Portus Itius (Porth Bonon) 55 BC.
All had been prepared and within the hour, Caesar himself led
the Legions out of their camp on his dazzling white stallion and flanked by his
enormous boar-hounds, along with his mounted elites and officers. These long
and broad columns of armoured men followed them out through the main gate in
the rising heat of this day, with the fabulous horses and men of his cavalry
leading the way in all their glory. A small garrison remained at the fort
mostly made-up of auxiliary guards, some of which noticed the old local
goat-herder but ignored him as the soft donging
of his goat’s crotal bells announced his limping departure from their eastern
gate.
Inside two hours marching at the ‘military step’, they
approached the town of Bonon and their Portius Itius, where Caesar had his headquarters
pavilion erected on a nearby hill, so he and his staff could overlook the port
and the harbour’s long expanses of timber wharfing. Almost one hundred of his
ships had been assembled below him in the distance and the harbour was choked
with them. As the slaves and male servants erected his tents and campaign
furniture on an overlooking knoll, a little over ten thousand infantry soldiers
of Legios VII and X, marched away in their glory from this low hill and down to
the harbour, where they assembled in their rectangular formations. Caesar had
held back his cavalry, as they would embark in the second phase of this
rehearsal, due to the lack of space in the harbour for the ships and on the
approaches for the men.
Lucius Pinarius Scarpus, the Junior Tribune of Legio X was
allowed into Caesar’s almost finished pavilion by the two Optio Praetorii and
the slender young Patrician officer stood on the timber planking to one side of
Caesar’s campaign desk awkwardly, awaiting permission to speak. Pinarius had
been assigned the position of Junior Tribune Navaliorum under Labienus and was
placed in charge of the embarkation preparation of the ships. The recently
commissioned young officer was a thin, tall and nervous young man who was at
the very beginning of his army career. His great-uncle wanted success for him
and whilst Caesar had no hesitation in using his influence to grant his young
nephew this opportunity, that was where the favouritism ended, as he would have
to prove himself just like any other man under his command. Caesar looked up at
his nervous young officer then and felt like yelling at him, to stand straight
and grow a pair of balls but he demurred, biting-off the words and just nodded
his permission.
Pinarius saluted crisply in front of him and Caesar surveyed
him intently, pleased at least he could perform this small thing well enough. Caesar
had grown used to this military life and felt entirely at ease in its strict
embrace but could also remember when he had been in Pinarius’ fragile position;
clueless, wet behind the ears and with almost no self-confidence and even less
authority. The General was also determined to change this and allow the boy to
achieve his own milestones. He would offer him the framework within which he
could build his own self-belief and find himself as Caesar had and grow into a
proud, useful Roman officer but that is all he would be offered.
Becoming wise in the ways of the world was also something
soldiers achieved after a few years of service under the furca and in Caesar’s
expert opinion it was this element which would change young Pinarius the most,
if he lived long enough to absorb any of it. He had witnessed many times the burden
these ferocious men of his had laid on the towns and villages they had swept
through, in this land and many others. Every tavern packed to the rafters and
long lines of his soldiers standing in-line outside the garish brothels, which
reeked of cheap perfume, incense, sweat and other, more subtle human aromas.
This sadly is what it took to order troops to risk their lives, in conquering
the lands of people who didn’t want them conquered and Caesar had come to terms
with this long ago. Men had urges and these were magnified intensely when a
soldier had survived the horror of battle and if these urges were stifled with
discipline, they would manifest themselves in other, usually far more damaging
ways soon thereafter.
This army was instrumental in transforming the pampered and
deeply spoiled young men of the Roman aristocracy, into fine upstanding
officers and excellent leaders of men. Some found it impossible to
psychologically give-up their privileged life and led something of a dual
existence, part aristocrat, part soldier but never really dominating either
role. Whilst some, usually those with the quicker wits, courage and ambition
grew golden wings in the rigid confines of the army’s harsh discipline, to rise
like Gods to the heavens. Much more time and careful assessment was required,
to determine this young man’s military future and this evaluation continued
here and now, in this stifling leather tent in northern Gaul.
Junior Naval Tribune Pinarius delivered his report succinctly
and without hesitation, confirming that the General’s orders had been carried
out to the letter and that each ship was now ready for the infantry’s
embarkation. Caesar nodded his acknowledgement and Pinarius saluted again,
before turning crisply on his heel and marching out. Caesar grinned as his
earnest young nephew marched stiffly out, as his report was an improvement so
was his deportment and the General made a note on his waxed tablet.
