R.W. Peake's Blog, page 4

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 8 (Cont.)

"How many, do you figure?" Sextus Scribonius asked Titus Pullus as they both stood on the rampart of the northernmost camp along the ridgeline. Spread out on the valley before them was a rolling mass of humanity, still too distant to make out individuals, but the leading edge was moving inexorably in the direction of the Roman lines.  "Hard to say," Pullus replied, squinting as he tried to peer through the dust cloud raised by the feet of the men in the front of the Wa army. "But that dust goes back as far as I can see."  "That's because you're old," Scribonius joked, although in fact he was a few years older, and his vision was no better than that of his Primus Pilus. Pullus laughed, but his eyes never wavered from the sight before him, and for several moments neither spoke.  "I don't know exactly, but I would guess at a minimum there's at least 80,000 down there," he finally broke the silence. Scribonius' only response was a faint nod, because that was his estimate as well.  "I don't know whether they're going to settle in and make camp first, or go straight to the attack, but I'm going to play it safe and have the men ready," Pullus decided. Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he finished by saying, "Go get your men up on the ramparts. I want them, my Cohort and the Third ready at the walls. The rest of the Legion I'll have on alert."And with that, they both left the rampart to perform their respective tasks.
As it turned out, there was no need for alarm, at least that first day as the Wa army moved into position. For the next two watches, the men on the ramparts stood watching as the Wa moved into what was essentially a series of camps, spread evenly along the valley floor. Because the northern end of the ridge curled slightly to the west, it formed a bit of a pocket, where the valley floor extended a little farther east and was in effect surrounded on three sides by the ridge. Caesar had hoped that whoever was commanding the Wa would make the mistake of putting some of his army in this pocket, because it did allow the Wa some flexibility as to which way they could assault the ridge. To counteract that, the camp that held the 10th was not in its normal square, but in a slightly curved, rectangular shape, so that the slopes within the pocket were covered as well as the northern tip which overlooked the pass. Along with the 10th in this camp was the 12th, and probably most importantly, roughly half of the artillery that the army possessed. This was why Caesar wanted the Wa to actually move all the way to the foot of the slope, because although the main camp was several hundred paces up the ridge, near the top, there were carefully prepared and camouflaged positions farther down the slope, within artillery range of any Wa camp. At each position was a supply of combustible ammunition, small jars of pitch, stoppered and with a rag to serve as a wick, ready to be set alight and rain flaming death down onto the heads of the Wa. However, their commander, whoever he was, was either too canny, or had luck of his own that kept him from placing his men there. 
Pity, Pullus thought as he continued watching the Wa move into position. Because his estimate, he now saw, was woefully low, as the dust cloud continued to hover above the enemy army, obscuring the trailing elements until they would suddenly appear as if by magic out of the dust. And they kept coming, and coming, and coming, Pullus saw, his mood growing more dismal. What he couldn't see was the composition, other than how many men were mounted, and very, very few were. But what he was more worried about was the proportion between archers and infantry, and of the infantry, how many would be carrying the long spears. Those would be the Wa's most effective weapon in the event of a straightforward assault because of their reach, but even knowing this, Pullus feared the men with the swords the most, something that he would never, ever admit to anyone but himself. But for the first time in his career in the army, Titus Pullus had seen men handle a sword as skillfully as he did, albeit in a completely different way. What was most unsettling was the controlled frenzy that these warriors possessed, and combined with such skill that they were formidable indeed. Well, he thought grimly, we just have to make sure those slanty-eyed little cunni don't manage to get up on the rampart. For that, Pullus was convinced, would be the key to avoid being overwhelmed. What remained to be seen was where the focal point of the Wa attack would be, but Pullus felt deep down in his bones that it would be the 10th that would either add to the laurels of their standards, or become another forgotten Legion, because it would be wiped out to the last man, with nobody left to tell their story. 
For his part, Caesar also watched, from the camp roughly in the middle of the ridge. This meant that the leading edge of the Wa first appeared several miles further away than it did from Pullus, but a steady stream of couriers galloping along the rough road had carried messages from Hirtius, who he had put in command of the northern camp, kept him informed. Then, gradually, as the Wa continued moving south to fill the valley with their horde, Caesar began to understand what was facing his army. Standing next to him, Asinius Pollio, Tiberius Nero, and the Primus Pilus of the 25th Legion, Torquatus, talked softly to each other, but all of them were of a like mind. None of them had faced an army of the size that this appeared it would be, and as one man they looked to Caesar who, alone among them, appeared unperturbed.  Turning to Pollio at last, Caesar's tone was calm. "I estimate more than 100,000 men are down there Pollio. Do you agree?" Pollio, doing his best to match his general's demeanor, if not his voice, replied, "Yes, Caesar, and then some. It wouldn't surprise me if it turns out to be 120,000 barbarians down there." Caesar considered for a moment, then nodded. "I think you're right." Giving the others a wry smile, he admitted, "I thought that was about right in the first place, but I was afraid to say it aloud."This brought a nervous but appreciative chuckle from the others, but Caesar's confident manner reappeared immediately.  "Well," he rubbed his hands together, "that just means the glory will be all the greater. Now, let's see what our opponent has planned, shall we?"
It turned out that the Wa were content to spend the rest of that day, then the next one as well, getting settled into their camps. Caesar was interested to see that their commander placed the largest number of his men in the camp nearest to the northern Roman camp, with the southernmost Wa position holding the second largest number, but he was not particularly alarmed. If it were him, he reflected, I would do the same thing. If my main focus was going to be on the northern camp, then I would want my troops to travel the shortest distance. However, if I was going to attack somewhere else along the line, and I had 120,000 troops, I would still put a larger number at the ends, to pin as many of my numerically inferior enemy's troops down. That would allow me to choose my spot, and because I am on the flat valley floor, I can move men more quickly. Of course, Caesar continued his thought, the Wa commander can't see that we have a road running along the top of the ridge, so that I can move almost as quickly as he can. And that, Caesar thought with grim amusement, is just one trick up my sleeve. As much as he had seen, as many new nations and their warriors Caesar had faced, he still believed down to the core of his being that when all facets of warfare were considered, he and his Romans had no equal. He had been forced to acknowledge, however grudgingly and only to himself, that in martial ardor and skill, the Wa were more than a match for his men. But there is more to warfare than fighting, something that no other general in history understood better than Caesar, and as confident as he was, he also knew that this battle, what he believed in his bones would be his last battle, one way or another, would require every ounce of skill, every particle of luck that the gods still owed him, and would be the greatest test of his career. But he was ready; he just hoped the rest of the army was as well.
In the pre-dawn morning, on the third day after the Wa army appeared, Titus Pullus was awakened by the shouted alarm of the sentry nearest his tent, followed quickly by the rustling sound that told him Diocles, in the outer portion of the Primus Pilus' tent that served as the Legion office, had sprung from his pallet. A brief instant later, he heard someone call his name out, and without wasting time pulling on his armor first, Pullus strode to the entrance of his tent, to see a man, standing at intente, waiting. "Report," Pullus snapped, and the Legionary, drilled in this as with everything, began speaking. Because of the gloom, it was only then that Pullus realized that it was Mardonius, the Parthian who had been seconded to Scribonius as his new Optio some weeks before. Fortunately, although Mardonius' Latin still carried the heavy accent of his native tongue, he was clearly understandable. "Pilus Prior Scribonius has sent me to report that the Wa army has begun leaving the northern camp and appears to be forming up by torchlight," the swarthy Parthian rapped out. Even knowing before he went to sleep the night before this was the most likely day, Pullus nonetheless felt the lurch in his stomach, but his demeanor remained unchanged as he nodded to Mardonius.  "Very well. Thank you Optio. You can report to Scribonius and tell him that I'll rouse the rest of the Legion and he's to keep me informed if anything unusual happens. I imagine," Pullus finished casually, as if he was talking about nothing more momentous than the day's duties, "that with that big an army it'll take them the better part of a full watch to form up." Turning to Diocles, who had stepped in to quickly retrieve a lamp, Pullus smiled down fondly at his slave and scribe, wondering if either would survive the day.  "Go get Valerius," he told Diocles, speaking of the cornicen for the First Cohort, and by extension the whole Legion, whose tent was right next to the Primus Pilus, which he shared with the Tesseraurius, singifer and in the case of the First Cohort, the aquilifer, the bearer of the sacred Eagle standard of the Legion. "Tell him to sound assembly, entire Legion. It's time to get the boys up and ready." 
Barely a sixth part of a watch later, both the 10th and the 12th Legion, the two most veteran Legions in Caesar's army, were fully formed, with the bulk of both Legions assembled and in the Forum of the camp, minus the Cohorts currently manning the ramparts. It was still dark, but there was a pinking of the eastern sky that hinted at the coming day, and not lost on any man, of either army, was the possibility that this would be the last dawn they would see. Such knowledge makes these moments all the more precious, particularly for that group of men, part of the second dilectus held in Africa and Syria, who worshiped the sun god Baal, and nothing was said when these men, as they did every dawn, prostrated themselves in the direction of the rising sun. In fact, more men than usual followed suit, dropping to their knees, and while not trying to mouth the prayers, stayed silent as the others finished. The Forum, packed with Legionaries, generated a quiet hum, a throaty sound of men whispering to each other, speculating on what was to come, making the same stale jokes or wagers that they did before every battle. While Pullus had been rousing his Legion, Hirtius had sent one of the dispatch riders galloping along the ridgetop road to Caesar, although he was sure Caesar would be aware by the time the rider arrived. Very quickly all that was left was to wait, wait to see what the Wa were going to do, and more importantly, where they were going to do it. Despite the fact that neither Pullus nor Hirtius had confided in the other, their thoughts ran along identical lines, both of them sure that it would be their position that would come under the heaviest assault. From what they had seen, just the contents of the northernmost Wa camp gave the enemy a 5 to 1 advantage or thereabouts. But despite this, neither Hirtius nor Pullus were particularly worried by that alone, because of the artillery that was just waiting to rip bloody gaps in the Wa ranks as they struggled up what was a steep slope. What did worry both of them, and had kept them up the night before, was what else the Wa had in store for them, what surprise of their own they had in store for the army of Caesar. But the only way to know, was to face it. 
The sun was just fully above the horizon to the east when the bucina of the guard Cohort, the Second Cohort, blasted out the signal that the enemy was moving, and Pullus, Hirtius and Balbinus all went trotting from the Forum to the rampart to see what the day held in store for them. Mounting the parapet, all three officers came to an abrupt halt, staring down at the sight before them, and for several moments, none of them could find any words. Finally, it was Pullus, who managed to say, his voice suddenly hoarse, "Well, we're going to earn our pay today." 



