Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (83 page)

I was snapped out of my head by the Pilus Prior. “Look!” He pointed and I followed his finger, cursing at what I saw.

The ramp was on fire, not smoldering like before in the earlier attempts by the Bituriges, but well and fully aflame. In the light of the growing blaze, we saw the silhouettes of men running in every direction, and just a few paces later we began to hear the cries and sounds of fighting. In accordance with our usual practice, two Legions were standing guard during the night, and they were fully engaged with the sortie that the Bituriges sent out. It was a well-planned and well-coordinated attack; the firing of the ramp accomplished by a mine that finally got through to the underlying timber and taking hold, while the sortie was timed so that it did not begin until the fire was well and truly started. Now, we were faced with a choice; do we fight off the attack, or do we put out the flames? Compounding the problem, the walls were lined with Bituriges hurling down their own flaming pots of pitch. Some of the pots hit men instead of the ramp, turning them into blazing, screaming human torches until one of their comrades took mercy on them and killed them with a quick thrust, their corpses adding to the lurid light of the flames. Reaching the base of the ramp, we found Caesar there giving orders as Centurions came reporting in with their respective units, the general pointing them to where he wanted them to take their men followed by what he wanted them to do. Our Century came running up, slowing to a halt, the Pilus Prior saluting Caesar and asking for our orders, just like we were on the parade ground and not in the middle of chaos. Caesar was clearly illuminated by the flames, which were now beginning to climb through the first layers of logs on the ramp, and I could not help giving a worried glance up at the walls, thinking that rarely had our enemies had such a clear shot at our general. Just as calmly, Caesar pointed to the ramp, ordering us to go help deal with the flames, so I gave the order to ground shields and javelins, then trotted over to the ramp to help put out the fire.

The battle raged through the night, both against the Bituriges and the fire threatening to engulf the ramp. Our towers were dragged safely out of the way, so that now the real work was trying to quell the flames, which we did with a combination of water and dirt thrown into the spaces between the logs in an attempt to rob the fire of air to breathe. Scorpions in the small towers kept up a steady fire, trying to keep the Bituriges from raining their flaming missiles and bombs down on our heads. For the most part they were successful, yet there were inevitably casualties. A Sergeant in the fourth section of the Century, a man from Gades named Fabius was one of the unfortunates who took a direct hit from one of those savage weapons, going up in flames like a dry field from a lightning strike, and he screamed in agony as he ran crazily in circles before the Pilus Prior could get to him and put him out of his misery. His shrieks stopped abruptly, enabling us to hear the cheering of the Bituriges raining down on us, building a terrible hatred in us and a thirst for vengeance. Nearly as difficult to deal with as the flames was the smoke, billowing thick and choking from whatever holes in the ramp that it could find, blinding us and making us gag as we gasped for clean air. The smoke also served to obscure our vision in a wider sense; it was only with our ears whereby we could track the progress of the battle. One moment it sounded like the Gauls succeeded in pushing up to the edge of the ramp, then it would recede as our men fought back, driving them in the direction of the gate. I remember thinking at one point that if there is truly a Hades, it must be very much like the scene that night; the cacophony of screams from pain and fear, the clashing of metal on metal, the roaring sound the flames made, the fire creating a dancing, lurid light that the smoke diffused in such a way that made for a world of more shadow than substance. It was only because of the toughness and experience gained over the years that we did not falter that night, managing instead to put out the flames and beat the enemy back inside their walls by first light the next morning.

Most of the next day was spent repairing the damage done from the night before, mainly in shoring up the spots on the ramp where the fire did enough damage that there was a risk of collapse. On the other side, Vercingetorix apparently recognized the hopelessness of the situation, and smuggled in orders by way of the swamp to evacuate all the fighting men from the city that very night, under cover of darkness. It would have been a challenge, even if we were not alerted to the plan. Although it was not particularly unusual that we found out, the way that we discovered the plot was, because it came from their very own women. When the order was given that only fighting men would be evacuated, the women of the town began pleading and wailing for their men not to leave them to our mercy. This siege had gone on long enough, the last few days seeing enough bitter fighting that they were under no illusions about the fate that awaited them. They ran after their men as they gathered in the streets of the town to organize their escape, begging them to stay, while the men were equally determined to break out. Seeing that they were not having any success, some of the women ran to the walls to begin yelling at us, waving their arms and crying out to us in their tongue. Those women raised a racket to be sure; once their words were translated, the alert was sounded throughout the camp, and the cavalry was ordered out to surround the sides of the town at the edge of the marsh to warn us when the breakout began. I have often wondered whether or not these women were truly trying to save themselves and their children or, having recognized that their fate was decided, were determined that if they had to suffer the men should as well. After all, if you listen to women talk, all of the wars and killing since the dawn of time have been started by men, not women, and I suppose that there is some truth in that. Whatever their motives, they ensured that the men defending the town would not make good an escape from Avaricum, thereby suffering the same fate as everyone else in the town.

