Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (92 page)

“That Vercingetorix is a hard bastard,” the Pilus Prior commented. “Those are his own people he’s doing that to.”

I nodded; while Caesar was essentially doing the same thing, the Gauls were not our people. Their crying and shouting lessened to the point that there was only a dull moan, sounding more or less continuously as the women and children cried softly, bewailing their fate. It was hard to listen to, making nerves already stretched and raw even worse, so it was not long before a number of quarrels broke out among the men. I found myself running from one fight to the next, bashing men about the back and head with my
vitus
. The only way things calmed down was by the
bucina
sounding the signal to let us know that an army approached. Instantly, all petty squabbles were forgotten as we ran to the ramparts to get a glimpse of the relief column.

It was the biggest army we had ever seen by far, looking like a black swarm of ants that completely covered the hills to the west, a pall of dust hanging over them like dirty brown rain clouds hovering on the horizon. I was struck by the thought how apt that was, since a storm of sorts was certainly brewing. Once we got a good look at the approaching host, I sent the men back to our area to begin preparations for battle. I did not know exactly when we would hear the call to assemble but it would have to be soon, because we were now effectively cut off and surrounded, with no chance of supply. Back in our area, the men began making themselves ready, as did I, each of us performing by-now familiar rituals. Some of us once again set up our personal shrines with our household gods, making sacrifices to them. Others went to visit the augurs, paying a little extra for a clean liver and good omens. Not being particularly religious, I preferred instead to rely on the things that I could control, like making sure that the blade of my sword was razor sharp, along with that of my dagger, although I had only used it once in battle. I also polished my helmet, along with my phalarae, since it was the practice in Caesar’s army to wear all decorations when we marched into battle. Combing the horsehair plume, oiling my armor and varnishing my leathers, I was lost in thought as I performed what was by now a comforting routine. Once done, I passed the word of a full inspection in a third of a watch, smiling when I heard the sound of cursing move from one tent to another as Zeno relayed the order. Some things will never change, I thought.

Fighting started not long after the Pilus Prior and I held inspection, with the cavalry engaging on the western plain again. In order to support the cavalry, Vercingetorix sent a large contingent of his infantry hauling bundles of wood to throw into the ditch, with other men again carrying the long poles with hooks to pull down the wall to create gaps through which they could send armed infantry and bowmen to provide support for the cavalry force of the relieving army. For another time we were relegated to being spectators as Caesar ordered the 10th to man both inner and outer wall. With our Century arrayed on the inner wall, we did not have a clear view of the ensuing battle, forcing us to try and determine what was happening by the behavior of the Gauls inside the walls that we were watching. From their reaction things were looking grim, the battle raging first for a third, then two parts, then a full watch. Standing on the parapet of the town, the Gauls trapped within soon went hoarse from cheering the efforts of their comrades, while our men began getting more nervous. I was standing by the Pilus Prior for a bit, chatting quietly about what we thought was going on, then after some time passed he sent me to the outer wall to see what was happening. Staying for a few moments, by this point the dust clouds completely obscured the plain, making it impossible to tell exactly what was going on, so I turned to an Optio of the Sixth Cohort, stationed on the outer wall since the beginning, asking him what he knew.

Shrugging, he said, “About as much as you do. I will say that before the dust got too thick, it looked like our boys were taking a good drubbing. Their archers were picking 'em off pretty good, but that was a watch ago now. Now, your guess is as good as mine.”

I stifled a curse; it was not his fault that we could not see, so I thanked him and returned to the Pilus Prior to tell him what little I knew.

“Pluto’s cock,” he swore bitterly. Then, shrugging, he said, “Well, we’ll find out one way or another.”

It was just about sundown when something happened, a change that we could hear, as the fury and pace of the battle suddenly increased. Even as we watched the Gauls in the camps and town their animation and cries suddenly became alarmed, their tone quickly turning to despair, and shortly after, we saw the beginnings of a general retreat of the infantry back up the hill, in much smaller numbers than had headed down.