All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 8

As disgruntled as Caesar's men were, they nevertheless dug. And dug. Thousands of shovels threw mounds of dirt up to form the basis for the rampart of what would be a line of fortifications that extended almost 16 miles along the ridge. The northern end overlooked the one northernmost passage from the interior out to the huge bay behind them, where the fleet was going to be anchored, with the southern end overlooking a similar pass in that direction. Although Caesar didn't have enough men to cover the entire length, he had his men construct a series of fortified camps, each one holding at least a Legion. Linking each camp, Caesar ordered a road hacked out along the top of the ridge, wide enough for each Legion to march in a column formation, in order to move men to wherever they were needed. Even as experienced as his army was at constructing fortifications, this was a massive undertaking, and would take more than a week before Caesar felt that the bare minimum would be accomplished. 
Meanwhile, his scouts continued to range about the countryside, concentrating their efforts to the northwest and northeast, looking for the Wa army, and on the third day after Caesar's army started working, they found what they were looking for. Unfortunately, the small group of riders that came into contact with the outriders of the Wa army were ineptly led, as the entire force was wiped out in an ambush. Consequently, Caesar was unaware of this army's existence for two more days, until they had moved southward along the shores of the great lake to Caesar's west, barely 20 miles away. 
"We've finally found the bastards," Primus Pilus Pullus informed his Centurions, gathered in the forum of the camp that was designated for the 10th's use, the northernmost camp where Caesar deemed it the most likely that the Wa would make some sort of attempt to outflank his army. Pullus' news was met with the predictable stir, a buzz of low-toned conversation crackling through the ranks of the 60 Centurions as they murmured to each other about the import of this news. "Silete!" Pullus snapped, his nerves betrayed by the harshness of his command. "You're as bad as the rankers! This isn't the first time we've faced this, so stop acting like it!"Chastened, the men immediately fell silent to listen to their Primus Pilus, who took a deep breath before he continued. "We don't know all that much, but there's a lot of them, and they're camped on the shores of that big lake we heard about. So far, though, they haven't budged for the last couple days." "What are our orders, Primus Pilus?" Scribonius, the commander of the Second Cohort asked, and in fact, this was prearranged between the two of them, because Pullus had predicted that this news would unsettle his Centurions, a judgement proven correct by their reaction.  "We're going to do what we did at Alesia, and at Ecbatana," Pullus said, naming the Parthian city that was the site of a siege and battle that rivaled that of Alesia, for which Caesar had won everlasting fame. "Caesar wants the ground in front of the rampart filled with his lilies, the stakes and all the other little surprises he loves so much." There was an appreciative chuckle from the men at this, each of them thinking back to the two times such extensive traps had been laid. Alesia had been particularly brutal; some of these Centurions, in the ranks as they had been back then, still smarted over the money they lost from wagers placed on how long Gauls who were hooked on the lilies, the barbed iron points skewering their calves and keeping them in place, could survive being the targets of their javelin practice. Some of those Gauls had looked like blood-soaked porcupines by the time they were through, and there were some rueful memories as these Centurions stood listening to Pullus. Well, more than one of them thought, this might give them a chance to make some of that money they lost back then back. 
This was the start of a grim race against time, all the men of Caesar's army knowing that every Wa they could disable or kill with a well-placed stake, or a sharpened iron hook, was one less screaming, sword or spear-waving Wa they would have to face trying to clamber up the rampart to skewer them. Now that they were located, Caesar demanded reports several times a watch, so that men were seen constantly galloping back and forth across the valley floor, the lake barely a glint of blue on the horizon. The Wa army wasn't visible from the ridge, although every once in a while one of the men would shout at a cloud of dust rising in the air, although that always turned out to be one of Caesar's scouts coming or going, drawing the jeers and curses of his comrades down onto the head of the unfortunate who raised the warning. But for reasons neither the men nor their commander could fathom, the Wa seemed content to stay in their spot on the shore of the lake, despite the fact that Caesar knew without any doubt that the Wa were aware of the location of the Roman army. Just as Caesar's scouts were busy, the Wa scouts had been seen on their small ponies in the vicinity, and in fact a couple of them had been captured, although they never yielded any useful information before they succumbed to the questioning by Prixus. Whatever the reason for their lethargy, Caesar was thankful for it, pushing the men relentlessly to bring the fortifications up to a level that met with his approval. But while men were busy with these traps, others were just as busy, some of them pulling stones from the banks and beds from the several running streams, where they were made perfectly round, to serve as ammunition for the artillery. There were forests of new growth trees along the slopes as well, and from the suitable branches of these trees more scorpion bolts were made. Unfortunately, there was not enough seasoned timber of a sufficient quantity or size to make more artillery pieces, which Caesar was unhappy about, but he had to hope that he and the men would have enough. As it was, Caesar's legions marched with more artillery than any other army of Rome to date, but it was never enough as far as he was concerned. One of the secrets to his success was in his use of artillery to inflict as many casualties on his enemy as possible, even before they came to grips with his Legionaries, so that they were already demoralized from the casualties they suffered as they marched to close within sword length of the Romans.
The men worked through the watches, but on the sixth day they were heartened by the news that the fleet, taking the long way around the huge peninsula they were at the top of had just been spotted rowing northwest along the shore, around the headland that jutted out at the bottom of the bay.  "They should be here by second watch tomorrow," Caesar announced to his officers and Primi Pili, all of whom to one degree or another let out a sigh of relief. None of them liked being out of sight of their fleet, especially on this accursed island, and the days spent waiting for them had been tense ones, exacerbated by the knowledge of the Wa army just a day's march away.  "Once they are in position, we'll begin transferring every kernel of rice, every pig and every chicken up to the camps," he continued. "Minus what the men of the fleet need of course. But I want our position to be as self-sufficient as possible, just in the event that the Wa do manage to force either of the passes, get behind us and cut us off."What he didn't say, for there was no need, was that if that happened, Caesar and his army would have to force battle, because once they were out of the food that the ships were carrying, there would be no resupply. That knowledge filled his Centurions, particularly Pullus, with a determination that the Wa would be stopped from negotiating the pass. 
And to help Pullus in his goal, the next day, when Caesar, Pollio, Hirtius and the rest of his staff went out for a ride to inspect the progress to that point, the commander of the army saw that there was still one weakness to his position. The pass to the north was actually relatively wide; Caesar estimated that the width was almost 3 miles, which meant that the Wa could hug the far slope and avoid the array of artillery to swing around behind his position. However, the Wa couldn't simply march down the middle of the pass either, because of a river and a mass of swampy ground that extended from the banks on either side for perhaps almost a mile.  "I want a fortified redoubt of at least 5 Cohorts' strength over on that far slope," Caesar pointed across the floor of the pass, "and I want it by the end of the day." "Caesar, do we have any idea how deep that river is? Or how soft the ground is? I can tell from here that it's swamp, but have any of our scouts surveyed the ground?" Pollio asked. "Yes," Caesar replied, not perturbed in the slightest to be questioned. "They say that it will support men, but only if they're spread out, and the river is shallow, with a rocky bottom." "So how are they going to get any artillery across?" this came from Hirtius. "They're going to carry the scorpions, and that's all, but I'm going to give them a Legion's worth of scorpions, and extra ammunition. All we want to do is to keep them from going on the far side of the river. With the muck down there, they're likely to keep close to the slope, but only if we have someone on the other side making sure that they don't go on the other side of the river."His orders given, Caesar turned away to resume his inspection of the rest of the position.
The 5 Cohorts were on the move less than a watch later, accompanied by a cavalry escort, and as they discovered, the ground they had to cross to get to the far ridge was very soggy, the horses plunged almost to their stomachs in the worst spots, while the men went knee deep. They arrived at the far slope filthy and tired, but they were men hardened from years of such toil, and they knew the stakes for which they were playing, so they paused just long enough to catch their breath before they began work. Siting the position as low on the slope as was practical, the Centurion in charge, Vibius Pacuvius, from the 15th Legion and one of Caesar's Gallic veterans, knew that the farther down the slope he put his camp, the greater the reach of the scorpions. Even so, he detached a Century of men to go down onto the floor of the pass, as close to the edge of the mire as possible to serve as a forward post, their orders to buy as much time as possible if the Wa tried to dislodge the main body. What not just the Centurion on the far slope, but Caesar and by extension the rest of his army was counting on was that the Wa commander would be unwilling to turn his attention to the smaller force because it would expose his rear to the 10th, who had roughly half of the cavalry, plus a force of auxiliaries to complement them. 
But the only way they would know was when the Wa army actually began its move. It was two days short of 2 weeks after the fortified line was begun that a group of scouts came galloping across the floor of the plain, trailing dust that hung in the still air, pointing like an arrow back to the northwest from where they had come. Balbus had the duty, and he sent a man to fetch his Primus Pilus, who arrived in time to see the scouts begin laboring up the slope of the ridge, following what had become a well-worn path up to the position 3 miles to the south of the 10th's camp, where Caesar had located his headquarters.  "They look like Cerberus was after them," Pulllus commented to his friend, who grunted in agreement.  "Probably means those slant-eyed barbarians are on the move," was Balbus' only comment, as Pullus turned away to go back to his tent and don his armor. Because of the distance, Caesar had decreed that his senior Centurions had to ride, at a quick trot, whenever they were summoned to the praetorium, something that Pullus hated to do. His size and weight meant he always had to have a large horse, but all that was available for him was one of the island ponies, meaning his feet were bare inches off the ground, making him feel ridiculous. Fortunately for everyone, the men knew better than to laugh at the sight, but it still didn't help his frame of mind. He was on his pony and already a mile down the road that ran along the top of the ridge, made as smooth and level as possible, to Caesar's exacting standards, when he met the mounted courier galloping his direction.Seeing the large Primus Pilus, the courier curbed his horse, spraying dirt and rocks in all directions, and in his excitement forgot to render his salute.  Pullus was about to reprimand him but before he could speak, the courier shouted to him, voice straining with excitement, "Caesar summons you immediately Primus Pilus. The Wa are marching and are expected to be here by nightfall!"
 

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 7 (Cont.)

