Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 38
“This is only part of it,” he told me. “I talked him out of unpacking one entire wagon containing nothing but artwork.”
“Our Praetor does love his comforts,” I agreed, then turned to the reason I had come to see him.
“When we were talking about the assault, and I mentioned the idea of sending for more men, I thought Primus was going to swallow his tongue. What was that about?”
I had spoken in a low tone, but even so, Masala glanced over his shoulder. Taking my arm, he pulled me outside. Once clear of prying ears, he began talking.
“We’ve received a courier from Rome,” Masala told me. “But before I tell you the contents, I must insist that you give me your oath, on your honor as Camp Prefect and Centurion, that you will not breathe a word of what I’m about to tell you to anyone.”
The only person I would have discussed anything with was Scribonius, who was no longer with the army, enabling me to give him my promise with a clear heart.
“Word of what Marcus Primus is doing has reached the ears of Augustus, and a message was sent, under the authority of the Senate of course, recalling Primus immediately.”
I stood there, too stunned to speak for a few moments. Finally, I thought to ask, “When was this?”
Now Masala looked nervous and, when he answered, I knew why.
“Two weeks ago.”
That meant before we had taken the fortress, and before we conducted the surprise attack on the confederation of the three tribes.
“Two weeks? Pluto’s cock,” I said, incredulous at this bit of information. Masala bowed his head to avoid my gaze.
“So a lot of men died for no reason?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Masala sounded defensive, as well he should have. “The Praetor is sure that there’s been some mistake, and he sent a courier directly to the Princeps to clarify matters.”
“But that letter he showed me was a forgery; you said so yourself. How can he expect Augustus to agree to let us continue if that’s true?”
Masala could do nothing but shrug, saying only, “Who knows what runs through the Praetor’s mind? He seems sure that whatever he said in the letter will be enough to change things.”
I was regretting giving my oath, but I would not betray the young man, since I had come to at least respect him somewhat, along with being sympathetic to his plight. From what he had told me, and I had no reason to disbelieve him, he had been put in this position by an ambitious father, who had latched onto Marcus Primus because of his proximity to Octavian. This was nothing new, and has been in practice since long before I was born, and will be going on long after I am gone, but it still had to be hard for Masala.
“In the meantime,” Masala continued, “he plans on going through with this campaign.”
“I imagine that he’s also betting that the spoils from Serdica will smooth over any difficulties.”
That reminded me of the Praetor’s obsession with this city.
“What does he know about Serdica? Or thinks he knows that makes him so intent on taking this city?”
I was sure that Masala knew the answer to that question, which had been eating away at me for some time, but if he did, he was still not willing to reveal it.
“I have no idea,” was all he would say with a shrug, yet there was something about his manner that convinced me he did indeed know.
Masala had revealed a great deal to me about Marcus Primus, but only a little bit at a time as the campaign had progressed, and he seemed determined to hold onto this last piece of the puzzle, if he indeed did know, as I believed.
We parted, with my mind full of the implications of what I had learned, and an ache to talk to Scribonius about it, or even Balbus, for that matter. All I had left was Diocles, and I would not unburden myself at his expense, knowing that if things were to go horribly wrong and it was somehow discovered that I had divulged what I knew to my slave, he would pay a gruesome price. I trusted Macrinus well enough, and I was beginning to trust Flaminius, but neither man was as politically astute as Scribonius, or Diocles for that matter, so I was stuck with this secret eating away at me and trying to determine what it meant. What I had learned about myself over the years was that while I am smart enough, I don’t have a naturally devious turn of mind that would enable me to peel away the layers of this problem to examine them, one by one.
My brooding was interrupted by the return of the first of the scouting parties and, immediately upon the rest arriving, I held another meeting, holding this in the fortress since the camp was broken down by this point. Each small group provided its report on what had been found, and what quickly became apparent was that while there were many spots where the men could gather in the immediate vicinity, there were none that met all the requirements. The first need was that it be close enough to the fortress so a signal could be heard, but the position also had to be concealed enough to hide the bulk of two Legions and auxiliaries. Granted, there would be no baggage train, and we were sending the Legion mules along as well. Still, that was a large number of men, taking a fair amount of space. Any spot large enough was within plain sight, without sufficient concealment, meaning the first requirement that it would be within the sound of Caldus’ cornu signal was out of the question, since the only spot that met the first requirement did not meet the second. On the opposite side of the peak of the large mountain where the fortress was located, there was a large bowl-shaped depression at the base. As the crow flies, it was less than a mile from the fortress; however, the men would have to travel more than two miles around the shoulder of the mountain, and this over a narrow, rugged track. It was Flavianus who had found this spot, making me feel better since he at least had a good eye for ground and could provide an accurate estimate of the time it would take to cover the distance.
“If the men were pushed, and pushed hard, they could make it to the fortress within athird of a watch,” he said. “But even on horseback, it would take a fair amount of time to get from the fortress to let them know it was time to move.”
