“Do you know what’s going on?” I gasped to the Pilus Prior as we ran along. I was cursing myself for my weakness; there was no way under normal circumstances that I should be out of breath after a run of less than a furlong, yet it showed me just how much a toll the reduced rations and the work had taken out of me. My next thought was that if it were this bad for me, how bad must it have been for the others?
I was snapped out of my head by the Pilus Prior. “Look!” He pointed and I followed his finger, cursing at what I saw.
The ramp was on fire, not smoldering like before in the earlier attempts by the Bituriges, but well and fully aflame. In the light of the growing blaze, we saw the silhouettes of men running in every direction, and just a few paces later we began to hear the cries and sounds of fighting. In accordance with our usual practice, two Legions were standing guard during the night, and they were fully engaged with the sortie that the Bituriges sent out. It was a well-planned and well-coordinated attack; the firing of the ramp accomplished by a mine that finally got through to the underlying timber and taking hold, while the sortie was timed so that it did not begin until the fire was well and truly started. Now, we were faced with a choice; do we fight off the attack, or do we put out the flames? Compounding the problem, the walls were lined with Bituriges hurling down their own flaming pots of pitch. Some of the pots hit men instead of the ramp, turning them into blazing, screaming human torches until one of their comrades took mercy on them and killed them with a quick thrust, their corpses adding to the lurid light of the flames. Reaching the base of the ramp, we found Caesar there giving orders as Centurions came reporting in with their respective units, the general pointing them to where he wanted them to take their men followed by what he wanted them to do. Our Century came running up, slowing to a halt, the Pilus Prior saluting Caesar and asking for our orders, just like we were on the parade ground and not in the middle of chaos. Caesar was clearly illuminated by the flames, which were now beginning to climb through the first layers of logs on the ramp, and I could not help giving a worried glance up at the walls, thinking that rarely had our enemies had such a clear shot at our general. Just as calmly, Caesar pointed to the ramp, ordering us to go help deal with the flames, so I gave the order to ground shields and javelins, then trotted over to the ramp to help put out the fire.
The battle raged through the night, both against the Bituriges and the fire threatening to engulf the ramp. Our towers were dragged safely out of the way, so that now the real work was trying to quell the flames, which we did with a combination of water and dirt thrown into the spaces between the logs in an attempt to rob the fire of air to breathe. Scorpions in the small towers kept up a steady fire, trying to keep the Bituriges from raining their flaming missiles and bombs down on our heads. For the most part they were successful, yet there were inevitably casualties. A Sergeant in the fourth section of the Century, a man from Gades named Fabius was one of the unfortunates who took a direct hit from one of those savage weapons, going up in flames like a dry field from a lightning strike, and he screamed in agony as he ran crazily in circles before the Pilus Prior could get to him and put him out of his misery. His shrieks stopped abruptly, enabling us to hear the cheering of the Bituriges raining down on us, building a terrible hatred in us and a thirst for vengeance. Nearly as difficult to deal with as the flames was the smoke, billowing thick and choking from whatever holes in the ramp that it could find, blinding us and making us gag as we gasped for clean air. The smoke also served to obscure our vision in a wider sense; it was only with our ears whereby we could track the progress of the battle. One moment it sounded like the Gauls succeeded in pushing up to the edge of the ramp, then it would recede as our men fought back, driving them in the direction of the gate. I remember thinking at one point that if there is truly a Hades, it must be very much like the scene that night; the cacophony of screams from pain and fear, the clashing of metal on metal, the roaring sound the flames made, the fire creating a dancing, lurid light that the smoke diffused in such a way that made for a world of more shadow than substance. It was only because of the toughness and experience gained over the years that we did not falter that night, managing instead to put out the flames and beat the enemy back inside their walls by first light the next morning.
Most of the next day was spent repairing the damage done from the night before, mainly in shoring up the spots on the ramp where the fire did enough damage that there was a risk of collapse. On the other side, Vercingetorix apparently recognized the hopelessness of the situation, and smuggled in orders by way of the swamp to evacuate all the fighting men from the city that very night, under cover of darkness. It would have been a challenge, even if we were not alerted to the plan. Although it was not particularly unusual that we found out, the way that we discovered the plot was, because it came from their very own women. When the order was given that only fighting men would be evacuated, the women of the town began pleading and wailing for their men not to leave them to our mercy. This siege had gone on long enough, the last few days seeing enough bitter fighting that they were under no illusions about the fate that awaited them. They ran after their men as they gathered in the streets of the town to organize their escape, begging them to stay, while the men were equally determined to break out. Seeing that they were not having any success, some of the women ran to the walls to begin yelling at us, waving their arms and crying out to us in their tongue. Those women raised a racket to be sure; once their words were translated, the alert was sounded throughout the camp, and the cavalry was ordered out to surround the sides of the town at the edge of the marsh to warn us when the breakout began. I have often wondered whether or not these women were truly trying to save themselves and their children or, having recognized that their fate was decided, were determined that if they had to suffer the men should as well. After all, if you listen to women talk, all of the wars and killing since the dawn of time have been started by men, not women, and I suppose that there is some truth in that. Whatever their motives, they ensured that the men defending the town would not make good an escape from Avaricum, thereby suffering the same fate as everyone else in the town.
The order for the assault came during third watch that night, after the threat of the breakout was quelled and the damage repaired, the attack to be launched shortly after first light. Given the nature of the siege, Caesar deemed that some subterfuge was in order, so shortly before dawn, those men of the 10th and the 7th taking part in the first wave of the assault were given the order to quietly assemble, then under cover of darkness and aided by a heavy downpour, move into the mantlets that lined the ramp. However, when the light finally grew strong enough for the defenders to see the immediate area, they were greeted by the sight of what appeared to be nothing but our normal routine. Legionaries from our Cohorts not participating in the attack and the other Legions began the day in the same way we had for the previous three weeks, trudging out in the rain to continue the work of filling in the last section of the ramp. The ramp was now built to a height where the wall could be scaled not just with the towers, but with ladders as well. These we dragged into the mantlets with us where we waited, crouching in discomfort, the sound of the rain beating down on the roof drowning out our heavy breathing and attempts at muttered conversation. The Pilus Prior had asked for our Century to be in the lead group and we were a bit surprised when the request was granted, until we discovered that he promised his personal share of the spoils to the Primus Pilus for the privilege, a fact that raised him in our esteem all the more when we found out about it. So now here we were, waiting for the signal to come out from under the cover of the mantlets and begin scaling the wall. The ramp was more than a hundred paces in width, giving us several points where we could scale the walls, and we had previously decided the spot where we would place the ladder, just a few dozen feet from the mantlet itself. The rain continued, yet even over the din we could hear the rumbling that signaled the advance of the tower and the beginning of the assault.