Calvinus snorted, then recovered and straightened, remembering to whom he was speaking. ‘Apologies, General. No. We received word of his approach only from those self-same scouts. We had far too few cohorts to even consider standing against Pompey. We’d have been swamped. We cut and run as soon as we heard, leaving even the baggage and tents. We’ve been running double time ever since. The scouts estimate that Pompey missed trouncing us by just a few short hours.’
‘Gods be praised for the efficiency of the native scouts and for your own common sense, Calvinus. But if you did not know we survived thus, how did you come to join us here?’
Again, Calvinus laughed with no mirth. ‘You, sir? We rode south to find Calenus somewhere near Athens. By the will of Fortuna we simply stumbled across you on our way.’
Caesar laughed now, though his chuckle did contain that grain of humour.
‘Then all is good. Pompey is still to the north, we are stronger than we were, and now we can find an advantageous position on the plains to regroup, rest and recuperate before Pompey arrives, for arrive he will. That he made straight for you when he lost us tells me that he intends to press the attack now and finish his campaign this summer. The time is nigh, gentlemen. By the end of the season we will have clashed, and one man will be master of Rome, either Pompey or I.’
Fronto felt an odd lurch in his soul at the strange shade of glee he heard in those words. Master of Rome. The warnings of Verginius and Labienus and so many others suddenly flooded his mind, spat words that Caesar had his eyes set on a loftier perch than the consulate.
He bit down on the worry. Pompey would be far worse for Rome than Caesar, and right now, that was what mattered. And though Caesar had not mentioned the possibility, Fronto would be willing to bet that Pompey bumped into Calvinus by chance just as much as Calvinus had done here. Pompey was not chasing shadows in Macedonia. He was joining with Scipio.
The odds had almost certainly just become worse.
Pelusium, Aegyptus.
‘Divine daughter of the endless river and queen of the world, your brother’s forces are arrayed in key positions across the delta and in great strength here, here, and particularly here,’ the general said, stabbing the map with his index finger.
The queen leaned back, still seeming languid and sultry even in a hard campaign chair in her office. It showed a certain level of progress to Cleopatra’s mind that at least her functionaries and officers alike had begun to refer to Ptolemy as her brother now, rather than her husband. Months of civil war it had taken to finally change that perception. She would change it further, yet… from brother to corpse.
Months earlier their disagreement had reached critical levels and Ptolemy, maddened child that he was, had gathered troops, preparing to oust his sister/wife/queen from her throne and rule alone. Recognising her relatively poor position in the political and military game, and understanding when it was wiser to retreat and regroup, the queen had fled Thebes before her brother’s army had arrived to ‘deal with her’. Knowing that Aegyptus was largely in his grasp and that it would take careful alliances and wise manoeuvres to gain a foothold, she had taken her court, her small force and a wagon train of enough gold to make Midas sweat and travelled east and north, through Judea, to Syria where the wealth she carried had bought her a sizeable mercenary army.
There, she had received news of the Roman generals’ movements in Macedonia and Illyricum, and had begun to form her plan even from the start. The one thing she knew as they had returned south at the head of her force, was that she still was not militarily strong enough to oppose Ptolemy, especially with his general Achillas at the helm. However, she was confident that she would be powerful enough that the wily Achillas would also be reluctant to launch an all-out attack on her. The dance of war and politics would go on until one of them had the edge.
That edge lay with Rome. She knew it and, even if her brother was too short-sighted and stupid to do so, she knew Achillas knew it too. Ptolemy and his general would be playing a careful game. They were watching what happened between Rome’s two great lions so that they knew who to ingratiate their selves with in order to achieve overall ascendance. Cleopatra, on the other hand, knew that preparation was everything. She had placed her coins on Caesar and, no matter what had happened at Dyrrachium, she was still convinced he was the horse to win this particular race.
She realised suddenly that long moments had passed, and her general was waiting, looking uncomfortable.
‘Have you found him?’
