Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 25
“That’s an afternoon’s work,” I said loudly to the Centurion, who looked dubious but also recognized I was speaking for the benefit of the men.
“If that, Prefect. Especially if you let my boys lead the way.”
I clapped the man on the shoulder to show his men I appreciated his fighting spirit, while giving him an unobtrusive wink. Remounting Ocelus, I turned back toward the column, only to see Marcus Primus come bouncing up. I groaned at the thought of having to explain what the situation was in front of some of the men, knowing that Primus would feel goaded into putting on a display that none of them would buy.
“Well, Prefect, what’s the delay?”
I did not answer, instead turning back and beckoning Primus to follow me; disrespectful, I know, but I did not care. Returning to my original vantage point, I waited until the Praetor was alongside, then simply pointed. Like I expected, he sat there looking blankly at the vista before us. I waited, and realizing that I was expecting something, he cleared his throat, giving the men a sidelong glance.
“Yes, well. I see. Very good, then.”
Then, without another word, he wheeled his horse about, leaving me sitting, mouth agape, watching his retreating back.
“Pluto’s cock,” I muttered. “Not even he could have missed seeing that fucking fort.”
I heard the Centurion snicker, and I cringed, knowing I should not have spoken aloud. I went trotting after Primus, Ocelus easily catching the other man’s mount. Pulling alongside, I risked a glance at the Praetor’s face, seeing that it was unreadable as he stared straight ahead.
Finally, somewhat desperately, I was moved to ask, “Now that you’ve seen what’s ahead, what are your thoughts, Praetor, if I might ask?”
He looked startled that I had asked.
“What? Oh, yes. Well,” he pretended to consider the question carefully, but I could see the desperation in his eyes. “I don’t see a problem. Serdica is sitting out in the middle of that plain, so it shouldn’t be too hard to surround it. We should dig a ditch around it,” he finished, the last part more question than statement, and his eyes darted over at me to read my reaction. Apparently, he took what he saw as approval, because he nodded vigorously.
“Yes,” Primus continued, enthusiastic now. “That’s what we’ll do. We’ll surround the city with a large ditch to cut it off. Then maybe some tunnels to undermine the walls.”
Before he could get too carried away with his dreams of Alesian proportions, I interrupted.
“Excuse me, Praetor, but what about the fortress?”
Primus gave me a blank stare, my stomach twisting, seeing this was even worse than I had thought.
“You did see the large fortress on the slope of the mountain we have to march by to get to that plain where Serdica is?”
Two spots of color showed on his cheeks, and he reacted in a manner that one would expect from a small man.
“Of course I saw that fort,” he snapped. “It was the first thing I noticed.”
“And what are your thoughts about how to deal with it?”
“You mean the great Titus Pullus doesn’t know?”
He gave a mocking laugh, yet surprisingly, I was not angry. If anything, I felt pity for the poor fool, knowing he had no idea. Instead of responding, I simply sat looking at him. We were almost back to the command group by this point, and Primus, seeing I was waiting for an answer, looked trapped, his eyes darting about desperately as if some help would magically appear from somewhere.
“Well,” he stammered, his confidence gone as quickly as it had come. “I think we should ignore the fort. That’s not what we’re after anyway. We should march right past them and begin work besieging Serdica.”
Despite expecting him to say that very thing, I was still slightly disappointed, knowing that I was likely to have another fight on my hands. I was thinking about the best way to dispel his ridiculous notion, and unfortunately, he took my silence to be agreement.
“Good,” he said loudly. Then, before I could stop him, he called out to the other men in the command group.
“We have spotted Serdica, but there’s a fortress in between us and the city. The Prefect and I have decided that the best way to deal with it is to bypass it and descend on the city immediately. If we push hard, we can be there by nightfall.”
Primus turned to look at me, and I saw a gleam in his eye. That was when I knew that one more time, I had been duped by a patrician.
Yes, Marcus Primus had done me, neatly. I was faced with two choices, neither of them good. I could argue with him, in front of the Tribunes, Masala, the Evocati, and the Primi Pili who had come from their spots in the column to find out what the delay was about. Of course, that was my natural instinct, and I was about to open my mouth. Then, without warning, it somehow was like Sextus Scribonius had managed to get inside my skull, because I heard his voice as clearly as if he had been standing next to me.
“Don’t; that’s what he wants you to do,” Scribonius’ voice said. “It’s a trap.”
So I made the second choice, saying nothing to contradict him in front of the command group. I saw both Flaminius and Macrinus exchange alarmed looks, then Macrinus raised his hand to ask a question, addressing it to me.
“Could you tell us more about this fortress the Praetor spoke of, Prefect?”
Instead of answering him, I bowed my head in the direction of Marcus Primus, trying hard not to sound smug.
“I think the overall commander of the army should be the one to describe it to you, Macrinus.”
Primus shot me a furious look, the color returning to his cheeks. Masala had subtly moved his horse to a spot just behind and to the side of Primus, but I had no idea what he was up to.
