by Ben Kane
As the soldiers passed through tiny villages full of mud-brick houses, they were watched by the terrified locals, mainly women, children and the old. Under strict orders from Caesar, no looting took place. It was bad enough that they were taking the peasants' food, he said, without stealing what few valuables they had too. For once, it wasn't difficult for his hungry men to obey the order. They only had eyes for the fields around each settlement that contained the crops. Naturally, everything edible this near to Ruspina had already been harvested and hidden by the locals, or previously commandeered by Caesarean troops.
At least they had plenty to drink, thought Romulus. Thanks to the deep wells in Ruspina, every man's leather water bag was full. Marching was much easier when every drop of fluid didn't have to be treated as if it were gold. The fact that it was winter meant that the temperatures were nothing like the cauldron of the Parthian desert either. Romulus had terrible memories of the raging thirst he'd suffered while travelling through that alien landscape with Brennus and Tarquinius.
The thought of the haruspex now made Romulus feel sad, nostalgic even. The passage of time had diluted his anger over what Tarquinius had done. He'd admitted to himself that Caesar's grant of manumission might never have occurred if events hadn't happened the way they did. Yet it was hard not to wonder what would have happened if he hadn't had to flee Rome with Brennus. His life could still have been a success. I might have won my freedom in the arena by earning the coveted rudis. Or died instead, he reflected. Who knows? Romulus had not quite reached the point of forgiving Tarquinius, but he no longer felt the burning fury towards his mentor that he had in Alexandria. It had become a matter that they could discuss and sort out, man to man. If they ever met, that was.
Romulus sighed. What chance was there of that? Precious little. Best not to think about Tarquinius too much. No point worrying about things he couldn't change. Better to concentrate on the matters to hand, such as finding some food. With all the fields empty, that tactic didn't work for long. Thinking about winning the war worked no better — the Pompeians were so numerous that, despite Caesar's unparalleled leadership, success was by no means certain. Only time would tell. Romulus tried another method, tuning into the song being bawled out by someone in the rank ahead. As was often the case, it was about Caesar himself. Each lurid verse featured one of the many noblewomen he had conducted affairs with, while the chorus advised the men of Rome to lock up their wives when the 'bald-headed lecher' returned to the city for good. Romulus joined in with gusto. The first time he'd heard the mocking chant, he had been shocked by Caesar's tolerance of it. Later, he'd come to see that it showed the huge affection in which the general was held by his men, and Caesar knew that.
'Halt!' bellowed Atilius, their senior centurion. 'Halt!'
The order was repeated at once by the unit's trumpeter, who marched beside Atilius.
Wondering what was going on, Romulus peered into the distance. His comrades did likewise. Their German and Gaulish cavalry still only numbered four hundred or so, and a quarter of these were scouting the terrain before them. The eagle-eyed Atilius must have spotted some of the tribesmen returning. An instant later, Romulus' suspicion was confirmed by the sight of a small dust cloud, which preceded the arrival of a troop of horsemen. The Gauls had soon galloped in, passing the Twenty-Eighth. Riding with only small shields for protection, the pigtailed, lightly armed warriors ignored the questions thrown their way by the curious legionaries. Caesar, who had led them through the conquest of Gaul, was the only man they would speak to. As the commander, he was in the usual position halfway along the column.
Still nothing could be seen. The countryside was relatively flat with few trees, which meant that it was possible to see for up to a mile in front of the patrol's position. The legionaries began to relax, grounding their shields and taking sips of water from their carriers. Their officers didn't interfere. With no enemy in sight, there was no harm in this behaviour.
A short while later, most of the Gauls came trotting back past the Twenty-Eighth.
'Look,' said Romulus, spotting a familiar red cloak. 'Caesar is with them!'
