by Peake, R. W.
A low growl rolled up the hill, issuing from the throats of the men of the 10th Legion at the thought of suffering the type of outrage that I had just described. I had no idea if what I was saying were true, at least as far as how the Egyptian soldiers were treated, although I knew that the Nubian royal guards retired as rich men. This was not the time to worry about such niceties, and I built on the men’s growing outrage.
“Look at those men over there.” I pointed to the tiny figures still loading on the ships. It looked as if a fourth Legion was almost to the bay, and I assumed that Antonius had by now realized that Balbinus and the 12th was not coming back, so he had sent for yet another Legion to load on the ships. The 19th and 22nd had clearly finished the process, the ships they had boarded now moving out into the bay, headed for the entrance.
“Those men are being carried away to do the bidding of the queen of Egypt, not the people of Rome. That's why I couldn't obey the orders of Marcus Antonius, because I knew that they weren't truly his orders, but hers! And I don't recognize the authority of Cleopatra to order me or the men of my Legion to go anywhere and do anything! That's why we're here and not there, like those poor bastards who will never, ever see their homes again!”
The men leapt to their feet, roaring their approval while shaking their fists in the direction of where they thought Cleopatra was, although I was sure she was onboard a ship by this point. I allowed the men to carry on for a bit before holding my arms up again for them to quiet down.
“Brothers, we're not out of danger yet.” I paused to let that sink in before continuing. “So far, Canidius has made no move to confront us, but that doesn't mean he won't. I need you all to stay vigilant while we watch what happens between Antonius and Octavian, and be ready for whatever happens. To this point, things have gone easily. I can't guarantee that it will continue like this, but I remind you that nothing worthwhile is ever easy to attain, and this is no exception. Once we see what happens between those two, then we'll have a better idea of what our future holds.”
“What if Antonius wins?”
Someone from the ranks shouted this question and it was immediately picked up by other men.
“Who here, knowing what they know and having heard of all the portents and omens, truly believes that will happen?”
The silence was thunderous, men glancing at each other, but none of them willing to voice the opinion that Antonius might come out on top.
“But I'll acknowledge that this is a possibility, since none of us truly know what the gods have in store for us. Whether Antonius wins or not, he's going to Egypt with Cleopatra. That's why he wanted the most veteran Legions with him, not to try and win a battle, but to escape with the best part of his army intact. I'll tell you this now; even if Antonius were to win this battle, he's not going to win this war. We'll never see the face of Marcus Antonius again.”
The men were silent, digesting what I had said.
“What about them?”
I did not have to look to see where the man who asked was pointing, knowing that he referred to the 12th, who were sitting on their packs as well.
“Their Primus Pilus felt as strongly about protecting his men as I did,” I lied. “He couldn't allow Cleopatra to throw the lives of his men away any more than I could.”
“So they'll fight with us?”
“They'll stand next to us to keep anyone from trying to force us to serve Cleopatra,” I responded, knowing that it was not exactly the answer they were looking for.
The truth was that I did not know what Balbinus was going to do should Canidius rouse enough men to come up the hill after us, but the men seemed satisfied, giving another rousing cheer for the men of the 12th, who looked somewhat bemused by the whole thing. With the men solidly behind me, I finally started to relax, feeling the tension drain from my body while I was almost overwhelmed by a desire to lie down and sleep, despite it being barely mid-morning. Instead, I gave the order for the men to break out their rations while we awaited further developments. Calling to Scribonius and Balbus, I moved farther up the crest out of earshot of most of the men. They joined me, looking as tired as I felt, but both of them were smiling.
“At least we’ll have a good view.” Scribonius looked over his shoulder down at the bay and sea beyond.
“And we’ll know if we’re going to end up with our heads separated from our shoulders if Antonius manages to win.” Balbus’ sense of humor always tended to be heavy and grim.
I had to laugh, even if it was a gruesome jest.
“That's certainly one way to look at it.”
“Balbus always does look at the bright side of matters,” Scribonius said dryly.
We stood then for a few moments, none of us speaking; I imagine that we were still struggling to cope with the enormity of what had just taken place, at least I was.
As if reading my thoughts, Scribonius turned and asked me lightly, “How does it feel to be the leader of a mutiny?”
I knew he was jesting, but the words fell heavily on my shoulders nonetheless. Scribonius was not telling anything but the truth. However, when one hears it put as plainly as he had, it carries a huge amount of weight, a burden that felt like it was going to push me down into the ground. Thinking back to the moment when the 10th mutinied the first time at Pharsalus, one in which I had refused to participate, that had led to the rift between my best friend Vibius Domitius and me. That had been under different circumstances, I told myself, but the instant the thought crossed my mind a small voice in the back of my head chided me. Do not make excuses, Titus Pullus, it said. No matter what the cause, leading a mutiny is a crime, the most serious crime in the army. Now I would have to wait to see if Octavian actually meant something else when he sent his message to me through Marcellinus, but I could not imagine what other action I could have taken. Maybe he wanted me to use the Legion to attack Antonius, I thought, immediately dismissing that as foolishness. Only when I faced him would I know if I had fulfilled my debt to him, at least in his own mind. Until then, we could only watch and wait, so the three of us turned our attention to the waters below.
