Now that we had secured the village, we could approach the camp from all four sides, prompting Caesar to give an order that, when I heard it made me look at him carefully. He ordered three Centuries of the 37th to circle around to the side of the camp that paralleled the river, there being a narrow strip of land between the wall and the riverbank. The reason I was caught by surprise was twofold; there was a large contingent of archers and slingers that had remained onboard the ships of the Egyptian fleet, meaning there would be a threat to the rear of the men of the 37th when they assaulted the camp. The other surprise was that Caesar had picked the Century of Verres Rufus to be one of them, and I wondered if this was an accident, but even if I were so inclined, I would never bring it up with Caesar. There was nothing in Caesar’s demeanor that would lead me to believe that this was anything other than a simple command decision, yet somehow I knew there was more to it. However, it was not something I could dwell on, since I had my own orders. Finally, the ladders arrived so I ordered the men forward, again forming testudo with them carried inside. Ptolemy’s best men were facing us on this wall and it appeared that he had deployed more than half his force on just this side of the enemy camp. Among them were archers and javelineers, so that again we were assailed by missiles flying thick and fast, creating an unholy racket. Fairly quickly, the lead testudo looked like a porcupine, the shafts of arrows and javelins protruding in almost every man’s shield. More than a dozen arrows and a couple of javelins struck my own shield, and it quickly became clear that we could not mount an assault unless we did something about the missile troops. Once we got within range, I gave the command to launch javelins again, having rotated the Centuries so the men who had supported the attack on the village were now the assault element. A shower of our own javelins streaked upwards, some of them striking the wooden stakes of the rampart but many of them burying themselves in flesh. It was still not enough; the volume of fire diminished, just not enough for us to place the ladders, so I ordered another volley, waiting for a lull in the enemy fire. A second round of javelins, and the men of the leading Centuries were now out, but the enemy fire was still too heavy.
Now I was faced with a choice, since it was clear that we were at a standoff with the men on the wall, and neither alternative was palatable. In order to break the stalemate, either we could march back out of range, or we could press hard up against the wall of the camp, making it extremely difficult for them to fire down at us without exposing themselves. The problem with the second choice was that our men were basically out of javelins, so we had no missiles of our own to stop the Egyptians when they poked their heads out to fire at us. As far as I could see, we had no choice but to withdraw. There was a fair amount of cursing when I gave the order, but the men began marching backward, those in the ranks closest to the camp completely relying on their comrades to warn them of any obstacles in their path, meaning the bodies of both friend and foe. Moving backwards as well, my shield was held high while I tried to avoid tripping as the missiles flew about me and the rest of the men. An arrow, shot at a slightly flatter angle, hit the ground a few feet in front of me but instead of sticking into the earth, the missile bounced off of it, hitting me a glancing blow in the calf, the point of the arrow gouging a chunk of flesh out. Despite myself, I let out a roaring curse, although at first it did not hurt. Yet when I took the next step, my leg buckled and I felt myself falling backwards, so I tried to tuck as much of my body behind my shield as I could before I hit the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of me. For a moment I could not move, during which time I felt the impact of what seemed to be a dozen arrows thudding into my shield, the points poking through an inch or more as I held it up. If I did not get up, I was a dead man, except my leg had started to throb and I could feel the wetness of the blood running down my leg, already sticking out from under the edge of my shield as it was. Unlike most of the men, I could not curl myself up into a small enough of a shape for the shield to cover my entire body, and I could feel arrows striking the ground around my feet. If I took a direct hit in the leg, I would not be getting back up at all, so despite the pain I forced myself to climb back on my feet, remembering to keep my shield held up in front of me, pulling myself first to my knees before staggering upright. The testudo I was next to had continued moving backwards so I was now all alone, a tempting target for every archer on the wall. The hammering sound of missiles striking my shield was almost continuous, yet I managed to stay on my feet to keep limping backwards. Once I finally got out of range, I was panting with exertion and feeling lightheaded from the wound, which I bound up with my neckerchief. The rest of the men were not much better; the testudo is one of the most exhausting formations to perform properly, and we had just marched up to the walls and back again. They stood there, collectively trembling like a dog trying to pass a large bone, some with hands on knees and gasping for air, others shaking their arms, trying to get the circulation back in them.
Caesar was standing nearby, his disappointment plainly written on his face. For a moment, I considered ordering the men to form back up and try again. However, I was ambitious, but not sufficiently so to march men who were already exhausted back into that maelstrom of missile fire. Fortunately, Caesar did not order me to do so, instead calling for Cartufenus to come to him. He issued Cartufenus an order, the Primus Pilus immediately running off to execute whatever he had been told to do. I could not tell what was happening on the far side of the camp against the river, but I assumed since none of the men manning the front wall appeared to be leaving the parapet, no breach had been executed. Standing there waiting, the Egyptians on the front wall jeered at us, greatly angering the men, who called back to them with their own insults, most of them having to do with the Egyptians’ mothers. I saw Cartufenus leading three of his Cohorts towards the far side of the camp, the side where the bluff overlooked the wall. This was the most protected side of the Egyptian position, and normally would not have been the choice for an assault, but we were not making any progress on the front wall, nor obviously on the back wall either. The auxiliary troops had joined us, the Jews standing in what could only charitably be called a formation, where they stood banging on their shields, calling for Caesar to release them to try their luck on the wall. I could tell Caesar refused them by the animated way that the commander of the Jewish forces waved his arms about as he stood before Caesar, and I marveled at the impunity of the man to behave in such a manner, yet Caesar did not seem to mind.
Turning my attention back to my own men, I called for the Centurions to make a head count so I could get a proper butcher’s bill. To pass the time while I waited, I counted the number of arrows and javelins protruding from my shield, which had been rendered useless. I stopped counting at 30, when I was given the tally. Our losses were heavy; thankfully there were few dead so far, although I did not know the condition of the wounded, but my experience told me that as much as a tenth of the wounded would go on to die of their wounds, or to be so badly injured they would be dismissed from the Legion. The ground in front of the camps was covered with bodies, most of them Egyptian, either soldier or civilian, but there were many Romans lying there as well. Most of the wounded had been pulled off the field, except for the men who fell too close to the walls, and they were still there, most of them pulling their bodies under their shield like I had while they waited for rescue. I knew that for some of them it might be too late, if they were unable to stop the bleeding or if the missile pierced a vital organ. It all depended on something happening, and happening soon. As I looked at the men, it was clear they had physically recovered from their exertions earlier; what I did not know was how deeply they had tapped into their reserves. I pondered whether I should approach Caesar to volunteer the 6th to try again, but thankfully, I did not need to, hearing a great shout come from the walls, and they were clearly cries of alarm.