The march was a hard one, and as Titus Pullus feared, a number of the wounded who had survived the critical two days after the assault on the 10th's camp succumbed from the rough ride in the wagons.  "At this rate, we're going to be lucky to field a Cohort before we get off this island," was how Balbus put it on the third night after they broke camp, sitting in Pullus' tent with his Primus Pilus and Secundus Pilus Prior Scribonius, eating their evening meal.  Pullus' only reaction was a grunt, but Scribonius  added, "That's if we get off at all."Normally, this was talk that Pullus would have quashed, even if his heart wasn't in it, but now he saw no point, because he was in the same frame of mind as his friends. Educated they were not, but between the three of them there were decades of fighting experience, and all three of them saw how dire the situation was. Whereas during their march across the lands of the Parthians, the Pandya, the Gayan and the Han, once they had demonstrated their military might and smashed whatever armies they faced, there had been a tacit acceptance of their presence. This was especially true with the Han; once they determined that not only was Caesar not overly interested in conquest, and that subduing his army would have been an extraordinarily costly endeavor, there had been a quiet word sent out that their Emperor would have no objections if men sought to enlist in this foreign army. Caesar instantly understood this as a shrewd move on the part of the Han; the Emperor had his hands full already with the various rebellions, and allowing men to enlist in this exotic armed force removed these men from the rolls of the rebels at one stroke. And there was a strong allure to joining Caesar's army; as strange and foreign as they may have appeared, it was clearly apparent to any warrior that they could fight, and once their origins were known, the fact that they had marched across the vast expanse of Asia marked them as favored by every god imaginable.
But none of that seemed to matter to the Wa. Those people that Caesar's army had encountered either fled, or fought to the death. None of them showed any interest in doing anything other than kill the men of Caesar's army, and it had become clear that they viewed their lives as cheap when compared to the chance of repelling these foreign invaders. Simply put, Caesar was running out of men, and they were no longer being replaced. And it wasn't just the Centurions who were aware of this. Around every fire there were faces missing, and in the 10th especially the loss was even greater. While it was true that many of those faces would return once they recovered, there were still too many gaps for anyone not to notice, even if most of those missing faces weren't Roman, but brown, or yellow. What it took to be accepted at a tent section's fire was one simple requirement; the man had to be able to fight, proficiently enough to be considered a member of Caesar's army, an army that each man now knew was famous throughout the entire known world. This notoriety was a source of huge pride, and that had as much to do with the cohesiveness, and the men's willingness to endure far beyond anything their predecessors in Alexander's army as the lure of loot and women. But now even that wasn't enough to keep men from complaining, and more importantly worrying. 
Caesar was well aware of all that was taking place in his army, the muttered conversations, the small acts of defiance that men in the ranks would perform to let their Centurions and Optios know they were unhappy. The problem was, he didn't know what to do about it. The idea of turning back now was unthinkable to him, not after all that had been endured for the last 10 years. Didn't the men realize that they were now so close to their goal? The idea that he had already surpassed Alexander no longer brought Caesar any satisfaction. No, his soul still ached for more, more conquest, more new sights, more distinction. In fact, he was worried about the moment when they had traversed the length of this island, and put down the last sparks of armed rebellion. What would they do then? As much as the men thought him a god, he knew he was mortal, and in fact, was aware that he was starting to fail. Caesar knew in his bones he would never see Rome again, that the only knowledge they would have of his exploits would come from those few, those very few men who might make it back. Oh, he knew that word of some of what he had done had undoubtedly reached the ears of those little men in the Senate. How bitter they would be, he thought with some satisfaction, whenever a merchant arrived from the East, bringing the word of all that Imperator Caesar had accomplished. Maybe Cato will kill himself, he thought wryly, even as he recognized that the man would never do that as long as he thought Caesar drew breath. And what of Cicero, he wondered? Was he still alive, carping about what Caesar was doing, all from the comfort of his home?  Turning his mind back to the matter at hand, he concentrated his prodigious intelligence to what his next step should be. Finally, he came to a conclusion; he would do nothing. At least, nothing overt. Despite it going against every fiber of his being, Caesar made the decision that his only and best chance was to fight a defensive battle. If the two Wa warriors who had talked were to be believed, and Prixus assured him that they were telling the truth, there was a huge Wa army headed their way. If he could shatter that army, then the island would be his to do with as he willed. More importantly, he could turn it over to his men, and let them wreak their vengeance. Just as he had at Pharsalus, he would lure the enemy army into thinking him weak and ready to crack. Then, well then he would show these Wa once and for all what Caesar was capable of, and the matter would be decided once and for all. 
The Wa capital, according to what the prisoners had yielded up, was almost due north, barely a hard day's march away, and yet the scouts still hadn't reported sight of more than small groups of armed Wa, too large for the scouts to engage, but too small to be anything worthwhile pursuing with the entire army. Without knowing where the Wa army was, it was very hard for Caesar to choose the ground on which to make a stand, but he finally found the spot he was looking for, a ridge that ran on a north/south axis. It ran for more than 14 miles, which was a longer distance than he would have liked, but it was part of an almost unbroken line of ridges that ran on a northwest/southeast axis that almost cut the island in two, the southern part of the ridge running deep into the peninsula which they had just crossed. He would have the fleet behind him, to the east, as the capital city was to the west, so his line of supply would be secure. But even if the Wa army were somewhere else, to the east of Caesar's current location for example, that meant Caesar was between the army and the capital. The ridge itself was extremely rugged, and Caesar knew it would be a hard job to fortify it properly, but he was also thankful that there were only two places to cross the ridge without climbing hand over hand, one at the northern end and one at the southern end. After doing a thorough reconnaissance, Caesar deemed it impossible for the Wa to ascend the ridge anywhere along its length in any numbers sufficient to cause anything more than some mischief. That meant he could put a strong fortified camp at one end, and one at another, while his engineers would carve out a road traversing the length of the ridge to enable his troops to rush to any trouble spots.  "No, this will do very nicely," was Caesar's comment to Pollio, sitting his horse next to his commander. It had been a hard climb for the horses, but as always, Pollio thought, Caesar knew what he was about. The view was tremendous; any army could be seen coming from any direction for miles.  "Give the order to make camp at the base of the ridge, on the eastern side so we're near the bay. The fleet's not here yet, but it will be in the next day or two. This," Caesar extended his arm to encompass the ridge, "is where we crush these Wa once and for all." 




All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 7

Caesar had arrived in time.....barely. Although Titus Pullus never ordered the orbis, it had been a close-run thing, and his Legion was badly hurt. A little more than a quarter of his men were unwounded; of the rest, there was almost a Cohort's worth of men seriously wounded enough that they would be immobilized for days, if not weeks. The rest of Caesar's army had suffered relatively light casualties; he had moved with his customary speed and the Wa were completely unprepared for the swift savagery of a Caesarian attack. The men of the relief force had been ordered to drop their packs and move from column into line, a maneuver that was practiced over and over during the winters, and that drill paid off as the Legions of Caesar slammed into the undefended Wa rear. Just a veritable handful of the Wa had become aware of the threat coming up from behind, but they were too few in number, and were brushed aside as the Legions roared their battle cry. The attack devastated the Wa, the slaughter of the rear ranks immense, forcing the Wa army to reel backward from the walls of the 10th's camp. Those Wa who had made it into the camp itself, through one of the several breaches, were surrounded and quickly overwhelmed, no support or reinforcements coming through the breaches. In fact, for the first time, more than just one or two Wa warriors were captured alive, although they had yet to talk. But Caesar was grimly determined that they would, counting on the experience and imagination of the men of his torture detachment, which had swelled in number and techniques picked up in his march across Asia. From Parthia came a couple men well versed in their techniques; from the Pandya another man, and from the Han an even half-dozen men who Zhang had recommended. Caesar wasn't a cruel man, although this last 10 years had hardened him even more than either Gaul or the civil war with Pompey had, but he also understood the need for good intelligence to a commander, and would stop at nothing to get it. No matter how much flesh had to be stripped from a man, or blood spilled. 
Now, Caesar faced a dilemma. There was no way that he could move for the next several days; too many men, good, hard veterans all, would die if they were disturbed from their recovery. Fortunately, the Wa army besieging the camp did not try defending the town that was located just two or three miles from the 10th's camp, allowing Caesar's army to fall on it. This time most of the citizens had managed to flee, and the few left behind were too old or sick to be of any value and were put to the sword. More important than the slaves was the cache of food and supplies that the town yielded, although when compared with the vast amount that his army ate, it was enough for perhaps a week at most. Still, that was a week of food that he didn't have before. What concerned him was that his lack of mobility meant that the Wa army besieging Pullus' camp could retreat without being harried, and even worse, could meet up with more Wa. More than anything, not knowing what he was facing was what ate at Caesar and kept him awake at night. But it couldn't be helped; giving orders that the 10th's camp be enlarged to accommodate the rest of the army, he settled down to let his wounded recover enough to resume the march. 
However, the other facet of the situation he found himself in that worried him was whether or not he would have the army return to the fleet to resume their sea voyage. In the first days after the battle with the 10th, his answer to that was an absolute affirmative, but a week after the battle, and just two or three days before they were to pack up and march back to the sea and the fleet, some of Caesar's scouts had returned with news. As was his usual custom in territory he didn't know, Caesar sent his scouts in every direction, both to get a better idea of the land through which they were marching, but also to avoid stumbling into another army. But the news that the scouts he sent to the south brought had upset his plans of marching back to the fleet because they informed him that Caesar's army was encamped in the middle of the neck of a peninsula that extended an approximate 70 miles to the south from their position. That was bad enough, but the scouts he had sent to the east returned and from their information he was able to piece together a fairly solid idea that this peninsula was more than 50 miles wide as well. Calling on Lysandros, now the ranking navarch with the navy, Caesar was informed that to march the 15 miles back to the fleet, board then sail around the peninsula would take more than a week. Or he could march overland across the neck of the peninsula and rejoin the fleet on the other side. This is what he and the army had done on the Gayan Peninsula, although it had been much wider and longer, making it a month without contact with the fleet. The difference of course was that there was no resistance met on the Gayan Peninsula. It didn't take Caesar long to make the decision. "We're marching overland from here because I've been informed that we're located at the top of a large peninsula," Caesar announced to the assembled officers. "According to our best calculations, it would take us more than a week to cover the same distance that we can make in two hard days."There wasn't much comment at this; as usual the clerks in the praetorium had told their friends among the Legion clerks, who in turn had told their respective Centurions. The only question was, "When do we break camp?" Titus Pullus asked, thinking of the men who would be consigned to the jolting, bouncing wagons. None of the original wagons that started the campaign into Parthia now ten years ago, survived. In their place was, like the naval fleet, a mishmash assortment of carts and wagons, many of them only covered with tarpaulins stretched over wooden frames, a trick picked up along the way. Unlike the wooden structures on wheels that were the original Roman wagons these, while not as durable, were lighter overall, meaning they could carry more cargo. However, the wagons designated for medical transport were the sturdiest of the bunch, but another refinement was that the men were actually slung from vertical poles within the wagon, which reduced the jarring impact a great deal, although not altogether. Pullus knew from bitter experience that about ten percent of the men that survived the first two crucial days, would end up dying on the way, their final resting place an unmarked grave on the side of the trail. The only blessing, Pullus thought, was that so few Romans were left this was no longer the huge problem it had been early on, in Parthia, the Roman belief that anyone buried underground was destined to walk the world as a shade no longer as prevalent in the ranks as it had been.  "Two days from now," was Caesar's answer. "Those men who were fated to die will have done so by then, and those fated to recover will be strong enough to endure the march."With that, the officers were dismissed to pass the word to their men. 
Just as Caesar had promised, two days later the army left behind the smoking ruin of the camp, accompanying the still-smoldering ruins of the town to trail smoke into the sky. Marching in the agmentum quadratum, with the baggage train protected in the middle, this guaranteed the army would move more slowly than normal, but it also provided greater security. And what bothered Caesar more than any other challenge facing his army was the disappearance of the Wa army. His scouts had followed the trail as the Wa moved eastward as well, but after crossing a river, the tracks seemed to disperse in every direction, leaving too many different trails to follow. Caesar knew in his bones that this was a ruse, and that this army would recombine at some point. His hope was that it didn't join up with yet another Wa force before he could come to grips with it. The men were exceptionally alert; their experience with the Wa so far had been singularly unsatisfying, resulting in far more casualties and less loot than they had experienced in some time. At the same time, they were extremely morose and sullen, the normal bantering on the march completely absent. This too, Caesar was acutely aware of, and he knew that unless he was able to provide them with something substantial in terms of a city or a fortified position holding what passed for a nobleman, he would face the biggest challenge of the campaign. 
For the first time, Titus Pullus was really questioning Caesar's decision to continue the march. He wasn't willing to talk about it with Scribonius or Balbus at this point, but he was close to a point where he wouldn't be able to keep his reservations inside. And Pullus knew that if he himself felt this way, that the men were simmering with resentment. Caesar had always come up with something before, but this time was more important than ever. There either had to be a decisive battle, or they had to come across a city with loot enough to appease the men. Little did Pullus know that Caesar's and his thoughts were on parallel tracks, and neither knew what the future held.
The gods hadn't forgotten their favorite son, however. It was the first night on the march that a member of the torture detachment, a grizzled former gladiator named Prixus reported to the praetorium. He was allowed in immediately, Caesar giving orders to that effect, and in moments he was standing in front of his general. "We need your man Zhang," Prixus told Caesar after the formalities were observed. Caesar noticed but didn't comment on Prixus' hands, swollen and battered despite the fact Caesar knew these men always wore linen wrappings on their hands when they did their work. "We have two of these bastards ready to talk."  Caesar leapt up from behind his desk, but even as he was moving, Prixus added a warning, "He needs to hurry. I don't know how long either of them are going to last."Fortunately, they lasted long enough to tell Caesar more about the island of Wa than he had learned in all of the previous time he was on the island. For the first time Caesar knew the general shape and size of the island, and more importantly the location of the largest cities, and most importantly, that in the capital city, still weeks away to the east, the alarm had been sounded and a huge army was being formed to come repel the invaders. One tidbit Caesar found grimly amusing; one of the Wa continually used a word that Caesar had never heard. When he asked Zhang, the Han was reluctant to translate it, and then when he finally did, it meant nothing. Until it had gone through the laborious process of going through the Pandya-Parthian-Greek nexus. All of the translators were shocked when Caesar threw back his head and roared with laughter. When Hirtius and Pollio heard the long unheard sound of their general laughing, they quite naturally came running.  "You know what the word the Wa use to describe us means?" Caesar asked between gasps. Without waiting for an answer he finished, "Barbarians! They call US barbarians! The same thing we call them!"  Once over his bout of mirth, he told the two, "Sound the assembly. I want to let the men know exactly where we're going, and exactly what we can expect to find when we get there."



