he left for the 10th Cohort to watch Zeno since he had light fingers, though otherwise was competent enough.
“Just beat him every so often,” Rufio told me, “to remind him who’s the slave and who’s the master, because he has a tendency to forget.”
I nodded agreement, not wanting to betray the fact that I had never beaten a slave in my life, yet I quickly learned that Rufio was right; Zeno was an uppity little bastard, and it was not long before I had to smack him. There was a world outside mine, however, and there were events transpiring that soon enough would impinge on it, with the situation in Gaul becoming more volatile, seemingly by the day. In answer to the mounting threat, Caesar commissioned raising a new Legion, along with a dilectus to fill the ranks of the wiped out14th, as well as a special levy to help fill out the ravaged 13th, having lost half their men because of Sabinus. He also asked Pompey to surrender the Legion that he was raising as Proconsul, so that Caesar now commanded ten Legions. The new Legions would be rendered as the 15th and 16th, although there was some sentiment that it was bad luck to resurrect the 14th, that it should be named the 17th and given a fresh start. But Caesar was never much for such superstitions; the more I watched him, the more I saw that he was quick to use such beliefs when it was to his advantage, and to ignore them when it was not.
The beginning of the year in the Consulships of Gnaeus Domitius Calvinus and Valerius Massalla Rufus saw the situation in Gaul in a very serious state. The Nervii, Aduatuci, Menapii and Eburones were all in open revolt; the Senones and Carnutes were little better, although not openly rebelling. Caesar being Caesar, he decided not to wait for winter to relinquish its icy grip, and marching from Samarobriva with four Legions, quickly crossed into Nervii territory, achieving total surprise and taking many prisoners before the startled tribe members could flee for their lives, so yet again the Nervii capitulated. Spring came, with Caesar convening his now-annual meeting of the tribal chiefs, and all tribes but the Senones, Carnutes and Treveri answered the summons. Once the council was over, Caesar struck again, marching rapidly south to face the Senones, whose chief Acco was caught completely by surprise, and through the Aedui, was forced to beg Caesar for terms. Again Caesar showed his clemency, demanding that 100 hostages be delivered into the hands of the Aedui, the only Gallic tribe that to this time remained more or less constant in their faithfulness. The Carnutes soon followed in the same manner as the Senones, asking Caesar for clemency, which he granted. With these local revolts back under control, Caesar now turned his full attention to avenging the loss of our Legions on Ambiorix and the Treveri.
Even with the death of Indutiomarus, the Treveri did not stop harboring their delusions of overthrowing Rome, and they finally managed to entice some of the tribes across the Rhenus, those much farther away than any we had punished earlier, to join them in their quest. Such were the tidings from our spies and scouts, and in response, Caesar sent reinforcements to us, in the form of the 7th and 9th, along with the heavy baggage of the whole army, while Caesar took the remainder of the army up into the country of the Menapii, who still had yet to submit to Rome. The last time we tried, we were forced to turn back because of a combination of bad weather and heavy forests, but Caesar was not to be turned back twice. Once again the Menapii chose to retreat into the depths of their forest, so Caesar laid waste to every sign of inhabitation that he found, sending his army in three columns deep into their countryside, ravaging everything. When the Menapii retreated into the marshy part of their land, Caesar simply built causeways, bridging the deeper parts, all in an overwhelming show of superiority, until the Menapii were finally forced to submit. Caesar left Commius, the Gaul that came with us to Britain, behind with a force of cavalry and strict instructions that when Ambiorix came running their way, they were not to allow the Menapii to give him refuge, or else they would face the wrath of Rome in all its terrible might.
