Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 15
“There’s only one way to find out,” Octavian replied patiently.
“Fine,” Antonius grumbled, then there was a silence, so I took that opportunity to have one of the clerks enter to tell them I was outside.
“What’s he doing here?” Antonius demanded.
The clerk stammered that he did not know, and Antonius growled in a loud voice, “Pullus. Get in here.”
I entered, saluting both of them, thankful that the way they were positioned it was natural for me to salute Antonius first since he was standing directly opposite the tent flap. Antonius repeated his question, and I gave him as brief a report as I thought I could get away with.
I finished with, “I also want to thank you, sir.”
Antonius looked at me blankly, but I saw Octavian’s head shoot up, feeling his eyes on me.
“Thank me,” Antonius said warily. “For what?”
“For taking heed of my report about our situation, sir. That IS why you launched the assault, isn’t it, sir? Because we had been out of food for four days?”
He said nothing as he looked at me. In that instant, I saw that he had not done any such thing; that in fact, he had completely forgotten about us.
He jerked as if realizing that I had seen through him, as he said sharply, “Of course it is. As soon as I saw your report I knew that something had to be done, and that’s why we made the assault.”
I dared not look at Octavian, yet I could see the small smile playing at his lips, as I thought, I am glad you think it’s funny, though I suppose it was in some ways.
Antonius frowned. “But why are you here now? Who’s at the redoubts?”
“Er, nobody, sir,” I admitted. “I was planning on going back as soon as we resupplied, but with the camp being in the shape it’s in, I’m not sure that we can.”
“Of course you can,” Antonius snapped. “And you will. Right now.”
“Sir, if we go back out now, we’re going to be in the same predicament that we were in when you made your rescue,” I argued, knowing that I was laying it on thick.
Despite that, I was speaking the truth and I could see Antonius knew it.
Then Octavian spoke up. Pullus, the redoubt that you built. Can it be enlarged?”
I thought about it, then had a question of my own.
“How large?” I asked.
Antonius was looking at Octavian as well, his eyes narrowed, not so much in suspicion but in realization at what Octavian was driving at.
“You tell me,” he countered.
I cursed the man for never giving a straight answer.
Finally I said, “In the redoubt that I was holding, maybe for five Legions, but not much more. Scribonius’.” I shook my head. “The ground's too wet. If you got a whole Legion in there, it would be cramped. And too muddy to move.”
“Where are you going with this?” Antonius demanded.
“We need to make a new camp,” Octavian replied. “Rather than rebuilding here, how about we put some pressure on Brutus?”
“Sorry, sir,” I still hated calling Octavian “sir,” though I did it in front of Antonius mainly because it irritated the older man. “There’s no way you’re going to get the whole army, even after the losses we’ve suffered, into one camp out on that ground.”
“Then we break them up into smaller camps, strung out from east to west, putting even more pressure on Brutus’ supply line back to Neapolis.”
“That will only work if we get someone back out there to hold that ground,” Antonius countered.
Seeing a chance for redemption, I said, “If you can get me the food, I'll get out there as soon as we get it. I only have one request.”
Antonius looked wary, as did Octavian, who was the one to ask, “What?”
“Now that the 10th has proven itself, I want to take my Legion out there.”
Antonius scratched his chin, then shrugged.
“I don’t see why not. Besides, we need those veterans to put in the 4th and 12th. All right.” He signaled for a clerk. “I'll get you your supplies. You go get back on that ground, take those redoubts, and wait for the rest of the army.”
While we were waiting for a week’s worth of rations for a whole Legion to be scrounged up, the mystery of the five cornu signals was finally solved, much to my dismay. It turned out that all five men had made it back past the enemy, but since none of them knew the watchword for that night, the particular Centurion of the watch, an idiot of the first grade if not the rank, threw each of them into chains to wait for morning. The fact that five men, each with the same message and the same story approached our camp within thirds of a watch of each other did not alert the Centurion that something was afoot. Fortunately, the Centurion relieving him had a bit more in the brains department, so he released the men, all of whom went racing to the cornu player on watch, each determined to be the winner of my promised bounty, while the duty Centurion went to report to Antonius carrying five tablets bearing the same message. I do not know exactly what happened; I suspect that the five men worked it out and paid the cornicen to sound the signal for each of them, realizing that I would be forced to pay each of them if he did. So I was out 2,500 sesterces, which is a fair amount, even for a Primus Pilus.
