R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

The blockade achieved the desired effect, though not for long. Since the Helvetii had already taken the drastic step of burning down their homes, farms and anything else of value, they were for all purposes camping out in their own land. Their tribal elders made the decision that instead of trying to force their way past the wall, they would instead lead their people to the opposite end of their lands to the north, then cross to the west through a gap in the mountains there. Since this was much, much larger than an army that they were trying to move, they could not accomplish anything with any real rapidity. Nonetheless, they moved much faster than we would have thought possible before seeing it with our own eyes, when we awakened one morning to a large cloud of dust hanging in the air to our north. During the impasse at the wall, they had camped within our sight as their elders debated what to do, the fires stretching for as far as the eye could see, so despite ourselves, we were impressed by how quickly they were able to move that mass of people, even if it was just a few miles. Caesar immediately spotted the danger, and knowing that one Legion, no matter how good we were, would not be enough, ordered us to move to join the 7th, 8th and 9th, who had marched from Aquileia into a blocking position. I know we felt the same way, because when we were told that Caesar was heading that direction, not only to hurry the other three Legions along, but to raise two more nobody, not even Vibius, complained about it. The Helvetii could make perhaps ten miles a day, if that; this gave us perhaps a little short of three weeks to stop them at the crossing place between the mountains. Militarily speaking, it was important to meet them in the mountains, where the narrowness of the roads and trails could negate the advantage of their huge numbers. We were told they had more than a 100,000 warriors, and that was a daunting number, no matter how confident we were in ourselves or in Caesar. Caesar left us under the command of Titus Labienus, the man who would end up becoming our de facto commander for the next few years. While the command is supposed to rotate among all the Legates, Caesar was not one to let tradition get in the way of doing what was best with his army. It would not be fair to say that we liked Labienus, but he had our grudging respect. This was partially because like Caesar, he had shown that he would share our same hardships and living conditions, and also because he demonstrated a good head on his shoulders that did not panic. I believe that more than intelligence, or tactical brilliance, the ability to keep one’s head when everyone around you is losing theirs, especially when it is happening literally, is the key to military success. Once our commanders were assured that this was not some attempt on the part of the Helvetii to trick us into prematurely removing us from the wall, we were given the command to march. Caesar left orders that the scratch force would now take our place, taking the reasonable risk that if the Helvetii were to turn tail and come back to the wall, it would not be in the 18 mile stretch between the river and the mountains, but where they might have the greatest chance of success. As was usual for Caesar, he was right; the Helvetii did not give it a backward glance, throwing the dice in the direction they were headed, hoping that they could steal a march on us.

With Caesar going to get help and the Helvetii heading north, Labienus marched us west and south, generally back the way we came. From a soldier’s point of view, it is times like this when we reversed our tracks that we really regretted the practice of destroying the camp of the night. It would have saved us some trouble and labor, yet such was our lot that we often found ourselves sometimes within sight of the outlines of the old camp, digging all over again. However, that is just the grumbling of an old soldier. Despite it still being spring, it was early enough, now that we were in the more mountainous areas, for snow to fall, and this was Vibius’ and my first real experience with the stuff. We were not alone; most of the men of the 10th had no experience with snow, other than the glimpse of snow-covered peaks in Hispania, so that even the officers could not stop us from becoming a group of boys for a time. We tasted the snowflakes, made snowballs to throw at each other, and in general acted in a manner completely unworthy of Rome’s Legionaries. Very rapidly we discovered the cost of such beauty, since none of us had thought to pack our leg coverings or socks, much to our discomfort within a few moments. Our feet had been toughened up by the miles we marched, except they were as susceptible to cold as any other part of the body, and before long I was faced with the unpleasant sensation of being unable to feel my feet. Even as we marched they felt like two big lumps of meat, and it was only because I looked down and watched that I could tell I was wiggling my toes. My only happiness came from the fact that I was not the only one miserable; there is nothing more comforting to a soldier when he suffers than the knowledge that his friends are just as miserable as he is. Vibius was shivering uncontrollably; as we walked I could see his body spasm, fighting the cold. His lips were blue, and I suspected mine were as well, while even the normally patient and long-suffering Calienus was marking each step with a chatter of teeth.

“Not so fun is it now, eh boys?” called Rufio, marching out to the side.

We did not answer; despite the fact we all liked Rufio a good deal, he was still Optio and smarting off to a superior, while a way to get warmed up with a flogging, was not a method we would choose willingly. Truthfully, we did not worry so much about Rufio bringing up a charge, but Pilus Prior Vetruvius was still an unknown quality at this point. Being fair, he had not been markedly different than Crastinus, but we had yet to go into battle with him, and as I was to learn when I reached his place, the men are judging you just as much if not more than you are judging them. I was reminded of that when I left the ranks and faced battle the first time as a Centurion, thinking back to when I was a Legionary watching our new Centurion, trying to figure him out.

Luckily, the weather only lasted one more full day. On the second morning we actually woke to a camp covered in white, the tents blanketed in snow, glowing an eerie white in the pre-dawn darkness. The only marks on the ground were from the men on watch and their relief, although that would change quickly now that the camp was awake. It did not take long for us to discover another problem that snow, despite its beauty, gave in abundance. The leather of our tents had become soaked, making them much heavier than normal, something that may not seem to be an insurmountable problem. However, the amount of weight that every man, animal and wagon carries is calculated down to the pound, making the additional weight of the trapped water a serious problem. Normally the tent section mule carries the tent, the stakes, its own forage and our extra grain, but very quickly we discovered that something had to be removed from the animal’s burden, and I will say I was not surprised when all of my tentmates’ eyes turned to me. I knew better than to argue, just sighing and accepting the sack of grain, trying to balance it with the rest of my load. My pride would not allow me to act like it was anything but the most trifling of tasks, but I felt my knees shake a bit as I got adjusted to the extra burden. I also knew better than to hope that Labienus or the Centurions would account for all the extra weight we were carrying when calculating the day’s march, and in that I was not disappointed in my confidence. Fortunately we were still headed in a downhill direction, back to where we were to meet with Caesar, who would be bringing up the three Legions and whatever troops he raised. Not lost on us was the fact that these new Legions would be close to useless, at least in the first few battles, since they were literally training on the march. The 7th, 8th and 9th would be welcome, however, and those with friends among the other Legions speculated about how much money they could win, or win back as the case may have been. Out of all of us, perhaps Didius looked forward to the reunion more than anyone else, since for the most part he was out of willing opponents for his games of chance, if they could be called such. As I reflect on it, perhaps Didius taking the beating he did was not the best thing, because it made him more determined not to get caught, instead of showing him he needed to change who he was. Perhaps asking him to change was impossible; can we truly alter our nature, or is the best we can hope to do disguise it from the eyes of others? Given the problems he caused for himself and for others, if he had even tried at the least to hide his true colors from others, I cannot help but think how different things could have been.