All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 6 (Cont.)

"I really wish we had brought siege spears," Pilus Posterior Balbus called to his Primus Pilus, Titus Pullus, over the raging din created by the wave of Wa warriors throwing themselves at the earthen rampart of the fortified camp holding the 10th Legion.  "Me too," agreed Pullus, standing just behind a line of his men jabbing down at the clawing warriors trying desperately to reach up and drag the wooden palisade down, the first step toward breaching a Roman camp. "But hopefully Andros got through and Caesar will be here soon." "He better be," Balbus shouted grimly as he shoved a Legionary who had just taken a spear thrust through the shoulder from one of the teardrop-shaped weapons used by the Wa out of the way and grabbed his relief to throw him into the gap before it could be exploited.
All around the perimeter of the camp similar scenes were being played out, as the Wa, having brought with them bundles of sticks to throw into the ditch, were streaming across to tear at the earthen rampart. There was a steady roar of noise, punctuated by shouts and screams, the tenor and frequency telling Pullus' experienced ears that his camp was in mortal danger of being overrun. Taking a moment to step away from his own Century and Cohort, the Primus Pilus of Caesar's most famous and feared Legion paused to look around the entire perimeter of the camp, taking in the scene before him. Unlike the normal army camp, this one was much smaller since it had to protect just one Legion, and Pullus was thankful that he had been given enough time to erect one, in a strong position. And its smaller size was both a blessing and a curse; while it allowed for his reserve, consisting of just one Cohort, to move more quickly to a trouble spot, there was also less space to maneuver if and when the walls were breached. As Pullus watched, he began the mental process of deciding when and where he would sound the call for the orbis, the formation of last resort for the Roman Legion. As it was, the 10th was already in something of an orbis because there wasn't one side of the camp that wasn't under assault. Making a decision, Pullus shouted at Balbus to take over command of this sector of the wall, which Balbus acknowledged with a sketched salute with his sword, whereupon Pullus ran down the ramp into the camp, heading for a spot on the wall that looked harder pressed. 
That part of the wall was under the control of the Quintus Pilus Prior, commander of the Fifth Cohort, Gnaeus Macrianus, a veteran of the second dilectus of the 10th, making him more than a decade younger than his Primus Pilus. Blood was streaming down the cheek of Macrianus, but he looked otherwise unhurt as he suddenly made a short hop into a suddenly opened gap, and from Pullus' position down on the ground, he could only see a pair of hands reaching out to grasp the wooden stakes of the palisade directly in front of Macrianus. Even as Pullus watched, he saw Macrianus' blade draw back, seem to hover for an instant before plunging down quickly and brutally, presumably into the face of the Wa reaching for the stake. The set of hands immediately disappeared, but just as quickly, first one then another set of hands appeared to replace the first. Seeing this, Pullus began sprinting up the ramp, reaching Macrianus' side just in time to see the contorted faces of the two Wa warriors, trying to wrench the stakes out of the ground, their eyes in such tiny slits that the detached part of Pullus' brain marveled at how they could see at all. Even as this thought flitted through his mind, his hand was moving, gripping his sword in the manner in which his first weapons instructor had taught him, with his thumb wrapped on the inside of his fingers instead of the outside. With a quick, economical but extremely powerful thrust, his Gallic blade punched down into one of the helmeted faces, the point entering the open mouth and slicing through the back of the man's throat, not only killing the Wa instantly, but severing the nerves so his hands dropped limply to his sides, his spirit fleeing before the body hit the ground. Meanwhile, Macrianus did the same to his man, but even so, there was no respite. Despite himself Pullus let out a gasp at the sight of the seething mass of warriors, men practically trampling each other in their frenzied haste as they boiled up out of the ditch and, using the bodies of those already fallen, threw ladders up and climbed the side of the earthen wall.  "There's thousands of these bastards," he muttered, catching himself too late but relieved that he hadn't said it any more loudly, and only Macrianus seemed to have heard, and he only gave a grunt in answer. 
On the opposite side of the camp, Sextus Scribonius and his Second Cohort were faring better, but not by much. To this point his men had been able to keep the Wa contained in the ditch by using their javelins, both as a missile, and as a spear to stab downward at any man who ventured too near. But for the same reason Balbus wished for siege spears, Scribonius was afraid that it wouldn't be much longer before there were no more usable javelins left. The Roman javelin was designed to be thrown, and more importantly engineered in such a way that it couldn't be thrown back, with a softer metal shaft and a wooden pin that was designed to shear off on impact. This meant that as a stabbing weapon, sooner or later the shaft would bend or the pin would break, hence the need for the broad-leafed, heavier siege spears. Scribonius could see that there were perhaps a dozen usable javelins left for the men of the front rank guarding the palisade, giving him just moments before those men would have to draw swords as well. His casualties had been relatively light, which was a blessing from the gods, but he also knew that this couldn't last once the Wa were able to close with his men and get inside the reach of their swords. Even as he thought this, he heard a choked cry to his left, and whirled about just in time to see one of his men disappear over the rampart, hands clutching at the Legionary's armor, pulling him down into the teeming mass. He had the briefest glimpse of a pair of legs straight up in the air before they disappeared, followed by a scream that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Fortunately it was short-lived, the man going immediately silent as his life undoubtedly was quickly snuffed out. But to his horror, Scribonius saw in that next instant that nobody had moved into plug the gap opened by the loss, and it took a moment for his brain to comprehend that it was because there was nobody left near that spot. Even as this registered, he saw that while he could pull a couple men from a spot farther down the wall, he was nearest, and of their own volition, his legs began propelling him quickly towards the gap, but not before a helmeted head appeared at the empty spot in the palisade, arms hands grasping and pulling the stakes. 
Pullus and Macrianus, standing side by side, were all that kept the Wa from swarming over that section of the wall, as one more time the giant Primus Pilus showed why he was one of the most famous men in the army with a sword. Using a shield he had taken from a man who no longer needed it, his sword arm was bloody to the elbow as he thrust, chopped and hacked down at the scrambling Wa, none of whom had managed to gain a purchase on the rampart, at least in Pullus' immediate area. But the Primus Pilus was desperately tired, barely able to keep his shield in the first position, the most basic defensive position, and unsurprisingly the first one taught to all Legionaries. His sword arm was little better, and he could feel the tremors in his biceps that signaled that unless he got some relief, he wouldn't be able to defend his part of the wall much longer. At the very edge of his vision, he saw a flurry of movement that told him that some Wa had at last managed to make it up to the rampart, and there was as struggle for control of the packed earthen platform. However, Pullus couldn't pay attention to that, having to count on the Legionaries in that spot to do their duty to protect their comrades, because climbing out of the ditch and scrambling up the ladder that had been thrown against the wall came another Wa, this one with the curved sword that they favored. Normally the contest would be tilted heavily in favor of Pullus, as the Wa had to concentrate on climbing the ladder while Pullus only needed to wait for him to come within reach. But between Pullus' fatigue and the fact that not three paces away from him he saw Macrianus take a thrust from a long spear that knocked him backward with such force that he went tumbling down the ramp to land in a heap on the camp floor, the Primus Pullus was distracted enough that the Wa managed to quickly scramble up, slipping under Pullus' poorly aimed thrust, to stand on the rampart. Immediately the Wa launched a furious attack, catching Pullus on the wrong foot and forcing him to take an involuntary step backward. The Wa warrior, this one wearing the lamellar iron armor and flared helmet that marked him as one of the elite of the Wa army, kept up the fury of his assault, the blade of his sword a blur as it flashed about the edges of Pullus' defenses. First blocking with the shield, then barely parrying with the sword, Pullus tried to ignore the screaming fire shooting down his arms and concentrate his energy and attention on the Wa's attack, looking desperately for an opening. Just as he had experienced in the last battle, these Wa didn't seem to tire out, keeping up the same pace in the middle of the battle as they did at the beginning and end, something that no man in the army had encountered before. Still, Pullus hadn't lived this long on just luck, and summoning on his rapidly draining reserves he lashed out with his shield immediately after the point of the Wa's blade skipped off the boss when he had attempted a straight lunge. The blow was completely unexpected, catching the Wa square in the chest and knocking him flat, but before Pullus could leap astride his body to finish him with a sword thrust, in a move Pullus had never seen before, the Wa raised his legs up by drawing his knees to his chest, then quickly thrusting them out, levered himself back upright from his supine position. Pullus was so astonished that he stood motionless for a moment, his jaw hanging slack, and barely got his shield up in time to block the next sword thrust, this one a vicious sweeping blow aimed to disembowel him.
It had often been said that the gods smiled on Titus Pullus, not as brilliantly and often as they did at Caesar perhaps, but he had been shown their favor on numerous occasions, and this was one of them. The Wa had put all of his power behind this attack, hoping to capitalize on the hesitation caused by Pullus' astonishment, but Pullus blocked the sword with his shield. The blade of the Wa's sword cut deeply into the edge of the shield, normally the type of blow that would render either the shield or sword useless, either splitting the shield or breaking the blade. But this time not only did the sword not shatter, its razor sharp edge enabled it to cut so deeply into the shield that the only thing that stopped it was the metal boss. Pullus felt a searing pain along the edge of his hand, but the Wa's sword was now trapped, caught by the friction caused by the two pieces of the shield. Using that to his advantage, Pullus twisted the shield, using his superior strength to push the sword down and away from him, but instead of using the point of his blade, which would have taken more time bringing to bear, he gave a straight punch into the Wa's face with the pommel of his sword, catching the man flush between the flaps of the helmet and in his face. Once, twice, three times Pullus punched the man with all his strength, and waning it may have been, he was still nevertheless extremely strong. The Wa's head jerked back with each impact, going limp with the third punch before Pullus dropped the shield and thus his hold on the warrior, who dropped to the ground in a heap. The huge Roman wasted no time, thrusting his blade into the throat of the Wa, whose wrecked face twitched as his life ended, gurgling blood with his last breath. 
Only then was Pullus able to turn his attention to the larger situation, and his heart almost stopped when he surveyed the walls of the camp. In more than a dozen places the perimeter had been breached, and in at least three spots that he could see, his men had been pushed down onto the camp floor, where there was savage fighting going on. Suddenly all pain and fatigue was forgotten as he realized that it was getting perilously close to the time where he would have to order the cornicen to sound the order to form orbis. He began looking for the nearest one, having left his Cohort cornicen with Balbus, spotting the Fifth's man, one of the old veterans, standing next to the Quintus Pilus Posterior, Vibius Pacius. But just as he was about to call him over, very faintly, over the sounds of the fighting, Pullus heard something he could not quite bring himself to believe he had heard. In fact, he had just convinced himself that his mind was playing tricks with him and had opened his mouth when it happened again, and this time he wasn't the only one. Several heads turned at the sound, all of them Roman, and quickly a new sound was added to the din. 
It was cheering, because what the Romans heard was a horn, but it wasn't Pullus' signal to form orbis. The pattern of notes signaled that another army approached, a friendly army.
Caesar had come to the rescue. Now Pullus had to hope that it was in time to save the 10th. 

