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.
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.
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