Even Atilius turned his head and stared. 'They must want to show him something,' he growled. Like many officers in the Twenty-Eighth, Atilius was a veteran of the Tenth, Caesar's favourite legion. He and his comrades had ostensibly been drafted in to form a nucleus from which the less experienced soldiers could learn backbone and discipline. In some circles, though, it was whispered that they were the mutineers who had marched on Rome just a few months before, posted out of their original unit to prevent more trouble. Either way, Atilius was a fine soldier and reminded Romulus of Bassius, the old centurion who had led him in Parthia.
Wondering where the other Gauls had gone, Romulus glanced over his shoulder. Half a dozen warriors were riding back to the rear. Adrenalin surged through him. 'He's sent for the rest of the cavalry and the archers, sir,' he cried. 'Must be expecting trouble.'
Atilius gave Romulus an appraising stare. The story of the slave who had been condemned to die in the arena yet instead won his freedom by killing a rhinoceros had travelled through the ranks of the Twenty-Eighth long before Romulus had arrived in Lilybaeum. Because of his previous history, he had been assigned to a different cohort from that in which he'd served before. To give him his due, the young soldier was physically fit, responded to orders well and performed his duties to Atilius' satisfaction. That made him no different to many of the legionaries under his command, and so the senior centurion was reserving judgement until an opportunity for Romulus to prove his real worth presented itself. 'So he has. We might have to forget about our grumbling bellies until later.'
'Yes, sir.' Romulus could sense Atilius' coolness and suspected the reason behind it. It was the same, or worse, with a few of his new comrades, who disliked him for receiving what they saw as special treatment from Caesar. There was no outright hostility, just begrudging looks and a lack of camaraderie. Although it was hard, Romulus could cope with that. From the majority, though, he received a kind of reluctant admiration, as well as a good deal of ribbing about being the best man to fight the Pompeians' elephants, of which there were reputed to be 120. Romulus bore these comments with good humour, knowing that it was an eventual route to gaining their acceptance. With luck, fighting together would accelerate that.
He looked forward to more comradeship. Petronius' death had hit Romulus hard, accentuating the pain of his split with Tarquinius and reopening the wound of Brennus' last stand. Although he hadn't been able to save Petronius, at least he'd tried to. Why didn't I stay with Brennus? Romulus asked himself repeatedly. Beside that, even his manumission seemed trivial. I could have died with my blood brother, instead of running like a coward. Telling himself that Mithras had meant for him and Tarquinius to escape felt like an excuse — an easy way out.
A few moments after Caesar had ridden off, the bucinae blared from the general's position. He had issued his orders before leaving.
'Hear that?' Atilius grinned wolfishly. 'Prepare to move out,' he bawled.
Excitement and a little fear rippled through the ranks. The enemy had to be near.
Readying his pila, Romulus advanced alongside his comrades. His eyes scanned the terrain constantly, especially around the point where Caesar and the Gauls were heading. Soon the horsemen had become nothing more than a dust cloud. For an age, Romulus saw nothing. The tension continued to build. Only so much time could pass on African soil before they met the Pompeians, and now combat was imminent. Every man could sense it.
This feeling was heightened by the sight of the Gaulish cavalry halting at the top of a gradual incline. The legionaries followed Caesar's tracks up a long, sloping ascent. Nearing the crest, they saw that he had stopped in order to survey the area. Their general was talking animatedly to the Gauls' commander. His arm stabbed here and there, pointing out important details. Then Caesar turned to see how close his cohorts were. A smile crossed his face.
Ins
tinctively, the soldiers' pace quickened.
Atilius was a dozen paces in front, so it was he who reached the crest and spotted the Pompeians first. 'Jupiter above,' Romulus heard him say.
Soon he was able to see the enemy for himself.
A plain stretched away from where Caesar was sitting on his horse. On the far side of it, about half a mile away, was an immensely wide formation of soldiers. The sheer length of the Pompeian line spoke volumes. There were thousands more men in it than in Caesar's foraging party. Many legionaries' faces paled.
Atilius sensed the mood. 'Caesar is no fool,' he bellowed. 'He won't offer battle against that rabble unless he has to.'
