Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 47
With the help of a spoonful of poppy syrup, I was able to get some sleep that night, but it was a fitful, restless sleep that saw me arise dank with cold sweat, and in a bitter mood. My leg had stiffened considerably in the night, to the point that I needed Diocles to gently lift my leg and swing it off of the cot, placing my foot very carefully on the ground. Even so, I could not stifle the groan that the motion caused, and I wondered how I was going to do what needed to be done this day. The one small grace was that, since I was in command of the army, I occupied the Praetorium, meaning that Flavianus and the Tribunes had to come to me. At least most of the way; my pride would not allow me to stay in the private quarters of the commander, but when I tried to hobble into the next room that serves as the meeting room, my leg collapsed from under me. Finally, Diocles was sent to fetch a pair of crutches from the medical tent, and only then was I able to hop about. It was supremely ungraceful, and my pride was stung, but it was better than the alternative of lying in a bed while giving the orders for the coming siege. Flavianus was the first to arrive, and wasted no time.
"I've selected four different spots in the mile and couple of furlongs of space that we have that I think will be safe to dig," he announced, showing me on a wax tablet where he had sketched a crude map of the layout of the town, our camp, and the area in between.
"How far?"
"That," he admitted, "will be the challenge. We're going to need to extend our lines so that the men won't have to dig more than two hundred paces until we're under the wall."
I considered this; while not unexpected, it raised a number of questions and challenges that we did not have to face when we used the siege towers. Undermining the walls meant that the men involved in the task would be exposed to constant fire whenever they were not actually underground, even after we constructed the mantlets that we would roll over the holes being dug. We would have plutei, the large wooden shields, and fascines, along with the large wicker baskets that, once they were filled from the spoil of the initial holes, would offer protection.
"We're still going to need a lot of wood," I pointed out to Flavianus.
"Yes and no," he said. "If you're willing to do what we did at the fortress at Serdica, we could speed this up considerably.”
I thought about that. In a very similar circumstance, when we had assaulted the fortress that stood between us and Serdica, we had compensated for the lack of wood by using the wood from the wagons by creating plutei from the planks. When we were finished, the planks were simply reassembled, although we did lose a total of one wagon because of the damage done to a number of the boards.
"How much?"
"More than a day," he replied instantly. "Two, if we use the wagons that are carrying the money."
"No." I was adamant about that. "Having that much money just sitting in a big pile will cause more trouble than it's worth. I'd rather lose part of a day than lose any of that money."
Perhaps it is surprising, although it should not be, but I held no illusions that there was not a sizable number of the men in the army who whiled away the time by trying to think up creative ways to steal as much of that money as they could carry away. More importantly, I knew that if they were given the opportunity, men of every rank would be sorely tempted to take their chances. With the money in the wagons and right next to the Praetorium, I could exert at least a bit more control. This was the topic we were discussing when Macrinus, Flaminius, and the Tribunes arrived, each of them coming from their morning duties.
Eying them coldly, I said, "I hope you weren't pulled away from anything important."
The bunch of them mumbled something, and I knew I was being ungracious, but my leg was throbbing by this point, except I was too proud to sit down and prop my leg up. Recognizing I was not going to get anywhere with this line of conversation, I changed the subject.
"Since we're going to undermine the walls, I need each of you," I indicated Macrinus and Flaminius, "to pull the men who have mining experience, and split them up between two mines. Each Legion will be responsible for digging two mines, but as you know, it's highly unlikely that all four will be successful." Both men were experienced, and nodded their understanding. "Once we get to a point where we can decide which two of the mines are the best bets to get under the walls, then we'll combine the forces and work around the watches, day and night."
The Primi Pili nodded again, but neither of them looked happy about the prospect of telling their men that not only were they going to be dirty, they were going to be tired.
While I understood this, I felt compelled to point out, "You need to remind them that this is the bonus for this campaign, and the sooner we bring those walls down, the faster we get back to Siscia so they can spend their money." Turning to the Tribunes, I nodded to Capito. "You're going to continue running your mounted patrols. I don't want to be surprised if Charax sent for help. Lucullus," I continued, "you're in command of the working parties that will be going for wood. You're going to be backtracking and crossing back over the Sava. As I remember, about a mile on the other side from where we crossed, there's an old growth forest that should suffice. Do you agree, Flavianus?"
