Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  While we rested, Caesar made his way to the small camp to check on the situation there, and it was when he was there he saw that finally, Vercingetorix made a mistake. Like Caesar, the Gaul recognized that the saddle between the plateau on which the town sat and another set of hills to the west was of strategic importance, because it offered the only route that could safely be traveled by mules, thereby making it the main avenue for supplies. However, because he recognized its importance, Vercingetorix chose to concentrate his forces, and to do so, he abandoned the hill nearest the second camp that overlooked the beginning of the area of the saddle. Vercingetorix pulled his men and positioned them to defend the most practicable approach, located on the west side of the clump of hills across the saddle from Gergovia. If we could gain the height of the hill they abandoned, we would in effect be on the flank of the Gauls, almost directly behind the defenses that they were erecting to block the expected line of attack. It was from this that Caesar formed his plan, and he hurried back to the main camp to put it into action. We were about to assault Gergovia, and suffer the first taste of defeat that most of us had experienced.

  The plan was to convince Vercingetorix that he had made the right choice, that it was indeed the western slope of the hills that we were going to attack. To that end, at the beginning of third watch at midnight, Caesar sent the cavalry out, not with any stealth but with the exact opposite affect, ordering them to make a great show of leaving the camp. The move was designed to be so obvious that even in the gloom, Vercingetorix’s sentries would spot the movements and alert him. Once dawn broke, another mounted contingent left the camp, and despite looking like cavalry, they were anything but mounted troops. Using the mule drivers and giving them helmets from stores as well as from the dead, and accompanied by some real cavalry, this group made another great show of leaving camp, following the path of the river west, acting like they were going to swing around to support the expected assault from that direction. Reaching a spot about four miles downriver where there was a large forest that reached to the banks of the river, they hid there. Following shortly were the men of the 14th, again making no attempt to hide their intentions and traversing the same route that the false cavalry took a short time before, coming to a halt in the same woods. The original cavalry force that was dispatched at midnight had by this time ridden even further to the west than the spot where the other two units were hiding. During this activity, we were ordered to make for the small camp, by way of the trench, with strict orders to keep the standards or eagles below the lip of the trench, and to move in complete silence. This we did, covering the ground quickly but then we stopped just short of the camp, not wanting our numbers in the small camp to suddenly and mysteriously increase. Caesar had by this time returned to the small camp himself, from where he would direct operations. The 10,000 Aedui were left in the large camp, but they had a part to play in this drama as well. This was by far the most complex operation we had ever attempted, with much depending on everyone doing their part, and most importantly, everything going right. I believe it was only because Caesar put so much faith in our abilities that he was willing to gamble in this manner in the first place.

  Once the army was assembled, minus the 14th down in the woods, we were given our final orders and instructions. Much to our initial chagrin, Caesar ordered the 10th to stay in reserve, although it turned out to be a move blessed by the gods. Command of what would be the assault element was by Caesar, who would stay for the time being with the reserves, and his orders were clear; the primary goal of the operation was to separate the army of Vercingetorix from the town proper. Only if the opportunity presented itself in an open gate or some other favor of the gods was the assault to continue into the town. I very distinctly remember that Caesar placed an emphasis on the Legions not stopping to plunder the camps of the Arverni army, but instead sweep them from the area between the two walls before maneuvering into position behind the enemy army, who by now looked like they were completely convinced that an assault from the west was imminent. Supporting our belief was the fact that Vercingetorix shifted the remainder of his troops to the expected main line of resistance, urging them to improve the fortifications in anticipation of our assault. In other words, the ruse worked perfectly, and all was ready for us to spring the trap to stop that bastard here and now.

