Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 33
“I just heard from one of the clerks that the Mardians are saying that Artavasdes the Median and Phraates have joined forces and are heading for us.”
The other man swore, as the first Primus Pilus continued. “Those Mardians over there swear that Phraates and Artavasdes have an army as large as ours, composed almost entirely of cataphracts and horse archers.”
I looked over at Antonius, waiting for him to rouse himself to address us, but he still sat there, looking dully at the floor as first Ahenobarbus, then Canidius whispered urgently in his ear, one on each side. Finally, he waved his hands at them in the same way a man tries to wave off a swarm of gnats, as he stood up to begin pacing. The noise in the room steadily increased as more men showed up, their agitation growing as first one version of events, then another swirled around the Praetorium, each one direr than the other, until I heard someone swear that the Parthian horde was a third of a watch’s march away.
“Enough!”
As many faults as Marcus Antonius had, a bad set of lungs was not one of them, and because I was standing just a few feet away, I got the full effect of his verbal blast, making my ears ring. Turning, I saw him standing there, eyes blazing in rage as he surveyed the men around him, most of whom had the good sense to not only stop talking, but look a little shamefaced. Glaring at any man in his line of vision, Antonius said nothing for several moments, then as quickly as it came, the rage obviously left him, his shoulders suddenly slumping.
“I suppose this is my fault, letting you carry on like a bunch of women.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes before continuing. “But you need to hear what's happened, as painful as it may be.”
He then proceeded to tell us what had befallen the baggage train.
According to the Mardian guides, the combined host of Media and Parthia waited until the baggage train was passing through a narrow defile before launching a simultaneous attack from front, rear, and sides of the column, surrounding it completely. The Mardians said that while the fighting was fierce, it did not last long, because the 35th broke and ran, which is suicide when facing mounted troops. Statianus was killed trying to rally the Legion, Polemon was taken prisoner, while the auxiliary troops were butchered. The wagons were looted, with everything the enemy could not carry away burned to the ground. The Mardians insisted that because of their position at the head of the column, they managed to cut their way out of danger, then rode their horses to death trying to get to Antonius and the army to warn them. They said that they spent the previous four or five days on foot, making it probable that the Parthians were close behind. The only consolation was that the numbers I had heard bandied about were, at least according to the Mardians, grossly exaggerated. They insisted that Phraates had perhaps 30,000 men, while Artavasdes the Median had about the same number. That was small comfort because, if true, while they did not have a powerful enough army to defeat us in open battle, what they could do was starve us to death. In fact, later that day, three of the half-dozen foraging parties sent out did not return, never to be seen again, and that was just the beginning. As alarming as that was, there was one more piece of news that was even worse. The Mardians insisted that they saw the Parthian prince Monaeses leading one of the columns of Parthian cataphracts, the same Monaeses on whom Antonius had lavished rewards and honors. If it was indeed Monaeses, he undoubtedly had passed information to Phraates that helped the Parthian cause. We had been in front of the walls of Phraaspa now for 70 days; it was the beginning of September, and all of our work was predicated on the idea of using heavy siege equipment that no longer existed.
As soon as we learned the true scope of the disaster, we were dismissed to go to our respective Legions with orders to do what we could to avoid a panic, as Antonius realized that not saying anything would just make things worse, though I was hard-pressed to see how things could be much worse. I made my way back to my tent, then had the Pili Priores summoned first, getting fully dressed while I waited. Once they arrived, I told them exactly what we were facing, watching as each of them struggled to make sense of what they had just heard.
“I’ve decided I'm going to address the Legion myself, rather than have each of you tell your Cohort. What I want you to do now is go summon your Centurions and tell them first, then have them tell their Optios and signiferi. We'll assemble the Legion in a sixth of a watch, so get moving.”
When I marched to the forum where the men were formed up, I used one of my old tricks, coming up behind them silently to stand there, just listening to the whispering for a few moments to gauge their mood, and while I was not surprised, it was disturbing nonetheless. The men were not in a state of panic, but they were close, as they openly speculated about what we would be doing. Unfortunately, I had nothing to share at that moment because Antonius had not announced his decision. Not that there was much to decide, at least as far as the other Primi Pili and I were concerned. We could not take Phraaspa without completely changing our approach, which meant starting over, and without any heavy equipment, the only way we could take the city was to starve them out, which would take months. After listening a few moments, I pushed through the rear ranks of my Cohort, stopping the chattering instantly. Taking my place at the head of the Legion, I told the men what had happened, in most cases confirming what they had already heard. I also assured them that our general had matters in hand and would be issuing orders based on the changed situation very shortly. Honestly, that was more of a hope on my part than anything else. Once finished, I dismissed the men to attend to their evening meal, it now being past dark, but very few men ate anything that night, me included.
