“So why did we go to all that trouble if they were just going to piss themselves at the sight of our towers?” grumbled Vibius.
I nodded in agreement; that was a lot of sweat gone to waste, at least from the way we saw it. This might sound strange to one who has never been a soldier, but a town that surrendered meant there was no chance for a Legionary to improve himself, either by feats of bravery or by more coin in his purse. This was how Caesar managed to pull himself out of debt when he was governor of Hispania, when the towns surrendered to him one after the other. It became immediately clear that it was this that bothered Vibius more than anything else.
“Besides, hasn’t he made enough money already? Shouldn’t we have the chance to get something for ourselves? I bet he planned this all along with that Remi bastard.”
I glanced at Vibius in surprise, sure that he was in jest, yet his face was deadly serious. “Do you honestly believe that Caesar orchestrated all this, that he arranged for the Suessiones to surrender but still had us do all that work?” I asked incredulously.
When I put it like that, it made Vibius reluctant to agree, but I could see that I had not really convinced him. He just shrugged and said, “I wouldn’t put it past him,” then looked away, a clear sign that he was done with the subject. I opened my mouth to argue the point, then thought better of it; there was no reasoning with Vibius once he made up his mind, and it was clear that he had formed an opinion that he regarded as fact. All I could do was shake my head.
Once the hostages were handed over and the Suessiones’ weapons were confiscated, we turned west again, this time heading for the territory of the Bellovaci, following the Axona until it ran into the Isara (Isar) River, which the Axona flows into as the former runs in a north/south orientation. Crossing the Isara, we made camp for the night, then set out the next day for the main town of the Bellovaci, called Bratuspantium, arriving there shortly after midday. This time we did not even need to build any siege equipment, the headman of the town opening their gates in submission the moment we marched into view. The Aedui Diviciacus had joined the army by this time, and like Iccius, he pleaded the case for the Bellovaci, guaranteeing their good conduct. Like with the Suessiones, Caesar treated this town with clemency, demanding only hostages, and like the Suessiones, they were disarmed. Spending the night encamped next to the town, we did so with a double shift of guards on the walls of the camp, although I suspect that this was as much about keeping the soldiers from sneaking into the town as it was to guard against a surprise attack. Once again we set out the next morning, still heading west although turning a little more to the north, to the Ambiani town of Samarobriva. Word of our arrival preceded us, and like the Bellovaci, the Ambiani were waiting with a delegation of elders to offer their submission to Rome. The same terms applied, with the exception that Caesar did not disarm the Ambiani, deeming them not enough of a threat to us to worry about. Taking on even more hostages, they joined what had become a part of our train, guarded in the middle of the marching column by whichever Legion happened to be scheduled to be next to them on that day. By this time there were 200 or 300 of them, and since most of the hostages were of noble birth, they of course could not travel without their own retinue, so between servants, slaves, and other sorts of retainers, there were probably 1,000 people in that group, making them hard to manage, as we would learn.
Only a day was spent at Samarobriva before word came about a tribe that not only refused to submit, but were openly preparing for war. They were the Nervii, and were reputed to be the fiercest of all the Belgae tribes, adopting what we thought was a rather peculiar custom.
“I heard from one of those Belgae who speak Latin that the Nervii don’t let any traders or merchants of any kind into their lands,” reported Scribonius at the end of the first day’s march as we headed back to the northeast to confront the Nervii.
“Gerrae! Why would they do something stupid like that?” scoffed Vibius.
We were seated in our accustomed spots around the fire, chewing the evening bread and bemoaning that the olive oil was already starting to go rancid.
“I asked the same thing,” replied Scribonius as he sat mending a hole in one of his tunics. “The Belgae I was talking to, I think he was a Suessiones, said that they don’t let anything into their country that might make them soft. They think that all the other Belgae have rolled over for Rome too quickly, and they claim that they’ll show the other tribes that we can be beaten.”
“Hmmm, where have I heard that before?” I laughed, and the others joined in, amused by the thought that these Nervii were making the same mistake that a number of other Gallic tribes had already made.
