Winter Quarters, page 14
As we rode southward through Asia we came to understand that we had never left Greece. The country we rode through was broken and mountainous, cut up by arms of the sea which could only be passed by long detours; there were tangled forests and open heaths, as well as great stretches of arable and long slopes of vines. The farms and fields were more extensive than any we had seen, as though here land was cheap and the men too few to work it. But the cities were crowded and rich, and they were utterly Greek.
Nicanor explained this to us. He was as free as we were, or if anything more free; for he travelled at his own expense, though it had been promised that when we reached Antioch he would be put on the strength as a guide. He came with us whenever we went sightseeing, and told us the history of the great cities we visited. His story was that long ago all this land had been conquered by the Greeks; though later, as the empire of Alexander broke up, native rulers from the countryside had imposed themselves on the Greek citizens.
We moved steadily along, the legions covering their twenty miles a day at the unhurrying, inexorable pace of the Roman army on a journey; and as every evening we inspected the sights of another Greek city, I began to perceive that they were not really so Greek after all.
The colonnaded temples were built of stained marble, but they were dedicated to gods unknown in Hellas. Citizens loitered in the public square to make speeches and hear them, but in the end they did what their king told them to do. They were too busy earning a living to have time for politics; whereas a true Greek will starve while he debates the government of his city. The biggest make-believe of all was the training of the young men. This athletic and military training is supposed to be the highest peak of Greek culture, the great Greek contribution to civilised life. In every city we visited we might watch the young men throwing spears or wrestling together. Of course they were stark naked, and went out of their way to impress on visitors that they felt no shame for exposing themselves; that also is supposed to be a Greek characteristic, unknown among barbarians. Nicanor said they went too far in shouting amorous invitations at the marching soldiers, for though Greeks approve of love-affairs between men it should be real love and not casual enjoyment. But he excused it on the ground that they were being self-consciously Greek, and perhaps overdoing it in their enthusiasm. He pointed out these groups of young men with great pride, and asked whether we in Gaul had any similar institution.
I said that, of course, our young warriors practised the use of their weapons, though normally they did it at home, not in a group for all to see; since until they were expert they did not want strangers to criticise their swordplay. I then asked where we might see the finished article. Did the garrisons of these cities also exercise publicly in the open?
Nicanor answered airily that few of the cities were garrisoned. Roman troops on the frontier guarded them from invasion, and to keep internal order their rulers preferred to hire barbarian mercenaries; in many cases the walls were never manned, and elderly slave watchmen closed the gates each night. The cities possessed no armed force of their own.
‘In other words,’ said Acco in disgust, ‘these youths prance naked from mere shamelessness. They are not training for war. They do not expect war, and if war comes their rulers will hire strangers to defend them. In Gaul only nobles learn to fence and ride, but every peasant will turn out with axe or scythe if his people need him. I think our serfs possess more of the dignity of free men than these unarmed and timid citizens.’
Acco did not like Asia at all. It was so obviously the domain of the Goddess. In nearly every temple the most sacred image was the Lady in one of her forms, usually the Bride whom the ignorant miscall the Maiden. Sometimes a male god was worshipped, but one could see he was the son or consort of the Goddess. There was no secrecy about it. The Goddess might go by the name of some Greek servant of Skyfather; but a Mother whose whole torso is covered with many breasts is not called Artemis the Maiden Huntress with intent to deceive.
Acco was beginning to think we had outdistanced the vengeance of Pyrene. ‘I have greater honour and more riches than if I had stayed at home,’ he said to me, as we rode away from a rather horrid little shrine where offerings of blood and pine-cones stank before a figure of the Lady of Wild Beasts. ‘To the men of our valley Pyrene is only a name, though she wields great power. Here both men and women perform public rites in honour of the Great Mother, but all is so open that she is scarcely feared. The Goddess is older than Skyfather. But since throughout Gaul and the west Skyfather has displaced her, it is reasonable to suppose that he is the stronger. But we are certainly under the protection of Skyfather, as is all the army. Our leader sacrifices to him daily, and the standards we march under are the dwelling of the Wargod. Their protection will preserve us.’
‘Perhaps we might count on that,’ I answered, to encourage his good spirits. ‘Where the Goddess is worshipped in secret she is to be feared, where her altars are public she has no power. In that case we should be safe in Syria, where by all accounts she rules splendidly.’
5. Syria
When at last we entered Syria, after marching all winter through the cities and plains of Asia, the Goddess met us on every side. And here she is worshipped as the Bride, or rather as the Courtesan; young and desirable, she blesses the bed and hides her power as the Mistress of Wild Beasts. We thought the rites we witnessed more disgusting than pious; with us that sort of thing is not done publicly in a holy place (though Gauls do it often enough and find it enjoyable). Acco admitted that a noble warrior ought not to be afraid of a divinity who was rather the butt of coarse jokes than an awesome avenger.
