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.
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.
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