The order for the assault came during third watch that night, after the threat of the breakout was quelled and the damage repaired, the attack to be launched shortly after first light. Given the nature of the siege, Caesar deemed that some subterfuge was in order, so shortly before dawn, those men of the 10th and the 7th taking part in the first wave of the assault were given the order to quietly assemble, then under cover of darkness and aided by a heavy downpour, move into the mantlets that lined the ramp. However, when the light finally grew strong enough for the defenders to see the immediate area, they were greeted by the sight of what appeared to be nothing but our normal routine. Legionaries from our Cohorts not participating in the attack and the other Legions began the day in the same way we had for the previous three weeks, trudging out in the rain to continue the work of filling in the last section of the ramp. The ramp was now built to a height where the wall could be scaled not just with the towers, but with ladders as well. These we dragged into the mantlets with us where we waited, crouching in discomfort, the sound of the rain beating down on the roof drowning out our heavy breathing and attempts at muttered conversation. The Pilus Prior had asked for our Century to be in the lead group and we were a bit surprised when the request was granted, until we discovered that he promised his personal share of the spoils to the Primus Pilus for the privilege, a fact that raised him in our esteem all the more when we found out about it. So now here we were, waiting for the signal to come out from under the cover of the mantlets and begin scaling the wall. The ramp was more than a hundred paces in width, giving us several points where we could scale the walls, and we had previously decided the spot where we would place the ladder, just a few dozen feet from the mantlet itself. The rain continued, yet even over the din we could hear the rumbling that signaled the advance of the tower and the beginning of the assault.

Seeing us burst out from the mantlets, our artillerymen in the towers immediately began a furious barrage, sweeping defenders from the wall. In quick order, the ladders were thrown up, and without waiting, I took my place as the first man up, with the Pilus Prior climbing the other ladder. The tower was rolling into place, even as men began climbing to the top level to wait for the ramp to drop, while the cries of alarm and panic rang out from the defenders on the wall now that they understood that the assault was finally beginning in earnest. Climbing the ladder, I was intent on what was happening at the top so that I would have some warning if one of the Bituriges pushed the ladder away to send me tumbling down. Seeing a set of hands grasp the top of the ladder, I felt it begin to move when a blur of motion streaked by at the edge of my vision, the hands disappearing as a bolt from a scorpion found its mark. Reminding myself to thank the men on the scorpions, I continued climbing, leaping over the parapet in the manner that had become my preferred method of mounting a wall. My sword was out and ready, but I felt naked without a shield, although it would have been a real impediment with the climb in the rain. A Bituriges warrior, perhaps in his thirty’s, came roaring at me with a lunge of a spear from which I just managed to twist away. When he withdrew for another thrust, I struck downward with all my strength, the Gallic blade of the sword slicing through the heavy wooden shaft like it was a twig. My opponent’s eyes widened in astonishment, and even I was a bit taken aback at the ease with which the blade cut through the wood, yet I recovered more quickly, making a quick thrust to the throat. The man who tried to push the ladder was already dead on the rampart, the bolt having gone clean through him. Hearing someone land behind me, I moved a step over to make room as we consolidated our position on the rampart. Another man came at me with an axe that he wielded overhand, drawing it back to deliver a blow that would have cut me in two lengthwise, except I took a quick step forward, punching my blade into his body right underneath his sternum. Letting out a gurgling shriek, he staggered backward, colliding with another man who was running to the attack, knocking him off balance and giving me the opportunity to cut him down as well. Within the first few moments, the area around us was cleared of Bituriges, at least of the kind who were still breathing. Looking around, I could see that this seemed to be the case all along the wall, which surprised me, given the bitterness with which they were battling to stop the siege these past days. Nevertheless, they had not completely given up yet as we saw what they were attempting to do. Deeming the loss of the walls a foregone conclusion, the Bituriges apparently decided to try to make an organized stand in the streets of the town, where they gathered in small, compact groups, their shields forming a barrier akin to our
testudo
. Every main street in the town soon had such formations, and we all stood on the parapet, looking down while there was a discussion among the senior Centurions about the best course of action. With more and more men joining us on the walls, we began to spread further along its circumference, with Legionaries moving to encircle the town. Seeing that we would not come down, but also seeing the spread of our army along the top of the wall, the Bituriges panicked, obviously worried that we would cut off their last line of escape into the swampy area. Without any warning, their formations suddenly dissolved, men throwing their weapons down to begin fleeing back towards the center of the town. With a roar, and with no command given, we leaped down into the muddy streets and gave chase. The slaughter was on.