The Cohors Militaria soon began to board these ships in a
structured and pre-determined manner, controlled by the Centurions and their
invaluable Optios. Roughly one hundred and fifty of these infantry troops had
to squash themselves into each of these ships, which was an operation fraught
with potential problems in itself. This embarkation procedure almost succumbed
to failure, as the process was a complex one that had to be completed to a
tight, rotating schedule of actions, making them prey to Fortuna’s capricious
moods. Each ship of the fleet had to embark its troops and then move-off into
this packed harbour toward the channel, whilst seven more ships did this in
rotation and line-astern, from eight different embarkation points along the
harbour. For the ten revolutions it would take to embark all eighty ships, it
would demand great skill and concentration of the Captains and require
excellent communication and discipline to accomplish, without crashing into
other ships attempting the same.
At the time of the real invasion embarkation, the Bireme
warships would load up with Caesar and his officers following the infantry and
depart swiftly, as their twin banks of oars needed no tide nor wind for
propulsion, but these fast galleys had been tethered out of the way for today’s
procedure, as all the officers and Centurions were overseeing and supervising
the action about to take place below. The Biremes would be swiftly followed on
the big day by the huge and tall-sided troop carriers of foreign design, which
were today the first in-line and the Captains already had them formed up and
ready. Much of their fleet rising and falling in this wide bay were Veneti or
the very similar Môrini in shape and design, most of those being captured and
repaired ships of the tribes they had vanquished here in north-western Gaul.
There were many Roman built copies among this fleet too, adapted and improved
by the navy’s engineer shipwrights and Caesar had built this fleet with one
purpose and without one thought to any sea-borne battles. These large vessels
were built for carrying and transporting as much as was prudent across this
channel and that is all Caesar required of them. The Veneti and Môrini ships he
did possess, had been expertly restored to seaworthy condition and altered to
accept more passengers and equipment.
His new ships being built up the coast at Portius Ulterior were
of a very similar design but larger, with a few Roman inspired additions.
However, the largest troop carriers were the cavalry ships, as these had to
transport over two hundred men and horse each. Three more of these extra-large
ships were assigned to the infantry fleet, as they had stout decking both fore
and aft and had been designated the infantry fleet’s heavies. These huge ships were able to accept vital pieces of
artillery to their stout timbers and had been ferociously armed by the libritor immunes.
To a dyed-in-the-wool Roman all these ships had one failing
in common, being without the ranks of oarsmen which propelled their traditional
Biremes and Triremes and so had no ability to progress with man-power alone. All
these Romans knew that Caesar was subject to the capricious seas, winds and
tides of the treacherous and mysterious channel with those sail-powered
monstrosities, which the Veneti and Môrini had countless generations of
knowledge and experience in travelling. Their esteemed Pilots knew this
challenging stretch of water intimately and were among the best sailors in Gaul,
but these Gaulish seafaring experts had been spirited away and were proving almost
impossible to find. The Romans had no great history of open seafaring and
Caesar was subordinate in this way without a captive Pilot, being forced to
place his faith in the inexperienced skills of his ship Captains and the
dubious advice of tortured Gaulish prisoners.
The Centurions stood apart in solitary and immaculate
formation in their supervisory positions around the empty wharves now, their
vitii tucked under their arms. They stood relaxed to ‘Otio-Se’ with their
muscular legs apart, as they watched the approaching invasion intently. All
eyes were on the continuing and furious practice attack of the infantry in the
port below them, as the equites
needed no practice in their elite martial abilities. The first eight unflappable
Captains of the infantry fleet had successfully completed the assault landing
and Roman soldiers poured from their ships, fanning-out into precise attack
formations. They stormed up the wharfs to the dockyards and the thatched
administrative buildings, roaring their battle-cries and brandishing their
Pilli or gladii as they carried-out their bold invasion practice, another eight
ships gliding into place as the first shift departed.
The two Primus Pilli overlooking the whole operation looked
at each other briefly, before both shook their heads again, clearly still
unimpressed. Therefore, the soldiers had been ordered to line up as they had
the first time, board the ships once more and do it all over again. Their
subordinate officers were rounding up these breathless troops now, to re-embark
and carry-out the attack once more and so the Optio’s whistles became shrill
and demanding.