Antioch is in its own way more beautiful than Athens and more impressive than Rome, though it has no buildings to compare with the Capitol or the Acropolis. Its walls climb the steep slopes of Mount Silpius, whose summit is crowned by an almost impregnable citadel. Westward the river Orontes flows through wooded mountains to the sea, and among these hanging slopes lie the groves of Daphne. The troops had heard fascinating tales of what took place in the groves of Daphne, but they were out of bounds to the army; for at last we had genuine military duties to keep us busy.
On the day after we marched into Antioch the whole force paraded in the plain by the river, to witness the formal handing over of the province by the retiring Proconsul, Aulus Gabinius. He was going home in theoretical disgrace, to answer a charge of levying war without the Senate’s permission. The charge was true, but Gabinius would not be punished; for he had acted on the instructions of Caesar and Pompeius, or at least with their consent. I gathered from Nicanor, who enjoyed gossiping about eastern politics, that what he had really done was to occupy Egypt without waiting for orders from Rome. Financially this had been profitable, both to Gabinius and the Roman People; but as a result most of his infantry were in Alexandria. When he handed over his charge to the new Proconsul he added only a few cohorts to our forces.
I watched as these men took oath to their new commander, and once again I realised that I was meeting a new kind of Roman soldier. These were not the reckless well-disciplined adventurers who had followed Caesar to the conquest of Gaul, neither were they the slack but willing yokels who had filled the new legions of Crassus. These men were veterans, well trained and difficult to kill; but sly veterans, who drank too much and slept too little. Of course, vice and dishonesty were not actually branded on their foreheads, but if you see soldiers every day for a year or two you get to recognise these signs. I felt that Caesar’s men would bring in wounded comrades at risk of their lives, and the raw recruits of Crassus might abandon them to the enemy; but the veterans of Gabinius would think first of going through their money-belts.
After only three days in Antioch we set out for the frontier. Nicanor came with us as scoutmaster; and as he had no set place in the column of march, he frequently rode with Acco and myself.
The gay young merchant went to war in a most unmilitary spirit. He was intensely interested, because it was all new to him; but he did not seem to care which side won. He believed that empires are overthrown by political combinations, and that honest fighting with swords is a clumsy way of settling international disputes. According to him, if Gabinius had seized his opportunities there would have been no need for a great Roman army.
‘The Parthians are barbarians who rule over Greeks, which is against nature and a most precarious foundation for a state,’ he explained, as we plodded through thick dust-clouds towards the Euphrates. ‘You Romans are newcomers out here, and you don’t understand the arts by which eastern kings reign. Our rulers keep great state and look very powerful; but they seldom dare to embark on foreign war for fear of being overthrown by a successful general. If a king is hostile to Rome the sensible thing is to wait until he is murdered by his heir, or anyway murdered by someone; which is bound to happen in a few years. This war is unnecessary. The Parthians stupidly missed their chance to destroy Rome’s power in the east, and now your Gabinius has missed his chance of destroying Parthia. So now merchants like my father must see the trade routes closed and all prices rising against them, just because foreigners from the ends of the earth think they can’t collect our taxes without first winning a lot of bloody battles.’
‘You forget that we know nothing of Syrian affairs,’ said Acco. ‘Two years ago I had never heard of Antioch, or of Parthia. What are these chances that have been missed?’
‘Well, King Mithradates of Pontus nearly chased the Romans out of Asia. If the Parthians had joined him he must have succeeded. Of course then he would have attacked Parthia, and perhaps the Parthians thought a wily Asiatic more dangerous than any Roman Proconsul. But I think they refused to help him because they fear Rome.’
‘Will this Mithradates join the Parthians against us?’ I asked.
‘Oh no, he’s been dead for nearly ten years. He committed suicide when his son rebelled and dethroned him. Perhaps he was foolish to allow a son to grow up, but he had already killed several of them and he wanted his dynasty to go on.’
‘And Gabinius, what chance has he missed?’
‘That was only last year. Another Mithradates, a Parthian prince, rebelled against King Orodes, his brother. He seized the throne but couldn’t keep it, and when he was beaten he fled to Gabinius. A Roman army half the size of this could have restored him; instead Gabinius went off to plunder Egypt. Now Mithradates is back in Parthia, fighting his brother. But he’s besieged in Seleucia. If we marched there directly we might join either side, and install a king friendly to Rome. Instead I hear we are to spend the summer ravaging the cities of the Euphrates. By next winter the civil war will be ended, one way or the other.’
‘You can’t conquer a country without fighting,’ said Acco sternly. ‘It’s no good occupying fortresses unless the people know they have been beaten. Anyway, if all these rulers are so insecure, why don’t you Greeks win your freedom from them?’
‘A Greek tyrant is more expensive than a barbarian who is greedy but stupid,’ answered Nicanor with a shrug. ‘It’s no use telling a Greek that the money isn’t there. He knows. For more than two hundred years Egypt has been under Greek rule, and the taxes there are much heavier than in Syria.’
Acco was shocked, and even I thought Nicanor rather lacking in honour. But he was an amusing companion in the ordinary affairs of life. Soon he had us in a good humour again as he described how a desert Arab had sold him the same camel three times over, by altering the brands on its hide.