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 6 (Cont.)

It was a little more than a month after Caesar and his army launched their invasion of Wa that there was the first appearance of trouble, of a sort that threatened not just the campaign, but the army itself.  "We haven't located nearly as much rice as we thought we would," was how Caesar put it to his assembled Primi Pili. "However, we still have the expectations of being resupplied from the stockpile we have on the first island."
Caesar was referring to the lightly populated island that they assaulted when they crossed from the Gayan Peninsula. Dubbed "Fortuna" by the men, Caesar had established a forward base on this island, directing that the Legate he left in charge, an older man who had been in charge of the vast herd of livestock needed to transport the army, put his energies into ferrying supplies from the Gayan Peninsula to the island. This man, Publius Ventidius Bassus by name, known throughout the army as Ventidius The Muleteer, was a superb hand at the grindingly mundane but crucially important art of logistics. Caesar trusted Ventidius implicitly; therefore, he wasn't particularly worried at the dearth of consumables on the large island they were on now. According to Zhang, his only source of information about not only the size of the island, but practically everything else, they had barely covered a quarter of this island, so Caesar still harbored hopes of stumbling onto a settled area, with the requisite foodstuffs his army needed. However, in the meantime he had total confidence in his older Legate in providing the needed supplies. Caesar kept the base on Fortuna apprised of his latest position and intentions, using his Liburnians, still the fastest sailing craft he had at his disposal, yet the farther east along the coast they traveled, the longer the supply line stretched. It was a concern for the general, but not yet a worry.
The progress of the army was slowed by the fact that Caesar insisted that the fleet halt every third day for the army to go ashore and make a proper camp. From this camp, they would spend a day, alternately resting and scouting, looking for signs of large settlements, or arable land that showed signs of cultivation. Sometimes they would camp on one of the hundreds of islands that dotted this inland sea, but usually they tried to find campsites on the main island from which they could launch their forays. This was made difficult by the terrain; not since Greece had Caesar seen such a mountainous country, and it was no wonder that they had trouble finding large areas of cultivation. But, Caesar mused, as he sat in his stateroom one night thinking about the problem, it may also be that we're not going far enough inland. But Zhang insists that the farther east we go, that's when we'll find fields of a substantial size to support my army. Until then, we'll have to count on Ventidius. 
It was just another sign of the gods' blessing that the day that the dreaded storm that Zhang called the tai-fun came, the army was actually ashore, in their camp. Even so, the storm was horrific, wreaking terrible damage to the fleet, and ripping a large number of the men's tents to shreds. Even with the damage, it could have been worse, much worse, a fact that the Centurions wasted no time in impressing on the men. It was little short of a miracle that none of the ships, all of them riding at anchor in a bay that was barely large enough to fit all of them, had sunk, instead the damage they sustained came almost exclusively from them bashing into each other. "How long to repair the damage?" Caesar asked the Roman he had put in charge of all matters regarding the navy.  Aulus Hirtius consulted the wax tablet in front of him, considering for a moment before answering, "At least a week, and that's if we use all the immunes who have experience with this kind of work."Caesar sucked in a breath through his teeth, grimacing despite suspecting the answer before it was given.  "Well," he said after a moment's reflection, "perhaps we can make this work for us. While we're working, I'll send out at least 2 of the Legions and have them head north, into the interior, to see what they can find in the way of food. Or an army," he added, almost as an afterthought. "In the meantime, we'll wait for Ventidius' fleet to catch up with us. Yes," he finished briskly, once again the Caesar who was never put on the back foot for more than a moment, "we can actually make this work for us."
And it would have worked, if the gods, as suddenly as they favored Caesar, took that favor away. Although it wasn't until almost the full week had passed before he, and the army, learned of the misfortune that had befallen them without them being aware of it. Until, that is, three heavily damaged transport ships, all that was left out of the fleet of 30 that left Fortuna, came limping into the small bay. As soon as they anchored, the senior captain, a Greek navarch who had been with the fleet since the beginning of the campaign and was one of the most experienced sailors left, rowed ashore. He was quickly led to the praetorium, which was still standing, although a panel from the roof had been blown out and was now patched, the darker leather showing starkly against the faded panels of the rest of the headquarters tent. Immediately allowed into the tent, the navarch Lysandros saw Caesar standing with two of his scribes, dictating something to one while discussing a totally different topic with the other. Seeing Lysandros and recognizing him, Caesar stopped immediately and beckoned him to approach, his eyes taking in the Greek's haggard appearance and instantly understanding that it boded ill. His instinct was confirmed a moment later, when after exchanging salutes, Lysander gave his report.  "General, I regret to inform you that all but my ship and two others were destroyed by that cursed wind the Han call the tai-fun," Lysandros' voice shook with a combination of emotion and exhaustion. "We tried running before the wind, but between the waves and rain, all the boats became swamped or foundered." Caesar stood there motionless for several moments, not saying a word, and all other activity in the tent ceased as well.  Finally, he managed to ask, in a strangled voice, "All but three? Are you sure? Did you search for any other ships?" Lysandros nodded as he said sadly, "Yes, Caesar. We spent two days after the storm on one of the islands that gave us the chance to make repairs and watch for any survivors, or ships that made it through as well. All we saw were corpses, and flotsam," he finished bitterly. After a few more questions that satisfied Caesar there was no hope of a miracle, Lysandros was sent to see to his crew's needs and to his own. 
As if that wasn't enough, there was a stir at the entrance to the headquarters not long after Lysandros left, this time the messenger one of the cavalrymen that had been assigned to one of the Legions Caesar had sent out on patrol. The only thing Caesar didn't know was which of the two Legions it was, but that was immediately answered when the cavalryman reported. "General, I've been sent by Primus Pilus Pullus. He reports that his Legion has found a large town that appears to be well supplied with food." Before Caesar could digest this however, he continued, "But the Legion was forced to make a camp in the face of the enemy because a large armed force of those savages appeared out of nowhere!" "How large?" Caesar asked instantly. "Primus Pullus estimates at least 15,000," the cavalryman replied.Caesar let out a string of curses and snapped out an order to one of his aides to have the call sounded summoning all Primi Pili and officers. Turning back to the messenger, he asked several questions, trying to ascertain an exact location, all while conferring with the crude map of the surrounding area. Once finished, he dismissed the messenger who, instead of departing at once, seemed to hesitate. "Well?" Caesar forced himself to be calm, knowing that snapping at this man wouldn't help anyone. "Is there something else?" "Yes sir," the man stammered, "I mean, I don't really know sir. It's just that as I topped the last ridge before the 10th was out of sight, I stopped to make sure I wasn't being followed. And when I did, I naturally just looked back over my trail looking......" "Yes, yes, just tell me what you saw," Caesar snapped, his patience finally fraying.  "Well sir, I could see the camp. It's in a good position, like I said, but those Wa bastards already have it surrounded. And," he swallowed hard, "they were already beginning to attack the camp. I don't know if they'll be able to hold long enough for us to save them." Smiling grimly, Caesar simply put his hand on the man's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Then I guess we'd better hurry then, don't we?"And with that, he dismissed the messenger and began issuing orders. 

