Caesar's Sword: The Complete Campaigns

by David Pilling

  “You will have to run faster, little rabbit,” Belisarius remarked grimly, “if you mean to elude me. Fermo, is it? Does his fleet await him there?”

  No, came the reply, there were no ships in the harbour. Belisarius looked puzzled, but immediately despatched orders for the army to turn east, straight towards Fermo.

  Fifteen thousand horse and foot hurried across the countryside, bypassing numerous towns and villages and small farms. Most of the occupants fled in terror at the sight of our banners – all the contending forces, Goth and Roman, pillaged the land without mercy – but we left their settlements untouched. The army was well-supplied with provisions, and Belisarius drove us on at a furious pace.

  Fermo is a pretty little town on a hill overlooking the Adriatic coast. It lay on the junction of roads leading to several Roman towns, making it an important strategic location, and had once been the permanent home of the Fourth Legion.

  The legion no longer existed, but Fermo was still important, and commanded a spectacular view of the sea and the surrounding countryside. Narses had chosen his new headquarters well, and spotted our advance from several miles off.

  He sent a party of officers to greet us on the western road. They were all smiles and good fellowship, and greeted Belisarius like a conquering hero, smothering him with compliments on his recent victories.

  Belisarius was having none of it. “Save your flattery,” he barked, “and tell me this. Does your master hold Fermo against me?”

  Their leader looked shocked. “Against you, general? Why would you say that? He holds the town for you, and for Rome.”

  “Then he will have no objection to opening the gates, and allowing my troops into the town.”

  “None, sir. He is waiting to greet you now, and has set aside food and accommodation for your men after their long march.”

  Belisarius remained suspicious, and marched on Fermo in full military array, as though he meant to storm the place. However, the gates stood open, and the soldiers on the battlements cheered and blew trumpets in celebration of our arrival.

  “If there is treachery here, it is well-hidden,” said Procopius, who had managed to snatch a moment away from the general, “watch your back, Coel, and keep that old sword close by your side.”

  “I always do,” I whispered in return.

  Our vanguard rode through the streets, with Belisarius at the head, surrounded by his Veterans. He wore his golden parade armour, making him an easy target for any archers lurking on the rooftops, but there were no assassins in Fermo.

  Narses was too subtle for that. He received Belisarius at the governor’s mansion, and invited him and his chief officers – and me – to dinner. Belisarius brusquely refused and demanded an immediate council of war instead.

  “Of course, general,” said Narses with one of his bland smiles, “whatever you wish. You are in command, after all.”

  I expected the council to be a difficult affair, with Narses blocking the designs of Belisarius at every turn, but all went smoothly. Every officer present agreed on the necessity of relieving Rimini, and deplored the folly of John the Sanguinary in refusing to give it up.

  Narses attempted to defend the actions of his friend, against those who called for his arrest and trial. “John is young and rash,” he said, “and eager to prove his worth. Too eager, perhaps. He was only recently entrusted with a major command, but he has great ability. We should not be too harsh on him.”

  “Harsh?” shouted Hildiger, “the little turd refused a direct order, and threatened to shoot me into the bargain.”

  He appealed to Belisarius, sitting at the head of the table. “Sir, are we to tolerate this sort of behaviour from mere subalterns? In the days of Trajan, he would have been flogged to death before the assembled legions. How we have fallen away in these latter days. Leniency breeds insubordination!”

  Some cried approval of this, including myself, but Belisarius looked wary. He was aware of John the Sanguinary’s friendship with Narses, which in turn meant John enjoyed influence in the imperial court.

  Belisarius had to step carefully. He was already out of favour with the Emperor, and might fall further from grace if he punished John as the man deserved. On the other hand, if he let him off, he risked losing the respect of loyal officers like Hildiger.

  He dealt with the issue by avoiding it. “Enough of this wrangling,” he said firmly, “our priority is the relief of Rimini. I will deal with John the Sanguinary once the Goths are defeated. Our combined forces will march on the city and engage Vitiges without delay.”

