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Arriving at the walls of the town around midday, after a quick reconnaissance, Caesar determined that we could take the town by assault, rather than to try to reduce it by siege. He ordered us to knock together assault ladders and make bundles of sticks to throw into the ditch at the base of the walls. We did so in plain sight of the townspeople lining the low wall and we heard their cries of despair, but they were lost on us. They had supplies that we desperately needed, and while I know that they would have gladly surrendered them once they saw we were about to take them by force, it was too late for that. I think Caesar had a number of reasons for ordering the assault, not least of which was to restore some of the morale we had lost by allowing us to exact a measure of revenge. It was just the people of Gomphi’s misfortune that their leaders chose to change sides upon hearing of Pompey’s victory at Dyrrhachium. It did not take us long to build the ladders and gather the bundles together, and the 10th was one of the Legions selected for the assault, but because of the casualties my Cohort took during our assault on the fort we were put in reserve. The men were not happy, the rumor being that Caesar was going to give the town over to us, meaning that they would not get first pickings of loot and women, although we would still do better than the men who were not taking part in the assault at all. No matter how hard the provosts tried, despite the fact that the town was supposed to be divided up, with a section of the town designated for each Legion, the first men over the walls always managed to slip into areas in which they were not supposed to be. They nabbed choice bits of loot before the men actually assigned to the area got there. However, it is when the men stop grumbling that the Centurions have to worry, so I was not concerned about my men and their complaints. The assault started about a full watch before dusk, yet it took barely a third of a watch for the walls to be taken, and not much more than another third of a watch later for the last defender to be slaughtered. By dusk, we had rounded up the civilians that were not well hidden, and on Caesar’s orders, put them to the sword. Normally, we would not have been happy about this since we all profited from the sale of slaves, but our desire for revenge outweighed our greed in this case, and it was just the bad luck of the townspeople that they were the objects of our wrath. The rest of the night was spent stripping the town of everything of any value, the men drinking anything that held the remotest possibility of getting them drunk, except this time it was with Caesar’s blessing. He understood that the men needed something to cheer them up; I suppose it seems odd to say that the rape and pillage of a peaceful town would be considered sport, yet that is the nature of the Legionary. It is a harsh life we lead, and there is no place for finer notions like sensitivity, which is viewed as a weakness, and indeed in many ways it is. One cannot be mooning about thinking about whether or not what you are doing is the right thing when thrusting a sword into a man’s guts, not unless you want to be the one stretched out on a funeral pyre. Still, there are men who participate with less gusto than others, and there are those like Didius who lived for moments when they were allowed to run wild.
I walked the streets of the town, listening to the screams of the women who had not been killed yet, making sure that my men did not stray into areas designated for other Cohorts, or worse, other Legions. In the beginning, it would be fairly easy to keep order, but once the supplies of wine were uncovered and consumed, it would be harder and harder to maintain discipline. Consequently, I had ordered my Centurions to keep a tight rein on the men. With every sacking of a town there is always one Cohort that goes farther than any other; it was almost a given that there would be punishments forthcoming, and it was not unheard of that the crimes committed by men inflamed by wine, lust, and greed were sufficiently serious enough to warrant execution. I was determined that my Cohort would not be the one to be made an example of, and I was worried about Scribonius, since this would be his first big test of command of his Century. I knew the men liked him well enough; but did they fear him, because that is what it took at times like this. Once men are robbed of their senses by drink and debauchery, the only thing that they understand is fear, fear of a beating at the hands of their Centurion or Optio. Whereas my reputation was already made, and in truth, I had no reason not to allow Vibius to handle any disciplinary issues in the First Century, Scribonius would have to handle any problems himself this time. Later it would not be necessary, but because this was his first such challenge, it was crucial that he be the one to keep his men in line.
With that in mind, I held a briefing with my Centurions, stressing the importance of keeping a lid on the men. Now we were patrolling the streets, watching for trouble. What we feared occurred about two thirds of a watch after midnight, over on the next street from where I was standing talking to Vibius. It was normal by this point in the sacking of the town that the air was filled with the yells and curses of the men, but above that came first the noise of men shouting at each other, followed by what sounded like amphorae being smashed against the stone walls of the houses. In short, what we were hearing was different from the normal sounds of a town being ravaged, and we instantly understood that it meant trouble. Celer, Niger, Crispus, and I were standing together, along with Vibius and a couple other Optios. We did not hesitate, turning and running down the street to round the corner and head up the street where the sound was originating. I was in the lead, so I saw immediately that what was happening was the worst possible scenario; the men of Scribonius’ Century were involved in an altercation with some men I did not immediately recognize, which could only mean they were from another Legion. Despite the time of night, the flames from the piles of furniture and other odds and ends that the men had dumped in the middle of the street then set alight made the scene clear, like it was almost high noon. Scanning the faces of the small knot of men standing angrily facing ours, my heart sank as my worst fears were confirmed. None of the men were from the 10th, and I vaguely recognized one of the men, thinking he was one of the 9th, which, if true, helped to at least partially explain what the problem was. Ever since their mutiny, we had not thought very well of the 9th, then after the debacle at Dyrrhachium, our opinion sank even lower, believing that they brought shame onto the army and to Caesar. The men were arrayed facing each other, and despite no weapons being drawn, a number of men on each side had picked up lengths of wood from the pile by the fire to use as clubs, and were brandishing them at each other, shouting vile threats as they did so. I saw that Scribonius was standing in between them, but it did not look like he held more than a tenuous hold on the situation, with both sides looking poised to throw themselves at each other. Striding through the middle of my men, I pushed them roughly aside, their faces showing first angry surprise, then fear when they recognized me, and I made my way to Scribonius.
“What in the name of Pluto’s thorny cock is going on here?” I demanded, my voice pitched to the level I used when issuing commands.
Scribonius saluted, then responded calmly, “Pilus Prior, these men,” he indicated the men of the 9th, “have strayed outside of their assigned area and mistakenly started clearing the houses on this street.”