Romulus felt a tickle of unease. It wasn't certain that any fighting would take place, yet already the men around him were wavering. Not a good start, he thought. He was pleased when Atilius continued talking to his soldiers while raining abuse on the Pompeians. Reassured, the legionaries settled.
While he might not have desired battle, Caesar could not fail to respond to the enemy's presence so close to his own. Sharp blasts from the trumpeters soon had the cohorts assembling in a long line similar to that of the Pompeians. To match the enemy's width, however, his soldiers had to form up only one cohort deep. This was a major departure from normal tactics, which saw a minimum of two lines to face any enemy, and caused more uneasiness in the ranks.
'He must be worried about being flanked,' Romulus confided to Sabinus, the legionary on his right. They'd become friends over the previous few weeks.
'I suppose,' Sabinus grunted. 'Never mind that we've got sod-all cavalry to defend us there.'
A short, black-haired man with a strong chin, Sabinus had been in Pompey's army at Pharsalus. Like thousands of his compatriots, he had surrendered and sworn loyalty to Caesar. They'd fought well since, in Egypt and at Zela. That had been against foreigners, though, Romulus worried, enemies who'd had nothing to do with the Pompeians. Today it was time to confront troops whom many of these soldiers would have previously fought beside.
Like any officer worth his salt, Atilius realised that his legionaries were still uneasy. First the signiferi and then the aquilifer were brought into the front rank. There were proud reactions when the silver eagle arrived, with loud vows being made that no enemy would ever lay his hands on the legion's most important possession. Atilius also had a word with his subordinates, who began walking along the ranks, addressing individual soldiers by name. The senior centurion did likewise, pinching men's cheeks and slapping their arms, telling them how brave they were.
Caesar himself rode along the front of the Fifth Legion, the tribesmen he'd recruited in Gaul and made into Roman citizens because of their loyal service. His exact words didn't carry through the air, but the rousing cheers that followed did.
Thus prepared, Caesar's cohorts waited to see what Metellus Scipio would do.
It wasn't long before the answer came.
To Romulus' amazement, large parts of what had appeared to be closely bunched infantry in the lines opposite were actually cavalry. Numidians. In a stunning exercise of subterfuge, Scipio had concealed the true nature of his forces until the last moment. Now they began to move, the large squadrons of horsemen galloping out to either side on the flat ground between the two armies. From the middle of the enemy's position ran thousands of foot soldiers: lightly armed Numidian infantry.
Scipio wanted a battle and, thanks to his clever tactics, he would get it. Despite Caesar's thinning of the line, his men now had every chance of being outflanked. There was little point in refusing to fight, Romulus realised, because the Pompeians would then harry them all the way back to Ruspina. By standing and fighting, though, they faced the distinct possibility of annihilation. As Crassus had at Carrhae. Bitterness filled him at the thought of serving under two generals who lost through lack of cavalry.
Caesar's few archers finally came trotting from the rear, their faces lathered with sweat. The 150 men had made the journey from Ruspina at the double in order to catch up with the foraging party. Without a rest, they were sent off in front of the main force. The remaining cavalry also arrived, joining up with the men around Caesar. The patrol was immediately split up, with two hundred Gauls being placed on each flank. It was a trifling number, and Romulus cringed when he looked out at the Numidian cavalry pounding across the plain towards them. There had to be seven or eight thousand in total. Twenty horsemen for each of Caesar's, and Numidians at that. The world's best cavalry, which, under Hannibal, had repeatedly helped to butcher Roman armies.
Thankfully, he had no time to dwell on the disparity between the two sides.
The bucinae sounded the advance.
Caesar's response to Scipio's offer of battle was to accept. It was typically brave of the general, but neither he nor his men could have prepared themselves for the onslaught which began moments later.
The cohorts marched forward, each keeping close to its neighbours. Pacing them on the flanks were the Gaulish cavalry. The air was filled with the characteristic sounds of thousands of marching men: the tramp of studded sandals in unison on the ground, the jingle of chain mail, the clash of metal off shields and the shouts of officers. Romulus could hear men coughing nervously and muttering prayers to their favourite gods. Few spoke. He cast his own eyes up to the heavens, wondering if anything would be revealed. All he saw was blue sky. Romulus clenched his teeth, taking comfort from the soldiers on each side of him and ignoring the tang of fear in the smell of their sweat.