These camels are queer beasts. At first we thought we ought to learn how to manage them. But no one can look after both horses and camels; for horses, even our Gallic horses who had never before encountered them, will have nothing to do with the nasty creatures; they cannot endure the stink. In the end we decided that our horses probably knew best, for they are honourable beasts. The management of camels is not an occupation for gentlemen.
Once we reached the river Euphrates we marched in full battle order, since that river is the boundary of Parthia. That meant that we saw no more of Nicanor, who stuck close to headquarters while we rode with the van. Our Gallic comrades were very excited at the prospect of action. For the last two years they had marched through the peaceful provinces of Rome; few of them had kept their swords sheathed for so long since they first bore arms. They squabbled with the Arab scouts, whom they accused of driving away the enemy and so cheating gallant Gauls of their prey.
For though we rode in the van of the Roman army, the whole desert on both banks of the river was patrolled by Arab horsemen. The desert is the home of these Arabs, where they wander with their grazing camels. In theory they are all subject either to Rome or to Parthia; though only a well-mounted tax-gatherer can get any profit from them. Merchants hire them to guard their caravans, which is a splendid arrangement for the Arabs – who are the only thieves in the desert.
In that summer every Arab warrior had been taken into pay by Rome or Parthia, or sometimes by both. They scouted zealously among gravel ravines and stony hillocks, continually galloping back to report the movements of strange horsemen – who always turned out to be friendly Arabs of another tribe. If there was a Parthian army over the next crest they might inform us or they might not, depending on which side had paid them last. But we had to rely on their scouting, for we Gauls, the only other horse in the Roman army, could not range over this broken waterless country like the natives. The army marched blind.
I said as much to Publius Crassus, but he replied that it did not matter. ‘When the Parthians attack us we shall beat them, and the sooner the better. It doesn’t help to know where they are, for their whole army is mounted and our foot can’t catch them. We intend to threaten their cities until they either offer battle or run back to their deserts in the far north-east.’ After a pause he continued: ‘When you fight in these parts you always hire local Arabs; it’s the custom. They are not much use as allies and not much danger as foes, but they are cheap and they need the money.’
‘Why not pay us extra, and let us do the scouting?’ I persisted.
‘Because my father needs you on the battlefield. If you went off to patrol the desert half your horses would be destroyed, and you are too valuable to be frittered away in skirmishes. When we fight our battle these Arabs will be afraid to charge, and we shall need steady cavalry to cover the flanks of the foot. Tell your comrades how important they are, and they will feel more cheerful. And remind them that the plunder of Seleucia will be enough to make every man in the army rich for life.’
That is how Romans plan war. One reason why their army has no proper cavalry of its own is that they are always eager for battle, and so well disciplined that an enemy gains no advantage by surprising them. They march straight ahead into hostile country until the defenders are forced to meet them. In this particular army no one was very interested in the inevitable battle; everyone thought and talked of nothing but the fabulous treasure said to be laid up in Seleucia. The battle would come, and the Romans would win it; the subject was not worth discussion.
But that summer there was no battle. The enemy had other foes to cope with, and Marcus Crassus did not lead us boldly into the heart of their land, where they must either fight or submit. We learned from Arab spies that the greater part of the Parthian army was gathered before Seleucia, where two sons of the late king fought for the crown; while the Surenas, a great Parthian war-chief whose force consisted largely of his own sworn comrades, lay on the north-western frontier, to threaten Armenia. So we reached the Euphrates unopposed, and there sat down as though we had all the time in the world, while Syrian engineers constructed a bridge of boats.
When we crossed to the eastern bank it was high summer, and already too hot for cavalry campaigning. Our horses sickened daily; if we had attempted to pass the waterless desert we would all have been on foot by the fourth day.
Instead our commander led us up a tributary of the great river, a small stream which flowed in from the east. Its banks were dotted with little Greek towns which paid tribute to the king of the Parthians; but though they had walls, which might have been defended, they surrendered as soon as our great army appeared. We were not permitted to plunder them, though in each we left a small garrison. It was hard on us Gauls, who after our astounding journey right across the known world found no enemy to fight, and no treasury to plunder.
While the main body was still on the march, our Arab allies claimed to have won a great victory. In fact they had encountered only the other Arabs who had been hired to fight for the Parthians. The Parthian chief who governed that frontier, a noble named Sillaces, led off his small force of genuine Parthian horse without fighting; and his Arab allies had to change sides openly, instead of deserting him on the battlefield as they had planned to do.
Our Roman recruits were eager to record the first victory of the campaign, so that they might be reckoned as veterans who had seen active service; but no one could exaggerate the orderly retirement of Sillaces into a victory. Our soldiers were very pleased when another example of petty treachery gave them an excuse to draw their swords against a helpless foe.
We had dropped a garrison in the town of Zenodotium while the main army continued north-east towards Carrhae, on the headwaters of the stream. I suppose this garrison behaved badly, raping or robbing; for what happened next was unexpected. The people of Zenodotium rose in arms, and after massacring the Roman garrison sent messages of loyalty to the king of the Parthians.