“Thank you, Prefect,” Primus said sarcastically. “What do you want to know, Primus Pilus Macrinus? It’s a fort. It’s in between where we are right now and Serdica. What else is there?”
I had to turn my head away to hide my smile, quietly thanking Scribonius for his warning, wherever he was at that moment. Now I could remain silent and let Macrinus walk through the door that Primus had just opened. The Primus Pilus of the 8th was gaping at the Praetor, unable to hide his surprise and concern.
“What else? Namely, where exactly is it located on this mountain? Is it close enough that whoever is in it can rain arrows, sling bullets, rocks, and the gods know what else down on us as we pass by? If so, how are we going to get through without getting cut to pieces?”
Primus’ eyes had the look of a trapped animal, yet still he was not willing to give in.
“I’m sure we can pass by safely,” he said stubbornly. “I didn’t count the number of paces from that fortress to the passage, Primus Pilus, but it looked wide enough to me.”
“Couldn’t we march by with the men in testudo formation?” Masala asked helpfully, and I wondered what his ultimate goal was, since he seemed to be back in his role of being Primus’ ally.
Macrinus could not hide his scorn, replying, “That’s fine for the Legions, but what about the baggage train? And you and the cavalry? How are you going to protect yourselves?”
I still remained silent, content to let this drama play out without my participation unless I was forced. It was Masala’s turn to flush red with embarrassment, but he was smart enough not to try to argue the point, looking back to Primus.
“I tell you, we can pass by,” the Praetor almost shouted in exasperation. “There’s plenty of room to get by.”
“Is that true, Prefect?” Macrinus asked me, and I had to stifle my groan, now as exasperated as Primus, but for entirely different reasons. However, I was not going to lie, not to Macrinus, or to Flaminius.
“No,” I said flatly. I kept my eyes on Macrinus, hearing the sharp intake of a breath, I assumed by Primus.
“How could you possibly know that, Prefect?” Primus demanded. “Did you measure the distance?”
“Praetor, as I’ve told you before, I’ve been doing this for a long time, so when you ask how I could possibly know that, I’ll try not to take it as another insult. You know I didn’t measure the distance, but while my eyes aren’t as good as they were twenty years ago, they still can see well enough to know that if they have any artillery in that fortress, they’re well within range to cause us enormous damage.”
“Ah ha!” Primus shouted triumphantly, pointing a fat finger at me. “You said if they have artillery, but you have no way of knowing that they do.”
“Praetor, this isn’t the Forum, and you’re not arguing a legal case.” I was working hard to remain patient. Unfortunately, Scribonius’ voice in my head was fading quickly. “There isn’t a jury here that will award you the verdict because I’m not completely sure that the Thracians in that fortress have artillery. We’re dealing with men’s lives, and most importantly, the success of this campaign that you desire so strongly.”
That settled him down a bit.
“Then how do we find out?” he asked. I thought I detected a plaintive quality in his tone and, in truth, it was a fair question. I just wished we could have started at this point.
“That’s a very good question.” I tried to apply some balm to his bruised ego. “And the truth is, there are only two ways to find out.”
“And they are?” he asked impatiently.
“The first is to do as you suggest, but do it in a more cautious manner. We could start by sending the vanguard through the passage first, and see if they draw any fire.”
“Let’s do that then.” Primus turned to look for the poor cornicen Caldus, eager to give some sort of command to start the men.
“There are risks with this option, and they are significant,” I warned him, but he was finished listening.
“Yes, yes. I am sure there are risks, just as there are in any military operation.”
He fluttered a hand in my direction, turning his back on me as he did so, while I shot Masala a look that I hoped he would interpret correctly. He gave a slight nod, then putting his horse into a trot to catch up to his patron, I saw him surreptitiously grab Primus by the elbow, urgently whispering something in his ear. The Praetor was obviously reluctant to return, but he did so, petulant and resentful certainly, yet return he did.
“Yes, Prefect? You were saying about these risks?” he asked with forced patience.
Knowing I only had a moment, I plunged in.
“The real danger is that if there’s an even somewhat competent commander in that fort, he’ll know what we’re doing, and he’ll hold his fire and allow the vanguard to pass. And he’ll in all likelihood let both Legions march by. What he’ll be waiting for is the baggage train, which we can’t protect. That’s when he’ll unleash everything he has on us, because the one thing that these barbarian tribes have learned is that our vulnerability is through our baggage train. It’s what stopped us when Antonius marched on Parthia the first time, and it’s part of the reason that the Thracians were able to beat us along the Hebrus (Maritsa) river a long time ago, by falling on the baggage train.”
I paused, hoping that what I had said would be enough, but while I could see Primus’ face cloud with doubt, he was still not ready to submit.
“But that business with Crassus and Antonius was with the Parthians, and this battle on the Hebrus you speak of happened long, long ago. You surely can’t believe that those barbarians will remember that, do you?”
