by Peake, R. W.
His orders issued, Caesar turned away to resume his inspection of the rest of the position. The 5 Cohorts were on the move in less than a watch later, accompanied by a cavalry escort, and as they discovered, the ground they had to cross to get to the far ridge was very soggy; the horses plunged almost to their stomachs in the worst spots, while the men went knee-deep. They arrived at the slope opposite from where Pullus and the 10th were still improving their camp filthy and tired, but they were men hardened from years of such toil, and they knew the stakes for which they were playing, so they paused just long enough to catch their breath, before they began work. Siting the position as low on the opposite slope as was practical, the Centurion in charge, Vibius Pacuvius, from the 15th Legion and one of Caesar's Gallic veterans, knew that the farther down the slope he put his camp, the greater the reach of the scorpions. Even so, he detached a Century of men to go down onto the floor of the pass, as close to the edge of the mire as possible, to serve as a forward post, their orders being to buy as much time as possible in case the Wa tried to dislodge the main body. What not just the Centurion on the far slope, but Caesar and, by extension the rest of his army, were counting on was that the Wa commander would be unwilling to turn his attention to the smaller force, because it would expose the rear of his army to the 10th.
Unfortunately, the only way they would know if this position would be effective was at the point when the Wa army actually began its move. It was two days short of 2 weeks after the fortified line was begun that a group of scouts came galloping across the floor of the plain, trailing dust that hung in the still air, and thus pointing like an arrow back to the northwest from where they had come. Balbus had the duty, and he sent a man to fetch his Primus Pilus, who arrived in time to see the scouts begin laboring up the slope of the ridge, following what had become a well-worn path up to the position 3 miles to the south of the 10th's camp, where Caesar had located his headquarters.
"They look like Cerberus was after them," Pullus commented to his friend, who grunted in agreement.
"Probably means those slant-eyed barbarians are on the move," was Balbus' only comment, as Pullus turned away to go back to his tent and don his armor.
Because of the distance, Caesar had decreed that his senior Centurions had to ride at a quick trot, whenever they were summoned to the praetorium, something Pullus hated to do. His size and weight meant he always had to have a large horse, but all that was available for him was one of the island ponies, so that his feet were bare inches off the ground, making him feel ridiculous. Fortunately for everyone, the men knew better than to laugh at the sight, except that it still didn't help his frame of mind. He was on his pony and already a mile down the road that ran along the top of the ridge, made as smooth and level as possible to Caesar's exacting standards, when he met the mounted courier galloping in his direction. Seeing the large Primus Pilus, the courier curbed his horse, spraying dirt and rocks everywhere, and in his excitement forgot to render his salute.
Pullus was about to reprimand him, but before he could speak, the courier shouted to him, voice straining with excitement, "Caesar summons you immediately, Primus Pilus. The Wa are marching and are expected to be here by nightfall!"
"How many, do you figure?" Sextus Scribonius asked Titus Pullus, as they both stood on the rampart of the northernmost camp along the ridgeline. Spread out on the valley before them was a rolling mass of humanity, still too distant to distinguish individuals, but the leading edge was moving inexorably in the direction of the Roman lines.
"Hard to say," Pullus replied, squinting as he tried to peer through the dust cloud raised by the feet of the men in the front of the Wa army. "But that dust goes back as far as I can see."
"That's because you're old," Scribonius joked, although, in fact, he was a few years older, and his vision was no better than that of his Primus Pilus.
Pullus laughed, but his eyes never wavered from the sight before him, and for several moments neither spoke.
"I don't know exactly, but I would guess at a minimum there's at least 80,000 down there," he finally broke the silence. Scribonius' only response was a faint nod, because that was his estimate as well.
"I don't know whether they're going to settle in and make camp first, or go straight to the attack, but I'm going to play it safe and have the men ready," Pullus decided. Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he finished by saying, "Go get your men up on the ramparts. I want them, my Cohort, and the Third ready at the walls. The rest of the Legion I'll have on alert."
And with that, they both left the rampart to perform their respective tasks.