The sacking of Avaricum was one of complete and total destruction, as we exacted further vengeance for the massacre at Cenabum, as well as for the trials and travails that the siege put us through. Out of the 40,000 people, men, women and children, only some 800 survived to escape through the swamp to make it to the camp of Vercingetorix. Our supply problem was temporarily assuaged, since the people of Avaricum had been living very well indeed, and we spent the next few days living off the town, eating like rich merchants. We were billeted in the town as well, staying in the houses of the people we had just slaughtered and if it were not for the misery that we endured during the siege, I believe that most of us would have elected to stay under the leather, as we said, because the thought of the restless spirits of the newly dead did not make us sleep easier. However, it was technically still winter, the weather still raw; there was often a skin of ice in our buckets in the morning, making us overlook our feelings of unease, so we settled in while we regrouped. Over the course of the siege, we lost perhaps 500 men throughout the army; in our Century, we had three more dead, bringing our strength down to 60, with perhaps another half dozen temporarily out of action with wounds. Once again, my tentmates managed to escape without injury or death, yet in my heart of hearts, I knew that it could not last forever. What worried me most was who it might be. When the Avaricum survivors arrived at the camp of Vercingetorix it triggered another crisis, with some of the allied tribes beginning to openly express misgivings about the prospects of fending off Rome. As he had before, Vercingetorix relied on his oratorical skills to avert the emergency, pointing out to his audience that he had been against the defense of Avaricum in the first place and that one could not expect to win every battle. This is a point we would have openly mocked, since we had been doing just that, but we were not there, and his rhetoric revived their flagging enthusiasm once more. He also announced that he would issue instructions for a fresh levy of troops to replace the losses suffered at Avaricum, while renewing his oath to drive us from Gaul. Sending out emissaries, he made good on at least his first promise of raising more troops, along with gaining oaths from the tribes who remained aloof to this point. Other events were taking place as well in other parts of Gaul, most worryingly among the Aedui. Some sort of disagreement erupted between two men, both contending for one office, resulting in a threat of civil war. Not wanting such unrest in our rear just when we were going to begin our campaign in earnest, Caesar kept us at Avaricum while he traveled to the lands of the Aedui to adjudicate the dispute. For us, there was a few days with nothing much to do; the bodies of the Bituriges were disposed of, the siege equipment either dismantled or destroyed, and our broken bits of gear mended or replaced. Consequently, for all intents and purposes, that period of time we spent while Caesar was off with the Aedui was our winter. The only change from the normal winter routine, besides its brevity, was that living arrangements were different, without the regularity found in our normal winter camp. Despite the Tribune in charge of billeting trying his best to group us in the same vicinity by putting all the men of one Century on the same street for example, it was not always possible. This had one unforeseen and not altogether unpleasant consequence, because it exposed us to more of our comrades in the army, so that fairly quickly what had been passing acquaintance became something closer to real friendship among some of us. There was another consequence, but this one did not surprise anyone all that much. For every new friendship formed, there were at least one or more disagreements, each of them almost invariably leading to fighting, keeping all the Centurions and Optios busy breaking up fights, yet despite our best attempts at preventing it, a few men lost their lives. Some were the losers in whatever fracas had broken out, but there were a few who were the killers and were then executed themselves. In these cases, the punishment is especially brutal, as a means of discouraging such behavior. The condemned man is required to run through a gauntlet consisting of the Century to which the murdered man belonged, each armed with axe handles or staves, and before the condemned can be put out of his misery, every bone in his body must be broken. It is a particularly painful and ignoble way to die, yet even with such penalties, men’s passions would still get the better of them and in a moment of the same kind of madness that sometimes swept through us in battle, they would seal their own fate. I am somewhat ashamed to say that one of the men of the Second Cohort was condemned and executed in this manner, and I know that like all the other men of all the other Centuries who escaped punishment, we offered a prayer of thanks to the gods that the victim had not been in our Century. To avoid that, I kept a particularly close eye on both Atilius and Didius; Atilius for his joy of fighting men from other Legions, and Didius because of his shady dice. Fortunately, neither of them gave me any problems, although Didius took my extra attention with his usual grace. The only thing that really changed between Didius and myself was that he no longer uttered the same kind of threats that he did to the rest of his tentmates, knowing full well that such words, spoken even in jest, could be punished by death. I do not think he trusted me enough not to use one of his outbursts as an excuse to be rid of him, and I cannot say that the thought did not cross my mind, but whether I hated him or not, Didius was one of the men for whom I was responsible, and part of that responsibility meant trying to keep him alive. With all of these events taking place, it was with some relief that we viewed Caesar’s return, since the discipline in the army was getting more and more difficult to enforce. It was not that we were any more lax in our enforcement of the rules, but in many ways an army is like a large pack of wolves. Once they scent blood, they will not be satisfied until their bloodlust is fully sated, and ours had just been aroused with the fall of Avaricum. The season was about to begin; we were anxious to pick up where we left off, so it was with much excitement and not a little relief on the part of the Centurions and Optios when we were given the orders to march. We were headed to a place called Gergovia.