Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (68 page)

Luckily for all of us, not least himself, Caesar alone kept his head. A call went out for the
immunes
with skills in carpentry and working with metals, their duties now to repair the fleet. Because we were stranded here longer than Caesar originally planned, our food supplies were running low, and it was this fact that the chiefs of the island tribes planned to capitalize on, as their warriors answered the summons. Our men were eagerly volunteering for
immunes
duty, many of them fabricating their experience in carpentry and metalworking, just for the opportunity to help work on our fleet, understandable since it was our only way home. For those of us too unimaginative to turn the time we spent chopping trees into a full-fledged career as a carpenter, we were left to perform the normal duties of camp life. Gear always needs mending and whenever there is a spare moment we train, which is where my time was spent, despite the lack of training weapons. Meanwhile, the food situation was becoming dire and despite only having a total of 30 cavalry who shipped over with Commius, Caesar put them to good use, sending them far and wide looking for consumables. They came back to report several fields of grain just waiting to be reaped some two miles to the west of the camp, near some woods. Most of the other fields had already been harvested so Caesar, not wanting to waste an opportunity to feed us, sent the 7th out to gather up the grain, ordering them to march with only their weapons, sickles and wicker baskets. That day I was involved in weapons training, using our normal swords in their sheaths since we did not bring our training weapons, the men of the Century cursing me and wishing all manner of horrible things to befall me, a fact that I took as a sign that I was making progress. The 7th was gone for perhaps two thirds of a watch when, seemingly out of nowhere, the horns sounded the call for assembly under arms. Luckily, we were all wearing our armor and helmet and since we were using our regular weapons for training, we were one of the first Centuries to make it to the forum. Caesar had mounted Toes, while the Tribunes and Legates of both Legions, the ones from the 7th staying behind undoubtedly to catch up on their rest or to bugger one of the young slaves, were running about in a high state of alarm.

“What by Pluto’s thorny cock is happening, you wonder?” I heard Rufio ask the Pilus Prior, who merely shrugged.

“Don’t know, but I imagine it’s got something to do with the 7th out there getting grain.”

Within moments the Legion was assembled, with our 8th and 10th Cohorts ordered to relieve the two Cohorts on guard. The instant they ran to their posts the guard Cohorts that were relieved came to join us without waiting to be properly dismissed, and shortly after we were trotting out of the main gate. Clearing the gate, we could clearly see what caused the alarm; there was a huge dust cloud, much larger than would be normal for a Legion on the march, hanging in the air some distance away. This did not stop Caesar from ordering us to double time, and there were audible groans as we began trotting towards the dust cloud, heading to help the 7th.

Within less than a sixth part of the watch, we drew within sight of the 7th and could immediately see the problem. This was our first indication that the Briton chiefs were plotting, because the 7th was surrounded by a large mass of warriors, with a much larger number of chariots than met us on the beach. This could only mean that some mischief had been in the works for some time, since it would take several days to assemble such a large host.

“Those bastards saw our ships wrecked and decided to throw the dice,” gasped Scribonius as we ran towards the melee in front of us.

Only grunting an acknowledgement, my mind was occupied with the details of what was about to happen next. I did not think that Caesar would order us to charge pell-mell, in column, directly into the battle, so I was thinking about what the next command was going to be, guessing that it would first be an order to quick time, our normal marching pace, in order to allow us to catch our breath, followed a moment later by the command to deploy from column into line. When the
cornu
did indeed sound the call to begin marching, it was followed a moment later by the command to form into a line of Cohorts, which we executed with the practiced precision of veterans, while I mentally congratulated myself for being smart enough to recognize the obvious thing to do. Seeing the Britons alerted by the sound of our horns wheel about to watch us approaching, the sight of the 10th arriving on the scene served two purposes. The 7th was being hard pressed, having actually formed into an orbis, which is only used in the direst of emergencies. With our approach, it gave the 7th sufficient heart to order the redeployment into a more standard
acies
duplex
as they awaited our arrival and link up with them. For the Britons, this was the signal to break off the engagement, their own strange horns now blowing what was obviously their signal to withdraw. They retreated in good order I must say, leaving the battlefield behind to disappear into the nearby woods, from where they had initiated the ambush. As we were to gather from the events, this was an elaborate trap; the fields that the 7th were sent to reap were not harvested in order to act as bait. The 7th fell into the trap, which was no shame, but apparently their orders were to ground their shields and javelins, doff their helmet, with no guard set, especially in the nearby forest, thereby allowing a surprise attack. We would have jeered them for such laxity, but they carried enough bodies with them back to the camp that we felt they learned their lesson.

With the fleet rapidly being repaired, we still had one more surprise waiting for us. According to Caesar, only a total of twelve ships were totally destroyed and their salvaged parts used to repair the rest of the fleet. Again, I do not wish to dispute the great man, but perhaps my skills at counting are not quite as developed as his were; I counted no less than 20 ships wrecked beyond repair. No matter really, in the end both Legions were transported back to the mainland, but not before the Britons made one last attempt to inflict enough damage upon us to convince us never to return. For several days after the ambush of the 7th the weather was similar, just not as violent, to the great storm that wrecked the fleet, confining us to our tents as the elements lashed us with what seemed to be a never-ending rainstorm. Between the weather and our lack of cavalry, Caesar deemed it prudent to refrain from trying to chastise the enemy for their violation of their oaths of submission, and we sat huddled together, listening to the wind howl and the rain throw itself against our tents. Once again we were reminded of the year before, except thankfully this year our tents held up. Even with the violent weather, the men who volunteered to help repair the fleet, many of them now repenting their choice much to our glee, continued on. Through the wind and rain, they continued to work on those ships that could be salvaged, and we were heartened by their progress to be sure. But the Britons were not quite done with us, giving us one last test before we left this accursed island.