The rations were delivered to us, then less than a third of a watch later, the 10th Legion marched out of the gates, heading back up the trench. Reaching the first redoubt, I ordered a stop, sending two Cohorts to destroy it, the decision made by the Triumvirs that since it was too small for our purposes, it should not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Scribonius grumbled a bit at that, nobody liking to see the fruits of their labor go to waste, but it had to be done. The rest of the Legion continued on to the larger redoubt, while I sent a Cohort ahead to make sure that the enemy had not occupied it. Luckily, it was empty and exactly as we left it. We went immediately to work enlarging the redoubt, which we could not have done unobserved if Cassius’ camp had still been occupied, but it remained wrecked and deserted, serving as a screen between what we were doing and prying eyes. The men were not happy at the idea of filling in the ditch on three sides, but it could not be helped since we had to make the redoubt much larger. The only part of the camp that could be used was the rampart closest to the trench that led back to the main camp, although it had to be extended to the east and west to accommodate the larger size of the new camp. We staked out the crest of the small hill as the site for the Praetorium while the men went to work. Drainage ditches were dug that emptied into the ditch surrounding the camp to dry out the ground so that when the rest of the army came it would not become a huge lake of churned mud. It took us two days to enlarge the camp, with another day for the ground to dry out enough before I felt confident in sending the message back to the main camp that we were ready for them. The day after the first fight, Antonius had actually done as Octavian had suggested, offering battle, but Brutus refused. In fact, Brutus refused to do much of anything, his camp overcrowded with his essentially intact forces along with the remnants of Cassius’, not even bothering to enlarge his own camp to make room for the extra men. As Octavian had correctly predicted, Brutus was not a man of action, as the stream of deserters from his cause talked of endless thirds of a watch of speech-making by Brutus, talking of the Republic this, and high-flying ideals that, none of which his audience had any interest in whatsoever.
“I just couldn’t bear to hear him rattle on any longer,” one of the deserters told the men at the gate of the camp when he came to give himself up.
Four days after we marched back out, the first of the army came moving up the trench under the cover of darkness, reaching the trench leading to the camp to be met by men I posted there to lead them into the camp without any problems. As I stood by the Porta Decumana of what was now a regular camp, though we still did not have any tents, I began to become alarmed as the men marched past in numbers much larger than I had expected. I grabbed Torquatus when I saw him, asking him if he knew how many Legions were coming.
“Ten, I think,” he answered.
“Ten?” I hissed, causing him to look at me with a raised eyebrow.
“I thought you'd be happy with that much company.”
I waved my hand around the camp, which was pointless because it was dark.
“I told Octavian that this area was big enough for five Legions and that would be pushing it. We had to drain a lot of the marsh as it was, but we’re not going to have enough room for ten Legions.”
Torquatus peered around in the darkness, but all he did was shrug, then say, “Well, take it up with him. All I know is that there are ten Legions coming.”
Once the last men arrived, the Centurions were kept busy trying to arrange them despite having about half the room that we were all accustomed to, so there were a number of squabbles that had to be broken up. Somehow, we got everyone settled down, though I had my own share of troubles because I forced the men to rearrange themselves to make room, causing a good amount of grumbling that was only quelled by the judicious use of the vitus.
