by R. W. Peake
The fortress was on top of a hill with fairly steep sides, so we also began working on a ramp in the same fashion as the one we built against the Aduatuci those years ago back in Gaul that would allow us to roll a siege tower up to the walls. On the nearby hills surrounding the town there were a number of towers that Caesar ordered a section of men to occupy in shifts to watch for Gnaeus’ approach. Finally, the weather began to catch up with the calendar, as it turned very raw, with driving rain and blustery winds. In order to combat the elements, we asked permission to build huts instead of using our tents, which was granted. They were rude shelters, and I for one did not think them much, if any better than our tents. Yet given the propensity of our leather tents to suddenly split after being subjected to soaking rains for more than two or three days, I suppose they were an improvement in that sense at least. We invested Ategua without encountering any resistance from Gnaeus, who as it turned out, at first, believed that Ategua was too strong to fall. Although some of his generals, and I suspect Labienus was chief among them, convinced him that underestimating Caesar’s ability to reduce any fortress was folly, Gnaeus delayed further because he believed that the elements would provide a sufficient barrier if the walls did not. When Gnaeus finally realized that Caesar was indeed serious about taking Ategua, only then did he rouse his army to come in pursuit. Fortuna favored him by blanketing the area with a dense fog to cover his approach, preventing the men in the watchtowers from doing their job. During his advance, forward elements of his army stumbled onto one of the watchtowers and there was a sharp fight for it. All of our men were killed, the position falling to the Pompeians, while the Pompeians made camp at the base of the hill on which it stood. The next day, Gnaeus apparently felt that his position was not a strong one, so the Pompeian army marched past the town, crossing the river, then marching round to the southeast to take up position on a hill that put another one of his fortress towns, Ucubi was its name, to his rear to serve as his new supply base. On the southern side of the river was one lone watchtower that Caesar had ordered occupied. Once he divined Gnaeus’ intentions, he reinforced this position, sending a full Century to guard it, which turned out to be a wise move, even if it meant that he sent one of my Centurions to hold it.
“I want you to send one of your best to hold the watchtower on the south side of the river,” Caesar told me at the daily briefing. “Now that I’ve seen what the young Pompey is up to, I'm sure that he'll deem it vital to take that tower.”
I knew that when Caesar worded an order in this manner, he already had someone in mind, so I asked him as much. Smiling slightly, he replied, “I was thinking that Scribonius is one of the most dependable of your Centurions, and he has a good head on his shoulders. Do you disagree?”
I shook my head, not that I would have objected even if I did. Caesar’s nerves had been very raw lately, those defections opening an old wound, so it did not take much to rouse his temper, especially with matters concerning the army. I was just thankful that I actually agreed that Scribonius was the best choice, and I went to tell him. He and the First of the Second were ready to march shortly after Caesar gave me the order, whereupon I stood watching as my old comrades marched out the gate, calling to their friends, happy that they would be relieved from the monotony of digging for a time.
~ ~ ~ ~
That night, Gnaeus sent a Cohort-sized force against the watchtower. I was roused from my sleep by a man sent by the commander of the guard, who had heard the sound of the Century cornu sounding the call to arms. I quickly pulled on my armor, and then I woke Diocles, telling him to rouse the Centurions of my Cohort to get the men ready to march. I moved quickly to the southern rampart, though it was too far away to hear the sounds of the fighting but I stood listening nonetheless, next to one of the sentries and the commander of the guard, straining to see any movement in the darkness. After perhaps a sixth part of a watch, one of the sentries called out, then a moment later my eye spotted movement, slowly gaining form to become the figure of a man running towards the gate. As he got within hailing distance, one of the sentries offered the challenge for the day, which the man answered with the watchword, and I recognized the voice.
“That’s Vellusius,” I exclaimed, jumping down from the parapet to meet him at the gate.
He had just entered the camp when I reached him, panting for breath and unable to speak for a moment.
“Any old day, Vellusius,” I grumbled, though I did not really mean it, just anxious to hear his report.
“Sorry, Primus Pilus,” he gasped, and I saw his teeth, or what was left of them flash in the gloom as he grinned. “I guess I’m just getting old. Pilus Prior Scribonius sent me to report that our position is under assault from a Cohort-sized force, but that it appears that it’s about to be reinforced by at least three more Cohorts. The Pilus Prior says that we can hold out for another third of a watch, but no more than that.”
