Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 11
Meanwhile, the months marched by. On the other hand, we did not, so that it was not until Januarius of the next year that the Primi Pili were summoned to the villa on the Campus Martius, which served as the Praetorium whenever Antonius was present. Antonius and Octavian had worked out some system that gave them the command of the army on alternating weeks, so their mutual hostility meant that they were rarely, if ever, in joint command, or even used the same building for their respective headquarters. It was quite complicated, trying to remember who was commanding the army at any given time, and I was just thankful that both men had dropped any pretense of including Lepidus, who was forced to content himself with his duties as Pontifex Maximus. When we were assembled, we were met by Antonius, who strode into the room with red-rimmed eyes and a surly disposition.
“He’s hung over,” whispered Corbulo, who I was standing next to as we stood to intente.
He certainly looked that way to me, but I had never paid much attention to the actions of Antonius, at least as far as they did not impact me, so I just shrugged.
“Just like half the men on any given day,” I whispered back, but instead of a laugh, it elicited a grunt that I interpreted as disagreement of some type.
While Antonius busied himself snapping at some hapless Tribune attending him, I looked at Corbulo with a raised eyebrow.
Seeing me look at him, he looked a bit uncomfortable before he broke eye contact, looking away. He said defensively, “He’s always drunk, carrying on like I don’t know what. Did you hear about the time he tried to harness lions to a chariot?”
Of course, I had; not a Roman alive had not heard the tale by that point, but I did not see his point and I said so.
“It’s just that he's one of the men running Rome right now. I would expect that he'd cut back on some of his binges. He’s got a lot of responsibilities.”
I could not help laughing. Nothing I had ever seen in the actions of Marcus Antonius led me to believe that he was capable of moderation in anything.
“That’s asking a lot,” I replied, but before the conversation could continue, Antonius finally called the meeting to order.
“I didn’t ask you here to hear you chatter,” he said sourly. “I've decided that we're going to move the army in preparation for finally putting those cunni Brutus and Cassius down to avenge the death of Caesar.”
Now, this was about the most self-serving, cynical piece of talk I had heard, even coming from a man as self-serving and cynical as Antonius, who seemed oblivious to the sidelong glances we gave each other. It had been Antonius who instituted the policy of amnesty covering The Liberators, making public announcements that they were forgiven; now here he was acting as if he had always been about exacting retribution against them.
“I've also decided that we'll be moving by sea, and to that end we're going to begin transferring the army down to Brundisium. My Tribunes will be posting the schedule of movement by the end of the day. The first Legions need to be ready to march in ten days, and the entire army will be moved by the end of the month.”
Instead of the usual buzzing of conversation, the silence was total, blanketing the room and was something that not even Antonius could ignore. Looking around at us, glaring at first one face then another, he finally let out a huge sigh, throwing his hands up in the air.
“What is it now? Somebody tell me.”
There was a pause, then I heard a voice that I recognized as Torquatus’ ask, “What about Sextus and his fleets?”
“That's for me to worry about,” Antonius snapped. “Your job is to make your men ready to march. That is all.”
With that, he turned then stalked out of the room, leaving a now-buzzing room behind him as we all began talking.
While I was thankful that we now had things to keep the men busy, it also meant that once again there were a thousand details to attend to, and as we were at least in theory marching to go into battle, that meant that everything had to be checked from the ground up. Although to that point we had never used any of our artillery for anything except training, the wood on some of the ballistae and scorpions was cracked and needed to be replaced, meaning that seasoned wood had to be found, which of course was high on the list of every other Legion who faced the same problem. There had been a bad drought throughout the countryside the year before, so that we had dug more deeply into the reserves of our food stores than we normally would have, and now that shortfall had to be made up somehow. We were one of the Legions marching the first day, requiring us to work the hardest, but the Centurions knew what they were about, so the work went as smoothly as could be expected. Right on schedule, we marched off the Campus Martius, heading down the Via Appia for Brundisium, the men in high spirits, and truth be known, so were the Centurions. We had been cooped up on the Campus for almost a year, and there is nothing quite like marching down the open road with your comrades. Even with the inevitable straggling and moaning, it was the happiest I had seen the men for some time. We did not march at quite the pace of a Caesar, but we covered more than 20 miles a day, and as we got fitter from the daily marching, the distance extended a little every day.