The next morning, I headed to the main camp, but before I got very far I met essentially the rest of the army coming up the trench. The Triumvirs were shifting our positions completely, abandoning the ruins of the original camp. At the junction of Cassius’ transverse trench and his old camp, Antonius placed four Legions in a redoubt. We had lost a total of three Legions in the first battle, after redistribution of some of the men, so the remaining two Legions marched out past what was now our main camp, building a third redoubt about four or five furlongs to the east. We were now essentially in a line running west from the junction of the transverse trench, north of the original trenchline, but neither Triumvir was much interested in how cramped conditions were in the larger camp, at least as long as they were given the proper amount of space. New tents were constructed for the Praetorium and for the Triumvirs, of course, and I will not lie, for all the Primi Pili as well. I did not complain at sleeping under a roof again, even if it was made of leather.
Once the army had moved into its new position, only then did Brutus make any kind of move, relocating his army back onto the site of Cassius’ camp. Our supply situation was now dire, as on the day of the first battle a convoy of ships carrying supplies and reinforcements was captured. Fortunately, the men of Brutus’ army were constantly agitating for him to give the command to array for battle, which he resisted for several more days. We were now close enough that we could hear the shouting of the men in Brutus’ camp, calling for him to give the command to attack, usually being the loudest shortly after dawn, then continuing intermittently through the day. We were sending foraging parties as far afield as Thessaly, trying to find enough grain or anything else edible to sustain the army. They returned empty-handed, but then we got one break from the gods, from the brother of the man who had shown Brutus and Cassius the goat track that allowed them to bypass Norbanus, holding the pass. In an effort to redeem himself for not remembering its existence, the man led a foraging party into the lands of the Bessi, living along the river Strymon (Struma), and returning with enough food for a month. There were whispers among the men that the agitation that was taking place in Brutus’ camp was due to the placement of agents working for Octavian, intent on forcing Brutus to battle with us.
During a meeting of the Primi Pili with Antonius and Octavian, I learned that this was indeed the case and, in fact, at least one of these agents was high enough that he could report on the state of Brutus’ mind, that he was afraid of most of his own men because so many of them had marched for Caesar, while his adopted son was in our camp. Further, he was scared of Cassius’ men because he did not think they had any faith in him. In short, Brutus was backed into a corner, from which the only way to extricate himself meant that he had to do the one thing he did not want to do, which either would see him victorious or dead. Still, he resisted for several more days, until a bit more than three weeks after the first battle, the bucina sounded the alarm that warned that the enemy was forming up. After running to the Praetorium hill with Diocles in tow to get a good look and assure myself that this was the day for battle, I sent him back to alert the Pili Priores while I went into the tent to receive orders. Antonius and Octavian were together, and for the first time I had seen, actually were in good spirits, treating each other jovially and with a great show of friendship.
“Salve, Pullus,” Antonius called to me as I walked in. “Are you ready to wade in some traitors’ guts today?”
“I’m ready to do my job, Triumvir,” I replied, the image of Vibius leaping into my mind, while Antonius made a face at my lack of martial fervor.
“I hope you fight harder than you talk,” he joked.
I stared at him for a moment without replying, happy to see that he broke eye contact first.
Turning away from me, he said, “You and the 10th will take the far left. The 7th will be next to you on the right.”
Octavian had been silent this whole time, watching the exchange with quiet amusement, but he spoke now. “My men are going to be on the right this time, Pullus. They requested that honor to make up for losing the camp. This is not meant as any slight against you or your men, I assure you. It’s just a chance for mine to redeem themselves.”
It was to Octavian that I saluted first, happy to see Antonius’ face turn red at my not-so-subtle insult, though he said nothing. I left the Praetorium to get my men ready for the coming battle.
It took almost a full watch to get the army formed up, while Brutus’ army watched from Cassius’ hill. The fact that they did not try to attack as we were moving into position was a fatal mistake, but it also showed how little Brutus wanted this battle. We could see him riding up and down the front of his army; as we learned later, his pre-battle speech was not the most stirring. He essentially told the men that he did not want this fight and that if they lost, it would be on the heads of the men and not him. I suppose that there have probably been worse pre-battle speeches given, but I never heard any other that qualified.
