Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  “Salve, Centurion. Come meet your new son.”

  There are moments in one’s life that are frozen in memory, vivid pictures that can be recalled simply by closing your eyes, summoning that day to be savored, all over again. The moment I held my son is one of those. He was like any other newborn, I suppose, yet at the same time, was something I had never seen before. Even as inexperienced as I was, I could tell that he was a large baby, his weight both heavy and unbearably light at the same time. Heavy with the implication of what I was holding, a new life, one that Gisela and I created, yet less than a shield, barely more than a sword, and more fragile in some ways than either. Looking up at Gisela, shimmering there, resting against the headboard, my tears made her dance in front of me, yet even through the tears I could see her smiling at me, and I have never loved a moment, or any other human beings, as much as I loved my family at that moment.

  “His name is Vibius,” I said hoarsely, and she did not look surprised in the slightest. I walked over to her, bent down, kissed her forehead and told her, “Thank you.”

  She laughed, “You’re welcome. Now, go show Vibius his namesake.”

  I was surprised. "How did you know he was here?”

  She favored me with that half-amused, half-scornful look that it seems only women can give men they love, and retorted, “Where else would he be? I knew you couldn’t do this by yourself.”

  I did not reply; as usual, she was right. Carrying my son out of the room, I studied him, as he did the same to me. He was very pink, and very wrinkled, and he smelled horribly, but I thought he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Pushing the door open, I saw Vibius standing there, his face a mixture of happiness and what I realized was regret; by rights, this should have been he and Juno, and I should have been the one waiting. It’s funny, and cruel, how life works at times.

  “Vibius, meet your namesake. Vibius, meet your godfather.”

  And I handed him over.

  Life as a father of a newborn babe was strange, wonderful and extremely trying all at the same time. I think my relationship with my own father in an odd way played a huge role in how much I was involved in the life of young Vibius more than most fathers are, because I was bound and determined that my son would never have the kind of doubt about his father’s love that I had suffered and that I would play a part in his life and make him a man in whom I could be proud. Quite naturally, I took a fair bit of ribbing about this attitude from my friends, yet I bore it with as much good humor as I could muster. One thing that helped was that Vibius was just as doting on the babe as I was, and every day, the moment our duties permitted we would find ourselves walking quickly back to my home to listen to Gisela brag about the boy’s latest achievements. Frankly, at that point his only accomplishments concerned the prodigious amount of cac that he generated on what seemed to be a constant basis. He was a greedy little piglet as well, always hungry, a trait that Gisela laid squarely on my shoulders, which I could not deny. As pleasant as this time was, we all knew that it was just a brief pause in the gathering storm, and young Vibius was just a few weeks old when we were finally given the orders to march, joining up with the bulk of the army. The word was that we would be heading back home to Hispania, where the Pompeians Petreius and Afranius held the province with what we were told was a large and veteran army consisting of some of Pompey’s toughest Legions. To prepare ourselves, we picked up the intensity of our training, beginning with forced marches of increasing length and frequency, trying to shake off the rust of the almost two years of relative inactivity. Now that I was Pilus Prior, I had been forced to relinquish my post as training officer, but I kept up my own personal training regimen. What I could do was to make sure that the men in my Cohort were pushed as hard as they could go, and I heard many muttered imprecations aimed at me, which I took as a sign that I was doing what needed to be done. Of course, I had to deal with Celer at every turn, as he did what he could to stir up trouble among the men. He was smart about it, I will give him that; he never openly questioned my orders, instead taking on the role of the sympathetic Centurion, willing to listen to the griping and moaning of some of the men, promising them that he would do what he could to stop the excesses of my training program. Naturally, he did not speak to me once, something that only served to raise the antagonism of the men because they believed that I was refusing to alter my approach. In fairness, I doubt that I would have softened at all, but it would have been good to know that men were complaining. Meanwhile, other preparations intensified as equipment was readied. The artillery was refitted, the axles of all the wagons greased, supplies of grain and chickpeas came rumbling into the camp in a never-ending train. Caesar would eventually join us, but not until we had already moved across the Pyrenees into the eastern part of Hispania. In command of our march was Fabius, stepping into the role previously played by the traitor Labienus as Caesar’s second in command. The army was together almost two weeks before all the Centurions were called to the forum to receive orders, and they were what we had been expecting for days.

