Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 37
“Well, that didn't go well,” he said lightly, and I had to laugh.
“Definitely not one of my better speeches,” I agreed. Turning serious, I asked my friend, “What do we do now? I had really hoped that telling them what Antonius was up to would help.”
“What, that we need to beg our enemies to allow us to march wherever we want to go, as if we were clients?”
I looked at Scribonius, completely surprised at the bitterness in his voice.
“Not you too?”
Now it was his turn to laugh, then he spoke ruefully. “Sorry, Titus, but that’s just how I feel. I understand why Antonius is doing what he’s doing, but that doesn’t mean I like it. It just doesn’t sit well to think that we have to negotiate with an enemy we've vowed to destroy.”
I was ashamed to hear Scribonius’ words, because it had never occurred to me that the men might look at things this way. For the first time, I wondered if I was losing my grip on my Legion.
The negotiations continued for a few days, until mid-October was upon us. Finally, some sort of agreement was reached. Diocles poked about, then reported that Phraates, apparently as worried about the coming winter as we were, had agreed to let us leave unmolested. However, he refused to surrender the standards or release the prisoners from Crassus’ army. I was impressed; Fonteius told us that Antonius had planned on giving up the prisoners and standards in exchange for the promise of safe conduct, which is exactly what he had done. Diocles was clearly not as impressed, making no attempt to hide his skepticism. In fact, he was putting on such a show of it that I knew he wanted me to ask him his thoughts.
Sighing so that he knew I knew what he was up to, I asked, “Clearly you don’t agree, so what is it?”
“What did Antonius gain, really? Phraates got us to lift the siege, and he doesn’t give up the standards or the prisoners. All he had to do was make a promise not to molest us as we leave.”
I considered this. When put that way, it did not seem like Antonius was quite as smart.
“And what happens if Phraates breaks his word?” Diocles continued. “He won’t do it until we're well away from Phraaspa, and then he'll still have the standards and the prisoners. What's Antonius going to do about it except gnash his teeth?”
“If Phraates does that, he has no honor and the world will know it.” Even as I said this, I knew how weak it was, making Diocles laugh at the idea.
“Somehow I don’t think a Parthian king is going to be losing sleep over what the world thinks of his honor.”
He ducked as I threw a shoe at him and he left my office, still laughing.
With the negotiations concluded, there was nothing keeping us at Phraaspa. Yet instead of giving the order himself, Antonius sent Ahenobarbus to us, which was not received well by either the Centurions, or the rankers.
“He can’t even face us to tell us we’re finally leaving this cursed place,” I heard someone cry, followed by a chorus of agreement from the men around him.
I could only shake my head; Antonius could not seem to do anything right by the men. For the first time I had some sympathy for the Triumvir because he honestly seemed to be trying to think of the men’s welfare. It took us a couple of days to break down the camp, preparing to leave. For the first time in weeks, the men seemed to have a sense of purpose and a bit of energy in their activities as they made the necessary arrangements. The people of Phraaspa lined the parapet of their walls to watch us assemble, then begin to march away, this time with the whole army, and they knew that they had for all intents and purposes beaten the army of Antonius. We were finally lifting the siege with nothing to show for it but a few less men and none of our heavy baggage. Antonius originally planned on taking us back the way that we had come to Artaxata, since the route was known by the army. Then the Mardian guide who was with the baggage train asked to see Antonius, informing him that there was a better route turning to the northeast before swinging around to the north. He insisted that this route had better forage. Most importantly, it had not been picked clean of wood for fires. He also warned Antonius that trusting Phraates to uphold his end of the bargain was folly, something that Antonius did not want to hear. As the Triumvir argued, how could he know who to trust between the Mardian who had, however unwittingly, guided the baggage train to such a disaster, or the king of the enemy army who had pledged his word that we could pass unmolested? To prove his trustworthiness, the Mardian offered to ride with his hands tied behind his back, his mount tethered to a guard’s horse all the way to Artaxata, an offer that Antonius accepted.