“Looks like we finally broke them. I bet it was the Germans again,” the Pilus Prior mused.

He turned out to be right. As usual for them, they arrived late, yet when they arrived it was with devastating effect, turning the tide of the battle. Once the dust settled, we could see the plain littered with the dead and dying and despite the majority being Gauls from the relieving army, there was a fair number of Gallic cavalry who fought for us laying there as well. We stood on the walls through the night, but there was no more action, the Gauls in both camps content to lick their wounds and prepare for another assault.

The whole of the next day was quiet, for which we were thankful since it gave us a chance to get some rest. Then in the middle of the third watch, the
bucina
blasted again and we scrambled up, donning our gear before heading to the walls, to be greeted by a huge racket and the sight of the Gallic army in Alesia streaming towards us in the dark. They were alerted by their brethren on the outside of the walls that the relieving army was assaulting with the sound of horns, their own blaring the signal to advance in response. Running forward with the hurdles of wood, the Gauls began to throw them into the outer ditch. The relieving army brought with them a fair number of missile troops, especially archers, the first time that we faced such troops in large numbers, and they fired at the men on the outer wall, forcing them to seek shelter behind the palisade. The main thrust of the assault on the outer walls was occurring behind us to our left, so it was in this general direction that we could see the bulk of Vercingetorix’s troops heading. They were crossing the expanse in front of us, exposing their flank to our artillery, and the twanging sound of the torsion ropes of the ballistae, scorpions and catapults began singing in the night, followed by the screams of men being alternately impaled, or struck by the one pound rocks thrown by our artillery. Because the Gauls were out of range of our javelins, we used slings, which each of us carried and practiced with whenever we had time. Despite the darkness, the Gauls were tightly packed enough that it was easy to hit someone and the night air filled with the thudding of our missiles, most of them made of lead, striking flesh or bone, followed by shouts of pain and curses of rage that needed no translation. Our arms soon grew weary from whirling the sling overhead, releasing one end of it to send another missile crashing into the mass of men that reached the inner wall and were now trying to pull it down in the same manner that the men on the other side had the day before. All along our walls, we could hear the blasts of
cornu
and the shriller sounds of the
bucina
, alerting men in the area that there was danger of a breach, while the Tribunes were busy sending men hither and thither to defend a threatened area. Time passed, and despite suffering no direct assault on our area of the wall we were still busy, helping carry ammunition to the artillery pieces that constantly needed to be fed like some beast, or using our slings until our lead shot was gone, whereupon we stumbled around, trying to find stones of a sufficient size and smoothness that would work as ammunition. The Gauls fought with the desperation of trapped animals, yet their raw courage was not enough; Vercingetorix’s men were unsuccessful in creating a breach of a sufficient size to affect a breakout, despite it being a close-run thing. Before the sun rose, and obviously in fear of a counterattack on their flanks by those of us who remained unengaged, the besieged Gauls retreated back up the hill, their own horns signaling to the men on the other side trying to break in, who in turn retreated from the walls, leaving heaps of dead and moaning wounded laying before our works.

