by R. W. Peake
Similarly to the siege of Naissus, there was not much for me to do except circulate among the men, watching them work. It was easier this time, the men having become used to my presence, and I was learning more about them. Perhaps it sounds strange, or even impossible that one could learn to separate any individuals out of a group of men as homogenous as an army, but I can assure that it is not only possible, it is absolutely essential for a leader to do so. I could not hope to know every man’s name, but using a trick I learned from Gaius Crastinus, I learned the name of at least one man in every Century, making sure to use it when others were within earshot. This gave that man a sense of importance, enhancing his standing among his comrades, and giving them something to chatter about around the fire at night. In return, I got information about the state of the Legion, its morale, along with any pressing problems as far as supply or other areas where I could actually help. Once the men accepted me, they were more forthcoming, but I still kept a distance from them and was never too familiar. None of these Legions were mine in the way the 10th had been, so I did not have the excuse of dropping by the fire of an old friend who had been with me since our first days as tiros.
The men were working well, but the beginning of the mines took extra time because the Bastarnae were not content just to watch, requiring us to use mantlets and plutei to protect those selected for digging from archers, which they had hidden from us behind the parapet. They had held their fire for most of the morning, waiting until we thought they were either unwilling or unable to stop us from working, then fired several volleys of arrows that struck more than a dozen men. Fortunately, none of them were killed, although they would be out of action for varying amounts of time. Once the surprise was sprung on us, we set up artillery and put the mantlets and plutei in place, the work then progressing without incident. The going was tough, the miners quickly discovering that under a layer of about a foot of dirt there was nothing but hard rock under the surface. Although not completely unexpected, the toughness of the rock meant that Paperius had to revise his estimate of when the tunnel would be completed. For the next several days, progress was slow but steady with both tunnels. With the men hard at work, I took to riding around the countryside, usually with Scribonius and Balbus and the rest of the Evocati, ostensibly to serve as an early warning for any sign of approaching relief. The reality was that we were bored; without Legions, Cohorts, or Centuries to run, there was nothing challenging or motivating us. This was nothing new, having seen it happen to members of the Evocati before us, except most of them turned to drink as a way to pass the time. Scribonius and I were determined the same fate would not befall us; Balbus, on the other hand, was not as opposed to the idea of drinking himself insensible every day, but the pressure the two of us put on him kept him from doing so. He grumbled about it quite a bit, meaning that a good part of the time on those rides we had to endure listening to Balbus complain about what he was missing. Regardless, we accepted it as the price we had to pay to keep him from going down that path. The countryside was rolling, with thick stands of trees in between hills that were not particularly high, but generally had steep and rocky slopes. We tried to stay out of the valleys, because they are obvious ambush sites, yet while we came across the occasional village, with the people hiding at our approach, there was no real sign of enemy forces. There was also little sign of food to forage, but we did come back with the occasional pig or flock of goats, the people wailing at the prospect of a hard winter as they watched us ride away with the food that would sustain them. Otherwise, our forays were uneventful, until about a week after we began the siege when the weather turned, keeping us in camp. For several days straight, it rained for the better part of each day, filling the tunnels with water that had to be constantly bailed out, slowing the work even more. It seemed that every day Paperius was revising the schedule outward and it became apparent that if things continued in this manner, Crassus would be faced with a choice of whether to withdraw the army to march back to Pannonia for the winter, or spend it camped at the base of this stronghold. If he chose the latter, he would have to send for supplies. A train sufficiently large enough to support an army of this size, through the wild country that we had marched through, would provide a very tempting target for the neighboring tribes. The men clearly sensed this, so without any need for the vitus they stepped up their efforts, volunteering to work longer shifts. I suppose it could be argued that they were scared that they would be stuck here for the winter, but whatever their reasoning, it was much appreciated by Crassus. To show that appreciation, he held a formation where he announced that out of his own funds, he would pay the men a bonus of 300 sesterces for the capture of this fortress before winter. This quite naturally spurred them to greater efforts, rising earlier and working later, yet it seemed as if the gods were conspiring with the elements to keep them from accomplishing their goal.
Another week passed with horrible weather, reminding me of that dreadful campaign in Gaul, the only time that Caesar was forced to turn back because of the elements. The memory of that ordeal caused Scribonius, Balbus, and me to speculate about what would happen if the tents began to give way like they had back then. The only difference was that it was not as cold, but being wet and miserable is only marginally better than being cold, wet, and miserable. It was at the end of the second week that a courier arrived from Silva, and the way that he came pounding up the churned mud that had become the Via Praetoria told us that something important was taking place. Diocles was loitering around the Praetorium; now that he no longer had the same level of duties that he had as the chief clerk of the Legion he had more free time, which I had him spend cultivating relationships with the current set of clerks in the Praetorium. It helped that he was, and is, very friendly and easy to get along with, becoming a natural confidante and unofficial advisor to the younger clerks as he basked in the reflected glow of my position in the army. That day, he came to tell me about the courier, his urgency obvious when he entered my quarters. Balbus was taking a nap, so Scribonius and I hurried to find out what was happening. My stomach churned thinking of the reasons Silva could send an urgent message back to Crassus, and none of them were good.