Two of the largest heavies came-in first, heading for the
heart of this harbour and before each sweating Captain approached the dock, the
naval libritors aboard began to fire. They shot stones and darts from their
Scorpions and Ballista which had been fastened to the decks with pivots, so
that they could sweep the approaches with a withering bombardment before the
Legionaries sallied-forth. Each of these tactically positioned Ballista had a
wide firing arc and their missiles flew from these ships with a tremendous
speed and with a loud snap! Each Ballista
would make an enormous bang as the weapon bucked against its rail in recoil,
then the libritors would pounce, winding back the machine and reloading quickly.
The projectiles which hit the ground ploughed-up deeply ridged holes in the
turf, whilst anything hard was shattered by the astonishing velocity and impact
of these selected projectiles, or they themselves were shattered against
something harder with a tremendous crack!
The third in-line of these floating
timber bastions sailed directly toward the western arm of the harbour and its
main approach, with the cluster of thatched administrative buildings, fringing
a grassy apron abutted to the oaken planking of the dock. The massive prows of
these towering, slab-sided ships had the large, three-span Scorpion
bolt-shooters attached to the fore-deck, but these had limited mobility due to
their size and weight, but they began to hurl stout and heavy iron-tipped bolts
into the ground rushing at them nonetheless, with a loud Bang! at each shot. Their comrades aft of them on the Ballistas opened
up down the flanks in sympathy, a consideration given a keen edge by a ‘Navy’
attitude of healthy competition.
The broad stern of each heavy also had a Ballista fixed to the
timbers of the decking on a cast-brass ring-swivel, giving them a 360° arc of
fire. These deadly Ballista’s were basically stone throwing machines but these
‘Bestia’ as the Libritor immunes called them, although looking large and
fearsome on these ships, were the smallest stone throwers in the Roman army.
Due to this compact construction, they were deemed ideal for ship-mounted
action and they were battle-tested here today. Although the heavy two-pound
stones they hurled at such catastrophic velocity are not capable of knocking
down stone walls, they would be ideal if used against tight groups of warriors,
or a shield-wall, or even against thatched or similar, unsubstantial buildings.
Amid a cacophony of loud cracks, snaps and a deadly chorus of whizzing, the artillery competition became
serious.
A timber framework had been
erected on the decks around each of these artillery pieces with a latticework
of stout woven branches, filling-in the panels and offering some cover for the
operators. Large tubs of darts, or similarly sized rocks were arrayed around
these deck pieces and three Libritors operated each of the large, three-span artillery
pieces of the Scorpions and two on the smaller Bestias. These men practised as
teams and there was always healthy competition between gunnery teams, as to who
was the quickest to shoot, the fastest reloaders and which team was the most
accurate. These attributes were lauded by their Captains and Masters, often being
rewarded in coin or wine. Even as the Navy was a part of the Army, these
doughty sailors did things a little differently than their marching compatriots.
Each sailor was proud of this difference and did his utmost to perpetuate it.
The sides of these ships made
contact with the immovable stanchions and buttressing of the wharfing and
already the long gangplanks were being thrown over the gunwales and down. Once
the long and heavy gangways crashed down to the elm timbers, the soldiers began to pour down them and up into the already
battered and peppered reaches of the port, dressing-off into formation as they
moved. These ships had cycled around the harbour until all had docked in turn
and every combatant had been successfully delivered ashore and then riding
higher in the grey choppy water once more, they departed out to sea on their
circular route, allowing the cavalry ships to approach and dock.
With agreeable timing, the ramps engaged
the timber planking of the docks with a ripple of wooden thumps and over three thousand
horsemen began to stream down them, to mount-up on the wharfs and go charging
up the main road from the port. Once clear of the wharf itself, they trotted to
the pavilioned hill and smartly re-assembled below it with their waiting six Alau. From there the cavalry looked down
at the continuing furious attack of the infantry in the port below them, as the
equites needed no practice in their elite
martial abilities
Decanus Sisera of the third Cohort of the Seventh, squatted
behind one of the thatched storage houses at the western end of this wide port
and signalled the rest of his Contubernium to squat there too. Thankfully they
were out of the eye-line of their Centurion Neleus, who was at that moment
bawling-out a large platoon of Macedonian Auxiliaries. These troops had been
tasked with a specific job on landing but had made a hash of it and his
curse-loaded, angry and gravelly words carried to Sisera, as the officer
brandished his vine staff at the Macedonians in his fury. Sisera happily
ignored these so-familiar shouted curses and insults, as for once the vitus and
the words weren’t directed his way – yet and he turned to the panting men
around him.
