‘Will they come again?’ asked Antony.

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ said Caesar. ‘Despite the death toll this night, they still outnumber us many times. And this is an existential battle for them as much as it is for us. If they fail here, Gaul will become Roman forever.’

  Chapter XVI

  September, DCCII AUC (September 52 BC), Alesia

  Another day passed in apparent inactivity, though in fact the Roman camps resounded with the ring of metal on anvil as the armourers repaired armour and swords, with the sawing and hammering of wood as the carpenters patched the defences, the scrape of whetstones as the legionaries sharpened their gladii, not to mention the screams from the valetudinarium as the surgeons amputated unsalvageable limbs, stitched gashes and ministered as they could to the wounded who were unlikely to survive. No doubt, Antony thought, similar preparations were going on behind the Gallic lines, both of them. Caesar had banished all hopes that the previous night’s victory would be sufficient to end the battle, and he prepared himself and his men for another assault.

  It was his first experience of being besieged, and it was not a feeling he relished. Much preferable to be the trapper, free to come and go at will, than the animal trapped in the snare, no matter how fierce its teeth and claws.

  But there was no use wishing for things that weren’t, and he kept his mind as best he could on his duties. As the day turned to night with no further attack, though, his thoughts wandered back to Rome, to his pregnant wife. Would he live to see the babe? he wondered. The next day or two would give him that answer. Then, unbidden, images of Fulvia came to mind, and he wondered if he would ever see her again. And if he didn’t, would she mourn him, like she mourned Clodius?

  He slept for several hours that night but jerked awake often, worried he had missed the start of an attack, or that Gauls were even then pouring through the Roman lines. But no night attack came, although the next morning the night sentries reported they thought they had seen some activity in the distance in the north-west. There was no sign of an early Gallic assault either, and it wasn’t until nearly midday that the Gauls began to descend from the hills onto the plain. They massed before the Roman defences again, and to Antony’s amazement, he realised they were going to make an assault in exactly the same place. The Gallic leaders were clearly prepared to sacrifice the lives of many of their warriors to achieve their goal.

  They came on slowly, with daylight to aid them as they approached the Roman fortifications and man traps. They had to pass the corpses of many thousands of their comrades, but if it gave the warriors doubts, they did not show it, cheering and jeering at the Romans as they advanced.

  As soon as they were in range, the Gallic slingers and archers let loose and the ramparts and battlements rattled with the impact of the missiles. Antony ordered the men to keep their heads down and he peeked over the edge from time to time only to gauge the distance of the enemy. This time, he waited only until the Gauls had reached the first line of the Roman defences, the spurs, since they were already approaching quite slowly, before he gave the order for his artillery archers and slingers to open up. The Gauls were more loosely packed this time, but the daylight allowed the Roman auxiliaries more accuracy, and the Gallic casualties quickly mounted. Antony began to feel confident that this attack would also be repelled. And how many more maulings could the Gauls take before their men refused to continue?

  A messenger came racing up to Antony.

  ‘Legate, Trebonius sent me to fetch you. He is at the inner wall. Vercingetorix is attacking.’

  Antony left a tribune with orders to hold at all costs, and followed the messenger at a run. When he reached Trebonius, the men at the fortifications facing Alesia were already under attack from the Gallic missile warriors. Trebonius pointed out the equipment the infantry had brought with them: shelters made of wood and wattle that they could hide underneath to protect them from the Roman arrows and bullets, as well as more hurdles and hooks on ropes and poles to assault the palisade and the ramparts. Under the cover of the portable shelters, the Gauls resumed their previous task of filling in the lilies and ditches with earth to make it easier to reach the foot of the Roman wall.

  Antony watched as they came forward, yard by yard, slowly dismantling or neutralising each of the Roman traps, while the slings rattled harmlessly off their shelters, and the arrows lodged in the wooden beams, soon making each shelter take on the appearance of a hedgehog.

