After stubborn resistance, the Helvetii began a fighting withdrawal back down the hill in the general direction of their camp. I will say this for them, they did not just turn and run, but made a true fighting retreat, leaving the field scattered with both Helvetii and Roman bodies. Once we had rested some, we were ordered back into formation, closing up behind what was now the first line, with the third line staying in place.
“Lucky bastards, we should be in the third line now.” Even Didius said something that we agreed with from time to time, and this was one of them and I wondered why Caesar ordered this, but quickly dismissed it as one of those things that a common Gregarius did not need to know, instead just shrugging my shoulders as we moved back into position.
In doing so, we also made sure that the Helvetii laying there were not still alive; it would not do to have a group of Helvetians faking their death suddenly rising up from behind us. The battle was gradually moving in the direction of the camp while the sun continued to travel through the sky. It was now well past midday, and the fighting showed no signs of letting up, leading us to speculate what would happen when the sun went down.
“Knowing Caesar, we’ll keep on fighting,” Vibius sighed, something in his tone telling me that he did not mean it as a compliment, though I held my tongue, not wanting to argue about it. The subject of Caesar was becoming increasingly off limits to us, because in my mind Vibius had developed a totally unwarranted view of Caesar and his motives. Shuffling along behind the first line, we continued speculating on our immediate fate until the horn sounded alerting us that we were about to rotate once more, which was met by muffled groans and curses.
“By Dis, why does it have to be us? It should be those bastards behind us,” Didius complained bitterly.
Rufio told him to shut up, but we could tell it was half-hearted at best. Despite our feelings, we hoisted our shields and made ready to go back into the fray.
The Helvetii did not try to get back to their camp, clearly understanding that trying to jam that many men through the camp gates would be a disaster of the first magnitude. Instead, they chose to withdraw to a hill on the far side of the camp, and we followed close behind. As we continued pressing, I heard the Pilus Prior and Rufio conferring about something, so like all good soldiers, I did my best to eavesdrop without obviously doing just that, stopping and pretending instead to work on a loose piece of gear.
“I don’t know,” the Pilus Prior was saying, “but something about this doesn’t strike me as being right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look back the way we came,” the Pilus Prior pointed, and I darted my eyes in the direction he was indicating. “See the bodies?”
“Yeah, I see them,” Rufio replied, clearly puzzled, “so what?”
“There aren’t that many,” answered the Pilus Prior.
“Aren’t that many? What are you talking about? There’s hundreds, more than hundreds, there’s a couple thousand at least, not counting ours.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” persisted the Pilus Prior. “You remember what Caesar told us. We’re facing something like 100,000 warriors, and they retreat and act like we’re beating them for a couple of thousand dead?”
“Maybe they’re not as fierce as they’re cracked up to be,” Rufio said, but I could hear the doubt creeping into his voice while I felt the first icy fingers of dread walking up my spine.
“Does it seem that way to you?” asked the Pilus Prior quietly. “Do they act like they’re beaten?”
“No,” admitted Rufio. “So what do you think is going on?”
“I think that maybe they’re not going back towards their camp for a reason. I think that maybe they’re pulling us up that hill so that the camp is to our back.”
A lump formed in my stomach as I realized that the Pilus Prior was probably right, and in that moment, my respect for him went up a notch. I finished what I was pretending to do, then hurried on to join the rest of the Century to relay what I had just heard.
“By the gods, I hope he sends word to Caesar,” Romulus exclaimed.
“Send word to Caesar? Are you crazy?” Calienus laughed. “Do you think a Pilus Prior is going to stick his neck out to warn Caesar of something that might or might not happen, especially after what happened with Considius?”
