by R. W. Peake
Caesar, and by extension, the army was in a difficult situation, to put it mildly. If he ordered his army to come to him, we would have to march south while facing a vastly numerically superior force without him at our head. This was a prospect that none of us looked forward to, even men like Vibius. I know that the conduct of Labienus during this period was called into question by some, and despite the fact I think that he is a catamite who will be dining on his own blood along with all the other traitors to Caesar, I happen to know that his inactivity was enforced by Caesar himself. Events were happening much more rapidly than anyone could safely keep track of, and as much as Caesar trusted Labienus, he did not want to expose even a part of his army to such a fluid situation. One day we would march out of the gates thinking that we were going to subdue one tribe, only to face five that had decided to join together. Compounding our own difficulties was the fact that Drappes, a chief of the Senones, managed to muster a sizable band of cutthroats and bandits who preyed on the convoys that kept us in Agedincum fed. He was not always successful, yet he caused enough of a disruption to threaten the supply line should we go on the march. Therefore, we sat tight, watching events unfold, knowing that the eagles would be marching soon enough. Of course, the detractors of Caesar did not hesitate to grumble about his seeming inaction, and Vibius was one of the loudest, at least in my circle of friends.
“What’s he waiting for?” Vibius complained one evening when I came to spend time at their fire.
These were the times I missed most of all, but I could not be seen to favor one tent section over another, even if it was the one I came from. To counter any accusations of favoritism I worked out a system where I rotated spending time with each section a few moments every evening before trudging back to my tent and Zeno, who was always waiting to hand me reports to be filled out.
“He’s waiting until he can safely rejoin us,” I was a bit surprised that it was not I who uttered these words but Scribonius. Soon enough it became clear that Scribonius had taken on the role of defender of Caesar now that I was gone.
“More likely he’s waiting so that their army is so huge that when we beat them, he gets more glory,” Vibius grumbled, poking at the fire with a stick, causing sparks to fly in every direction and drawing the curses of his friends as they frantically beat out the embers before they caught something flammable. Ignoring this, Vibius continued, “It just doesn’t make any sense, keeping us in camp while all around us the world is falling to cac.”
I watched as Scribonius thought a moment and replied, “While I agree that it doesn’t seem to make sense, I also know that there are things going on that we don’t know anything about. I think that of all men, Caesar has earned our trust.”
There was a chorus of agreement from everyone, with one exception, who scowled at everyone in turn. “You’re a bunch of old women,” Vibius fumed, “Caesar isn’t a god, he’s a mortal man, and mortal men make mistakes.”
“Mortal he may be,” Scribonius shot back, “but mistakes? He doesn’t make many, and the few that he does make he turns to our advantage quick enough that we’ve never suffered permanent damage.” This was met by another round of agreement, but Vibius was still not convinced. Sighing as I turned and left, I remember thinking wryly to myself that there were worse things than paperwork.
To increase the pressure on us, Lucterus took his new army and began to advance in the direction of Narbo, the city that was our home for two years. To counteract this move, Caesar traveled quickly to the city, drawing levies of troops from the retired Legionaries in the region and placing them at strategic points in the surrounding area, while also ordering a dilectus for fresh auxiliary troops. That arm of the army had gradually grown over the years in Gaul so that they alone numbered some 10,000 men. Leading about 2,000 such men, Caesar once more demonstrated why he was so respected and feared. Without waiting for the snows to fully melt from the passes, he marched through the mountains to descend into the lands of the Arverni, even as Vercingetorix and his army were more than 100 miles away consolidating their gains and training his army in the lands of the Bituriges. Now the tables were turned, with Vercingetorix the one who was threatened, prompting the Arverni among his army to beg him to turn around and head back to their homelands, knowing that Caesar would lay waste to it. This was exactly what Caesar wanted him to do, because it would clear the way for Caesar to circle around and join the Legions. Having his own spies letting it be known that he was not leaving the army but going to perform another dilectus to raise more cavalry forces, Caesar left Decimus Brutus in charge of the auxiliary force as they burned and pillaged everything within sight, while Caesar made great haste to Vienne, where the 7th and 12th were stationed for the winter. Vercingetorix was caught flatfooted by Caesar’s strike, but to his credit, he knew that he could not afford to worry about mistakes made in the past, so immediately he began to move his army again, this time choosing to fall on the town of Gorgobina.