As I said, we all expected Antonius to announce his decision either that night or the next morning, but we were not called to the Praetorium that morning, nor the rest of that day. The only order that came was to stop the siegework and keep the men in their Legion area, where they sat outside their tents listlessly playing at dice or tables, the only topic of conversation being our predicament. The day passed uneventfully enough, but as night fell, only four of the foraging parties returned, the other six obviously suffering the same fate as the first groups that had disappeared. Luckily for the Legions, once we had begun the siegework, the foraging was done exclusively by the auxiliaries, so the losses did not come from our ranks.
Still, no word came from Antonius and the next morning the situation deteriorated even further when there was a commotion coming from the camp of the Armenians, whereupon I was summoned by Titus Voconius, Luscinus’ Princeps Prior, whose Century had the duty on the rampart of the camp. I hurried over, knowing that Voconius was not the type to be alarmed over nothing. When I mounted the rampart, without saying a word, he pointed across the valley floor. Following his finger, I saw immediately what had disturbed him. Riding out of their camp were the Armenians, and it was instantly clear that they were leaving, because they had their pack animals in tow. Letting out a string of curses, I turned and ran to the Praetorium, intent on finding out what was happening. As soon as I entered, I saw Ahenobarbus, who was engaged in an intense discussion with Fonteius, so I headed directly to the two officers and saluted. Ahenobarbus gave me a sour look, but it became clear that it was not aimed at me, that his anger was with Artavasdes.
“I suppose you’re here to find out what’s happening. Well, I’ll tell you. That faithless, gutless bastard Artavasdes is pulling up stakes and leaving.”
Although this just confirmed what I had seen, it was still devastating news. My first and most immediate concern was what it would do to the morale of the men, afraid that this would tip the balance and finally send the men into a full-blown panic.
“What does Antonius say about it?” I asked.
Ahenobarbus snorted in derision while Fonteius gave him a sharp look at the obvious disrespect, but the other man was oblivious.
“The same thing he said about the baggage train. Nothing. He just sits and mopes about as if ignoring the problem will make it go away.”
“Ahenobarbus,” Fonteius hissed.
This did catch Ahenobarbus’ attention, and he turned to look at Fonteius, who gave an almost imperceptible jerk of his head in my direction. The older man had the grace, or sense, to at least look embarrassed for speaking of our superior in such a manner in front of a ranker, yet said nothing to try to cover up his gaffe. Fonteius looked up at me, his eyes boring into mine, and while he spoke quietly, it was with a throbbing intensity.
“I hope you know better than to repeat what the General just said, Pullus. Things are bad enough and we don’t need the men any more needlessly worried by the mistaken belief that our commander isn't fully in control of the situation.”
I knew he was right. Still, I had to bite back a retort that what would help the men more than anything that I did or did not say was our commander getting off his ass and giving the order we all knew had to come. Nevertheless, I assured him that I was not going to be repeating anything I had just heard, pointing out that it would make my own job even more difficult than it already was. I was about to leave, then decided that I had to at least try to find out when that order would be forthcoming.
“Do you have any idea when Antonius is going to give the order to pack up and march out of here?”
“The Triumvir hasn’t made the decision that that is what we're going to do,” Fonteius replied stiffly, and I gaped at him in open astonishment.
Ahenobarbus just looked away, obviously not wanting to be involved in this conversation any longer.
“Are you serious?” I was incredulous, refusing to believe that Fonteius was indeed sincere. “Is Antonius truly considering keeping us here through the winter, with only the food we have with us, which I'm sure I don't have to tell you is only going to last us another week, two at most if we go down to half rations? Without any way to take the city, other than to try and starve them out, which is going to take the gods know how long, but a lot longer than a couple more weeks?”
“You forget that with the departure of the Armenians, that's 13,000 less mouths to feed,” Fonteius said, his face flushed with his rising anger.
“And those are also the troops best suited to fight the Parthians on their own terms,” I shot back. “So while I appreciate the fact that it gives us another couple of days of short rations, it also takes away our best chance of beating the Parthians, should they decide to attack us.”
“I can assure you, Primus Pilus, that the Triumvir is well aware of every aspect of the situation.” Fonteius was shouting now and out of the corner of my eye I could see heads turning to watch.
As angry as I was, neither did I want this exchange to become a spectacle.
“I have no doubt that he does,” I said in a voice that I hoped was as calm as I could make it. “I would just like to have an idea of when he plans on letting the army know what his assessment of the situation is, and what he intends on doing about it.”
With that, I turned to stalk away.
There is a saying that even the blind can see clearly when looking back, and in hindsight, I think that what Antonius was waiting for was some sort of gift from the gods that would turn things around. Instead, every day of delay brought one crisis after another. The next came about when our scouts, the ones who managed to survive at any rate, came in the day after the Armenian Artavasdes left to report that the Parthians had allowed the Armenian army to leave unmolested. Later that day, a Parthian nobleman approached under a flag of truce, saying that he had a message concerning the fate of Polemon that he was ordered to deliver to Antonius and the ranking Pontic officer. The Parthian was allowed in camp, where Antonius had summoned not only the Pontic commander, but the other client kings, and they were all seated on a makeshift rostra made of shields, with Antonius sitting in the ivory curule chair that had belonged to Caesar. The Parthian was led into Antonius and the princelings’ presence, where he informed them that Polemon was still alive and would be returned unharmed for a ransom of 2,000 talents. As Antonius and the others discussed this, the Parthian then made another announcement, catching everyone by surprise. He shouted at the top of his lungs that all foreign auxiliary troops that left the army would, like the Armenians, be allowed to leave unmolested and in fact would be given supplies and remounts to make it back to their respective kingdoms, should they require it. There was a huge uproar as Antonius leaped to his feet, screaming for the members of the Brundisium Cohort standing on guard to kill the Parthian, which they did, but not before the damage was done.