"Yes, but we need to decide whether they're going to drag the trees here to be dressed, or do it there."
We talked about this for a few moments, and it was decided that we would drag the logs to our camp, where they would then be cut and shaped by the woodworking immunes, creating the mantlets and platforms for the artillery. This was a less than perfect solution; ideally, we would empty the wagons and use them to haul the larger logs, but I was unwilling to lose the time that using the wood from the wagons would gain. Finally, I looked over to Libo and Silanus, tapping my chin as I thought about what duties I could assign them. Silanus was no longer the flabby, soft-looking young noble who had reported with Marcus Primus, and while he had not particularly distinguished himself, he had not been the epic disaster that I expected. Libo was also solid and dependable, but of the two, I trusted Libo a bit more. However, I was not unaware that Silanus' lack of honors could have easily been due to a lack of opportunity.
"Silanus," I said finally. "I'm giving you a very important task, and it's not without danger. Are you willing?" Although he looked a bit hesitant, he nodded his head. "You're going to ride to Siscia to inform General Norbanus of what's taken place here. But I can't afford to give you more than ten men as an escort. You're going to have to ride hard, but if I were you, I would move at night, at least for the first two or three days, until you're out of Moesian territory. Also inform him that we have the money secure. Do you understand?"
He assured me that he did, but I made him repeat it, then sent him on his way, his task being the most urgent.
"Libo, you're going to be my personal aide. Do you know what that means?"
The youngster looked startled at the question, but like Silanus, promised I could count on him to do whatever I needed.
"Good," I said with a grim smile.
When I motioned to him, he came closer, but I pulled him even closer, then draped an arm over his shoulder. I felt his body sag under my weight, and he made a great show of not being on the verge of collapse.
"Let's start by helping me get something to eat."
A Roman army is a model of efficiency, and while I know I am biased, I firmly believe that the men of this enlistment of the 8th and 13th would have put even my beloved 10th Equestris to the test by the speed of their work. By the end of the first day, the men designated as miners had already started to dig, while the artillery platforms were up. The Moesians on the walls did their best to stop us, but after seeing a few of their own skewered by a scorpion bolt, they resigned themselves to taking the occasional shot with a bow or sling. Logs had been dragged into the camp, arriving perhaps a third of a watch before the sun went down, and I was somewhat surprised that I did not have to order the immunes to continue work by torchlight. As Flavianus had promised, none of the four shafts were flooded, although the one nearest to the eastern branch of the river did begin dripping water down the sides of the dirt wall. Flavianus was slightly concerned, but the progress we were making on the other three meant that it was not a major concern. However, of all the men who worked that day, I believe that the one who was nearest to exhaustion was poor Libo, as I forced him to help me hobble around. Using a crutch on one side, and his body as a crutch on the other, it was only with the help of a couple surreptitiously sipped spoonfuls of poppy syrup that I could do even that much. Even so, by the end of the day, my bandage was so soaked that it had to be changed, prompting a warning from the camp physician.
"As wounds go, it is about the cleanest I have seen," he admitted, but he was not through. "That does not mean that you are anywhere near out of danger. The stitches are holding, but just barely; when I examined them, I could see how tightly they have been pulled. Also, the more you stay on your feet, the worse the swelling will be. And that is when corruption can happen, when the humors in your body are out of balance."
As much as I wanted to take the finger he was waving at me and break it off, I knew that not only was he trying to do what was best for me, he was right. As the day progressed, I could feel my leg growing in size, and I suppose the throbbing increased accordingly as well, but I could not tell because of the poppy syrup.
"Fine," I grumbled, then beckoned to Flavianus. "Can you make me a platform where I can be high enough to see what's going on, but be seated? And," I thought to add, "keep this leg up in the air somehow?"
His eyebrows suddenly began their dash toward each other, beetling down into an almost perfect "V" as he considered my admittedly odd request.
"I suppose I could," the words came reluctantly, and I could not blame him.
