by R. W. Peake
He was merely voicing our own fears, yet an officer of any sort cannot do that, and the Pilus Prior was right to correct him, no matter how embarrassing it may have been for Rufio. It clearly was on the Pilus Prior’s mind as well, because he finally turned and stalked off, looking for the Primus Pilus and Labienus.
We sat for the better of the morning waiting before there was movement, and once it came, it was not what we had expected at all. Instead of advancing on the camp, the army began to march across our front to our left, instead of arraying in battle formation. They maintained a healthy distance away from the camp so that in the event the Helvetians decided to roll the dice, our army would have time to shake out into formation, while we would be poised to strike from their rear. However, the Helvetii were not foolish, at least this day, instead contenting themselves with drawing up into a battle line, then standing there watching as the Legions marched around them. This development caused us a great deal of consternation, since we had no way of knowing what had happened to change the plan. Once Caesar moved a distance away to a much smaller hill, only then did he have the Legions form up for battle, sending all the baggage train to the rear. This new position meant that while we would not be engaged in an assault from their direct rear, we would still be able to swing down the hill onto their flank, and for a bit there was speculation that this might actually be better than from the direct rear. Whatever the case, still nothing happened, the sun rising ever higher in the sky. First we were allowed to kneel, then finally sit down, and we prepared a cold meal while we waited, it being just a matter of moments before the dice came out and the gambling began. It was in this manner that we passed most of the day, with Labienus and the Centurions becoming increasingly frustrated. No word came from Caesar, so our orders still remained in place, but it became clear to all of us that the likelihood of attack was decreasing with every passing moment. The Helvetii sensed this, made their own preparations for breaking camp, and by a bit past midday had moved on again, leaving us to watch them as they withdrew to continue their westward march. After about two parts of a watch, the rear of their column was marching away, and we were soon left alone on the hill, wondering what was going on.
The anticlimactic result came in the form of a mounted courier, bearing orders from Caesar that told us to leave the hill and rejoin the army, which was drawn back up into marching formation to follow the Helvetii. It was not until that night when we made camp that we learned what took place. Caesar had sent a Centurion from the 7th Legion, a man named Considius, to scout ahead and report back to Caesar whether or not he saw us in position on the hill. Considius came galloping back to report that the hill was indeed occupied, not by the 10th Legion, but by Helvetii. He claimed to recognize the helmets and crests of our Legion as being of Gaulish origin, so Caesar took him at his word, and waited for the 10th to dislodge the force from the hill. However, we did not because we were already there, and finally Caesar made the decision to move from his original position to find a defensible location, thinking that the 10th had been wiped out and the Helvetians were of a mind to attack. Consequently, Caesar moved to a smaller hill, where he shook the Legions out for battle, though of course no such battle took place, and instead he watched helplessly as the Helvetii went marching by, intent on making progress, no matter how small. They managed to move less than seven miles that day, so that we only had to march three before making camp. Considius was not formally punished, although he was more or less laughed out of the army; I heard a rumor that he drank himself to death not long after this event. Such are the “fortunes of war” I suppose, except I imagine Considius would call it something else. We rejoined the army without problems, and bedded down for the night, cursing the name of Considius.
