Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (59 page)

I do not know for sure how long the fighting went on at this pace, but all along our line, which was a line in name only, every Legion was being pressed to their limit as men fought without any real direction or orders from our Centurions. This was a fight of man against man, or at the most, small groups of two and three men against each other, and this type of fighting brings out the most savage aspect of every one of us. At one point I remember suddenly becoming aware that I was snarling as I hacked away at a Nervii, spewing out sounds that were completely unintelligible, and I could feel my lips curling from my teeth as I waded in the gore of the bodies that we were chopping up. There were no tactics, no maneuvers, just men intent on killing each other, mindless of any higher goal other than the complete destruction of the man across from him. I was vaguely aware that I saw Caesar, holding a shield, calling out to us to continue fighting, exhorting us to greater effort, his own blade bloody.

“Keep calm men! Remember the honor of the 10th! Stand up against these bastards!”

Despite recognizing his voice, none of us even acknowledged that we heard him, so busy were we on maintaining our cohesion. Several times a man would fall in our line, and for a moment the Nervii would force their way into the gap that created, only to be beaten back by the men who had finally joined the back ranks. There were no whistles to signal relief; for the most part, those of us who got stuck on the front line had to stay there until we either fell or the Nervii broke. Luckily, seeing that there was not going to be anything like the normal system of relief, the men who were in the back ranks dashed back to retrieve as many javelins as they could, and finally we heard the whistling sound of them flying over our heads, seeing the missiles cut swaths through the warriors still coming up the bank from the river. One volley, followed by a second, then a third; only after the third did we sense that there was the beginning of a shift. Men were still attacking, just without the same reckless abandon as before. Seeing the chance for a shift in momentum, without any command being given, the men of the first line began pushing forward, slashing and hacking at anyone who stood in our path. The blood was still streaming down my left arm, and I could feel my hand growing sticky from the blood caking on it, but I continued moving forward, Vibius beside me as we cut down several more of the enemy, then somewhere further to our right, we sensed that the flood was beginning to reverse. Looking over in that direction, I saw that the Nervii were not just moving backward one grudging step at a time, but some of them had begun to turn and run.

Once a panic sets in, especially with an undisciplined bunch like most Gauls, it spreads like a flame over dry tinder. Such was the case in front of us; one moment we were locked in a struggle just to stay alive, and the next, men were streaming away from us, running for their lives, completely oblivious to anything but the voice in their head telling them to flee. Whenever there is a great slaughter on the battlefield, most of the casualties come when that moment occurs and the rout begins. The battering force that threatened to overwhelm us just moments before suddenly evaporated, as the Nervii began to turn and run back to the river. Naturally, we pursued them, the entire Legion sweeping after them, catching up to the slower ones as they hit the river to begin wading back across, cutting these men down and striking without mercy at their unprotected backs. We were in a fury, or at least I was, angry that we were caught unprepared, and I was taking my revenge for having to fight for my life. Without any orders, we continued to follow the fleeing enemy, crossing the river and up the opposite hill as the Nervii ran before us, trying desperately to make it to the sanctuary of the woods from which they had appeared. Continuing our pursuit of them up to the edge of the woods, again without any command given, we came to a halt. I was gasping for breath, trying to suck in as much air as I could as I peered into the woods, knowing that charging into that mass of trees and undergrowth was an invitation to disaster. Not only did we not know what lay in those woods; there could easily be another force headed this way, it also made it easier for men to elude us, and once the immediate danger was past, some of them might have the presence of mind to regroup and turn the tables on us. Catching my breath, I looked back over the river and my heart filled with dismay. The area where we were fighting was covered with bodies, and while most of them were the enemy’s, there were a disturbingly large number of Roman bodies lying among them. We had taken significant casualties, so I instantly began looking around, trying to locate my friends. Vibius was still beside me, the blade of his sword caked with blood all the way to the pommel, while his armor was liberally splashed with blood as well.

