Marching With Caesar - Civil War (3 page)

It took some time to create the ford; a series of channels had to be cut that diverted the flow of the Sicoris, lowering its normal level in order to allow both horses and men to cross without fear of drowning. While Caesar was working, Afranius sent word to the natives south of the Iber to make ready to receive the Pompeian army. Unlike the region we were in now, the natives south of the Iber were still firmly in the Pompeian camp, and it was this support that Afranius counted on to help prepare the way. He ordered the native tribes to gather a number of small boats at a point on the Iber where they would be strung together to make a bridge for his army to cross. Although the area was friendly to Pompey, such an endeavor was not going to go unnoticed by our scouts. Once the location of the boat bridge was identified, it was a simple matter of plotting Afranius’ line of march from Ilerda to the bridge. Knowing where the enemy is going is always a huge advantage in warfare, and this occasion was no exception. To prepare for the evacuation, Afranius sent two of his Legions across the stone bridge, where they built a fortified camp. It became a race; Caesar doubled the workforce on the ford, but after a day, it was still just barely suitable for horses to cross and still too risky for the Legions. It would take us too long to march to the bridge upriver, because by that time, Afranius’ evacuation would be complete. Attacking the enemy when they tried to cross the stone bridge was out of the question due to the position of the two Legions already dug in on the eastern bank. Deciding that what was created at the ford would have to suffice, Caesar ordered his cavalry across the river even as Afranius’ men marched across the bridge, forming up in marching order to begin their trek south.

We stood on the ramparts watching our cavalry dart in and out, looking for vulnerable spots in the enemy’s formation. Despite their best efforts, the Afranius column began marching, although they left a string of bodies behind as they moved slowly across the level plain by the river. It looked very much like the Pompeians would escape and that the fighting would continue.

I am not sure who started it, but I became aware of a buzz of conversation that was different from the normal background noise of chatter that is typical of the Legions when they are standing idle like we were in the camp. One’s ear becomes attuned to these minute changes, especially as a Centurion or Optio, because more often than not it spells trouble. Turning from watching our cavalry, I saw that a large number of men had clustered together and were engaged in an animated debate of some kind. I looked around for one of my Centurions, but since Celer was the only one nearby and I did not trust him, I decided to go see what the commotion was on my own. Before I could descend the parapet, three of the men left the group and headed in the direction of the Primus Pilus, who was standing farther down the parapet. Wanting to hear, I changed direction and walked to join the Primus Pilus, arriving at the same time as the delegation.

“Primus Pilus.” I guessed that this man, an Optio from the First Cohort as I recall, was elected as spokesman to approach the command group with whatever these men had in mind. “We want you to go to Caesar for us.”

That was certainly guaranteed to get all of our attention, and the Primus Pilus looked nonplussed.

“For what?” he demanded.

“To convince him to send us across the ford now, so we can end this once and for all.”

There was a sudden silence. Even the buzzing group of men stopped their talking to hear this exchange. I looked at the Primus Pilus, a man named Torquatus, and while his face was expressionless, I was close enough to see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. I knew that they had approached the right man. However, he was not about to give in immediately; that just is not how things work in the Legions.

“And why would I want to do that? Are you so anxious to die?” He gestured in the direction of the ford. “The last I heard, the water was neck deep, and the current was still strong. A midget like you would be swept away like a turd in the sewer.”

There was an eruption of laughter, and the Optio flushed, but his tone was calm. “That may be, Primus Pilus. But we’re all going to die anyway. I’d rather do it trying to end this war than to wait a few more days.”

That stilled the laughter immediately and I could see that he had struck a chord that, in all honesty, resonated with me just as much as with the rest of the men.

Primus Pilus Torquatus did not answer immediately, staring down at the men now gathered in front of us with narrowed eyes. Finally, he gave a curt nod, and said, “Fair enough. I’ll speak with him. Pullus,” he surprised me because I had not even been sure that he had seen me, “come with me.”

Off we went, to talk to Caesar, with the men wishing us luck on our quest.

