Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (35 page)

When the night of the assault arrived, helping our cause was a heavy cloud cover, or at least so we thought. However, shortly before the boats were supposed to arrive it also began to rain, with the wind picking up, blowing off the ocean and directly into our faces. That made the trip down the inlet more difficult for the men selected to row the boats, so they arrived later than planned. By the time they pulled up onto the beach, the wind had increased so that the falling rain was almost horizontal and the waves had become increasingly choppy. Peering through the rainy dark at Vibius, I saw an expression of real apprehension that not even the gloom could conceal, bringing me a bit of comfort now that I knew he was as worried as I was. Both of us were country boys, our first glimpse of the ocean occurring on a training march from our camp at Scallabis several months earlier, while neither of us had been in so much as a rowboat, let alone a flat-bottomed troop transport. Calienus and the other veterans who had participated in amphibious operations with Pompey did their best to put us at ease, but their own looks of concern did nothing to assuage our fears. Being the First Century of the Second, we were one of the first to load up, bringing on board with us two artillery pieces, both scorpions, whereupon we rowed out a short distance then dropped anchor to wait for the other units to load up. Before much time passed, the violent bobbing made most of us sick, so the gunwales of the boat were lined with Legionaries puking their guts out. I am not ashamed to say that I was one of them; it was not until much later that I got my sea legs but even then, I did not, nor do I now like sea voyages of any duration. It took perhaps a third of a watch to load the rest of the Centuries of our four Cohorts into the boats, then we ran into another problem. With the rain getting steadily worse, it became so heavy that we could not see the beacon that was supposed to be guiding us to the island.

“If we can’t see the damn light, how can we know which way we’re going?” this was Didius’ voice, and for one of the few times I was in complete agreement. “For all we know, we may end up 20 miles out to sea, then what'll happen?”

Ignoring the lack of a guiding light, the men at the oars began to heave when the order was given and once more, someone called out, “Jupiter Optimus Maximus, protect this Legion, soldiers all,” as we began making our way towards what we hoped was the island.

It took the better part of a third of a watch, with the men at the oars straining all the way, before we got close enough to the island for someone to see the lantern.

“There it is, off to the right,” I heard an excited voice call out.

“By the gods, we almost missed the damn island,” another voice exclaimed, and there was a chorus of agreement. If we had passed by with the island off to our right, we would have headed out to open sea and certain death by drowning.

“Well, at least we found the damn thing.” That was the Pilus Prior, who for once seemed as apprehensive as we were, not bothering to tell us to shut up once. Continuing, he told us, “Listen up, boys. You just saw how long it took us to get to this island. It won’t take them half as long to get back because the wind is at their back, but it'll take them just as long, if not longer to bring up the next four Cohorts. In fact, we’ll probably be on this island for at least a full watch by ourselves, so keep that in mind. No heroes; make sure we stay together because it’s darker than Pluto’s bunghole out here. Hopefully the boys on the island'll be able to point us in the right direction.”

“Pilus Prior, wouldn’t it make more sense to wait until the whole Legion is on the beach?”

I do not know who asked that but I believe that only the total darkness emboldened him to question our orders. What was even more surprising was that the Pilus Prior did not take offense. In fact, he agreed.

“Yes, it would make more sense, but that’s not our orders. Caesar has commanded that we begin the assault immediately, and that's what we’re going to do. The thing that worries me is that the artillery won’t be able to use the combustibles to start a fire in their defenses to give us light, so we’re going to have to be very careful and stay in formation. Make sure that nobody gets separated by keeping close enough to each other so that you’re touching. If you lose contact with someone on either side, call out immediately so they’ll know to close back in and get in contact, but by the gods keep your voices down when you do it.”

Answering him, it was just as we felt the bottom of the boat scraping the beach. Without waiting, Pilus Prior Crastinus called out, “All right boys, let’s go give these bastards some Roman iron. They escaped their fate once; we’re not going to let 'em get away a second time.”

With that, we heard a splash above the sound of the waves lapping at the beach as he jumped over the side, and immediately we began moving forward as we disembarked. Landing in thigh-deep water, I was thankful for my height because it was shockingly cold; if I was shorter the water would have hit a part of my body that never reacts well to anything cold touching it. I was assigned to help carry some of the pieces of the artillery ashore, so I grabbed what was handed to me before turning to wade the few paces to the shore. Immediately I bumped into someone, my bigger size knocking them down, and my heart sank when I heard the voice of the Pilus Prior cursing me, my mother, my father, and all my ancestors. Muttering an apology in a voice that I hoped he would not recognize, I skirted past him to get as far away as I could. It was impossible to see anything and the only way that we got organized was by calling out to each other, then following the sounds of voices. Doing this was only possible because of the rain and howling of the wind; if it had been quieter I do not know what we would have done. The rest of the men carrying the artillery pieces stumbled over and we began assembling them by feel. Hearing a curse, I recognized the voice as one of the men assigned as an artilleryman and asked him what the problem was.

“The torsion rope is completely soaked. That means that it’s useless.”

This was not good news; not only would we be assaulting in the dark, without reinforcements, now we did not even have the help of at least one artillery piece. Immediately, a quick inventory discovered that all of the pieces had the same problem, leaving us without anything heavier than our javelins to assault the fortifications. Our Pilus Prior made his way over to Primus Pilus Favonius while we all stood there, shivering and miserable, having been ordered to leave our cloaks behind and take only our weapons. One thing that we had to be thankful for is that we were told to leave our leather covers on our shields; there is nothing quite as heavy or as useless as a water-soaked shield.

The Pilus Prior came back a bit later and called out, “Change of plans. We’re going to wait until the next Cohorts arrive to see if they had any better luck with their artillery. We’re not going to release all of the boats until we find out, so that we can send one back and tell the command group the situation and see what they want to do.”

