by R. W. Peake
After a moment, I realized that he was finished, and he said as much. “Was there anything else, Pullus?”
I swallowed, feeling a huge lump in my throat, knowing that I should speak but was unable to do so. Instead, I dumbly shook my head, then saluted. I turned about, marching to the door.
Just as I was reaching for the latch, he called to me. “Are you so anxious to die, Pullus?”
That caught me by surprise, I can tell you.
I turned to look at him, curious and disturbed at the same time. “No, Caesar, I'm not anxious to die. Why do you ask such a question?”
“Surely you have to know that as soon as Verres is put to death, your men are going to feel that you betrayed them. We have some hard fighting yet to do, and it's highly likely that someone in your Cohorts will see an opportunity to take their vengeance. Not to mention you'll have earned the undying hatred of Verres Rufus.”
I wondered if he ever got tired of being right, but I did not say anything that would betray my thoughts.
“It had occurred to me,” I spoke carefully, but said nothing more.
“And what was your plan to stay alive?”
Caesar being sardonic was not a dish I cared for much.
“To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“Perhaps an offering to Nemesis to stay the hand of your assassin might be a good idea.” His tone was so neutral I could not tell if he was being sarcastic. After all, he had once been flamen dialis, so perhaps he was being serious.
“I prefer to rely on this.” I tapped the hilt of my sword.
Caesar gave a great sigh, then replied, “Even you can be bested, Pullus. You don’t have eyes in the back of your head, and you don't have the same bond with these men that you did with the men of the 10th. Is there anyone you trust sufficiently to stand at your back among the men of the 6th?”
I considered, then shook my head. Despite developing a friendship with Felix, I was not confident that it was strong enough that I would trust my life to him, at least in these circumstances. In the face of the enemy, without a doubt I would trust him, but against his own comrades, men he had marched with for many years longer than we had known each other, I could not be so sure.
“As difficult a circumstance as you've put me in, I can't afford to lose you, Pullus. I need you where you are, especially now. For that reason, I'm going to do nothing about Verres, and neither are you.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my mouth, such was the look he gave me.
Another thought occurred to me, and I asked, “But what about Verres Rufus? As you said, you can’t have him thinking that you're sparing his brother because of his threats.”
In all reality, I cared less about the damage to Caesar’s prestige than to mine, but I could not very well say that to him.
At the mention of Verres Rufus, his lips compressed into a thin line, his blue eyes glittering with anger. “Don't worry about Verres Rufus,” he said tightly. “I'll deal with him, in my own way.”
“What am I supposed to do now?” I asked. “I’m going to go back to the 6th and maybe I won’t have to watch my back, but now the men are going to think that I’m nothing but talk.”
“That's your problem,” he replied, looking at me the way a parent looks at a wayward child. “Think of it as your punishment for not coming to me before now. You'll just have to figure something out.”
With that, the audience ended and I left headquarters, deciding to take the long way back to our sector as I tried to decide how I was going to handle the gift that Caesar had given me.
~ ~ ~ ~
We were still in a precarious position, particularly after the defeat on the Heptastadion. All the men knew it, and it was their preoccupation with our overall situation that I credit for making my announcement that Verres would not be held accountable for the murder of Plautus somewhat anticlimactic. Oh, there was a certain amount of gloating to be sure, which I endured with gritted teeth, although I was surprised that Cornuficius was not one of them. When I made the announcement to the assembled Centurions and Optios, most of the men looked relieved while a couple of them smirked triumphantly, happy to see me humbled. However, Cornuficius just regarded me thoughtfully. In fact, I may have been mistaken, but my impression was that he was not altogether pleased that Verres was not going to be punished, though I could not figure out why. Regardless, I was not in a position to question such a gift from the gods, and after a day or two, the larger events of our situation seemed to erase any difficulties that I would have encountered otherwise.
