by R. W. Peake
The army departed at dawn the next morning, leaving a burning camp behind to let Scipio know we were on the move. Unlike other occasions when we would try to steal a march, this time Caesar wanted Scipio to know that we were leaving, taking no measures to hide where we were headed. Thapsus was the one city that steadfastly refused to join with Caesar, and it was the main supply point and naval base of the Pompeians. More importantly, it was the last strongpoint freely allied with Scipio and the Pompeians, so the fall of the city to Caesar would spell the deathblow to the hopes of the Pompeian forces. We arrived at the end of the day, making camp before starting on a contravallation of the city the next morning. Thapsus is on the coast, on a promontory of land with a huge expanse of marshy ground a few miles south. Because of the marsh and the contour of the coast on either side of the city, there are only two overland approaches, one from the west that squeezes between the coastline and the northern edge of the marsh, and from the south, also between the sea and marsh. The area of the city and open land hemmed in by coast and marsh formed a triangle, with the city at the apex of the triangle where the coast made almost a ninety degree bend from north to west. Caesar situated our camp equidistant between the bend of the coast so that our contravallation would extend from sea to sea while our camp would be roughly in the middle. The weakness of our position was that by blocking the two approaches, we would also be hemmed in and unable to forage, so it came down to a race to see what would happen first, whether we would take Thapsus or Scipio would starve us out. In order to keep Thapsus from being reinforced, a small, fortified camp was built astride the road leading to the city from the south, manned by two Cohorts. Scipio and Juba came following behind a day later, moving cautiously, rightly fearing an ambush, but Caesar could not spare the men from our work of entrenching, though of course, the enemy did not know that. Thwarted by the small fort blocking the road, Scipio first made camp to the south, while Juba made camp next to him. Then, with Juba staying in his camp and leaving a portion of his forces with Afranius in the other, Scipio marched through that same night to the west, swinging wide around the marsh to take up a blocking position to the north. Giving his men a rest of just a full watch after they arrived in position shortly after daybreak, Scipio then had his men start on a fortified camp and series of entrenchments, putting the entire army to work. Although Scipio had effectively blocked us in, by placing his troops in a small area that had such impassable barriers on either flank so that his greater numbers were meaningless, he had also outsmarted himself, as Caesar was about to demonstrate.
~ ~ ~ ~
The bucina sounded the recall, stopping the men from working on our own contravallation, summoning us back to camp. As soon as we returned, there was another call of the horns for the senior Centurions to meet at the praetorium immediately, so I hurried over with the rest of the Pili Priores of the 10th.
As soon as everyone had arrived, Caesar wasted no time. “We're going to take advantage of Scipio’s error and attack immediately.”
This caused some comment, but we quickly quieted down as Caesar gave us our dispositions. We would be on the right with the 9th, while the 13th and 14th would be on the left, with the new Legions in the middle. The 5th was not assigned a spot, since they would line up wherever the elephants were, and we were sent to hurry our men to make them ready for battle. We had done this many times before, usually ending up standing in place for thirds of a watch, while our cavalry saw most of the action, so it was hard to get the men moving with any urgency, but judicious use of the vitus got them going. We were ready in less than a third of a watch, marching out of the camp, then forming up in acies triplex, on the right wing, the rest of the army taking its place. The cornu sounded the advance, and we stepped off, the Centurions calling out the count while the Optios at the rear of their respective Centuries kept the men in line. The army closed the distance fairly quickly, so we caught the Pompeians still working on their camp. Their bucina sounded the alarm as their men went scrambling for their weapons, followed by what appeared to be mass confusion as they went running about looking for their standard bearers. Our front line moved into position approximately 300 paces away from where the Pompeian line formed in front of their camp, where we caught the first sight of the elephants lumbering into the spot designated by Scipio.
“I thought there were only 30 of them,” Glaxus said, the worry clear in his voice. I had been thinking the same thing, but I did not want to sound bothered. As we watched more than 60 of the beasts move into position, I saw that Scipio was splitting the force into two, placing them on each wing.
“There are thirty.” I tried to make it sound lighthearted, though it was hard. “On this side, anyway.”