Vercingetorix was now moving north to Gorgobina from his home territory, scattering our auxiliary forces and cavalry under Brutus, who escaped destruction by retreating back into the Province proper, where they were now guarding Narbo. Meanwhile, Caesar was moving from Vienne to where we were quartered at Agedincum. Picking up all of us in the Spanish Legions and leaving the 15th and 16th behind in Agedincum, we began to march south to confront Vercingetorix. By besieging Gorgobina, the young Gaul put us in a bit of a dilemma; with passions running so high and open rebellion happening all around us, Caesar could not afford to let Vercingetorix have at Gorgobina unchallenged. Early in the first year of the campaign I believe it was, Caesar ceded control of Gorgobina to the Aedui, and it was the Aedui more than any other tribe that we relied on for our supply of grain. To leave Gorgobina to its fate would send a message that being an ally of Rome and of Caesar did not mean much. On the other hand, the people of Rome, and more to the point, the Roman citizens who lived in the region were demanding vengeance for the massacre at Cenabum. In typical fashion, Caesar contrived to kill two birds with one stone. Marching on Gorgobina, we went first by way of Vellaunodunum, a Senones stronghold a hard day’s march to the west of Agedincum, where we reduced the fortress in three days with a quick assault once we prepared our siegeworks and affected a breach. Caesar’s purpose in taking Vellaunodunum was to ensure there was no enemy in our rear to threaten our supply line. After taking this town and leaving it in the hands of Gaius Trebonius and Cohorts of the 14th Legion, we turned to continue the march west to Cenabum, still in the hands of the enemy. Making it to the city walls in another two hard days of marching, despite having to travel through the huge forest that lies between the two towns, we nevertheless arrived too late to begin preparing a siege. The major feature of Cenabum is the bridge that spans the Liger River, the northern end of which is directly against the city walls, the town being built right up to the river. Catching the Carnutes by surprise, it was obvious that they expected Vellaunodunum to hold out longer than it did. Despite a show of defiance from the men lining the walls, the Carnutes decided that the best course of action was to try sneaking out over the bridge at night to flee south to join with Vercingetorix at Gorgobina. Caesar was ready for this, placing ourselves and the 8th on alert, holding us actually outside the camp, with only our sagum to protect us from the night chill. However, we were rewarded for our hardship.
Around the beginning of the third watch, close to midnight, our sentries reported that the gates to the town were opened, with people beginning to stream across the bridge. Instantly, the bucina sounded and the 8th, positioned on the far side of the bridge along with ourselves, leapt up and with a great roar went pounding across the bridge towards the gates. Before the Carnutes knew what was on them, we seized the gateway, then to make sure that the huge doors could not be shut, set fire to them. The flames caught rapidly, providing a lurid light as we slaughtered anyone trying to escape across the bridge. Within moments, our cavalry ran down those who were the first across the bridg
e and had managed to cover a little distance, while Caesar appeared among us to issue further orders.
I saw him standing there in front of us, framed by the light of the burning gates, announcing in his parade ground voice as he gestured to the town, “Comrades! I told you that you would not suffer the hardships of a cold night outside in vain. The town is yours!”
He may have said something more, but I could not hear it, his voice drowned out by the roar of approval from the two Legions. At this point in our time with Caesar, we were nowhere near the full strength of almost 6,000 men who answered the call for dilectus all those years before in Hispania. Both the 8th and 10th were Spanish Legions, as we were called, and the more than eight years of service and the campaigning had whittled our numbers down. The 10th was at a score shy of 4,000 effectives at this point, with my Century down to 63 men. But we were hard men, and it was these hard men that Caesar loosed on the town. I will not go into details about what transpired, gentle reader, as I have not in earlier chapters, yet it is sufficient to say that we showed the Carnutes in the town no mercy. To begin with, we had a debt to pay for the slaughter of the innocent Roman families that lived in Cenabum, and that night we more than took our revenge. All I will say is that as Optio, I was now entitled to a larger share of booty, not just of my tent section like in the past, but from the whole Century. Men like the Pilus Prior, if they survived, were entitled to a cut from the whole Cohort, and we lucky few who lived were able to retire as rich men because of it. That night went a good way towards enriching myself, and the future was bright for men like me. All I had to do was to survive long enough to make good.
We were only given that night to take our revenge; the next morning the army was crossing the bridge, heading south to relieve Gorgobina, hangovers of some of our men notwithstanding.
“By the gods, Caesar is an inhuman beast, making us march like this after a night like that,” groaned Atilius as we tramped along.
By this time I had grown accustomed to my spot on the march alongside the Century, marching with the Pilus Prior and Scaevola, but I did miss being in the ranks and being able to talk to pass the time. For his part, Atilius was less interested in the material gains to be made, or gains of the flesh for that matter, than in bowing to Bacchus, for which he was now paying with a monstrous hangover. Didius was describing in detail the attributes of one of the maidens he ravished, to the disgust of the other men marching with him. In other words, it was a normal day on campaign, and despite thinking Didius’ detailed description of events the night before distasteful, I found myself smiling. Could there be any finer thing, I thought, than to be part of a triumphant army on the march? I could not think of anything then, and even now I still cannot. The reason that my comrades found Didius’ recounting as repugnant as I did is that, or at least I like to believe, there is an unwritten rule demanding we not speak of such things. Deep down, each of us knew that there was something inherently wrong with some of the things we did, yet a man’s flesh has needs, and those needs must be satisfied. For some reason, as long as I was in the army and according to veterans who were in longer than I to that point, while it is perfectly acceptable and in fact expected to boast to your friends about sexual exploits, events like the one that transpired the night before were frowned upon, although I do not know why. Regardless of any rule, Didius was oblivious, giving graphic descriptions of the maidens he deflowered, plunging on in his tales despite the jeering of his comrades. I do not want to portray Didius as being an exception, because in fact he was not; there were a large number of men who felt no shame at what they did when taking a town, but I will say that they were not the majority. Now, in the fullness of my old age, I have to wonder if Didius at least was honest enough to admit who he was and what he did; the gods know that none of us, myself included, had done any differently than he. It was just that we did not boast about it.