The officer nodded. ‘Then send him in,’ the queen commanded.
The man who entered as the general left offered no deference to the commander, though he bowed with relative respect to the queen. He was of middling height and had sandy coloured, short and neat hair. His skin tone spoke of a westerner who had been many years under the eastern sun. His uniform was Roman, though finessed with nuances that were clearly Aegyptian.
‘You served with Pompey?’
The man nodded. His face betrayed nothing. ‘And now you belong to the Gabiniani?’ Another nod. The Gabiniani nominally supported Ptolemy. A Roman garrison that had been assigned to protect their father seven years ago, the Gabiniani had long since ‘gone native’. An odd mix of Roman and Aegyptian. This man still bore more Roman haughtiness than most of his unit.
‘Your unit serves my brother.’
‘It does, my queen.’
‘And yet I find you in my army, a Gabinian centurion commanding Syrian mercenaries.’
‘I have my reasons, my queen.’
She nodded. She respected that. People did not always wear their heart upon their sleeve, and that did not make them less deserving of respect or trust. That he was here at all said much.
‘I have a commission for you. One that I am given to understand will be much to your liking, Marcus Salvius Aper.’
Chapter 16
Aeginium, Northern Thessaly July 48 BC
Aeginium proved to be a mixed blessing to the Caesarian army. The populace threw open their gates and made the arriving force welcome, and yet not one man passing through those portals laboured under the impression that they were either expected or truly welcome. It seemed that word of what had happened at Dyrrachium had spread far and wide, and remarkably swiftly. Aeginium had been far from unique in minting coins celebrating their links with Pompey and scratching anti-Caesarian graffiti into the wall plaster of houses, but as the general suddenly appeared on their doorstep, they made him most welcome, hurrying ahead to remove the clearest sentiment and bury the offending coins. And while the Caesarian forces were welcomed, it became clear that half a month earlier, the supplies based in the city had been sent north to support Scipio. Caesar had greeted the news with his traditional quiet acceptance, taking only what the city could still spare, which turned out, rather apologetically, to be not much at all.
They had moved on the next morning, allowing Fronto at least the benefit of a hot bath, and heading south towards Gomphi. There, at least, they felt assured of a solid welcome. Of all the cities in Thessaly, Gomphi had early declared for Caesar and had continued to do so.
And that was why it so surprised Caesar and the staff to arrive and find the city gates closed.
As the army approached and assembled on the plain below the town, which crawled up the side of a hill on the edge of a huge tract of flat farmland, just as Apollonia had, the officers sat astride their horses, watching the city.
‘I thought Gomphi was ours,’ Antonius grunted.
‘Evidence suggests otherwise,’ Fronto said acerbically. ‘Allegiances change in situations like this as I’m sure anyone who remembers Labienus will know.’
‘The man in command here,’ Caesar said, ‘and who theoretically has hegemony over the entire region, is a man named Androsthenes. He declared for us, but he is a notoriously slippery character and with news of Dyrrachium it is no surprise that he has now thrown his token into Pompey’s pot. What surprises me is that we are here in force and
he has had the fortitude to weather that and remain in Pompey’s purse. Uncharacteristically strong, I would say.’
‘The simple fact,’ Fronto said, cutting through the conversation, ‘is that we can’t leave Gomphi behind us, and we need their supplies. We’re going to have to take the place.’
Caesar nodded. ‘Just so. Have a camp constructed for us, and call every senior centurion and tribune to a conference.’
The following hour was a little chaotic as the legions continued to arrive to be set to the task of creating siege camps rather than sitting in Gomphi’s bars and gardens as they had anticipated. By the time the sun was reaching its zenith, the senior officers stood in lines like a plumed and crested legion of their own, watching the general and his staff on the tribunal.
Caesar stepped forwards.
‘Gentlemen, I have a message for you, and for you each to pass on to the men under your command.’
A sense of odd anticipation flowed out before them, and Caesar threw out a finger towards the high walls before them.