As it turned out, there was no need for alarm, at least that first day, as the Wa army moved into position. For the next two watches, the men on the ramparts stood observing, as the Wa moved into what was essentially a series of camps, spread evenly along the valley floor. Because the northern end of the ridge curled slightly to the west, it formed a bit of a pocket, where the valley floor extended a little farther east and was, in effect, surrounded on three sides by the ridge. Caesar had hoped that whoever was commanding the Wa would make the mistake of putting some of his army in this pocket, because it did allow the Wa some flexibility as to which way they could assault the ridge. To counteract that, the camp that held the 10th was not in its normal square, but in a slightly curved, rectangular shape, so that the slopes within the pocket were covered, as well as the northern tip, which overlooked the pass. Along with the 10th in this camp was the 12th, and probably most importantly, roughly half of the artillery the army possessed. This was why Caesar wanted the Wa to move all the way to the foot of the slope, because although the main camp was several hundred paces up the ridge and near the top, there were carefully prepared and camouflaged positions farther down the slope, within artillery range of any Wa camp. At each position was a supply of combustible ammunition: small jars of pitch, stoppered and stuffed with rags to serve as wicks, ready to be set alight and rain flaming death down onto the heads of the Wa. However, their commander, whoever he was, was either too canny or had luck of his own that kept him from placing his men there.
Pity, Pullus thought, as he continued watching the Wa move into position. He now saw that his estimate was woefully low, as the dust cloud continued to hover above the enemy army, obscuring the trailing elements, until they would suddenly appear out of the dust as if by magic. . And they kept coming, and coming, and coming, Pullus saw, his mood growing more dismal. What he couldn't see was the composition, other than how many men were mounted, and very, very few were. What he was more worried about was the proportion between archers and infantry, and of the infantry, how many would be carrying the long spears. Those would be the Wa's most effective weapons in the event of a straightforward assault, because of their reach; yet even knowing this, Pullus feared the men with the swords the most, something that he would never, ever admit to anyone but himself. However, for the first time in his career in the army, Titus Pullus had seen men handle a sword as skillfully as he did, albeit in a completely different way. What was most unsettling was that the controlled frenzy these warriors possessed, combined with such a skill level meant that they were formidable, indeed. Well, he thought grimly, we just have to make sure those slanty-eyed little cunni don't manage to get up on the rampart. For that, Pullus was convinced, would be the key to avoid being overwhelmed. What remained to be seen was where the focal point of the Wa attack would be, but Pullus felt deep down in his bones that it would be the 10th that would either add to the laurels of their standards, or become another forgotten Legion, because it would be wiped out to the last man, with nobody left to tell their story.
For his part, Caesar also watched, from the camp roughly in the middle of the ridge. This meant that the leading edge of the Wa first appeared several miles farther away than it did for Pullus, but he was kept informed by a steady stream of couriers galloping along the rough road and carrying messages from Hirtius, whom he had put in command of the northern camp. Then, gradually, as
the Wa continued moving south to fill the valley with their horde, Caesar began to understand what was facing his army. Standing next to him, Asinius Pollio, Tiberius Nero, and the Primus Pilus of the 25th Legion, Torquatus, talked softly to each other, but all of them were of a like mind. None of them had faced an army of the size that the Wa army appeared it would be, and, as one man, they looked to Caesar who alone appeared unperturbed.
Turning to Pollio at last, Caesar's tone was calm. "I estimate more than 100,000 men are down there, Pollio. Do you agree?"
Pollio, doing his best to match his general's demeanor, if not his voice, replied, "Yes, Caesar, and then some. It wouldn't surprise me if it turns out to be 120,000 barbarians down there."
Caesar considered for a moment, then nodded. "I think you're right." Giving the others a wry smile, he admitted, "I thought that was about right in the first place, but I was afraid to say it aloud."
This brought a nervous but appreciative chuckle from the others, but Caesar's confident manner reappeared immediately.
"Well," he rubbed his hands together, "that just means the glory will be all the greater. Now, let's see what our opponent has planned, shall we?"