  “I am not a military man,” piped Narses, folding his hands on his little paunch, “but I can count. We have twenty-two thousand men. Even taking their recent losses into account, the Goths still outnumber us over two to one. It seems folly to engage them in the open.”

  Belisarius regarded him with undisguised loathing. “You think I mean to charge the enemy head-on, like a bull at a gate? I daresay you would derive much amusement from that – at seeing my head mounted on a Gothic spear, eh?”

  Narses looked affronted. “Not at all. I pray for nothing but your continued success. We fight in the same cause, Flavius.”

  The tension between the two was almost palpable. Belisarius could have broken the twisted little man’s neck with ease, but Narses showed no sign of fear: rather, he seemed in absolute command, reclining in his specially raised chair and toying with the rings sparkling on his plump fingers.

  Every other officer present remained silent, waiting for the game of wills to play itself out.

  “Have you any suggestions to make?” asked Belisarius. His words echoed in the high, vaulted roof of the council chamber, where long-dead Roman governors had once feasted until they were sick.

  Narses spread his hands. “Not really. Though it strikes me that King Vitiges, for all his undoubted valour, is easily fooled. He succumbed to your every stratagem during the siege of Rome.”

  “Perhaps,” he mused, lifting his eyes to the ceiling, “he can be persuaded to think that our numbers are far greater than is, in reality, the case.”

  Belisarius eyed him narrowly before responding. “I had something of the sort in mind. Where is the fleet that carried you to Italy?”

  “Still docked at Ancona. It was a rough voyage, and the admiral needed time to repair and refit his ships.”

  “Send a message to Ancona and order the fleet to sail here immediately. We will split the army in three. One shall embark aboard the ships under the command of Hildiger, and sail back up the coast. I shall lead the main body through the Appenines towards Rimini.”

  He turned and pointed his long arm directly at me. “Coel shall lead the third detachment. This will march along the Flaminian Way at night, carrying heaps of timber. When you arrive within sight of the Gothic camp, I want you to light fires, as many as possible. The fires will deceive Vitiges into thinking a great army is advancing on him from the south.”

  There was a faint murmur of approval around the table, though I was also conscious of jealous glares. Belisarius was publicly favouring me again, this time giving me command of a significant portion of his army.

  The mere thought filled me with terror. I desperately wanted to refuse, but he had placed me in a situation where I dared not. What, decline in front of my fellow officers, many of whom could only dream of such an opportunity? It would have been interpreted as rank cowardice, and an insult to the general.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, though my bowels were dissolving, and placed my hands under the table to hide their trembling.

  Of all those present, I believe only Narses guessed my true feelings. I was unwise enough to glance at him, and he gave me a sly wink.

  “Thus we shall close on Rimini via land and sea,” said Belisarius, “Hildiger, when you see the fires lit, you will disembark and attack the Gothic camp from the east. At the same time I will lead an assault from the south. Coel will also advance. If John the Sanguinary is half the soldier he pretends to be,
he will see the battle in progress and sally out with his cavalry. The Goths may have the numbers, but they lack discipline and composure. When they realise they are caught between four fires, panic and confusion shall do our work for us.”

  Narses flapped his hands together. “Another great victory for Rome!” he squeaked, “I salute you, general, and all your brave officers.”

  He filled his cup and raised a toast, to which all reluctantly responded. My cup shook in my hand, and the wine tasted like sourest vinegar.

  11.

  Five thousand men. Belisarius placed me in command of these, I, who had never led more than three hundred cavalry into battle.

  He was taking a terrible risk, but took precautions against disaster: he despatched Procopius (none of his captains would serve under me) to advise me and ensure I did nothing foolish. The general’s secretary was no soldier, but intelligent and learned, and had learned something of war from following his master on campaign for so many years.

  My detachment was mostly light cavalry, with an infantry escort for the wagons carrying piles of dry timber, hay and brushwood.