  “We march tomorrow for Hispania,” Fabius announced once we were all quiet.

  Despite knowing what was coming, a ripple of excitement still passed through the group of hard-bitten veterans. Fabius waited for the buzz of conversation to die down before continuing, but we only listened with passing attention, since it was the normal drivel that officers tell men in the ranks about glory, honor, duty and the like, and we were much too veteran a group to be taken in by such nonsense. Fortunately, Fabius was a good officer and knew to keep such blather to a minimum, understanding that we were more concerned with the practical considerations of getting our respective Cohorts prepared for movement than anything he could say. Therefore, quickly enough we were dismissed to go about our business.

  There is one event that happened before our orders to move out that I feel important to relate, and that was the retirement of the group of men who had formed the backbone of the 10th when we first enlisted. Included in this group was none other than the Primus Pilus Gaius Crastinus, their decision prompting the resulting shuffle in the ranks as men were promoted. I for one was sorry to see Crastinus go, and frankly was a bit surprised that he opted to retire, but when I talked to him, he was adamant.

  “I’ve had enough Pullus,” he insisted. “I’m ready for a little peace and quiet. Besides, I don't feel like fighting our own.”

  I laughed at the idea, but he was serious. Still, when we parted I predicted that our paths would cross again, and I was right.

  So this was the situation in those hectic days, just before the storm descended that would wrack the Republic and all its citizens for the next several years. We were marching into an uncertain future, but most of us were resigned to the idea that there would be no solution to Caesar's dilemma without blood being shed. Where some of us differed was how much of it would soak into the soil before matters were resolved, one way or the other. Men that I respected a great deal, Scribonius chiefly among them, were optimistic that perhaps after one or two battles, where the great men saw the terrible cost their ambitions would incur on the Republic and the Legions, some sort of accommodation would be reached. But as much as I respected Scribonius, I was not so inclined; I believed that only after rivers of blood were shed would either side acquiesce, and my only real hope was that it would be Caesar who prevailed. Because now it was not just myself I had to worry about; I had a family who looked to me to protect and provide for them, and it was a worrying feeling that twisted my stomach. Even as we marched away, I could feel that burden with every step I took, moving us farther away from my new family, and down a road with too many twists and turns ahead for me to easily see the end of the journey.

  Now I must stop to rest, for which poor Diocles is favoring me with a look of almost pathetic gratefulness. There is still much to relate; more marching, fighting, killing and dying to be done, and more history to be made. However, I am now an old man whose energy fades and I need my sleep so
I beg your indulgence, gentle reader. Once refreshed, I will pick up my tale again, for old I may be, but I am still Titus Pullus, Legionary of Rome, and I still have a duty to perform.

  Rank Structure for Roman Centurions

  Cohort

  First Century

  Second Century

  Third Century

  Fourth Century

  Fifth Century

  Sixth Century

  First

  Primus Pilus

  Primus Pilus Posterior

  Primus Princeps Prior

  Primus Princeps Posterior

  Primus Hastatus Prior

  Primus Hastatus Posterior

  Second

  Secundus Pilus Prior

  Secundus Pilus Posterior

  Secundus Princeps Prior

  Secundus Princeps Posterior

  Secundus Hastatus Prior

  Secundus Hastatus Posterior

  Third

  Tertius

  "

  Tertius

  "

  Tertius

  "

  Tertius

  "

  Tertius

  "

  Tertius

  "

  Fourth

  Quartus

  "

  Quartus

  "

  Quartus

  "

  Quartus

  "

  Quartus

  "

  Quartus

  "

  Fifth

  Quintus

  "

  Quintus

  "

  Quintus

  "

  Quintus

  "

  Quintus

  "

  Quintus

  "

  Sixth

  Sextus

  "

  Sextus

  "

  Sextus

  "

