Marching With Caesar - Civil War (77 page)

Meanwhile, we stopped long enough to loose one volley of javelins before slamming into the already wavering men of Scipio’s left. Dozens of men were cut down by our missiles even before we broke into a run while drawing our swords. The men of Scipio’s left did not wait to meet our charge, turning to run, thereby sealing their fate even before we smashed into them. It is not much of a challenge to cut down a man from behind as he is running for his life; indeed, the only trick is to run faster than they do, which was not hard under the circumstances. The front ranks of the Pompeians turned to flee back into the skimpy protection of their camp, while the rear ranks were still standing in place, resulting in the inevitable jam of men, most of them closest to us still with their backs turned when we slammed into them. Some turned to try and fight; one Centurion, about my age, was trying to rally his men, and had succeeded in turning perhaps two sections worth about, forming them into a makeshift wedge. They were just getting settled, bringing their shields up as I went slamming into the leading man, relying on my larger size and weight to knock him backwards. He left his feet to go crashing back into the two men behind him, all three of them losing their footing. I was followed closely by men of the First Century of my Cohort, who wasted no time in thrusting their blades into the fallen men, while I reached out with my free hand to grab the rim of the next Pompeian’s shield. I was taking a terrible risk of losing my fingers, and if my adversary had been experienced, I would have lost at least my fingers, if not my whole hand, but I had seen the look of wide-eyed terror above the rim of his shield so I knew that I was facing a scared
tiro
. Still, I was almost done for, only because when I yanked on his shield with all my strength, he simply let go, causing me to fall backwards, so that I tripped over the body of one of the first men we had dispatched. If one of my men had not caught me, I would have fallen flat on my backside and that could have been all for me.

“Easy there, Primus Pilus,” I heard a voice in my ear as he used his shield to push me back upright. “It wouldn’t do for you to fall on your ass in front of this bunch. It would make us look bad.”

“We can’t have that,” I replied, reversing the shield that I had ripped out of the recruit’s hand, grabbing the handle, then striking the hapless youth with the boss, sending him flying.

Without waiting for him to recover, I focused on my opposite number, the Centurion, who in a matter of heartbeats had watched most of his men be cut down, my own busy while I was falling about. I looked at him over the rim of the shield while my men spread out, surrounding him. Signaling them to hold, I lowered the shield a bit, but kept watching him closely. His face was a mask of despair, knowing that his life was measured in heartbeats at that moment, yet he held his blade in the first position, having picked up one of his men’s shields.

“There’s no need for this,” I called out to him. “I have no wish to kill a Centurion of Rome, any more than you wish to die.”

“How do you know I don’t want to die?” he challenged, though he still dropped his shield a fraction as he talked.

“Because if you did, you wouldn’t have waited. You would have already attacked. And died,” I finished meaningfully.

“Maybe I’m giving you a chance to surrender,” he replied, but while the words were truculent, the tone was not and I had to laugh, as did my men surrounding him.

I liked his spirit; a man who can keep his sense of humor when he is about to die is a good man.

Making the decision, I stood erect, signaling the men to lower their swords, which they did, some of them reluctantly. “Give me your sword, Centurion,” I said. “You'll be under my protection.”

He considered, and for a moment, I thought he would refuse, then letting out a breath, he reversed the weapon, offering it to me hilt first. “I'm Gaius Aspirius,” he said. “And I'm the Tertius Pilus Posterior of the 6th Legion. I'm your prisoner, Centurion.”

I looked at him in surprise. “You’re in the 6
^th
?” I asked, not sure that I had heard correctly.

He nodded. “That's correct.”

“Then you were at Pharsalus. You're the part of the 6th that escaped.”

Now he looked uneasy, but he still nodded. “That's also correct. Why does that surprise you?”

“Because I was with the two Cohorts of the 6th who fought for Caesar. I led them in Alexandria.”

At the mention of the two Cohorts that had chosen to live by marching for Caesar instead of being cut down by Antonius, Aspirius’ face flushed.

“They're traitors,” he said harshly, and around me, I could hear the sharp intake of breath from the men, while as one their blades came back up.

