Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (82 page)

“Comrades,” he finally began, “I cannot bear to see you suffering in this manner any longer. You have made my heart swell with pride at the way you have continued in your duties, despite the incredible hardships you are facing. But you are as my children are to me, and I can no longer bear the sight of your suffering.”

We began to stir uneasily, stealing glances at one another. Catching the eye of the Pilus Prior, he just shrugged, shaking his head to tell me that he had no idea of what was happening.

“Therefore,” Caesar continued after a pause, “I have decided that we are going to lift the siege. We will march back to Agedincum, where we will resupply and regain our strength.”

For a moment, there was complete silence as our benumbed brains tried to comprehend what he had just said. Then, somewhere towards the rear of the formation, then quickly sweeping forward, began what started out as a low moan but just as quickly grew into a roar of protest. Looking around, I was slightly bewildered, thinking that this news would be greeted with much joy and approbation, but I was wrong. Over the mumbling roar, a voice rang out, again from the rear of the formation.

“No, Caesar! Please don’t give that order! We won’t let you down, we swear it!”

This triggered a flood of similar shouts, and now the scene was one of utter chaos, men beginning to openly beseech Caesar to change his mind. At that moment, I was watching Caesar closely and with more exposure to him than most of my comrades, I was more familiar with his countenance, so I swear even to this day that I saw the ghost of a smile flash across his face, as if he was actually getting what he wanted. Instantly, it was replaced by a look of astonishment, then he held his hands out to the formation, signaling them to quiet down, which took a few moments. Finally, when he could be heard again, Caesar gave a great sigh, shaking his head as he announced, “Very well, comrades. I fear that I am making a grave mistake, but your valor and fortitude have humbled me. I am ashamed that I made such a suggestion.”

Immediately after these words, his head shot back up erect, and we were once again faced with the commander who led us to so many victories, his face a study in cold determination as he finished, “We will stay here and finish what we started, and as always, I will count on the 10th to lead the way.”

He said something else, which was completely drowned out by the cheers. Glancing up as the noise swelled and rolled over us to see Gauls standing on the wall watching what was taking place, even from this distance, I could see their bodies slump in defeat at the sounds of our cheering. It was not until later that night when we were back in camp that we learned that Caesar had made the same speech to every Legion, and gotten the same response. I could not help but shake my head in admiration for the man; he knew how to play us like a Greek plays the flute.

The tactics of Vercingetorix were not having an effect on just us; even the enemy was feeling the pinch of hunger. As we were nearing the completion of our work at Avaricum, Vercingetorix moved his army closer to us, and according to some prisoners, then left the infantry behind in his camp while bringing his cavalry closer to try to inflict more damage on our foraging parties, along with finding forage for his own army. Caesar decided to seize the opportunity and risk ending the rebellion in one stroke by stealing a march to attack the bulk of the Gallic army while their leader was absent. The location of the camp was about ten miles to the northeast, and the 10th, 9th and 8th were given orders to prepare to march at midnight. In order to keep from alerting the Gauls in Avaricum that something was in the air, we were kept at our job of constructing the ramp, so that we were especially tired when we marched quietly out of camp. I suspect that is why Caesar chose his Spanish Legions, knowing that we were hardened enough to be able to handle this added strain, albeit not without difficulty. Traveling light, without artillery or other baggage, it enabled us to close the distance rapidly, despite having to stop numerous times either to rest or when we ran into Vercingetorix’s patrols. Our German cavalry accompanied us, and even in our limited time with them, we respected them more than we ever did our normal Gallic cavalry. Arriving just short of the enemy camp immediately after first light, we saw that it was on a small hill, surrounded on all sides by extremely swampy ground, with what looked like two causeways that gave access to the hill through the morass. In the growing light, we could see that the enemy had destroyed the causeways, making the only way of assaulting the hill by wading through the swamp while under fire from their missile troops. This was one of the few times I saw Caesar in a state of seeming indecision, as we stood there for almost a third of a watch while he seemingly was making up his mind on what to do. Presently, a meeting was called for all the officers, Optios included, and we moved to Caesar’s standard. He was standing there, waiting for us to assemble, and once we were all present, he spoke.

“Comrades, after seeing the tactical problems that we would have to overcome in attacking this position, I have decided that we will not hazard an assault.”

He barely finished before we let out an instinctive howl of protest. To this point in our campaigning, we had never failed at anything we set out to do, making this the first time we would be forced to turn back without accomplishing our goal. Crying out to Caesar to let us take the risk of the assault, we told him that we were willing to suffer however many casualties we needed rather than turn back. He stood for a moment, not speaking, letting us voice our protest, before putting up a hand to quiet us, bringing instant silence.

“Comrades, do not worry about your reputation for valor, it will remain as untarnished as always. The failure here is mine, not yours.”

If he thought that this would quell our importuning, he was mistaken. If anything, our protests became more vehement, all of us trying to make our voices heard. The din caused by our display reached back to the ranks, and I could see the men in formation becoming restive as they began talking openly to one another, speculating about the cause of this disturbance.

“
Silete
!”

I recognized the voice of Primus Pilus Favonius, and we did quiet down, although it took a few moments before it was quiet enough for him to be heard. Once we were still again, the Primus Pilus turned to Caesar, saying loudly enough for all to hear.

“Caesar, don't you realize that any damage to your dignitas is just as damaging to the men of your army who have followed you all these years?”

We roared our agreement with the statement of the Primus Pilus; once more, Caesar put his hand up for silence, and it did not take nearly as long for us to shut our mouths when Caesar demanded it.

“Primus Pilus, your words move me, they truly do. But as important as my dignitas may be to me, and I will not deny that it is, the lives of my soldiers, who are like sons to me, is of exceedingly more importance.”

