Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (93 page)

I do not know what prompted it, if there was a decision made, or if it just happened. Whatever the case, on some sort of unseen and unheard signal, Vercingetorix’s force broke off their attempted assault then headed straight for us. Perhaps it was the sight of Caesar’s standard, but suddenly there was a large group of very angry Gauls pounding down the gentle slope to our position.

“By the gods, they’re going to overrun us,” I heard someone shout, and I snapped back, “If one of you bastards takes one step back, I’ll cut you down where you stand.”

Then the first of them reached the ditch to begin throwing in their bundles of wood and clumps of turf as we began hurling our javelins, mowing men down, most of whom seemed to either fall, or knowing they were dying, throw themselves into the ditch in order to help fill it up. Within a matter of moments, it was filled and the Gauls came pouring across, waving their long hooks about in an attempt to grab one of the stakes of the palisade. Moving close to the edge, I slashed down at one of the poles, my blade slicing through one as big as a man’s wrist like it was a twig. However, there were hundreds of poles and despite our frantic attempts, some of them managed to find their mark, with first one, then another stake tumbling down. Some of the Gauls used their hooks as weapons, and out of the corner of my eye I saw one grab a man by the neck. The Gaul gave a mighty heave, sending our man’s head tumbling into the air, blood spurting from the stump of his neck a few inches into the air before his body tumbled over the parapet. The noise was deafening, the Gauls roaring out their anger and desperation, as we roared out our own back at them. Soon there were gaping holes in the parapet where several stakes were pulled out, whereupon the Gauls turned their attention to the turf wall, men using the hooks or their bare hands to try bringing the wall down. Our men were standing above them, slashing and thrusting down so that whenever they landed a blow it was usually to the head and face of the Gaul in front of him, who would tumble back, howling in pain, hands covering the horrible wounds. Yet the instant one man fell away, it seemed there were two more to take his place, and in several spots the wall began tumbling down. Running to the nearest area under threat, I was just in time to see the main part of the wall tumble away, a man in the first section named Sido falling screaming onto the spears and swords of the Gauls below, his shrieking cut mercifully short. Into the gap clambered two Gauls, scrambling as quickly as they could to their feet on the undamaged part of the parapet. Without hesitating they threw themselves at me, screaming their war cries. One carried a spear, the other a sword, and I found myself desperately parrying first one blow, then another, backpedaling away and praying that I did not trip over a body behind me. I did not have an opening for an offensive move as they continuously pushed at me. Then, the man with the spear, eyes wild with bloodlust and fear, managed a solid blow that pierced my armor, breaking several of the links. When he lunged, I desperately twisted to one side, yet even as I did, it felt like I was being struck along the ribs with a stave, the wind bursting from my lungs from the force of the blow. A searing pain shot along the length of my ribs and it was only instinct that caused me to reach out with my left hand to grasp the shaft of the spear with all my strength. Trying to withdraw the weapon, he was jerked off balance when it did not budge from my grasp, and I used his momentum to fling him to the side off the parapet, where he fell, losing his grasp of the spear to land heavily on the ground in the space between the two walls. With him out of the way at least temporarily, I gritted my teeth against the pain, using the butt end of the spear, swinging it quickly at the second man, who took a glancing blow on his right elbow, causing him to gasp and drop his sword. Before he could recover I was on him, and he frantically parried my thrusts with his own shield. However, now that I possessed a second weapon I quickly reversed the spear to begin jabbing with it, while thrusting with my sword. Now it was his turn to back up and in a matter of a few heartbeats I forced him to the edge of where the wall had been pulled down. He obviously felt the edge with the back of his heel because the panic on his face was clear to see. Despite himself, his eyes darted down to see how close he was to tumbling off, and that was all the opening I needed, my blade making a quick thrust to catch him directly in the throat, feeling the grate of bone as it exited the back of his neck. His eyes widened then rolled back in his head as I used my foot to kick him off my blade, sending him tumbling down onto the heads of some of the other Gauls who were just then scrambling up into the breach. The pain in my side was excruciating and I could feel the warmth of my blood spreading down my side, yet I could not spare a moment, the Gauls still swarming out from the nearest breach, making it look very much like our position would fall.