While this made sense, and was something of a relief, it also meant that we had to sit huddled up as close to each other to keep warm and wait. When one is truly, thoroughly miserable, the hardest thing to do is to accurately gauge the time. You are sure that at least two full watches have gone by, only to learn that it is less than a quarter of that, and as we sat there, soaking wet and getting colder by the moment, we occupied ourselves with trying to guess how much time had passed. Of course, it was not long before there was betting going on, which I ignored, preferring instead to sit there trying to tell myself that this was making me stronger and would come in handy someday. It would turn out I was right, though it was a small comfort to be sure. With the arrival of the next boatloads and more men piling ashore, our officers informed the Centurions joining us of the situation. A quick check revealed that the artillery in this wave was in the same shape as ours, so the word was passed to the returning boats of the situation, with a request for further orders. More time passed and despite my discomfort, I dozed off somehow, because when the third wave arrived, I almost jumped out of my skin, prompting a laugh from Vibius. Just a few moments later, the Pilus Prior returned to inform us that the assault was going to be postponed until first light, and that the next wave would be bringing assault ladders with them so that we could scale the walls of the fortifications. Trying to make light of this news, we told each other that this was old stuff for us; we had done this before and it had turned out fine, except that my stomach, just beginning to recover from the boat trip, began twisting again. However, there was nothing that could be done and at least we would be doing it with some light to help us. Of course, it also meant that the Gallaeci would see us coming.

By the time the Legion was assembled on the beach, with assault ladders, the rain that continued pouring down had caused us to get so cold that we were shaking uncontrollably and were unable to keep our teeth from chattering. When one man’s teeth are knocking about the sound is negligible, but when it is a complete Legion, it is impossible to describe the din. Our only comfort was that the wind was not abated, and it served to keep the noise we were making from reaching the ears of the enemy, or at least so we hoped. Huddled together, we tried to stay close enough to create a little more warmth, which was negligible. In the meantime we stared towards the east, in the direction of the mainland and the hills beyond, willing the appearance of the dawn so that we could get started. Nobody really talked much, there not being much to say, each of us retreating into our own thoughts, a characteristic common to all fighting men I have known as they wait to go into battle. Finally, Vibius nudged me and when I looked up, I saw the sky beginning to lighten and the Legion beginning to stir, whispers passed along alerting all of us that dawn was approaching. Not more than a few moments later, the order was quietly passed for us to stand up and get back into our formations, with the men designated to carry the assault ladders making their way over to the pile of them to grab one then returning to fall back in formation. Once more, I was selected to be one of the first over the wall, although I would not be second but fourth of the first section. For the hundredth time I checked that my sword was ready to slide out of the scabbard easily, then fiddled with the cords that kept my helmet firmly on my head. I tried to ignore the numbness in my extremities brought on by the cold and wet, stamping my feet to try getting some feeling back in them, as were most of the men around me. Straining my eyes, after a few moments I finally made out the outline of the wall in front of us, barely visible but unmistakable.

“Get ready boys,” the Pilus Prior whispered to us. “We’ll be going in shortly.”

Once the time passed we were motioned ahead, doing our best to move as silently as possible. There was one hidden blessing about the rain because it packed the sand of the beach and the area beyond it down so that we could walk on it without sinking down or stumbling, something that might have caused us to make enough noise that our presence was detected, even with the wind. Moving quickly into position a few paces away from the walls of the fortification, I saw that we were partway up a low hill. As we crouched, waiting for the command to move, I noticed that I was no longer cold; in fact, a warm trickle of sweat began moving down my back, mingling with the cold rain soaking my skin. Then there was a blast of a
cornu
, followed immediately by an explosion of sound as we all jumped up, roaring out the signal that death was approaching the Gallaeci. As one man, the Legion began running towards the wall. The light had increased sufficiently that we could see the dark forms of the few men standing on the ramparts, and even above our own cries we heard the shouts of alarm from them as they realized they were under attack. Reaching the wall, I ran to stand behind the ladder group I was assigned to, taking my place behind the men I was assigned to follow over the wall, thankful that I remembered the lessons I learned from the first time I had done this. Once the ladders touched the walls we scrambled up, still yelling at the top of our lungs, and in a matter of moments the parapet was cleared of any enemy. Jumping down into the fort, we swept past the crude shelters made of skins and wooden frames that housed not only the warriors but their women and children, while I could hear the screams and sobs of the women as we cut their men down without any mercy. They were caught completely by surprise; the weather had helped mask our plans and it also contributed to their sense of security, sure that we would not be crazy or stupid enough to brave crossing in such weather. The fight for the fort took less than a third of a watch, although it took longer for us to stop killing anyone and anything in our path. Our Centurions did their best to restore order, but as usual we had our blood up, and the fact that we had been subjected to the cold and rain, coupled with the rough crossing, did not help their cause.

“The more of these bastards you kill, the less slaves there'll be, and the less money for your own purses, you idiots.” Pilus Prior Crastinus was repeating this over and over as he trotted around, bashing us with his
vitus
to emphasize his point, but it still took quite some time before the slaughter and rape stopped. The surviving Gallaeci were rounded up and put under guard, where they sat on the ground, watched by a Cohort, the women wailing, the children crying and the men who survived staring at us with undisguised hatred. None of them held any illusions about their fate; they were headed to the slave markets around the Republic, where children would be separated from their parents, husbands from their wives, and families split asunder to feed our insatiable need for slaves. The “lucky” ones would be sent to some household somewhere, and in all likelihood actually live a better life than they had now, although I could understand how they would not see it that way. However, they chose to revolt against Rome, and by doing so, sealed their fate. I was finding that the more I was exposed to this type of misery, the less I was affected by it.