He had far more important things to do than accommodate my personal needs.
"Wouldn't it just be easier if you stayed in bed to recuperate? You were seriously wounded, Prefect." Libo's voice carried more than a hint of pleading, and I had to suppress a smile, knowing that he was just worn out.
"It might be." I pretended to consider it, drawing it out just long enough to see a faint look of hope on his face before shaking my head. "But no, I need to see how the work's progressing."
Libo tried to hide his disappointment, while Flavianus went off, muttering under his breath about gods only knew what.
Diocles appeared from my private quarters, where I knew he had been listening, his face showing his concern as he looked down at my leg. I must admit that it did not look good; the bandage could not completely cover what looked like a huge bruise that was forming. When I took my tunic off, it extended all the way to my hip, and ended just above the knee. It was swollen and purplish, but did not have the livid red streaks that announced a poisoning of my blood.
"How's Ocelus?"
Diocles rolled his eyes.
"He's a better patient than you are," he sniffed. "He's eating his barley and I gave him an apple. Now, will you please go and at least put your leg up?"
I did not use Libo this time, going into my private quarters, where as soon as the flap dropped I hopped to the bed and collapsed on it, drenched in sweat.
By the end of the third day of work, we had reached a point where it was time to make a decision about which mines would continue. Unlike last time, where we assaulted from two different sides, we were going to try and collapse sections of just the southern wall. This was not ideal, but it was the fastest way; if we had spread out our mines, we would have had to spread out the labor, and keeping all the men essentially in one camp, we saved even more time. All of the wagons not carrying the bullion had been dismantled, and a series of plutei were already in place, as well as the majority of the mantlets.
"If we continue at this rate, we should be under the wall by middle of the watch tonight with one of them," Flavianus told me during our evening briefing.
That got my attention.
"What about the others?"
Consulting his ever-present wax tablet, he told me, "The easternmost tunnel is the worst. It's not flooding, but what they're dragging up is soaked with water, so it makes it heavier and slower going. I was going to suggest we stop work on that one. Of the other two, I think the tunnel to the right of the gate will be ready to fire by tomorrow before dark, but not any earlier. The westernmost tunnel will be ready earlier, but not by much."
Considering for a moment, I looked over at Macrinus and Flaminius.
"What if we go tonight?"
Although neither looked that surprised, both men were still hesitant, glancing at each other before Macrinus spoke.
"Going through just one breach is always risky."
"True," I granted. "But if we can bring that wall down in the middle of the night, I think the element of surprise will more than make up for just having one breach." Neither of them put up an argument and I turned back to Flavianus. "If we pull all the men from the other tunnels, can we bring that wall down even earlier tonight?"
"Yes," Flavianus replied tersely, and I could tell he did not like where I was going. "But I can't tell you exactly when. It might happen at the beginning of third watch, or at the end of fourth."
"I understand."
I looked back at the two Primi Pilis. Ultimately, the decision was mine, but I was not in the best frame of mind to make it. I was just aching for this to be over and for at least one problem to be solved. In the back of my head was the nagging thought that it was a distinct possibility that the Moesians of Naissus had in fact not recovered sufficiently in the last five years, and that whatever we took in the form of loot and slaves would not be enough to satisfy the greed of the Legionaries. I was not overly fond of nighttime actions, but I was also aware that I would not be fighting in this one, just directing it, the last such of my career in all likelihood. Perhaps at the root of it, this was the most compelling reason for my desire to launch an assault that night and not wait for at least one more breach to open. This was going to be my final battle, and while I did not thirst for glory and honors the way I had when I was younger, in all honesty I did not know any other way. If there was going to be a fight, as there had to be, I have always preferred it to be sooner rather than later.
"We're going to attack tonight. Pull all the men from the other tunnels and have them concentrate on the tunnel that's the closest. But," I cautioned. "Don't pull them all at once. If the Moesians see a rush of men heading for one spot, they're going to know at the very least where we're going to concentrate. Right now, they still have to cover four spots."
"We can wait until it's dark; that will help," Flavianus said, and I agreed.