The battle of Actium was fought entirely on the water and it was the largest naval engagement I, or everyone else for that matter, had ever witnessed. With the Legions loaded aboard the ships, the Antonian forces exited the bay, although it was impossible to make their disposition out on the decks from our vantage point. Seas were calm, allowing Antonius' fleet to arrange itself into three wings, with Cleopatra’s fourth squadron of 60 of the best ships right behind a man named Marcus Octavius, who had been serving Antonius as a fleet commander for some time, and was placed in the middle. Their plan called for Sosius to command one wing, the southernmost, while Antonius would take the right wing. Antonius’ red pennant flew from the very top mast of his flagship, attracting the attention of Scribonius, who noticed something odd.
“They all have their masts and sails in place.”
The truth was that I had not noticed, but when I squinted, I saw that he was right. This confirmed, to me at least, that Antonius’ first intention was to flee and not fight, since it is highly unusual for ships going into a fight to leave their masts and sails upright. Usually they are hauled down and lashed to the deck, while all the maneuvering is done by oar power. The presence of the masts and sails made it clear that Antonius was counting on speed to outrun Octavian’s fleet. That fleet had positioned itself, also in three wings but without a reserve squadron, some distance out to sea, making them just visible as individual ships from our vantage point. They made no attempt to stop Antonius’ ships from forming up, seemingly content to wait for Antonius to start the action. The wind had dropped to almost nothing as the sun rose higher in the sky. The men ate their bread and salted pork, talking among themselves and of course wagering on every imaginable thing. The betting was brisk; when the attack would begin, who would begin it, which side would sink the first enemy ship. All of these questions became fair game, the men seeking to relieve the
boredom of sitting there out of the action. Underlying the boredom was an air of tension as well, since this was not just any battle we were watching, but would have an enormous impact on our future. Diocles had come with some food, also bringing a stool for me to sit on, a move that both Scribonius and Balbus copied, sending their own slaves to fetch them. Once settled, we munched on our bread talking idly while we waited for something to happen. Balbinus joined us, and it was turning into a bit of a party. Neither Scribonius nor Balbus openly questioned Balbinus about why he took the action that he had, while I was content to let the matter lie, at least until later. The day grew warmer, until I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, the lack of breeze not helping matters.
At some point, Scribonius made the comment, “It looks like Antonius made a mistake not lashing his masts. There’s no wind and those masts make the ships harder to maneuver when they’re erect.”
I did not know that, and I was curious. “How so?”
“It makes the ships top-heavy,” Scribonius explained. “It makes it easier to capsize a ship with its mast extended. Watch and see if that doesn’t happen to a lot of those ships.”
“That’s if they actually do any fighting,” Balbus observed sourly. “They’ve just been sitting there and it doesn’t look like they’re going to be moving anytime soon.”
He pointed to a small boat that was being rowed from its spot in the right squadron, heading towards the squadron in the center. If I squinted, I could just make out a swirl of red at the rear of the boat, telling me that it in all likelihood it was Antonius in the small boat, wearing his paludamentum.
“I think that’s Antonius,” I said. “He’s probably trying to whip the men up, making one of his speeches like he does before we fight on land.”
“It'll take more words than he knows to get those men ready to fight.”
There was a certainty in Balbinus’ tone similar to when he had assured me that Canidius would not rouse himself to come after us, making me further wonder what Balbinus knew that I did not. I must say that I did not like the idea of someone like Balbinus knowing more about what was happening than I did, and I was about to ask him to explain his statement, but Scribonius beat me to it.
He was looking at Balbinus steadily, his eyes not blinking at all as he asked, “Why do you say that?”
Balbinus seemed about to say something, hesitated, then just gave a shrug instead.
Seeing that we would not be content with that, he mumbled, “It’s just what I think. No reason, really.”
“Good. I'd hate to think that you know something that we don’t. Seeing how we're now essentially in this together now.”
True to his habit, Scribonius had cut right to the heart of the matter and also as was usual, his words had not caused any offense, or at least Balbinus did not seem upset.
Instead, he gave a wry smile, then replied, “Fair enough.
He took a look around to make sure there was nobody listening, but still pitched his voice low so that only we could hear.
“There are other Primi Pili and Pili Priores that are secretly for Octavian. I'm sure some of them are onboard those ships, and they were going to surrender after putting up a bit of a fight first, you know, to avoid making it look obvious.”
“How do you know this?” I demanded.
