R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

“If they ever learned how to conduct a proper siege, we’d be in trouble,” the Pilus Prior observed after we got a look at their walls up close. This time we did not face any of the same derision or ridicule that we had in the past when building our siegeworks. Our reputation was well known, so it was nothing but anxious faces looking down on us from the walls of the city as we worked.

This was going to be the largest, most involved siege to date, and it was clear that we would be here for the next few weeks, which actually played into our enemy’s hands. The tactics of Vercingetorix were beginning to be felt, with our foraging parties forced to go farther afield than normal, only to be ambushed by the Gallic forces. To combat this, we had to send out larger foraging parties in order to bring back anything at all. Then, they began to return empty-handed, as well as in smaller numbers than when they went out, causing our supply situation to become very serious. We began subsisting on the livestock that the foraging parties came back with, in lieu of bread. Once again I quietly thanked the gods that such a diet did not disagree with me the way it did with many of my comrades. It seemed that whenever our diet switched to mostly meat, men began suffering all types of intestinal problems, and it was not unheard of for men to fall seriously ill and die because their systems could not tolerate it for whatever reason. One thing I remembered from my childhood was Gaia’s absolute insistence that the meat be thoroughly cooked, and I did notice that the men who seemed to have the most problems were the ones that were the most impatient, snatching their share off the fire before it was fully roasted. Now that I was Optio, I could enforce on the whole Century the practice of thoroughly cooking their meat, and while this was met with some resistance at first, once it was clear that we had less men ill than the other Centuries, I no longer had to order the men to do so, they happily did it on their own. Still, there was much grumbling about the absence of bread, yet it was the dim prospects of fixing that problem that worried us the most.

“What happens when we run out of cattle?” Calienus mused as we sat by the officer’s fire one night.

I shrugged; to me, the answer was simple. Either the siege would have to be lifted, or we would stick it out and take the town so we could eat the food within. From everything our spies told us, the people of Avaricum were still well supplied, yet who knew how accurate that was? Whatever the case, we continued working on the two large terraces. Once we constructed enough of a foundation to support the requisite weight, towers were built that housed our artillery, particularly the scorpions, and it was with these that we kept the Bituriges from stopping us as we moved closer to the wall. This ramp was different from the other we built previously because it was designed to allow not only the rolling of the tower, but on either side several series of mantlets, joined end to end that led to the base of the wall, where men would then work to dig under the wall and undermine it, causing it to collapse. Working day and night, in shifts, it was still a huge amount of work, meaning that our progress was slow, and our supply situation did not help. After a week of nothing but meat, morale and the overall health of the army began to flag, and I confess that I felt as discouraged as my friends. But I was an Optio, so I had to maintain a professional detachment, and it was during the siege at Avaricum that I was forced to discipline one of my tentmates for the first time.

Being Optio for a year now, I had been forced to discipline several men in the Century, yet somehow I managed to avoid being forced to confront what faced me now. When I speak of discipline, I am not referring to the unofficial sort, the type that was administered to us as tiros ; I broke more than one vitus over the backs of many of the men in my Century, including my tentmates and on one occasion Vibius, who did not like it but understood. However this was the first time that one of my tentmates did something serious enough to be punished in a formal manner, and in the context of what we were facing, it was an extremely grave offense. Atilius was caught offering his food ration for wine to one of the camp followers, the exchange being witnessed by a Centurion in the Fourth Cohort, who dragged Atilius to our area in the camp to deposit him at my feet.

“I caught this bastard trading his ration for some wine,” growled the Centurion, a squat Campanian whose name I forget, as he died at Alesia not long after this.

Atilius’ expression was as much of an admission of guilt as I needed, though it did not really matter. Whenever a Legionary of a senior rank, particularly of Centurionate status, makes an accusation, that is enough to presume guilt, especially in the absence of any other witnesses. Because the other man with Atilius fled into the labyrinth of thrown together huts and hovels that followed us wherever we went, it was therefore essentially decided already. The punishment was equally clear in such a matter; instead of the usual bread ration, the offender was put on a diet of bread made from barley, which is usually reserved for the livestock, horses in particular. What made this so serious was that we did not even have barley at this point, meaning that in this case, the man was essentially cut off from food of any type, for a period of five days. If we were in winter quarters, with only slack duties, it was probable that Atilius would have survived, not easily, but he would live to see another campaign season. But here, already weakened by the short rations, with the kind of brutal labor that we were performing, this was as close to an outright death sentence as one could receive. And when a Legionary is on punishment, then falls ill because of that punishment, he is not considered eligible for reporting on the sick list, and in fact would face a flogging if he missed a day of duty. Such are the rules, and harsh as they may be, they are well known throughout the Legions, so Atilius knew the risk he was running for a flask of wine. Still, I felt my throat tighten as I looked into his face, knowing his probable fate, though I kept my face a cold hard mask and ordered him to his feet. Telling Atillius to follow me, I went to find the Pilus Prior to inform him of what had transpired. I found him supervising the rest of the Century, just starting their shift working on the ramp. Pulcher sized up the situation at a glance; me walking towards him, my back stiff, vitus under my arm, face hard, with Atilius following behind, shoulders slumped and head down, not willing to look up at his comrades, all of whom had stopped working when they saw us. Doing my best to avoid meeting the eyes of any of my tentmates, despite my intentions Vibius caught my eye, his face clearly asking the question. I could only shake my head gravely as I kept walking.

Saluting the Pilus Prior, I spoke in my official voice, “Pilus Prior, I bring you Gregarius Atilius, who was caught by Quartus Princeps Prior So-and-So trying to trade his ration for wine. I haven't yet written up the charge to enter into the Legion diary, since I thought it best to bring him to you first.”

The Pilus Prior’s face turned grim, his lips turned down into a frown as he stared at Atilius, tapping his vitus into his other palm. He did not say anything for several moments, but once he did, his voice was as cold and hard as the glaciers in the Alps.

“Very well, Optio. Take Gregarius Atilius to the orderly tent and have his punishment entered in the Legion diary, then escort him back here.”

I saluted again, turned about and with a curt nod of my head, motioned Atilius to follow me. Once we were out of earshot, Atilius cleared his throat, speaking for the first time since this sorry business had begun. “Pullus, I’m…” I let him get no farther.