The day before the relief army arrived, an event took place that was difficult to watch, even for hardened Legionaries like ourselves. Early in the morning, the gates of the town were flung open; amid a cacophony of howls and cries of protest, a pathetic group of people, obviously civilians and either too old or too young to fight were forcibly ejected from the town. It turned out that this poor lot was none other than the Mandubii, the tribe to which the town of Alesia belonged, and their guests were expelling them by force. This was the most concrete sign of the state of Gallic supply; there was no other reason for these people to be ejected other than to save what little food was left. The mass of people, about 20,000 in all, were pushed along towards our lines, causing the alarm to be sounded and a scramble to man the walls. When they reached the first ditch, they stopped and cried out to our men on the wall, with those civilians who could speak Latin asking to be allowed to leave, saying that they had no part in this and were just innocent victims. Word was sent to Caesar, asking for instructions, but he refused to allow them to depart, not wanting to relieve the pressure on the Gauls in any way. The cries and lamentations of the Mandubii carried all the way to our positions, where we stood watching as the mass of people milled about, not able to leave the siege, but not able to go back into the town. A few tried to force their way back in, and were cut down by their own warriors, dissuading the rest from trying the same thing. They were not allowed to remain in the camps of the Gallic army either, so they wandered to the far eastern side of the siege, sitting down to await their fate.
“That Vercingetorix is a hard bastard,” the Pilus Prior commented. “Those are his own people he’s doing that to.”
I nodded; while Caesar was essentially doing the same thing, the Gauls were not our people. Their crying and shouting lessened to the point that there was only a dull moan, sounding more or less continuously as the women and children cried softly, bewailing their fate. It was hard to listen to, making nerves already stretched and raw even worse, so it was not long before a number of quarrels broke out among the men. I found myself running from one fight to the next, bashing men about the back and head with my vitus. The only way things calmed down was by the bucina sounding the signal to let us know that an army approached. Instantly, all petty squabbles were forgotten as we ran to the ramparts to get a glimpse of the relief column.
It was the biggest army we had ever seen by far, looking like a black swarm of ants that completely covered the hills to the west, a pall of dust hanging over them like dirty brown rain clouds hovering on the horizon. I was struck by the thought how apt that was, since a storm of sorts was certainly brewing. Once we got a good look at the approaching host, I sent the men back to our area to begin preparations for battle. I did not know exactly when we would hear the call to assemble but it would have to be soon, because we were now effectively cut off and surrounded, with no chance of supply. Back in our area, the men began making themselves ready, as did I, each of us performing by-now familiar rituals. Some of us once again set up our personal shrines with our household gods, making sacrifices to them. Others went to visit the augurs, paying a little extra for a clean liver and good omens. Not being particularly religious, I preferred instead to rely on the things that I could control, like making sure that the blade of my sword was razor sharp, along with that of my dagger, although I had only used it once in battle. I also polished my helmet, along with my phalarae, since it was the practice in Caesar’s army to wear all decorations when we marched into battle. Combing the horsehair plume, oiling my armor and varnishing my leathers, I was lost in thought as I performed what was by now a comforting routine. Once done, I passed the word of a full inspection in a third of a watch, smiling when I heard the sound of cursing move from one tent to another as Zeno relayed the order. Some things will never change, I thought.
Fighting started not long after the Pilus Prior and I held inspection, with the cavalry engaging on the western plain again. In order to support the cavalry, Vercingetorix sent a large contingent of his infantry hauling bundles of wood to throw into the ditch, with other men again carrying the long poles with hooks to pull down the wall to create gaps through which they could send armed infantry and bowmen to provide support for the cavalry force of the relieving army. For another time we were relegated to being spectators as Caesar ordered the 10th to man both inner and outer wall. With our Century arrayed on the inner wall, we did not have a clear view of the ensuing battle, forcing us to try and determine what was happening by the behavior of the Gauls inside the walls that we were watching. From their reaction things were looking grim, the battle raging first for a third, then two parts, then a full watch. Standing on the parapet of the town, the Gauls trapped within soon went hoarse from cheering the efforts of their comrades, while our men began getting more nervous. I was standing by the Pilus Prior for a bit, chatting quietly about what we thought was going on, then after some time passed he sent me to the outer wall to see what was happening. Staying for a few moments, by this point the dust clouds completely obscured the plain, making it impossible to tell exactly what was going on, so I turned to an Optio of the Sixth Cohort, stationed on the outer wall since the beginning, asking him what he knew.
