~ ~ ~ ~
Pompey elected to erect his own camp on the hill to the north, and we watched them go about their business. This campaign had gone on now for more than six months and Caesar’s admonition to us not to bring our personal baggage with us from Brundisium had become something of a running joke, albeit with an edge of bitterness. Whatever the case, we were all more than ready to end this here and now, and the men were not shy about voicing their feelings whenever there was an opportunity. Accordingly, the day after Pompey arrived, the army was ordered out to stand in formation on the plain between the two camps, where we took our place on the right as usual, with Caesar offering Pompey battle. There was no more subterfuge, no more strategic gambits; Pompey could plainly see our entire force and know that he outnumbered us substantially, giving him no reason to delay further. Despite this, we stood there the better part of the day under the hot summer sun, waiting for Pompey, who did nothing. As we would learn later, Pompey and his cronies were busy arguing over the division of the spoils that would come after their inevitable victory, the dispute becoming so heated that the army would not move until matters were settled. All we knew at the time was that Pompey refused to meet us on the field, and we marched back into our camp frustrated and angry. This became the pattern for the next few days, the only change being that each day Caesar would march us closer to the slopes of Pompey’s hill, about three miles distant from our own camp. Still, Pompey did nothing, although after the third day he began sending out part of his cavalry to harass us, prompting some minor skirmishes between our forces. The only event of note was that during one of those skirmishes, one of the Allobrogian traitors who caused us so much trouble at Dyrrhachium was killed by our troopers, although I do not remember which one. It appeared as if Pompey had no intention of budging from that hill, and it also became apparent that his goal was to starve us again. The wheat was not yet fully ripe, but even if it was, now that Pompey and his army were present, harvesting it was not going to be easy. The granaries at Pharsalus were rapidly being sucked dry, so Caesar called a council of war, where he announced to us that despite our desire to stay put and fight it out, we were to prepare the men to break camp. This announcement was met with much dismay, and while nobody spoke openly against his plans, Caesar could easily see that we were not happy. Holding his hand up to quiet the muttering, he spoke in a reasonable tone, without any obvious anger.
“Comrades I know how you feel, but consider this. I do not take this decision lightly, but I believe with all my heart that this army is much better suited to deal with the deprivation of hard marching on short rations than Pompey’s fat youngsters.” This brought a chuckle, and he continued, “Since it’s clear that Pompey wants to weaken us by having us stay put, while he can continue receiving almost unlimited supplies from his rear, it only makes sense that we try to even the odds. And the best way to do that is to put them on the road chasing us.”
Despite our desire to fight, it was hard to fault his logic, and I looked around to see heads nodding as the rest of the Centurions accepted the idea.
“Very well. We'll break camp day after tomorrow. Let the men rest tomorrow; we won’t be making a demonstration. That is all, gentlemen.”
With that, we were dismissed to go pass the word to our men and walking back, I thought about all the complaints that would be forthcoming at the news that we were moving out.
~ ~ ~ ~
The day of the move came, and as was usual on such days I was up about a full watch before dawn. In truth, the Centurions and Optios had more reason to hate marching days than the rankers, since we had to be up and ready before any of the men. Yet it would have been unseemly to complain about it, at least in front of the rankers, so I contented myself with grumbling in my tent as I packed up my gear. Stepping outside, I sniffed the air, sensing no hint of rain or other sign that it would be anything but hot once the sun rose. There was no mist at night to cool the air in this part of the world, something that I did miss about Gaul. I went to Vibius’ tent, but he was already up, so we talked quietly as he finished his own packing, while the rest of the Centurions and Optios made their way to us, following the sound of our voices. By the light cast from the torch carried by the sentry, I could see that the others felt much the same way that I did about this move, but there was nothing to be gained by sulking about it.
“All right, let’s get 'em up,” I commanded, the others immediately marching over to their respective Century areas, the air soon split by the sound of Centurions and Optios rousing their men.
“Good morning, ladies, time to rise and shine,” Vibius bellowed, answered immediately by a chorus of groans and curses, and I could not help smiling.
After all these years, the men still acted like children roused from slumber to do their chores, which I suppose in a sense they still were. Every decision was made for them; where to go, when to eat, when to sleep, so it made sense that they acted like children most of the time. This was the nature of my thoughts as I made sure that I stayed out of the way of the men breaking down their tents, followed by loading the mules. It did not take long for us to pack, and once finished, we marched to the Via Praetoria to take our assigned spot in the marching column, designated by a series of stakes, each engraved with the number of the Cohort that would occupy that spot in the column and painted a certain color denoting each Legion. I was happy to see that we were one of the first Cohorts in place, but I also knew that this meant we would be standing and waiting for the rest of the army to finish packing and fall in. As usual, I thought sourly, those youngsters in the new Legions are the ones holding us up, and it did not take long for my thoughts to be echoed by the men, who first began grumbling, then wagering on which Legion would be the last one to show up. Finally, just as the sun rose above the hills to the east, the bucina sounded, prompting a mixed chorus of groans and shouts of delight when the identity of the last Legion to make its way to its spot in the column was known.
“None of you bastards better be betting your rations again,” I called out, and I was rewarded by a couple of guilty looks.
I made a mental note to find something particularly odious for them to do the next time we stopped. All in all, it was just a normal day on the march, signaled by the second, then third, and final call of the bucina that was the command to march. Stepping out, the vanguard began the movement, and since we were near the front of the column this day, it was only a few moments before it was our turn. Immediately ahead of us, across the plain, I saw Pompey’s army arrayed on the slopes of the hill. This was not unusual in itself; in fact, it was almost a custom for one army to stand to watch the other as it marched away, just in case there was some trickery planned. As we moved towards the road leading further south, I strained my eyes, thinking that there was something different this time, but I could not tell exactly what. Finally stepping to the side, I stopped, staring at the lines of men across the valley floor, finally recognizing what was different. Instead of standing still as they watched us move, Pompey’s army was actually marching down the hill towards us! I turned my head, looking for signs that someone else had noticed what was happening, and I saw that Caesar was sitting his horse, one hand shielding his eyes, looking over at Pompey and his army. In the next instant, he snapped an order to one of his aides, sending him galloping off down the column, then turned to his personal cornicen who immediately sounded the call to halt the army. Instantly, orders were relayed, the horns sounding twice more, and we ground to a halt. There was an excited buzz of conversation as the men relayed what they thought was happening, and after a moment I bellowed at the men near me to shut their mouths, telling them they would know soon enough. Meanwhile, the aide came galloping back, accompanied by the Legates of the Legions, the feathers on the crests of their helmet streaming in the wind like a flock of crows taking wing.