  We advanced after nightfall, following the Flaminian road that eventually arrived at Rimini. To the east, the lights of our fleet glimmered in the darkness. The ships carried two thousand men under the command of Hildiger. Belisarius had left before me, taking his fifteen thousand east, towards the ridge of the Appenines.

  I rode at the head of our column, feeling foolish and overdressed in my fine armour. “A general must look the part,” Belisarius remarked, and insisted on supplying me with a gleaming lamellar cuirasse, a conical helm with cheek-plates, a red cloak trimmed with rabbit fur, and a round shield displaying the double-headed eagle. He even gave me a horse from his own private stock, a pureblood black stallion from Hispania.

  “I would offer you a new sword as well,” he said with a grin, “but nothing on earth will persuade you to part with that relic at your hip.”

  “Nothing on earth,” I agreed, gripping the worn ivory hilt of Caledfwlch. The general’s eyes rested on it for a moment. I thought I detected a spark of greed or desire in them, but then he looked away.

  My orders were to advance slowly, giving Belisarius time to reach the Appenines and make his way through the rugged mountains towards Rimini. The lighting of the fires was to coincide with his appearance before the walls, and Hildiger’s seaborne assault from the west.

  Procopius rode by my side. He was a born clerk, and looked ridiculous in his borrowed helmet, and a long mail shirt over his robe.

  I nodded at the spatha, a long-bladed chopping sword, dangling awkwardly from his hip. “Do you know how to use that?” I asked.

  He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I have watched many a battle. The principle is simple enough. I hit the enemy with my sword, and try and prevent him from hitting me in return.”

  In spite of my nerves, I had to smile, and I believe he was deliberately trying to lighten my mood. “Look,” I said, pointing at the spatha, “it is heavier at one end, and has a sharp chopping edge. You cut down with the edge, and let the extra weight do the work. Don’t put your whole strength into the blow, else you may wrench your shoulder. God help you if you miss.”

  “Noted, with thanks,” he replied, “but you need not fear for me. When the fighting starts, I shall take my accustomed place at the rear. Someone has to write down the account of your heroic exploits.”

  I looked ahead, into the veil of night, and shuddered. The Flaminian way passed through a range of hills, with mountains to the east, and somewhere beyond them lay Rimini.

  Like a good little soldier, I had sent men ahead to spy out the land, and look for any Goths waiting in ambush. The greater part of the enemy host, according to Belisarius’ scouts, was concentrated around Rimini. They had the city in a vice, though so far John the Sanguinary had repelled all their efforts to take the place by storm. He had led numerous sallies from the walls, slaughtering hundreds of Gothic and burning their siege-engines.

  I had no cause to love John, but he was a brave and capable officer. A better soldier than me, certainly, though I had the virtue of loyalty.

  Loyalty, however, was of little use in my present situation. I could feel the crushing pressure of leadership and responsibility weighing down on my shoulders like a millstone. My thoughts were clouded with a host of fears and uncertainties, and I found it difficult to think of anything save my long-lost son in Ravenna.

  In short, I was not fit to command, and was terrified lest I fail Belisarius.

  “Why do you think John refused to hand over Rimini?” I asked Procopius, desperate to take my mind off Arthur, “do you think he is truly in league with Narses?”

  Procopius pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “They are friends, I know that much,” he replied, “ but it is impossible to say much more. Spying on Narses is like trying to punch mist. I suspect John acted on his own volition, which is why Narses was so co-operative at Fermo. He wants to drag his friend out of danger, and needs Belisarius to help him do so.”

  “Belisarius thought Narses had come to Italy to fight him. He marched on Fermo expecting a battle.”

  Procopius sniggered. “Never. Narses cannot match Belisarius as a general, and was outnumbered two to one. He has his own game to play.”

  “He told me he was a reasonable chess player.”

  “An expert. I was fool enough to sit down to a game with him once. My king was slaughtered almost before I could blink. Now the whole of the Italian mainland is his chessboard, and we are but pieces.”

  Our conversation died away as we neared Rimini. The lights of the city soon became visible, twinkling like stars, and around it the greater constellation of the enemy camp.