Once we arrived in Brundisium, I was happy to learn that the restrictions from marching about the countryside of Campania were not in place here, the Triumvirs obviously not as concerned for the citizens around Brundisium as they were around Campania. Whatever the reason, it allowed us to take the men out to continue their training, making sure the fitness they gained on the march down was not lost. Over a period of a couple of weeks, almost the rest of the army came down to Brundisium, whereupon we prepared for the second part of the operation: the transport of the army to Greece. Despite Antonius assuring us that there was nothing to worry about on the part of Sextus, from everything we were hearing we had plenty of cause for concern. Sextus was master of Sicily, and when Octavian sent one of his most trusted men, Salvidienus Rufus, to expel Sextus and capture his fleet, he was soundly defeated by Pompey’s sole surviving son. That meant that Sextus’ fleet was not tied down in any way, so with that in mind, I paid a hefty bribe to one of Antonius’ Tribunes to ensure that we were not part of the advance wave going to Greece. I did not want untested men trapped onboard ships if Sextus’ fleet showed up because it was nerve-wracking enough for veterans to be in that situation. We then spent the next few months waiting again as the Triumvirs squabbled about what to do about Sextus, along with just about everything else. As it turned out, I did not have to worry, since apparently Antonius paid a bribe of his own, this to Sextus, because his fleet was nowhere to be seen as the army finally made its crossing. We went in the third wave, just ahead of the last that carried supplies and the stragglers from the Legions that had already shipped over. This last wave was the only group that had any trouble, although it was from a fleet belonging to The Liberators and not Sextus, a couple of ships being lost. The advance guard had immediately started east along the Via Egnatia, while as soon as the rest of the army was gathered, we followed behind. The latest intelligence had Brutus and Cassius much further west, beyond the end of the Via Egnatia, though we did not know if they were marching towards us or were waiting for us.
On the march, I was disturbed by the mood of the men, who seemed much too subdued for my comfort. While I was aware that this march was different from everything we had done to date; we were, after all, marching to battle, at least that was the feeling among all of us, it was still unsettling to see the men in this state. Before, we marched from one place to another even though the prospect for a fight had been remote, yet this time there was a high probability that we would be standing in line, looking over our shields at men we were supposed to kill, and it was clear that this was very much on the men’s minds.
Finally, one night I called the Pili Priores together to talk about what I was seeing.
“What’s the problem with the men?” I demanded, looking from one face to another, who in turn were looking at each other, waiting for someone to speak.
Finally, Scribonius took it upon himself and answered, “They’re worried,” he replied, causing me to snort in derision.
“I know that,” I shot back. “But why? We weren’t like that back in Hispania against the Lusitani, and we had only been training for a couple of months when we fought our first battle.”
“I think that’s part of the problem,” Scribonius countered, and I knew well enough to keep my mouth shut to let him talk. “They’ve had more than three years to sit and wonder what it’s going to be like, and to hear the stories of the veterans about how horrible it will be, and how many friends they're going to lose. We didn’t have much time to think about it before we were actually doing it.”
“And they don’t have Caesar,” Nigidius added, and I saw everyone’s head nodding at this.
I sighed, knowing that Scribonius had touched the nub of the problem, while Nigidius had spoken truly as well.
“So what do we do about it?” I asked, but this time, nobody had anything to say, no matter how much I prodded.
Finally, Scribonius shrugged, then said, “We can make offerings to Mars and Bellona that when the time comes, they'll do what they’re supposed to.”
With that encouraging word, I dismissed the Pili Priores, then sat and brooded the rest of the night.
The advance guard was commanded jointly by men named Norbanus and Saxa, and we received word that they had made contact with the forces of Brutus and Cassius at the far eastern end of the Via Egnatia, so in response they split their forces. Saxa occupied the high ground at the Pass of Sapaei, a few miles northeast of Neapolis, while Norbanus marched a few days eastward to occupy the Pass of Corpili. The Via Egnatia made its way through both of these passes, and both Norbanus and Saxa hoped to delay Brutus and Cassius, giving the rest of the army time to find favorable ground on which to fight. Included in their reports about the location of the enemy was the size of The Liberator army and in number alone, it was a daunting report. The dispatches detailed a force of 19 Legions and 13,000 cavalry, composed of Thessalian, Galatian, Thracian, and Illyrian contingents, along with a force of perhaps 4,000 missile troops. None of the Primi Pili wanted word of those numbers leaked to the men, but of course, our hopes were in vain.
The talking was even more subdued around the fires at night, as I found myself walking from one to the other, knowing that this was not the time to come down hard on the men. Instead, I tried to lighten the mood as much as possible, though I was not very successful. Less than a week after these reports came in, a dispatch rider on a lathered horse thundered into the marching camp for the evening, carrying word that The Liberators had managed to dislodge Norbanus. One of the assassins, Cimber, had loaded a Legion and some missile troops on the portion of The Liberator fleet that was shadowing the army along the coast, landing behind Norbanus and forcing him to vacate his position. He was now marching in retreat, heading towards Saxa, still intent on holding the other pass.
Octavian was not with us at that point; though he had shipped over to Greece, he had taken ill, something that happened to him quite a bit, so he was forced to stay behind in the main camp to recuperate. Antonius was in sole command, and when we reached Amphipolis, he ordered us to remain in place for a few days while the situation developed. His hope was that Brutus and Cassius would be stopped at the Sapaean Pass by Norbanus and Saxa, allowing us to circle around to fall on their flank or rear. It was a vain hope. Perhaps if Cassius had not been there, Brutus would have made that mistake, since he was not a military man in any sense of the word. Cassius, on the other hand, was too experienced and he was not going to get bogged down. However, by choosing to bypass the pass, he also gave Antonius an indication of where he was headed because he swung northwest, away from the coast and the protection and resupply of the fleet, which could only mean one thing. The Liberators were heading for Philippi, which was the major supply center of the region. Once their intentions became clear, Antonius wasted no time issuing orders. We were marching to Philippi.
