R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

Taking our spot in the column, we were marching in the lead spot just behind the command group, with the First Cohort serving as the vanguard, meaning that we did not have to worry about eating as much dust. This was something that we would learn to treasure, although on this first march we were more worried about how we would bear up, this being our first real test. The fact that just in front of us marched our commanding general, along with his bodyguard, all of whom rode while he walked, did not help with the pressure that we felt. And he set a cracking pace, quite a bit quicker than what we were accustomed to on our other marches, and for once I was thankful for my long legs. Normally, in standard close order drill I had to pay particular attention to avoid stepping on the back of the man in front of me, but with this type of route march we could stretch our legs a bit more. The weather was pleasant; it was still late spring, but my country is warmer than most places, and what felt pleasant to me I have learned is unbearably hot for others, mostly Gauls or people who come from those areas farther north. The first few miles passed easily enough, yet I could see others were struggling to varying degrees, the worst of them being Artorius. Both Pilus Prior Crastinus, and Optio Vinicius roamed up and down the length of the Century, using their vitus to encourage laggards. Between them, they must have easily covered twice the distance of our march. My admiration was tempered by the knowledge that they did not carry the same loads that we did, their gear being carried on one of the pack mules attached to our Century. Our tent section not only had its own pack mule but its own slave, a miserable little creature we called Lucco, who was responsible for guiding the mule to our final destination, wherever that was, among a variety of other duties. We stopped every two parts of a watch for a short break, during which we were allowed to ground our gear yet not allowed to sit down.

“Once you sit down we’ll never be able to get you up,” Sergeant Calienus explained, whose spot when we were in full formation was actually right in the middle of our rank. We were allowed to place our hands on our knees and bend over a bit in order to relieve some of the strain on our back brought on by the weight of our shield and helmet, but that was all. As we would find out later, once sufficiently conditioned we would be allowed to sprawl out in any position we chose, although someone would always be on guard, but until we reached that point we had to content ourselves with standing there. Despite being only slightly fatigued at this point, I could feel the strain of the load I was carrying and wondered how I would feel after more miles. During our rest, most of us talked quietly; Scribonius and I discussed our new general.

“What did you think?” He eyed me curiously as he asked me, yet all I could think to say was, “He gives a good speech. Why, what did you think?”

He frowned, something I noticed that he did a lot, then shook his head. “I don’t know, really. All I do know is that I’ve seen him somewhere before, but I can’t remember where.”

The bucina cut our conversation short, and I thought no more about it.

By the time we made our second stop, I was beginning to feel true fatigue, and the weaker men like Artorius were clearly at the end of their tether, barely managing to make it to this point because their fear of the wrath of the Centurions was greater than their fatigue, yet I could not help wondering how much longer that would last. As we rested again I looked over at the general, standing talking to the Primus Pilus of our Legion, who had fallen back to talk to him, I supposed, from his place up in the vanguard. Neither of them seemed to be in the slightest bit fatigued, something that angered me more than anything else. How could they appear as if they were just out for a daily stroll, without a care in the world? Well, I was determined that I would not falter in front of them, no matter what! When we set out for the final leg of our march, I was grimly determined to appear just as fresh as they did now, no matter how much of a sham it might have been. The idea that they would even notice a lowly tiro in his private struggle never occurred to me; like all youngsters, I was still of the opinion that somehow the world revolved around me.

It was with a great amount of relief to the tiros when we arrived at the site of the evening camp, which the advance party had already marked and staked out. That feeling was short-lived, however, when after just a few moments’ respite we were told to ground our gear, and the real work began. The Centurions and Optios began running about as each Century of each Cohort was assigned with a task. To our inexperienced eyes it was chaos, yet as we were to learn, that was deceiving; everyone had a role to play, and once assigned their tasks, the seeming chaos would disappear.

The Pilus Prior, after a brief conference with the command group, came to us and said without any ceremony, “Right, we’ve been assigned the ditch,” which was greeted by groans from the experienced men, to which the Pilus Prior snarled, “Shut your mouths, you lazy bastards! Now, I expect the Sergeants to take their tent section and give these fresh young things a quick lesson on what they're to do. I’ll give you some time to explain and then,” he pointed with his vitus to a point a distance away where some stakes were placed, “get to work. That’s our section. I’ll be around to make sure that you don’t make a complete mess of things.”

And with that he strode off to do whatever it was that Centurions do while the rest of us worked, which as I was to learn, was to walk about keeping a sharp eye out for the inevitable lagging. Sergeant Calienus stood in front of us. “You’ll need your turf cutter and your spades,” he said simply, waiting while we pulled them from our baskets. “Follow me,” he called over his shoulder once we produced them, as he headed over to the area that the Pilus Prior had pointed out. “All right, what we’re going to do is to dig our section of the ditch.”

As he talked, each tent section was receiving its instructions all around us, so it was somewhat difficult to understand him over the babble of other voices, but it soon became clear what was expected of us. Our section was going to be one of the ones digging; another tent section was tasked with carrying the dirt that we produced in their wicker basket to create the rampart that formed the internal boundary of the camp. Another group was tasked with collecting our two stakes apiece, which were loaded on our pack mule, to form the palisade. While this was all new to us, this is the manner in which Roman camps have been constructed for as long as anyone could remember, and soon enough it would become second nature for us.

Turning to our task, we first used the turf cutter to cut out squares of sod. These would be used as foundations for some of the structures in the camp, along with serving as the surface of the rampart. Once that was done, we began to dig. Despite my fatigue, this was work that I was used to, but some of the others began having trouble, the most surprising to me being Vibius. However, as he explained later, working as a tanner did not involve the use of a spade or turf cutter. There was one piece of luck, although we would not understand it for some time to come. As I explained earlier, Caesar required the ditches to be deeper and wider across than any other general; fortunately for us, we did not know any better, so the work we were doing did not seem to be any more onerous than what any other Legion endured. It took us the better part of two parts of a watch to make our section of ditch, no more than ten feet of the total, the proper depth and width and we were utterly exhausted, but as I turned around, what I saw amazed me. The wall, made of the combination of our stakes and the spoil from the ditch, was almost completely up in our sector, with the men in that area putting the finishing touches on the rampart. Other parties who went out into the surrounding area came back with enough timber to create the guard towers that are placed on each corner of the camp, and although not finished, their form was plainly visible. Despite the dust, noise and bustling activity, it was clear that we knew what we were about, or at least our leaders did. At this point we were no more than just brute labor, although after a few more of these camps, as we rotated in our duties, we would all learn our parts and by the end of a year, each of us would be able to build one of these camps in our sleep.