In fact, there were 32 of them on each wing of the Pompeian line. As soon as their disposition was seen and understood, Caesar ordered five Cohorts of the 5th to our side, where they formed up to our right, while the other half did the same on the opposite wing. The 5th got into position quickly, then the men were ready to go, as it finally became apparent that today would be different, that Scipio was done running and we were going to fight. Caesar was on Toes, riding across our front as he had done so often before, spending most of his time with the youngsters in the center, exhorting them to emulate the veterans and follow our example. The men of the 10th were ready to go, but the ground on the left wing was sufficiently broken so that it made it more difficult for the men of the 13th and 14th to get into position, so we were told to wait, which did not sit well with the men. As the moments dragged by, Caesar kept talking to the youngsters, while the men on the right, including my men, began talking more and more animatedly.
“Let’s get going. We’ve been waiting long enough,” a man called out, to which there was an immediate roar of agreement from his comrades.
I turned about to glare at the men, but it did not seem to have any effect. “Shut your mouths. We’ll move when we’re told and not a moment before,” I yelled as loudly as I could.
“What’s taking so long?” someone else called out. “Let’s end this now!”
Another chorus of approval met this call, then something happened that I had never seen before. Without being told, a cornicen in the 9th, obviously heeding the urging of the men around him, sounded the call to advance. In perfect unison, as if the command had actually been officially given, the men of the 10th, along with the five Cohorts of the 5th, stepped off with the 9th. All up and down the line, the other Centurions and I began roaring at the top of our lungs for the men to stop, but none of the rankers paid any heed whatsoever. I was reeling with shock as I looked over at Glaxus who was nearest to me, and who could only give a helpless shrug. Cursing every one of them, their mothers, fathers, and whoever else I could think of, I ran to catch up to take my place at the front, wondering if this was my last day not only as Primus Pilus, but as a Centurion. I looked over to see Caesar staring at us in astonishment, yet he recovered quickly, turning to snap orders to his own cornicen, who sounded the general advance of the whole army, while Caesar galloped Toes to the front of the line. Turning to see if it had just been the first line to advance, I was relieved that the second line, while farther back than normal, was hurrying to close the gap. The third line was staying put, but that was standard, as they would only come rushing in at the decisive moment to break the enemy completely, or to rescue us if things should go terribly wrong. As we rapidly closed the distance, the archers and slingers assigned to our wing began loosing their missiles, making the elephants their primary targets, and a flurry of arrows and slingshot went flying at the beasts. After only a matter of perhaps two or three volleys, the first of the animals, trumpeting in terror, whirled quickly about, despite its massive bulk, to go stampeding into the poor men standing in formation behind it. Immediately following the last missile volley, the men of the 5th hurled their own javelins, then launched themselves at the now thoroughly frightened animals. Elephants are herd animals, so it was only a few heartbeats before the rest of th
e huge beasts were following the first one. The carnage they caused was terrific, turning even the hardest stomachs as they impaled men that they thought were standing in their way with their tusks, while at the same time stomping on others, turning them into a mass of jellied meat in the blink of an eye. The chaos was total, the air rent with the panicked screams of the men, along with the trumpeting of the maddened elephants as they went charging back through the gaps of the unfinished camp. Seeing what was essentially their protective screen disintegrate, the Numidian cavalry positioned on the far left simply turned to gallop away, without putting up even a token of resistance. Hundreds of men just on our side of the battle were crushed, as the men of the 5th went after the animals in hot pursuit.