This was the worst part: the anticipation before the actual battle started.
'Keep moving,' roared Atilius from his position in the very centre of the third rank. 'Stay in line with the other cohorts!'
Soon they could make out the individual shapes of the Numidian infantry running towards them. Thin, wiry figures with dark hair and light brown skin, they wore short, sleeveless tunics belted at the waist with rope. Like their mounted comrades, they wore no armour, carrying only a small round shield for protection. Their arms consisted of light throwing spears and javelins, and a knife. Barefoot, they danced along the hot ground singly and in groups, closing in on the Roman lines like packs of hunting dogs.
'Don't look up to much, do they?' sneered Sabinus.
His comment was greeted with contemptuous grunts of agreement.
Romulus' spirits lifted. It was hard to see how the lightly armed skirmishers could have any meaningful impact on their lines. Although the Gaulish cavalry would come off worst, perhaps they, the infantry, could turn the tide in Caesar's favour?
They were now within a hundred paces of the enemy. Close enough to pick out individual men's faces. To see their lips twisted back in fury. To hear their ululating war cries.
Romulus licked his lips. It was nearly time.
An instant later, the bucinae sounded the charge.
'Up and at them, men,' roared Atilius. 'Wait for my call to release your pila.'
The Twenty-Eighth surged forward.
Romulus' caligae pounded off the short grass. He glanced left and right, taking in the bunched jaws, the nervous faces and the downright terrified expressions of a few soldiers. As always, his own stomach was knotted with nerves. The sooner they closed with the enemy, the better. He scanned the figures running towards them, and felt slightly reassured. The Numidians looked puny compared to the heavily armed men all around him. Sabinus had to be right. What chance had these skirmishers of resisting a charge by legionaries? Half an hour later, Romulus was of a different mind altogether. Rather than meet the legionaries in a clash of shield against shield, and engage in brutal hand-to-hand combat, the Numidians acted almost like horsemen. Fleet of foot, and unencumbered by equipment, they ran in towards the Romans, discharged a volley of javelins, and fled. If they were pursued, they kept running. When the exhausted legionaries stopped to take a breather, the Numidians swarmed back, flinging spears and throwing taunts in their guttural tongue. Nothing the Romans did made any difference. While few men had been killed, there w
ere dozens of injured. It was the same story all along the line.
Here and there, frustrated groups of Caesar's soldiers had ignored their officers and broken ranks to charge the groups of the enemy that ventured close to their positions. Romulus had developed a healthy respect for the Numidians, whose tactics changed when attacked in this manner. They turned in unison like a flock of birds, but their purpose was altogether more deadly. The pursuing clusters of legionaries were quickly enveloped and overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers. Then, before the watching cohorts could respond, the enemy skirmishers were gone again, running back towards their own lines.
Romulus was quite worried. Atilius and his officers had kept most of the Twenty-Eighth in position, but the Numidians' assaults were whittling away at the men's confidence. Without the officers' constant reassuring shouts, and the waving of the eagle, he thought they might have broken and run by now. Romulus could see by the wavering of the other cohorts' positions that the situation was the same everywhere.
The Gaulish cavalry was faring no better. Driven backwards by the Numidians, they were struggling to remain anywhere near Caesar's flanks. Already the cohorts on the edges were having to defend themselves against harrying attacks from the javelin-throwing horsemen. Before long, the enemy riders would have enveloped the entire patrol, blocking off its only avenue of escape. Romulus had vivid memories from Carrhae of what befell infantry when that happened. He didn't mention a word of this to Sabinus or the men around him, but there was no need. They'd heard the story of Curio, Caesar's former tribune in Africa, who had come unstuck in this manner the previous year. Moreover, they could see what was happening for themselves.