Final campaign, p.39
Final Campaign, page 39
part #7 of Marching With Caesar Series
We had been sitting in our own hiding spot, the men talking quietly while we waited. Suddenly, a warning shout came from the man assigned to watch for the signal, and I turned to see him pointing at the two tiny figures high up on the trail, frantically waving their signal pennant. Immediately, Centurions were shouting men to their feet, striking laggards with their vitus, and the army was ready to move very quickly.
I moved to the front of the column on Ocelus, the Evocati and Tribunes along with me, moving out at the trot and counting on the men to follow along. The path we were following was higher up on the side of the mountain than the draw we had followed from the road to the hiding place and, as Flavianus had reported, despite the rough ground, we still made good time. We rode up to the eastern wall, having to dismount to enter through the hole that we had knocked in it to provide unseen access into the fortress, to find that the two Centurions, Decimus Flaccus of the 8th and Tiberius Numidius of the 13th, had gotten the men busy in tidying up, dragging the bodies of the Thracian scouting party out of sight and moving their horses to the stables. Those bodies with the least bloodstained clothes were stripped, and men who more or less fit into them put them on, where they would be standing on the ramparts in clear view to the relief force from Serdica. One problem was the number of Thracians with facial hair, while our men were all clean-shaven. Fortunately, there were enough men in the scouting party that were beardless that it would not be an obvious tipoff. Still, I ordered that some of the men rub their faces with charcoal to simulate a beard, knowing that it would not stand up to scrutiny up close, yet should suffice from a distance. We also made sure that at least one of the men on the rampart spoke Greek. There was no guarantee it would help if one of the men of the relieving force called to them in their tribal tongue, but that could not be avoided. Before the leading elements of our army were in sight, one of the lookouts shouted down to us, pointing in the direction of Serdica. Taking off my helmet, I ran up to the rampart to get a look. At first, I saw only a black smudge, slightly detached from the black line that I knew to be the walls of the city, and I felt a bit foolish at taking the precaution of removing my helmet. Hanging just above was the cloud of dust that marked the tramping feet or hooves, except they were still too far away to tell the composition or size of the force. I stood watching, knowing my presence made the men on the rampart nervous, and I tried to lighten their mood, joking about the fake beards that some were wearing, but it did not help much. I was not the only reason they were tense, of course; if this ruse failed, these men would be the most likely to bear the brunt of the Serdi retaliation. Ever so slowly, the enemy column inched closer to us, and it seemed to me that they were not marching with much purpose, taking their time. Although it was a good sign that they were not suspicious, it was wearing on the nerves. Hearing a commotion, I turned to see the first Legionaries of our army arriving, squeezing through the hole in the eastern wall. I descended to the ground and trotted over to where Macrinus was standing, calling out to the men to hurry as they filed in. Reaching his side, I told him what I wanted.
“Fill the barracks buildings with as many men as you can stuff inside, and have them keep the shutters closed. Then, put as many men in the stables and storage building as will fit, and get some down into the cisterns.”
“That’s not going to be nearly enough room. That will be maybe half the Legion at best,” Macrinus pointed out.
“I know. The rest I want formed up outside the wall at the southeast corner. Just keep them away from the hole and, by the gods, keep them quiet.”
Macrinus saluted before he hurried off to inform his Centurions my instructions, while I waited for Flaminius to arrive. There had been a major oversight on my part; I had not taken the time or trouble to figure out exactly how many men we could hide inside the fortress. There had been plenty of room for the small detachment that eliminated the scouting party, yet I now had the bulk of two Legions. Along with the auxiliaries, Evocati, and command group, I had to make sure the rest of the Legions were nowhere in sight and yet were still readily available. I could, and perhaps should have left one Legion behind at the hiding spot, but until I knew exactly how many men we would be facing, I did not want to risk not having them nearby. I ran up to the rampart again, cursing the burning in my thighs as I scrambled up the ramp used for the artillery. For a fleeting moment, I regretted having destroyed the Thracian artillery, thinking that it might have been useful in the event that we let some men escape from the fortress. However, the presence of scorpions and ballistae seemingly left behind on the rampart would have looked extremely suspicious to the men entering the fort. Huffing and puffing, I gazed north, seeing that the Serdi were now close enough to make out. I was pleased to see that the force was composed almost entirely of infantry, the only horsemen riding at the front of the loosely organized column undoubtedly tribal nobles that were the leaders. The Serdi rankers were carrying their shields and weapons, the usual variety of spears and swords, while trailing behind them were several wagons carrying their supplies and baggage. Now that they were close enough, I made a quick estimate of the strength that we would be facing. There were about 2,500 warriors, approximately half the remaining garrison of Serdica, except in reality by leaving the cavalry behind in the city, it was effectively more than that in terms of useful warriors. Perhaps the cavalrymen were experienced infantry, but I had found that to be extremely rare. Seeing what was coming, I did not believe that the 13th would be needed for the moment, and I ran down the ramp to find Flaminius had arrived, supervising his own men, already entering the fortress.