Meanwhile, we stopped long enough to loose one volley of javelins before slamming into the already wavering men of Scipio’s left. Dozens of men were cut down by our missiles even before we broke into a run while drawing our swords. The men of Scipio’s left did not wait to meet our charge, turning to run, thereby sealing their fate even before we smashed into them. It is not much of a challenge to cut down a man from behind as he is running for his life; indeed, the only trick is to run faster than they do, which was not hard under the circumstances. The front ranks of the Pompeians turned to flee back into the skimpy protection of their camp, while the rear ranks were still standing in place, resulting in the inevitable jam of men, most of them closest to us still with their backs turned when we slammed into them. Some turned to try and fight; one Centurion, about my age, was trying to rally his men, and had succeeded in turning perhaps two sections worth about, forming them into a makeshift wedge. They were just getting settled, bringing their shields up as I went slamming into the leading man, relying on my larger size and weight to knock him backwards. He left his feet to go crashing back into the two men behind him, all three of them losing their footing. I was followed closely by men of the First Century of my Cohort, who wasted no time in thrusting their blades into the fallen men, while I reached out with my free hand to grab the rim of the next Pompeian’s shield. I was taking a terrible risk of losing my fingers, and if my adversary had been experienced, I would have lost at least my fingers, if not my whole hand, but I had seen the look of wide-eyed terror above the rim of his shield so I knew that I was facing a scared tiro. Still, I was almost done for, only because when I yanked on his shield with all my strength, he simply let go, causing me to fall backwards, so that I tripped over the body of one of the first men we had dispatched. If one of my men had not caught me, I would have fallen flat on my backside and that could have been all for me.
“Easy there, Primus Pilus,” I heard a voice in my ear as he used his shield to push me back upright. “It wouldn’t do for you to fall on your ass in front of this bunch. It would make us look bad.”
“We can’t have that,” I replied, reversing the shield that I had ripped out of the recruit’s hand, grabbing the handle, then striking the hapless youth with the boss, sending him flying.
Without waiting for him to recover, I focused on my opposite number, the Centurion, who in a matter of heartbeats had watched most of his men be cut down, my own busy while I was falling about. I looked at him over the rim of the shield while my men spread out, surrounding him. Signaling them to hold, I lowered the shield a bit, but kept watching him closely. His face was a mask of despair, knowing that his life was measured in heartbeats at that moment, yet he held his blade in the first position, having picked up one of his men’s shields.
“There’s no need for this,” I called out to him. “I have no wish to kill a Centurion of Rome, any more than you wish to die.”
“How do you know I don’t want to die?” he challenged, though he still dropped his shield a fraction as he talked.
“Because if you did, you wouldn’t have waited. You would have already attacked. And died,” I finished meaningfully.
“Maybe I’m giving you a chance to surrender,” he replied, but while the words were truculent, the tone was not and I had to laugh, as did my men surrounding him.
I liked his spirit; a man who can keep his sense of humor when he is about to die is a good man.
Making the decision, I stood erect, signaling the men to lower their swords, which they did, some of them reluctantly. “Give me your sword, Centurion,” I said. “You'll be under my protection.”
He considered, and for a moment, I thought he would refuse, then letting out a breath, he reversed the weapon, offering it to me hilt first. “I'm Gaius Aspirius,” he said. “And I'm the Tertius Pilus Posterior of the 6th Legion. I'm your prisoner, Centurion.”
I looked at him in surprise. “You’re in the 6th?” I asked, not sure that I had heard correctly.
He nodded. “That's correct.”
“Then you were at Pharsalus. You're the part of the 6th that escaped.”
Now he looked uneasy, but he still nodded. “That's also correct. Why does that surprise you?”
“Because I was with the two Cohorts of the 6th who fought for Caesar. I led them in Alexandria.”
At the mention of the two Cohorts that had chosen to live by marching for Caesar instead of being cut down by Antonius, Aspirius’ face flushed.
“They're traitors,” he said harshly, and around me, I could hear the sharp intake of breath from the men, while as one their blades came back up.
I held my hand up. “They’re only traitors if Caesar lost, but he didn’t. Now you’re the traitor. And despite your impertinence, you're still under my protection. But, Aspirius,” I indicated the men around me. “You should watch your tongue. Saying that the men of the 6th who march for Caesar are traitors, you’re saying that these men are traitors. That’s not something they're likely to appreciate.”
He opened his mouth as if to make a retort, but then thought better of it, saying instead, “You're correct, Centurion. I spoke in anger and for that I apologize.”
I pointed to the rear, telling one of the men to escort him back to our camp.
He was about to walk away, but turned. “Whose protection am I under, if I may ask Centurion?”
“I'm Primus Pilus Titus Pullus, of the 10th Legion,” I replied, and I was gratified to see by his expression that my name was known to him.
