Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (90 page)

All around us, similar small skirmishes were taking place, before our own cavalry came thundering past us to confront the Gauls. In the same manner as our enemy, Caesar split our horsemen into three columns, each one assigned to one of the enemy formations. Once the Gauls tried to break through our lines a couple of times, only to be bloodily repulsed each time, we became spectators to the action. With the battle wearing on, our Germans began carrying the day, much to our delight, and we heartily cheered them whenever they would go hurtling past as we caught just a glimpse of them.

“This is like watching the chariot races in Rome,” remarked Scribonius, and I looked at him in some surprise. As close as we were, Scribonius talked very little about his past, where he had come from or where he had lived for that matter. And normally, this was not a thing that we talked about in the army; if a man did not want to discuss his past, we assumed it was for good reason and did not pry, but I was so surprised, I blurted out, “You’ve been to Rome?”

Giving me a sidelong glance, he hesitated, then nodded. Keeping his eyes on the action, he said, “I lived there.”

I will confess that I was astounded. Here was one of my two or three closest friends, boon companion since being
tiros
together, and this was the first I heard that he had lived in Rome! Suddenly, the battle was completely forgotten as I asked eagerly, “Pluto’s thorny cock! What’s it like? Is it as wonderful as they say?”

I could see him make a face, his reluctance clear to see, but then he glanced at my own face and laughed. “You’re not going to let this be until I tell you, are you?”

Our German horse swept the Gallic cavalry from the field with heavy losses, yet one of the great mysteries of the day, and the mistake that I referred to earlier was why Vercingetorix did not order his infantry into the battle. They were formed up, outside of their camp with a view of our column as it approached, yet never left that spot. Once it was clear how the day was going, they broke down their camp and marched hurriedly away. Their army was much too large for our cavalry to try to engage while we shook ourselves out into battle formation, so we watched the dust cloud that signaled their marching away to Alesia. Vercingetorix, with the remnants of his cavalry, followed behind the rest of their army, leaving almost 3,000 horsemen dead on the field. All that Vercingetorix worked so hard to achieve in the last six months was lost in a day when he kept his infantry back from the battle, because the truth on Jupiter’s stone is that we were surprised, just like we were by the Nervii when making camp that day. Now, however, Vercingetorix was running, and the place he was running to would be his last stand at Alesia, so it was there that we now marched. That night around the fire, Scribonius had a rapt audience as he described Rome, but even with his attempts to make it sound squalid, dirty and dangerous, by the time he was through telling us of the sights to be seen, all of us were afire to see the city for which we marched to glory.

Chapter 13- Alesia

We came within sight of the hill that Alesia sits on at the end of the next day. The enemy army managed to retreat in good order and had invested the town. Since Vercingetorix decided to make Alesia his base of operations and his final redoubt some time before, the fortifications at Alesia were well developed, and the Gallic army was working on improving them even as we marched up. Our approach was from the east, and while the hill is not as high as Gergovia, it is at least as steep if not steeper. Unlike Gergovia, there was not a string of hills immediately surrounding the town where we could entrench. Perhaps a mile to the east are two hills, side by side with a narrow valley in between that leads straight to the foot of the hill on which Alesia stands. At the foot of the hill on either side lay two small streams, one on the northern side and one on the southern side. On the other side of Alesia, to the west, lay a relatively flat plain, extending for about three or four miles, and it was on this western side where the Gauls were putting the most effort in improving the defenses by building a stone wall that ran north and south between the two streams. Caesar stopped the army on the northernmost hill on the east side of the town, while he and his staff conducted a reconnaissance as we made camp. The
bucina
sounded Caesar’s return shortly before dark, and less than a third of a watch later it sounded the signal for all Centurions to report to the
Praetorium
. Since it was only Scaevola and I left sitting by the officer’s fire, and he was not very good company, I got up to wander around our area, stopping at every fire to chat for a while as we waited to hear what was in our immediate future. The wagering was already started of course, and the best odds were a complete investment of the town.

“It only makes sense,” one of the men of the third section, a swarthy veteran of Pompey’s army named Valens was holding forth at his fire. “Now that Labienus and his four Legions are here, we’re going to be digging like moles in a great big circle all the way around that fucking town.”

“I don’t see it,” argued Crispus, who had been a
tiro
the same time as us. “I think he’s just going to order us to assault the damn thing and be done with it. It’s been dragging on too long, and Caesar is going to want to end it.”

Naturally, my presence meant that my opinion would be solicited, and Valens turned towards me, confident that I would agree. “Well Optio? What do you say? Are we going to invest the place, or are we going to do what this dunderhead thinks and go charging in like amateurs?”

I had to fight a smile at the way he put it, but the truth was I agreed with him.

“I think you’re right Valens,” I replied, to his cry of glee and Crispus’ moan of disgust.

The way I looked at it, either way I went, I was going to make somebody mad, so I may as well tell them what I thought. But I did not want to sound unreasonable; I was green enough back then that I worried that the men understood where I was coming from. “I think Valens is right, we have four more Legions, and just by eyeballing the place, it’s not as big around as Gergovia was,” I explained, but Crispus was having none of it.