By this time, our supply situation was extremely serious. The army was now down to two days’ rations for both men and animals, and I imagine that there is nothing quite as unsettling as being the commander of a hungry army. Caesar was forced to turn the army north, to march on the Aeduan town of Bibracte, where he knew there would be supplies in abundance. When the Helvetii scouts saw this, they interpreted it as a sign of desperation, which in a sense it was, so they in turn reversed their march to intercept us. Making camp for the night on the banks of a river, the next morning we broke camp to begin the day’s march, none of us in the ranks suspecting what was about to take place. Still headed north, following the river, we had not gotten far when there was a flurry of commotion as horsemen went racing up the side of the column looking for Caesar. The Helvetii had been sighted coming back east down the valley to intercept us, prompting Caesar to make one of those instant decisions for which he is rightly famous. Rather than continuing the march, knowing that we could march faster than the Helvetii and thereby escape them, he ordered an about turn, dispatching a unit of cavalry to go back to harass the Helvetii while he maneuvered the rest of the army into the position that he wanted. For our part, it meant that we had to reverse our course, which is fine if you are the rear Legion in that day’s march, but the baggage train is a bit of an obstacle for everyone else. It immediately became clear that we would have to bypass the baggage train in some way, so we cut out over the open ground, foregoing the relative comfort of what passed for a road, marching over rough ground until we were directed by Labienus to turn to the west, where we were shaken from column to line. Forming up so that the 10th was on the right, the other three Legions were arrayed to our left. Marching west, we tramped over the prominent hill that we could see even from the river. Once we crested it, we spotted the vast army of the Helvetii, already in the process of forming up, a few miles across the valley floor. Caesar ordered the two new Legions to stay behind to guard the baggage, using the hill we had just climbed as the rallying point where they would build a barrier of some sort. The rest of us were ordered to march down the slope of the hill a way before we were stopped, then further deployed into the acies triplex. While we did this, we watched as Caesar and the command group met at the front of the army to pass his orders.
“There sure are a lot of those bastards.” Calienus voiced what we were all thinking.
It is one thing to see a mass of people on the march and realize that a good number of them are warriors, but not until they were actually arrayed before us did we realize just how many there actually were. The Helvetii were in what can only loosely be called a formation; it looked to me more of a grouping of clans or tribes, all of them dressed in whatever armor they could each provide themselves, the metal glinting in the sun. Too far away at this point to make out individuals, it was a silver-black mass that spread out in front of us, on lower ground. In their way was our cavalry, trying to delay their advance while we formed up, and our boys were clearly getting the worst of it.
Our examination was interrupted by an exclamation by Romulus. “Looks like it’s win or die, boys,” he called out, and we looked where he was pointing. The command group had all dismounted, including Caesar, who donned his helmet and stood, along with the Tribunes and his staff, as the slaves took the horses to the rear.
“That’s for us,” Calienus commented, just loud enough for us to hear. “He’s letting us know that he’s not going to cut and run no matter what happens.”
My heart thumped more strongly in my chest as the words of Calienus sunk in. Here was a man I could follow, a man we could all follow to the gates of Hades and back if he asked it of us.
Our cavalry was quickly brushed aside, the only obstacle left after that the bodies of men and horses that the Helvetii had to step or climb over as they came at us. They flowed over the dead like a black mass of water, drawing close enough that we could now make out individuals, although we still could not see their faces. Despite the rush, Caesar had managed to place us on superior ground, with the Helvetians forced to climb a fairly steep slope to get to us, where the pitch of the ground would give us more momentum when we began our countercharge. Standing silently, watching them come, the sound of their voices screaming their war c
ries rolled over us in waves. Suddenly, without any order given, someone began a rhythmic tapping of his javelin against the metal rim of his shield, and it was quickly picked up by the men around him, spreading throughout the ranks, first with our Legion, then with the other three, until the sound went rolling down the slope in a challenge to the roar of the Helvetians. As if running into an invisible wall the Helvetian advance checked, the front ranks crashing to a halt as our response to their cries rolled over them, and now that we could see their faces, there was fear and uncertainty there as they were confronted not by the passionate roar of men consumed in bloodlust but the cold, measured sound of an army of professionals, men who viewed what was to come with a detached sense of duty. These warriors had never seen anything like this; they earned their experience and their scars fighting men like themselves, men who worked themselves into a frenzy, fighting with a passion that, while it ran hot, also spent itself quickly. What stood before them up that hill was unlike anything most of them had ever faced and it stopped them in their tracks, if only for a moment, and they stood there as if uncertain what to do as we waited for them. Then they began to build their courage back up, their voices growing in volume and anger again, the momentary lapse of courage forgotten. At least so they hoped, I thought, as I watched them perform their strange rituals once again. Before they resumed the advance, men would dart out from their lines, brandishing their weapons, screaming at us and despite the fact we could not understand what they were saying, it was clear they were describing what they would do to each and every one of us. As we would learn from prisoners, it was their custom for the men to give their lineage, the feats of their ancestors along with their own, so their enemy could know exactly what fate awaited them, all of which was lost on us.
