While we were constructing the redoubts, Caesar, seeing that the slope of the hill was not much of an impediment to a determined assault, ordered a ditch dug about halfway down the slope, running the entire length of the ridgeline, which extended for more than a mile. This sounds like a great distance, and it is, but when you have several thousand men, all of them with as much experience at digging as we had, it is not as much work as it may seem. Of course, that is said as a Centurion who had not shoveled a spadeful of dirt in some time, so perhaps I am not speaking truthfully. Regardless, we dug the ditch, piling the spoil on the uphill side of the ridge to act as a further barrier should the Pompeians want to dislodge us from our position. One of the Legions was sent to build our marching camp on the eastern side of the ridgeline at the base of the hills. It was there that we retired at the end of the day, the men filthy and tired, complaining every step of the march back about all the work they had done. Century-sized guards were posted on each of the redoubts on the top to keep watch of Scipio’s camp, but we were all certain that after seeing the display they had put on earlier, we would be sleeping soundly that night, and we did.
~ ~ ~ ~
The performance of Scipio’s tirones convinced Caesar that it would be wise to put more pressure on the Pompeians, so at the evening briefing we were informed that we would be arraying to offer battle the next morning.
“I seriously doubt that he'll accept the challenge, but we must be prepared for that eventuality,” Caesar told us. “To that end, we're going to treat this as if we are going to fight. You all know by now what I expect from the men and I know that you won't let me down.”
I, for one, knew that the men were not going to be happy, not about the idea of going into battle, but that Caesar always expected the men to look as if they were on parade, with all decorations and plumes in place and in perfect order. That meant that after a hard day’s work of digging, they would have a hard night’s work of polishing and cleaning. Such is the lot of the Legions.
~ ~ ~ ~
We marched out the next day, climbing over the hill, then descending down to the valley floor, where we deployed into the aciestriplex, aligning so that the center of the army was directly across from the town of Uzita. This meant that we were at the point closest to Scipio’s camp, but he would have to align himself more or less in the same way to protect the town. As we approached, we could hear the sound of their bucina floating through the air, calling the Pompeians to formation. I must admit, however grudgingly, that it did not take as long as I thought it would for them to begin streaming out of the camp from all four gates, hurrying to form up across from us, while we had halted to dress our lines. Once that was done, we watched as Scipio’s army arrayed itself. Unlike our own three-line formation, Scipio employed four lines, with his cavalry in the front line acting as a screen. With Scipio’s army moving into position, the order was given to advance, but we only went another couple hundred paces before halting again, which is where we stayed. The Pompeians did not move either, as we began a now-familiar staring contest. Fortunately, we were too far away from each other for the men to hurl insults, so it was quiet for the most part, with only a low buzz as the men talked quietly while we waited.
Perhaps a third of a watch after we moved into position, the rain started, a ripple of curses reaching my ears as the men saw all the hard work with their plumes and leathers literally melt away. The blacking we used for our plumes started running, streaking the men’s armor where the horsehair touched it, while the varnish on the leather dissolved after a few moments exposure. There would be a huge mess to clean up whenever we were done, which did not help the spirits of the army knowing what immediately awaited them. Still we stood, neither side moving, as it became apparent that Scipio did not have enough confidence in his army to go on the offensive. He did have the advantage of better ground, there being a gentle slope up to where the town sat, and Caesar was never one to fight on unfavorable ground if he could avoid it. The rain continued the rest of the day, through to about sunset, when we were turned about to march back to camp, sodden and miserable, our cavalry staying as a screen in the event the Pompeians suddenly took advantage of our retreat. We spent the evening cleaning our gear, the downpour continuing, turning the streets to a thick, sticky mud that clung to everything it touched, compounding our misery. At the evening briefing, Caesar informed us that he had decided that we would not repeat the tactic of the day. Instead, he wanted to extend the trenchline further south, basically lengthening the rest of the line all the way to the southernmost point where the slope started, wrapping it around to protect our left flank.
“At least the ground will be soft,” Cartufenus said as we left the tent, pulling our cloaks up to try to block out as much of the water that was coming down so hard that one would think that the gods were simply dumping a bucket on our heads.
“If it keeps up like this, we won’t be able to dig anything without it collapsing,” I grumbled.
“I was trying to look on the bright side,” he retorted.
We parted, heading back to our respective areas of camp, neither of us looking forward to the next day.
~ ~ ~ ~
The rain did not let up. Since we had not marched with our tents, leaving them behind at the camp in Ruspina, the men were forced to create makeshift shelters using their cloaks, fastened together in whatever manner they thought worked the best. When the weather was clear, it was fine, but now with rain, then occasional hail, falling without letup, the misery of the men was manifest. Regardless, we went out, doing our work extending the trench as Caesar had instructed, the men coming back covered in the sticky mud, then cleaning themselves by simply stripping down while standing shivering as the rain washed them clean. Cleaning their gear was not so simply done. In recognition of the conditions, I suspended inspections, knowing that we would have the whole Legion, or the part that was here on the punishment list, which would only further damage morale. The conditions were so bad, that men resorted to using their shields, with the covers on of course, holding them above their heads as they struggled through the mud of the camp. It was in this manner that we passed the next several days, neither side making a move. Because of the rain, we could not finish the earthworks that Caesar had deemed necessary, so there was nothing for the men to do but sit huddled under their makeshift tents and talk, and men with time on their hands fill it by gossiping about whatever situation in which they find themselves. That usually means trouble for the officers. In this case, the topic was Juba’s approaching army, which was supposedly very close, in the men’s minds becoming larger and more formidable as each day passed. The men talked about not just the elephants; the defeat of Curio at Juba’s hands had built the Numidian king up into a formidable adversary while no amount of persuasion on the part of the Centurions seemed to sway the men back to the belief in themselves that is so crucial to winning. The rain picked up in intensity to the point that one night we could not even have our fires, forcing us to eat our meals cold, which only made matters worse. Finally, Caesar had enough. Calling a formation to address the army, he ordered us to assemble in the sea of mud that had become the forum of the camp. He wasted no time with any of his usual words of encouragement and expressions of pride in the job that we were doing, his displeasure evident in his words and bearing.