Marching With Caesar- Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  Young Crassus was not being idle either, down in Aquitania. Sweeping all before him, he punished the recalcitrant tribes for the folly of resistance. Crassus did not use guile, instead taking a page from Caesar’s book, relying on audacity and surprise when attacking a Gallic camp. As we heard it, the issue was actually in doubt, with the Gauls asking for help from some of the tribes a little further south in Lusitania. Some of the men who answered that call and came to assist had fought under Sertorius, meaning they had learned their craft well. Because of that influence, the Gallic camp had been built in the usual Roman style, so the 7th was having a hard time of it in the beginning, until a cavalry scouting party saw that the Gauls had thrown all their troops into protecting the front wall but left the rear gate unattended. Once this was discovered, the outcome was inevitable, despite the Gauls putting up a good fight. Even with all of these successes, as this campaign season drew to a close there were still some questions hanging in the air. Two tribes on the northern coast, the Menapii and the Morini, that had entered into the alliance with the Veneti, despite being separated by hundreds of miles, still refused to submit to Rome. As far as we were concerned, that meant that there was unfinished business, and we would still have some fighting to do the next season. However, Caesar was not willing to wait until the next season, so almost before we knew it, we found ourselves again on the march. This time, we would cross more than 400 miles, marching past where we fought the Nervii, doing without the customary rest day, which Caesar could only have done with an army as seasoned as ours. Despite the fact we could take it physically, it did not make some people love Caesar any more, and even I, a man with complete faith in his judgment and abilities as a general, found myself questioning the wisdom of this move. Yes, we would reach the lands of the Morini much more quickly than they anticipated, but what shape would we be in, and how much of a season would be left? The further north we moved, the more frigid the climate, and the earlier winter comes. When we got there, it would be at the end of the month we now call August, meaning we would have at best another three weeks of true campaign season left, and that was only if the winter did not come early.

  Sabinus and his Legions joined us on the march, and it was indeed in late August that we arrived on the fringes of the lands of the Morini, who were warned of our coming. Instead of facing us, they immediately retreated into the refuge of a great forest, larger than anything I had ever seen before. Trees were so thick that once we entered it, there was never truly anything that could be called day, the light from the sun barely making its way through the branches and all the way down to the ground. It was an eerie place, where we could feel the eyes of the Morini watching us while we marched, relying on the pioneers and advance party to fell trees in order to tell us which way to go. One afternoon, perhaps four days after we entered the forest, we stopped and were building the camp when the bucina sounded. The Morini had launched a surprise attack, the area they chose being the part of the camp that the 13th Legion was charged with constructing. Although the Morini were beaten back with ease, some of the Legionaries, overzealous in their pursuit, were subsequently cut off and killed, some 50 men being cut down. In response to this, Caesar was determined not to be surprised again, so as we marched, he sent out flanking parties who cut down the trees some 200 paces on either side of the marching column, stacking the logs as they went. Naturally, this slowed down the advance, but Caesar was determined, confident that the effort to subdue this tribe would not take long, and in this he was probably right. However, the gods are fickle, even with Caesar, and it does not take much for them to turn on you. We had penetrated a fair way into Morini territory when the rains started. It was not unusual for this time of year, and normally would not have been a problem, except that the rains never stopped. Day after day after day, for a full week the rain came down, until the leather of our tents was saturated to the point where in some cases, the roof gave way, dousing its unlucky inhabitants with icy cold water. The camps we made quickly became a morass of mud, and before long, the mud on the march was so thick that if we made five miles in a day, it was a good day’s march. Finally, even Caesar could not ignore the signs, so with great reluctance, he gave the order to reverse our march to head back south, where the weather was more hospitable. Before we left, however, we set every village, town or lonely farm to the torch, razing everything we found.

  Our losses in this season had been astonishingly light, and in fact, we lost more from illness than deaths in battle. My tent section was still intact, at least as far as it was constituted starting that year, and for this my friends and I paid for a bountiful sacrifice to Fortuna, Mars and Bellona. It set us back a few hundred sesterces, but we felt it well worth it.