The fighting continued with this intensity, as I found myself running from one spot to the next along the parapet wherever I saw Gauls get a foothold and our men hard pressed. The Gauls fought with the intensity of wild animals trying to escape a trap, which in a sense was exactly what they were, and we quickly discovered that the only way to give ourselves a chance of survival was to match them in their fury. My arm was heavy from constantly using my sword, but it was my side that bothered me most, the blood continuing to seep and now running down my leg. Our wall was breached in several areas by this point, with the Gauls still climbing up onto the parapet and there were a number of small skirmishes all along the wall between the redoubts. The
bucina
sounded the call for reinforcements, yet I was not optimistic that they would arrive in time. Immediately after the call I looked over to see a couple of our men leap down from the parapet, retreating from the Gauls. They were men from my Century, and I was overcome with a sudden fury, even as the Gauls gave a triumphant roar. One of them turned back to his comrades down below, indicating that the breach had widened where he stood, and was quickly joined by another man. Before I could stop to think about the folly of what I was doing, I let out a bellow of my own, rushing at the men who forced my comrades to retreat for the first time ever, determined to redeem our reputation. I must have looked like I was coming from the gates of Hades, covered both in my blood and the blood of the men I had slain up to this point. Feeling my lips pulling back in a savage grin, I saw my enemy’s eyes widen in fear at the sight of my approach. Even before they could bring their shields up I slammed into both of them, using a shield I had picked up from a man who no longer needed it despite having no memory of doing so, sending them both reeling backwards. The two men bounced into the Gauls behind them that were just climbing to stand on the parapet, causing several of them to tumble in a heap at my feet. There was a mess of arms and legs as they tried to scramble back upright, with the men on top looking up at me in terror, trying their best to protect themselves. I thrust and slashed with my blade, along with using the edge of the shield as another weapon, so that the cries of triumph that they were sounding a heartbeat before turned into screams of pain as my blade found its mark over and over. I could feel the razor sharp blade cutting into flesh and bone as I severed a man’s arm above the elbow when he held it up in a futile attempt to protect himself, while in the same instant I chopped down with the metal edge of my shield to cleave into another Gaul's skull. Blood splashed all over my legs and torso while the men on the ground flailed at me with their own weapons, all of which I easily blocked with my shield or parried with my blade. In a matter of moments, what was just a threat an instant before was nothing more than quivering, steaming chopped meat, and I could feel their blood on my face and arms, my chest heaving and legs trembling from the exertion.

Turning to the two men who were still standing below the parapet, their faces blank with shock as they watched what I had done, I pointed at them with my sword and snarled, “You two bastards are on a charge. You better hope you die because I’m going to flay the both of you.” Without waiting for any reply, I ran off, looking for the next danger point.

Hearing the clanking and pounding of boots approaching before I actually saw reinforcements arriving, a total of seven Cohorts were sent to help, and they turned the tide of the battle fairly quickly. Once Vercingetorix saw that there was little chance of creating a breakout at our positions, the Gallic horns sounded again, the remainder of his force hurrying away, this time heading to the northern edge of the works, where the relief force was still furiously attacking the camp and redoubts Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three. As suddenly as it started, the fighting ceased in our sector, the sounds of battle disappearing to be replaced by the moans of the wounded and dying. Standing for a moment, I fought the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me, brought on by the combination of my exertions and loss of blood. Luckily, the bleeding finally stopped, but it had dried, caking my armor all down my side, making movement difficult and I knew that any violent movement would tear the clots free and the bleeding would start again. Regaining my breath, I surveyed the damage, feeling my stomach tighten at what I saw. Every inch of the parapet in both directions was covered with bodies, and although most of them were Gauls, it was not by much of a majority. Even as I stared at the sight, the earth of the parapet seemed to move, with wounded men either struggling to pull themselves upright, or going through their death throes before they succumbed to their wounds. For a moment I did not know what to do or what direction to head, instead trying to decide the best place to start finding all the men of my Century, since I did not see the Pilus Prior anywhere about. Finally determining that it was best, and easier on me to stay where I was and call the men of the Century to rally on me, I tried to use my command voice, yet found the effort made me extremely lightheaded. Instead, I called for our
cornicen
to sound the assembly, but he did not answer. Cursing, I took a few breaths then bellowed out the call to assemble, almost keeling over in the process and only then men began to gather. I was relieved to see Vibius, covered in blood not his own, along with Scribonius, Vellusius and even Didius. Atilius did not show up, nor did almost a third of the Century, and it took a moment for the import of this to register. Yet the biggest shock was yet to come; the Pilus Prior was nowhere to be found, even after I sent men to search through the bodies. We had come to respect and admire Pulcher a great deal, despite the differences between our two previous Centurions, and I hoped that he was alive. Whatever his condition, we did not have time to dwell on it, because once more the
cornu
sounded, this time giving the signal to advance. Looking over, I saw Caesar jump up to the parapet from Toes, and he called out to us.