Chapter 6- Retreat
We pulled out before first light shortly before the Ides of October, the 10th being given the vanguard position, a signal honor on the first day of a march. Nonetheless, I was not about to allow the men to bask in the moment, remembering Diocles’ words about Phraates. Instead of the normal Century on the flanks, I sent two on both sides, one closer to the front and one to the rear so they could spot any attempt by the Parthians to cut through the middle of the formation. There were no Parthians anywhere in sight, which was unusual, as they had always been lingering about a mile or so away. However, it was not unexpected if Phraates was keeping his word, but I was still taking no chances. The wind was like a knife cutting through a man’s vitals; before we marched a third of a watch, my face went numb, my hands tingling despite the fact I was wearing one of my extra pairs of fur-lined socks on them. Even with the cold, the men moved quickly, so by the end of the day we covered almost 30 miles without a Parthian showing himself.
It snowed again that night, so that when we awoke, there were several inches on the ground, the tents covered in white blankets of the stuff. Fortunately, it was cold enough that the snow did not stick to soak into the leather, though I wondered how long our luck would hold in that sense, remembering a time in Gaul when our tents became soaked from melting snow, overloading the mules. That time we had been forced to abandon some of our food supplies, but that was in a land where most of the time resupply was simple. There were still no Parthians anywhere in sight, so when we stopped at midday, Antonius gave the order that we could march in loose formation and not in our normal spacing that we used when enemy contact was expected. This was popular with the men, but not as popular with the Centurions because of the inherent risk if the Parthians did show themselves, along with the unwritten rule that allowed men to move among their ranks to talk to friends when marching in such a formation. Men are not allowed to move between Legions, but they can go visit their friend or relative in another Cohort. When a Legion is on the march and is stretched out, that means that a man might be a few furlongs away from his spot in formation. I saw this as another sign that Antonius was trying to appease the men, which was beginning to work, judging from the comments that I heard as we marched. Taking the opportunity as an excuse to march near Gaius, I did so by stopping to wait for Scribonius and his Cohort to reach me. Exchanging a few words with Scribonius for the sake of appearances, I then began walking slowly until Gaius’ section caught up to me. His face was red and chapped, but compared to his tentmates, he looked decidedly warmer.
“Thank you for the cloak and socks, Uncle,” he whispered to me, while I just nodded, not wanting to acknowledge his words lest I be overheard.
“How are you holding up so far?” I asked, which was a normal question a Primus Pilus would ask one of his Legionaries, meaning there was no need to lower my voice.
“Fine sir,” he replied cheerfully. I felt a pang at his youthful enthusiasm. Still, he chattered on, oblivious. “It’s colder than I’ve ever seen, but as long as we keep moving it’s not a problem. What about the Parthians? Do you think they’ll show themselves?”
“They've promised that they wouldn't bother us,” I responded dutifully, hoping my voice was betraying what I truly meant. “And so far they've held to their word.”
I could feel his eyes on me as I spoke and I knew that he was weighing what I said, along with how carefully I said it, hoping that he received the message I was trying to send him, which was that I did not expect the Parthians to hold to their promise. In that, at least, I was proven right.
