Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 35
The next morning, we awoke to a blessing from the gods, who had seen fit to make it cold enough to freeze the ground and, as it became light, we saw that the day was overcast, making it unlikely that the ground would thaw out and become muddy. As expected, the Parthians, seeing Antonius’ standard the day before and recognizing its meaning, had formed up in the crescent formation. Just as Antonius predicted, they positioned the mass of horse archers in the center, with the cataphracts divided into two wings. Also as expected, they were blocking our line of advance to the north, but instead of continuing that direction, the Legions suddenly executed a wheel maneuver, changing our direction of march from the north to the west, as if upon seeing our original line of march blocked, we were now taking the most direct route back to Syria. Once we changed directions, our cavalry and slingers moved into a screening position on what was now our right flank, interposing themselves between the Parthians and our main body. At the same time, the slaves driving the Legions’ mules and wagons moved them to the far side of our formation so that there was, in effect, first a force of cavalry, then the Legions between them and the Parthian threat. To that point, everything was going exactly as Antonius planned it, with the next move expected on the part of the Parthians. Antonius was sure they would use their superior mobility to gallop to the west a short distance, where they would reestablish their blocking position, again in their crescent formation. That was when we would drive into the open side of the crescent, our cavalry attacking the horse archers and forcing them to fall back. This extra space would hopefully allow us to seemingly fall into the Parthian trap by advancing far enough so that the two wings of the cataphracts would be on our flanks. Following that would come the second order, with every other Legion facing to the right, dropping their packs to charge one wing of the cataphracts, while the remaining Legions would do the same to the cataphracts on the opposite side. However, Bellona is a fickle bitch.
While moving back into a blocking position was the tactically correct thing to do, the Parthian commander, not Phraates, who supposedly never led his men in battle but stayed well out of harm’s way, clearly did not have much regard for doing the right thing. Instead, they remained in their original position, the only change being that the men turned their horses to face us, but it became clear that this commander knew what he was about. If we continued to march in our current direction, in just a short period of time we would put ourselves in a situation where we would have the entire Parthian army in our rear, whereupon they could either attack the Legions, or with us effectively out of the way, swing around to fall onto our baggage train. We had only one option, to press the attack, yet instead of being able to fall on both wings of cataphracts, while our cavalry pursued the archers, we could only engage their right wing. Meanwhile, if the cavalry and slingers went ahead after the archers, they would then have the left wing of cataphracts in a perfect position to fall on their rear. Despite the fact that our Gauls could outrun the slower cataphracts with little problem, the slingers would have no chance. However, if our cavalry tried to come to the aid of the slingers, they would expose themselves to the horse archers. Simply put, by not doing anything, and without firing an arrow, the Parthians had won this battle. The best thing we could have done at that point was to fall back on the remains of the campsite and rebuild it. Then Antonius and the command group could decide our next move. But Antonius was too desperate for a victory, so instead of doing the prudent thing, he showed every man in the army that he was not Caesar’s bootlace.
“We're going to attack,” the courier sent by Antonius told me.
“Attack?” I said incredulously. “Attack what, exactly?”
The courier could only shrug, then recited the instructions that Antonius had given him to pass to all the Primi Pili.
“On the cornu call, the army will execute the plan that the general outlined last night, except that every Legion will be assaulting in the same direction.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” I snapped, pointing out into the open expanse to our left. “I think it would be a waste of time going that direction.”
Again, the courier could only respond with a shrug, since all he was doing was relaying orders, and he clearly agreed with me.
“I don't know what to tell you, sir,” he replied helplessly. “I'm just relaying the general’s orders. Expect the order within the next tenth of a watch, as soon as the word's been passed to all the Legions.”
I told him that I understood and acknowledged that I had received the order, while I sent my own runners to the Pili Priores to alert them. A few moments later, I heard a shout and turned to see Scribonius, standing at the head of his Cohort farther down the column. While I could not hear what he was shouting at me, I was positive I knew what it was, but all I did was put my hands in the air, thinking that there was a lot of that gesture going around right then.
“All right, boys, get ready,” I called to my Century.
The situation was deteriorating rapidly, due to the fact we were forced to slow our march down to avoid moving past the Parthians too swiftly. I could not help but believe that the enemy knew exactly what was coming, as it seemed obvious from our actions. They still just sat on their horses watching us, and we were close enough to their right wing that I could see the men shifting about on their mounts, their heads turning as they talked to the comrade next to them. They were far enough away, however, that we could not immediately break into a run to close the distance, which would have exhausted us before we reached them. I took this as yet another sign that attacking was foolhardy at best, and suicidal at worst. Still, I knew that when the cornu sounded, we would assault the Parthians, no matter what. Taking several deep breaths, I waited for the sound that would send us hurtling after the enemy. For several more moments, nothing happened, and we were now in real danger of being too far to the side of the enemy wing. As it was, we would have to angle our approach to realign us with the Parthian right, and I wondered if Antonius realized that.