  ‘We’re going to need more reinforcements,’ said Antony. ‘They are concentrating everything at this point in a pincer, from within and without.’

  ‘I agree.’ Trebonius sent a messenger to the legates stationed elsewhere around the circumvallation to send what they could.

  Antony went to a ballista crew, one of those he had asked to demonstrate their prowess previously. He pointed out one of the mobile shelters.

  ‘There is your target. Show me again what you can do.’

  The men twisted the handles to set the torsion on the ropes, with an effort loaded the ballista with a rock the size of a small dog, took careful aim, then released. With a loud twang of the ropes and a thwack as the arms pinged forward and hit their limits, the rock arced out and down. It smashed the shelter into kindling and crushed two of the warriors as if a giant foot had stamped on them. Cheers rang out along the ramparts.

  ‘All artillery,’ yelled Antony. ‘Target those shelters. Pass the word.’

  Not every shot was as accurate, and the artillery numbers were tiny compared to the amount of Gauls descending towards them under cover. But they slowed the Gauls’ progress further, and reduced the flood of warriors reaching the foot of the palisade.

  Eventually, though, the Gauls were upon them, using their hooked ropes and poles to break the battlements and expose the defenders to missile fire, throwing their hurdles against the walls and heaping up earth so they could clamber up. Soon the Roman legionaries were fighting hand to hand along great lengths of the fortification, stretched thin. Antony now cursed the length of the wall that Caesar had constructed. If it hadn’t been so extensive, they could have defended it with fewer men, or concentrated their forces more tightly. As it was, the Romans had to battle more and more Gauls as they clambered onto the ramparts.

  The Romans were tough veterans, professionals, well-equipped and heavily armoured, and they could easily hold their own against a similarly sized force of lightly armoured Gallic infantry, mostly peasant farmers and part-time warriors. The number of Gauls was so huge, though, that the Romans began to tire as the day and the battle wore on. Further, it was demoralising hearing the sounds of battle coming from behind, knowing that if your comrades on the other wall failed, a horde of barbarians would descend upon your unprotected back.

  Still, the Romans were holding out. Antony wondered if the battle would stop when darkness fell. He had a feeling that it would not, that this was the last fight. He raced up and down the defences of both walls, directing reinforcements where they were needed, issuing orders to concentrate the missiles here and there, never flagging or wavering, however much his legs burned and his heart pounded from running up and down steps and ladders in full armour.

  Then a messenger arrived.

  ‘Message from Caesar, legate. The Gauls are attacking to the north.’

  Instinctively, Antony looked northwards, though he could make out little from where he stood. He knew though, that the defences were light in that area. There was a large hill there that, because of its circumference, the engineers had been unable to completely surround with walls. A camp had been placed on the reverse slope, and Caesar had hoped that the Gauls would not detect the weakness, or if they did, that they would find the hilly terrain too challenging for an attack. Caesar had clearly miscalculated on both counts.

  ‘Legate Labienus and the proconsul are going to take the reserves there. You are to ask for, and expect, no further reinforcements, and you are to hold with what you have.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Antony, and he instructed the messenger to find Trebonius and relay the instructions to him as well. Briefly, Antony fretted about the new threat. There were only two legions stationed there, under Gaius Antistius Reginus and Gaius Caninius Rebilus. They would be poorly fortified and vastly outnumbered.

  But there was nothing he could do about it, and he had his own orders, and his own enemies to deal with. He turned his attention back to ensuring that, on his sector at least, the Gauls would not break through.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until after the battle was over that Antony learned what had happened during the assault on the northern defences and elsewhere. A relative of Vercingetorix called Vercassivellaunus, had gathered sixty thousand of the best Gallic warriors and concealed them behind the hills to the north, leading them against the weak point in the Roman defences as soon as the defenders were fully occupied with the attack on their strongest point from the plains.