“I hate to do this to you, but I need to stop you,” I told him, going on to explain why they would not be needed.
He was clearly disappointed, but was professional, and the men were quickly turned around. I did not have Flaminius’ men march all the way back to our hiding spot, instead directing them to stay just outside the fortress a few hundred paces back along the trail. I did not want any lingering dust blown by a stray breeze ruining everything that had gone so well to that point. With the Serdi just moments away, we hurried to finish making everything ready, and I made my final dispositions. Calling on Caldus one more time, I had him go back into his hiding spot, with the same instructions.
“You need to wait until you’re sure that they’re all inside,” I told him, and while he swallowed hard, he saluted and said that he would. I gave him a pat on the back to reassure the boy.
“I know you will, and you’ve done perfectly so far, and you’re going to be rewarded for this, I promise you.”
Perhaps I should have known better, knowing Marcus Primus as I did. I was about to leave the fortress myself, then on the spur of the moment, I ran at almost a full sprint to the nearest barracks building, where I pulled two sections of men, having the men around them give up their javelins, giving them four each.
“Follow me,” I told them and, running up the ramp, I crouched to avoid being spotted as I got up to the rampart, except I forgot to take off my helmet the one time it would have been useful.
The men already there were trying not to look in my direction, not wanting to be seen doing so by the approaching Thracians and inadvertently alerting them that something was amiss. Still, I could see them glancing nervously over at us without turning their heads. Moving quickly, I had each of the men crawl up onto the rampart, directing them to lie flat, pushed up against the crenellated wall so they could not be seen.
“As soon as you hear the horn, I want you up and ready to kill anyone who tries to escape out the north gate,” I told them. “You’ll only have a couple of moments before they’re out of range if they’re running for it, so don’t miss. Especially any horsemen. They must be stopped, do you understand?”
As cautiously pleased as I was that they hadn’t brought their cavalry with them, I could not neglect the possibility that one of the mounted nobles may keep his wits and bolt for Serdica. To that end, I had instructed the Evocati to remain mounted, having them gather along the southern wall, but just around the corner from the western wall where the original breach was to keep them from sight. Nevertheless, that was still a distance of five hundred paces they would have to make up, racing along the western wall in pursuit. That was where I would be as well, and I was thankful that at least the rubble pile had been cleared away. Also, I had actually had the men remove some of the rocks embedded in the ground as well to give us a smoother track. At the sound of the horn, we would go immediately to the gallop, and make it as quickly as we could to the northern wall in order to keep any men from escaping. Roughly half of the men of the 8th gathered outside the wall were between the hole and the corner of where the southern and western wall met, lining up immediately behind us and, at the signal, they were to move at the dead run around the corner to enter the fortress through the original breach. The other half would go through the newer, eastern hole, while the men inside the fortress were to burst from hiding and move as quickly as possible to the northern gate, cutting their way through those Thracians who tried to stop them. The weak link to the plan was that northern gate, yet even after much discussion, with ideas being accepted from everyone in the command group, this was the best we could come up with. I was not worried about the men of the Serdi infantry escaping; we would be able to run them down and it was too far away from Serdica for anyone on their wall to see anything before we ran men on foot down, no matter how swift they were. Men on horseback were another matter, and when I hopped aboard Ocelus, I had to wipe the nervous sweat from my palms to get a good grip on the reins. With nothing left to do but wait now, we sat quietly, nobody talking, not even whispering, in order to avoid alerting the Thracians, and I had to wipe my palms a few more times. Suddenly, I was struck by another thought, and I turned Ocelus to walk back to where the first of the Legionaries were waiting. I told one of the men to give me one of their javelins, not sure exactly what I was going to do with it, but deciding if it came down to the last chance to stop someone, I would rather have it than not. Seeing me, most of the other Evocati did the same, taking a javelin from one of the men, who did not begrudge giving one up. It’s somewhat awkward carrying the extra javelin in your left hand along with the shield, and although one becomes accustomed to it, any chance to get rid of it is usually welcomed, at least by the men. Their Centurions perhaps do not feel the same way, but nobody objected. My mouth was dry, seemingly in the exactly opposite proportion to the sweat pouring from my palms and underarms, and I regretted not thinking to bring my flask with me. I thought to get down and find a pebble, but I did not want to risk being on the ground when Caldus sounded the alarm, and it is a good thing I did not.