The crux of the problem was that we wanted to be in place, inside the fortress, ready to attack the men sent from Serdica to reoccupy the fortress, before they arrived. I was sure that the Serdi would have this force standing at the gate, ready to move immediately, if they did not in fact move out of the city to a short distance away, just out of range of a possible ambush, and simply wait out in the open. However, given the losses they had taken when they had attempted to relieve the garrison, when they had been caught out on the road, my feeling was that the Thracian commander would be cautious, suspecting a trap of some kind. Our job was to convince him that there was no such trap waiting, and part of that was moving the men as quickly as possible without being detected. It seemed that this was now in serious jeopardy. After hearing everyone’s report, I decided I needed to be alone to think. I was giving serious consideration to calling this whole plan off, since there did not seem to be any way to alert the army to move into place and get them there in time. I climbed up to the rampart and leaned on a crenellation, brooding about what to do, staring up at the bulk of the mountain. My eye was caught by something out of place, another straight line, this one a whitish line angling across the mountain face, its high point terminating just behind a clump of rocks just above the fortress. The lower point of the line disappeared around the curve of the mountain some distance away, and I recognized that it was a trail of some sort. I felt a surge of excitement, and went to find Flavianus. Bringing him back up, I pointed to what I had found.
“Can that clump of rocks be seen from the spot you found?”
My hopes vanished with the shake of his head.
“Farther down that trail, yes. But not from that spot you just showed me.”
I thought for a moment before making my decision.
“Then that will have to do.”
That trail I had seen turned out to be not made by man and was some sort of game trail, except I had seen no wild animals bounding about on the crags above. It was very narrow, too narrow even for a horse, meaning that men had to be found who had experience traversing such terrain. We ended up picking four men who would work in pairs, one moving to a spot behind the clump of rocks out of sight, but within hearing of the fortress. When Caldus sounded the signal, they would wave a red pennant that we used for signaling to the second pair, who would do the same to us waiting below. This would be our signal to start toward the fortress and, from that point on, it would be a race to see who got into position first.
The army slept out in the open that night then, before dawn, the bucina sounded the call to begin the final preparations for leaving so that we began marching immediately after the sun rose. I sat aboard Ocelus, watching the men march by, seeming from all appearances to be giving up and leaving. The prisoners were kept between the two Legions, the baggage train taking its traditional place in the rear. Following it all was our cavalry, minus a squadron that was ranging ahead. From outward appearances, this was a standard day on the march, except that the order of the march was no accident. Immediately on entering the narrow valley, marching south past the fortress, we would be out of sight of Serdica, whereupon the army would split up. Those Cohorts and auxiliaries who would continue on with the baggage train and prisoners were already placed immediately in front and behind the Thracians, and the slaves driving the Legion mules would continue with them, along with the baggage train. I could see the ramparts of Serdica, lined with men who I was sure were staring in disbelief, given all that we had done to get into this position. I could imagine the kind of speculation and rumor that was sweeping through the Serdi ranks as they watched our retreating backs, leaving a scarred piece of ground clearly outlined by where the ditch had been filled in, the remnants of our camp.
“Do you think this will work?”
I turned to see Masala, evidently freed from his duties of being Primus’ shadow for a moment, since the command group marched ahead of the prisoners and behind the 8th marching vanguard.
“I think so,” I said, then amended, “I hope so.”
I gave him a curious glance, asking, “Aren’t you going with the Praetor?”
For it had been agreed that Marcus Primus would go with the baggage and prisoners, ostensibly in “command,” despite it being no secret among the senior officers that he was being kept out of the way. I will say that it was not something he fought very hard; I think he had gotten his fill of military life by this point, and he certainly did not seem upset to be shoved aside.
“I got his permission to stay with the army,” Masala answered. “If this turns out to be the last battle of the campaign, I want to be part of it.”
“Well, I’m touched by your confidence that this will all work out the way I hope.” I said it as a joke, yet in truth, I was somewhat touched by his belief, however naïve it may have been. “Stick by my side then, and we’ll get your sword wet. And get you through in one piece.”
He nodded gratefully, then the cavalry rearguard came walking by, and it was time to join them. I trotted Ocelus up the column, Masala behind me. The vanguard reached the mouth of the valley, moving alongside the river, slowly disappearing around the shoulder of the mountain where the fortress sat, it also seemingly deserted. Our men were in there waiting, left behind when the working parties came back to the camp, Caldus with them. I told them that they could remain outside their hiding spots, just out of sight from the ramparts until we passed by, where they would hear a signal from one of the other corniceni, because that horn carries farther than the bucina. This would tell them to go into their spots, and they were not to move until the right moment. Once the vanguard reached the narrow draw that eventually led up to the spot we had selected for them, the men were forced to reduce their front from the standard eight abreast to just four men and, even then, there were spots where they were forced to step aside to make room. This was the one part I worried about most; if the Thracians arrived at the fortress too quickly, the dust from the Legions would still be in the air, pointing straight up the draw to where we would be hiding. This was simply a risk that had to be taken, and I hoped that the combination of time and the undergrowth that choked the sides of the draw would trap most of the dust before it could rise high in the air. From the fortress, looking south, there was a view up the valley a distance of at least two or three more miles before the road following the river curved out of sight, following the course of the water. Even if the column was not completely out of sight; that was actually a good thing, since it would be the baggage train that the Thracian scouting party would see. The cavalry would have already pushed ahead of the column now that the train was out of danger from Serdica, and the dust from the wagons would obscure what lay ahead. To their eyes, everything would appear to be the same, at least so I hoped.