Finally, I heard the distant blast of the command cornu, the call instantly echoed by each successive Legion cornicen, until it was our turn, the horn blast giving the order to drop our packs, execute a right face, then launch immediately into the assault. I was happy to see that the thong idea worked, it taking only a couple of heartbeats for the men to ground their pack and turn to the right. Seeing them ready so quickly, I bellowed the order to advance, immediately stepping off towards the enemy. I was so proud of how quickly we were able to execute the maneuver that I completely forgot to check our alignment with the Legions on either side, at least until I heard Balbus call to me.
“Are you planning on attacking the Parthians with just us?”
That stopped me short and looking to either side, I saw that in fact the 10th was well ahead of the rest of the army. Fortunately, we were still a good distance away from the Parthians or they would have had the perfect opportunity to surround us and cut us to pieces. Calling a quick halt to wait for the rest of the army to catch up, I realized that in fact I should have informed the other Primi Pili about the method we had come up with, since it clearly meant that we moved more quickly than the other Legions. In a moment, the rest of them were abreast, then we resumed our advance. The Parthians continued to sit and watch impassively, seemingly content to let us close the distance before making their own move. In fact, they looked like a bunch of statues, except for an occasional toss of a horse’s head or a sudden pawing at the frozen ground with a hoof, the animals betraying their riders’ own tension. Suddenly, a man started tapping his javelin against his shield, which was quickly picked up by the others until first the Legion, then the whole army was punctuating every step, the cracking of javelin against the metal rim of shield drowning out every other sound. As we closed the distance, the racket we were making began having an effect on the Parthian mounts, and they started sidestepping nervously, tossing their heads. The closer we got to them, the more the horses became agitated, until a good number of them began rearing and plunging, with only the superb horsemanship of their Parthian riders keeping them from being pitched to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our cavalry force moving to our right as we were advancing, I supposed to get out of our way when we began our charge, but suddenly, without any signal being given that I heard, they went charging headlong at the left wing of the Parthian army.
Just as quickly as that happened, I heard the cornu blast signaling the Legions to launch the attack, so I roared at the top of my lungs, “Up and at 'em boys,” then broke into a run, heading for the waiting Parthians, the men of the 10th hot on my heels.
We closed the remaining distance quickly, and as had happened at the Cilician Gates, our speed caught the Parthians unprepared. At least that is how it appeared, because instead of fighting back, the heavily armored cataphracts turned to gallop off, their riders frantically whipping their mounts to open a gap. Without waiting for orders, some of the men stopped long enough to hurl their javelins at the retreating enemy, though without exception every one of them fell short, so I ordered the men to refrain from wasting their missiles. While we pressed the attack, our cavalry closed with the left wing of the Parthian army, but we could pay them no attention as we kept running after the cataphracts of the right wing, trying to close with them to inflict enough damage on them to send them back to Parthia. The cataphracts managed to stay just out of our reach, pulling up to give their horses a blow before trotting away again. Still, the Legions ran after them and I began to tire, struggling for breath, but not wanting to stop and show my age, instead forcing myself to keep running. Only after we covered at least three furlongs did we stop for a moment to catch our breath and when we did, instead of continuing their flight, the Parthians stopped as well. The moment I saw them doing so, I realized that they were not running away at all; they were trying to draw us out, the fate of Crassus flashing through my mind. However, the rest of the army kept pressing on, so I reluctantly ordered the Legion to follow and we broke out in a trot, not at the same pace as our initial pursuit, but neither were the Parthians moving with the same speed. Here and there lay the body of a Parthian, or one of their horses, but they were few and far between. Frankly, the results of what was supposed to be a decisive battle were nothing short of pathetic. Regardless, Antonius refused to recognize what was obvious to the rest of us and whenever any Legion showed signs of flagging, he would come galloping up on Clemency, alternately berating or flattering the men into continuing the pursuit.
For 50 furlongs, we followed the Parthians, the last 20 of them at a staggering walk as men paused long enough to vomit, their hands on their knees as they gasped for breath, before half-stumbling, half-running to catch up with their Century. Finally, after more than two parts of a watch in pursuit, Antonius ordered his cornicen to sound the recall, while directing the cavalry to keep up the pursuit as we marched back to our gear, then back to the remains of our camp. We were exhausted and demoralized, each of us knowing that we had not achieved our objective; in fact, when all was said and done, we killed less than a hundred of the enemy, and had taken all of 30 prisoners. The cavalry pursued the Parthians for more than ten more miles than we had, but were never able to close with them.
We made it back to the campsite, where all we had to do was to replace the stakes and erect our tents, which was a good thing, given how exhausted the men were. Antonius and the rest of the officers immediately locked themselves in the Praetorium to discuss and argue about what to do next, while the men sat in the growing darkness without even the comfort of a fire, holding their own discussions about all that had transpired. The men were decidedly downcast, their muttering going well beyond the normal grumbling, and after talking to the Centurions it was clear that the pessimism about our prospects permeated through the ranks. The one bright spot was that as light as the Parthian casualties were, ours were non-existent, at least in the Legions, though some slingers and a few of the cavalry had died.