Caesar was not the only one who was busy. Once the 7th and 9th arrived, Labienus contrived a stratagem of a similar nature that we used when we killed Indutiomarus, luring the Treveri into
a battle of his choosing. Leaving five Cohorts of the 7th behind, Labienus and the rest of us marched out of our winter quarters, heading north as if to confront the Treveri. They were keen to attack the 10th when we were still alone, but the two Legions arrived before they could get organized, so the warriors withdrew to the north about 15 miles, in order to await the tribes from across the Rhenus that had agreed to come to their aid. Labienus marched us within a mile of their camp, our respective positions separated only by a tributary of the Mosa River that was steep-banked and difficult to cross. Labienus then held a council of war, to which the commanders of our Gallic cavalry were invited, where he announced that he had underestimated the strength of the enemy, was not going to risk losing two Legions and the half of another, and gave orders to march back to winter quarters the next morning. Once the meeting was over, Labienus then immediately held another meeting, with just the military Tribunes and the most senior Centurions from each Cohort, giving another set of instructions. Afterwards, the Pilus Prior subsequently called a meeting of all Centurions and Optios, to be held away from our Legion area in the vicinity of the forum. This was the first meeting of this type I was to attend, and I was extremely nervous as I approached, seeing the Pilus Prior standing in the torchlight. Keep your mouth shut Titus, I remember thinking to myself, you’re much too new to be anything but furniture at a meeting like this. I could see that there were other gatherings of a similar nature being held in the forum, small knots of men talking quietly. Standing there, I decided to move a little to the back of the small crowd, thankful that with my height I could see no matter where I was as I surveyed the faces of the men standing around the Pilus Prior. Hard men, all of them, some of them bearing scars similar to the Pilus Prior, yet all of them looking exactly what they were, professionals about to be given a job to do. I could feel a lump form in my throat as I looked with pride at the men around me, thankful at least that here in the back they could not see my moonstruck expression.
“Here’s what’s going on,” the Pilus Prior said once we were all present. “Labienus had a council of war with all of us, including the Gallic cavalry commanders.”
We nodded; this was common knowledge and was standard for operating in the vicinity of an enemy. “But he held another meeting, with just the Centurions. The Legate's counting on there being sympathizers among the Gallic cavalry, and that what he said is going to reach the ears of those Treveri cunni across the river.”
He had our full attention now, and he knew it. Smiling grimly, the scar on his face made the corner of his mouth twist downward, giving it an appropriately sinister look, “But we have a surprise waiting for them. We’re going to break camp in about a watch, except we’re going to make it look like we’re doing it in a panic. He wants to give them the impression that the only thing we have in our minds is getting out of here and back to our winter camp.”
I could see the grins of appreciation and anticipation on the other Centurions and Optios as the Pilus Prior spoke. When we learned just what the Treveri had in store for them, I could feel a smile pulling the corners of my mouth upward as well.
The next pre-dawn saw all of us rushing around, making preparations to march at first light. Because there was little more than a mile between the two camps, Labienus was banking that the word of our hasty departure was going to be relayed almost immediately by one of the Gallic cavalrymen, and he was proven right. First Cohort of the 10th was selected as rearguard, and it was barely finished with the customary torching of the camp when the Treveri came thrashing across the river, where our boys were waiting, ready for the enemy. In further preparation for this, yet completely unnoticed by the Treveri, Labienus sent the baggage train out first, with only an ala of cavalry to guard it, while our order of march was carefully arranged so that when the cornu sounded, we could quickly move from our column into line and be in our proper battle order. The banks of the river were very steep, then past that the ground sloped upwards in the direction of our camp, thereby giving us the high ground. Waiting just long enough to make sure the Treveri were fully committed, Labienus had the order sounded to deploy in line, which we were expecting, although we still had to move quickly. I think it was fortunate that things had to move so quickly that I did not have time to worry about the fact that this was my first time not actually in the ranks but as an Optio.