~ ~ ~ ~

In fairness, it did not take much persuasion to get Caesar to agree. The one concession that he demanded was that we choose men who we thought were strong enough to cross through the current without being swept away. We also agreed to leave all baggage behind. Hurrying back, I gave the necessary orders while the Primus Pilus went to tell the other Primi Pili of the other Legions what we were about. Immediately, the camp was thrown into the flurry of activity that to an outsider would look like utter chaos, but which is, in fact, a well-practiced dance that most of us had performed hundreds and thousands of times, save for the raw Legions.

I let my Centurions do their job; one of the hardest things to learn for a senior Centurion is to rely on your subordinates and give them the freedom to do their jobs the best way they see fit, without constantly interfering. Having command of veterans like the 10th made everyone’s jobs easier, since every man knew exactly what he was supposed to do at any given moment, and it was this experience that saw us formed up and ready to march a little more than a third of a watch after the command. During the time we were preparing, our cavalry continued with the harassment, but Afranius’ army had managed to march a couple of miles across the plain, heading for slightly rougher country, broken with a seemingly unending series of low hills and gullies choked with brush. About five miles further began a small mountain range, with terrain so undulating that if the Pompeians could make it that far, it would be practically impossible for us to bring them to battle, thereby allowing them to escape. That made it of the utmost importance that we bring them to heel before that point, and with that in mind, we trotted in formation to the ford. Caesar ordered about a hundred of the cavalry to come back to the ford to assist with the crossing, using the same method we had used to such good effect in Gaul. About half of them entered the river above the ford, standing their horses side by side to lessen the flow of the current, with the other half forming up below the ford, ready to catch any man who lost his footing. It was in this way that, despite a few men being swept off their feet by the current, almost the entire army crossed without the loss of a single man. Still, despite the relative speed of our movements, it took more than two parts of a watch to get the whole army across, and it was a soggy, tired lot that was given the order to move out after Afranius, who used that time to continue his march south, getting a couple miles closer to the mountains. Despite how waterlogged we were, we still marched much faster than the Pompeians, who might have been dry but were still encumbered with all of their baggage and supplies.

Toward the end of the day, we came within sight of the rearguard, still being harassed by our cavalry. The Pompeians were fighting a running battle, with our forces lasting the better part of four watches now. With the sun beginning to sink, they marched to a group of small hills to occupy the high ground. While two of their Legions stood in formation on the slopes and watched, the rest began to build camp. For our part, we were still sodden and tired ourselves, but since we left our baggage behind, the best we could do was to occupy a hill a short distance away, making a cold camp without walls or ditch. We settled down the best we could, shivering in our cold clothes, the men continually grumbling about the water setting in and ruining their gear. Since we had no real way to dry and oil our armor and weapons, they worried about having to replace it, knowing it would come out of their pay. I began using handfuls of the sandy soil to scour my own equipment and the rest of the men quickly followed suit, but I knew that we would have to have a cleaning party at the first opportunity, if only to stop the complaining.

Meanwhile, our scouts were ranging ahead along the Pompeians’ line of march, surveying the country, and they came back to tell Caesar what they found. Once past the small range of hills that we were occupying, the land was fairly open and only gently rolling for four or five miles, until it reached a series of sharply defined ridges that generally blocked passage to the Iber. However, a narrow defile was there that was apparently a dry watercourse feeding into the Iber. Whoever got to that defile first could block passage to the boat bridge. As they were hurrying back with this report, the scouts captured a detachment of Pompeians sent to get water. Under interrogation, we learned that Afranius was planning on a night march, and was at that moment preparing to try and slip away. Immediately, Caesar ordered the
bucina
to sound the order to make ready to march, in turn issuing the corresponding commands. Between the horn and the bellowing of the Centurions, the sound rolled across the space between the hills, alerting Afranius that we had discovered his plans. He then countermanded his own marching orders, and after a lot of bustling about, things settled down again for the rest of the night.