  In my mind, the only thing more fickle than Gauls are the gods themselves, which is why I have severed all ties with them now. In the beginning, Caesar’s plan worked brilliantly; on a blast from the cornu, along with the waving of Caesar’s standard that was relayed back to the main camp, the assault began just as planned. Springing from the gates of the small camp, four Legions quickly assembled in the relatively open and flat ground to the east, or to the right of the front gate as we were facing Gergovia, quickly and efficiently, a move that was practiced both in training and in battle hundreds of times. We of the 10th exited the camp as well, and were standing on the slope of the hill watching our comrades begin their march up the opposite incline. The slope rose northward before bending slightly west to form the saddle between the plateau and the hills where Vercingetorix was waiting for an assault that would never come, at least from the direction he was expecting it. Quickly, the Legions marched up the hill and with almost contemptuous ease, quickly crossed over the outer wall, knocking it over in many places as the Legionaries discovered that it was just loosely piled rock, with no mortar to hold it together. Attacking three separate camps of the enemy, the only men they found defending them were the sick, lame or lazy as we said in the army. Or in one case, the bodyguard of one of the kings of the Nitiobriges, who was forced to flee naked on his horse while his bodyguard stayed and died to buy him time. The sight of his white, puny body astride his horse galloping away gave us much cause for mirth, and I had tears streaming from my eyes as I watched him flee. Little did I know that before this day was through I would be crying again, if for different reasons.

  I cannot say exactly what went wrong, or where it went wrong, although I have my suspicions. Oh, the reason things went sour in a hurry was clear enough; once they swept through the camps, Caesar ordered the cornu to sound the recall, apparently so that the Legions would re-form back up to face the inevitable counterattack from Vercingetorix once he was aware that there was a Roman army in his rear, except I do not think that is where things went bad. To my dying breath, I believe that the men in the assault element heard the recall, but chose to ignore it. Instead, they were pushed on by Centurions like a man named Lucius Favius, who apparently was on the sick list when Avaricum was sacked and therefore did not receive any share of the spoils. This day, the initial success was so easy and so overwhelming that he convinced the men of his Century to continue to the walls of the town proper, his goal being getting into the town first to grab his share of loot. Once a Century moved in that direction, the others, not wanting to miss out on the chance of spoils, were quick to follow. Before any orders could be given or relayed, the whole army was charging toward the walls of the town. The first Century to arrive naturally was that of Favius, who was boosted onto the walls by his men, whereupon he immediately pulled some of them up to the parapet. Elsewhere along the walls of the town, we could see women beseeching the Romans not to enter, some of them even throwing themselves down to the men to be ravished by them in a vain attempt to assuage their lust. I cannot speak of their fates, but I think it sufficient to say that I hope that any man left alive who was part of what happened suffers nights of tormented sleep because of it. Initially, everything was going our way, while the sight of Romans at the walls of the town created a panic among the townspeople and the garrison of the town. Even the Legion designated to fortify the hill vacated by Vercingetorix, the main objective of this operation, now looked and saw what appeared to be a town falling under our arms. Dropping what they were doing, they hurried to join their comrades, who were now at the base of the town wall trying to help each other get up and over it. Then, the tide began to turn as the peopl
e within the town started to realize that as formidable as our army was, what faced them was only a fraction of it, and besides that, our men were still vastly outnumbered by the Gauls on the other side of the wall. Within moments, the fighting became fierce, with more defenders appearing in answer to the cries of the women and children, while some of the women were brandishing their babies in front of their defenders in an obvious attempt to convince them to repel our men at the walls.