It turned out that the Wa were content to spend the rest of that day, then the next one as well, getting settled into their camps. Caesar was interested to see that their commander placed the largest number of his men in the camp nearest to the northern Roman camp, with the southernmost Wa position holding the second largest number, but he was not particularly alarmed. If I were their commander, he reflected, I would do the same thing. If my main focus was going to be on the northern camp, then I would want my troops to travel the shortest distance. However, if I was going to attack somewhere else along the line, and I had 120,000 troops, I would still put a larger number at the ends, to pin as many of my numerically inferior enemy's troops down. That would allow me to choose my spot, and, because I am on the flat valley floor, I can move men more quickly. Of course, Caesar continued his thought, the Wa commander can't see that we have a road running along the top of the ridge, so that I can move almost as quickly as he can. And that, Caesar thought with grim amusement, is just one trick up my sleeve. As much as he had seen, as many new nations and their warriors Caesar had faced, he still believed down to the core of his being that when all facets of warfare were considered, he and his Romans had no equal. He had been forced to acknowledge, however grudgingly and only to himself, that in martial ardor and pure fighting skill, the Wa were more than a match for his men. But there is more to warfare than fighting, something that no other general in history understood better than Caesar, and as confident as he was, he also knew that this battle, what he somehow instinctively understood would be his last great battle, one way or another, would require every ounce of skill, every particle of luck that the gods still owed him, and would be the greatest test of his career. Nevertheless, he was ready; he just hoped the rest of the army was, as well.
On the second day, once it became apparent the Wa were still preparing for whatever they had planned, Caesar made the decision to send all of his noncombatants—other than the medici of course—down the opposite slope to the security of the fleet. He did the same for the cavalry and, after careful consideration, his auxiliary forces, save for the remaining men of his missile troops. His reasoning was slightly different for each group, but ultimately, there was one common thought; this fight was for the Legions, Caesar's hard men of iron. As useful as the extra bodies of the auxiliaries might be, Caesar also understood that none of his Legionaries held them in much regard. The cavalry was a simpler matter, and while he knew some of them were nearly as skilled with their weapons on foot as they were on horseback, their style of fighting wouldn't be a good fit for the defense of the camps. The tent section slaves whose tasks were to lead the sections' mules and other duties, would all just be in the way. Only those who had been trained as medici, and a handful per camp to act as stretcher bearers, would be left behind. Finally, Legion clerks without dual training were also sent to the ships. This included Diocles, over his strong objections, but Pullus' will prevailed, and the diminutive Greek marched down the slope, muttering all the way to the fleet. Caesar had done everything he could think to do to prepare his army for the coming trial.
In the pre-dawn morning, on the third day after the Wa army appeared, Titus Pullus was awakened by the shouted alarm of the sentry nearest his tent. Normally, what followed was the sound of rustling that told him Diocles, in the outer portion of the Primus Pilus' tent that served as the Legion office, had sprung from his pallet; but it took Pullus a moment to remember that Diocles was now with the fleet. A brief instant later, he heard someone call his name, and without wasting time pulling on his armor first, Pullus strode to the entrance of his tent to see a man, standing at intente, waiting.
"Report," Pullus snapped, and the Legionary, drilled in this as with everything, began speaking.
Because of the gloom, only then did Pullus realize that it was Mardonius, the Parthian who had been seconded to Scribonius as his new Optio some weeks before. Fortunately, although Mardonius' Latin still carried the heavy accent of his native tongue, he was clearly understandable.
"Pilus Prior Scribonius has sent me to report that the Wa army has begun leaving the northern camp and appears to be forming up by torchlight," the swarthy Parthian snapped out.
Even having known before he went to sleep the night before that this was the most likely day for the confrontation, Pullus nonetheless felt the lurch in his stomach, but his demeanor remained unchanged, as he nodded to Mardonius.
"Very well. Thank you, Optio. You can report to Scribonius and tell him that I'll rouse the rest of the Legion and he's to keep me informed if anything unusual happens. I imagine," Pullus finished casually, as if he were talking about nothing more momentous than the day's duties, "that with that big an army, it'll take them the better part of a full watch to form up."