Shortly before dawn, I was summoned along with the other Centurions to a meeting of the command group. We were standing together as the sun rose, and with the light turning the sky first gray, then the coppery blue that promised another hot day, we discussed our options. From the spot in camp where we were talking, we could see a small knot of men in the Pompeian camp and I smiled grimly to myself, thinking that their conversation was undoubtedly an exact copy of our own; what was the other side thinking? What were they going to do next? As it turned out, they did nothing for the whole day, and neither did we, other than sitting and watching each other. Since we had marched out with only the normal three-day’s rations and had not brought any of our baggage, the wagering in camp was that the Pompeians would be content to sit on that hill to starve us out. They would force us to withdraw back to the main camp for supplies, or to have a convoy sent to us, thereby providing enough of a distraction for them to slip away. Nevertheless, as proud as we were of Caesar’s skill and fortune, the Pompeians were equally wary of it. Consequently, they determined that they could not just sit and wait for something to happen. That next day passed uneventfully, but during the night, shortly before dawn, we could hear the horns sounding the orders to break camp. Almost at the same moment, Caesar gave his own orders and since we had less to break down, we were ready to move well before the Pompeians. Dawn found us moving off the hill, but this time seemingly back in the direction from which we had come, the cries of joy and the jeers of our foes carrying across the small valley to us. Normally, such calls of cowardice would have been bitter as gall to us, but now we all looked at each other, grinning from ear to ear, thankful that we were too far away for the enemy to see our faces. Once again, Caesar had pulled one over on his enemies.

~ ~ ~ ~

We were not withdrawing, although it looked like we were. Caesar’s scouts had surveyed the ground well, determining that there was a route that would allow us to swing us past the Pompeian camp, thereby putting us directly between them and the defile, through which ran the only passage to the boat bridge. The problem with that route was that it was over extremely difficult ground, littered with small ravines and crumbling fingers of land that oftentimes forced us to clamber hand over hand, with our comrades helping us up the steep sides. Fairly quickly, the Pompeians realized their error, and despite the distance, we could hear the cries of alarm echoing over the hills as they scrambled to cut us off. There began a race of sorts, with Afranius leaving his own baggage behind in camp, with some Cohorts to guard it, beginning a parallel march, creating a plume of dust that contrasted with our own, marking our respective progress. Both sides put everything into the pursuit but Afranius had the added disadvantage of being harried by our cavalry, whereas his own was of such poor quality that he did not even bother sending it at us. Despite the rough terrain, we drew ahead of the Pompeians, arriving at the mouth of the defile gasping for breath and barely able to stand erect, but nonetheless we made ready for Afranius to attack.

~ ~ ~ ~

Afranius obviously knew the folly of trying to force his way through the mouth of the defile, because he halted his men some distance away. For almost a third of a watch, neither side moved, which we were thankful for since it allowed us to catch our breath. Afranius’ problem was that as narrow as the defile was, he could not bring his entire force to bear in an assault, instead being forced to feed his Legions in piecemeal even as they were chewed up. Also in our favor was the fact that so steep were the sides of this narrow canyon that we did not have to worry about anyone trying to swing around to come down on either flank. For that reason, the Pompeian commanders retreated to a nearby small hill to stop and consider their options, which were precious few. Off to their right and to our left was the highest peak in the area, off the shoulder of which ran a ridgeline that, if they could gain that peak, they could then follow all the way down to the confluence of Sicoris and Ibis. From there, it was a short distance to the boat bridge. Accordingly, Afranius ordered about four Cohorts to strip down to just their weapons, in order to give them every possible advantage of speed, sending them in a dash towards the base of the mountain. Now, for a short distance, a man can actually outrun a horse because they start much more quickly. Unfortunately for these men, the distance they had to cover was more than a mile, and even with a head start, they were doomed from the beginning. The moment it became clear what they were about, Caesar sent the cavalry in pursuit. Swinging wide of the main Pompeian force, they fell upon the running Cohorts more than a quarter mile short of the slopes of the hill. The slaughter was quick, and it was complete; not one man escaped, the cries of despair and curses of the Pompeian forces carrying clearly to us across the distance. Despite the fact that these men were the enemy, none of us felt like cheering the sight of brave Romans being cut down, especially when we all knew that there might be childhood friends or kinsmen among them.