Seeing my concerned look, he glanced down, then shook his head. “Not mine.”

Nodding thankfully, I continued scanning the faces of the men around us, as some semblance of order was slowly returning. Like herd animals, we instinctively started looking for our normal spot in the formation, and the Centurions began taking control, except for the Pilus Prior, who I could not see.

“Anyone seen the Pilus Prior?” I asked of the men from my Cohort who were starting to gather in one spot.

“I think he went down over there,” said Metellus, the Optio of the Fourth Century, pointing to a spot where there was a large pile of bodies.

I looked where he was pointing, but we were too far away to make out whether any Roman body was wearing the transverse crest of the Centurion. Tribune Labienus came trotting up on his horse, calling for the Primus Pilus, who was on our side of the river. While they were conferring, I heard a commotion and looked over to see some of our men shouting excitedly and pointing back across the river. Following their arms to where they were pointing, I drew a sharp breath. There were two Legions who were being completely surrounded by the Nervii and looked like they would be overrun at any moment.

“Form up, quickly you bastards!”

The Primus Pilus bellowed the order, and the surviving
cornici
began blasting the signal. There was a scramble as men ran to their proper standards, and it was only as we formed up that we could see the gaping holes in our ranks. In our Century, there were at least ten men missing, including the Pilus Prior and in my tent section Romulus and Didius. Since I was Sergeant, it was my responsibility to find out their status then report it to the acting Centurion, Rufio, who had taken a spear thrust high on his shoulder, but quickly bound it up and was standing in the place of the Pilus Prior. Calienus moved into Rufio’s spot, the hours of drill paying its dividends now.

“Did anyone see what happened to Romulus or Didius?”

“I saw Achilles take a spear to the chest, but he was alive the last I saw him,” Vellusius called out, but on the subject of Romulus, there were only shakes of the head.

It was something I would have to find out later, because by this time we were formed up. Labienus dismounted from his horse, and moving to the head of the formation, gave the command to quick time back down the slope, angling over so that we could come to the rescue of the two Legions who even now were being surrounded by Nervii. It was the 12th and the 7th, and what got them in trouble was the success that the other four Legions experienced in stopping the enemy advance, then counterattacking. Like us, the 9th, 8th and 11th crossed the river after repulsing their attack, the 8th and 11th in the center and the 9th and us on the left. They were still engaged with the Belgae forces however, while we drove our opponents into the woods. Labienus, seeing the desperate situation our sister Legions across the river were in, was now marching us rapidly back to their aid. As we advanced down the slope, the new Legions came into view following the baggage train, and they were now rushing forward as well, negotiating their way through the loaded animals and wagons. Meanwhile, the 7th and 12th were fighting for their life, with the 12th in particular having a hard time of it, though they were not helping their own cause. They managed to stay in formation, but because of the press of the Nervii, they had gathered so that they were packed together so tightly that they could not employ their weapons, and we could see Caesar’s standard beside them as he exhorted them to open up their ranks to fight. The 7th was surrounded on three sides, the only flank that was protected the one next to the 12th.

“Silly bastards, they’re packed together like they’re on the march,” panted Scribonius.

Coming to the river, we were forced to slow down as we waded across, then stopped briefly to re-form our lines after we got to the opposite bank. Once that was done, Labienus gave the order and the
cornu
blasted the command.

“
Porro
!”

Slamming into the rear of the Nervii, who were completely occupied with trying to destroy the two Legions before them, they were paying no attention to us as we approached their rear, to their own destruction. Almost at the same time, the 13th and 14th added to the weight of the assault, and it was now the turn of the Nervii to be surrounded.

