Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 28
Stone after stone slammed into the fortress wall, most of them striking within inches of the patched area above the gate. Still, I could not see much damage being done, other than knocking pieces of mortar loose. After perhaps twenty direct hits, I rode over to within shouting distance of Flavianus, who had moved up behind the plutei to supervise the men working the artillery. Staying out of range of the archers, who had given up for the most part, I called to him.
“It doesn’t look like we’re doing much damage.”
His scowl deepened, and he shook his head, but it was less in answer to me than a reaction to my pessimism.
“Stop being impatient, Prefect,” he shouted back. “It will take some time.”
I bit my tongue, yet it was hard; knowing that I would be sounding like Marcus Primus was enough to convince me to remain silent. My biggest problem at that moment was that I had nothing to do, finding sitting on Ocelus and just looking impassive to be extremely difficult. I had occupied myself by watching the progress of the scouting party by its dust cloud, until it disappeared behind the shoulder of the mountain. Very quickly however, Libo and Lucullus would be on the opposite side, where they could see both the city and whatever lay between it and the fortress, despite their dust being out of sight. I could not discount the possibility that there was yet another fortress guarding Serdica, or perhaps the river crossing, if the river turned to the east around the base of the mountain, although I doubted it. Even worse, our scouting party could run directly into reinforcements sent from the city, if there was indeed a road that allowed the fortress commander to send for help. I had given very explicit orders that they not engage in the event that happened, yet not knowing the lay of the land meant that they might not have a choice if they were surprised. There was no sign of the defenders on the rampart now, reducing the scorpion gunners to firing bolts at random intervals all along the wall, except at the very far corner, which was just out of range. And it did not take long for the defenders to discover this, and before much time had passed, we could see them leaning out over the wall at that spot, looking back toward the gate in order to assess the damage. I took some comfort in the fact that they were seeing the same thing I was, little enough, at least as far as outward appearances. But Flavianus still seemed confident, and even Marcus Primus was reluctant to press him further when the Praetor and Masala made an appearance to see the excitement.
“It doesn’t look like much,” I heard the Praetor sniff to his aide. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about conducting a siege.”
“It would seem that it must be harder than it looks,” Masala replied with a straight face, catching him rolling his eyes from his spot immediately behind the Praetor.
The ears become accustomed to the sound and rhythm of the missiles slamming into the wall, every ball striking the same tone. Each missile continued to chip away at the wall at evenly spaced intervals, with every crew waiting for their turn to fire. Frankly, it becomes monotonous very quickly. Suddenly, one of the missiles hit the wall, making a distinctly different sound, a more hollow report than anything we had heard previously. I turned my head just in time to see a large chunk of rock and mortar suddenly give way, tumbling down the face of the wall in a cloud of mortar and rock dust. Once it cleared, I could see a gaping hole just above the right corner of the gate lintel, evoking a rousing cheer from the men and a grimace that I knew was his version of a smile from Flavianus. Still, the sun was now hanging a hand’s width above the low mountains to the west, and despite the sudden progress we were making, I did not see a breach happening on this day. It was also getting to be time for Libo and the scouting party to return. I was beginning to feel the strain in my eyes from constantly peering north, then checking the wall for further damage. I found myself willing the sun to stop moving downward; of course it did not, continuing despite my wishes, inexorably drawing this first full day of the siege of the fortress to a close. This was a time where I missed Scribonius as well, because he would have helped pass the time, and I wondered how he was doing. Traveling alone, especially in wild and potentially hostile country like Thrace was risky, yet in some ways riding alone is something of an advantage, since you are harder to spot than a group. Besides, Scribonius was a veteran, and extremely experienced, knowing better than anyone I knew how to avoid trouble, a trait that he would constantly remind me is equally as important as knowing what to do if you get into it. I would always laugh this off, tapping the hilt of my Gallic sword, boasting that this was all I needed for anything that came my way. However, the truth was that as I got older, I came to appreciate this quality in Scribonius more and more. I am afraid that my mind was wandering, yet another sign that I was getting older. So when I heard another shout, I was startled, except this did not come from the gunners but from Masala, who had stayed behind when Marcus Primus had gone back to where the rest of the army was still waiting. Primus’ aide was pointing north, up the valley, and I followed his finger to see the low-hanging dust cloud. Then, before it rose much higher, I saw the dark mass of charging horses and riders that was causing it. Instantly understanding that the scouting party was coming back and was doing so at the full gallop, I turned to Caldus, snapping out an order for him to alert the guard Cohort that I had placed a short distance up the road from the rest of the army. I was relying on the Pilus Prior of the Cohort seeing the dust himself and reacting according to the orders he had been given, setting up a blocking position. However, I had ordered him to keep one Century prepared to move quickly aside to let the scouting party through before moving back into place to block any pursuit. Unfortunately, we were not the only ones to see the return of our men.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the Serdi who had been stationed at the corner of the fortress waving wildly to someone inside the walls. It was not long after that I heard the crashing sound of the beams of the enemy artillery hitting the crossbars, but I could not spot the missiles sailing over the wall, arcing down toward the valley floor and the road. I did see the impact of the enemy missiles, hitting in a spray of dirt and bouncing several times before making a huge splash in the river on the opposite side of the road from the fortress. My initial reaction was relief, since the shots were well ahead of our men, who were still a good distance from the impact area. Then I caught more movement from the man in the corner, realizing that he was calling out corrections to the artillery crews. This was not good, yet I was still not worried, hitting a fast moving target like our horsemen being more a matter of luck than skill. What I was not counting on was that the next volley would not be stones, and they were not trying to hit our men, just to slow them down. For not far behind Libo, Lucullus, and the rest, I could see a much larger group of horsemen, clearly intent on running them down.