It was on the third day, shortly before midday that we first ran into trouble, starting at a river crossing. At first glance, it was just a case of the river overflowing its banks on the far side. Nonetheless, the Mardian guiding us insisted that it was a case of sabotage by the Parthians, as he had traveled this road many times and had never seen the river behave in such a fashion. To his credit, Antonius took him seriously, so that after crossing the river, he gave the order to close the ranks back up, while having the missile troops shake out on either side of the column, though it took time for men to scramble back to their proper place in the ranks. It was this moment the Parthians chose to attack. It is difficult to describe how an entire army can suddenly appear as if conjured up by the gods when one does not understand how it happened himself, because even to an eye as experienced as mine, the land did not seem to offer enough undulation to hold so many men and horses. I suppose it is a tribute to the skill of the Parthians in their knowledge and use of the terrain, for they arose from seemingly flat ground to come charging in from all sides. One moment we were standing waiting for Antonius to decide what to do, the next there were cornu calls echoing up and down the column as Centurions bellowed out orders. I was doing a bit of thundering of my own, first commanding the Cohort, then the Legion to form squares by Cohort, the standard tactic for repelling cavalry. The 10th was located roughly in the middle of the column, with the thickest concentration of slingers on either side of us. It did not take long for the Parthian horse archers to feel the sting of those lead missiles that had worked so well for Ventidius, so they never got close enough to us to loose any arrows that posed a danger. Quickly turning their attention to what they perceived to be the weak spot in the column, they galloped around the auxiliaries, who had put themselves in even greater danger by lagging behind. This had been a problem since the first day of the march; the auxiliaries simply did not have the discipline or the stamina of the Legions, continually falling behind farther and farther every day. Now they were paying the price as the Parthians swarmed around them, the only protection for the infantry being whatever native missile troops were with their contingent.
The Pontics and Jews had men who carried sheaves of light javelins, much in the manner of the Numidian infantry. Essentially, it was only this that stood between the Parthians and their own comrades. Despite many of them falling to the horse archers, we also saw riderless horses galloping away from the rear of the column, followed by men clutching some part of their body, meaning that they were inflicting damage in turn. The javelineers of the auxiliaries managed to thwart the Parthian attack. Unfortunately, it was only for a few moments, because the enemy came rushing at the rear of the column again, clearly believing that this was the weak point. This time it took the Gallic cavalry to come to the rescue, just arriving from their advance position farther up the road. Again our allies managed to kill and wound a number of the enemy, despite taking a few losses of their own, yet before the Gauls could come to grips with the Parthians to do more damage, the enemy withdrew. As quickly as they had come, they disappeared, seemingly back into the ground, but obviously into the myriad hidden gullies and ravines that are part of the terrain. Suddenly the sounds of battle, the neighing horses, yelling men, cornu calls and of men wounded and dying was gone, leaving only the excited babbling of the army, underscored by the keening sound of the wind.
“At least we know what to expect now,” was how Balbus put it, and he was right.
There had been a feeling of anticipation in the air around the army, building with every step we took, men waiting to see if the Parthian king would keep his word, and they would not have been Roman Legionaries if money had not changed hands the moment the first arrow flew. Fortunately, there was no more marching in loose formation, Antonius instead putting us into the agmen quadratum again, without any complaints from the men this time. We did not see the Parthians for the rest of the day, though like Balbus, I was comforted by the thought that we now knew what to expect. Little did any of us know that this day would be the best it would be for some time to come.
Crossing the river marked another change, besides the sign that the Parthians would do everything they could to stop us. While the land we passed through had some short but steep hills that had to be traversed, it was nothing compared to the rough and broken terrain we now found ourselves in. To be fair, the Mardian had warned us, though he insisted that while the country was more rugged, it also offered more opportunities for subsistence. In this, he was correct at least, at first anyway. Compared to what we had been through before, the land around us provided a bounty in the way of firewood, so that for the first time in weeks the men were allowed to have a fire at every tent, and not just for cooking. Next to food, nothing quite lifts a man’s spirits as the sight of a warm fire in the night, except perhaps a woman, and I know that most of the men would have stepped over the most willing, beautiful maiden in the world to warm their hands at a fire that first night. It did not help matters that the weather was getting worse. It was about this point that the sick list began to become a real concern, if only because there was not much we could do for men who were ill from exposure and cold. The more rugged terrain also meant that our pace slowed considerably, meaning that the first three or four days, we managed barely 20 miles. We began losing men, stragglers who could not keep up and when they fell from sight of the rearguard, were never heard from again. Each morning before we set out, I would have to send my report to the Praetorium, and with every report there was a tale of men who would never see their homes again. I was losing an average of two men every day, and I knew that it was only going to get worse. So far, it was only men who had been sick, or men who injured themselves by tripping and falling over ground torn and gouged by tramping feet, the earth like iron from the freezing cold. Most of the time, men would be hauled to their feet by their comrades with nothing worse than a few bruises or cuts, yet sometimes a man would fall awkwardly, and those around him could hear the snap of a bone, followed by his scream of agony. If he was lucky, it would be an arm that had broken, but sometimes men would break their legs and if it was the big bone in the thigh, those men did not last long in the cold weather. Something about the body healing and trying to stay warm at the same time was too much for a man, so that even being carried on a litter by their comrades, they would usually die within a day or two. As I said, I knew it was going to get worse, yet when it did come, it was not from the cold or sickness, it was from battle, and it cost me a Cohort and most of a second.