  Caesar marched us south to Mediolanum, where he left us for the winter before continuing his own progress south. This winter he elected stay at least on the other side of the Alps, having a number of political issues with which he had to contend. The 10th spent the winter at Mediolanum Aulercorum, along the banks of a smaller river that feeds into the Sequana (Seine) River and where Lugdunensis stands today. Once again, we found ourselves part of a game played between the Gauls and Caesar, the Gauls conspiring with each other to somehow usurp Rome’s authority over them. As part of his renewal of the Triumvirate, Pompey Magnus and Publius Crassus’ father Marcus were named Consuls for the year, a fact which had no bearing on our fortunes, save for the discussion around the fire of the political situation. At that age and time, I had absolutely no interest in politics, and even now, despite possessing a deeper understanding of its nature and importance, I engage in political discussions reluctantly. It is not so much from ignorance as it is a belief that, when all is said and done, it does not matter. Legions march, Rome conquers, and Rome endures because it is so. Accordingly, I had no interest in much beyond any activity that directly impacted whether or not I would find myself standing shoulder to shoulder with a comrade. Even now, in my dotage I have this attitude and it has served me well enough these last years. Oftentimes men mistake disinterest for ignorance; I am not ignorant of what is going on, but ultimately it does not matter what I think and therefore I am not particularly interested in wasting time on subjects over which I ultimately have no control. And that, gentle reader, is one thing that has not changed about me, so when Vibius, Scribonius or any of our friends from within the Legion began to discuss politics of an evening after dinner, I was always one of the first to excuse myself to attend to other duties. I would make the excuse that as Sergeant, I had a number of details that demanded my attention, which was true enough, but it was just not the main reason for my disengagement. What was of more immediate interest to me were the activities of the Usipetes and Tencteri, two German tribes from across the Rhenus that were being forced out of their territory by the more warlike Suebi, who we had occasion to meet when they fought under Ariovistus. The Suebi pressed the Usipetes and Tencteri hard, crossing into their lands to savage the fields of the two tribes, until in desperation, for surely that could be the only real motive they could have had to defy Caesar, they crossed the Rhenus.

  Because of their spotty performance, Caesar had released the cavalry force that he used for the last two seasons and ordered a fresh levy to be drawn, a decision that was fine with us since the group that had been with us had proven to be little better than useless, though that may be the normal disdain a soldier has for a cavalryman. Regardless, while the dilectus for the cavalry was being performed, Caesar sent emissaries to secure the necessary forage for our livestock and grain for ourselves. Once these two tasks were completed, we began our march to the north, traveling farther to the east than we ever penetrated before. The distance was such that the march took up almost a month of the season, meaning that we arrived at the edge of the disputed territory having marched off all the flab that we accumulated over the winter. Passing the site of our battle with the Nervii to the south, we crossed the Mosa River at the point where it runs parallel to the Rhenus. Not long after we c
rossed the river, perhaps a day, we were met by a delegation representing the Usipetes and Tencteri, who had heard that Caesar and his army approached. Despite coming as supplicants, they refused to retreat across the Rhenus when Caesar demanded it, claiming that certain death at the hands of the Suebi awaited them, instead asking him to designate some land in Gaul where they could settle. Caesar made a counterproposal that offered the two tribes some land back across the Rhenus where the Ubii lived, who just a few months before had submitted to Rome and become a vassal state. The envoys of the Usipetes and Tencteri agreed to take this offer back to their tribe, asking Caesar to keep his army in place while they went to confer with their elders. Caesar smelled a trap and refused, instead keeping us moving towards the German camp that was at the junction of the Mosa and Rhenus. At the end of that day, as we were preparing camp, the envoys of the tribes came hurrying back, begging Caesar not to continue his advance. Our scouts told us that we were no more than a half-day’s march away from the German camp, so Caesar knew that the Germans were stalling for time. While refusing to stop us from advancing, he did agree to move another few miles to the banks of another river, whose name I do not remember, so that we could replenish our water supply and wait for the decision of the tribes’ elders. Our new cavalry was 5,000 strong, and they reported that the Germans’ own cavalry was not in the immediate area, apparently having ranged far and wide to find forage and food for the tribes. When Caesar was made aware of this, he drew the conclusion that the request for a delay was so that the German cavalry could come back to rejoin the main body. Still, he would not go back on his word, so we were under strict orders not to engage any of the Germans in battle and thereby violate the truce.

  We did not have to, because the Germans did it for us. Caesar ordered our cavalry to scout the area between our two camps and while doing so, in a direct violation of the truce, our host of 5,000 was attacked by no more than 800 German cavalry. The surprise was total because of this treachery, so despite being no admirer of cavalry, I will admit that the element of surprise in war cannot be overestimated. Whatever the circumstances, there was fierce fighting, during which many of our men were slain, with the remainder taking flight back to our column, at that point still a mile short of where we said we would stop. That made Caesar’s decision for him, and I know that this decision has brought much censure, especially because of the events that transpired. I think, gentle reader, you know by now that I am a great admirer of Caesar, so that if he were to miraculously come back to life, I would find the strength in these old bones to don my armor and helmet and pick up my shield and sword to follow wherever he directed. But even I, one of his most ardent supporters, cannot truly justify the actions that he undertook once the truce was violated. When I was younger, I pretended that I not only understood but supported his decision, but the years have stripped even that shell of a pretense away. Some of the dreams that rob me of my sleep are from what took place there with the Usipetes and Tencteri, and Diocles can be witness to the nights that I jerk awake screaming in horror, sweat soaking my nightclothes like I had just gone for a swim. Those are the ramblings of an old man, however, and have no bearing here, so I will direct my mind back to the specifics of what took place. Caesar’s concern was twofold; first was the act of treachery itself, because it gave a clear indication that the Germans could not be trusted. The wider implication was the example it would set with those tribes in Gaul still harboring dreams of overthrowing Rome, so it was with these two motives he acted, no matter how they are seen in the light of history. Making camp at the appointed spot on the banks of the river, it was the next morning that a deputation of chiefs from the two tribes came to apologize for the actions of their cavalry. Their claim was that they had been returning from foraging and therefore had no knowledge of the truce. Being completely honest, I can see the truth of this statement. However, the fact was that the truce was broken and Caesar, having reached his conclusion that these Germans could not be trusted under any account, refused to grant them an audience. Instead, he deduced that their supposed humility was a ruse designed to gain the tribes’ time to organize an attack, which may or may not have been the case. Regardless, whether it was true or not did not matter to Caesar, or so it seemed, because he immediately ordered us to form up to march on the German camp, while having the German chiefs thrown into chains.