“Do you think they found a relief column?” Scribonius voiced my worst fear.
“I hope not, but I can’t imagine why else he would send someone in this weather,” I replied as we paused to try and wipe the mud from our feet, an almost impossible task.
We entered to find Crassus and the Tribunes gathered around the mud-spattered courier, who was clearly exhausted. Crassus was reading from the wax tablet that the courier had brought and I examined his face carefully, looking for clues about what the message contained. He was frowning, but not in a way that would suggest to me that the news was especially grim; it was more a thoughtful look that creased his face. Seeing me approach, Crassus walked to meet me, followed by the Tribunes, reminding me of a mother duck trailed by her ducklings. Waving the tablet, he handed it to me without a word. It took me a moment to decipher the scrawl that I recognized as Silva’s, but once I did, I felt what was probably a frown remarkably similar to Crassus pull the corners of my mouth down. I looked to Crassus, not sure what to make of the message, yet he seemed as puzzled as I was.
“Why would the Getae be marching in our direction?”
Chapter 5-The Getae
News as potentially important and damaging as this is impossible to keep secret, so the talk around the tents that night consisted of little else. With no way at that point to know the intentions of the Getae, the speculation was rampant, and it was not confined to the rankers. We stayed up late into the night, Scribonius, Balbus, and I, talking over the possible meanings, with nothing we came up with boding well for us. Our biggest fear was that they were answering a Bastarnae call for help; only slightly less troubling was Balbus’ suggestion that they were acting on their own, taking advantage of the Bastarnae weakness to seize their land. The Getae occupy the lands to the northeast of the lower branc
h of the Cedrus, all the way to the Euxine Sea. We Romans had fought the Getae before, first during the Mithradatic Wars, where Marcus Terentius Lucullus had led an army against them as punishment for their alliance with Mithridates. This happened shortly after I had been born, and it was several years later that an allied force of Bastarnae, Getae, and Scythians defeated Antonius Hybrida at the Battle of Histria, led by Burebista, who briefly ruled both the Getae and Dacians. Knowing all that, it did not take much imagination to guess that whatever they were doing, it spelled no good for us, and it was with this gloomy thought that we finally retired for the night. The next morning, I was summoned to the Praetorium, where Crassus was waiting. Skipping the usual pleasantries, he came right to the point.
“You and I are going to find out what these Getae are up to,” he said. Seeing my alarmed look, he hastily added, “Not alone, of course. We're going to take the Evocati and meet up with Silva. I'm going to parley with the Getae and see what it is they want.”
Seeing how Silva had given the estimate of the Getae numbers at 10,000, with 8,000 foot and the remainder cavalry, I was not sure what less than a hundred men, even when added to Silva’s 500, were going to accomplish in the way of deterring the Getae from swallowing us up. But Crassus was clearly set on this course, so all I could do was salute and go to let the Evocati know that we were heading on what looked like a suicide mission. We rode out of the camp not much later, the Evocati, Crassus, and grudgingly, Tribune Claudius. Seeing my raised eyebrow as the Tribune came trotting up to join us, Crassus quietly explained.
“He can do less damage with us than if we leave him here. Unfortunately, he’s the ranking Tribune, and I don’t trust him not to do something stupid like he did at the ambush.”
I made no attempt to hide my surprise, since I had not mentioned a word of our incident to Crassus, but he just smiled and tapped a finger to the side of his nose, giving me a wink. It had not started raining, though the skies were low and threatening and we had gone less than five miles when they opened up, dumping what felt like buckets of water on us. Pulling out our sagum we continued, the courier who had brought the message as our guide. Despite the weather, Crassus set a fast pace, making it shortly before dark when we arrived at Silva’s camp. It was my first time in all of my years sharing a camp with a cavalry patrol, and I have to say that I was more than a little surprised at how much of a rougher camp they made than the Legions. Their tents were little better than half-shelters, with open sides that did nothing to keep the rain out if it were anything but vertical. They did not fortify in the same manner as the Legions, the tradeoff being that more men were on watch, counting on their mobility to get away in the event of a surprise attack. All told, it was a rather dreary place, and my respect for the cavalry went up a notch once I saw what life on the march away from the army was like for them. Silva met us at his Praetorium, which was the only proper tent in the whole camp, but it was much smaller than even a Centurion’s tent. That meant that only a few of us could crowd into it, leaving the others outside in their misery to find whatever shelter they could. Meanwhile, Silva gave his full report to Crassus and me.