Once we were arrayed, it was time for Antonius and Octavian to parade in front of us, and I know that it irked Antonius a great deal when the men cheered more loudly for Octavian. Nevertheless, Antonius was not a novice at manipulating men himself, so immediately after Octavian had galloped the length of the army, Antonius returned to our front to announce that he had decided to give the men a bounty of 20,000 sesterces should we be victorious over Brutus. Octavian was still near our end of the army, so could I see his cheeks burn red with suppressed rage. However, he quickly recovered, aiming Caesar’s smile at Antonius, though his eyes told a different story. I had been told of the bonus the day before, so I knew that it in fact was Octavian’s idea. Now, Octavian could not say anything about it without appearing churlish, yet I had no doubt that Octavian would find a way to repay Antonius, in kind and with interest. The men roared their approval at the news, turning to pound the comrade next to them on the back, until I had to turn around to remind them that we were about to fight a battle, which shut them up. With the pre-battle rituals over, we settled in to wait, the custom being that the general who summoned his men to battle being the one who initiated action, except that Brutus’ reluctance continued. The day progressed as we waited, then we finally sent for the camp slaves to bring food to eat while we waited for Brutus to get off his pimply ass and give the command to attack. Finally, at mid-afternoon, the enemy cornu sounded as both sides clambered to their feet, hefting their shields and javelins, making their final preparations to kill each other.
We did not end up using our javelins at all, the men dropping them in their rush to get at the enemy, who did the same. We had been waiting too long, while the first battle had not been a clear victory for either side, making the men on both sides anxious to prove who was better. The instant the signal was given, everyone let out a huge roar as I found myself struggling to stay ahead of the men, hurtling towards Brutus’ men, who were moving just as quickly towards us. I picked out the Primus Pilus of the Legion opposing us, barely having time to register the standard of the 27th Legion next to him, he evidently spotting me heading for him at roughly the same time. Then we went smashing into each other, not bothering with any kind of fancy maneuvers. Once again, my size held me in good stead as the Primus Pilus, several inches shorter and perhaps 30 pounds lighter went caroming off me, his feet flying up in the air to land heavily on his back.
Before he could recover, I leaped astride him, pulling my blade back as I snarled, “What were you thinking?”
Then, before I could end him, there was a blur of movement to my left, which I started to turn to face, knowing that it was the aquilifer of the 27th coming to rescue his Primus Pilus, except my own aquilifer, a man named Tertullus, thrust the end of his standard out between the man’s legs, causing him to stumble. Tertullus used the spike end of his standard, driving it deep into the gut of his counterpart, as I turned back to see the Primus Pilus scrambling to his feet. Before he could completely regain his footing, I was on top of him, yet I must say he did a good job of parrying my thrusts for a few moments before he overcommitted, leaving me an opening that allowed me to thrust under his arm and into his chest. He fell without a word, then I turned to see that Tertullus had captured the 27th’s eagle, passing it to a man next to him, who went whooping with it to the rear. In the first few heartbeats we had killed the Primus Pilus while capturing the standard of the Legion, but these were veterans, some of them Caesar’s men, comrades who I had marched with in Gaul, so they were not so easily defeated. After the initial chaos of the charge, both sides quickly settled into the rhythm of the fight in the Roman manner, shield to shield, shoulder to shoulder. Whistles began blowing as the Centurions established the intervals each line would fight, men shoving each other off before heading back to the rear of each Century. We were aligned in the traditional acies triplex, on a front of three Centuries per Cohort, yet for some reason the Primus Pilus of the 27th had not aligned his men to correspond with our frontage. While they were in a triplex acies as well, they had been put in a front of two Centuries per Cohort, making them deeper, but this meant that we overlapped their line by a good distance. A runner sent from Nigidius, the Pilus Prior of the Fourth Cohort, alerted me to this fact and I sent the runner back with orders to wrap around the right flank of Brutus’ forces. I called for my own runner, ordering the third line to move up and shift over to press the advantage as well. It did not take long for one of the Tribunes on Antonius’ staff to come galloping up to find me, demanding to know why I had ordered up the third line without orders. I did not even bother saluting, pointing off to our left.