‘Gomphi was ours and they have allowed their head to be turned by our mistake at Dyrrachium.’
Mistake, indeed, thought Fronto.
‘They declare against us, thinking us beaten. We are all quite aware, I think, how much of this war is based upon reputation and fear. If we allow Gomphi to defy us, then every city, fortress, village and cow shed between here and Athens will do the same, thinking us beaten. We need to prove to the world that we are still a force to be reckoned with. That we are still the armies of Rome fighting a rebel, rather than the other way around.’
There was a roar of approval, and Antonius stepped forwards to stand next to Caesar. Unsure of whether this was scripted or genuine, Fronto joined the general on the other side, where he was acknowledged with a professional nod.
‘We must take Gomphi.’ Fronto shouted. ‘They are a well provisioned town. Taking them will make your bellies full. And this is a hub of communication. Word of our arrival will spread throughout the towns of Achaea. But only if we win.’
On the far side, Antonius similarly gestured at the walls behind them. ‘Gomphi has made itself our enemy. While we treat friends well, we must instil fear in our enemies. Gomphi shall not be spared. The legions have permission to sack and plunder when the town falls.’
Fronto flashed a look of surprise at Antonius. Was that wise? He saw Caesar similarly frowning at the other officer, but the general swiftly nodded and turned back to the assembled officers. ‘It is the Ninth hour, now,’ he announced. ‘Gomphi must be taken before darkness falls. Fall in to your ranks.’
With a roar, the centurions and tribunes saluted and then dispersed instantly, heading off to their own units. Fronto watched them go, Mamurra and Brutus leaving the tribunal and hurrying towards the flat ground where siege engines were being removed from carts and assembled. He then turned to the two men next to him.
‘Sacking and pillaging?’
Caesar shrugged. ‘Antonius was a little impetuous, perhaps, but I think his reasoning is correct. We need to be seen to be as strong and merciless to our enemies as we are helpful and forgiving to our friends. One night of brutality could open a hundred gates across Greece. We send a message.’
Fronto huffed. He didn’t particularly like it. Letting soldiers have free rein in a defeated city resulted in serious unpleasantness. It was, in fact, the worst part of any war. But though it sickened him to think of the rape and murder that would result, he couldn’t fault the logic of his fellow officers.
‘What is our strategy, then, General?’ he sighed
Caesar peered at the heavy, squat walls. ‘Pounding them to dust with artillery would take too long. We need to be swift and merciless. How strong do we estimate them to be?’
Sulla cleared his throat. ‘The last intelligence we had put Androsthenes’ forces at less than a thousand.’
Caesar nodded. ‘And if, like Aeginium, he has sent supplies and support to Scipio, then we may be looking at half that number. The defenders on the wall top are certainly well spaced.’
Fronto nodded. ‘They are few. I suspect that if the scouts ride up and around the rear of the town on the western heights they’ll find no defenders there at all, but just the odd watchman. I’d wager they’ve put most of their strength here to look better defended than they are. They’ve seen our legions and they can’t hope to hold against us. That suggests they’ve sent to Pompey for help when they knew we were coming. They’re trying to deter us and hold out for support.’
‘Which makes it all the more imperative that Gomphi falls immediately,’ Antonius said.
‘We are agreed, then,’ Caesar nodded, glancing at the others, ‘that we outnumber the defenders by a vast margin?’
‘I think that can be safely concluded, General,’ Sulla agreed.
‘Then we need not spend too much time strategizing and preparing plans. We simply swamp the walls. Give the signal, sweep the rampart tops with missiles and then release the legions en-masse to overcome the walls. And there need be no care taken to keep order thereafter. Allow the soldiers to vent their frustrations on Gomphi. Discipline can be restored the next morning when we move off and leave only ruins and dust for Pompey’s men to find.’
Fronto shivered. Not at the blunt directness of the plan, but at the coming night, once the walls fell.
