Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (51 page)

That was no surprise; I had already anticipated that, and I asked Calienus what I should do in the event that he did try something.

His face turned hard and he said simply, “You beat him so badly that he’ll never even think of trying it again.”

I smiled, thinking that I could do that without any problem. Before I left the hospital I went to see Scribonius, who was lucky in his own right. No foreign matter had gotten pushed into the wound, and it was healing cleanly, although he was not completely out of danger.

“The doctor said that there was a lot of muscle damage, and I’m going to have to build the strength back up. He said it’s going to hurt worse than the original wound did.”

I simply nodded in sympathy, because I had some idea of what he was talking about from the wound I suffered in the ribs back in Hispania. Telling him the latest news and catching him up on the gossip about what took place with the Helvetii, I promised to come back and visit him in the next few days. He congratulated me on my promotion, then bidding him goodbye, I returned to the tent.

It did not take long for Didius to test me, but I was ready for him, and I gave him a good thrashing that left him with a lot of bruises and a swollen face.

“You know, it would seem that you’d learn after this many beatings,” Romulus remarked the night after our confrontation as we sat around the fire, eating our evening meal.

Didius pretended not to hear, yet I could see by the red creeping up his face that the remark had hit home. Despite my loathing of Didius, some inner voice of caution kept me from going too far in humiliating him, and I kept my peace, also pretending not to pay attention as I sewed up a hole in my tunic.

“That’s true Romulus,” this came from Vellusius, who was sprawled out close to the fire, idly throwing sticks into it. “But Achilles is one of those people who just don’t seem to learn from their mistakes. Ain’t that right Achilles?”

“Shut your mouths, both of you,” Didius snarled. “Or by Dis, I’ll…….”

I did not allow him to finish, speaking up before anything else could take place. “Didius is right,” I said, refusing to look up from my sewing job, “you two need to keep your mouths shut. This is between Didius and me, and nobody else. I don’t want to hear you mention it again.”

Both men had a look of astonishment on their face at my rebuke, Vellusius flushing then opening his mouth to speak before shutting it and looking away angrily. I knew my words had surprised and hurt them, yet I also realized that I could not even have the appearance of playing favorites, especially since if it were the other way around I would have told Didius to shut his mouth in the same way. My hope was that at least Didius noticed this, and that perhaps it might go a small way to change his attitude towards me and his comrades, though it was a vain hope.

Larger events were taking place that dwarfed our own little contest of wills. At the meeting of all the Gallic chiefs, a number of them asked for a private audience with Caesar, which he granted. Acting as their spokesman, Diviciacus, the Vergobret of the Aedui, told Caesar of the peril that not just the Aedui, but other Gallic tribes such as the Sequani were facing from a German named Ariovistus. It seemed that the Aedui had asked Ariovistus for help in besting their most bitter rival, a tribe called the Arverni, which Ariovistus and his men did. However, when it was time for Ariovistus and his army to go back across the Rhenus, they apparently decided that the fertile farmlands of Gaul were more to their liking, and in short work, subjected the Aedui and their allies the Sequani. This Ariovistus then set himself up as a petty king, demanding tribute and hostages from the tribes, and it was under the fear of death and destruction that Diviciacus came to Caesar asking for help. What complicated matters was that Ariovistus, like the Aedui and Sequani, had been awarded the status of friend of Rome, so it was in this spirit that Caesar first communicated to Ariovistus, politely asking him to meet in order to discuss the dispute.

Apparently, Ariovistus held no such inclination, and although it was not until I read Caesar’s account years later that I learned exactly what took place, all we knew at the time was that Ariovistus had been very insulting, not just to Caesar but to Rome, and more importantly to us, the Legions. He made it clear that he did not think much of our army, nor our skills in battle, despite what we did to the Helvetii, and it was not long before word began circulating that we were going to head for a confrontation with this Ariovistus. Orders were given to repair all gear, replenish our stock of javelins and draw marching rations, because we would be on the move in a matter of a couple of days.

