Vercingetorix was now moving north to Gorgobina from his home territory, scattering our auxiliary forces and cavalry under Brutus, who escaped destruction by retreating back into the Province proper, where they were now guarding Narbo. Meanwhile, Caesar was moving from Vienne to where we were quartered at Agedincum. Picking up all of us in the Spanish Legions and leaving the 15th and 16th behind in Agedincum, we began to march south to confront Vercingetorix. By besieging Gorgobina, the young Gaul put us in a bit of a dilemma; with passions running so high and open rebellion happening all around us, Caesar could not afford to let Vercingetorix have at Gorgobina unchallenged. Early in the first year of the campaign I believe it was, Caesar ceded control of Gorgobina to the Aedui, and it was the Aedui more than any other tribe that we relied on for our supply of grain. To leave Gorgobina to its fate would send a message that being an ally of Rome and of Caesar did not mean much. On the other hand, the people of Rome, and more to the point, the Roman citizens who lived in the region were demanding vengeance for the massacre at Cenabum. In typical fashion, Caesar contrived to kill two birds with one stone. Marching on Gorgobina, we went first by way of Vellaunodunum, a Senones stronghold a hard day’s march to the west of Agedincum, where we reduced the fortress in three days with a quick assault once we prepared our siegeworks and affected a breach. Caesar’s purpose in taking Vellaunodunum was to ensure there was no enemy in our rear to threaten our supply line. After taking this town and leaving it in the hands of Gaius Trebonius and Cohorts of the 14th Legion, we turned to continue the march west to Cenabum, still in the hands of the enemy. Making it to the city walls in another two hard days of marching, despite having to travel through the huge forest that lies between the two towns, we nevertheless arrived too late to begin preparing a siege. The major feature of Cenabum is the bridge that spans the Liger River, the northern end of which is directly against the city walls, the town being built right up to the river. Catching the Carnutes by surprise, it was obvious that they expected Vellaunodunum to hold out longer than it did. Despite a show of defiance from the men lining the walls, the Carnutes decided that the best course of action was to try sneaking out over the bridge at night to flee south to join with Vercingetorix at Gorgobina. Caesar was ready for this, placing ourselves and the 8th on alert, holding us actually outside the camp, with only our sagum to protect us from the night chill. However, we were rewarded for our hardship.
Around the beginning of the third watch, close to midnight, our sentries reported that the gates to the town were opened, with people beginning to stream across the bridge. Instantly, the bucina sounded and the 8th, positioned on the far side of the bridge along with ourselves, leapt up and with a great roar went pounding across the bridge towards the gates. Before the Carnutes knew what was on them, we seized the gateway, then to make sure that the huge doors could not be shut, set fire to them. The flames caught rapidly, providing a lurid light as we slaughtered anyone trying to escape across the bridge. Within moments, our cavalry ran down those who were the first across the bridge and had managed to cover a little distance, while Caesar appeared among us to issue further orders.
I saw him standing there in front of us, framed by the light of the burning gates, announcing in his parade ground voice as he gestured to the town, “Comrades! I told you that you would not suffer the hardships of a cold night outside in vain. The town is yours!”
He may have said something more, but I could not hear it, his voice drowned out by the roar of approval from the two Legions. At this point in our time with Caesar, we were nowhere near the full strength of almost 6,000 men who answered the call for dilectus all those years before in Hispania. Both the 8th and 10th were Spanish Legions, as we were called, and the more than eight years of service and the campaigning had whittled our numbers down. The 10th was at a score shy of 4,000 effectives at this point, with my Century down to 63 men. But we were hard men, and it was these hard men that Caesar loosed on the town. I will not go into details about what transpired, gentle reader, as I have not in earlier chapters, yet it is sufficient to say that we showed the Carnutes in the town no mercy. To begin with, we had a debt to pay for the slaughter of the innocent Roman families that lived in Cenabum, and that night we more than took our revenge. All I will say is that as Optio, I was now entitled to a larger share of booty, not just of my tent section like in the past, but from the whole Century. Men like the Pilus Prior, if they survived, were entitled to a cut from the whole Cohort, and we lucky few who lived were able to retire as rich men because of it. That night went a good way towards enriching myself, and the future was bright for men like me. All I had to do was to survive long enough to make good.
We were only given that night to take our revenge; the next morning the army was crossing the bridge, heading south to relieve Gorgobina, hangovers of some of our men notwithstanding.
“By the gods, Caesar is an inhuman beast, making us march like this after a night like that,” groaned Atilius as we tramped along.
By this time I had grown accustomed to my spot on the march alongside the Century, marching with the Pilus Prior and Scaevola, but I did miss being in the ranks and being able to talk to pass the time. For his part, Atilius was less interested in the material gains to be made, or gains of the flesh for that matter, than in bowing to Bacchus, for which he was now paying with a monstrous hangover. Didius was describing in detail the attributes of one of the maidens he ravished, to the disgust of the other men marching with him. In other words, it was a normal day on campaign, and despite thinking Didius’ detailed description of events the night before distasteful, I found myself smiling. Could there be any finer thing, I thought, than to be part of a triumphant army on the march? I could not think of anything then, and even now I still cannot. The reason that my comrades found Didius’ recounting as repugnant as I did is that, or at least I like to believe, there is an unwritten rule demanding we not speak of such things. Deep down, each of us knew that there was something inherently wrong with some of the things we did, yet a man’s flesh has needs, and those needs must be satisfied. For some reason, as long as I was in the army and according to veterans who were in longer than I to that point, while it is perfectly acceptable and in fact expected to boast to your friends about sexual exploits, events like the one that transpired the night before were frowned upon, although I do not know why. Regardless of any rule, Didius was oblivious, giving graphic descriptions of the maidens he deflowered, plunging on in his tales despite the jeering of his comrades. I do not want to portray Didius as being an exception, because in fact he was not; there were a large number of men who felt no shame at what they did when taking a town, but I will say that they were not the majority. Now, in the fullness of my old age, I have to wonder if Didius at least was honest enough to admit who he was and what he did; the gods know that none of us, myself included, had done any differently than he. It was just that we did not boast about it.