Caesar answered a couple of minor issues and with that, we went back to our men. As I walked, I tried to ponder how I was going to manage what Caesar had ordered, because I had once more outsmarted myself. By creating the parapet of dead horses, I had created an obstacle that my men would have to negotiate while still trying to catch the enemy enough off their guard that we could close with them. As I have said, for a short distance, especially going from a dead stop, a man can actually outpace a horse, but that advantage only lasts a few heartbeats. Once back with the men, I told Scribonius and the others what I had planned, then had them go pass the orders to their respective Centurions who in turn prepared the men. It was perhaps a tenth part of a watch later when the cornu gave the preparatory call to make us ready, followed a moment later by the call to attack. Immediately, the men of the 10th pulled their arms back to launch one of their two javelins, the darts streaking through the air towards the enemy, where most, if not all were going to land short, since the enemy was being careful to stay out of range. Despite knowing that, I was counting on not only man, but most importantly, beast instinctively reacting to the sight of these potentially lethal missiles heading their way. I was rewarded by the sight of lunging horses as men jerked their mounts farther back, the sudden movement of so many animals and men causing inevitable confusion. This was more than enough time for the men as they vaulted over the corpses of the animals and with a roar, launched themselves at the enemy cavalry, now whirling about in their own mass of confusion. We managed to inflict a few casualties before the Pompeians broke contact with us to flee well out of range. Before they could regroup, the recall had sounded and we had trotted back into our spot to begin the march back to Ruspina. But our troubles were not over; in fact, the worst was yet to come.
~ ~ ~ ~
We had marched barely a mile when the scouts came galloping back to Caesar.
“That’s probably not good news,” one of the men said glumly, causing a ripple of chuckles and comment through the ranks.
“Shut your mouths,” Silanus, who was my Optio, shouted. “The next one to say a word is on report!”
I made a mental note to talk to Silanus about being a little freer with the men during desperate times. It had been my experience that letting the men give voice to their fears at these moments, as long as it was kept under control, was not a bad thing. Besides, as it turned out, it was not good news at all. Another mixed enemy force was cutting us off, led by the motherless dog, Petreius, he of the treachery in Hispania that saw a number of our men betrayed and murdered at his hands. The scouts reported a force of about 1,600 men, a mixed force of cavalry and infantry, thankfully not Roman infantry, but more Numidians. While they could not match us in full-on combat face to face, they were definitely proving to be a nuisance, as they moved much more quickly than we did. They also carried several of their light javelins, perhaps a half dozen compared to our two, besides which theirs were not made to bend like ours so they could be reused. I had no doubt that as soon as we marched off, that is exactly what the enemy had done, scampering in to scoop up all the missiles littering the ground to fling at us again. Now we were effectively surrounded again, except by an even larger force, after suffering casualties and fighting for a third of a watch. The 10th’s losses to this point had been light; only a half dozen dead and wounded, all but one of the wounded able to march back with us, but the same could not be said about the other Cohorts from the rest of the Legions. The ground we left behind was littered with bodies and a fair amount of them were ours. We never liked leaving men behind, but since we had marched without wagons, it could not be helped. There would be families who never received the funeral urn from this battle. Unfortunately, we had more pressing matters. We were ordered to a halt, this time forming into a more standard orbis, although it was still very large, with the command group and our wounded in the middle. The Pompeians picked up where they had left off, darting in on horseback and on foot, flinging their missiles at us, then retreating back out of range of our own javelins. The men had been fighting now for at least two watches, and I could see that the constant barrage of enemy missiles was wearing them down, and despite themselves, their shield arms were dropping lower and lower with each volley. Inevitably, some of the enemy javelins began finding their mark and I heard cries of pain, bodies falling out of their spot in the formation, most of them writhing in pain while more than one lay completely still. I could not imagine that the other Cohorts were faring any better, and probably were doing worse, which as it turned out was absolutely true. The situation was so bad around the center of the formation where Petreius’ men, still relatively fresh, were showering the men incessantly with their javelins, that the aquilifer of the 29th turned to flee out of range. As he ran past Caesar, completely unheeding of the shame and disgrace he was bringing onto his Legion and the army, our general had to grab him by the arm to point him back in the other direction, telling him that the enemy was that way. Fortunately, at least this time the aquilifer in question did not try to stab him with his standard like at Dyrrhachium. The sun was setting like it always did, yet it seemed to be moving more slowly than I could ever remember, probably because we needed it so desperately to get dark, for that was the only way that we were going to escape the predicament in which we found ourselves.
One more time, we were summoned to Caesar by the bucina and as we trotted over, Maecius asked me, “Why are you limping, Primus Pilus?”
I looked at him in surprise, not realizing that I had been limping, but when I paid attention, I could feel that he was right and I was favoring my right leg. I frowned in puzzlement; I had not been struck by even a ricochet, despite the enemy’s best attempts to strike down a Centurion, yet there was no mistaking it now and I became aware that my calf ached. Finally, I realized that the wound from the battle on the Nile, which had healed well, had left me with a hole in my calf where the hunk of muscle was torn out, and this spot was aching now. I did not stop, but I experienced the queerest feeling of my life up to that point and I suppose it is strange to say but this was the first time in my life where my body had failed me in any way, the feeling of getting older hitting me like a punch in the stomach. All my life, I had been one of the strongest, if not the strongest man in the Legions and now one of my Centurions was looking at me with sympathy as I was struggling to keep up, and I hated that look with all of my heart. Gritting my teeth, I picked up the pace, making sure that I was the first man to reach Caesar from our place in the line, a completely childish thing to do, but one that made me feel better nonetheless.
Once everyone was gathered, Caesar wasted no time. “It seems that our friends Petreius and Labienus have no intention of letting us depart in peace,” he said dryly. “So I'm afraid that we must call on the men for one more effort, in the same way as before. This time, however, I'm afraid we can't waste time or the element of surprise by issuing the preparatory call. You must make your men ready for the first sound of the cornu that you hear. Is that understood?”