Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 46
"I'm sorry, Prefect," he said, thankfully in a softer tone. "It's just that I've called to you three times."
"Oh." I did not know what else to say.
Pointing down at my thigh, he said, "You're badly wounded."
"Really? I wasn't aware of that," I muttered. I would have said more, but the world was beginning to spin.
Lucullus must have seen me reel in the saddle, because he reached out a quick hand to grab me by the arm. I felt another hand grasp my shoulder from the other side, and I saw Silanus there, the same expression on his face. Turning in that direction gave me a chance to look at what was happening, although I wish I could say I thought it was important at that moment. The fighting was over, the remaining Moesians having fled the field when the lead Cohort came across the ford. Already, men were moving among the wounded of the vanguard Century, and it did not take more than a glance to see that they had been badly mauled.
"Prefect, we need to get the doctor here immediately," Lucullus told me. "We're going to need an expert to deal with this."
Before I could answer, Ocelus suddenly gave a shudder, and that made my mind up for me.
"We can't wait," I said, noticing that already my jaw was beginning to ache from clenching it. "The spear went through my leg and into Ocelus. We have to get it out of him, now."
"But if we don't extract the spear carefully, we could sever a blood vessel, and you know that would kill you," Silanus protested.
"Then," I told him, "don't fuck up."
I would recount what happened next, but the truth is that I do not remember, because in the span of a heartbeat after Lucullus, whose face I was sure was paler than mine was, began pulling the spear out, I passed out. Fortunately, Silanus had enlisted the help of Libo to hold me steady. At the same time, Flavianus, who had come across by this point, was chosen to hold Ocelus by the reins, since he was familiar with Flavianus' scent and Flavianus had actually ridden Ocelus on one occasion. Despite the less than ideal circumstances, Lucullus managed to extract the spear with minimal further damage, other than making me faint. But the best news of all was that the wound to Ocelus turned out to be minor, just a little less than an inch of the point of the spear actually penetrating. In fact, he recuperated much more quickly than I did, and even now has nothing but a scar to show for it, while I still walk with a decided limp. The fact that I walk at all is a minor miracle, at least according to the army physician, who attributed it to the favor of the gods, which I refuse to accept. It was luck, nothing more. The larger situation, on the other hand, was an equal mix of good and bad. The vanguard Century not only lost more than twenty men dead, and another fifteen wounded, while four of those would be invalided out, they also lost their Centurion. He had been one of the first killed, just after ordering the orbis, along with the cornicen, explaining why I had not seen him. But it also told me that this attack had not been a matter of a handful of hotheads, or done on a whim. While they had taken an opportunity presented to them, the fact that according to all the surviving Legionaries of the Century, they had specifically targeted the Centurion and cornicen, and the Optio as well, but he had fought them off, some thought had gone into this attack. I did not think it likely that in the amount of time after they saw us coming, perhaps a third of a watch before the attack, that they could muster that many warriors, hide them, and then conduct such a coordinated assault. What clinched it for me was the fact that the Century standard had been lost; despite the best efforts of those Legionaries I had seen dashing after the Moesian who had grabbed the standard shortly before I got into my own difficulty, they had withdrawn with the standard. What they could not have foreseen was that they had actually done me an enormous favor. The loss of a standard was more than enough of a pretext to attack Naissus, as long as we could prove that these Moesians came from there. Although it would later turn out that this was indeed the case, the truth was that it would not have mattered; I was sure every man in the army would swear on Jupiter's black stone that they saw with their very own eyes the Moesians scurrying through the gates of the city. I had my war.
Once more, I found myself loaded into the back of a wagon, and despite the slung hammock, I was sure that the jolting I received did as much harm as it did good. Fortunately, it was a short trip, the army stopping just a little more than a mile south of Naissus, its wooden walls plainly visible across the flat ground, still nestled in the crook of the two rivers. From my wagon, I directed Flavianus, who as praefecti fabrorum technically outranked me, but had immediately waived that honor at the very beginning of the campaign, to select a campsite from where we could do our work. I no longer had to worry about coming up with an excuse to spend several days here, but I honestly did not think it would take very long to reduce the city. Flavianus selected a spot due south and a little east of Naissus, using the Sava to secure our left flank, unlike the last time when we made one of our two camps so that the Sava was between us and Naissus. As the army began the task of throwing up a camp, I received the report from Flavianus and the Tribunes. There was another piece of good news, which Lucullus provided.
"The trail those bastards left could be followed by a blind man, and it leads directly to the southern gate of the town," he told me.
This was indeed welcome information, although it did not really change anything. When Lucullus finished, Flavianus began, and that was when the good news stopped.
"Since we were here so recently, we're going to have to go farther afield to find sufficient timber to build what we're going to need. There's enough available to build the towers for the camp, and perhaps one or two artillery platforms to cover the men as they work on the towers, but that's it. We are going to assault with towers, I assume?"
"If you tell me that it's the fastest way to get men into the city, then yes," I replied.
Somewhat to my surprise, he did not answer immediately, instead looking at me thoughtfully.