"On your way back, rouse Valerius," he told Mardonius, speaking of the cornicen for the First Cohort, and, by extension, the whole Legion; Valerius’ tent was right next to that of the Primus Pilus, a tent shared with the Tesseraurius, the signifer, and the First Cohort’s aquilifer, the bearer of the sacred Eagle standard of the Legion. "Tell him to sound assembly, entire Legion. It's time to get the boys up and ready."
Barely a sixth part of a watch later, both the 10th and the 12th Legion, the two most veteran Legions in Caesar's army, were fully formed, with the bulk of both Legions assembled and in the Forum of the camp, minus the Cohorts currently manning the ramparts. It was still dark, but there was a pinking of the eastern sky that hinted at the coming day, and not lost on any man of either army was the possibility that this would be the last dawn they would see. Such knowledge makes these moments all the more precious, particularly for that group of men, part of the second dilectus held in Africa and Syria, who worshiped the sun god Baal, and nothing was said when these men, as they did every dawn, prostrated themselves in the direction of the rising sun. In fact, more men than usual followed suit, dropping to their knees, and, while not trying to mouth the prayers, stayed silent as the others finished. The Forum, packed with Legionaries, generated a quiet hum, a throaty sound of men whispering to each other, speculating on what was to come, making the same stale jokes or wagers as before every battle. While Pullus had been rousing his Legion, Hirtius had sent one of the dispatch riders galloping along the ridge top road to Caesar, although he was sure Caesar would be aware by the time the rider arrived. Very quickly, all that was left was to wait, wait to see what the Wa were going to do, and, more importantly, where they were going to do it. Despite the fact that neither Pullus nor Hirtius had confided in each other, their thoughts ran along identical lines, both of them sure that it would be their position that would come under the heaviest assault. From what they had seen, just the contents of the northernmost Wa camp gave the enemy a 5 to 1 advantage, or thereabouts. But despite this, neither Hirtius nor Pullus was particularly worri
ed by that alone, because the artillery was just waiting to rip bloody gaps in the Wa ranks as they struggled up a steep slope. What did worry both of them, and had kept them up the night before, was what else the Wa had in store for them: what surprise of their own they had in store for the army of Caesar. But the only way to know was to face it.
The sun was just fully above the horizon to the east when the bucina of the guard Cohort—the Second Cohort—blasted out the signal that the enemy was moving, and Pullus, Hirtius, and Balbinus all went trotting from the Forum to the rampart to see what the day held in store for them. Mounting the parapet, all three officers came to an abrupt halt, staring down at the sight before them, and for several moments, none of them could find any words.
Finally, it was Pullus, who managed to say, his voice suddenly hoarse, "Well, we're going to earn our pay today."
Chapter 8
Just as Pullus had predicted, it took the Wa almost a full watch before they were in what was apparently their battle formation, and at first, it appeared that the Wa commander was going to behave precisely as Caesar had expected him to. There hadn't been any real shift in terms of the numbers, so that the same size Wa force was now aligned roughly even with the base of the northernmost camp, giving every indication that they would make a straightforward assault. Elsewhere, smaller groups of Wa, but still in contingents that looked to be about 10,000 men in strength, lined themselves up across from each of the five Roman camps. What Caesar couldn't see was beyond the camp to his left, namely the rest of the southernmost positions that ended in an almost identical situation at the southern end of the ridge with the camp commanded by Pollio. While he could just make out the Wa camps that were roughly aligned exactly like the others, he could tell there was movement only because of the large clouds of dust from the closest camp and because the mounted couriers were galloping back and forth. However, even with the road that Caesar had the men cut along the top of the ridge, it would be at least a sixth part of a watch before he could expect to be informed by a courier, and that was only if he rode hard and the horse didn't founder. Consequently, as soon as the Wa began making their own camps, he had sent Asinius Pollio to the southernmost camp. He needed a man he could trust, even though he felt certain that there would be no major attack on that position. He also had a group of couriers stationed along the ridge road at each camp, where they would act as relay riders, each passing the message to the next waiting rider, so that he would be informed as quickly as possible, in the event he was wrong in his prediction.