With that settled, the next question was who would conduct the assault, and I looked from one to the other. The truth was that I had already made up my mind, but I was willing to hear what each man had to say.
"My boys are ready." Flaminius was the first to speak, and my immediate thought was how far he had come in this campaign, remembering back to the beginning and his hesitance when faced with the same question.
"So are mine," Macrinus responded instantly, forcing me to suppress a grin.
Who else but me could understand the competitive nature of a Primus Pilus? I thought. Looking from one to the other, I took a deep breath.
"It's going to be the 8th making the assault."
Flaminius stiffened, a look on his face that I imagine he would have worn if I had physically slapped him across the face. And he had good reason to appear that way; by rights, it should have been the 13th's turn to assault Naissus, since the 8th had taken the fortress outside Serdica. Pride is a funny thing; while there is a significant part of a man's soul that is dedicated to self-preservation, there is an even larger portion that is in direct contradiction to what one could argue is the more rational and understandable impulse to avoid danger. And I would argue that this impulse is even stronger in men of the Legions, particularly those who have risen through the ranks. Flaminius' reaction was a perfect example of this contradiction; he was angry at the thought that he could not expose his men to the danger and violence that comes from assaulting a town through a breach in its wall. I did not expect any different from him, or Macrinus for that matter if he had been in Flaminius' boots, but I had my own, more personal reason for selecting the 8th.
"Flaminius." I owed him something, but I was not willing to voice my true reasons for passing the 13th over, "this has nothing at all to do with the 13th and its performance on this campaign. You and your men have performed in an exemplary fashion, and I'm going to make sure that's known when we return to Siscia. Not," I managed a grin, but it had a bitter edge to it, "that my word is going to mean much now." I could tell that Flaminius was trying to appear gracious, but I did not begrudge his disappointment, and I felt compelled to add, "Remember that you and your men are going to split whatever we take in half with the 8th. That should cheer the men up, neh?"
Turning back to Macrinus, I beckoned him to come closer so I could share a word in private and, as he made his way to my side, I dismissed the rest of the men.
When he stood next to me, I said in a low voice, "Macrinus, I have a favor to ask."
He did not appear surprised, but I was reasonably certain that he was not prepared for what I was about to ask of him. When I was finished, I saw that I was right.
"I suppose that could be arranged," he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at me with a peculiar expression. "May I ask why?"
"You can ask," I gave him a taut smile. "But I'm not going to tell you."
Work was shifted to the single tunnel, Flavianus moving small groups of men from the other tunnels by an excellent stratagem, having them crouch inside mantlets that other men pushed from one spot to another. It was harder than it sounds, both for the men pushing and those inside, the former being forced to push the wheeled covers over the rough ground, while the latter had to squat and walk along with them. I could easily imagine the sweating and the complaining going on inside those mantlets, but I also knew the men understood why it was being done. I watched it all from my specially constructed perch, which was nothing but one of Marcus Primus' couches that Flavianus had pulled from a wagon, placed atop a rostra of boxes. It was a subtle but humorous form of revenge from my praefecti fabrorum, sending a clear message that he had better and more important things to do. It took some effort for me to get myself up there, but I did appreciate the perspective that being higher up gave me. The rostra and couch had been placed just outside the camp walls, next to the trench that the men had dug leading up to the wall that paralleled those of Naissus just a little more than a hundred paces away. The trench was there to allow the men to pass from the camp to their assigned duties, either in the tunnels, carrying the dirt, or manning the walls under cover and safe from enemy fire. Arrayed along the wall was every single scorpion both Legions possessed, twenty in all, and they had kept the Moesians from making any serious attempts to stop us from our work. They had attempted one sortie, but it ended before the Moesians had barely gotten out of the southern gate, thrown back under a hail of scorpion bolts and javelins from the guard Cohorts standing watch for just such an event. Otherwise, as sieges went, it had been uneventful, and most importantly, quick. Just after sundown, Flavianus came to report that the tunnel had reached its spot under the wall, and a cavity had been formed. While it was standard practice to create a breach that could accommodate a front wide enough for a tent section to pass through, since we were only going to be affecting one breach, I had told Flavianus that I wanted it twice as wide.