"When I took Paperius' place, we talked about this particular siege," he began. "And he was of the opinion that the ground was soft enough because of its proximity to the rivers that the wall could have been undermined quite easily."
I tried to remember the total of all the conversations I had participated in with the praefecti fabrorum attached to Crassus' army. He had been similar to Flavianus in many ways, although he was perhaps not quite as crusty. And his eyebrows did not have a mind of their own, as I remembered, watching Flavianus' now as they bobbed up and down on his head. Even in pain, the sight threatened to make me chuckle, so I had to shove the thought away as I recalled why we had opted to build towers.
Remembering, I said, "Wait. The reason we used towers was due to two factors; Paperius said that it would take a week to undermine the wall, and that there was a risk that the groundwater would flood any tunnel we tried to dig."
Flavianus nodded, a scowl on his face that I knew did not necessarily reflect any displeasure, but seemed to be his natural expression.
"That's true," he conceded. "But it was faster that time for the very reason that it will take longer this time. We cut down almost every tree from those hills over there." He pointed off to the northwest, where the bulk of the hills that hemmed in this river valley lay and, even from five miles away, I could see that the slopes were bare of green.
I remembered what had gone into the construction of not just the towers, but the trench and multiple artillery positions that completely encircled Naissus, which at the time I thought was a bit much as it was.
"Also, the fact is that I don't agree with Paperius on his assessment about the groundwater," he continued calmly. "I've actually tunneled in ground almost identical to this, and there wasn't any problem with flooding whatsoever."
Although I respected Paperius, the truth was that I trusted Flavianus more.
"Then let's dig some tunnels," I said, making a decision that I knew would be roundly criticized by the men.
If men were given a choice of traveling several miles, chopping down trees, then dragging them back to camp, or staying near camp but digging in the dirt, they would choose the former every time. Not surprisingly, digging is filthy work, and while they would spend more of their day chopping, then loading the logs onto the wagons, and then have to follow the wagons back, making for a much longer day, they would at least be clean. However, if Flavianus was sure that digging would take less time, that was what they would do, no matter how heartily they complained. With that bit of business finished, I was about to dismiss them so that I could get some rest, when there was the blast of a bucina, sounding the call that announced that the camp was being approached by unknown parties.
Cursing, I told Lucullus, "Go get me a horse and bring him here."
He stared at me as if I had lost my mind.
"Prefect." He tried to sound respectful but firm at the same time. "Surely you don't think you're going to get on a horse. Besides," he added, "I thought Ocelus was wounded."
"He is. That's why I said get me 'a' horse," I replied impatiently, even as I started to swing my heavily bandaged leg out of the hammock.
For a moment, I was sure that I was going to pass out again, but while the interior of the wagon grew suddenly dim, and a fresh spate of sweat broke out on my forehead, somehow, I managed to stay awake.
"And how do you think you're going to mount a horse?" Flavianus scoffed, not the least bit intimidated by the glare I gave him.
"Bring him up to the edge of the wagon," I ordered, making it up as I went along while trying to sound as if I had done this before. "I'll stand on the end of the wagon, then just lower myself down onto his back."
"You have lost your mind." Flavianus shook his head, but I was pleased to see that Lucullus, with a clear show of reluctance, left the wagon.
"That may be, but I'm still in command of this army. Besides," I finished, "I think I know who this is and what it's about."
Although it was not quite as simple as I had made it out to be, I did manage to lower myself onto the back of a horse, a black that I recognized belonged to the Tribune Capito. By this time, the bandage on my leg, as thick as it was, already showed a red spot on both sides of my thigh, and I was waging a serious battle against the almost overwhelming urge to vomit. Nevertheless, I managed to give the black a kick with my good leg, and I cannot describe my relief that instead of breaking out into a trot, the horse placidly walked in the direction I pointed him. Heading for the main gate, I heard the shouts of the duty Centurion and his men, and despite not being able to make out the words, I knew they were telling whoever was approaching to halt where they were. Lucullus, Silanus, and Capito were all mounted as well, riding alongside me as they pretended not to be watching my every move, no doubt sure I was going to topple from the saddle. I managed to disappoint them, but just barely. Reaching the gate, I beckoned to them to follow me and, directing the black, exited the camp. Facing us, but more than a hundred paces away, obeying the guard's command, were three horsemen, and I nudged my horse directly toward them.
"Greetings, Charax," I called out once we drew close enough.
The man was clearly startled and surprised, but I saw his eyes narrow as he stared at me, finally giving a nod of recognition.
"Greetings...Prefect," he finally said in Greek, the same tongue in which I had addressed him. "Forgive me, but your name escapes me, although I do recognize you."
"I am Titus Pullus, Camp Prefect and commander of this army." I decided not to give it a name, although I am not sure why.
"Ah, yes. Now I remember." He tried to sound cordial, but I could easily hear the undercurrent of bitterness in his tone, and I will say that I understood his feelings.
The last time we had met, five years before, Charax had done everything he could to avoid what Marcus Crassus was determined to do, all to no avail. I would be lying if I said I did not feel a pang of sympathy for the man, because I was going to be equally unyielding, intent on making sure that there would be no accommodation.
