Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (20 page)

This was greeted by a chorus of agreement, each of the Centurions looking at Doughboy with wide eyed innocence.

Clearing his throat yet again, Doughboy looked at the ground as he murmured, “It’s just that, if I’m first over the wall, I won’t be able to assess the overall situation, you see? I thought it would be better for me to remain in a place,” he looked up at the Primus Pilus earnestly, “close to the wall of course, not completely out of danger, but far enough back so I can have an idea of what’s going on.”

The Primus Pilus pursed his lips, slowly nodding his head in thought.

“I do see your point sir. Indeed, I’m not sure of these things, so you're no doubt correct. I’m sure that you've read many more manuals than I have on the subject,” despite what I guessed was his best effort, the Primus Pilus could not entirely conceal the scorn with this last remark and just barely remembered to finish with, “sir.”

Doughboy’s ears turned a roasting red yet there was really nothing he could do because there was nothing objectionable in the Primus Pilus' words, despite knowing that it was an insult.

Cutting his losses, he muttered, “Right. Well then, carry on.”

Whereupon he stalked off down the line to station himself in the proper place to avoid the appearance of cowardice, while not exposing himself to much danger. The other Centurions, during this last exchange, were all feverishly studying the ground but we could see their shoulders shaking with silent laughter, threatening our own composure. When the Primus Pilus turned and saw that we had witnessed and heard the whole thing, his only response was to grin and give us all a wink, destroying all remnants of our façade and we laughed heartily.

Our barrage started immediately after that exchange, the sound of the ballista snapping against the cross bar causing a crash, followed by a whirring sound as if a flight of birds was taking off, and we all looked up to watch the stone arc through the air. The first shot landed short, the stone thudding into the ground with a spray of dirt before its momentum took it skipping to where it smacked into the base of the wall just next to the main gate on the north side, which we could see from our spot on the far right of the line. This was immediately followed by a stone that actually hit the wall, and even from where we stood, we could see the dust fly as the timbers vibrated. One after the other, the stones hit the area around the front gate, and in the pause as the ballistae were reloaded, we could hear the cries of the Lusitani raising the alarm that the assault had begun. It was just about a third of a watch past dawn, and now we would wait while the artillery either did its work, or did nothing more than raise some dust. While we were told to remain in formation, we were allowed to stand at
otiose
, meaning that we could turn, talk to the men around us and bend our legs and so forth, but not leave our position in ranks. The customary way it is observed is that as long as your left foot stays in position, you can pivot around to talk to the others. I turned to face down my rank and Vibius immediately caught my eye.

With a completely straight face he asked, “Do you have it in a safe place?”

Reaching down, I grabbed a clod of dirt and threw it at him then we both laughed. Grabbing my crotch to make an obscene gesture, I answered, “Oh yes, it’s in a safe place all right. It’s right here. I used it to wipe my ass this morning.”

“You mean you’re smart enough to wipe your own ass now?” he shot back. “I guess it’s true that the Legions can teach ANYONE if they can finally teach you.”

I promised that I would make him regret his words, to which he answered with an obscene gesture of his own.

“All right you bunch of women. Shut your mouths,” this came from Optio Vinicius, who was standing next to me, and I turned in time to watch him yawn then scratch himself as if we were standing around camp. “I’ve heard you two going back and forth about that damn will for too long now. Can’t you talk about something else?”

Indignantly I pointed to Vibius and protested, “Don’t yell at me, yell at him. He’s the one who keeps asking.”

“Yes, and you keep answering him, so who’s the bigger fool? The fool who asks or the fool who answers?”

I really was not sure what to say, because with Vinicius it was always very hard to tell whether he was being serious or not, especially since he looked like the messenger of death all the time. As I was starting to form an answer, I saw just the corner of his mouth twitch in a gesture that I had learned was his version of a smile. Rolling my eyes, I looked back to the front and kept my mouth shut.

The front gate was completely obscured by dust, and while we saw splotches of a lighter color that indicated the wood of the walls were scored, we had no idea if it meant a substantial weakening or just a spot where the bark was knocked off. Meanwhile, we saw the trails of smoke again, at various spots along the walls, and now I could not resist the temptation.

Looking over to Vinicius, I asked, “What’s the meaning of the smoke, Optio?”

He looked at me with his deadpan eyes and seemed to consider something before he shrugged, then answered, “I imagine they're heating up some pitch to pour down on us, or maybe some sort of oil.”

The order of
intente
was sounded, and we immediately snapped to, with our shields up and a javelin in our other hand, the second javelin held along with the shield in our left hand, which is awkward to say the least.

Our Primus Pilus strode out to where he could be seen, and called out, “Before we start out, I want everyone in the assault elements pass their javelins down to your supporting Maniple. You won’t be able to throw them from a range where they'll do any good, and they’re going to be useless once you get on the ladders. Give 'em to the boys who'll be supporting you, and they can deliver 'em to those bastards for you.”

As weak a joke as it was, we still smiled. Passing mine off, while it felt strange to have my right hand empty, I was grateful to be able to hold my shield cleanly. I could feel my heart thudding heavily and when I looked down, I was surprised to see my armor jumping slightly with every beat of my heart. As we were passing the javelins a wagon rumbled up, and in the back there were a few dozen ladders the engineers had lashed together. Each Century in the assault elements were given two ladders with the order to place them at least three shields’ width apart to deny the defenders massed targets.