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 6

The ruins of the town smoldered for two days, days in which Caesar kept his scouts very busy while the men recovered from their exertions, such as they were, in taking the town. Their biggest problem came from the massive headache from the stores of rice wine they had found, as they also discovered that it was much more potent than what they were accustomed to in the land of the Han. As the men lounged about outside their tents, playing the inevitable games of dice, along with some games that were imported by the polyglot of nations that comprised the Legions, Caesar's mounted scouts were ranging far and wide, scouting the terrain and looking for signs of a concentration of the enemy. It wasn't until the third day that the first of them returned, and while they didn't report any sightings of an enemy force, the news wasn't good as far as the terrain facing the army. Neither was there good news about the possibility of food being available, as the land was too mountainous for the growing of rice, at least in any quantity sufficient to feed an army. There were small terraced farms, but they were designed to feed very small villages of less than a hundred villagers, and there were precious few of those. This forced Caesar to make a decision. "After receiving the reports from the patrols I've sent out, it's clear that we won't find enough rice to feed the men. In addition, the terrain to the east is very mountainous. We would do well to make 20 miles a day, if that."Caesar was addressing an assembly of the officers of the army, including the Primi Pili, who had gathered in the praetorium to hear what their general had to say.  "But I'm not blind, nor deaf to the complaints of the men about getting back aboard the ships to travel," he continued. He paused, letting his officers digest what he said before he pressed forward.  "However, I'm not willing to sacrifice the speed that we would gain by moving by sea, so we're going to be boarding the ships to continue moving eastward. According to Zhang, the farther east we go, the more populated we will find the island. He also says that what passes for their capital is still several days sailing away, and the closer we get, the more likely we will be to meet resistance from a much larger army than what we've faced to date. Once we defeat that army, the island will essentially be ours."Once more, he paused and waited for the men to digest this, and while he wasn't surprised, he was somewhat disappointed at the looks of doubt and uncertainty that some of the men had on their face, and those looks weren't confined to the Centurions. Hirtius, Pollio, and the less senior Legates also looked distinctly uncomfortable, but since Caesar had made up his mind, he didn't give them the opportunity to raise whatever objections they may have had, dismissing his officers immediately. A couple of them, notably Pullus and Hirtius, stood there, not moving for several moments, both of them looking at each other, waiting for the other to speak. But using their hesitation, Caesar turned on his heel and left the meeting room, leaving the two of them open-mouthed.  "I thought you were going to say something," Hirtius fumed, but Pullus was unapologetic, as irritated as Hirtius.  "It seems to me that rank has precedence in a situation like this," the Primus Pilus shot back, to which Hirtius had no real reply, understanding that Pullus was right in this instance. Both men left discontented, but Pullus had the more immediate problem of passing the word to the men of the 10th Legion, and he better than anyone knew that they weren't going to be happy. 
Before he summoned the men, he met with the Pili Priores to let them know what Caesar had decreed. Almost in unison, the Pili Priores sucked in a breath, each of them immediately thinking about the reaction of their respective Cohorts, and none of them felt sanguine about how the men would take this latest order.  "We'll be getting the loading order later today," Pullus informed them, and like Caesar he wasn't in the mood for questions. Unlike Caesar, however, he had nowhere to go, since they were all crammed into his tent. "And what do we do if they don't get on the ships?" This question came from the Pilus Prior of the Fifth Cohort, Gnaeus Macrianus, who Pullus considered to be a candidate for his own post at some point in the future, although Pullus was nowhere near ready to step down. If it had come from someone other than Macrianus, and perhaps Scribonius, Pullus wouldn't have entertained the question, but with them he felt compelled to answer. "We stripe as many backs as we need to," he answered harshly. "But I'm counting on each of you to keep that from happening." "How, exactly?" This time it was Scribonius who asked the question, and he refused to flinch at Pullus' angry glare, not cowed in the slightest by his friend's bluster. Expelling a harsh sigh, Pullus was forced to think for a moment. "You need to convince them that staying here isn't possible, and that if they want to spend all day scrabbling up mountains and making 20 miles a day, that's what's in store for them if they don't get aboard the ships. Also," he added, suddenly inspired, "let them know that there's no food in the area, and we have to find more food than the surrounding countryside offers."He paused to let this sink in, somewhat pleased to see that the Pili Priores seemed to accept this reasoning, mulling it over and not rejecting it out of hand.  Finally, Scribonius spoke. "I think we can make that work with them, although I can't guarantee it. But none of them want to go hungry." "Or climb these fucking mountains," Metellus, the Pilus Prior of the Third Cohort, added. "Well, go do what you need to in order to make sure they're ready to board in the morning."
Pullus, and if truth were known, Caesar and the rest of the Legates, were vastly relieved to see that in the morning, the men fell to their tasks of breaking down the camp and readying to board with just a bit more grumbling and discontent than was normal. Because of so much practice, the men were ready to go well within the time Caesar expected, and the boarding process commenced without delay. By the middle of the day, the fleet began moving out of the harbor, sailing west first, in order to clear the large island to the south that was their original anchorage. Once past this land mass, they turned south, making good time, clearing the southern tip of the island in less than a full watch, before turning east. Although most of the army was aboard, Caesar had taken a gamble, leaving almost his entire mounted force ashore to move eastward overland. Their orders were specific; keep close to the coast, staying within visual sight of the fleet whenever possible, while Caesar had informed them he would send the Liburnian scout ship ashore twice a day to pick up any reports they made. In this manner, Caesar hoped to be informed of the presence of either larger areas of arable land that could be plundered for their harvest of rice, or a large armed force. 
Caesar's plan, like all of his plans, was both simple, but sweeping in scope. Sure that there had been some survivors of the assault on the town who escaped, his hope was that they would spread the alarm, and give the Wa sufficient time to muster a force that represented the bulk of their army. The real reason Caesar chose the sea route was that, given the success the Romans experienced with this last beach assault, his hope was that word of his fleet would reach the Wa commander, whoever that may be, and the Wa army would choose the same tactic as the last two times, to meet the Romans on the beach. To that end, Caesar had ordered that all the bolts possible be salvaged from the site of the last fight, along with the rocks, but he had also had his men scrounge up as much raw materials as they could in the time allowed. As the fleet sailed eastward, his immunes were hard at work, repairing the scorpion bolts and making new ones, along with shaping the hundreds of rocks that had been gathered. Caesar was counting on the idea that, moving with the speed for which he was famous, his army would show up at a place that was strategically important before the Wa had a chance to reflect on what changes needed to be made in their tactics. If he could have his artillery do the brunt of the work as the last time, Caesar was sure that his army could vanquish any foe before them. 
Caesar and his army, heading east, were bringing Rome deep into the land of the Wa, still seeking to conquer one last land, and one last people. 

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 5 (Cont.)