Even when one is waiting for something like the call that Caldus made with his cornu, the bass notes sounding muffled because of the wall between us and him, it still is startling when it finally happens. I could feel Ocelus’ muscles bunch underneath me, his ears pricking forward at the sound, like he knew what it meant, even though there was a moment’s hesitation on my part as I almost jumped out of my skin. I could feel my face burn at the thought of showing the kind of nerves one would expect from a tiro facing his first battle and not Titus Pullus, Camp Prefect. I am afraid I took my embarrassment out on poor Ocelus, giving him a much harder kick than normal, and he responded by leaping forward, almost toppling me from his back before I managed to grab the saddle with my free hand. In the time it takes to blink, he was moving at the full gallop, the wind roaring in my ears, yet even above that I could hear the shouting of men, recognizing the panic and surprise in their cries. It sounded like things had gotten off to a good start, except it would be impossible to know until I laid eyes on what was happening. Although I might have been technically riding Ocelus, the fact was that I was a passenger, trusting my horse completely to choose the best path to take in order to avoid any hazards. I imagine that is what marks the difference between a true horseman and a man who rides horses, since Caesar for example, was always the one in control. The wall of the fortress was to my immediate right, little more than an arm’s length away, blurring by as Ocelus thundered along the western wall. Passing the original breach and ruined gateway, I risked a glance to the right, but all I could see was a mass of confusion and movement, catching just a brief glimpse of Thracians milling about. I was now about halfway to the corner of the northern wall, and I could sense the rest of the Evocati behind me, albeit by several lengths, none of their mounts being a match for mine. I had thrust the borrowed javelin through the saddle band and under my right leg, the point bouncing up and down just inches from my face if I leaned forward, making me recognize that this had not been a good idea. Reaching the corner of the fortress, I laid the reins over Ocelus’ neck to the right, my horse veering smoothly in a wide arc around to the northern side of the fortress. In that instant, my eyes took in the sight of several men lying along the road, javelins protruding from the bodies of every one of them. They were scattered up the road heading back toward Serdica, and the last two or three the farthest away from the walls had been hit in their lower extremities and were still alive, dragging themselves frantically away, trying to find some cover to hide them. Sticking out of the road and the verge on either side were several javelins that had missed their targets. Most importantly there was a horse lying on its side, its legs moving weakly, two javelins having penetrated its body. The horse’s rider was also lying a few feet away, also pierced through with javelins, and I relaxed momentarily since it appeared that the threat had been contained. However, I looked to the left back in the direction of Serdica, letting out a string of curses, even as I heard one of the men on the wall shouting that one man on horseback had managed to escape.
“We hit him but missed the horse,” I heard the man shout. Once again kicking Ocelus, I urged him to regain his speed. Up ahead of me, at least three hundred paces, I could barely see the man, partially obscured by the dust his horse was kicking up, and I yelled into Ocelus’ ear, “There he is, boy. Run him down!”
I have no idea if he understood me, but he lay his ears flat against his head, stretching out his long, graceful neck and the increase in speed was immediate, almost taking my breath away.
“Take care of these bastards,” I shouted over my shoulder, thundering by the wounded men, who looked back in panic at me, but I was not concerned with them.