Nodding to the other officers, he hobbled off towards the camp of the Tenth, which lay at the northern periphery of the arc of legions arrayed on the flat lands around the hill of Gomphi. He found Salvius Cursor and Atenos engaged in a discussion, and came to a halt beside them.
‘Problems?’
‘Not as such,’ Salvius replied. ‘A minor disagreement on approach. The centurion here favours climbing the slopes and coming at Gomphi from the higher ground. I prefer the notion of a low attack, where the artillery can do its work first.’
Fronto nodded. ‘Both equally workable options. The consensus of the staff is a direct, full scale assault in the belief that the defending garrison is paltry.’
The two men nodded their agreement, and Fronto sucked on his teeth, ‘Very well. Atenos, you take half the men up the slope and try and take the rear walls. You will likely find them less well defended. You’ll still have to take some of the siege ladders from the carts. Salvius, you get your frontal assault with the other half. Atenos, you’d best get moving into position. The signals will be given as soon as the artillerists have had their fun.’
The centurion saluted and hurried off to gather his cohorts and collect the ladders. ‘Your place is back with the commanders, sir,’ Salvius said. Fronto narrowed his eyes, uncertain whether this was born of genuine concern or possibly the desire to take the lead himself.
‘I have every intention of moving into Gomphi and trying to preserve a few useful lives before the entire population of the city are torn apart by triumphant legionaries.’
‘Useful lives?’
‘Androsthenes was one of our men, and his staff were ours too. The idiot might have panicked and turned to Pompey, but there may be men on his staff who would willingly come back to us, and those men will have invaluable information about the area, other notable commanders, and possibly even about Scipio and Pompey’s forces and movements. I’d rather have a chance to speak to such men before legionaries start jumping up and down on their faces.’
The tribune seemed to weigh this up for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. ‘Sensible, sir, and I’ll accompany you once we’re in, but you’ll never get up a siege ladder with your knee. Take a century of men and make for the gate over there. Once we’re in, I’ll have that gate thrown open and then you can move in safely.’
A touch of irritation rippled through Fronto at being mothered so by his second in command, but he was forced to accede in the knowledge that his knee, while improving again, would certainly make clambering over walls more than a little challenging.
‘Agreed.’
As if the reminder of his discomfort wa
s a trigger his knee began to throb a little, and he moved over to a stack of crates and settled onto one, watching the Tenth and the other legions nearby shifting into position. Atenos and his cohorts were already on the move, arcing round to the west where they would climb the slopes ready to fall upon the rear of the town. Almost certainly the commander of whichever legion held the far end of the arc would be doing something similar. Salvius moved off, gathering his own force and collecting a dozen long siege ladders, and Fronto instead concentrated on the walls.
As the siege engines were moved into position and began in their own time to hurl bolts and stones at the wall tops, he tried to make sense of what little he could see of the town behind those defences. It was extremely unlikely that Androsthenes or any of his senior men would place themselves in the greatest danger at the walls. They would be commanding from a headquarters. Very likely they would be using the city’s bouleuterion – the council chamber – which was designed for meetings and would have arcs of seating. He could just make out an area high up in the town that seemed to be clear of cluttered buildings and would probably be the market place: the agora. That would be where he would find the council chamber and therefore, very likely, the more important of the enemy officers.
For a quarter of an hour the machines pounded the walls, Atenos now lost from sight with his men far off to the west, Salvius almost vibrating with the tense desire to move, his cohorts lined up behind him. At a brassy fanfare, the engines stopped loosing and units of slingers and archers moved forwards into position.
The death toll atop the walls had probably not been too horrific. Once the first dozen men in sight had fallen to the missiles, the rest had ducked back into safety, only a few being struck thereafter. Now, as the stones stopped and the creaking machines fell silent, worried faces appeared along the walls once more, then disappeared equally swiftly as a second call from the musicians unleashed the arrows and sling stones.
Marius' Mules XI: Tides of War Page 24