  I will say that the Gallic warriors did not take much convincing, and almost before we could realize exactly what was happening, our army was in trouble. Caesar sent orders for the Tribune Sextius, left behind in the second camp with five Cohorts of the 13th on guard, to bring the men out to form a line farther down the slope than where we were presently standing. Their directions were to wait and pounce on the right flank of the enemy if they began to pursue our army at the walls, who at that very moment were beginning to take steps backward. Following Caesar, the 10th moved down the slope to perhaps 100 paces from the outer wall, while he waited further developments. One Century was at one of the town gates, their Centurion leading an attempt to tear it down when he was overwhelmed by a counterattack of the enemy. Surrounded by Gauls the Centurion, Petronius was his name, fought savagely to keep the enemy at bay while ordering his Century to retreat. At first they refused, but finally they withdrew down the hill, leaving Petronius behind to die a glorious death, taking as many of the Gauls with him as he could. As this was going on, Caesar moved us into a position that was almost perpendicular to the outer wall, in the anticipation of being able to descend on the flank of the enemy should our men turn back, and the Gauls decided to pursue. Our men at the wall were engaged in a ferocious battle, as now the final trick the gods held in store for us came into play. Looking to their right, to the east, our men saw the Aedui column ascending the hill in their own diversionary attack. I believe with all of my heart that, had the men at the wall not been so hard pressed, they would have had the presence of mind to remember that this could only be the Aedui launching their assault and were in fact part of our force. Unfortunately, in their embattled state, with every man fighting for his life, what they saw was another Gallic army heading more or less in their direction, and this was enough to break the dam and release the flood.

  Our men, beginning with those on the right nearest to the advance of the misidentified Aedui, turned and began running down the slope, triggering an effect much like a cascade, with each successive Century either sensing or seeing the Century to their right suddenly turning and running. Caesar was rapidly marching us east now, to a small rise that served as the outer edge of the rest of the army’s retreat. Using faultless logic, he quickly determined that fleeing men will automatically take the easiest escape route available, and would therefore not bother with running up the side of a hill, however small, if there was a way to avoid it. The configuration of the slope was such that it served to act as a funnel between two small rises, just bumps really, but it was between those bumps that the vast majority of our army headed. The 10th was on the small hill on the eastern side, still facing perpendicular to the outer wall, with Sextius and his five Cohorts opposite us on the other. The Gauls, seeing the backs of a Roman army for the first time in their lives were in hot pursuit, the troops of Vercingetorix, by this point alerted to what was happening in their rear, now leading the chase. Like an avalanche, our army went streaming down the slope, heading for a clear and level area where they could form up again, except if we and the men of the 13th did not stop the pursuit of Vercingetorix’s men, they would have no chance to regroup. It was of the utmost importance that we stop the enemy’s headlong pursuit, so to that end, we arrayed ourselves in a single line of Centuries to give all of us a chance to assault them as they went running by. The enemy came closer and closer, not seeming to notice us standing on the slopes of the small hill, so intent were they on the destruction of the other Legions.

  “Prepare Javelins!”

  The familiar command rang out and as one, we pulled our arms back.

  “Release!”

  Like an invisible hand, our first volley knocked men down, those being struck crashing into the man next to them, slowing the headlong pursuit for a moment. However, the momentum built up by some 30,000 men running downhill, trying to finish the first victory against Rome which any of them had ever been part of, was more than enough to restart them almost immediately. A second volley followed, but while the momentum slowed again, it did not stop.

  “Draw swords!”

  Then a heartbeat later, “Porro!”