I will give credit to the Nervii; unlike other Gallic tribes that we faced, these men did not turn and run. They stood their ground, the rear ranks facing about to meet us, and they gave as good as they got. The 7th and 12th, the latter being dangerously close to falling apart and routing, saw that help had arrived, so they renewed their own attack with a fresh spirit, even their wounded joining in the fight. The fresh troops of the 13th and 14th, having arrived fully armed, began to shower the Nervii with javelin volleys, and soon there were heaps of bodies lying all around. On our side, we went straight to the sword as we pushed against the Nervii, and for the first time, established a normal rhythm of fighting. The whistles started to blow again, and we began working our way through the rotation, this return to normalcy helping us even further as we cut and thrust at the Nervii. When it was my turn, I fell to with a renewed fervor, letting the anger at the idea of Romulus and the Pilus Prior being struck down fuel my arm as I exacted my own revenge. The sound was deafening as the Nervii roared their hatred for us, or screamed when they were cut down, while on our side, we shouted out the names of fallen comrades as we struck men down for them. The fury of the battle was renewed as well, the Nervii fighting with the courage of the doomed, and it was not long before they were using the bodies of their own dead as platforms on which to stand. Some of them picked up the javelins that landed undamaged to hurl them back at us, and I blocked one with my shield that had been aimed at my chest. Luckily, it was an awkward throw, lacking the proper force behind it so it glanced off the leather cover of my shield, which I should have been happy about but instead got me to cursing afresh. It reminded me that I was going to have to purchase a new leather cover, which once again would be deducted from my pay, and angrily I sought out the man who threw the javelin, marking his face in my mind, thinking I would get to him as soon as I was done sending the man opposite me to the afterlife. We were advancing, slowly but surely as the pocket of Nervii was being reduced on all sides, until there was a pause by the entire army, despite no command given. While not completely silent, there was a noticeable decrease in the noise as we stopped for a moment, completely surrounding the by-now small knot of Nervii standing in an outward facing circle, their weapons in their hands, panting for breath as they stared at us with undisguised hatred. We glared back, and things remained this way for several moments, until the only sounds were the moans of the wounded and dying and the gasping of many thousands of men. There were perhaps 2,000 Nervii left in the last circle, and I wondered if they would be allowed to surrender, but then they answered my question for me when one of them took a step away from the circle, spat on the ground and motioned at us to come on, yelling something in his tongue that needed no translation. He was taunting us, asking what we were waiting for, and with a roar, we descended on the last bunch of Nervii from all sides.

It was over quickly, with not a Nervii surviving unscathed, the wounded soon following their already slain comrades. The next few moments we spent walking among the bodies, quickly dispatching their injured with a quick thrust then finally, the battle was over. Looking up at the sun, I saw to my astonishment that little more than a third of a watch had passed since the Nervii first came streaming out of the woods. Very quickly, order was restored and we began the now familiar task of tidying up after a battle. For our part, we marched back to where our packs were laying, now surrounded by piles of bodies, both Belgae and Roman. One of Labienus’ attendants, a Gaul who knew of such things, identified the bodies of some of the enemy not as Nervii, but Atrebates, who had evidently thrown their lot in with the Nervii.

Vibius grunted, “That explains why they broke and ran but those bastards over there,” he gestured over to where the 7th and 12th had made their stand, “stood and died to the last man. Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he grinned.

I laughed at this, slapping him on the shoulder before turning to the task I was putting off yet could avoid no longer. Now I had to go examine our own dead and wounded to find my missing tentmates. Even as the battle raged farther downstream, the
medici
assigned to our Legion had already begun tending to the wounded, and a makeshift hospital was already set up, really nothing more than a cleared patch of ground where all the wounded were being gathered. Going there first, that was where I found Didius, who had indeed suffered a real wound high in his chest. The momentum of the spear thrust was slowed enough by his armor that the blade had not penetrated into his chest cavity, instead just slicing through the muscle and stopping there. It was a painful wound, but I had seen men with far worse wounds act less like a woman than Didius, who was moaning rhythmically while clutching the bloody bandage that the
medici
placed over the wound. Seeing me approach, he was sensible enough to at least stop the whining, yet he was uncharacteristically friendly, or what passed as friendly for him.