There was really no response to this, and we were smart enough not to try to argue with him. As kind as Caesar could be, he had a nasty temper when provoked, no matter who it was trying his patience. Seeing that there would be no more argument, Caesar dismissed us to pass the word back to the rest of our comrades.

It was with some grumbling, but we turned back around quickly enough to march back to Avaricum, the sounds of the jeering from the enemy on the hill ringing in our ears not making the march back any more pleasant. What we were not aware of was that this bloodless victory actually caused Vercingetorix almost more problems than if we actually carried out the assault. Upon Vercingetorix’s return to his camp, he was confronted by members of his army who accused him of treason. Their reasoning was that his absence from the camp was because he planned on betraying his army to Caesar; why else would he be gone when Caesar and his army showed up? But Vercingetorix was a canny bastard, I have to give him that. While out foraging he captured some of our camp followers and put them on starvation rations, and now he dragged them out to perform for his accusers. They were prompted to say they were Legionaries who had deserted because they were starving, and that Caesar had informed the army that if the siege was not resolved within three days it would be lifted. Vercingetorix finished by pointing out that it was his tactics of attrition that was on the verge of achieving this result, just like it was his leadership that united the tribes. This show of unity had brought the Romans to the point that, should Caesar be forced to lift the siege, it would not be the end of his problems, since all the tribes in the region pledged to Vercingetorix that they would offer no aid to Caesar or his army. True to their fickle nature, those Gauls who were just clamoring for the head of Vercingetorix were so won over by his words that they now reaffirmed his status as commander in chief, proclaiming him to be the greatest general in their history. Another development from that meeting was the decision to try getting another 10,000 men into the town of Avaricum, although nothing ultimately came of that.

At the site of the siege, work was progressing, albeit with great difficulty. Because of the cut in our rations, we were ordered to abandon work on one of the ramps, instead concentrating all of our efforts on the remaining one. The Bituriges did everything in their power to stop us, so that as much of the work that we did in those final days was to repair the damage done in their counter-siege efforts as it was in advancing the siege itself. Compounding our misery, the weather turned nasty, forcing us to spend most of our time wet and cold which, when added to our hunger, made for the worst conditions we had faced to date during our time in Gaul. We looked and acted like we were already dead; stumbling around, our eyes hollow with hunger and fatigue, and as lean as we may have been starting the siege, we were now beginning to look like walking skeletons. The Bituriges showed a lot of ingenuity and energy in their attempts to destroy the ramp. Using their experience in mining, they tried to undermine it, forcing us to dig our own counter-mines to intercept them. The fights inside those close, dark spaces under the earth were by all accounts vicious, nasty affairs, taking place in almost total darkness. This was another time I was thankful for my size, although it was the first time I was glad because it kept me out of a fight. I have no love for enclosed spaces, finding it hard to breathe and to keep a calm head. Vibius was not so lucky, his diminutive size making him a perfect candidate to go down into the dark holes in the ground to kill other men. Every time he went down into the ground I was almost beside myself with worry until I saw him emerge, grimy and often spattered with blood, none of it his thank the gods. The efforts of the enemy were not confined to subterranean methods; it became commonplace for the gates to be thrown open, whereupon a band of men armed with torches and small flaming pots of pitch would come pouring out, heading for the ramp and tower to hurl the pots at anything they thought flammable. Their success was limited; nothing was damaged to the point where we had to start over, but they were certainly successful in delaying us. As the ramp raised in height, so would our towers where the artillery was stationed. To further combat our efforts, the enemy erected a series of turrets, similar in construction to our towers, covering them with green hides that made burning them almost impossible, and was where their missile troops were stationed. Whenever we raised our towers, they would correspondingly raise the level of their turrets, building another level on top of the original one. By this point in the siege, all of the usual interaction between the two sides; the Bituriges jeering down at us from their spot on the walls, our rejoinders to them which I believe most of us on both sides enjoyed and looked at as a diversion, had long since ceased. Between our weakness from hunger, the weather, and the actions of the Bituriges, all sources of levity were gone. Conversations were almost non-existent, being seen as useless expenditures of energy, so that all over the camp and the siegeworks a pall of grim silence hung in the air like the mist that greeted us every morning.

It was on the twenty-fifth day of the siege, or night more accurately, when the Bituriges made their final and most determined bid to destroy the ramp. We had reached the most difficult part; the bridging of the last section which, as I have mentioned before, is filled in with basically whatever we can get our hands on just before the assault. The mantlets that we used for this last part had to be of the strongest construction, because they would literally be directly beneath the walls, where the largest stones could simply be rolled off the parapet to fall onto their roofs. They also had to be fireproof, and usually the roofs were covered with either clay shingles or green hides. It was at the beginning of the third watch when the alarm was sounded and I rolled out of my cot, our Century just relieved perhaps a third of a watch before, grabbing my gear and running out to see what the problem was. Our camp was perhaps two furlongs from the beginning of the ramp, so in the gloom it was impossible to see what was happening, yet men were running past heading in that direction, calling out to each other as we all tried to determine what was going on. Finding the Pilus Prior, he grabbed Scaevola and was bellowing for the Century to rally on the standard, a call that I picked up so within a couple of moments, we were gathered and could begin trotting towards the wall.

“Do you know what’s going on?” I gasped to the Pilus Prior as we ran along. I was cursing myself for my weakness; there was no way under normal circumstances that I should be out of breath after a run of less than a furlong, yet it showed me just how much a toll the reduced rations and the work had taken out of me. My next thought was that if it were this bad for me, how bad must it have been for the others?