Marching With Caesar – Civil War mwc-2

by R. W. Peake

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  It is easy to say, looking back, that Caesar made a mistake when he placed the men of the 9th in the most vulnerable point in our defenses. They were, after all, still unhappy about their overdue discharges, a fact that the two traitors clearly communicated to Pompey, making it a question of whether they would fight hard. Coupled with the nature of the attack, coming at dawn when one Cohort was relieving the other guarding the westernmost redoubt, the two Cohorts were quickly surrounded. However, they were only acting as the bait for the rest of the Legion. Their Legate, a patrician named Marcellinus, was a sick man and confined to bed at the time of the attack, but he roused himself to assemble the rest of the Legion, save for two Centuries left behind to guard the camp. This was precisely what Pompey wanted, since even with these reinforcements he outnumbered our men by ten to one at the point of the assault.

  Dawn found us running to the ramparts at the alarm being passed from fort to fort. The 10th was several redoubts away, about midway in the line of defenses, so we knew it was unlikely that we would be called on, but Crastinus still gave the order for the men to make ready and assemble in the forum of the fort. I could not tell what was happening, but we knew something big was taking place, with mounted couriers seen galloping over the ground between the two trenches, carrying word to Caesar of the attack. In the growing light, I could just make out the sails of the transports that carried the Pompeian assault force, but truthfully, I was not overly concerned. I could see that Pompey had committed a large number of men, who at this distance looked like a swarm of ants pouring into the interior trench, yet I did not think that they would pose a threat to our whole position. The Pompeians would have to fight up both trenches, and despite it appearing that they were getting the best of the 9th, they still had a number of redoubts manned with Caesar’s veterans before they got close to us. To say they were getting the better of the 9th would be an understatement; in the First Cohort, one of the Cohorts performing the relief, five out of the six Centurions were killed, including their Primus Pilus, who died protecting the eagle of the Legion. When the two Cohorts were pushed back, they ran into the first of the Cohorts rushing to relieve them, creating a panic, since by this point the men who bore the initial onslaught were only concerned with getting away from their attackers, running across the open ground between the two trenches to do so. Of course, this was the most direct route to the rear, meaning that the reinforcements were blocking their way and the resulting confusion as the two forces collided made things even easier for the Pompeians. Nevertheless, the men of the 9th managed to delay Pompey long enough for Antonius to assemble a mixed force of about 12 Cohorts of the 7th and 8th, and they hurried to reach Marcellinus’ camp before the Pompeians.

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  The Pompeians began the assault on Marcellinus’ camp itself just as Antonius and his force arrived, and despite Antonius being unable to prevent the Pompeians from taking the camp, he was able to stop the Pompeian advance from going any further. Caesar had assembled his own force consisting of another 12 or 13 Cohorts, but again we were not involved, instead being ordered to remain at our station to keep an eye out for any other tricks that Pompey had planned for us. And Pompey did indeed have some more in his bag; even while we watched, he set part of his force to the task of building a camp on the outside of our lines, which would effectively end our blockade. At the same time, yet another force of Legion size marched in our general direction, taking position on the hill that the 9th had been forced to vacate. In one stroke, Pompey ended the blockade, and if this position on the hill remained, he would have a force effectively in our rear, able to strike us and disrupt our supply. Even more than the new camp near the sea to the south of our lines, this position was exceptionally dangerous to our campaign, a fact that Caesar recognized immediately. Now that the attack on the southern end of our lines was contained, he took the men of the 7th, and 8th, along with the survivors of the 9th, marching them through the trench to a point near the hill, leaving behind two Cohorts to keep those Pompeians occupied. The Pompeians on the hill turned out to be the bastards of the 24th who defected to Pompey when Antonius’ brother had botched his operation in Illyria. Despite it being a green Legion, they possessed an advantage in that the 9th had done a fair amount of work in fortifying the hill before they were repulsed, so dislodging them was not a given under the circumstances. There was no choice in the matter; the Pompeians could not be allowed to remain on that hill, therefore Caesar sent everything he had in an assault. Dividing his force into two columns, he sent one swinging around to the eastern side of the camp, and the other marching past it to come down from the northern side. I cannot help think that things might have been different if Caesar had called on the 10th instead of using the boys in the other Spanish Legions, who not only had already done some hard fighting, but had taken some casualties and were ill-used. However, that is just an old man and his pride talking, and it does not really matter. Caesar led the left column that attacked from the east, assaulting the gate and forcing entry into the camp. Unfortunately, the right column got confused by a trench that the Pompeians had added when they first took the camp, designed to give them access to the nearby river, thinking that it was the rampart of the camp. Following the dirt wall to look for the gate to the camp, they only realized their mistake when they reached the stream itself. Deciding to cross the trench at that point rather than backtrack, they tore down the wall, filling in the trench with it before crossing over. The second column was now well north of the camp by several hundred paces, and began to march towards it.