“They are some excitable bastards, aren’t they?
Rufio grinned at my remark, replying, “I just wish they would hurry up and get on with it. I’m getting bored standing here.”
Feeble joke it may have been, it was nevertheless appreciated and our laughter, even if somewhat forced, was hearty and loud. The Centuries around us looked over to see what the joke was about, prompting Rufio to repeat it for their ears, and a wave of laughter rippled through the Cohort.
“All right ladies, shut your mouths and save your breath,” snapped the Pilus Prior, but we could see a smile on his lips as he said this, and we knew that he was just as proud of us as Crastinus had been. Aside from the slaughter at the bridge, in which we played little part, this was going to be our first major test under the new Pilus Prior, and we were all determined to show him that he could rely on us. Just as importantly, we wanted to see how he measured up when commanding us. The Helvetian advance began again, this time at a slow trot as they approached the base of the hill.
“Prepare Javelins!”
Immediately, the front Centuries assumed the position, as I pulled my arm back with everyone else, feeling the shaft along the length of my arm and aiming the point skyward. I watched the Helvetians now quicken the pace to a run, unleashing a last roar as they charged up the base of the hill. There were so many of them, I remember thinking, that the rear ranks were still more than a half mile away. We would be wading in bodies before the day was through.
“Jupiter Optimus Maximus, protect this Legion, soldiers all!”
I do not know who said it, yet I was glad that someone had. They were close enough now that their charge was not only seen and heard, it was felt, the ground beneath us beginning to shake.
“Release!”
Our first volley knifed through the sky, arcing out and up before turning downwards, picking up speed as the shafts went slicing into the front ranks of the horde. They prepared themselves to receive our javelins, the front rank raising their shields while the men behind them lifted theirs above their head, in something of a crude testudo, yet I do not think they were truly ready for what happened when they blocked our volley. Because of the soft metal shafts, although the hardened point of the javelins punched through their shields, even if it did not strike a softer target of someone’s flesh the soft metal nevertheless promptly bent. The wooden part of the shafts were now pulled to the ground by their own weight, where the ends stuck, wrenching their shields from their grasp and leaving many of the enemy exposed. I could see there were several men who had interlocked their shields together, and a javelin had pierced both, pinning them to each other. Not all of the volley hit just their shields, as above the roar of the horde came the piercing cries and screams of men who had been skewered. The volley checked the advance for a moment, with bodies tumbling to the ground, causing the men behind who were not quick on their feet to stumble and fall over them, in turn leading to even more of the same. It was like they ran into an invisible wall, and the enemy stopped momentarily while they either dropped their shields or scrambled back to their feet. There was a nice pile of bodies, but it was a drop in a huge bucket and their charge only halted for a matter of heartbeats, long enough for us to receive the second command to throw our next and last javelin.
“Release!”
The process repeated, with another volley lancing into the tightly packed warriors, creating much the same effect as before. Now it looked as if fully a third of the men in the front rank had been forced to drop their shield, and would be meeting us with just their main weapon, which was predominantly the long spear.
“Draw swords!”
The rasping sound of hundreds of blades being drawn filled my ears, and I felt comforted not only by that sound but by the feel of the sword in my hand, using the grip Vinicius had taught me those two years before. Had it really been two years? I caught myself in surprise; it’s funny the things that run through your mind right before you go into battle. Standing there, poised to launch the countercharge, the front ranks of the Helvetii now no more than 30 paces away, we looked towards the center where Caesar and his standard stood, waiting for the signal to charge. The blood red standard suddenly dipped, the sounds of the cornu blaring out at the same time.
“Porro!”
I filled my lungs up, and with a roar followed my comrades down the hill and into the enemy.