"You were with Marcus Crassus." His mouth twisted into a bitter grimace at the memory, and again, I understood.
"Yes, I was. But unlike last time, this time we have a legitimate grievance," I told Charax, my voice as hard as I could make it.
Even from a distance, I could see his face flush, but he nodded his head in recognition of what I had said.
"You are correct, Prefect Pullus," he said, and I believe the regret in his voice was unfeigned. "But I have come under a flag of truce to ask; no, to beg." I could easily imagine how difficult it was for a man as proud as Charax to utter these words, "you to excuse what is the work of a few, disaffected and radical men who do not represent the rest of us."
"Oh?" I feigned interest, but I was barely paying attention, if only because my leg hurt so much. "And who does bear the responsibility for this outrage done to us?"
Charax's face darkened as he spat the name. "Aderbal."
I started; that was a name I had heard before, although it took a moment for me to place the face in my memory with the name. Then I recalled the episode, when Marcus Crassus had summoned the Moesians under the pretext of surrendering Runo, the leader of the band that had demonstrated extremely poor judgment by attacking us. However, Crassus was in much the same situation that I was, even if it was for different reasons; neither of us had any interest in accepting the apologies of the Moesians, in whatever form it took. Five years before, he had simply named a sum of payment so outrageous that he knew the Moesians could not pay. This time, my task was even simpler.
"Ah, yes. I remember Aderbal," I answered, recalling the only man of the delegation sent by the people of Naissus who dared to look me in the eye, trying to stare me down. "As I recollect, he fancied himself quite the warrior. He stood about so high," I held my hand out at the level that I thought he might have been, although it was more guess than memory. "And he had red hair, did he not?"
"That is Aderbal," Charax agreed grimly. "And he is a mighty warrior, so he has something of a...following among our people. Especially after the last time Rome came to Naissus," he finished bitterly, and I could see the memory of what we had done was still fresh.
"Yes, well." I smiled, but it was without humor. "It seems that Aderbal has put you in an even worse position than you found yourselves in when Marcus Crassus was commanding the army."
"And how is Marcus Crassus?" Charax asked gently. "I heard that he was taken quite ill from the...rigors of that campaign and has retired from public life. Is that the case?"
I must admit that Charax had just scored a telling blow, and I was forced to acknowledge, grudgingly, that he had aimed well. Not lost on me at all was the fate of Marcus Crassus, the grandson of the Triumvir who had perished at Carrhae and was a close friend of Caesar's. In simplest terms, his reach exceeded his grasp, and Octavian, unlike Caesar, was not one to forgive an ambitious noble who wanted to claim what the Princeps viewed as more than his just share of glory and acclaim from the people of Rome. I had liked the young Crassus a great deal, and of all the commanders that I have served, I would put him behind only Ventidius and of course, Caesar, but I would not be surprised, gentle reader, if you have never heard of the grandson. The last I had heard, he was living in exile; comfortable exile, but for a highborn man of Rome, I have to believe that this was a fate even worse than death. His attempt to claim the spolia opima from Deldo, king of the Bastarnae, after he slew him in single combat, ironically enough was not the cause for his downfall. No, it was when the Centurions of his army declared him imperator three times, in the field, which reached the ears of Octavian despite my best attempts to stop it from happening, which marked him as a threat to Octavian. Charax undoubtedly knew that, but as much of a warning tale as it was, I was not going to be dissuaded from my path, and I reasserted control of the conversation.
"Marcus Crassus and his health do not matter right now," I said firmly. "What does matter is the fact that this Aderbal is responsible for the deaths of more than twenty Legionaries of Rome. That is bad enough, but he is also responsible for the death of a Centurion. Worst of all, he has taken a standard from the Century he attacked. That is a stain on our honor that we cannot let go without exacting vengeance."
Now Charax looked even more perturbed, and his tension must have transmitted to his horse, because it started taking little steps to the side, which Charax just managed to curb.
"I understand that, Prefect, but...."
"No, I don't think you do," I said, making my voice as cold as I could. "There is nothing that you can offer us that would satisfy us, no amount of money that would buy us off and let us go our way. Besides," it was time to even the score for his remark about Crassus, "as I recall, you couldn't scrape together the money to stop us last time, when we had even less justification for taking your city. Now, we have every reason to take our revenge."
The Moesian's face flushed even more darkly as he held both hands up in a placating gesture.
"Please, Prefect, I beg you," he repeated. "Do not let innocent people pay for the actions of a few of our men. We will turn Aderbal over to you, along with the men who followed him, for you to punish in any manner you desire."
Perhaps if this had been a few years before, when I still had Miriam in my life, and I was not currently facing the extinction of not only my career but probably my life, I might have been swayed. But too much had happened; I had seen too much, lost too much, and done too much to soften my heart. In answer, I urged my horse forward until I was next to Charax, facing the opposite direction but side by side.
"It's always the innocent who suffer, Charax." I said this so softly that only he could hear, and as quickly as the blood had rushed to his face, now it drained away as the import of what I was saying hit him. "And this time won't be any different. So go back into your city, make your preparations, and pray to your gods. Because we are coming."