Chapter 3- Philippi
The Liberators beat us to Philippi by a matter of a couple of days, enough time for them to select the best ground on which to set up two camps, each one atop a hill that straddled the Via Egnatia. Brutus took the camp to the north, while Cassius took the southern, then they erected a rampart running between the two camps, blocking passage of the road to the west. We were forced to build our own camp to the east, on the low ground, with a large expanse of marshy ground to the south of us, running roughly parallel to the Via Egnatia, though the western end of the marsh ranged up closer to the road. Half the army worked while the other half stood in battle formation to watch The Liberators, making sure they did not try to attack while we built the camp, but we did not have to worry. There was a steady stream of men deserting, with all of them telling tales of the bickering between Brutus and Cassius, and how Brutus was constantly interfering with Cassius’ command of the army.
I had learned over the years to take anything said by a deserter with a healthy dose of skepticism, as they all seemed to have essentially the same thing to say. Morale on the other side was horrible, the conditions were worse, the officers incompetent. No man wanted to be seen as a coward, and desertion, even from the other side, is a serious offense, so I suppose it makes sense that they would paint a grim picture. Still, from what I saw, it appeared that there was some truth in what the deserters were saying because after we had finished the camp, we arrayed for battle a day later, only to stand out in the hot sun. It was now September; we had wasted literally months either hanging about the Campus Martius, then in Brundisium, waiting for the two Triumvirs to agree on something. It was nice to see that we were not the only one with those kinds of problems, having two generals at each other's throats, constantly disagreeing about any and everything. The only event of any note was Antonius’ decision to have the 10th positioned on the right, along with the 7th, and while I appreciated the vote of confidence, I cannot say that I did not have misgivings. After the first two days, when we would march out, then form up for battle only to stand there, it became apparent that The Liberators were in no hurry to engage us, instead hoping that we would run out of food, being so far from Dyrrhachium, where our principal supply base was located. Seeing and recognizing their inactivity for what it was, Antonius ordered the construction of a trench that cut through the marsh to the south of us, using it as cover to provide an avenue where we could approach the enemy undetected, at least that was the hope. As plans went, it was a good one, and from my viewpoint, it showed signs of Antonius’ cunning and underhandedness, which in wartime is a valuable asset. In politics as well, perhaps, but despite my appreciation of the plan from a military standpoint, it did not make me any more of an admirer of Antonius. The work took almost ten days, and when it was almost finished, I was summoned to the Praetorium, where Antonius and Octavian waited, the latter man having arrived from Dyrrhachium on a litter.
This day he was still unable to stand, so he was reclining on a couch, his face even paler than normal. I admit I was a bit nervous when facing Octavian for the first time since our last meeting, worried that either he or I would inadvertently betray our secret agreement and alert Antonius. However, his face gave barely a flicker of recognition when I entered along with Torquatus and Corbulo, who I had met on the way. It soon became apparent that just the Primi Pili had been called to this meeting, though none of us knew exactly why. Once all 19 of us were present, Antonius wasted no time.
“I need a Legion’s worth of good, salty men to launch an assault through the trench. I want veterans only, and I need each of you to recommend about four Centuries’ worth per Legion.”
His demand was greeted by silence, then he glared at each of us, looking from one face to the next, though none of us said anything, knowing better than to argue. Finally, one of the men asked the question that I know was rattling around in everyone’s minds.
“Who’s going to lead them? And who are the Centurions going to be? How are we going to organize the force?”
“What do I care about any of that drivel?” Antonius snapped. “Why don’t you figure that out and earn your pay for once?”
“I disagree.” This came from Octavian, whose voice, while weak, still carried clearly enough to be heard. “The Primus Pilus is right. This needs to be decided here and not left as some detail that might cause problems during the assault.”
Antonius wheeled angrily on Octavian, who looked at him steadily, not flinching at all, despite Antonius walking over to deliberately tower over him on his litter.
“So says the boy general who’s too weak to stand,” Antonius sneered. “Of course, that means he’s too sick to lead the men from the front. Again.”
Octavian’s face colored, two bright red spots appearing on his cheeks, his lips thinning in anger at the slur. This was a common theme with Antonius ever since his defeat at Mutina, when the two Consuls Hirtius and Pansa had fallen and left Octavian to receive the sole credit for defeating Antonius, despite the fact that Octavian had been ill again. To a man like Antonius, who was never ill, the only reason Octavian could have had for staying in camp was cowardice, so he never passed up a chance to rub it in Octavian’s face. At that moment, the chance to do so in front of men like us was obviously too much to resist.