Chapter 6- Ariovistus

We were ordered out of the camp and on the march exactly two days after the rumor circulated; it is an interesting thing about the way this gossip circulates throughout an army. Any rumor is considered to be as close to fact as one can get, and when questioned, the man passing it along will always bring up past examples that had come true. However, somehow we all tended to forget the ones that did not turn out the same way and thinking back on it, I realize that for every one that turned out to be the truth, or close to it, there were probably five that were completely off the mark. Yet we always seemed to forget those, instead only remembering the times where someone passed along a piece of information that turned out to be accurate. Accordingly, we had an idea of what was in store, although it would turn out that in this campaign, rumors would almost undo us. Marching northeast, we headed back towards the town of Vesontio, which Caesar learned was in the plans of Ariovistus to appropriate. Since it contained supplies and weapons, it was strategically vital that we not only keep Ariovistus from seizing it but take it for our own needs. All of this we were happily ignorant about, knowing only that we were marching at Caesar’s usual cracking pace, while he sent word ahead for the Aedui, Sequani and the Lingones to supply us with food as we marched so that we could travel more lightly, and he had us marching well after dark, forcing us to construct camp under trying conditions. It was in this way that we arrived in Vesontio in the middle of the third day, having covered a hundred miles of open territory in little more than two and a half days. Needless to say, we were all exhausted, but Caesar could not spare us the rest, having a camp to construct, which we built on the outskirts of the town. Vesontio is an eminently defensible position, and it was easy to see why Caesar thought it was so important. Nestled in a loop of the Dubis (Doubs) River, it is surrounded on three sides by water, while the narrow neck of land connecting it to the rest of the area is not much more than 500 paces wide. Guarding the neck is a low hill, where a wall of stone is built protecting the town itself. It was just outside of this wall where our camp was built, situated in such a way that we could easily leave the camp to man the wall in the event of an attack, there not being enough space for our camp in the space between that wall and those of the town. It was thrown up with our usual speed, though also with the same thoroughness and exacting standards that Caesar had come to expect from us. While we were busy with our constructing, he sent a Legion into the town itself to provide a garrison, this being the start of our problems. I will not mention the number of the Legion, since their actions caused us considerable embarrassment, only saying that it was not the 10th. We were part of the force building the camp, and played no part in what was to happen.

It was here where Caesar decided to wait for Ariovistus and during the idle time of the next couple of days we began to learn more about the men we were facing, and with what seemed to be every passing watch, our situation became direr.

“I was talking to my cousin in the 8th,” was how it started among our Century, when Romulus relayed what he had learned one evening. “And he was telling me that the townspeople have had a lot of dealing with those Germans of Ariovistus, and they’re scared to death of them.” This was naturally met with interest, although Romulus needed no prodding. “He said that the townsfolk swear that the small ones are the size of Pullus, and most of them are almost seven feet tall.”

“
Gerrae
! I don’t believe that for a minute,” I snorted, not for any other reason than I refused to believe that there were men taller than I was.

“It’s true,” he insisted, “that’s how they were able to subdue the Gauls so easily.” Warming to his subject, he continued, “And he said that their secret weapon is some spell that their witches taught them to cast on their enemies when they line up to do battle. They gaze at their enemies, and if you make eye contact with any of them, it casts a spell on you that paralyzes you so that you can’t fight.” I laughed at this then quickly realized that nobody was joining in. Looking about at my friends, I saw that they were indeed taking this seriously.

“Well,” Atilius said thoughtfully, “given how much of a fight those Helvetii put up, I can’t imagine that the Aedui or those other tribes are any less fierce. Look what it took for us to beat them. Maybe that’s why Ariovistus was able to take their lands so easily.”

I looked at Atilius incredulously. “You’re not believing this, surely? This is just talk.”

Romulus bristled at the unintended slight. “I know my cousin, Pullus. He’s not the type to get worried easily, and he’s a good man. If he believes it, I believe it.”

Trying to head this off, I apologized to Romulus for the offense, then asked him what else was said, hoping that this would move us to safer subjects. I was wrong.

“He also said that before they can be considered men, each German must kill ten men in single combat, and drink the blood of their enemies. That’s why they’re so strong; they gather the strength from the men they’ve killed.”