I did see the next barrage from the Thracian artillery, only because it is hard to miss flaming balls leaving a smoky trail through the air. When the missiles hit, I saw that they had been some sort of vessels filled with Greek fire, leaving a splattering trail of fire across the road. Perhaps a half dozen of these missiles hit, all of them exploding in flame, and despite still being ahead of our returning cavalry, the distance was much closer. Like most animals, including man, horses do not like fire, so it was natural that the leading animals suddenly broke stride, trying to slow to avoid galloping directly into the flames that were spread along the road. Greek fire will burn out on its own, but it takes time, much more time than our men had before they would reach the barricade of fire. When the leading horses slowed, those immediately behind, obviously not seeing the danger, plowed headlong into the rear of the front ranks, causing the horses up front to react in reflex, lashing out violently with their rear hooves. Even from where I was, I could hear the scream of the animals that went tumbling, throwing their riders violently into the air, including at least two men who were pitched headlong into the flames. An instant later, the agonized shrieks of the burning men reached my ears as well, while the leading element of the scouting party churned to a confused, milling stop. Strung out further behind, fortunately for them, were Libo and Lucullus, the plumes of their helmets and cloaks streaming behind them. They were at the full gallop, enabling them to avoid the carnage ahead by veering toward the edge of the river.
“Sound the call for the rest of the cavalry to advance to contact,” I shouted to Caldus, who fortunately, reacted instantly, the first notes beginning to sound in the air before my command had died in the air.
Despite the two Tribunes, along with the troopers bringing up the rear, having managed to avoid the catastrophe ahead of them, they were now vulnerable to the hard charging Thracians leading the pursuers. Their long swords and spears were held out in front of them as they closed with our men. Libo and the men of the rearguard had just enough time to turn about to at least get moving back toward the charging Thracians so that when they met, the crashing sound carried clearly above even the din of shouting men and screaming horses. Almost immediately, the fighting was obscured by dust, but I could just make out gouts of water splashing into the air, telling me that the fight had extended into the shallows of the river. With our rearguard fighting for time, one of the Decurions at the front was trying to get his troopers reorganized to turn about to go help their comrades. The Greek fire was dissipating somewhat, except there were still pockets of the flammable jelly-like liquid burning fiercely in the roadway, making his task almost impossible. I could see at least three horses on the ground, thrashing about in a manner that suggested that they had broken at least one limb. Fortunately, someone had thought quickly enough to put the two cavalrymen out of their misery, and they lay smoldering where they had been dispatched. From my left, the guard Cohort had moved aside to allow the relieving cavalry column to go to the aid of the scouting party. However, the relieving troopers encountered the same problem with their mounts balking at the sight and smell of the flames.
The sounds of their own kind screaming in agony weren’t helping matters, and I heard my voice roar out, “Somebody kill those horses! They’re panicking the others!”
I was a good distance away, so that even as strong as my voice is, I doubted they heard me, but someone actually did run over, and at great risk to themselves from the flailing hooves, quickly cut each beast’s throat. This seemed to help somewhat, yet I could see the riders still struggling to control their own mounts, savagely whipping them forward through the smoke and flames.
“Pluto’s cock, this is a disaster,” I muttered, and it certainly seemed that way from where I was sitting.
Feeling helpless, I tried to think of something that would help relieve the pressure as I watched the fighting intensify, more men from each side making their way toward an opponent they had picked out. I wheeled Ocelus, taking the chance that some of the archers that had been watching and waiting for just such an opportunity were too occupied watching the fight below. I kicked my horse to gallop up to Flavianus, still standing behind the plutei.
Seeing me, he gave a nervous look up at the fortress, asking abruptly, “Do you want to die today, Prefect? Between you and that big beast of yours, they’re not likely to miss.”
Ignoring him, I pointed to the scorpions on one wing of the plutei that looked like they had a better angle to do what I wanted them to do.
“Turn those around, and open fire on those bastards down there.”