  Sextus

  "

  Sextus

  "

  Sextus

  "

  Seventh

  Septimus

  "

  Septimus

  "

  Septimus

  "

  Septimus

  "

  Septimus

  "

  Septimus

  "

  Eighth

  Octavus

  "

  Octavus

  "

  Octavus

  "

  Octavus

  "

  Octavus

  "

  Octavus

  "

  Ninth

  Nonus

  "

  Nonus

  "

  Nonus

  "

  Nonus

  "

  Nonus

  "

  Nonus

  "

  Tenth

  Decimus

  "

  Decimus

  "

  Decimus

  "

  Decimus

  "

  Decimus

  "

  Decimus

  "

  Glossary of Terms

  Commonly Used Terms

  Bracae- Essentially a pair of trousers, favored by Gauls and adopted by the Romans for use in cold weather.

  Cac- Unsurprisingly, this is the slang term for shit.

  Conquistore- A minor official charged with the raising of a Legion, once a dilectus was called by a Praetor, Consul or ProConsul. In the Imperial period, these positions were much sought-after because of the opportunity for enriching oneself through bribery. During Caesar's time, when the raising of Legions was much less formalized and haphazard, the position was temporary and not as lucrative.

  Dilectus- The actual call for enlistment of a Legion. During the early Republican period, Legions were enrolled for single campaign seasons, a practice that soon fell by the wayside as Rome's expansion became more aggressive. Very quickly, the term of enlistment expanded from four, to six, then ten and finally, sixteen years. Although there is no definitive evidence for when this actually began, in Marching With Caesar, the assumption is made that it starts with the first Legion raised by Gaius Julius Caesar, and that was the 10th Legion. This is because the subsequent Legions raised by Caesar, starting with the 11th Legion, were enlisted for a term of sixteen years. Also, it was almost exactly sixteen years after their formation that the 10th mutinied because their discharges were due.

  Edepol- An exclamation of surprise, used by Roman males.

  Gerrae- Similar to Edepol, but was not commonly used by the upper classes. This term is similar to the American Northeast "Get the fuck outta here".

  Gregarius- This is the shortened version of the rank Miles Gregarius, the first and lowest rank in the Roman Legion. It is akin to the modern day Private.

  Immune- An immune was a Roman Legionary with a particular skill that was deemed vital to the running of a Legion. Unlike their modern counterparts, a Roman Legion was required to be self-sufficient as much as possible, needing only the raw materials to make the implements and weaponry needed to wage war in the Roman fashion. An example of an immune would be an armorer, or a leather worker. This was a rank immediately above that of Gregarius.

  Intente- The Latin command for "Attention", the military command to assume a position of alert readiness for the following command.

  Numen- A disembodied spirit or force, numen were perhaps the most ancient supernatural form, and as such were much more simplistic and primeval.

  Paludamentum- The scarlet cloak worn by Roman commanders of at least Legate rank.

  Porro- The Latin command that signals a Legion to begin the assault.

  Praetorium- Both the headquarters tent in a Roman military camp, and the residence of the Praetor of a province. In camp, the Praetorium is the first tent erected, in the center of the camp, and all the dimensions of the camp were measured from the Praetorium.

  Probatio- The status for those who have enlisted but not yet started the training in the Legion. While a minor distinction, it was an important one, and represents the need for some sort of hold over a recruit during the period of time it took them to travel to wherever the Legion was being trained, then waiting for the training to begin. This is supposition on my part, but is based on my experience as a recruiter in the Marine Corps. Fundamentally, the reason is pretty simple; while needing to retain some sort of hold over new recruits, it wasn't very likely that they would be subjected to the harsh discipline of the Legions right away, when they were being escorted to their training camp.

  Quaestorium- Next to the Praetorium, the most important location of a Roman military camp, as it held the quartermaster. It was located next to the Praetorium.

  Salve- Common form of (formal) greeting. Equivalent of "Hello".

  Silete- Latin for silence, this is the more polite way to ask someone to be quiet.

  Tacete- The Latin equivalent of "Shut the fuck up".