The momentum that being higher up on the hill gave us was a huge advantage, so that when we hurtled into the Helvetii mass, the crashing of bodies and metal slamming into each other at full speed made all the noise before seem like a whisper. Quickly adding to the initial grunts of men having their breath knocked from them were the screams of men whose opponents’ blade found their mark, and it was not long before even in the rear rank where we were, the coppery smell of blood was in our nostrils. Holding onto the harness of the man ahead of me, even this far back in the formation, the vibration and force of the melee in front was clearly communicated into my arm. Peering between the files, I could see the flash of blades as the men in the front rank jabbed at the Helvetii in underhand blows originating from just under our shields, while occasionally a helmet or even a severed limb would fly up into the air, sign that someone had struck home with an overhand blow. Even as I stood there and tried to stay alert, I used my height and position higher up on the hill to see if I could make any sense of what was happening, because there is nothing quite so disconcerting to fighting men as the feeling that one has no idea of the larger picture about what is unfolding. In your area, you may be carrying the day, but if everywhere else your lines are crumbling, you will soon find yourself completely surrounded and your fate is sealed, so it is almost an obsession for men in the ranks to have an idea of what is happening. I could see past the front line to observe that the enemy advance had stalled, the rear ranks of the Helvetii now milling around as they waited for their chance to enter the battle. Farther beyond them, I could make out a huge number of wagons that were being drawn up on a hill, directly across the valley to my right, opposite the Helvetian camp, which was pitched next to a small lake. That camp still had men streaming from it, coming to join the battle, and my heart sank when I saw that even with so many of the enemy headin
g our way the camp itself was still occupied with a large number of men. I did not know it then, but these were the Boii and Tulingi tribes, allies of the Helvetii who had joined them on their journey. All I knew was there was a good number of the bastards, but to that point they were sitting tight in the camp, for which I was thankful.
Turning my attention back to the matter at hand, I could see with some surprise that we had already gone through two rotations, making my time to fight closer at hand. Glancing over, I saw that Scribonius had actually moved up a file, indicating that we had lost someone already. In Didius’ file, he was even worse off; he was one place ahead of Scribonius, so we had lost two men there. The Century next to me was faring worse; I could see they already lost a half-dozen men, and thinking this through I became concerned. We were going to run out of people if this kept up. I had no idea what kind of casualties we were inflicting on the Helvetii, yet I saw how many there were, and for a moment I cursed my curiosity, thinking it might have been better not to know. Now the tremors I felt while holding onto the man in front increased in intensity to the point that I had to concentrate on holding on and supporting the man immediately in front of me, the shock of the fighting becoming more violent. Twice I almost lost my grip on the man’s harness as he staggered back and to the side, moved that way when the man in front of him came hurtling backwards. The third time the man in the front rank staggered back, he fell down and did not get up, and as I stepped forward, I looked down to see that he had taken a spear thrust in the eye that had come out the back of his head, judging from the blood pooling underneath it. His good eye stared up in surprise, and I recognized him as one of the men who gave the beating to Didius. At least he doesn’t have to worry about being cheated anymore, I thought, before turning my attention back to business. I was now second in line, and could see that we were making headway as I stepped over some Helvetii dead. This was a good sign, or so I believed, watching more closely to see what kind of skill we were facing. They were certainly courageous, that was clear, but they relied too much on their fury and not enough on technique, although I saw a few men who handled themselves with considerable skill. Their problem was that the skill levels varied widely, and I immediately realized that this was their fatal flaw. If they had taken the time to match men whose skills were roughly equal, then placed them side by side, they would have been formidable indeed and it would not have surprised me if they had carried the day. Instead, one man who was skillful may have a man on either side who was simply flailing about, relying on strength and raw courage instead of technique. When they were facing an enemy like us, where every man is roughly equal in skill, it meant that the mistake of one of the inexperienced men could and would be used in order to exploit the opening available to dispatch the skilled man, who would be engaged with someone else. In other words, they had not learned the value of teamwork; they fought as individual warriors, not as a unit, so that all of the valor in the world would not be enough to stop us. With my time getting closer, I could feel my heartbeat increasing rapidly, and my breathing became quicker as I felt the love of battle start to flow more freely through me, so that by the time my turn came, I was ready to bring destruction to anyone who stood before me.