Shrugging, he said, “About as much as you do. I will say that before the dust got too thick, it looked like our boys were taking a good drubbing. Their archers were picking 'em off pretty good, but that was a watch ago now. Now, your guess is as good as mine.”
I stifled a curse; it was not his fault that we could not see, so I thanked him and returned to the Pilus Prior to tell him what little I knew.
“Pluto’s cock,” he swore bitterly. Then, shrugging, he said, “Well, we’ll find out one way or another.”
It was just about sundown when something happened, a change that we could hear, as the fury and pace of the battle suddenly increased. Even as we watched the Gauls in the camps and town their animation and cries suddenly became alarmed, their tone quickly turning to despair, and shortly after, we saw the beginnings of a general retreat of the infantry back up the hill, in much smaller numbers than had headed down.
“Looks like we finally broke them. I bet it was the Germans again,” the Pilus Prior mused.
He turned out to be right. As usual for them, they arrived late, yet when they arrived it was with devastating effect, turning the tide of the battle. Once the dust settled, we could see the plain littered with the dead and dying and despite the majority being Gauls from the relieving army, there was a fair number of Gallic cavalry who fought for us laying there as well. We stood on the walls through the night, but there was no more action, the Gauls in both camps content to lick their wounds and prepare for another assault.
The whole of the next day was quiet, for which we were thankful since it gave us a chance to get some rest. Then in the middle of the third watch, the bucina blasted again and we scrambled up, donning our gear before heading to the walls, to be greeted by a huge racket and the sight of the Gallic army in Alesia streaming towards us in the dark. They were alerted by their brethren on the outside of the walls that the relieving army was assaulting with the sound of horns, their own blaring the signal to advance in response. Running forward with the hurdles of wood, the Gauls began to throw them into the outer ditch. The relieving army brought with them a fair number of missile troops, especially archers, the first time that we faced such troops in large numbers, and they fired at the men on the outer wall, forcing them to seek shelter behind the palisade. The main thrust of the assault on the outer walls was occurring behind us to our left, so it was in this general direction that we could see the bulk of Vercingetorix’s troops heading. They were crossing the expanse in front of us, exposing their flank to our artillery, and the twanging sound of the torsion ropes of the ballistae, scorpions and catapults began singing in the night, followed by the screams of men being alternately impaled, or struck by the one pound rocks thrown by our artillery. Because the Gauls were out of range of our javelins, we used slings, which each of us carried and practiced with whenever we had time. Despite the darkness, the Gauls were tightly packed enough that it was easy to hit someone and the night air filled with the thudding of our missiles, most of them made of lead, striking flesh or bone, followed by shouts of pain and curses of rage that needed no translation. Our arms soon grew weary from whirling the sling overhead, releasing one end of it to send another missile crashing into the mass of men that reached the inner wall and were now trying to pull it down in the same manner that the men on the other side had the day before. All along our walls, we could hear the blasts of cornu and the shriller sounds of the bucina, alerting men in the area that there was danger of a breach, while the Tribunes were busy sending men hither and thither to defend a threatened area. Time passed, and despite suffering no direct assault on our area of the wall we were still busy, helping carry ammunition to the artillery pieces that constantly needed to be fed like some beast, or using our slings until our lead shot was gone, whereupon we stumbled around, trying to find stones of a sufficient size and smoothness that would work as ammunition. The Gauls fought with the desperation of trapped animals, yet their raw courage was not enough; Vercingetorix’s men were unsuccessful in creating a breach of a sufficient size to affect a breakout, despite it being a close-run thing. Before the sun rose, and obviously in fear of a counterattack on their flanks by those of us who remained unengaged, the besieged Gauls retreated back up the hill, their own horns signaling to the men on the other side trying to break in, who in turn retreated from the walls, leaving heaps of dead and moaning wounded laying before our works.