He did not reply, instead just putting a finger to the side of his nose and winking, as I bit my tongue to keep from trying to pry the answer out of him. Thinking about it, it really did not matter that much how he knew, at least for the time being. Glancing at Scribonius, I saw that he had his frown in place as he thought about what Balbinus had said.
“So you don't know for sure that any of these agents are on board?”
“No,” Balbinus admitted. “But it stands to reason that he has men in the Legions that are on the ships.”
“How many are there?”
“I don’t know.” Balbinus was beginning to sound irritated. “Maybe a dozen, I suppose.”
“That’s not very many.” Scribonius was doubtful. “I think it’s just as likely that they're still in camp as they are on ships.”
“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”
Now Balbinus was clearly upset, while I found myself in the unusual position of trying to keep the peace between Scribonius and Balbinus. Fortunately, there was a distraction, and I pointed to it.
“It looks like we'll be putting that idea to the test, Balbinus.”
He turned to look where I indicated while I let out a string of curses. Out of the camp gates came marching the entire remainder of the army, appearing very much as if they were headed our way.
“On your feet!”
Roaring the command while I came to my own, I watched the stream of men leaving the camp. Our men, many of them with mouths stuffed full of food, looked startled as they climbed to their feet. A number of them were looking at me, then following my gaze, saw what looked like every man in camp in their formations, either marching or preparing to march when their turn came. An excited chatter arose, men pointing and calling to each other, which not even the Centurions could quell. I looked down at Balbinus, who was still seated, seemingly more concerned with gnawing on a piece of pork than the sight of an army marching.
“It looks as if you were wrong about Canidius not getting off his ass, Balbinus.”
“I doubt it,” he replied placidly, his jaws working on a stubborn piece of gristle.
“Don’t you think you should get your men ready?” Scribonius asked him, clearly as worried as I was about this latest development.
“There’s no rush.”
Balbinus still refused to be concerned, which made me wonder yet again what he knew.
“How can you be so sure that they aren’t headed this way?”
Balbinus sighed, then shook his head.
“Just watch,” is all he would say, so I did.
Our men of the 10th had hefted their shields, while their Centurions made sure their alignment was what it should be, walking among the men and talking about what was likely to come.
“They’re going to be slaughtered, boys. They’re walking up this hill to their death.”
“We'll cut them down with the javelins before they can get close. We won’t even draw our swords, mark my words!”
Keeping my eyes on the lead Legion, I saw they were led by a small group that I was sure was Canidius and his staff. While I watched, they suddenly wheeled, turning away from the hill and towards the coast, just a half-mile from the western edge of the camp. Men began talking again, trying to determine what was happening, but I was as mystified as anyone. Looking back at Balbinus, he just gave me a smile, looking very much like a cat who has just stolen the cream.
“I told you,” he said smugly. “They’re not headed here; they’re headed to the beach to watch the show.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” I snapped, but he just laughed at my irritation.
“Would you have believed me?”
“Probably not,” I said grudgingly.
Continuing to watch, I was unconvinced that there was not some ruse in the works. However, the rest of the army followed Canidius, so that after a few more moments, I ordered the men to stand down and resume their meal. While this was taking place, the respective fleets still had not moved, drifting more or less in place, though every so often their rowers would have to make adjustments with a few strokes in order to keep their spot.
“How did you know that Canidius wasn’t headed for us?” I could no longer resist the urge to ask, expecting to hear about some highly placed agent of Octavian, or that even Canidius himself was secretly working for the young Caesar.
I was to be disappointed, since it was nothing that mysterious.
“I overheard Antonius send one of the Tribunes to tell Canidius he wanted the army to make a demonstration on the beach and watch the fight.”
I stared at him a moment, trying to determine if he was being deceitful, but
I saw no guile in his gaze. Giving a snorting laugh, my amusement was more at myself for my suspicious mind than for anything else. It was well past midday now, the heat was oppressive, but finally there was the first stirring of wind, coming from the west. A few moments after I felt the breeze on my cheek, the ships began to move.
Sosius, on the left, moved first, his squadron suddenly beginning to advance, the water around each ship churned white from the men on the benches bending to their oars. Slowly, the huge ships began to head towards the squadron facing them, which at first did not react. Only after Sosius began his advance did the other two wings of Antonius’ fleet start to move, while the commander of the northernmost squadron of Octavian, deployed into a double line of ships, sent his second line rowing suddenly to the north in a clear attempt to get around Antonius’ right flank. At the time, I did not know the identity of the commander of the left wing, but when I learned later that it was Agrippa, I was not surprised. Antonius, seeing the threat, changed his course, turning his squadron more to the north as well while the other two wings of the Octavian forces finally reacted. Instead of moving forward to close with the oncoming attack, both wings began rowing backward, moving away from the Antonians, who had begun to pick up sufficient speed to ram. The problem was that Octavian was not giving either Sosius or Marcus Octavius the chance to use the overwhelming power of their ships, all of which were equipped with massive brass beaks just under the waterline.