“The Getae are about five miles east of here, and they're heading directly for the stronghold. They're led by their king Roles, and it appears that they're coming to help the Bastarnae. We captured one of their couriers trying to slip past us, and he told us about a treaty of friendship between the two.”
“So we’ve brought down on our heads all of the Bastarnae and the Getae together.” Crassus made no attempt to hide his worry, rubbing his head while he paced.
Silva had another piece of information, however.
“Based on what we learned from the prisoner, sir, I don’t think that’s necessarily true. According to the prisoner, the Bastarnae that we're engaged with are just a branch of the tribe that's chosen to go its own way. Apparently, their chief Deldo made an attempt to seize power of their tribal council, but was blocked in some way. That's why they were heading south, to find new lands farther away so they didn't have to worry about reprisals from the other branches of the Bastarnae.”
“That means that it’s very unlikely that any other Bastarnae will come to their aid.” Crassus was visibly relieved, but it was short-lived.
“Why would the Getae be coming to help a disgraced branch of the Bastarnae?” I asked.
That sobered everyone, and finally Crassus said, “That’s a good question. So tomorrow, we’re going to go ask this King Roles that very thing.”
Under skies the color of sling bullets, we approached the Getae under a flag of truce. Riding in the disorganized mass typical of the barbarian tribes, the Getae vanguard saw where we had positioned ourselves on the crest of a small hill and were waiting for them. Churning to a halt at the sight of us, a small group of riders detached themselves from the mob to trot out to meet us. Silva and I, along with a dozen troopers, descended the hill, meeting the Getae at the base, since it is not customary for the leader of each delegation to be present at the first meeting, or at least so I was told. Surely enough, the Getae selected to be spokesman was not Roles, but a sub-chief named Gundioc, who seemed surprised when I addressed him in Greek.
“I bring greetings from Marcus Licinius Crassus, Proconsular Legate of the Army of Pannonia of the Senate and People of Rome,” I began, but he was clearly not impressed.
“I know who your general is, Roman.” His tone was brusque, angering me a bit before I realized that this was his likely aim.
“Good.” I forced myself to be genial. “Then your king will know that it is in the best interests of his people to have a parley with him before something happens that cannot be undone.”
“Like the destruction of your army?” He smiled as he said it, like it was a joke, yet there was no mistaking that he believed this was in the realm of possibility.
“The number of nations that have tried to defeat Rome is long,” I replied coolly. “But we still rule most of the known world.”
“Not this part of the world,” he retorted. “Besides, I believe the Parthians were successful in defeating Rome.”
“That is true,” I conceded, realizing that the situation was slipping from my grasp. “But you are not Parthian. And if you are so sure that you can destroy us, then surely you can do it tomorrow as easily as today. It won’t hurt to talk, will it?”
The Getae threw back his head to roar with laughter, making Ocelus start from the sound.
“I like you, Roman. It will be a shame to kill you,” he said, wiping his eyes. Turning serious, he replied, “I will speak to our king. You can either return to your people on the hill, or wait here. It makes no difference to me.”
“We’ll wait,” I said, and we did, watching him return to the Getae.
The rain started again, forcing us to pull out our sagum and put them on, worrying me slightly, since it is almost impossible to fight while wearing one. I did not think there was treachery afoot, but there was no way to tell until it happened. Fortunately, the delay was not long, Gundioc returning with the news that the king Roles would meet with Marcus Crassus. The next matter was deciding where the meeting was to be held, engendering more trips back and forth before it was determined that the hill on which Crassus and the rest now sat would be suitable, but only after we vacated it. It was also agreed that each force would be on the opposite sides of the hill where they could watch the two men talk yet still be in a position to come to their aid if either side had treachery in mind. Finally, it was decided that it would only be Crassus and Roles on the hill, while the rest of us would wait. With everything settled, I rode back up the hill, told Crassus what we had agreed before joining the rest as we rode down the opposite side while Crassus waited for Roles.
I have seen many parleys like the one that took place on that hill. However, never have I seen the results swing so dramatically in our favor than I did that day. Crassus and Roles talked for almost two watches; at times it was clearly heated, at other times things seemed to
be jovial. It was growing dark when Crassus and Roles suddenly clasped hands, then kissed each other on both cheeks before remounting their horses. Crassus trotted down the hill and when he drew closer, we could see a wide smile creasing his face. When he reached us, without saying anything, he signaled for us to leave the area at a trot. I fell in beside him, intensely curious but unwilling to be the first to speak. Finally, I could stand it no longer.
“Well?” I demanded. “You look like the cat who got into the cream.”