  Then we were on them, using the advantage of the slope to help build our own momentum, and I went roaring down the hill to smash into a Gaul who wore a look of extreme surprise on his face, reveling in the feel of my blade sinking deep into his gut. Giving a twist before I withdrew, I left the man screaming in agony from being disemboweled in my wake. Wading into the mass of Gauls, they were just beginning to realize the threat to their flank and stopping their pursuit to face us, but not before I killed two more men. Completely forgetting my responsibilities as Optio, I was once more a Gregarius concerned with nothing more than killing the man in front of me, and I roared my delight and joy at being set free to do what I knew best. My Gallic blade made a distinctively different sound when it clashed against another blade, one that seemed to me to be a note of the most wonderful music, and I reveled in the song as I thrust, parried and hacked my way through the enemy. It did not matter to me whether or not they carried sword or spear, whether they held a shield or had mail armor like mine. All it meant was that the manner in which I killed each of them was slightly different. What mattered was that they faced death, and that I was victorious. There is something intoxicating about imposing your will on another man, to the point where you take their lives from them at your whim. Perhaps it is evil, or wrong, but I would merely ask, how could something that is evil feel so wonderful? Everywhere around me similar contests raged, and the Gauls started to reel back from our onslaught. I was vaguely aware that barely 200 or 300 paces away, our comrades of the 13th were meting out the same type of destruction, and it was between these two inexorable forces that the Gauls found themselves. Under such intense pressure, it was not long before the first Gaul, a man once flushed with victory, bursting with the idea that at long last they had defeated a Roman army, now found himself taking that first, inevitable step backwards. What I knew at that point, and it was all that I knew, was that my blade was singing a song, and I wanted it to continue. Step forward, wait for them to make the first move, parry it, then strike quickly. First position, despite it being awkward without a shield and feeling slightly ridiculous offering nothing in defense but my left arm, yet it never ceased to amaze me how one’s opponent would always lunge to make that first strike, even if it was only my left arm. Twice a Gaul hit their mark, albeit with glancing blows, so my arm was now covered in blood as I held it out like an offering to the gods, daring my next opponent to strike it. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was all over. One instant I was surrounded by snarling Gauls, the next they were moving back up the hill, with a considerable number of bodies heaped in front of us. Standing there for a moment, panting for breath, my right arm began shaking from the effort and my left started to burn, the by now-familiar feeling that liquid fire had been poured in a couple of lines along my forearm. I remember thinking to myself after inspecting my left arm that I was going to need stitches and that my arm was getting increasingly scarred, yet before I could spend too much time on such notions, the Pilus Prior’s voice penetrated through my fog.

  “Pullus! Get me a butcher’s bill immediately.” Automatically I answered, my mind struggling with what needed to be done next.

  Ah yes, I thought, the butcher’s bill, the list of casualties, dead and wounded. I remember thinking to myself that it should not be a very long list; I had fought in enough battles to sense how hard the fighting was on our side, and this one was going to be fairly light. And it was, i
n a manner of speaking. In other ways, however, it was one of the most costly battles we ever fought.

  Moving among the Century, I asked each Sergeant for their list of dead and wounded, and as I thought, the list was very short. It was only as we were forming up that I noticed a spot missing in the formation, my heart resuming its hammering in my chest at the sight of the empty place. Our wounded were already carried off, and I was sure I had an accurate count of them; only four men were wounded severely enough to need a litter. I began moving along the line where our Century had been fighting, but it was only after I moved some bodies of Gallic dead, along with one wounded Gaul who I finished off, that I found him. Calienus was already dead; his eyes staring openly at the sky, a gash across his throat making it look like he had an extra mouth. I have mentioned before the problem with the Gallic long sword, that it is a slashing weapon, not a stabbing weapon, and being such it means that there are relatively few spots where a slash can kill instantly. Somehow, an either incredibly skilled or incredibly lucky Gaul found his mark, and now Calienus was dead. Beloved Calienus, my first Sergeant and a good friend, a man who had been through so many battles and skirmishes that I could not count, had somehow been slain. Without thinking, and in truth without much caring, I let out a cry of anguish while falling to my knees. My tentmates, hearing me, broke formation to come rushing to my side and when they saw who was lying there, joined me in our moment of anguish. I felt tears running down my face, except for some reason I was unashamed of them at this moment, perhaps because I was not alone, as I looked up to see both Scribonius and Vibius across from me, their faces marked by the anguish I felt. Even Didius knelt beside us, his tears mingling with the rest of ours in our grief at the loss of this man, this veteran who was our first and best friend when we were tirones, raw youth with nothing more than a dream of being a Legionary. It was Calienus who took the time to explain the reasons for some of the things we were forced to do, who commiserated with us when we needed commiseration, and had been harsh with us when we needed that. Now, he was dead, and I was stunned to find how much it actually hurt.