The job of the Optio in battle is to patrol the back of the formation, where he has three main responsibilities. In a raw Legion that has never tasted battle, the Optio is sometimes the busiest man on the battlefield as he makes sure that none of the men in his Century lose heart and turn to run. His duties are very clear; do whatever he has to in order to ensure the cohesion of his Century, whether by threats, encouragement, or beating. If none of these work, and a man still turns to run, the Optio is under orders to cut the man down and kill him before his panic infects the rest of the unit. I was thankful that I was made Optio in my own Century and Legion, where I knew all of the men and that Cerberus himself could not make one of us turn our backs to the enemy. Therefore, in this first battle I concentrated on the second job of the Optio, which is to watch the formation carefully, making sure any holes in the front line are quickly plugged. Even that was not much of a chore with a Legion as experienced as we were by that time. Finally, the last job of the Optio is to keep an eye on the Centurion, and take his place as rapidly as possible should he fall. Being a Centurion is a risky business; that has not changed since the days of Cincinnatus, and it is the only reason why any of us with more ambition have a reasonable hope that we might one day attain that prestigious rank. Of course, while it was not something that I dwelled on, it was not lost on me that I was aspiring to attain the very post that was only open to me because so many men in that position were cut down. However, I think all of us who strive to attain the rank of Centurion harbor the secret belief that we are the only one out of all the people in the history of the world who might truly be immortal, being one of those lucky few who actually make it to the rank of Centurion and live to be my age. I now know that I am most certainly not immortal, as I also know just how much luck played a role in my story. However, I like to think that my skill in battle, and my love of the army life had something to do with it as well.
On cue, the cornu blast sounded the signal that we were waiting for, whereupon we immediately moved from column into line, facing the river near the top of the slope. The surprise was complete; almost before any of the Treveri could react, we went from an army marching away with our tail tucked between our legs to a solid line of veterans, staring out over our shield into the astonished faces of the enemy. A prudent commander would have realized that he had been duped, but the passion of the Gauls was strong enough to overrule any sense of caution, so instead of beating a retreat across the river, they chose to come on. It was understandable in a sense; because of the steepness of the banks along the river, even on foot we would have been on the rear of their army as they struggled back up them. They would incur heavy losses most probably, but still the Treveri would have an army at the end of the day. Once all but a few stragglers were across to our side river, with the main force coming into range, the orders rang out to launch our javelins. Our first volley flew into the front rank of horsemen, felling dozens of them, both man and beast and causing havoc. Immediately after the second volley, the command for the countercharge was sounded, and with a roar we bounded down the slope to slam into the now thoroughly disorganized and demoralized Treveri. I went bounding along with the rest of the Century, and because I was unencumbered by a shield, before I knew it my long legs outstripped the rest of my friends, the fact of which I was completely oblivious to until I heard the Pilus Prior’s voice.
“Pullus, you idiot! You’re too far in front! Get back where you belong!”
It was only then that I realized that I was well out in front of my Century, and glancing quickly around, saw that I was in effect leading our whole Legion. We were just a couple dozen paces away from the en
emy when I came to a skidding halt, my face more red from embarrassment than any exertion. The Century went rolling past me, and I heard more than one remark thrown over my friends’ shoulders as they slammed into the enemy. The Pilus Prior went by me without a word, his eyes fixed on the impending collision, though I knew that there would be a talk after this was over. Shaking off my embarrassment, I turned to concentrate on what I was supposed to be doing.
This battle was very short, with not a man on our side lost, while the same cannot be said for the Treveri. They were cut down like wheat in the field, most of them as they were finishing their scramble up the banks of the river, and the slaughter was so great that one could almost literally walk across the river on the bodies of the dead without ever touching water. The river, both at the site of the killing and for a few hundred paces downstream was solid red, as if that were its natural color. We did not pursue the Treveri very deeply into the woods on the other side of the water, still wary of the dangers posed to an army that fought in our fashion in the close confines of a forest, yet even without that pursuit, we killed several thousand of the enemy. Labienus sounded the recall, we re-formed to march back to our former places in the column, picked up our gear and began the march back to our winter quarters, our spirits buoyant at the easy victory.