He considered, and for a moment, I thought he would refuse, then letting out a breath, he reversed the weapon, offering it to me hilt first. “I'm Gaius Aspirius,” he said. “And I'm the Tertius Pilus Posterior of the 6th Legion. I'm your prisoner, Centurion.”
I looked at him in surprise. “You’re in the 6th?” I asked, not sure that I had heard correctly.
He nodded. “That's correct.”
“Then you were at Pharsalus. You're the part of the 6th that escaped.”
Now he looked uneasy, but he still nodded. “That's also correct. Why does that surprise you?”
“Because I was with the two Cohorts of the 6th who fought for Caesar. I led them in Alexandria.”
At the mention of the two Cohorts that had chosen to live by marching for Caesar instead of being cut down by Antonius, Aspirius’ face flushed.
“They're traitors,” he said harshly, and around me, I could hear the sharp intake of breath from the men, while as one their blades came back up.
I held my hand up. “They’re only traitors if Caesar lost, but he didn’t. Now you’re the traitor. And despite your impertinence, you're still under my protection. But, Aspirius,” I indicated the men around me. “You should watch your tongue. Saying that the men of the 6th who march for Caesar are traitors, you’re saying that these men are traitors. That’s not something they're likely to appreciate.”
He opened his mouth as if to make a retort, but then thought better of it, saying instead, “You're correct, Centurion. I spoke in anger and for that I apologize.”
I pointed to the rear, telling one of the men to escort him back to our camp.
He was about to walk away, but turned. “Whose protection am I under, if I may ask Centurion?”
“I'm Primus Pilus Titus Pullus, of the 10th Legion,” I replied, and I was gratified to see by his expression that my name was known to him.
With that, I turned back to the battle, or slaughter, to be more accurate, and with the rest of the men, hurried forward into the enemy camp.
~ ~ ~ ~
The Battle of Thapsus, as it is called, was not a battle at all. It was a rout, a slaughter, and as complete and total a victory as any of us could have hoped for. The men of Scipio’s army who survived the first onslaught turned to flee into their camp, yet only stayed there briefly, it becoming clear very quickly that there was no protection within the walls. They ran out the back gate, intent only on escaping to what they hoped was the safety of Afranius’ camp. Except to get there, they had to cut across the marshy ground. Not surprisingly, slogging through the mud is slow going, so men got bogged down, sinking into the muck up to their knees then getting stuck, perfect targets for our men to conduct javelin practice. The cries and screams of men pierced through the body as they struggled helplessly to extricate themselves was almost continuous, the men collapsing once they succumbed to their wounds to get sucked under by the stinking mud. The men that managed to struggle through the muck then staggered the couple of miles to Afranius’ camp arrived only to find that Caesar as always was a step ahead, sending the two Legions he had left in camp to assault the other Pompeian camps. Our men found Afranius’ camp deserted, the occupants having run off to escape the fate of their comrades. Moving on, Juba’s camp had fallen to our forces as well, so that the men fleeing the rout at Scipio’s camp ran right into our two Legions who cut them down, slaughtering the enemy without any mercy. Now something happened that I offer as an example of what occurs when men have been laboring under the conditions and circumstances for as long as the men of Caesar’s army. I do not make excuses; there is no real justification for what took place, but it should not be described without consideration given to the underlying causes. I will not deny that the 10th did its share of killing that day, especially in the moments after we entered Scipio’s camp, and I also will not deny that many of the men that we cut down were trying to surrender. However, this is not only not uncommon, it is the norm when the bloodlust of fighting men is aroused, and the men that we slaughtered were for the most part men of the ranks like ourselves, and not any of the upper classes. When the remnants of Scipio’s army that survived the escape through the marsh and the following onslaught at Juba’s camp then ran to a low hill on the far side of the camp, where they signaled their desire to surrender, they were joined by a number of the occupants of Afranius’ camp who were not combatants. These men were Senators and prominent equestrians who had aligned themselves with the Pompeian cause and they now called to Caesar for protection, offering their complete surrender. No doubt, they knew of Caesar’s record of clemency and mercy so I suppose they had good reason to be optimistic that when Caesar arrived on the scene they would escape with their lives, if not their fortunes. It was just their bad luck that the men of Caesar’s army were not in a forgiving mood. Too much had happened; too much misery, too much bleeding, too long away from their homes and loved ones. Even Caesar could not stop our men from exacting revenge for all their suffering, as the group of men who sought refuge on that hill asking for Caesar’s protection were slaughtered to the last man. All told, Scipio’s armies had scattered to the winds, but not before more than 10,000 of their number were killed, with the gods only know how many wounded. Around Scipio’s camp, bodies were stacked on top of each other like pieces of firewood, which I suppose they were in a sense, since the Romans among the dead were to at least be given the proper funeral rites and be purified by flame. Our losses were laughingly light; a total of 50 men in the entire army died, with twice that many wounded, only a few of them seriously enough to be discharged from the Legions on pension. None of our dead were from the 10th, for which I and the rest of my comrades were thankful; there were few enough of us left as it was. Scipio escaped, as did Afranius, Petreius, and Labienus, along with a good number of the cavalry and some of the infantry. Not surprisingly, at least to us, we learned that the few veterans among Scipio’s army, namely the 1st, and some of the 4th, had kept their heads, literally and figuratively, and were among the escapees. They headed to Utica, along with Scipio and Labienus, while Afranius tried to make it to Mauretania. Petreius left with Juba back to Numidia. Although the defeat of Scipio was total, it did not extend to everyone. The city of Thapsus still held out, under the command of a man named Vergilius, so Caesar turned his attention to the city. After returning to our original camp towards the end of the day, Caesar ordered the elephants rounded up, all 64 of them having survived, though some were hurt. One in particular had several cuts on his trunk that his handler had tried to treat with some tarry substance smeared on the wounds.
His presence was pointed out to me by Scribonius, who asked, “Did you hear what happened to that one?”
I said that I had not, and he relayed the story. When the 5th had attacked, running into the midst of the elephants, this particular animal had caught one of the Alaudae and it was down on its knees, crushing him. Seeing his friend in trouble, another man of the 5th ran up to begin poking the animal with his javelin. The elephant stood up, then reached down with its trunk to snatch up the man and begin waving him about in the air. The elephant only released the Legionary after receiving several whacks on the trunk with the man’s sword, resulting in the deep cuts, the beast throwing him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him, but the Legionary’s actions saved his friend.
“He’s going to get decorated for that,” Scribonius concluded.
“As well he should,” I agreed, then thought of something. “But is that the civic crown? Or is it different because an elephant is involved?”
We pondered that as we watched the animals, their handlers deciding that it was better to be on the winning side, maneuvering their lumbering charges into position to take up a single line in front of the city walls. The message, at least as far as we were concerned, was clear, but Vergilius was apparently unmoved because the gates did not open. The day was growing late, so we did not take any action against the city, retiring to the camp to celebrate the victory while bemoaning the work that we would have to do to dispose of so many bodies. A double ration of wine was ordered, as Scipio’s, Afranius’ and particularly Juba’s camp had been well-stocked with the liquid, the word in camp being that it had been ordered by Scipio in preparation for the victory feast he was planning on giving when we were defeated. Whether it was true or not, it made the wine taste that much better as we toasted our success.