“Any defeat of Rome is an event that enters into a people’s history, and becomes a deed of which legends are made,” I pointed out. “I can assure you that there’s not a Thracian alive who wasn’t raised on stories of the defeat of Rome, not just at the Hebros, but every other battle. Spartacus was Thracian,” I reminded the Praetor. Suddenly, Primus sagged in the saddle, closing his eyes and holding out his hands, palms out to me.
“Very well, Prefect. You’ve convinced me that this first plan isn’t a good one. But you mentioned a second one.” He opened his eyes to glare at me, his tone dangerous. “And I expect this one not to be destined to fail like the first one.”
“It’s not destined to fail,” I replied, my tone grim. “But it will be hard. We’re going to have to take that fortress.”
The decision to assault the fortress was not only the right decision; it was the only one to make that made any tactical sense. Not only would we remove the threat to our rear once we turned on Serdica, we would be further reducing the numbers of Thracians that we would be facing. That was one reason why Macrinus and Flaminius had looked like they had been struck by one of Zeus’ thunderbolts when Primus had tried to make us march past the fortress, knowing as well as I did it would be suicide. Not that taking the fortress would be easy, the task made even more difficult by the lack of suitable sites for a camp anywhere near the fortress. It soon became apparent that the only possible location had already been taken, by the fortress itself. The nearest spot we could find was almost three miles away to the south, just a short distance away from where the vanguard had stopped when they had spotted it. This meant that we would somehow have to haul our artillery from the camp to within range. First, I had to get a better look at the fortress itself, and I brought not only the Primi Pili, but all the Tribunes along, thinking that it would be a good teaching opportunity. Even Masala asked to join us, once Marcus Primus announced that he had other pressing matters to attend to and would not go on our scouting mission, giving me the strong feeling that the young aide was happy to be free of his patron for a while.
Taking a cavalry escort in the event of trouble, along with Aelius Flavianus, we headed for the fortress. Flavianus brought along his own assistant, so that all told, our party consisted of almost fifty men. We rode over the steep and rough hillside, above the valley floor that followed the natural course of a river that I assumed was the main water supply for Serdica, and approached the fortress cautiously. When we were within sight of the walls, I ordered half the cavalry to stay behind, taking the other half with me, along with everyone else. Drawing closer, we dropped out of sight of the fort, descending a fairly steep incline, at the bottom of which was a dry watercourse leading up into the bulk of the large mountain off to our right. Climbing the opposite slope, I approached the top, inching forward until the fort was just visible again, only the rampart at first, now crowded with men, all of them looking in our direction. I was not worried about being spotted; there is no way to hide fifty horsemen, and the ground was barren of any vegetation large enough to screen our movement, so I knew they had been watching for some time. What I was more concerned about was what they might have decided to do in that time where we were descending the slope. Was there an ambush waiting just on the other side of this rise I was about to top? It would have been a smart thing to do; while they certainly could not keep us from performing a thorough examination of the fort, they did not have to make it easy for us to do so, and I was expecting just that sort of thing in an attempt to disrupt us. Ocelus, who I had come to rely on to alert me to danger, showed no sign that he sensed the presence of the enemy nearby, so I touched his ribs with my heels, moving a few more feet until we were at the top. There was no ambush party waiting, and I waved to the others that it was safe to come up. One by one, their animals labored up the steep slope, under the watching eyes of the Thracians. Meanwhile, I examined the fort closely. I immediately saw that it was built with what looked like native rock, but it had not been quarried or finished. Instead, the wall was a hodgepodge of rocks fitted together in a disjointed fashion, with mortar placed in the cracks in between. The walls were not very high, but they did not have to be, and I supposed that was one reason they had chosen the method of building, since walls of this construction cannot stand high or they will collapse under their own weight. I could also see that this fort was very old, and I assumed that it been built back in the times when all of this land had been ruled by Greece, long ago. Macrinus had pulled up alongside me, giving a low whistle.
“Not that I’m surprised, but you were right. That thing is definitely within range of the road.”
I said nothing, still studying the walls, thinking about the best way to reduce this fortress. There was little doubt in my mind that when this had been built, it would have been considered impregnable, but much had changed since those days, mainly thanks to Rome. We had turned the art of siegecraft into a science, creating new tactics and weapons that these walls had never seen before. My one concern was that I could see that the walls were very thick, tapering from the bottom to the top, worrying me for two reasons. First, thicker walls are naturally harder to breach, but more importantly for our purposes, even with the tapering, the rampart was more than wide enough to accommodate artillery of almost all sorts. I did not think that the Thracians relied much on artillery, and in fact had never heard of them using it in battle. However, the Greeks certainly did, and I could not discount the Greek influence on the Thracians. No artillery was currently visible, yet that did not mean that it was not hidden out of sight, waiting to be pushed up ramps built for that purpose. We were now close enough to make out individuals, although faces could not be seen, and it was not long before the rude gestures and insults started being tossed back and forth. Again out of nowhere, I was suddenly reminded of Scribonius’ bemusement at these displays, something he could never understand and invariably commented on whenever we witnessed one. I chuckled at the thought, and Macrinus shot me a surprised look.