I rode Ocelus a short way up the slope to watch the army split in two, and I saw the surprised looks on the faces of the Thracian prisoners, realizing that something was happening that was more than just a march. Even from where I sat, I could hear the excited buzzing of talk as men called to each other, and I knew that some of them were thinking about the possibility of an opportunity to escape. That would be next to impossible; the men were bound, one hand chained to another man’s, and while their legs were free so they could walk, each man had a loop of rope around his neck, leading to the man directly in front and behind. If there was an attempt to escape, it would have to be by a whole group of men who could manage to move simultaneously without any of them tripping, or being slower than their comrades. In short, they were not a threat to escape or cause any real mischief, so I did not see any point in trying to shut them up. The 13th reached the spot to turn off, and began their own ascent. A few moments later, the baggage train went rumbling by, the wagons rocking over the rough road, the axles screeching and the contents rattling about inside. Seeing the end of the column, I turned to follow the rest of the army, Ocelus picking his way through the rocks that littered the floor of the draw. Everything that could be done had been, and now it was all in the hands of others, a very uncomfortable feeling for me. I just hoped that by the end of this day, Serdica would be ours, the relatively easy way.
It is so rare that a plan works exactly the way it is designed that in all of my years in the Legions, it is hard for me to think of any other time it happened. The Serdi certainly helped matters, starting by sending a scouting party of about twenty men, all mounted, up the road to the fortress. Undoubtedly approaching cautiously, they rode up to the northern gate, which we had left standing open, stopping just outside the walls while one man rode into the fortress. Giving the signal that it was clear, the rest of the Serdi entered as well and, while several dismounted to search the area, two men remained on horseback. Caldus saw this from his hiding spot, and knew that these mounted Thracians were actually the biggest threat, since they would bolt out through the gate the moment our men began their attack. Watching as the Thracians behaved in the way they had been expected to, searching the obvious places like the barracks and stables, Caldus waited for the four Serdi who had climbed to the ramparts and already begun making a fire to give the signal. Finally, they were given the order to proceed and made a fire using green wood soaked in oil that they had brought with them, waiting until it was smoking. Then, using a cloak, they covered the fire for a moment to interrupt the smoke streaming into the air before pulling the cloak away, repeating this three times. Caldus knew that it was time to move, but he saw that the two mounted men were lingering just inside the gate. The moment our men burst from cover to begin their attack, they would head for Serdica to warn the others. Thinking quickly, Caldus climbed out of the box that had been his hiding place and, as he did so, he made a great show of yawning and stretching, acting like he had been taking a nap. Keeping his gaze on the ground and rubbing his eyes, he walked several steps before one of the Serdi by the gate saw him, shouting an alarm. Caldus stopped short, looking up in apparent surprise, then turned to run back in the opposite direction, carrying his horn with him. Both cavalrymen and their horses are conditioned to do one thing at the sight of a running enemy, and the two men reacted according to their training, spurring their horses after the fleeing cornicen without a moment’s hesitation. Caldus ran a few more steps, then wheeled to blow the signal to begin our attack, but his quick thinking did not stop with his initial action. Instead of blowing the normal signal to attack and, despite being out of breath, Caldus blew the notes that warned instead of a cavalry charge. Fortunately, the Centurions in charge of each group, one from the 13th commanding the men in the storage building, and one from the 8th in the cisterns, had the presence of mind to realize that they needed to first take care of whatever mounted men they found. The men of the 13th in the storage buildings had kept their javelins with them, while the men in the cisterns who had to ascend the ladders were relying on the slingers with them to provide long distance firepower. Slings aren’t as reliable against horses, unless they are using the lead bullets that Ventidius had them use in Parthia, but our slingers had only normal stone ammunition with them, leaving it up to the men of the 13th. Caldus, still thinking on his feet as it were, had either realized this, or was just lucky because, in his headlong flight, he veered in the direction of the storage building. When the 13th came bursting out of their hiding place, they were confronted by Caldus running for his life and now yelling at the top of his lungs for his comrades to kill the bastards chasing him, with the two horsemen just paces behind, their swords raised, triumphant grins on their faces. Their victory turned sour in the amount of time it took for the javelins thrown by some of our men to strike them down. At the same time this was taking place, the men of the 8th climbed out of the cisterns, the slingers immediately sending their missiles upward at the four men on the rampart, who were just realizing what was happening and were trying frantically to revive the fire. In a matter of moments, every Thracian of the scouting party was accounted for and dispatched, before any warning could be sent out that the relieving force was heading into a trap.