The days passed in a haze of misery as we climbed steadily higher, always with the Parthians circling us like wolves after a herd of goats. Every moment of the day, we had to be on our guard, the terrain no help towards maintaining a proper agmen quadratum. One lapse of attention, where a Century wandered just a bit out of line because their Centurion was busy carrying on a conversation with his Optio about who had the duty that night and therefore did not follow exactly in line as he was supposed to, would cost someone their lives. Seeing this gap, a swarm of horse archers would immediately gallop in, loosing as many arrows as they could before the men got their shields up. Meanwhile, our slingers would run out from the center of the quadratum or the Gallic cavalry would arrive to drive them away. Scenes like this one were played out up and down the column, the need for constant alertness wearing on everyone, regardless of rank. Antonius spent part of every day circulating among the troops, getting down off Clemency to walk with the men, telling jokes while listening to their complaints. He never once displayed the haughty, cold-hearted, and mean-spirited Antonius that had gotten him in so much trouble with the men in Italia. Whenever he came to visit my Century or my Cohort, I made myself scarce, since it was not a good idea for me to be in a position to display my ambivalence towards Antonius. I appreciated what he was doing, yet I was suspicious of both his motives and his sincerity so it would not have been politic of me to find myself in a position where that distrust was on display. Young Gaius was quite taken with Antonius, however, and the evening after Antonius visited with the Second Cohort of the 10th, he was positively glowing. I remembered how Vibius had felt much the same way when we first encountered a much younger Antonius prior to taking ship for Britannia. Regarding my nephew, he seemed to be holding up well enough physically, yet I could not help noticing and worrying a bit at how tired he looked at the end of a day’s march. Gaius’ mental state concerned me more, as he seemed especially worn down by the constant threat of the Parthians hovering about the edges of the army, not close enough to hurt us immediately, but in a position to do damage if we made a mistake. That kind of tension wears a man down, even an experienced man. It was this tension that spurred a Tribune named Gallus to do something that almost got all of us killed.
I do not remember much about Gallus; he was just one of the many young Tribunes with the army who rotated through each Legion. Most of them were a damned nuisance, and if they did stick out in our memories, it was rarely for the right reasons. Nonetheless, I cannot totally discount what he tried to accomplish, while in truth the fault lies more with Canidius than with Gallus, since at least Gallus was trying to do something to relieve the constant pressure we all felt. Going to Antonius, he offered to lead a sally back to the rear of the column, where as usual, the auxiliaries were under the most pressure. They had been whittled down bit by bit every day, their numbers shrinking, leaving a trail of arrow-riddled corpses in our wake. Gallus asked for, and was granted, 3,000 auxiliary infantry and 2,000 cavalry to be formed up inside the square of the agmen quadratum at the rear of the column, ready for the next sortie by the Parthians. When it came, Gallus led his force out from behind the protective screen of the rearguard to tear into the Parthians, catching them completely by surprise. For the first time in days, there were more Parthian bodies on the ground than our own, making it understandable that Gallus would want to continue the killing, so he continued his pursuit of the Parthians until he was out of sight of the column. Canidius was commanding in the rear portion of the quadratum, so he sent a messenger on horseback galloping off to Gallus, ordering the Tribune back to the column. However, for reasons I never learned, Gallus refused. I imagine that like any young officer, he was anxious to make a name for himself, seeing this as his opportunity and he was not about to waste it.