“Then that means that Caesar is willing to stay here through the winter, Optio? I don’t believe that; he wants to get out of here just as much as we all do.”

I nodded. “That may be, but I also think Caesar is going to do what he thinks gives us the best chance to win, and that’s using our engineering skills.”

“You mean our strong backs,” Crispus said miserably.

In that he was right at least; whatever the work, it would be done with our sweat. “Just remember Crispus,” I tried to put a cheerful face on it, “the more you sweat now…”

Pilus Prior Pulcher returned and took a seat at our fire, not saying anything for a moment. He chose instead to stare into the flames, the line of his scar in the shadows cast by the fire making him look older. Finally, he looked up and announced, “Well, we’re going to invest the place.”

I was not surprised, so I merely nodded while Scaevola gave a grunt. Over the years I had learned that Scaevola was a simple soul; not very intelligent, but smart enough to know what needed to be done, and absolutely ferocious in a fight, to the point that sometimes it was hazardous being near him, because when he got carried away, he tried to kill anyone within reach.

“That'll make Valens happy at least,” I finally replied, and Pulcher looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I related the conversation we had, and he laughed. “These bastards will bet on anything, won’t they? That’s really why Crispus is mad, not because he has work to do, but because he bet the wrong way.”

His smile disappeared as he continued soberly, “And we’re going to have work to do, right enough. Caesar's decided on a double envelopment, with one set of fortifications turned inwards and another turned out. He’s betting that this is the last stand, so that the Gauls'll do everything they can to keep Alesia from falling, so we need to be ready for an attack from both sides.”

We sat absorbing this, then Scaevola grunted again, this time loudly enough that we knew it was the signal that he was about to say something, a rare enough occasion that we looked at him in some surprise.

“Well, if we finish these bastards here, maybe we can go home.”

Our mild surprise turned to shock; this was the first time I ever heard Scaevola say anything that indicated he had a home other than the army. I glanced at the Pilus Prior, who returned it with a raised eyebrow and slight shrug. “Scaevola, where would such a heartless bastard like you call home other than the army?” the Pilus Prior teased.

“Rome,” Scaevola said quietly, staring into the fire. “The Subura, to be precise. It’s where I was born.”

You could have knocked both of us over with a feather; I had been marching with Scaevola since the Legion was formed, the Pilus Prior a few years less, but still a good stretch of time, and this was the first we ever heard that our standard bearer was born in Rome. First Scribonius, now Scaevola, I thought; will wonders never cease? I knew that he was one of the veterans from Pompey’s Legions salted into our ranks, and once I thought of it, it made sense. It was still a shock, however, but my questions about Rome would have to wait.

I rose and looked to the Pilus Prior. “Shall I tell the men, or do you want to?”

He waved me along, “You do it Pullus. I have some questions for Scaevola about whether all the things I’ve heard about the whores of Rome are true.”

Warming to the topic, I tried to light some sort of fire of enthusiasm for what was going to be a brutal amount of work, no matter what. “Boys, this is it! We have that bastard bottled up, with the bulk of his army. We finish him here, and we’re done. Nobody is left for us to fight!”

“I don’t know,” Vibius repeated doubtfully, “the way these Gauls breed, there's still a lot of 'em running around that aren’t part of that lot up on the hill.”

“
Gerrae
! By Dis Vibius, must you find a turd in the porridge in everything Caesar does?” I stormed. I had lost my temper, and even as I swore at myself for losing control, I continued to rage. “I’ve listened to you moan and complain about every order you’ve been given by Caesar since…..since I can remember, and by the gods I’m sick of it! I’ve put up with it because you’re my best friend since we were kids, but enough is enough!” My voice hardened into the tone I used when giving commands or officially chastising one of the men. “You forget yourself, Sergeant. Your place is not to question our commander’s orders, your place is to obey them and carry them out to the best of your ability. This is the last time I'll tolerate such a display, do you understand me?”

The shock was clear on Vibius’ face, as it was on everyone else around the fire; never before had they heard me speak to Vibius in this manner, but I had reached my limit.

“Titus, I meant no………”

“
Tacete
!” I surprised even myself at the volume of my voice. “And stand at
intente
when I’m addressing you, Sergeant!”

As shocked and angry as he may have been, discipline in the Legions runs deep, and he snapped immediately to the position, eyes locked straight ahead.

“You’re not addressing your friend Titus Pullus, you’re addressing your Optio right now, Sergeant,” my voice was a bit softer, but only by a fraction.

“Yes, Optio,” Vibius replied, and to anyone else his tone sounded perfectly correct, but I could detect the barely controlled fury. We stood there for a moment; he could not speak unless I gave him leave, and I was suddenly at a loss at what to say. Things had gotten out of hand and I knew that, except I did not know what to do. In my defense, it was not just a matter of youth. I knew that to back down in any way at this point was to undermine my authority; a leader cannot be seen to be indecisive and weak, and backing down now would cause me problems down the road. Nevertheless, I also knew that my friendship with Vibius had just suffered a tremendous blow that might not ever be repaired.