As it turned out, only the town elders, the group that had been kneeling in front of the rest of the townspeople, were executed before the men of Caesar's army were sufficiently unsettled by the sight of a few thousand supine victims, passively awaiting their fate. As much as they wanted vengeance, exacting it in this manner was extremely disturbing, when the only sounds were a chorus of muffled sobs, punctuated by the sodden thud of a blade meeting a neck. On a couple of occasions, there was a choked scream from one of the townspeople as an elder was decapitated, there presumably being some connection between the victim and the afflicted person. Once the dozen elders were executed, their heads and bodies separated from each other save for a pool of blood connecting the two, the men who originally eagerly volunteered for the duty looked at Caesar expectantly, and it didn't take an experienced leader to see they were silently pleading for it to stop. Glancing at the assembled Primi Pili, along with the higher-ranking officers of the army, Caesar could plainly read by their faces and body language that they were ready for this business to end as well.  Raising his hand in a command to stop, Caesar said hoarsely, "I believe we've made our point. The rest of these people will be taken as slaves. Zhang's man will see to the details."  Not finished, Caesar turned to address the ranks of the men drawn up against the wall of the town who were standing mutely watching all that had taken place. "But as a reward for your valor, I give you the proceeds from the sale of these prisoners, the first of many Wa to fall under the yoke of Rome!"
If he said anything else, it was drowned out by the roaring approval of the men in the ranks, and as soon as his words were translated for those who still didn't understand Latin, the din only increased in volume. Realizing the futility of anything further, Caesar gave a half-smile, half-grimace in surrender as he waved his subordinates to come closer so they could hear his orders.
"As soon as the prisoners are out of the way, turn the men loose on the town to do with as they will. Looting and burning should appease them, since they've lost their taste for blood vengeance."
Pullus and the other Centurions exchanged somewhat alarmed glances, thinking there was a rebuke there about their troops' unwillingness to shed blood. Caesar caught the looks, raising a hand in a dismissive wave as he said, "Oh no, I don't blame them. In fact, I was worried that they would want to go through with it. But I'm glad to see that we're of a like mind; it appears that none of us find much pleasure in beheading people who don't seem to care."
Prompted by his general bringing it up, Pullus blurted out, "Why do you suppose they behaved that way, Caesar? I've never seen anything like that before. And," his brow furrowed as he frowned, which Caesar knew was Pullus' sign that he was worried, "what does it mean? I mean, for the rest of the campaign?"
"I wish I knew," Caesar replied honestly, "because I've never seen this before either. Put that together with the way those Wa on the beach seemed content to be slaughtered, we can deduce that at the very least, they don't fear death in any way. Which," he added, superfluously as far as the Centurions were concerned, "makes them very dangerous indeed. Perhaps not tactically; they don't seem to be generaled very well, if at all. But if they have enough numbers, and are willing to throw them away in such a profligate manner, tactics may not matter."
With that worrying admonition in their ears, Caesar briskly turned back to other topics. "This town isn't big enough for the whole army to fall upon, which is one reason I'm giving the slaves to the army. That should help quell any discontent for what I'm about to order now." This time he ignored the looks of concern on his assembled officers as he continued, "I want two Cohorts from each Legion to be given a section of town to loot. The rest will work on cleaning this place up. We can't have all these bodies stinking up the place and bringing disease. I don't know how long we'll be here, but you know I like a tidy battlefield."
Indeed his Centurions did; it was one of Caesar's peculiarities that kept the men, and the Centurions as well, talking around the fires, speculating on where it came from. To most of them, a tidy battlefield was a misnomer, but after the countless battles, it was something they accepted as a cost of marching with the greatest general of all time. 
It turned out that the sacking of this town didn't provide the bounty of loot that the men had hoped for. Despite the look of overall tidiness and prosperity, what the men discovered as they entered the individual houses, which was ridiculously easy because they appeared to be made of nothing more than flimsy wooden frames over which some sort of thin tissue was stretched, these people didn't seem to have many possessions. Oh, there was some silk to be found in some of the homes, and there was a fair bit of jade, but after marching through the lands of the Han, the men had become inured to the value of this semi-precious stone. If they ever made it back home, they had a fortune, but most of them had resigned themselves to the idea that they would never set foot on Italian or Spanish soil again. For men like Pullus, the army had been his real home for so many years that he could barely remember what his farm outside of Astigi, in the province of Hispania even looked like. Watching his men tear through these houses, in most cases literally as soon as the men discovered that the wooden frames were made in such a way that they could be lifted out with relative ease, Pullus was lost in thought, worrying about what he had brought up to Caesar. He didn't know why, but the sight of those Wa kneeling there disturbed him more than the sight of their warriors waiting to be slaughtered on the beach.  "I don't think these savages lock anything away," Pullus was torn from his reflection by the sound of Balbus' voice, and with a start he turned to see his second-in-command standing next to him, the side of his face that was horribly scarred, with the missing ear the sight that greeted Pullus. But he had long since become accustomed to the gruesome visage of his Pilus Prior, and in fact rarely noticed him in this way.  "Doesn't look like it," Pullus agreed. Both men stood for a moment as some of the men began whooping with delight from inside of one of the houses. A moment later, a Legionary emerged from a nearby home, not bothering with the door but instead kicking one of the flimsy walls down. Staggering a bit under his burden, the two Centurions quickly understood why he was so happy, as they saw a pair of feet kicking as what turned out to be a young girl struggled futilely to free herself, all while screeching at the top of her lungs in her tongue.  "Pluto's cock, we don't need this," Balbus groaned. "It's one of the Pandya. What's his name? Shrinam?" Pullus thought for a moment, then said, "Shrinar. His name's Shrinar. He's in the third section of your Century, isn't he?" "I know who he belongs to," Balbus snapped, irritated as much at the tone of his Primus Pilus as he was by the sight of one of his men carrying off what was in effect contraband. 
Over the years, Caesar's army had developed a set of simple rules that his men learned, sometimes in a very harsh manner, had to be obeyed without question. One of those concerned the treatment of women. After learning from bitter experience early on in the campaign, when there had been a near-riot after the sacking of a Parthian town and Caesar's orders had been somewhat vague, the general gave very explicit instructions that whenever the occupants of a town were destined for slavery, that included every single person, whether or not they were part of the original group of captives or not. If they lived in that town, and everyone else was being sold into slavery, that meant they were off-limits to be used by the men for their enjoyment. Of all of Caesar's orders, it was one of the most unpopular, because of cases like this, which were inevitable. Terrified parents would try to hide their children, almost always daughters, and almost always the most beautiful daughter in the family, creating what was facing the two Centurions now.
"Shrinar," Balbus bellowed, and for a moment it looked like the dark-skinned, lithe Legionary was going to pretend he didn't hear and keep walking. "By the gods, I'll skin  your black ass and use it for a mourning tunic if you don't get over here!" With visible reluctance, the Legionary turned and trudged over to the two Centurions. Meanwhile, the girl's struggles continued unabated, and when she gave a sudden twist of her body, she managed to escape from Shrinar's grasp, thudding heavily on the ground. Quickly trying to scramble to her feet, she was too slow for Shrinar, who had too much experience in such matters to be easily thwarted. Because of her struggling, her hair, long, black and very straight, covered her features as her head whipped about as she tried to pull her arm out of Shrinar's grasp. Finally in exasperation, Shrinar gave her a cuff on the head, stunning her enough to stop her struggling, but she managed to remain on her feet. Half-carrying, half-dragging the girl with him, Shrinar finally reached Pullus and Balbus, sullenly coming to intente, or at least as much as possible while still holding onto the girl.  "What by Pluto's cock do you think......" Balbus got no further, letting out an audible gasp which was only drowned out by the same sound from his Primus Pilus. Before he could finish, the girl's head had come up and with her free hand, she pulled the hair blocking her face out of the way. She was, Pullus was sure, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Balbus was no less sure of the same thing as both men stared at the girl who, seeing their eyes on her, quickly looked down at the ground. Her skin was the color of honey, and while she had the almond-shaped eyes of all of the people in this part of the world, they were slightly larger. Most interestingly was her nose, not the normal stub with no bridge between the eyes so common to all of the people in this part of the world, but pronounced enough that, while not Roman, made her distinguishably different than anyone else. With an oval face, high, pronounced cheekbones and a full set of lips that both men immediately longed to caress with their own, both of them understood Shrinar's reluctance. In fact, unbeknownst to each other, both Balbus and Pullus experienced a flash of sympathy for the Legionary, while at the same time a strong sense of desire to make this girl their own. And at the same time, they both knew that it was impossible.
"You know the rules, Shrinar," Balbus finally spoke. "You can't keep her."
Shrinar said nothing, deciding his best and only hope was to pretend he didn't understand, but Balbus wasn't fooled in the slightest.  "I know you understand me you cunnus," the Pilus Prior growled. "Remember I come around the fires at night and I hear you and Galba chattering like magpies in our tongue. So," he thrust his free hand out toward the Legionary, while in the other hand his vitus hovered menacingly, "hand her over."
Shrinar's shoulders slumped, not bothering to hide his bitterness, and while neither Centurion would normally be disposed to let such insolence pass, they were at the very least sympathetic to his loss. 
Taking the girl by each arm, Pullus and Balbus carried her, her struggles now subsided into a whimpering fear as her feet barely touched the ground. Neither man spoke, but both were incredibly aware of the girl's scent and the feel of her lithe body bumping against them. They headed for the line of Wa townspeople who, with bowed heads, were being shackled together. Standing nearby, Caesar and his staff were discussing whatever it was that officers discussed at times like this, but at the approach of two of his Centurions, Caesar called out to them.
"Eho Pullus, Balbus! What do you have there?" "Just someone trying to hide, Caesar," Pullus replied, counting the moments before his general stopped them. He didn't get past ten.  "Hold there! Bring the girl over here," Caesar ordered. Both men shot sidelong glances, but of course obeyed, stopping in front of their general. Caesar gave neither of them as much as a glance, taking a gentle hand and lifting the chin of the girl to see her face. Just as his Centurions had shortly before, he let out a gasp at the sight before him.
"By the gods," he managed at last. "I think she's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen." "Normally I don't like your taste in women Caesar," Hirtius, standing behind his general said genially, thinking of Cleopatra, "but in this case I have to agree with you."
The girl, for reasons only she could know, hadn't shrunk from Caesar's touch, and in fact looked up at him shyly, through lowered lashes, studying him as much as he was studying her. She was an ignorant girl from a town whose name nobody knew, but she instinctively knew that this was a powerful man, despite his hideously pale skin and eyes that looked like the water of the bay on which she lived. She also understood that the next few heartbeats were the most important of her life, that wherever her family and friends were being taken, it wasn't going to be a place where there would be any joy or happiness. So, despite her fear, she favored Caesar with a shy smile, not showing any teeth of course, but a smile nonetheless. Thinking the moment over, the two Centurions started to take her away, and her eyes widened in fear, fixed on Caesar. "Wait," he said softly, but it was no less a command than anything he might bellow in battle, and  both Centurions halted immediately. For another moment nobody spoke, or moved. Then, seeming to come to a decision, Caesar said, "Take her to my tent. She will be staying here, with me."
The town, because of the construction of its houses, didn't take nearly as long to loot, it being relatively easy to rip them apart for hiding places. By the time the men were through, the town was a shambles of shattered wooden screens and piles of what passed for furniture lay scattered about. It took even less time to burn, the thin tissue that served as the walls of the structures catching instantly. In fact, it turned so quickly into a conflagration that two men were trapped within the town, barred from escape by blazing houses and the piled debris, burning to death. These were the only two casualties of this landing, and Caesar ordered the sacrifice of a bull in thanksgiving to the gods for such good fortune. But neither he, nor any of the officers, believed it would last. Sooner or later, they knew, they would meet a real army, led by a real general. Then matters would be different. 


All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 5 (Cont.)

Once it was determined that all Wa on the beach were dead, Caesar had the men of the entire army, once landed, form up in his now-famous acies triplex, the three line formation that had seen the defeat of armies from Hispania to Pandya. It was somewhat difficult, given the problem of so many heaped bodies, but the moment they were formed up, with the orientation that he wanted, Caesar sounded the order to advance. Their objective was not an army, but the large town that lay to the east of the landing beach. The 10th was in their usual spot, anchoring the right of the line, meaning that Titus Pullus, the Primus Pilus, was the last remaining Roman on the right, or unprotected side. It had been this way for so long and so often, save for a couple of times, one being Africa during the civil war, that if Caesar had ordered the Legion somewhere else, Pullus wasn't quite sure how the Legion would have reacted. 
But the men of Caesar's army moved quickly into position, and the march began towards the town, which was only protected by a low wall, barely more than a man's height. More importantly, there was only a handful of Wa warriors on the wall, although it was too far away to make out their features. When they were within 200 paces, Caesar ordered a halt, followed by the command for all Primi Pili.  Once they were all gathered, he told them, "It doesn't look like there will be much resistance, so I don't foresee this taking very long. However," his gaze  turned to the assembled Centurions, "we have to decide what to do about this town. It looks large, so there should be a substantial amount of loot. I doubt we'll find many civilians to sell as slaves, but whatever we find will be rounded up and Zhang's man can see to it." Caesar was referring to a member of Zhang's personal retinue who had acted as broker to sell the slaves that had been rounded up when crossing the Gayan Peninsula. However, his announcement was met with silence, and some furtive glances between some of the Primi Pili. Instantly picking up on it, Caesar pressed his Centurions, and all eyes turned to the giant Primus Pilus of the 10th. Seeing that there was no avoiding it, Pullus, face reddened as he said, "It's just that the men want vengeance for the first assault." Caesar's first instinct was to argue, but he caught himself. While it had been weeks since that first assault was bloodily repulsed, and they had just slaughtered close to 20,000 Wa, he knew that watching men die from a distance, from artillery, wasn't the same as plunging your own sword into the guts of the man across from you, acting in vengeance for the loss of a comrade. In addition, Caesar recognized that his control over the army had been badly shaken by the repulse, and this victory, while it helped, hadn't done enough to restore matters back to what he considered normal.  Instead, he simply asked, "What do the men want?" "That the town be given to them, to do with as they will," Pullus answered instantly, causing Caesar's eyes to narrow in suspicion, understanding that this had been planned. While he didn't fault them for being prepared, he still wasn't happy that he was unaware that this was coming. I'm going to have to talk to my network of spies in the army, he reminded himself.  Nevertheless, he gave his assent to this, his only admonishment, "Don't let the men start fires. You know I hate that."Assuring him that they would control those men who exhibited this proclivity, the Primi Pili quickly returned to spread the news. As each Legion was informed, they gave a rousing cheer, causing a rolling wall of noise that lasted for several moments. What effect it had on the Wa on the wall, waiting for what came next, was impossible to tell, because not one of them moved a muscle. 
The assault on the town, as Caesar and the rest of the officers suspected, didn't take long. Those Wa who stayed on the wall, and most of them did, died fighting, though not with the same spirit and resolution of those on the first beach.  "These were probably the sick, lame and lazy," Balbus remarked to Pullus, using the term Romans used for malingerers, as they watched their men pull down the low wooden wall. Very quickly several gaps were torn in the barrier, allowing the men to stream through, those who participated in the first assault being given the honor of leading. More importantly, it gave them the first pickings of whatever loot was in the town. But almost immediately, the flow of men stopped, those still outside the wall forced to stand, shouting and cursing their frustration at their predecessors who seemed to have stopped everything.  "What in Pluto's thorny cock is the holdup?" Pullus growled, then pushed his way through the waiting men, bashing those too slow to jump out of the way with his vitus, and he was followed closely by Balbus. Finally getting through the gap and elbowing his way into the front ranks, his snarled command died in his throat, as mystified as the rest of the men. It was Publius Vellusius, the old Gregarius and long-time comrade of both Pullus and Scribonius who sidled over to his Primus Pilus and broke the silence. "What are they doing? Sir?" Pullus amended hastily, but if Pullus took offense he gave no sign.  "They're kneeling," Pullus replied in a whisper, although he had no idea why he was doing so. "But why?" "How should I know?" Pullus snapped, instantly regretting it; it was a valid question, and one that Pullus was wondering himself. Then, with an idea, he said, "I suppose they're throwing themselves on our mercy." "They're not going to get any from me," Vellusius replied fiercely, remembering his friend Ganusius, gutted on the beach those weeks ago. For that is the sight that greeted the first Romans through the wall; not a deserted town like they expected, which they could now see was very close to being a city, but the lines and rows of people, obviously the townspeople, kneeling, with heads touching the ground, filling the square and streets of the town. Every open inch of ground was covered by a person or group of people. Just in front of the first row was a smaller group, perhaps ten villagers, all male, but they were in the same kneeling position, and none of them raised their head or looked up. Whatever the men of Caesar's army were expecting, this wasn't it; the normal scene of the sacking of a town was one of chaos, with people running in any direction they thought gave them the best chance for escape, the screams of women either trying to evade being captured and raped, or having been caught and ravished filling the air. Just not this.........silence. It unnerved Pullus, and he could see he wasn't the only one, that none of the men seemed as eager to go about the business of rape and slaughter as they had been just moments before. It was silly, Pullus observed, since this would make rounding them up easier, but that wasn't how he felt.  Turning to Balbus, just behind him and as silent as everyone else, he said, "Go get Caesar."
By the time Caesar arrived, Pullus and the other Primi Pili had managed to get most of the men inside the walls of the town, and had them formed up, backs to the wall, in a long single line of Centuries, curving around the contour of the wall and out of sight. A quick check had confirmed that all the streets ringing the wall, or perpendicular to it, were empty. Everyone, it seemed, was gathered in one place. Even Caesar, normally so unruffled, was taken aback, and unbidden, the same thought he had just a short time before came back. Can we beat these people? Like Pullus, he chided himself for precisely the same reason. Here they were, all lined up, waiting for whatever their fate may be, but this was so unlike anything he had experienced, it gave him a deep sense of unease. It was one thing to kill running men and women, as part of the bloodlust following a battle or siege, or to execute one or more kneeling men who had been captured after a fight. But this, to walk up and down the rows, systematically beheading each person, turned even his stomach. Of course, there was no guarantee that these Wa would sit passively and silently accept their fate, but some instinct, deep inside, told him that they would. This, more than anything else, is what troubled him; like most Romans, he had always accepted as fact that his people were the most disciplined and obedient to higher authority people in the world, and none of his conquests had shown him any differently. But he knew that no Roman would be so stoic, so resigned to their fate, without considerable weeping and gnashing of teeth at least. Not these people.  "Well, Caesar? What are your orders?" Pullus asked his general.  Caesar turned troubled eyes to Pullus and said, "I don't know."