I had the advantage of going downhill, except so had the Thracian I was chasing just a moment before, and had now hit the level part of the road by this point. I knew I was drawing closer, because I could now see through the dust that he had a javelin bobbing up and down over the hindquarter of his horse, the point of it lodged in his upper thigh. Seeing the javelin reminded me of mine, and I tried to pull it from beneath the saddle band while at a full gallop, almost losing it altogether several times before I managed to extract it. Now I was clearly getting closer, yet so was the Thracian getting closer to Serdica, and to a point where our activity would be visible, and most importantly, decipherable to anyone standing on the walls who knew what they were looking at. At this point, a bit more than a mile from the fortress, all that would be visible would be some dust hovering in the air, but not distinctly enough to see that it was two separate plumes. However, time was rapidly running out, yet thankfully for me, Ocelus again never seemed to tire. I could hear him sucking in great gouts of air through his huge, fully dilated nostrils, his head bobbing up and down in rhythm with his strides, his mane whipping back so violently that later I had striated marks across both cheeks where I had been struck by it. It was on a shallow dip in the road that the Thracian’s horse broke stride, and despite quickly regaining its own rhythm, its lapse had allowed Ocelus to close even further. I was now at a point where if we had both been stationary, I would be within javelin range, but I had to be much closer than normal if I wanted to risk a throw, which I did not. The Serdi rider was hunched over and I could now see that he was clutching the shaft of the javelin protruding from his thigh in an attempt to keep it from bouncing more violently than it was, the thought flashing through my mind how agonizing that must have been, and I had to grudgingly admire the man’s courage. That did not mean I was not going to kill him, but first, I had to close even more. If I still believed in the gods, I might have said that they were actually listening, because for the second time, the Thracian’s horse broke stride, this time not regaining its rhythm. The horse was clearly foundering and for the first time that I saw, the Serdi looked back. I caught a glimpse of a white face, framed by a curly beard that was so long that it had been plaited into braids. His high helmet was pushed low over his brow, probably from the jarring impact of the chase. Even so, I could see the fear in his eyes upon seeing my horse bearing down on him. I can only imagine what he saw in my own face when I lowered the javelin, using it as a lance by tucking it under my arm the way I had seen done so many times before, cursing the sweat still soaking my palms. Releasing his grip on the javelin stuck in his leg, he began beating savagely on his horse’s flank, but the poor beast was exhausted and it could barely lift its pace. Ocelus must have sensed this, because I felt him actually slow up a bit, and despite sweating, it was not because he was blown. It was as if he was saying, “I caught him. Now what?”
I did not have to beat Ocelus the way the Thracian had to beat his own horse. All it took was another kick in the ribs, a shouted command, and my horse reopened his stride. The Thracian saw me coming for him and, just as I was about to pull my arm back to thrust the javelin home, he veered suddenly off the road in a last attempt to escape. Ocelus reacted instantly, moving so quickly that again I was almost thrown from the saddle, this time leaning out to the side like I was still going to go straight while he turned. I managed to recover, the pause brought on by my brief struggle allowing a slight gap to reopen, the Thracian pounding across the open ground surrounding the road, heading now in a roughly perpendicular direction to it. The river lay not far ahead, and I think he realized that, because after just a short bit, he turned his horse again toward Serdica. In doing so, he gave me the opening that I needed. I gritted my teeth, not liking what I was about to do, yet the horse was now turned broadside to me, and before Ocelus could change direction as well, I tugged his reins to let him know to keep going straight while I pulled my arm back. I had the briefest of moments before I passed across the rear of the Thracian, giving me no time to think, probably a good thing, and my arm swept forward, the javelin flying to a point where the horse had not yet arrived. Then I was past, barely having time to see the javelin strike the horse in the chest, just behind the right front leg, before I was on the opposite side of the Serdi. Drawing the reins to turn Ocelus, I heard the scream of the man’s horse as I did, spinning just in time to see its head drop and slam into the ground, its body flipping over with hooves in the air, sending the rider flying several paces away, landing with a heavy thudding sound. Above that noise, I could clearly hear a snapping sound, but I do not know if it was the shaft of the javelin in the man’s leg, or the leg itself. Either way, he let out a horrific scream of pain, rivaling the screeching of the horse in its death throes. I kicked Ocelus forward and he shied, clearly not wanting to go near one of his own kind in mortal terror and pain. It took a couple more kicks before he would move forward, and I took him wide of the horse, now barely moving and looking glassy-eyed, blood pouring out of its mouth. I murmured an apology to the horse, and to Ocelus, I suppose, riding over to where the man was lying, writhing in agony and much livelier than his horse, at least for the moment. I dismounted from Ocelus, sliding off his back, but keeping my eyes on the wounded man. His helmet had flown off, and he was lying on his back, his eyes rolling back in his head as he clutched his leg, which I could now see was soaked in blood, the stump of the javelin sticking out where the shaft had broken off from his impact with the ground. He saw me coming, and made a weak grab for his sword. Before he could, I stepped on his arm, not hard, but enough to stop him. Gasping for breath, he looked up at me with a combination of fear and hatred, a look I had seen so many times that I had long since lost count, even though every time I did, it still gave me pause.