He was right; it was too much to expect for a Centurion, no matter if he led a Cohort, to risk his career on a hunch, especially after the fiasco that had occurred shortly before. Nonetheless, that is exactly what Pilus Prior Vetruvius did, sending Rufio off to relay his suspicions, an act that gained him even more respect from the Century and the Cohort. Finishing our move back into the first line, we resumed where we left off, exchanging smoothly with the second line, most of them gasping their thanks as they moved down the files between us. My head was pounding, and my left arm was beginning to stiffen a bit, though I knew that once I was back in the fray I would forget such things. Meanwhile, the Helvetii were slowly moving up the hill, and I could not help noticing that the piles of bodies did not seem to be as deep as one would think they should be for a retreating enemy.
Once the Helvetii made it to the top of the hill, suddenly their retreat stopped and on some unseen signal, the pace of the fighting picked back up as they unleashed the ferocity present in their first assault. For a few moments we found ourselves being pushed, ever so slightly, back down the hill and I was forced to dig my heels in, pushing hard against the man in front of me in an attempt to stop the backward slide. It was right about then that we heard a sudden roar from our right rear, coming from the direction of their camp. Risking a glance back, my heart seemed to stop at what I saw. Boiling out of the camp was another mass of warriors, not as large as what we were facing, though probably in numbers matching the size of the four Legions that were currently engaged. A series of blasts on the cornu alerted Caesar and the command group then we saw one of his Tribunes scrambling down the hill towards the third line, the only ones in position to meet the new threat. Even as this was happening, an idea dawned on me that perhaps this was why Caesar had insisted that the third line stay unengaged and fresh, and I was gratified to see how rapidly they reacted to the new attack. There was nothing more that I could do about it, so I turned my attention back to the fight in front, trusting in my comrades and Caesar to make sure that they stopped the advance of this second threat. Soon enough, my turn came again, except this time I was the one moving uphill, and I found myself thanking the gods yet again for my great height, since it helped negate the disadvantage. Also, I was determined not to make any further mistakes, making me more cautious than before, consequently taking longer for me to make a kill, but I contented myself with the thought that I was giving my friends more time to rest. I quickly disposed of three men and had just sliced into the thigh of a fourth when the whistle sounded, and I went back to the back of the line. The intensity of the fighting, if anything, was increasing, with the sight of the Helvetii counterattack heartening the main force while it had the same effect on us, albeit for different reasons. By this time we knew we were now fighting to stave off the destruction of our entire army, placing our trust in our comrades to the rear, and in turn we did not want to betray that trust by letting them down. With the pace becoming more furious, the relief period became shorter, and it was only a matter of a few moments before I was back in front again. Now the bodies were piling up in earnest, making the footing difficult, between the slippery blood on the grass and having to step over corpses. The job of the second man in the line is not only to brace his companion, but to end any foe that has fallen and is not yet dead, and those in the second rank were now busier than ever. Just as I was dispatching my opponent, I heard a cry of pain to my left and looked over to see Scribonius fall to the ground, writhing in agony but still trying to use his shield to protect him from the man who knocked him down. The Helvetii warrior in turn let out a roar of triumph and stood over Scribonius, his arm pulled back for the killing blow with his spear. Without thinking, I leapt sideways, crashing into the man just as he thrust down at Scribonius’ unprotected face, the point instead burying itself in the ground several inches deep no more than a hand width away from my friend. In making that move I had helped Scribonius, yet I left myself exposed to a blow from the rear from the man I was facing, and I felt my shoulders involuntarily clench in expectation of a thrust that never landed. Instead, I heard the part-crunching, part-squishing sound of a blade being thrust into the man’s chest by my relief, who had lost his grip on my harness when I jumped, but thankfully not his wits. Simultaneously, I made a quick thrust to the throat of the man who had tried to kill Scribonius, his blood spraying all over my arm and face as he made a choking sound and fell to the ground. In almost the same motion, I dropped my shield and with my left hand, grabbed Scribonius by the front of the armor, ignoring his screams of pain, half dragging, half flinging him backwards out of the front line. Once he was out of the way, I picked up my shield and turned back to face the enemy, ready to continue killing.