Sending Vellusius back to the Legion area, I ran to the headquarters tent to inform Caesar. He had also been roused by the commander of the guard, and was already in his armor when I gave him Scribonius’ report.
Turning to one of the Tribunes, who was also in armor, though clearly upset at being roused from his slumber, Caesar rapped out his orders. “Go inform the Primi Pili of the 5th and 7th that they'll be needed after all. They will be ready to march in a sixth of a watch.”
I realized I should have known that Caesar would be prepared for such an eventuality. The thought crossed my mind that Scribonius and his Century had been set out as bait. I stifled the feeling of anger welling up within me, partly because it would not have changed anything, but mostly because I did not know what I was angrier about, that Caesar had used my men or that I had not seen it coming. The men of the 10th were formed up by the time I arrived in our area, so we marched quickly to the southern gate to wait for the rest of the party that would be marching to relieve Scribonius. The waiting was difficult, not improving my mood any, as I strode up and down, cursing the 5th and 7th for taking their time to join us. Of course, they were doing nothing of the sort, but these were my oldest and best friends fighting out there and every moment that passed meant a better chance of one of them being wounded or dying. I felt the same way about all of the men of the 10th, and for the men of the 6th for that matter, but I had a soft spot in my heart for the First Century, Second Cohort, which I carry to this day, even for Didius. Caesar came trotting up, not using Toes, but one of his other mounts, then I heard the pounding footsteps and jingling of the two other Legions. I looked to Caesar, illuminated by the torches that are kept lit at the gates, and he nodded, indicating that we should proceed.
~ ~ ~ ~
We marched as quickly as the darkness allowed. As we got closer, we began hearing stray shouts and calls first, then came the ringing sound of metal on metal. Caesar ordered the 10th, since we were in the lead, into a double line of Cohorts, two Centuries across and three deep, which was somewhat unusual, but we would be attacking on a narrow front. The enemy was too busy with Scribonius’ Century to notice us until we were almost on them. One of the Pompeian Cohorts sent to reinforce the original assault force had circled behind Scribonius, so they had their backs turned to us, barely having time to turn about when I ordered the cornicen to sound the charge. Night attacks are a tricky thing, but we were well versed in the maneuver, it being a favorite of Caesar’s and one that we had performed many times. While the surprise was not total, it was enough, as the screams and cries of men being cut down informed me as we slammed into them. The Pompeians went from attacker to defender in the heartbeats it took us to hit them, and they now found themselves pressed between two forces. It was about a Cohort-sized force, their Centurions working frantically to get at least a couple of their Centuries turned about to face the threat we posed. Fortunately for us, these were not seasoned veterans, the chaos of a night attack ripping their cohesion to tatters, so it was just a mass of men flailing about, most of them doing more damage to the man next t
o them than to us. My men cut through them like stalks of wheat, it not taking more than a couple moments before the inevitable panic set in, the Pompeians dropping their shields then turning blindly to run away, only there was nowhere to run. They went just a few steps before colliding into the back of the men still facing Scribonius’ Century, exposing their own backs to us and sealing their fate. Perhaps half of them managed to escape in the night by scrambling to the sides of the press formed by our two forces, while we slaughtered the rest of them. As we were taking care of the force to Scribonius’ rear, the 5th had swung around to assault the Pompeians fighting the half of Scribonius’ Century that he had faced in that direction, doing essentially the same thing that we had done, with the same result. All told, the Pompeians lost perhaps 300 to 400 men, though we did not stop to count the bodies. The rest of them fled into the night, throwing their shields and weapons away to lighten their load. Once things had settled down, I found Scribonius who was binding up a wound on his arm.
He saluted then said, “I guess this means that Vellusius made it back.”
I grinned, hoping that he could see it in the dark. “Oh he made it. It just took him a while to get his breath back. Says he’s getting old.”
“Aren’t we all,” Scribonius replied, then said sadly, “Not all of us.”
“What’s the butcher’s bill, do you know yet?”
“Not completely. I know of two dead and four wounded. One of them is Didius.”
“How badly?”
His tone was grim. “Bad enough. It’s his leg, but the muscle is cut almost all the way through and is hanging like a piece of meat. He'll need a litter.”