  The Gauls poured down the hill towards the Roman camp, which was unfavourably situated on the reverse slope of the mount, meaning the Gauls had a height advantage, and could pour arrows and javelins directly into the camp itself.

  Caesar, watching from his vantage point on the mountain to the south, saw the threat and immediately sent Labienus with six cohorts to reinforce the camp, but with latitude to withdraw and counter-attack if it seemed the camp could not be held. He then set out himself with his bodyguard, riding round the circumvallation, crying out encouragement to every man he passed.

  Then Vercingetorix changed his tactics. Frustrated by the success with which Antony and Trebonius had held him at bay, he directed his men with their siege equipment to the Roman defences to the south, on the slopes of the mountain. The Roman numbers there were depleted, since they had been drawn on for reinforcements elsewhere, not least by Antony and Trebonius. Soon Vercingetorix and his men were making a dent in the defences and they got close enough to tear down the ramparts and parapet. Caesar sent Decimus Brutus in with six cohorts to repel the invaders, then Gaius Fabius with seven more, when that was not enough. The Gauls were breaking through, and as soon as they were inside the Roman fortifications, the entire Roman defence would collapse, like a rickety Suburan insula during an earthquake.

  Now Caesar, to Antony’s dismay, withdrew troops from the hard-pressed sector that Antony and Trebonius were defending. Although the attack from the direction of the town had lifted as Vercingetorix redirected his attention, the assault from outside had redoubled, and Antony nearly despaired of keeping the Gauls out as he watched Caesar himself lead his men away. More and more Gauls were pouring onto the ramparts, and Antony and Trebonius were almost constantly in the fight themselves now, sword arms bruised and exhausted, voices nearly gone from shouting orders.

  But Caesar could see the whole picture, and he knew where the need was greatest. He led the weary men in a charge against the breach. The sight of Caesar himself in the action, calling encouragement and waving his sword around his head, gave an enormous boost to the defenders. With renewed energy, they pushed the Gauls back and regained the walls, clearing the ramparts of all Vercingetorix’s men.

  The demoralised Gauls, weakened with hunger, broke and retreated back up the hills into Alesia. Cheers rang out around the southern sector, and the Romans to the north heard their comrades’ celebrations and took heart.

  But then Caesar received news that Labienus had been unsuccessful in stemming the assault to the north.

  Caesar rushed to the cavalry camp, and ordered some of the reserves to follow him while he sent the rest in the opposite direction around the fortifications in a desperate dash of many miles. He then rode with his bodyguard and cavalry straight to the north, where the Romans were about to crumble. Again, his mere presence was enough to strengthen his men, and when he immediately led his cavalry into the attack the Gauls wavered.

  But now, Vercassivellaunus, who had been watching from the top of the nearby hill, saw Caesar commit himself, and seeing his chance, raced down the hill into the battle with all his reserves. The Roman lines crumpled apart, and then the battle degenerated into a vicious brawl. Gauls and Romans were so mingled together that no missiles could be used by either side. Individual strength of arms was all that counted.

  Here the Romans had an advantage, with their superior armour and weaponry. Protected behind their shields, they stabbed out at the unprotected Gauls to thrust, twist and withdraw, their gladii causing horrific injury each time they struck home. The battle wavered to and fro, now favouring the Romans with their defences, now the Gauls with their overwhelming superiority in numbers. And it was the numbers that began to tell, with the Romans slowly being forced back.

  And then the Roman cavalry reinforcements arrived. Having galloped all the way around the circumvallation over hilly, rough terrain, their horses were blowing, their wind nearly gone. But, urged on by their riders, they charged out of the main gates of the outer wall and straight into the Gallic flank and rear.

  Now, Vercassivellaunus’ men found themselves trapped between the Roman infantry line and whatever defences still held, and the Roman cavalry, of which they were already afraid.

  They broke.