I must admit that even my heart fluttered a little hearing that, although I would like to think that it was due more to the barbarity of drinking your enemy’s blood than what it supposedly attained for the Germans. This was the tone of the conversations taking place in every part of the camp, and it did not take long before some sort of panic swept through the army. In my opinion, what made it worse was the reaction of our officers, who not only did not stamp out the rumors, but actually believed them and were in turn infected with the same madness that the common soldiers were suffering. Suddenly, a large number of the fine young men attached to the army as Tribunes suddenly found reasons that they were urgently needed back in Rome. They began rushing about the camp, looking for their high-born friends in other Legions to confer about the best course of action, given that the army was about to be slaughtered by the invincible Germans. Not even the Centurions were immune to this panic, although it was a relatively small number out of the whole. Out of our 60 Centurions, perhaps three of them seemed to be of the same mind as the Tribunes. It must be said that the Tribunes and even the Legates we understood; for the most part they were soldiers in name only, and although there were some of them we respected, Labienus being one, along with young Publius Crassus, they were the minority. Now these puffed up nobles showed all of us their true value, infecting the army at every level with their constant chattering about the impending calamity. But the final blow came when some veterans we respected began voicing fears about our supplies and the forests that we would have to march through. It appeared that we were beaten before Ariovistus even bothered to show up.

Caesar, as he was wont to do, acted swiftly, calling a meeting of the Tribunes and Centurions, where he gave them a severe chastising. Demanding an explanation, he let them know that their actions were not only having a devastating effect on the morale of the army, they were also calling into question Caesar’s abilities as a commander, and I suspect of the two, it was the latter that infuriated Caesar more. Reminding them of his uncle Marius, who dealt crushing defeats to the Germans, Caesar minimized the accomplishments of the Germans against the Gauls, pointing out that we had defeated the same men as the Germans, which hardly hinted at their superiority. He was especially harsh with those who, rather than express alarm at the valor of the Germans, disguised their fears as concerns about supplies and terrain, because he viewed these men as questioning his capacity for command. There was even muttering that when he gave the command to march, the Legions would refuse, and it was this rumor that caused Caesar to say something that cemented his place in our heart. If it came to that, he said, he would march with the 10th and the 10th only, since he trusted it implicitly and knew he could count on it to follow him wherever he led. I believe it was this statement more than any that turned the morale of the army around in an instant. Despite the fact that he was speaking only to the Tribunes and Centurions, he had to know that what was said at that meeting would flash through the camp in a matter of moments. For us in the 10th, it made us determined that we would never let Caesar down, because he gave us perhaps the greatest honor a general can give his men, and we made sure to send a message of thanks to him, along with our solemn vow that he would never have reason to regret his words. Many years later, some of the men of the 10th would go back on that promise, but that was far in the future. For the other Legions, they were now shamed by the idea that he felt he could only count on the 10th for support, and they were now determined to show him that their loyalty matched ours. It was a brilliant piece of work, perhaps not what historians will write about, yet is just as important as any maneuver on the battlefield, because it was like a lamp was lit in a previously darkened room, the gloom suddenly banished in the instant it takes for the light to flare to life. Now, instead of worrying about our fates, we were anxious to be put to the test, and the army began clamoring for Caesar to give the orders to march to meet Ariovistus. We were not to be disappointed; on the last day of the month that is now known as August, we marched out of camp, leaving a force of three Cohorts behind to guard the town and the camp. In order to avoid those thick woods that some of the men were worried about the Vergobret Diviciacus, who was acting as our guide, led us in a wide swing to the north before turning towards the east where Ariovistus was located. This added two days to the march which, given the mood of the army before we set out, could have been a problem because it gave men time to think. However, such was Caesar’s chastisement of the Tribunes and Centurions that the men were instead chafing at the delay of facing Ariovistus and his Germans. Finally coming within a day’s march of where the Germans were camped, we made our own camp on the banks of a river, settling down to wait for further developments. Ariovistus was to the north, and he sent messengers saying that now he was willing to parley with Caesar, with a meeting set for five days’ time. Speaking personally, every day’s delay was a good thing, since it meant that Scribonius was closer to full strength, thereby bettering his chance for survival in the next battle. His shoulder wound had caused his left arm to shrivel, and he worked extremely hard to restore it to full use, the fear of being found unfit for duty and discharged spurring him to work harder than I had ever seen him. It also meant that I spent extra time with him individually, working on weapons drills, which I was happy to do, despite its meaning that with my other duties as Sergeant, sleep was something with which I only had a passing acquaintance. Calienus had been less than truthful about the duties of a Sergeant, yet when I confronted him about it, he had just laughed.