“What was the point of that?” Balbus asked me when I stopped at his tent. “All we did was exhaust the men, and for what? Eighty-odd dead Parthians and thirty prisoners? At this rate, it'll take us three or four years to beat them, and that’s only if we do this every day.”
I could not argue with what Balbus was saying, but I felt obligated to offer some defense, though after a moment’s thought, nothing came to mind, so I just shrugged.
“What next, do you think? Are we going to keep heading north?” he asked.
I considered this, then shrugged again. “I honestly don’t know,” I replied. “That’s what they’re talking about now, so I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”
“Sooner than he decided to lift the siege, I hope,” Balbus grumbled.
And to his credit, Antonius did make his decision more quickly this time.
“We're going back to Phraaspa.”
I do not know why he acted surprised at the uproar that ensued as men began voicing their protests, either to each other or to themselves, but in voices loud enough that there was no way he could not hear. Antonius’ face burned bright red, yet his voice was calm as he held his hand up for silence, his tone almost conciliatory, which I knew had to be hard for this man.
“I understand your confusion,” he began, and I thought his choice of words was interesting, because the Centurions were anything but confused, though I supposed acknowledging that they were angry was not the smart thing to do.
“But we obviously haven't achieved what I'd hoped, so we'll need every man for our march to Artaxata. Besides, speaking politically, abandoning the auxiliaries would create innumerable problems. No, it’s better if we go back and pick them up.”
This last part seemed as if he were talking to himself, trying to convince himself that what he was saying was indeed true. For my part, I was wondering why it had suddenly become politically crucial not to abandon the auxiliary forces when it was just as vital to do so before we went off chasing the Parthians, but I put it down to just another example of Antonius’ inconstancy.
“Going back to get the auxiliaries means that we’ll be arriving in Artaxata even later,” Vibius Spurius, the Primus Pilus of the 3rd Gallica called out. “We'll be eating cold rations, without fires at night, and if what we’ve been waking up to so far is any indication, in freezing cold. We can’t afford to waste the time going back for the auxiliaries.”
There was a loud chorus of assent at Spurius’ words, my voice being among those agreeing with him. As far as I was concerned, the dice had been thrown as far as the auxiliaries, and although they were just a day’s march away, the net loss of marching time would be almost a week altogether when the time we just wasted chasing the Parthians was factored in. Antonius stood listening to our cries of protest, but while he seemed almost apologetic, extremely unusual in itself, he refused to budge, so we returned to our respective Legion areas to inform the Centurions. They took it as poorly as we had, yet once an order was given, while I allowed the Centurions to vent their frustration, I expected them to carry it out as if it were their idea. However, my Centurions were all professionals and acted quickly to squash any sign of discontent with the men. Spending a cold night huddled in our tents, the men without warm clothing were forced to huddle together in order to preserve their body heat, while those of us lucky enough wrapped up, thanking the gods that we had them.
The next morning was bitterly cold, it being clear the night before, which always makes it colder the next day, though I do not know why. With every breath, the men exhaled a cloud of vapor that hung for a moment in the air before vanishing. It had been quite some time since I was exposed to this kind of cold, finding it difficult to climb out of my cot, the ache in my legs and back making me shuffle around my tent like an old man before I warmed up enough to move normally. It was now two days since we had gone running over the countryside after the Parthians, yet I was still feeling the effects of the exertion, something that never happened when I was younger. We broke camp, then began the march back to Phraaspa, our boots making a crunching sound with every step over the frozen ground. It was the coldest morning to that point, so the men had wrapped every bit of spare clothing about them, using spare neckerchiefs to wrap their feet while wearing their extra tunic instead of carrying them in their pack.
Despite the weather, we moved quickly, descending into the valley where Phraaspa was located, whereupon the vanguard came to a crashing stop again in the same way as when they first sighted Phraaspa, causing a ripple back along the column. Without any orders given, the rest of the army was forced to halt. We were right in the middle of the column so we could not see what caused the vanguard to pull up short, but it turned out that the command group was as caught by surprise, judging from the amount of shouting and gesturing going on between Antonius and his officers. I did not relish the idea of trotting a substantial length of the column to find out what was going on, yet I could see the Primus Pilus of the vanguard Legion approaching the Triumvir from the front. Whatever it was up ahead was sufficiently challenging or surprising enough that he did not feel confident continuing forward. Cursing under my breath, I began to make my way to the command group, despite no bucina call sounding. However, things were so confused I wanted to see for myself what was going on. I arrived in time to hear Antonius bellow at the Primus Pilus, which turned out to be Balbinus, to return to his Legion to push on. The Triumvir was clearly angry, his aides and even other generals suddenly finding reasons to be a good distance away from him as he raged, first at Balbinus, then seemingly to the gods.