  In a state of utter panic, they attempted to flee in all directions. But the Romans, having spent so long besieged, having spent all day fighting for their lives, were not about to let them go so easily. Forgetting their wounds and their fatigue, they rushed out of the camp and set about hacking down every escaping Gaul they could get near. The cavalry ran down any that evaded the legionaries. Some Gauls managed to return to their own lines, but not many. Vercassivellaunus was not among them, having been knocked down by a German cavalryman and then captured by the infantry, who saw from his clothing and jewellery that he was an important figure worth more alive than dead.

  Antony knew none of this until the next morning. Nor, if he had known, could he have done anything to help. With his forces stripped bare to provide the reinforcements at the two breaches of the defences to the north and south, he and Trebonius and their men fought for their lives. Legionaries to Antony’s left and right fell by the dozen; a spear thrust in the guts, an arrow in the throat, an axe to the head. Antony summoned every last reserve of strength to keep fighting, but he knew he could not continue for much longer. Some of the men he fought with had his level of physical fitness, but many did not. Any man who tired, who could not lift his shield or sword quickly enough, was quickly finished by the fresh Gauls who continued to swarm up the defences.

  A Gallic warrior suddenly appeared in front of Antony, and one-handed, swung a hand axe at his head. Antony ducked, but he was too slow, and the axe bit into his helmet. He was knocked backward off the rampart, arms flailing, and landed flat on his back, directly on the corpse of legionary who had died earlier in the day. Although the body broke his fall, the wind was knocked out of his chest, and the blow to his helmet set his ears ringing as the world rotated slowly around him.

  He lay still, staring at the sky, stunned.

  ‘Legate! Legate!’

  He couldn’t lift his head, and he wondered if he had broken his neck or his back. His whole body was numb. A capsarius rushed over to him, checked his pulse and his breathing. Then he slapped him hard around the face. Antony gasped and sat up. His head swam, his back felt like he had been trampled face down by elephants, and when he took a deep breath, an excruciating pain told him he had broken a rib.

  He staggered to his feet, retrieved his sword and grabbed the rungs of the ladder leading back up to the ramparts. The capsarius tried to restrain him and he shrugged him off angrily, and slowly, unsteadily, ascended.

  Strong hands helped him up, but he dropped to his knees. With a monumental effort, he stood, holding his sword out before him in a trembling hand. He looked around, searching for an enemy.

  There were none.

  The assault had ended. He looked out over the battlements and saw that the Gauls were retreating back through the Roman defences towards the plain. A steady missile fire picked many of them off, and not a few succumbed to the lilies and spurs in their careless haste to escape. Antony turned around and looked towards Alesia. Vercingetorix’s men were similarly in full flight back up the slope towards the defences of the hillfort.

  Antony put his back against one of the crenellations on the rampart, and slid slowly down it until his backside was on the floor, his legs sticking out.

  They had held.

  * * *

  Antony stood beside Caesar with the other legates. Caesar looked resplendent in his scarlet robe and his oak-leaf civic crown. He was seated on a wooden throne on a raised platform, hurriedly but expertly constructed by the legionary carpenters. The platform was situated at the bottom of the hill facing Alesia, and as they waited expectantly, Antony looked out over the carnage.

  Corpses were strewn across the slope in all directions, with the majority concentrated directly in front of the Roman ramparts, although those nearest to Caesar’s throne had been dragged away and tossed into an open pit. Some of the bodies had been there for a considerable time, especially the women and children, the sick and the infirm that Vercingetorix had expelled, and the stench of decay wafted through the air, almost overwhelming when a gust of wind came from the wrong direction.

  Antony kept his back straight, though his broken rib screamed every time he took a breath. He had taken no part in the final mopping-up action, although he could have fought on if he needed to. Instead, he directed vexillations of tired but elated legionaries to make repairs to the defences: the ramparts, the crenellated battlements, the lilies and tombstones and spurs. At that time it was still far from certain whether the Gauls would be able to regroup for another assault. They still had superiority in pure manpower.