  Pompey was warned of the attack on the camp on the hill and in consequence, he immediately suspended work on the camp to the south of our lines in order to lead a force of five Legions along with a strong contingent of cavalry to relieve the defenders. The cavalry moved quickly, sweeping north parallel to the sea before turning to the east to strike down on the right column, which itself had a small contingent of cavalry to act as a screen. The Pompeian cavalrymen made short work of our own cavalry screen, all of whom turned and ran like rabbits, making for the narrow breach where the 9th men had filled in the ditch. Naturally, there was not enough room for so many men and horses at the same time, with chaos ensuing as men abandoned their horses to jump into the ditch in their haste to escape. Panic infected the Legionaries of the right column as well, now more mindful of the cavalry threatening their rear than their duty, and they began running after our cavalry, compounding the problem at the ditch. Horses were milling about, some riderless and some still with their riders aboard trying desperately to make good their own escape. Once the Legionaries arrived on the scene, they began pushing into the already packed mass of man and horse, many of them trampled to death by their own comrades coming up from behind.

  Meanwhile, in the camp, Caesar had pushed the Pompeians all the way to the rear gate, where the Pompeians were preparing to make their last stand, knowing that because of their treachery they would not be given any quarter. It was at this point they saw the five Legions coming to their rescue, giving them heart to continue the fight. Launching a spirited attack, the combination of this Pompeian counterattack and the sight of their own comrades fleeing the field took what little fight our men had left, and they immediately began to turn and run for the gate through which they had entered. Running like that was shameful enough, but when Caesar tried to stop them, taking hold of one of the standards in an attempt to rally them, the signifer holding the standard tried to stab Caesar with it, so panic-stricken was he that he would have struck down his own general. Only Caesar’s German bodyguards saved him, cutting the signifer down then forming a barrier around Caesar as the men ran for their lives past him. In one stroke, Pompey had put himself in a position to end this war, along with ending Caesar’s life and career right then. Fortunately, the gods were still looking out for our general.

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  To my dying day, I will never understand why Pompey did not finish Caesar off at that point, b
ut I have thanked the gods many times, sacrificing a small herd of goats and lambs in offerings to them for stopping Pompey. Caesar’s force was completely routed, running for their lives and unwilling or unable to offer any resistance to even a half-hearted effort by Pompey to overwhelm and take Caesar, dead or alive. Yet as unprepared as Caesar may have been for defeat, Pompey was at least as unprepared for victory. Seeing the men of Caesar’s army running for their lives, Pompey refused to believe that it was anything but a ruse on the part of Caesar. Accordingly, he stayed put, not ordering any kind of pursuit of Caesar or his Legions as they fled for their lives. Instead, his men stopped the chase to begin celebrating their victory, hailing Pompey as Imperator and offering him a grass crown, which he refused to accept because his victory was against other Romans. That did not stop him from sending word back to Rome that he had crushed Caesar and that the war was all but over. For our part, while we were far from defeated, the mood was somber to say the least, especially once the final butcher’s bill was presented. The toll was grim; 32 Centurions, 960 Gregarii, and 200 cavalry were either killed, badly wounded and could no longer serve, or captured. The fate of the captured was especially bitter because they fell into the hands of Labienus, who showed them no mercy, having every one executed, but not until he paraded them in front of the jeering Pompeians and scorned them for running away. Even more bitter was the loss of 32 standards, even though no eagles were lost, but now Caesar was faced with the ruin of all his plans unless he did something, and as usual he did not wait long to make a decision. That very night a courier arrived at our redoubt, relaying orders for us to assemble near the former camp of Marcellinus, now occupied by the enemy, at daybreak the next morning. Leaving behind a Century to guard the redoubt, we marched to the designated point, discovering that the entire army was assembled to hear Caesar’s plans for us. It did not take long for us to settle down, since we were all anxious to hear what our immediate future held. As always, the wagering was fierce and even I, who rarely gambled, threw a few denarii down, and now we would all find out whether we had bet the right way. The 10th was in its normal place of honor, putting us near the makeshift rostrum made of a bunch of crates thrown together, and from my vantage point, I could clearly see the wear on Caesar’s face, looking drawn, tired, and even paler than normal. However, he still moved with the same sense of confidence and authority that he always displayed as he stepped up onto the rostrum, waiting a moment for us to fall silent. Then, raising his hands in the classic orator’s gesture, he began speaking, his tone pitched high, voice carrying clearly across the distance, though he still had to pause, waiting for the Centurions farther back to relay his words.

