
07 Nov The Battle of Munda (PHILIP BARLAG)
“No” was not something Caesar heard very often, especially from his army. Openly defying his orders, his men folded their arms and refused to advance. It infuriated the great commander. Caesar tore off his helmet and cast it aside. He wanted to be sure his army had their eyes on him, their leader, and what he was about to do. If he had to die to prove a point, then he would, and he wanted them all to see it happen.
It was 45 BC. His army was exhausted. They had marched relentlessly to catch the enemy, and rather than give them time to rest, Caesar ordered the men to charge once again. At first they obeyed, surging toward an army of nearly twice as many soldiers. As they came within throwing distance, their enemy let loose a volley of javelins—six-foot-long, solid-wood shafts tipped by big iron points honed to a remorseless, razorlike sharpness. As the volleys fell on Caesar’s troops, many in the front lines fell. Scared, tired, and surrounded by dead comrades, the advance ground to a halt.
Defying his commands to advance, this army, unusually timid in the face of an enemy position, was not budging. It was surely sweltering in the Spanish sun, with the heavy burden of armor and equipment, but that was better than charging headlong into certain death. For Caesar, the situation was critical. It was time to move; there could be no more delay. What could he do? How could one man compel an entire army to overcome its obstinacy and attack?
Pushing his way forward from the safety of the rear, Caesar sized up his army. A typical Roman response would have been to make an example out of a few malcontents, to order the beating or death of a few to send a message to the many. Caesar’s contemporaries would have deemed such a course of action justified, if not expected. That wasn’t how he led. What good would come from exacting a leader’s vengeful prerogative? The army still wouldn’t want to advance, and they would resent him to boot. For Caesar, it was dear. If his army wouldn’t attack, then he would by himself.
After shedding his helmet and making sure that they saw him clearly, Caesar questioned the bravery of his soldiers. He then turned around and charged headlong uphill toward the enemy army. Alone. One Roman general, sword in hand, running unprotected to take on an entire army.
Caesar led by example, even in the face of death. If he wanted his army to act, then he knew that he had to expect the same of himself. He had to lead from the front. With each step, he moved farther away from the safety of his own men and closer to his destiny. His enemies must have been giddy seeing him approach, his own men dumbfounded. In just a few steps he was within range of the enemy’s javelins, and they let loose a massive volley, hundreds of deadly weapons, all zeroed in on one target. As the shower of spears reached their apogee and arced toward their descent, the life of the greatest leader of his age—and perhaps of any age—hung in the delicate balance between luck and gravity.
Caesar’s one-man attack shook his men out of their torpor. As the javelins plunged toward their target, the army frantically rushed forward to keep up with their commander. Shamed into action through his courage, they charged with frenzy. The men advanced hard on the heels of their general, and they quickly overtook him, engaging enemy and allowing Caesar the cover of his soldiers. But Caesar didn’t fade to the safety of the rear. He continued to fight, hand to hand, wielding his sword in the thick of the bloody fighting. Caesar ducked, dodged, and used his shield to maximum effect. Somehow, all the spears missed their mark, and he was unscathed. When one was lucky, it was considered to be demonstrable proof of the favor of the gods, and certainly Caesar had been lucky beyond measure. His army witnessed an entire volley of spears, each pointed directly at him, fall harmlessly to the earth. The gods were on his side because he led from the front, and his army was on his side, too.
Caesar’s army claimed victory after a gruesome day of fighting. Their pride and honor were restored and morale surged. Most important, their devotion to their leader reached even greater depths. Caesar famously stated that at previous battles, he had fought for victory, but at this one, he fought for his life. Rather than beat or bully his men into action, he his own life on the line to demonstrate his commitment to the cause that he asked them to pursue.
The Leadership Genius of Julius Caesar
Phillip Barlag