Daylight illuminated a scene of gruesome carnage; Caesar’s lilies, along with the other obstacles were highly effective, leaving men impaled and unable to gird themselves sufficiently to pull their bodies off of the stakes. The men who stumbled into Caesar’s lilies had gotten hooked like fish, either in their feet or through their calves, and despite their wounds, still were dangerous to approach. Accordingly, they had to be finished off from a distance, giving men the opportunity to practice their javelin work, wagering on who could kill one of the poor bastards with one throw and the like. Once they were bored with trying to affect single shot kills the wagering then turned to how many throws a man could survive, and shortly, the screams of the Gauls who were the object of this game could be heard ringing up and down the walls. Despite ordering our Century to not participate, of course a few men managed to sneak off to have their fun, Didius among them. My one consolation was that he came back broke, having bet everything on one Gaul who managed to survive three javelins longer than Didius wagered. Finally, the betting stopped as the last Gaul died, some of them looking like blood-soaked porcupines before they were finally finished off. Once it was safe, burial details were sent out to try to clean up the area, and since we were not one of the Cohorts hard pressed the night before but were close to the action, we were one of the lucky ones. It was times like these I was thankful I was Optio, convincing myself that this was the one small reward for all the other onerous duties I had to perform, since I did not have to dig the mass grave, or drag the bodies to throw them in. What I did have to do was walk around to make sure that no Gaul was thrown into the pit still alive; many of my comrades were not very scrupulous about such matters, but because of my fear of enclosed spaces, I could not bring myself to let someone, even an enemy, suffer such a fate. Thinking about it now, it is somewhat peculiar that I tried to avoid digging or dragging, but viewed killing essentially defenseless men as a less onerous task. That is what army life does to you I suppose, hardening your heart. And truth be told, most of the men I dispatched were alive only in the sense that they were still breathing, while those few who still had their wits about them were in such pain that when I stood over them, they looked up at me with thankful eyes, knowing that I was about to end their suffering. That is what I tell myself at least; it helps me sleep better at night, although it does not keep the faces from appearing in my dreams.

The Gauls were down to their last throw of the dice, deciding to try their luck at another spot in our defenses, on the north side of the town. It was on the north side where the terrain was arranged in such a way that there was a hill that we could not completely enclose within our works, so that one of the camps was actually located on the downward slope of the hill, with the bulk of the hill above them. It was at this point that the relieving Gauls would make one final attempt to assault, break through and link up with the besieged force. Vercingetorix’s kinsman Vercassivellaunus would lead 60,000 men in the assault. Realizing that the element of surprise was essential, they crept out of their camp on the hill to the southwest of the town at night, taking a circuitous route, consuming all of the remaining night and part of the next morning before they reached their attack position. At a prearranged time, or signal, we never learned which, the remainder of the Gallic cavalry came thundering out of the internal camp, heading for the western wall once again, with the remaining infantry in the relief camp arraying themselves on the slopes of their hill, preparing to move forward. Simultaneously, Vercingetorix’s army came out of the town, heading for the same spot where they first attempted to cross and some of the ditch was indeed filled in, which we were unable to clear out. Their intent was obvious; they were going to breach the inner wall at the most vulnerable spot, and then in the space between the two, swing up to the northern part of our works, where the assault element of the relieving army was attacking. Their goal was to hit the two Legions, the 8th and 13th, in the left flank while they were engaged to their front. Every redoubt was given a number, with the numbers moving from left to right if one was facing north; the redoubts under assault from the outside force, along with the camp were 21, 22 and 23. My Cohort occupied redoubts Seven, Eight and Nine, with my Century and the Fifth Century manning redoubt number Seven. The spot they chose was relatively close to our redoubt, directly to our left, and it was to this spot that Caesar came to direct the defense of our works, his presence signaled by his red standard, and his
paludamentum
. We were close enough to see the desperate struggle of Vercingetorix’s men frantically flinging their long hooks up at the wooden palisade, trying to pull it down, the first step in breaching a wall. Our men were just as vigorously knocking them aside, striking down Gauls who were too impatient to wait for the wall to come down and instead were trying to clamber up by hand and foot. The main thrust of the attack of Vercingetorix was focused between redoubts One and Two, yet for the moment our men were holding. A rider came galloping up to Caesar and despite being too far away to hear, by his gestures and posture it was clear that the northern camp was in serious trouble. Labienus was sitting his horse next to Caesar, and we could see Caesar turn to say something to him. Labienus gave a quick salute, then came galloping in our direction but did not stop. A few moments later, men came double timing past us and we saw that the size of the detachment was a number of Cohorts. As they ran by we shouted to them, wishing them good luck, while they called back to us with the usual good-natured taunts about being left behind. A total of six Cohorts, led by Labienus, went running to relieve the camp; three Cohorts from the 10th and three from the 9th, which was positioned next to us and with whom we shared our camp. After they left, we turned our attention back to the fighting, wondering if we would be called to move to where the battle was raging. As it turned out, we did not need to, because the fighting came to us.