  “Comrades,” he began in his customary style, but his next words felt like a lash. “Why do you stand here looking so downcast? Why are you acting as if we are defeated? Is this the army that I have led these many years to victory after victory, that they would let one minor defeat take their courage?”

  I could feel the ripple of surprise and dismay pass through the ranks, along with some muttered exclamations.

  “Silete!”

  I could see that Primus Pilus Crastinus was genuinely angry, not just putting on a show like he normally did. “The next man to utter a word I’ll flay the skin off myself, damn you!”

  His words had the desired effect, and I was thankful that Caesar acted as if he had not heard anything and was merely waiting for his words to be repeated. Then, he continued.

  “We have conquered Gaul; we have conquered Hispania; we have conquered Italia, and we crossed through stormy seas to land here without losing one man, yet you still doubt that I am unable to overcome even such a slight setback? I have done all that a general can do to ensure our success.”

  He paused, and I sensed that there was more to it than just waiting for his words to be relayed, and the moment he began speaking again, I knew I was right because his voice became harsh.

  “It was not me who turned and ran; it was not me who turned on his general and threatened his very life!”

  This was the first I had heard of what took place the day before, and I shot a glance at Crastinus, who looked as puzzled as I did, but there were men who obviously knew what he was talking about, because the character of the murmuring was different. To my ears, they sounded ashamed and Caesar glared over my head in the direction of where the men of the 8th and 9th were assembled. For several seconds after the Centurions relayed his last words, Caesar said nothing, instead just maintaining his scowl and glaring at the men who had turned on him. Finally, his expression softened, and his tone became, if not conciliatory, at least softer.

  “But what is past cannot be undone, and as you and my enemies know, I am not one to bear a grudge. And the service you have rendered me in the past outweighs this one lapse in your duty to me. In truth, it matters not whether this setback was due to a lack of fortitude on your part, or if it is simply a matter that the gods did not favor us this day. What does matter is that I, your general, will not allow this to stop us from achieving our goal.”

  There was an audible sigh of relief while we waited for his next words, but as quickly as it came, the sense of having escaped further punishment blew away like smoke before a strong wind. “However, while I can forgive your lapse in your duty, I cannot forgive the loss of so many standards. Therefore, I now call on the signifer for each Century and Cohort that surrendered their standards to the enemy to step forward and receive punishment.”

  There was another commotion as the men Caesar had named made their way to the front of the formation. Some of them came, if not willingly, at least on their own power. Others among them had to be shoved forward by their comrades, and I felt my lips curl in contempt at the naked fear shown by some of the men. These were veterans, acting like they were raw tirones, quaking in fear as they stood at some semblance of intente in front of Caesar. Is this what happens when a man finally loses his nerve, I wondered, and I was troubled by a fleeting thought that if it happened to men charged with carrying the standard, it could happen to anyone. Immediately, I dismissed the idea from my mind and turned my attention back to the rostrum, where Caesar stared down at the miserable specimens in front of him.

  “You have failed in your duty, not just to your general, but to them.” He swept his arm over the rest of the army. “Your comrades, men you have marched with for many years. And it is your failure to them that I must punish, not your failure to your general. I hereby reduce you all to Gregarius, and sentence you to 60 days on barley and water. I further order that each of you be given ten lashes, which I will suspend for the time being until such time as I deem appropriate. You are dismissed.”

  The humiliated men turned stiffly about, marching on unsteady legs back to their respective Centuries to take their place in the ranks. After they had resumed their spots, Caesar turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

  “Now, my comrades, we must move on to the next phase of this campaign. This position is no longer tenable, and I have decided that we must move to a new position. .”

  “Nooooooooooo!”

  “Caesar, do not shame us this way! Let us stay and fight!”

  The roar of protest swelled as Caesar stood, listening impassively to the men shouting at him to let them fight. He listened for a moment, then lifted his hand, but it took the Centurions a moment to quiet the men down before he continued.

  “I understand your feelings, my comrades. Believe me, I do. We are leaving many of our friends behind; their blood has soaked this ground. But my responsibility is to put this army in the best position to win, and that is what I must do now by moving the army to a better location. I ask you to show the same zeal that you are displaying now in preparing to move. And I swear to you on Jupiter’s Stone that you will have the opportunity to avenge your fallen comrades!”

  The last words of Caesar were drowned out by the roar of the army, and he let us carry on for several moments before he silenced us with another wave.

&nbs
p; “Centurions, you will receive your orders by the end of the day. Prepare your men to move out. That is all.”