  I called a halt, and ordered the first of our beacons to be laid on the summit of the hills flanking the highway. It was a warm summer’s night, and thankfully there was no hint of wind or rain.

  While the beacons were laid, I sat in silence on the road overlooking the city, nervously chewing my bottom lip until it bled. My scouts returned unscathed, to report no sign of any Gothic outriders.

  “Vitiges is being neglectful,” remarked Procopius, “even after all his defeats and reverses, he has learned nothing.”

  “Thank God,” I said.

  We didn’t know it, but there was good reason for the lack of enemy activity. Far from being neglectful, Vitiges had sent out a strong detachment of cavalry to patrol the land south of Rimini and forage for supplies. They advanced too far, and in the darkness blundered into Belisarius’ vanguard as it emerged from the Appenines. While I sat and chewed my lip, a messy battle was being fought to the west.

  Belisarius charged up in time with the main body, and the Goths were eventually routed, leaving a roughly equal number of dead and wounded strewn about the road. The Gothic survivors fled back to their camp, where they tried to excuse their defeat by spreading panicky rumours of the size of the Roman host bearing down on Rimini from the mountains.

  Luck counts for a great deal in war. At about the same time as panic was spreading through the Gothic camp, my men lit the beacons. The timber burned beautifully, and within moments the hills over the city were illuminated by two rising columns of flame.

  “Light the torches,” I commanded. Every man in my detachment carried a torch or lantern, and now set fire to them.

  The beacons were swiftly joined by hundreds of lesser lights. I ordered my cavalry to spread out along the ridges either side of the road. To the Goths below, it must have seemed as though the hills were on fire.

  At this crucial moment, I was seized with indecision. My orders were to advance at the same time as Belisarius and Hildiger, but I had no way of knowing their progress. I looked east and west, straining my eyes to make out any sign of my allies, but there was nothing. The mountains hid the fleet from view, and darkness shrouded the Appenines.

  “You cannot linger,” Procopius whispered, “be decisive, and go forward.”

  �
��Five thousand, against forty thousand Goths?” I hissed through gritted teeth, “what if the others fail to support our attack? We would be massacred.”

  “Better dead than disgraced. You have no choice, Coel. Stop dithering. Advance.”

  I drew Caledfwlch and kissed the cold steel. It was blasphemous, but I was convinced my grandsire’s soul resided inside the blade: neither Heaven or Hell could possibly contain such a fierce spirit.

  Shaking off my fears and indecision, I gave the order to advance. My cavalry re-formed on the highway and moved forward at a slow trot, holding their torches aloft.

  The city was still some five or six miles distant. As we advanced, I kept my eyes fixed on the enemy camp. There were lights moving down there, and at first I feared the entire Gothic host was marching out to engage us.

  If so, I resolved to withdraw. Personal honour was all very fine, but I preferred to live with disgrace rather than the guilt of leading hundreds of men to their deaths.

  Hope flared inside me as I saw the lights disperse and scatter away from Rimini in all directions. The sound of distant war-horns reached my ears, booming across the countryside.

  I gripped Procopius’ arm. “Belisarius,” I said hoarsely, “and listen, there, to the east…Hildiger, it must be!”

  Our forces were converging on Rimini, exactly as planned. I urged my men on at the canter, all my doubts and fears blown away. War-delight coursed through me, the strange excitement that seizes men on the verge of battle, turning cowards into heroes. When the fighting is over, and the dust and blood has settled, the feeling ebbs, and they are left wondering at their own savage excesses.

  There was no battle. The Goths had panicked at the sight of our fires, as Belisarius predicted they would, and immediately raised the siege. Thousands streamed north, riding for Ravenna as fast as their horses could carry them, while the infantry were left behind to shift for themselves.

  I rode into the deserted encampment, to find the forces of Belisarius and Hildiger already present in the city. The citizens had thrown open their gates to admit our troops, and the night sky echoed to the thunder of church bells.