I was surprised when Scribonius did not join in, frowning as he gazed at us. “I don’t know,” he said in his thoughtful way, “the way this Suessiones talked about the Nervii was……different. It wasn’t the usual boasting that these bastards are so good at. He just gave me examples of what make the Nervii different, and feared by the other Belgae.”
Dismissing Scribonius’ words of caution with another joke, we soon moved onto other more important topics, like the never-ending dice game between Romulus and Atilius, and which whore among the camp followers was the best.
After three days of marching, through the same very gently rolling terrain, skirting the patches of woods whenever we came across them, we stopped for the night on the edge of a scrub forest as Caesar’s scouts came to report that the Nervii were camped some nine miles away, having gathered in force at a place where they thought it was likely that we would cross the river Sabis (Sambre). During the night, some of the hostages slipped out of camp, going to the Belgae to warn them of our approach, and to pass on what they thought would be our order of march. Meanwhile, Caesar ordered the pioneers and a group of Centurions, along with an ala of cavalry to move ahead to scout a place for the next day’s campsite. Word shot around the fires that the Nervii were close, so we began to prepare ourselves for a battle, each of us having developed our own little rituals and ways of doing things that is unique to every Legionary. Some men set up little shrines to worship their household gods and the gods that look over the Legions; I preferred a more practical approach and would spend the time sharpening the blade of both my sword and dagger. Running the blade along the stone that evening, I began to dream of a new sword, using the metal that the Gauls used. Despite their swords being too long and inferior to ours for the type of fighting that we did, the quality of the blades themselves and the workmanship had left all of us impressed. Some of the Centurions had commissioned Gallic craftsmen to make swords for them, and I dreamed of having one made for me, perhaps as early as this winter, since I was saving the money that I had not designated as the funds that would free Gaia and Phocas. But first, I had to live to see the winter, and I sighed as I put my weapons aside to begin the inspection of the arms of my tentmates, thinking to myself that a Sergeant’s work was never done.
Breaking camp the next morning, we received our order of march for the day, an everyday occurrence that would prove to be critical on this of all days. Part of the information that the Belgae hostages that fled the previous night gave to the Nervii was that our usual order of march would give them a perfect opportunity for an ambush. Normally, when we were marching with no expectation of contact with the enemy, each Legion’s baggage train is behind them. A Legion’s baggage train on the march, during Caesar’s time, consisted of more than 500 mules, with each animal having a servant or slave to drive it. This was where our tents and extra rations, a mule for each section of men, plus tents for the Centurions, Optios, Tesseraurii, and Signiferi were carried. Then there were the wagons carrying the Legion artillery, along with the other essentials for a Legion on campaign. As you can imagine, gentle reader, all of this takes up quite a bit of space, and while every morning we were aligned in a proper formation with our spacing parade ground-exact, even then the baggage train would extend for almost a furlong, and that was before we started. But on the march, matters get a bit more complicated, since there is a tendency in even the most disciplined army, which we were, to extend that distance a bit, so that the gaps between the animals widened. Although the men of the Legion are orderly and able to maintain the proper distance for the most part, the servants driving the animals, despite being part of the army, are not soldiers and do not value the maintaining of the proper gaps the way we do. Therefore it is not uncommon for a Legion on the march to have a baggage train stretch to almost a quarter mile in length. In Caesar’s army, we tried to march nine miles for every watch, except that we were almost always consigned to marching as slow as the baggage train, which at best would average perhaps six miles for every watch, unless we were on a forced march and left the baggage train behind. That distance translates into time, and adding the gap between the baggage train and the next Legion, usually following a furlong behind the one in front of it, this distance translated into an advantage for a huge army like the Nervii. Their plan was simple; once the first Legion marched by and as soon as the baggage train was in sight, they would swoop out of a large forest that they were hiding in to ambush the leading Legion, counting on the delay that would inevitably happen as the trailing Legions scrambled to the aid of their comrades while first having to make their way past the baggage of the Legion being attacked.