  Even now, after all these years, I cannot bring myself to speak of what happened when we attacked their camp, at least in any detail. With the absence of their leaders, even if they were prepared to meet us, I believe the outcome was inevitable. However, they were not prepared; the surprise was total, the result what one could expect of a battle-hardened army that had been campaigning for three years. No mercy was given, the Legions putting all they found to the sword, no matter their age or their disposition. Men, women, children, babies, old people, it made no difference to us. Those few who survived the initial onslaught we scattered, pursuing them with our cavalry who were forced to march in the rear of the column as a mark of their shame, and were therefore eager to exact their own revenge on the Usipetes and Tencteri. Remember those names well, gentle reader, because they no longer exist, so total was our victory and so thorough our punishment. Those precious few who fled the camp were chased all the way back to the Rhenus, where they threw themselves into the swift current and were swept away, in the same way we swept away the rest of their people. I will not pretend that I am blameless; my sword was as bloody as any of my comrades when the day was done, and I was as indiscriminate in who I killed as the next man. My only excuse is that I took no pleasure in it; in fact, I found myself vomiting up all the contents of my breakfast, and I will say that I was not alone, a small comfort, knowing that there were others who felt like I did. In fact, I believe it was only because of my size and reputation that some of my comrades did not mock and ridicule me for being soft, especially since I saw many other men who had the same reaction as I did unmercifully teased. The Legions are a hard place, where any sensitivity is viewed as a weakness, and is immediately pounced upon by one’s very own friends. I might have escaped the ridicule of my fellow Legionaries, but I did not escape the faces of the many I slew that day as they chased me through my dreams.

  The reaction in Rome was one of total shock. There was even talk of holding Caesar accountable for supposed crimes against the Germans, there being much made of his violation of the truce, which we in the ranks did not understand. We found it hard to believe that Caesar had neglected to report that it was the Germans who violated the truce, but we soon saw what was happening in Rome for what it was, an opportunity seized by his political enemies to smear Caesar’s name. It was at this time that I first became acquainted with the name of the man who I hope even now is like Sisyphus, Marcus Porcius Cato. Vibius was a great admirer of Cato, and it was his admiration of the man that I believe eventually contributed to the rift that existed between Vibius and myself for many years. I had not paid much attention to the actions of the great men in Rome, for reasons that I mentioned earlier, but many of my comrades, Vibius among them, were avid followers of the political dramas that were taking place in Rome. Like all things, these men turned it into a gambling opportunity, wagering each other on the outcome of legislation or whether a particular man’s position on a topic would carry the day.

  “Cato is a great Roman, maybe the greatest of all time,” Vibius enthused one evening by the fire.

  Despite knowing that I should not indulge him, I found myself asking, “How so?”

  It was not more than a handful of moments later that I found myself sorry that I had asked.

  “Because he not only believes in the values of the true Republic, he lives them in his everyday life.” Without waiting for prompting, Vibius continued, “He refuses to wear a tunic under his toga, because our ancestors didn't, and he claims that it's a sign of the weakness that has infected Rome.”

  I rather saw it as a sign that men had finally figured out a way to be more comfo
rtable, though I knew better than to argue.

  “His toga is black,” Vibius finished, which did raise a question, passing my lips before I knew what had possessed me.

  “Why in the name of Dis is that?” I demanded, “So he can wear it after it gets dirty?”

  Vibius indignantly shook his head.

  “Not at all. He wears it as a sign of mourning, for the loss of the true Republic and the mos maiorum.”

  Shaking my head, I knew by this point that I was going to regret asking the next logical question, “And why, pray tell me dear Vibius, does he believe that the true Republic is dead?”

  “Because it is!” Vibius was emphatic on this point, “Look at how elections are rigged. Candidates who are just straw men, while only the richest men can afford to hold office.”

  To my mind, this was always the way things had gone, but I held my tongue.

  “And now the rabble has all the control, because whoever courts the mob and wins their favor will have the true power, not the Senate and the Tribunes of the plebs as it should be,” Vibius finished, sitting back down at his spot, looking very pleased with himself.

  “Vibius,” I reminded him gently, “if the truth be known, we,” I indicated all the men sitting at the fire, “are part of that rabble that you speak so badly about.”

  While I saw the heads of most of my friends nodding, I will admit that I was not surprised when I saw Vibius was unmoved.