“Comrades, this is the moment we have been waiting for! I know that you are tired, I know that you are hurting from your wounds and the friends you have lost, but now is the moment when we can end this! Vercingetorix has turned his back on us, and he will pay for that mistake, I swear it to Jupiter Optimus Maximus!”

Pulling his own sword, he lowered it in the direction of the enemy and called out, “
Porro
!”

Making our way across the ditch, we formed up quickly, trying to ignore our fatigue and our diminished numbers, because we knew that Caesar was right. It was a mark of the desperation of Vercingetorix that he turned his back on us; perhaps he thought that he had inflicted enough damage on us that we would not be willing or able to take any offensive action, and it was this idea that inflamed our anger even higher than the loss of so many men. Beginning the advance at the quick step, as I was stumbling along behind the Century, Scaevola stopped and turned, calling to me.

“Pullus, get up here! You’re the Pilus Prior now. Take your place!”

Despite being startled, I realized that he was right, so it was somewhat sheepishly that I moved up to the spot that Pulcher normally occupied. Once we closed the distance, the
cornu
sounded the command to begin double time, and I was concerned that the Gauls would hear it, yet they were so absorbed in their attack on the men of the 8th that they did not notice. Trotting closer, we drew within the range where we normally stopped to launch our javelins, but since most of us did not have any left and Caesar did not want to ruin the element of surprise, the command to charge with the sword was given immediately. With a roar composed of equal parts rage and triumph, we broke into a run. It was only then that the men in the rear ranks of the Gauls realized the danger that was upon them, but before they could turn to face us we slammed into them. Breaking out into a run ripped the clots in my side loose, so despite myself I let out a cry of pain, feeling warm liquid begin to run down my side again. Regardless, I gritted my teeth and started to hack and thrust my way through the now panicked Gauls.

The rout was total, and it did not take long to make happen. Within a matter of moments, the Gauls were running around the end of our lines, fleeing back to the town, most of them throwing down their weapons and shields so they could run faster. We only pursued a short distance because we were exhausted, although they needed no pursuit to keep them fleeing for their lives. While we were pressing the attack on the besieged army, our cavalry, circling around behind the relieving army, launched an attack on the rear of the Gauls on the outside of the walls. Labienus and the reinforcements he brought with him kept up the pressure in the front at the same time, so it was not surprising that the Gauls could not withstand it. The relieving army disintegrated, men being cut down by the cavalry, and Vercassivellaunus was captured, along with 74 enemy standards. Only the cavalry was in any shape to pursue the fleeing remnants of the Gallic army, the chase continuing well past midnight. The battle was over; all that was left was the aftermath of finding our wounded, burning our dead, and burying theirs. I could barely stand, my legs shaking so badly that I was worried that I was going to collapse in front of the men. Somehow, I found the reserves of strength to order them to form up, thankful that at least this last phase of the battle caused us no casualties. Marching back to our original positions, we saw that the men who worked as stretcher bearers were still busy, the
medici
for the Legion performing a quick assessment on our fallen men. The dead were already being laid out, waiting for their comrades to identify and claim the bodies to take them back to camp to prepare for their funeral rites. We were missing 15 men from our Century; I found six of them already laid out waiting for us, though none of them was Atilius. He was found being attended to by a
medici
as he sat, blood-spattered, with the faraway look one often sees in wounded men. The
medici
was working on his right hand and when I approached, I saw that he was missing two fingers, the little and third finger, the stumps protruding perhaps an inch from the base of his palm, the bone gleaming through the blood and torn flesh. While it may not seem like it, he was lucky; if it had been three fingers, or even his first two fingers instead of his last two, he would be discharged because of his inability to hold his sword. I called to him and for a moment he did not respond, then turning his head he saw me, a look of vague surprise on his face.