“Right you wet bunch of pódex, listen-in!” Their Decanus spat,
breathing heavily and sweat ran in rivulets down his red face. “We look like a
bunch of nervous, tunic-lifting fucking Greeks out there and Carpus you thick cunnus, I told you to take the left
position! What fucking use are you on the right, standing next to Ferox with
that dumb fucking look slapped all over your stupid face?” He snarled savagely,
and Carpus just shrugged his great shoulders as he couldn’t meet his Decanus’
eyes at that moment.
“I know, I know Sisera, I fucked it up, but I’ll get it right
next time.” He mumbled, keeping his eyes lowered and his barrel chest heaved as
he tried to catch his breath.
“You had fucking better Carpus, as the Centurions are gagging
for a reason to give-out a castigatus in front of the General.” He panted,
spitting his sweaty saliva on the grass and his red-faced men nodded in
agreement, as the Centurion’s knobbly vitii had been liberally deployed this
day already and many a soldier bore the bruises as proof. These men had sweated
for the last two hours in the afternoon heat, practising their attacking
disembarkation formations and the set-moves each Century was tasked with and it
was exhausting.
“Let’s go over this cursed plan again and this time, you had
better all listen as if we fuck this thing up again, there’s going to be more
than one punishment detail this poxy day I promise you!” Sisera said angrily
and the men of his Contubernium gathered around him, as he went over their
tasks and objectives again whilst they sweated, breathing heavily.
The long line of Centurions on the wharf watched as the last
ranks of the infantry embarked again, which were the 6th Macedonian Auxiliaries
marching slowly up the stout timber gangplanks, weighed down by their Furcas
and seeking their marked positions once more in the deep bellies of these
crowded ships. Once every invasion soldier was back aboard their allotted
vessel, they had sailed out a short way into the channel before sailing back
in, under full sail again and repeating the whole procedure.
The
muddy, grassed areas and hillocks around the wharfs of this harbour were now littered
with hundreds of projectiles and the pole-mounted, grass-stuffed hessian sacks,
which had been stuck in the ground here and there on the harbour approaches and
wharfing, to pose as enemy soldiers had been battered. Many of these dummies, were
either knocked to the ground by the murderous whizzing rocks of the Bestias or stood bristling with Scorpion
darts, looking like porcupines. Their unflappable Captains had successfully
completed the assault landing and Roman soldiers poured from these ships, fanning-out
in their precise attack formations and storming up the wharfs to the dockyards
and thatched administrative buildings, roaring their battle-cries and
brandishing their pilii or gladii as they carried-out their bold invasion practice.
The two Primus Pilii overlooking the whole operation looked at each other
briefly, before both shook their heads again, clearly still unimpressed and the
soldiers had been ordered to line up again, to board the ships and do it all
over again.
The Centurions and Optios were
rounding up these breathless troops now, to re-embark and carry-out the attack
once more, as the rocks and darts had been retrieved, the dummies stood-up and
the ships were once again ready and the Optio’s whistles were shrill and demanding.
Labenius’ immaculate cavalry squadrons had been relieved of
the humiliation of a repeat of their exemplary performance and to the chagrin
of every single infantryman sweating in Portius Itius, the elites and the
equites had ridden proud from the harbour approaches. Forming impeccably on the
brow of the hill, they wheeled west back to camp their heads held high and
their horses looking magnificent in the summer sunshine, their glossy coats
shining as they moved. The two impressive Primus Pilli standing like sentinels
on the dock wall were eventually satisfied, that all knew their places and
duties and they had reduced the time it took to take control of the Harbour and
Port dramatically. Caesar had left hours previously with his staff and cavalry
for the comfort of the fort, happy he had seen his bold plan put into action
and more confident now of its success.
As the sun flamed to orange in the west over Fort Bonon, the
Contubernium of Legio VII was complete again and they played a few games, told
a few ribald stories and then as they retired to their large goatskin tents to
sleep, Didacus returned to their earlier discussion with a question for them
all.
“Regardless
of all these fantastic rehearsals, if there is no harbour or port with timber
wharfs and a proper structure to attack where we are going, and we are left
with attempting to make landing on a beach for example, whilst under fire…...how
do we do it with those ships?” He queried with a frown, looking around at them all
before ducking under the leather flap of his tent without waiting for an
answer. His frown had been transferred to all these soldiers apart from Carpus,
who just shrugged and they all fell into their shelters then to wonder at
Didacus’ ominous words, or to fall soundly asleep. Erebus and Agathius took-up
their normal positions under the mule cart now their duties were ended and were
both sound asleep in moments, cuddled up like two spoons.
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