I held my hand up. “They’re only traitors if Caesar lost, but he didn’t. Now you’re the traitor. And despite your impertinence, you're still under my protection. But, Aspirius,” I indicated the men around me. “You should watch your tongue. Saying that the men of the 6th who march for Caesar are traitors, you’re saying that these men are traitors. That’s not something they're likely to appreciate.”

He opened his mouth as if to make a retort, but then thought better of it, saying instead, “You're correct, Centurion. I spoke in anger and for that I apologize.”

I pointed to the rear, telling one of the men to escort him back to our camp.

He was about to walk away, but turned. “Whose protection am I under, if I may ask Centurion?”

“I'm Primus Pilus Titus Pullus, of the 10th Legion,” I replied, and I was gratified to see by his expression that my name was known to him.

With that, I turned back to the battle, or slaughter, to be more accurate, and with the rest of the men, hurried forward into the enemy camp.

~ ~ ~ ~

The Battle of Thapsus, as it is called, was not a battle at all. It was a rout, a slaughter, and as complete and total a victory as any of us could have hoped for. The men of Scipio’s army who survived the first onslaught turned to flee into their camp, yet only stayed there briefly, it becoming clear very quickly that there was no protection within the walls. They ran out the back gate, intent only on escaping to what they hoped was the safety of Afranius’ camp. Except to get there, they had to cut across the marshy ground. Not surprisingly, slogging through the mud is slow going, so men got bogged down, sinking into the muck up to their knees then getting stuck, perfect targets for our men to conduct javelin practice. The cries and screams of men pierced through the body as they struggled helplessly to extricate themselves was almost continuous, the men collapsing once they succumbed to their wounds to get sucked under by the stinking mud. The men that managed to struggle through the muck then staggered the couple of miles to Afranius’ camp arrived only to find that Caesar as always was a step ahead, sending the two Legions he had left in camp to assault the other Pompeian camps. Our men found Afranius’ camp deserted, the occupants having run off to escape the fate of their comrades. Moving on, Juba’s camp had fallen to our forces as well, so that the men fleeing the rout at Scipio’s camp ran right into our two Legions who cut them down, slaughtering the enemy without any mercy. Now something happened that I offer as an example of what occurs when men have been laboring under the conditions and circumstances for as long as the men of Caesar’s army. I do not make excuses; there is no real justification for what took place, but it should not be described without consideration given to the underlying causes. I will not deny that the 10th did its share of killing that day, especially in the moments after we entered Scipio’s camp, and I also will not deny that many of the men that we cut down were trying to surrender. However, this is not only not uncommon, it is the norm when the bloodlust of fighting men is aroused, and the men that we slaughtered were for the most part men of the ranks like ourselves, and not any of the upper classes. When the remnants of Scipio’s army that survived the escape through the marsh and the following onslaught at Juba’s camp then ran to a low hill on the far side of the camp, where they signaled their desire to surrender, they were joined by a number of the occupants of Afranius’ camp who were not combatants. These men were Senators and prominent equestrians who had aligned themselves with the Pompeian cause and they now called to Caesar for protection, offering their complete surrender. No doubt, they knew of Caesar’s record of clemency and mercy so I suppose they had good reason to be optimistic that when Caesar arrived on the scene they would escape with their lives, if not their fortunes. It was just their bad luck that the men of Caesar’s army were not in a forgiving mood. Too much had happened; too much misery, too much bleeding, too long away from their homes and loved ones. Even Caesar could not stop our men from exacting revenge for all their suffering, as the group of men who sought refuge on that hill asking for Caesar’s protection were slaughtered to the last man. All told, Scipio’s armies had scattered to the winds, but not before more than 10,000 of their number were killed, with the gods only know how many wounded. Around Scipio’s camp, bodies were stacked on top of each other like pieces of firewood, which I suppose they were in a sense, since the Romans among the dead were to at least be given the proper funeral rites and be purified by flame. Our losses were laughingly light; a total of 50 men in the entire army died, with twice that many wounded, only a few of them seriously enough to be discharged from the Legions on pension. None of our dead were from the 10th, for which I and the rest of my comrades were thankful; there were few enough of us left as it was. Scipio escaped, as did Afranius, Petreius, and Labienus, along with a good number of the cavalry and some of the infantry. Not surprisingly, at least to us, we learned that the few veterans among Scipio’s army, namely the 1st, and some of the 4th, had kept their heads, literally and figuratively, and were among the escapees. They headed to Utica, along with Scipio and Labienus, while Afranius tried to make it to Mauretania. Petreius left with Juba back to Numidia. Although the defeat of Scipio was total, it did not extend to everyone. The city of Thapsus still held out, under the command of a man named Vergilius, so Caesar turned his attention to the city. After returning to our original camp towards the end of the day, Caesar ordered the elephants rounded up, all 64 of them having survived, though some were hurt. One in particular had several cuts on his trunk that his handler had tried to treat with some tarry substance smeared on the wounds.