Continuing to move south towards Gorgobina, once again Caesar did not want to leave an enemy in his rear, so we besieged the town of Noviodunum. More accurately, we began the siege, then very quickly a group of men came scurrying out to beg for mercy. Yet again, Caesar granted it, but only on the condition that the men of the town were disarmed, to which the elders agreed. A contingent of Centurions was designated to handle the confiscation of the weapons, and it was while this was happening that some of Vercingetorix’s cavalry appeared from the south, their appearance giving the Bituriges, the people occupying the town, the delusion that they might yet win their freedom. Suddenly, there was a mad scramble as men tried to retrieve the weapons they had already discarded in one of the designated wagons, but of all the people that a Gaul wants to trifle with, a Centurion of Caesar’s army should accordingly be the last on their list. Drawing their swords, the Centurions held the townsmen at bay, managing to withdraw safely without losing a man. The same cannot be said for Caesar’s cavalry contingent, unfortunately, consisting mostly of Gauls from the few tribes that were not in revolt, and they took heavy casualties from Vercingetorix. However, after seeing the valor of them in action against the Usipetes and Tencteri, Caesar called for some 400 Germans and it was these men he sent forth. They came sweeping onto the field, brushing aside Vercingetorix’s cavalry with contemptuous ease and minimal loss. With the situation now in hand, the Bituriges came back out of the town to finish their surrender. I can tell you that it did not set well with Caesar’s veterans that we did not put the town to the sword for their treachery, and I am one of those who disagreed with Caesar’s decision to show clemency. However, orders are orders, so they were left unmolested for the most part.
Still marching further south, we stopped to besiege the town of Avaricum, and this marked a turning point in the tactics of the Gallic chieftain. Admittedly, after a series of setbacks Vercingetorix reacted quickly to try to forestall what we believed to be the inevitable, the submission of all of Gaul to Rome. Recognizing that he could never hope to match our might, Vercingetorix instead decreed that the entire countryside must be laid to waste. The young Arverni was powerful enough of a leader that his people followed his orders, despite knowing it meant that their families would starve. Accordingly, he also decreed that even the towns must be put to the torch, and none of them defended by the warriors in his army. He was determined to make the countryside a desert, and by doing so, force Caesar to turn his immense army southward to the Province for supply, giving the Gauls their freedom. As I have said, the Gauls are an argumentative lot, so it was not an inconsequential feat to get the vast majority to follow orders to lay waste to the land. Yet there were bound to be dissenters, and in this case it was the Bituriges, who had already lost one town, while we were laying siege to another. They did not openly disobey Vercingetorix as much as ask that an exception be made, pointing to the overall wealth of Avaricum, and more importantly, its defensibility. In this at least, they were correct; the town is almost completely surrounded by extremely marshy ground, with only a narrow strip of land where the one road leading into the town is the only practicable approach. Supposedly there was a great argument, the Bituriges more or less throwing themselves on the mercy of their fellow Gauls, begging that Avaricum be the one spared. I will give them this much, it was a wealthy town, and while I normally did not much take notice of such things, Avaricum possessed a certain air of beauty about it that marked it as different from all the other towns we either marched past or destroyed. Even as this matter was being debated, the other Gallic tribes were following the orders of Vercingetorix, putting to the torch not only their fields, but their towns and homes as well. One could make one full revolution of the horizon without a pall of smoke ever leaving their line of sight, the Gauls putting more than 20 towns to the torch. However, the Bituriges prevailed, with Vercingetorix reluctantly bowing to the will of the majority, deeming that Avaricum should be defended.
Because of the nature of the ground around Avaricum, we could not effect a circumvallation in our normal manner. Setting up our camp directly on the opposite si
de of the strip of solid ground leading into the city, we began the work of preparing the ground for the siege. Because the lay of the land, it was not feasible for us to concentrate our efforts to take the town just using this narrow strip of land, since it was barely wide enough for one Legion to march across at a time, thereby negatin our superiority in numbers. This is what kept Avaricum safe from investment by any of the Gallic tribes, yet they were not the engineers we were. Caesar looked at the marshy ground, and instead of throwing up his hands then hurling us one at a time across the dry ground in a bloody assault, he simply decided to fill in the marsh at certain points. At selected spots directly across from every wall, we began the process of filling in the marsh, not just throwing dirt in, but constructing a terrace similar in construction to the ramp I described previously so that our heavy artillery and the towers we were constructing could roll safely, moving up a ramp about 80 feet high where it touched the wall. Avaricum's walls loomed some 20 feet above that, these easily being the highest and strongest that we were ever up against. The height was partly because the city sat on the top of a small hill, with very steeply sloping sides, but the walls themselves were exceptionally high. What was astonishing to us was how the Gauls could build a wall that high without it toppling over; Caesar gives a detailed description in his Commentaries, so I will not go into it in any detail other than to say that despite ourselves, we were impressed.