Even as the work progressed despite the weather, the Britons were not idle either. Their summons to battle was only partially answered when they attempted to ambush the 7th during our grain harvesting. However, by this point they had sufficient time to gather in their true strength, and it was with this strength that they appeared on the horizon one day after the spell of weather broke.

“To arms!”

With that command ringing out, the
bucina
carrying the call throughout the entire camp, for perhaps the hundredth time I found myself thanking Calienus for the early lesson he had given us in the value of placing our gear in the same place, every time, every camp. Automatically pulling on my armor and helmet, then grabbing my harness and quickly strapping it on, I exited the tent to grab my shield, stacked outside along with my javelin. It is in such a manner that a Legion can assemble and be ready for battle in a matter of moments, no mean feat for several thousand men. On the horizon, spreading before us, was the Briton host; chariots, cavalry and foot, all determined to make us pay such a heavy price that we would never venture to set another foot on their island again. It was here that they made their biggest mistake, in daring to fight us in a set-piece battle. Compounding their error, they gave us not only the time to form up, then march out of our camp, but to array ourselves in Caesar’s favorite formation, the
acies
triplex
, arranging our lines in front of our camp. Seeing the vast horde before us, perhaps it is hubris, but I will tell you that there was not a man among us who held any doubt about the outcome.

“Stupid bastards, aren’t they?” This was asked by Scribonius as we moved into our accustomed position.

Unlike other battles we fought in, there were not three wings but two; even so, we did not have to be told on which side to form up, and we moved into our place on the right, looking out at the Briton host impassively. I had to agree; they were stupid indeed to try besting us by using the tactics that were our strongest. I merely nodded, not saying anything, preparing myself for the slaughter that was about to come.

This battle is almost too inconsequential to write about. The Britons charged us, their chariots churning up clouds of dust as they sped towards our formation, heading straight into our lines as if they planned on running headlong into the front ranks. Suddenly, they turned sharply to parallel our front, with each warrior aboard throwing javelins as fast at us as he could manage. One noteworthy thing was that I finally saw with my own eyes the feats that the others were talking about, when one of the warriors leaped over the front of the chariot, landing nimbly on the wooden yoke attached to the horses. Not done, he took a couple of sure steps farther along the yoke before hopping up to plant each of his feet on the backs of the horses, who obviously had been through this before since they did not falter. Standing thus, he bellowed something I am sure was abusive at the top of his lungs, glaring at us while his driver guided the chariot along our front. His display earned him an ironic cheer from us, seemingly startling him, his face turning a dark red, obviously furious at what he perceived as an insult. It was not really meant that way; enemy or no, what he did was impressive and we Romans always appreciate a demonstration of excellence. Once the chariots expended their missiles, this apparently was the signal for the Britons to begin their pre-battle ritual of foaming at the mouth and hopping about while they screamed their insults at us. A few of them bared their backsides to us, drawing a laugh. Someone in our ranks began to reciprocate the gesture but was immediately persuaded against it by the threat of a flogging. Our men were shifting about, moving from one foot to another, growing bored, and all through our midst could be heard muttered imprecations and exhortations to get on with it.

“Pluto’s thorny cock, what’s taking them so long?” Vibius groaned, and I smiled at his impatience, though I felt it too.

Finally, they seemed to be ready at last, and with the undulating wail from what they call a horn blasting three notes, the mass of men on foot began running towards us, their weapons held high, their shouts ringing in our ears. Immediately after our last volley of javelins was done, the order to counter-charge was given, and we began running ourselves, colliding into the Briton horde at a dead run. No more than several moments later, before I even got a turn at the front, the Britons broke and ran, with both Legions in hot pursuit. Running as fast as I dared while carrying my naked sword over the broken ground, my long legs helped me close the gap, enabling me to wet my blade before sheathing it again. Our small group of cavalry pursued the fleeing men, and despite their small numbers, managed to account for a large number of enemy dead. All told, we killed about 4,000 Britons in the space of perhaps a sixth part of a watch from the time we lined up until we stopped the pursuit, and we did not lose a single man. During our return to the camp, we put to the torch a small village, along with a few small farms and the surrounding fields.

Back in camp, the word went out that the repairs to the fleet were finished and we were told to break down the camp, prompting great jubilation. We had experienced enough of this island, although there was little doubt in our minds that we would be back.

“Caesar’s not going to be satisfied with burning some crops. He’s got to find some villages to plunder and people to enslave to make himself richer than he already is,” Vibius declared as we were packing.

Biting back a sharp reply, partly because I did not want to quarrel, it was also because I knew that Vibius was probably right, and I did not want to give him the satisfaction of reminding me of it when we found ourselves on these shores again. Even as we were striking our tents, another delegation of Britons came to the camp, yet again begging forgiveness for their mistake in attacking us for the third time. And yet again, Caesar gave them pardon, although he doubled the number of hostages he demanded this time around. This was one decision that we did not agree with, but looking at it now, I can see that Caesar really had no other choice. We were packing up to leave and would not be back for several months. If he refused to accept their apology and peaceful overtures, this would warn them that war was coming, whereupon they would spend the winter months in preparation. They may have done that anyway, but with Caesar refusing them, this was a certainty. Accordingly, Caesar made the choice to allow the pretense of peace between us. By the time the delegation left, the camp was stricken, except for the ramparts, which are always last, and we put all the other parts of the camp that used wood to the torch. That done, we pulled up the stakes along the rampart then filled in the ditch before marching down to the beach to load up on the ships and sail back to the mainland.