His presence was pointed out to me by Scribonius, who asked, “Did you hear what happened to that one?”

I said that I had not, and he relayed the story. When the 5th had attacked, running into the midst of the elephants, this particular animal had caught one of the Alaudae and it was down on its knees, crushing him. Seeing his friend in trouble, another man of the 5th ran up to begin poking the animal with his javelin. The elephant stood up, then reached down with its trunk to snatch up the man and begin waving him about in the air. The elephant only released the Legionary after receiving several whacks on the trunk with the man’s sword, resulting in the deep cuts, the beast throwing him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him, but the Legionary’s actions saved his friend.

“He’s going to get decorated for that,” Scribonius concluded.

“As well he should,” I agreed, then thought of something. “But is that the civic crown? Or is it different because an elephant is involved?”

We pondered that as we watched the animals, their handlers deciding that it was better to be on the winning side, maneuvering their lumbering charges into position to take up a single line in front of the city walls. The message, at least as far as we were concerned, was clear, but Vergilius was apparently unmoved because the gates did not open. The day was growing late, so we did not take any action against the city, retiring to the camp to celebrate the victory while bemoaning the work that we would have to do to dispose of so many bodies. A double ration of wine was ordered, as Scipio’s, Afranius’ and particularly Juba’s camp had been well-stocked with the liquid, the word in camp being that it had been ordered by Scipio in preparation for the victory feast he was planning on giving when we were defeated. Whether it was true or not, it made the wine taste that much better as we toasted our success.

~ ~ ~ ~

The next day Caesar ordered a formation in front of the walls of Thapsus. The entire army was being arrayed as a demonstration of the futility of further resistance. Caesar took the occasion to decorate several men for bravery, including three men from the 10th whose names were put forth by their Centurions and the man of the 5th who indeed did win the Civic Crown, elephant or no. Vergilius still refused to submit, so Caesar left three Legions, the 14th, 26th, and 28th to continue with the siege, then sent the 8th and 25th with Domitius to Thisdra, which was now held by Considius, who had left Hadrumentum. The rest of the Legions marched with Caesar to Utica, following the Pompeian cavalry, the only unit that had escaped the battle essentially intact. On the way, we came across a village that had tried to close its gates to the Pompeians, and paid for it by having not only their possessions put to the torch, but also the inhabitants then were thrown into the bonfire themselves. We marched first to Uzita, the town that we had spent so much time and sweat trying to take before we turned away. Yet this time, all it took was forming up in front of the walls for the gates to open. Leaving a Cohort behind, we marched north, veering back towards the coast, stopping at Hadrumentum. After Considius moved on to Thisdra, his replacement was not made of the same stern stuff as he, so we did not even have to form up for the commander of the garrison to throw open the gates. At both Uzita and now at Thisdra, the Pompeians, at least the upper classes, came streaming out, crying big baby tears, begging for Caesar’s mercy, which of course he granted. The men had long since grown tired of Caesar’s clemency, and truth be told, I was no longer inclined to argue with them about it, because I had grown weary of it as well. It seemed to us that it was all a great joke; a Pompeian would be caught, swear that he would not take arms against Caesar again, then laugh at us as he joined the nearest Pompeian force to strap on armor to face us once, twice or even three times more. While I had understood Caesar’s policy in the beginning, it became so much of a joke that I thought it was actually more damaging than helpful at this point, so when the men groaned and rolled their eyes at the sight of the line of men waiting to kiss Caesar’s ass, I did not stop them. At Hadrumentum, another Cohort was left while the rest of us continued our march to Utica, following the Pompeian horsemen and the trail of destruction they left behind.