His look of surprise came and went in an instant, yet he did not hesitate, nodding while shouting the orders. The scorpion crews, no less surprised, were not quite as quick to move, drawing a string of curses worthy of my days as Primus Pilus, which got them hopping. It took a few moments for them to unstake the legs. I knew that in the excitement it was likely they would forget where they had been placed exactly, meaning they would have to sight them in again when they turned back on the fortress. Still, the fight below was just beginning to get organized, as the middle of the Thracian column, which I estimated to be at least five hundred in total, were still trying to force their way into the fighting. They presented an artilleryman’s dream target, a fat mass of horse and men, where it was almost impossible to miss, and within close enough range that the bolts could do damage to multiple targets. There was no way a scorpion bolt could pass through the mass of a horse’s body, but if one struck a man in the torso, or in the neck of the horse it was very likely to pass all the way through to hit someone or something else. The high-pitched twang of the scorpions began, and I could barely distinguish the dark blur as first one bolt then another went hurtling down the hill. Just like shooting uphill is tricky, so is downhill, and I was disappointed but not surprised to see the first two bolts go whistling over the heads of the Thracians, splashing into the river. Several heads whipped about, looking for this new threat, the sound of the scorpion bolt being very distinctive and scary, as I had learned during the civil war. The first two scorpion crews called out to the others the information they needed to make the adjustments and avoid firing high themselves, and were rewarded by their comrades’ bolts slamming into the mass of Thracian horse. Again, the air was rent with the screams of men and horses as the heavy wooden missiles with their metal tips punched into the bellies, chests, or necks of the horses, along with the torsos of their riders. Tightly packed the way they were, the impact was not just from the bolts themselves, as the horses that had been hit went crashing into the mounts around them. Just like the Greek fire had done to us, the scorpions completely disrupted the cohesion and willingness of the Thracians to fight farther back in their column, while at the same time, our relieving force had arrived to slam into their front ranks. Even in the waning light, there were brilliant flashes of silvery gold, the setting sun catching blades chopping down or thrusting at their targets, followed an instant later by the sound of metal striking metal. In just a matter of moments, the Thracians evidently recognized that they had lost their advantage, with the battle turning against them. I heard a strange-sounding horn blow a call. Immediately, the rear ranks of the enemy cavalry, filled with the most timid men, who are always the quickest to obey a command when it is to run, suddenly turned about to begin galloping north back toward Serdica. Knowing that the instinct of our own Gallic cavalry would be to follow in hot pursuit, their bloodlust fired by this clash, I immediately ordered Caldus to sound the order to stop the pursuit before it started. He had to blow the call repeatedly, but even so, a few of the more impetuous men galloped their horses, weaving through the carnage of men and animals cut down by our scorpions, a few hundred paces up the road before cooler heads prevailed and they reluctantly returned to their comrades. Looking down at the aftermath, my immediate thought was that we now had a mess to clean up. First, I had to find out what our scouts had learned, so after I told Flavianus to resume the bombardment, having momentarily ceased in all the excitement, I headed down to find Libo and Lucullus, hoping that the two Tribunes were still alive. It would just continue the string of bad luck if they were both killed, I thought, and we didn’t learn anything.
Fortunately, for them and for me, they were both alive, though Libo had a deep gash down his sword forearm. Both of the young men were still trying to calm down after the excitement of all that had happened, but I was pleased to see that Libo had the self-possession to issue orders to his Decurion in charge to tally up the butcher’s bill, send the wounded to the aid station, and to dispatch the horses.
“At least we’ll have fresh meat,” I said, and they both made a face, reminding me that my taste for meat was unusual with my fellow Romans. Turning to the matter at hand, I debated internally about what to ask about first, deciding that because they would both be fairly bursting to tell me about the fight, I would start with that.
“How did it happen? I thought I told you two not to engage the enemy if at all possible.”
Both Tribunes had similar reactions, flushing slightly and exchanging furtive glances, telling me that whatever had happened, it had been with both their consent. Sighing, I said, “Tribunes, as old as I may be, I do remember what it is like to be young and spoiling for a fight, so I suggest that you cut the nonsense, and just tell me the truth.”
Libo spoke, as was proper, his first words being, “I want you to know, Prefect, that I take full responsibility for what happened. Tribune Lucullus had no part in disobeying orders.”
“That’s not true,” Lucullus protested immediately, shooting Libo a furious look. “I am just as guilty as Libo. It was a mutual decision by both of us.”
“Your loyalty toward each other is commendable, but I will be frank with both of you.”
I leaned forward toward the two young men, turning my face into a hard mask, my lips tight against my teeth to let them know I was serious.
“I don’t give a brass obol if you two want to fall on your swords for each other. What’s done is done, and if I decide to punish you, I promise that it will be equally applied. Now.” I took a deep breath. “Tell me what happened.”
The story came out from both of them in fits and starts, which was to be expected, their nerves still raw and their blood running high after the fight that had just occurred. They followed the road north, where it indeed did turn to the east for a short distance, following the contour of the land before turning south again to lead directly to Serdica. Where it turned, however, was at the junction with another road, just like I had feared, leading directly up to the fortress, the slope gentle enough that the roadway could run relatively straight to it. There was another gate in the north wall, except this one was smaller than the western gate, yet it was still large enough that a full-sized wagon could pass through. However, Libo and Lucullus had arrived just in time to see a force of five hundred archers that had been sent from Serdica marching to the aid of the fortress.