The Pilus Prior stood in front of us and called out, “Right, I want my veterans up front to pick up the ladders." As those men like Calienus did so, he continued. "They’re going to be the ones carrying the ladders and will be between files so that the rest of you boys can hold your shields up to cover them since they’ll have their hands full.”

Then the Pilus Prior designated between which files he wanted the men, and those files moved out a little to widen the gaps while still having enough spacing so that they could provide protection. This forced all of us over a couple of steps and we quickly adjusted.

“Now, listen and listen carefully,” Crastinus continued, oblivious to the fire of the scorpions that were just starting in preparation for our move to the walls. They make a deep twanging sound when the bolts are launched, and it was hard not to watch as they worked, but I managed to stay focused on the Pilus Prior. “I’m going first up the ladder. Normally I wouldn’t, but since this is you boys’ first engagement, you just follow me and everything will be fine. The Optio,” he motioned to Vinicius, “will be the first up the other ladder. We’ll need one man, one very strong man to brace each ladder against the wall while the others ascend.”

Immediately the men in my vicinity turned to me, and I could feel my face burn. The Pilus Prior looked over at me thoughtfully before shaking his head.

“Not Pullus. I want him up early after me. He’s been the best in training, and besides,” he grinned, “the very size of him is going to scare half of those bastards to death before he lifts a finger.”

I was in an agony; part of me glowed at the distinction I was being given while the other was petrified because it was clearly expected that I would perform valiantly. That feeling of pressure that was almost non-existent once we started the march came flooding back, and I struggled to maintain my composure. For a fleeting instant, the thought of screaming out the fact that I was still underage crossed my mind, sure that if I did so, I would not have to go up the ladder. Just as quickly the shame of that idea washed over me, and I recognized that, if I were to do such a thing, while it might get me out of being killed in battle, it might not necessarily save my life. Enlisting under fraudulent circumstances is a serious crime; we had been forced to witness the execution of two men, from different Legions, whose identity as slaves were uncovered. First they were scourged, then executed, and the sense of shame that such a death brought was more overpowering than my fear. Consequently, I just stood there as if mute, hoping my face did not betray the stark terror that I was feeling. Instead of me, Crastinus picked Didius to hold our ladder, who responded with a “Yes, Pilus Prior” that was as close to insolent as one could get and still escape the
vitus
. That was not lost on Crastinus, who glared at Didius before choosing the man for the second ladder, another recruit named Macro. He was shorter than I was, but built very thickly with rippling muscles. As I was turning back to face my immediate fate, Scribonius tapped me on the shoulder.

With a tight smile, he murmured, “Good luck, you lucky bastard. Try not to kill all of them before the rest of us get there.”

The smile I returned felt more like a grimace. At that moment, the
cornicen
from the command group sounded his call, followed by the
bucina
from each Cohort, with the standards dipping in acknowledgement of our order to begin the advance. Stepping off, for a moment I was struck by a sense of panic because I was still in my accustomed place at the back of the Century; how was I supposed to follow Crastinus up the ladder from the back? Glancing over to my right, I saw the Optio was next to me, also in his accustomed place, confusing me further. Despite the fact that talking was forbidden when we were advancing, I felt there was enough urgency to risk breaking the rules.

“Optio,” I hissed.

My call seemed to snap the Optio out of some sort of trance, because his head jerked around in surprise. Or maybe he was taken aback that I dare talk at a time like this. He did not rebuke me however, just asking, “What is it Pullus?”

“How am I supposed to get from back here,” I motioned to our location while trying to maintain my alignment with the rest of the rank and the cover of my file, “to up there?” I indicated the spot with a jerk of my head.

“You follow the file of men with the ladder, idiot,” was his response. “The Pilus Prior'll be there at the base of the ladder while the ladder is being lifted. Then you follow him.”

“Oh.”

Chagrined that the answer was that simple, when I looked over, I was suddenly not so sure it was indeed that easy because they were three files over, putting men between me and them. I was in too much of a state for me to think it through, so I shrugged my shoulders and turned my attention back to the front. The town was looming larger, but the snapping of the bolts being fired over our heads was an oddly comforting sound. I could clearly see men on the ramparts of the wall now, only in glimpses though, as they were forced to keep their heads down because of the scorpions. Every so often, one of them would risk a quick peek around one of the crenellations to see when we would be in range. Even as I watched, apparently either one of them was a little too regular in deciding when to peek his head out and one of our gunners noticed, or he was just the unluckiest man in the world, because the timing of when he poked his head out and the bolt arriving in the spot his head now occupied, however briefly, could not have been better. In front of my very eyes, I saw the blur of the bolt, then saw the man’s head explode, the top half of his skull shooting off to the right while the continuing blur of the bolt, now with what looked like a fine red mist trailing it, went hurtling further into the town. My eyes were riveted to the sight, and I heard the exclamations of the men around me who saw it happen as well, all of us watching as the torso, with the lower half of the man’s head still attached, totter there for a moment before collapsing back behind the wall.

“Remind me not to ever get in front of one of those things,” Scribonius muttered, and all I could do was nod.

Our front ranks hit an unseen line marking the spot where we now came in range of their slingers. While not of the same renown as the slingers from the Balearic Islands, they were highly skilled nonetheless, and in the space of just a few moments we would learn to respect and fear these weapons almost more than any other that the Lusitani wielded. Dozens of men appeared, whirling their slings above their head, preparing to launch them despite weathering the bolts from a partial volley of scorpions that knocked a couple of the men off the wall.

“
TESTUDO
!”