This was indeed bad news, but I decided that I would bribe Caesar’s surgeon to take a look at Didius to see if he could be fixed up enough to keep marching, since we were literally months away from the end of our enlistment. Nonetheless, the regulations were clear; the only way that Didius would get his full benefit was by serving his full enlistment. Because Caesar was the master of Rome and Didius one of his Legionaries, I was fairly confident that the regulations could be bent, but it was not a foregone conclusion, and I knew that if I were Didius, I would not sleep easy until the matter was decided. Better that we did not have to rely on Caesar, I thought, so spending the money was not an issue for me. The other man I was concerned with was Vibius, though I made no comment when I learned that he was unhurt. It was not all bad news, however; the only losses we suffered were with Scribonius’ Century, the rest of the Legion with only a handful of minor wounds to show for the action. We marched back to camp, leaving the watchtower unguarded, Caesar saying that it had served its purpose and would be too much of a problem to continue guarding. This confirmed my suspicions that Scribonius and his men had been nothing but bait, and I simmered with anger at Caesar, though I was still not sure why. He had done similar things more times than I could count; I had never had a problem with it before, and he had used men of the 10th before as well. Perhaps it was that it was my old Century, with my oldest friends.
We did not have everything our way, however. The next night, Gnaeus managed to reinforce the small garrison inside the town by a stratagem of deception. One of his Tribunes, Flaccus, I believe was his name, had spotted the youngsters of the 3rd. Recognizing them for what they were, once it got dark, he went alone to one of the sentry posts, and while pretending to be from Caesar, learned the challenge and watchword. Using that knowledge, he led a force past the youngsters, giving the watchword when challenged, leading his men into the town. Caesar was understandably angry when he learned of what happened, but because of the youth and inexperience of the men, he only had them flogged and not executed, as was his right. We continued the work on the ramp, the final piece before we could assault the city, but the work was slow going because of the weather and with the garrison reinforced, the Pompeians in the city could sally forth to try to destroy the ramp. Ironically, the weather that had been hampering our efforts also was an aid in keeping the enemy from setting fire to the ramp, so they would retire back inside their walls, frustrated in their attempts. In order to discourage their attacks, Caesar ordered that any man captured in their raids be executed in front of the walls, something that he had never done before, which I took as a sign that he was getting as tired and frustrated with the continuing resistance as we were. From our point of view, the matter between the Pompeians and Caesar had long since been decided. The refusal of the Pompeians to recognize that was not only pointless, but also criminal, because we in the ranks had no choice but to obey orders and to continue killing and dying. Because of their stubbornness, we were still huddled in thatch huts, shivering against the cold, worried about where our next meal was coming from, while men like Didius who had survived more fighting than any army in Roman history were being cut down. Now when Caesar gave orders to execute captured men, whereas at one point this would have been an unpopular order, we were now completely willing to carry them out. The fact that these were men just like us, who were only following orders, no longer made any difference to us, and since we could not take out our frustrations on the likes of Gnaeus, Sextus and Labienus, they suffered the brunt of our anger. The townspeople, seeing our treatment of the enemy combatants, began to fear that their fate would be even worse, so one day, perhaps a week into the siege, a lead slingshot was flung at the feet of a Centurion supervising work on the ramp. Since it was obviously not an attempt to kill the Centurion, he correctly interpreted that there was another purpose behind it, picking the missile up. Inscribed was an understandably brief message suggesting a surprise attack should be attempted, while giving the location, along with the expected signal, a shield raised on a standard. The Primus Pilus of the 30th Legion approached Caesar, asking that his Legion be allowed to conduct this operation, to which Caesar agreed. That night, the men of the 30th began tunneling towards the spot indicated in the message, working through the night, with the intention of attacking shortly after first light. The rest of the army was ordered to continue with their normal duties so as not to arouse suspicion. Given that we were now working on the ramp night and day, the work continued normally through the night. Unfortunately, the men of the 30th did not finish their tunneling in time to launch their attack when they had hoped, so it was perhaps a full watch after sunrise before the shield was finally raised to the standard. I do not know if the delay contributed to what happened, but the attack was a disaster. It started out well enough, as the section of wall that the men of the 30th undermined collapsed with a sudden roar and roiling plume of dust, taking with it a couple men unlucky enough to be standing on guard on that section of the wall. The First Cohort of the 10th was standing guard on the rampart of our camp, so they had an unobstructed view of the action. Accordingly, it was Metellus who pointed out the problem that I think was the main cause for what was about to happen. Even as the dust was still settling, the men of the 30th went running towards the gap opened in the wall.