With that, I turned back to the battle, or slaughter, to be more accurate, and with the rest of the men, hurried forward into the enemy camp.
~ ~ ~ ~
The Battle of Thapsus, as it is called, was not a battle at all. It was a rout, a slaughter, and as complete and total a victory as any of us could have hoped for. The men of Scipio’s army who survived the first onslaught turned to flee into their camp, yet only stayed there briefly, it becoming clear very quickly that there was no protection within the walls. They ran out the back gate, intent only on escaping to what they hoped was the safety of Afranius’ camp. Except to get there, they had to cut across the marshy ground. Not surprisingly, slogging through the mud is slow going, so men got bogged down, sinking into the muck up to their knees then getting stuck, perfect targets for our men to conduct javelin practice. The cries and screams of men pierced through the body as they struggled helplessly to extricate themselves was almost continuous, the men collapsing once they succumbed to their wounds to get sucked under by the stinking mud. The men that managed to struggle through the muck then staggered the couple of miles to Afranius’ camp arrived only to find that Caesar as always was a step ahead, sending the two Legions he had left in camp to assault the other Pompeian camps. Our men found Afranius’ camp deserted, the occupants having run off to escape the fate of their comrades. Moving on, Juba’s camp had fallen to our forces as well, so that the men fleeing the rout at Scipio’s camp ran right into our two Legions who cut them down, slaughtering the enemy without any mercy. Now something happened that I offer as an example of what occurs when men have been laboring under the conditions and circumstances for as long as the men of Caesar’s army. I do not make excuses; there is no real justification for what took place, but
it should not be described without consideration given to the underlying causes. I will not deny that the 10th did its share of killing that day, especially in the moments after we entered Scipio’s camp, and I also will not deny that many of the men that we cut down were trying to surrender. However, this is not only not uncommon, it is the norm when the bloodlust of fighting men is aroused, and the men that we slaughtered were for the most part men of the ranks like ourselves, and not any of the upper classes. When the remnants of Scipio’s army that survived the escape through the marsh and the following onslaught at Juba’s camp then ran to a low hill on the far side of the camp, where they signaled their desire to surrender, they were joined by a number of the occupants of Afranius’ camp who were not combatants. These men were Senators and prominent equestrians who had aligned themselves with the Pompeian cause and they now called to Caesar for protection, offering their complete surrender. No doubt, they knew of Caesar’s record of clemency and mercy so I suppose they had good reason to be optimistic that when Caesar arrived on the scene they would escape with their lives, if not their fortunes. It was just their bad luck that the men of Caesar’s army were not in a forgiving mood. Too much had happened; too much misery, too much bleeding, too long away from their homes and loved ones. Even Caesar could not stop our men from exacting revenge for all their suffering, as the group of men who sought refuge on that hill asking for Caesar’s protection were slaughtered to the last man. All told, Scipio’s armies had scattered to the winds, but not before more than 10,000 of their number were killed, with the gods only know how many wounded. Around Scipio’s camp, bodies were stacked on top of each other like pieces of firewood, which I suppose they were in a sense, since the Romans among the dead were to at least be given the proper funeral rites and be purified by flame. Our losses were laughingly light; a total of 50 men in the entire army died, with twice that many wounded, only a few of them seriously enough to be discharged from the Legions on pension. None of our dead were from the 10th, for which I and the rest of my comrades were thankful; there were few enough of us left as it was. Scipio escaped, as did Afranius, Petreius, and Labienus, along with a good number of the cavalry and some of the infantry. Not surprisingly, at least to us, we learned that the few veterans among Scipio’s army, namely the 1st, and some of the 4th, had kept their heads, literally and figuratively, and were among the escapees. They headed to Utica, along with Scipio and Labienus, while Afranius tried to make it to Mauretania. Petreius left with Juba back to Numidia. Although the defeat of Scipio was total, it did not extend to everyone. The city of Thapsus still held out, under the command of a man named Vergilius, so Caesar turned his attention to the city. After returning to our original camp towards the end of the day, Caesar ordered the elephants rounded up, all 64 of them having survived, though some were hurt. One in particular had several cuts on his trunk that his handler had tried to treat with some tarry substance smeared on the wounds.