All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 5 (cont.)

The slaughter resulting from the pre-landing artillery barrage was so total and so devastating that the biggest challenge for the men unloading in the first wave was keeping their footing amid the bodies and pieces of bodies bobbing and rolling in the red surf. Adding to the eeriness and unfamiliarity of the scene, it was also the quietest landing that any man of Caesar's army had participated in. It wasn't truly quiet, but the only sound competing with the rumbling waves was a low-pitched moan that seemed to ebb and flow with each crash of water onto the beach. There was occasional punctuation to the generally continuous sound in the form of shouted commands from the Centurions and Optios, but what was conspicuously missing besides the sounds of battle were the calls and curses of the rankers. No, Titus Pullus thought, he had never experienced anything like this, and neither had anyone else. It wasn't until Pullus was on the beach, standing amidst carnage the likes of which he had never seen in his 27 years; not at Alesia, not at Alexandria, not at Persepolis, not at Bargosa, that he realized what was so strange. The volume and style of the sound he was hearing was what one heard after a battle was over, not when the landing was just moments old. Right now should be a frenzy of action, a riot of noise, so many things going on in front of one's eyes that the brain can't comprehend it all, the colors and smells, all of it threatened to be overwhelmed by the fear and rage of battle. But nothing like that was happening, and it was clear to Pullus that he wasn't alone in his feelings as he watched his men trying to form up, although it was next to impossible because of the bodies packing the beach. 
Just as Caesar had predicted, at the first sight of the Roman warships appearing through a low-hanging mist that allowed them to creep to within 200 paces, the Wa had stormed right up to the edge of the beach in their tightly packed but ordered ranks. Just like the first landing, there was a minimum of the kinds of demonstrations made by the warriors of other nations. They seemed content to wait for the Romans to land, but Caesar and the entire army knew what kind of ferocity the Wa were capable of, so none of them were swayed by the lack of activity. In fact, their close formation fit into Caesar's plans quite well, and his one hope was that they didn't break ranks, making them harder to hit. Within a tenth part of a watch, the floating artillery batteries had moved into their positions, each one turning broadside to the beach as the Wa contented themselves with shouting in their tongue as they watched. Perhaps they don't know what's about to happen, Caesar mused, standing at the flagship rail, his ship positioned roughly in the middle of the spread of warships. He restrained himself from looking over his shoulder in the opposite direction of the beach, knowing how futile it would be trying to spot the assault force rowing towards the beach because of the mist. No, he thought, I will have to count on my generals to make sure all is going as planned. His attention was brought back to the beach by the sharp cracking sound that was the signature of the ballistae, as the arm crashed against the crossbar when it shot to the vertical position as it launched its respective cargo of death. Caesar was unable to track the flight of the first missiles from his ship, but there was no missing the result, as the first one pound stones slammed into the front rows of Wa. No matter how many times he saw it, he was still somewhat surprised at the amount of damage a relatively small rock could do, not just to one man but to several in a row, especially at closer range. Only one missile fell short in the first volley, so that almost immediately bloody gaps were torn in the front ranks, but as the last time, those holes were closed almost immediately. Again, this was something Caesar was counting on, and in this he wasn't disappointed.
What he was unprepared for, however, was that the Wa would stand there and soak up this punishment, without withdrawing from the surf line. Instead, they stood there, first shouting their anger, then screaming out in fear and pain as rocks and scorpion bolts savaged them without letup. Part of the original plan had called for a brief respite, planned by Caesar to give him the opportunity to assess the situation, and if necessary to allow his floating batteries to reposition closer to shore in anticipation that the Wa would have to remove themselves from the surf line. However, they never moved, but Caesar nonetheless ordered those of his ships that carried a higher complement of scorpions to move closer inshore, staying just out of range of the Wa archers, who fired a few volleys of fire arrows to no avail. With the range closer, the scorpion bolts were particularly lethal, punching through the lamellar leather armor and torso of the first and usually second Wa before burying itself in the bowels of its last victim. The slaughter recommenced, with the Wa giving no sign whatsoever that they were inclined to retreat out of range. In fact, from where Caesar was standing, although his eyesight wasn't what it was, he could clearly see that there were no officers or cavalry behind the rear ranks, forcing men forward. No, he realized with shock, these Wa were moving forward without prompting, despite the fact they had to know what awaited them. As disciplined as these men were, and Caesar was certain that these Wa would be more than a match for the warriors of Sparta, not even the most hardened of men could keep from shrieking in agony from the kind of damage done by the artillery, and the air was filled with such noise. As bad as the noise was, Caesar knew, the sights of their comrades being eviscerated, having a limb torn off or even decapitated had to be extremely daunting, yet no Wa that he could see hesitated in stepping into the next spot, even when it was stepping over the mangled body of a comrade. Even when their numbers were reduced to perhaps a quarter of their original strength, the Wa never wavered, and in fact Caesar was sure that the ships would run out of ammunition. Some of the vessels did, particularly those carrying the scorpions, but in the end, there was enough. 
This time the landing of Caesar's army was successful, and in sharp contrast to the first attempt, there were no serious injuries, and only one death, a Legionary who had been leaning out watching the slaughter on the beach and lost his balance, falling into the sea and disappearing from sight before anyone could grab him. The Wa, on the other hand, had lost what Caesar believed was the bulk of their army, at least 20,000 men, or so he hoped. He couldn't imagine wasting his soldiers in such a profligate manner, and there was something deeply troubling about these Wa, something he had first felt during the previous assault, which he couldn't identify and had put down as stemming from his first defeat in many years. But now here he was, standing on the beach as its master, and yet he was just as troubled as he had been the time before. Try as he might, he couldn't come to grips with the feeling, and while to everyone around him he was his same, efficient self, inwardly he was in turmoil. The first inkling of what it might be came when Aulus Hirtius, one of his top lieutenant generals came to give his report on the task Caesar had set for him. Even before Hirtius spoke, Caesar could see the answer on his general's face. "I'm sorry Caesar," Hirtius said uncomfortably, only after rendering a proper salute of course, "but we have no prisoners."Even knowing the answer by Hirtius' expression, Caesar was flabbergasted, so shocked that for several moments he couldn't speak, a fact that Hirtius took as a rebuke. His face colored, and like every member of Caesar's army, Hirtius felt great shame at having failed his general.  "I'm sorry, Caesar," Hirtius repeated, his tone so miserable that it snapped Caesar out of his shocked state. Caesar shook his head, putting a hand on Hirtius' shoulder, admonishing him, "It's not your doing, Hirtius. I don't blame you. It's just hard to understand how out of this many men on this beach, we couldn't find any wounded lightly enough to take prisoner to interrogate."Something in Hirtius' eyes prompted Caesar to ask, "What am I missing?" "It's hard to describe, Caesar," Hirtius responded. "Even after I saw it happen, I can't really understand it. But," he continued after Caesar's prompting, "we did as you said, looking for those men whose wounds weren't mortal and finishing off those whose were. But every time we found such a man, we couldn't get close to him. It was like they were.........possessed by some numen, screeching in that language of theirs, I can't understand a word of that gibberish, and I've already picked up a fair amount of the Han dialect...where was I? Ah, yes, when we got anywhere near these men they would try to put up so much of a fight that we had no choice but to kill them." "That's to be expected," Caesar interjected, his mind still working on the larger problems, "but surely not all of them." In every battle he had ever fought, across the entire known world, Caesar had never seen  it fail that there were a group of men who chose life as a possible slave than death, at least when it was this large a group. "That's what I thought as well," Hirtius said with what Caesar suspected was respect bordering on awe, something Caesar didn't like a bit. "Until I saw these Wa. Every one of them who was able took a blade, an arrow, whatever was at hand, and ended themselves. To a man." For several moments, neither said a word, their thoughts running along very similar channels. Finally and appropriately, it was Caesar who broke the silence. "If we're fighting a race where even men in the ranks would rather die than submit, how can we defeat these people?"

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.