That very night, groups of men began slipping out of their respective camps, skulking away into the vastness of the Median wastes. Then, a few days after the Armenians left, a group of Pontic auxiliaries refused to take their turn foraging. It was only after one of the Legions in the Roman camp nearest to them was called out, marched to the Pontic camp to surround it, that they went. Not surprisingly, they did not return, but we all suspected that unlike the first groups, this one did not meet with an untimely end. It was at this point that Antonius called a halt to the foraging parties, realizing that one way or another he was going to lose any men he sent out. A week later, perhaps two weeks after we were informed of the fate of the baggage train, the inhabitants of Phraaspa decided to have a feast, the smell of roasting meat torturing every man in the army, creating such a crisis that we had to put guards on all the animals in order to keep the men from butchering the beasts, every one of which we would need to march out of there. The final blow came in late September, when without any warning, we awoke one morning to a thin blanket of snow on the ground. It had been growing colder with each passing day, but the sight of snow finally prodded Antonius into making a decision. Finally, the Primi Pili and Pili Priores were summoned to the Praetorium for a briefing. The question then was, where would we go?
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the tent was that there were only Romans present; not even the client kings were anywhere in sight, and as soon as we were settled in, Antonius explained why.
“What I'm about to tell you is for Roman ears only,” he began. “Our days here are over. We can’t take Phraaspa, not without the heavy siege equipment, and that little stunt the Medians pulled the other day with the feast tells me that they still have more food than we do. So we’re leaving, but we can’t just pack up and pull up stakes, or we'll have the Medians coming out of Phraaspa snapping at our heels, while having those greasy Parthian bastards swarming about our front.” He paused to let us absorb what he had said, then took a breath to continue. “So I'm telling our auxiliaries that we're going on a foraging expedition, in force, and that they're to stay behind and continue the siege, and that once we've gathered sufficient supplies, we'll be returning.” He gave a savage grin. “But we're going to be moving, and moving fast. I still have hopes of pinning that cunnus Phraates and his minion Artavasdes down and goading him into facing us in battle. If that does happen, and we're victorious as I expect, then we'll return and pick the auxiliaries up. If they refuse to face us, then we're going to continue marching to Artaxata.”
There was a buzz as men talked excitedly, while for once Antonius was willing to let us carry on a bit before calling for silence.
“The only foreign troops that are going with us are the cavalry, because we need mounted troops and I trust them more than I trust those Eastern bastards, along with the slingers.”
I saw heads nodding up and down in agreement with this assessment, and mine was one of them.
Antonius continued with his instructions.
“We're leaving a third of a watch before dawn, and it's absolutely crucial that you impress on your men that we'll be marching faster than they've ever marched before. Except for you veterans of Caesar’s army, perhaps.” He said this jokingly, and we laughed because it was expected. Turning serious, he continued. “You see how cold it’s getting, so make sure that your men have every piece of cold weather gear in the top of their packs where they can reach it. Also, I’ve been warned that this snow is exceptionally wet, so make sure that their cloaks are greased properly. Finally,” he said as his face turned grim. “As you no doubt know, we’ve scoured this country clean of every stick of wood, and what I’ve been told is that the country north of here beyond the point where we've already marched through is just as barren as here. There are going to be a lot of cold nights, and that means that men are going to be tempted to burn whatever they think will keep them warm.” He leaned forward, putting his hands on his desk as he looked from one man to the next, making sure he had our attention. “Be sure that your men understand that if they burn any of their gear, whether it’s their stakes, or the shaft of their javelins, they'll be flogged and executed on the spot, no trial, no questions. Do I make myself clear?”
We all either nodded or murmured our understanding, then Antonius dismissed us. We left the tent, each group of Centurions huddled together as their respective Primus Pilus issued his instructions.
No man slept that night as we prepared to set out before dawn, instead of our normal time shortly after first light, the plan being to steal a march on the Parthians. I walked through the Legion area, making surprise inspections, ensuring that the men were following Antonius’ instructions to pack their warm clothing where it could be easily reached so we would not have to stop. Quite a few of the men needed to grease their cloaks, though only a handful of men like Vellusius, the old veterans from Gaul, had the fur-lined cloaks and the rabbit-fur socks that had been so valuable in the cold of the Alps. Naturally, I was one of the men who had these items, in fact having spares of each, so I sent a runner to bring young Gaius Porcinus to me. When he arrived, without saying a word, I handed him my spare cloak, along with two pairs of fur-lined socks.