After the defeat at the Heptastadion, there was a period where things lulled into an uneasy truce between the Egyptians and the Roman forces. I cannot help thinking that if Achillas had still been alive, he would have seen this as the opportunity to continue pressing and we may have been wiped out. Ganymede was clever enough, but his inexperience in military matters was evident in a number of ways, including his lack of activity immediately after our defeat. I am thankful that he was as green as he was, because even without taking advantage of our defeat, he caused us innumerable problems. One of them became evident a few days after our defeat when Caesar was approached by a delegation of Egyptians, supposedly to talk about peace between the two forces. We never learned what prompted this move by the Egyptians. Given what happened, it is likely that Ptolemy’s advisors were in contact with Ganymede and they concocted the whole thing between them. Whatever the case, the delegation claimed that they had endured enough of Ganymede and Arsinoe, and asked that Ptolemy be released and restored to his throne, making the argument that he would then promptly order his army to lay down arms to submit to Caesar. I was not present at the meeting that Caesar held with his generals to discuss the Egyptian proposal, but through Appolonius, I learned that his generals were unanimously against the idea. Caesar even admitted that he knew that the Egyptians were deceitful, untrustworthy people, yet he said that it would be politic to accede to their request. Subsequently, Caesar called Ptolemy to his presence, where from all accounts, the young king put on a performance worthy of the greatest Greek actor. He cried, tearing his fancy robes, swearing to all of his gods that he would rather die than leave Caesar’s side. He claimed that Caesar had become like a father to him, and he could not bear the thought of being forced to part from his father. This display of emotion apparently moved Caesar a great deal, and he embraced the young king, promising him that they would be reunited the moment Ptolemy returned to his people and convinced them to give up making war on us. Ptolemy swore that he would do that very thing, so Caesar released him, along with Theodotus and Dioscorides, the latter having survived having his throat cut by Achillas and was now fully recovered. I do not believe a full day passed before we learned that Ptolemy, true to the faithless nature of all Egyptians, had assumed command of his army and instead of ordering them to lay down their arms, exhorted them to complete our destruction. His troops needed no prodding, and before that night fell, we were under assault at a number of different points along our lines. Not content with pressing the attack on land, Ptolemy ordered the Egyptian fleet out of the Inner Harbor and out to sea. We did not know for sure why he did so, but the most logical explanation was that he had gotten word that more relief was headed our way across the water. It also could have been a trick, which to us in the ranks seemed likely, given that we felt that Caesar had already been tricked once. Nevertheless, Caesar could not afford to take the risk that it was a ruse, immediately giving orders for our own fleet to sail in pursuit of the Egyptian fleet. I cannot fault Caesar for making this decision, but I do find fault with sending Nero as commander, instead of Hirtius or Pollio. At the very least, Caesar should have given Nero explicit instructions that he was in command in name only, allowing Euphranor, the Rhodian, who had led the four ships in the previous naval battle, to actually control the tactics of the fleet, but that was not Caesar’s way with members of his own class. This meant that when our fleet closed with the Egyptians a
nd Euphranor engaged with the enemy, he did so unsupported, because Nero did not follow Euphranor into the battle. Euphranor rammed and sunk one Egyptian vessel, yet without any support from the rest of the fleet was quickly surrounded then rammed himself, going down with the ship. The only positive was that it stopped the Egyptian fleet, which turned around and came back to Alexandria. Actually, that is not completely true; while the fleet was out, a courier ship caught up with them to let us know what the Egyptians had learned and why they had sailed. Help was on the way.
~ ~ ~ ~
Mithradates, the son of the great king Mithridates who had been an enemy of Rome for many years, was the man marching to our relief. He was bringing the 27th Legion, marching overland to the port of Ascalon, a few hundred miles east of Egypt, the 27th being ordered to march from Asia by General Domitius. Mithradates had raised a force of archers himself, with the Nabataeans sending a contingent of cavalry, but Mithradates did not believe that this force was sizable enough to complete a march through enemy territory, since he would have to reduce a number of garrisons on the way. This caused Mithradates to pause in Ascalon for several weeks, but finally he began his march again, and with this message, the courier ship was dispatched. By this time, the new year had begun; the Consuls for that year were Quintus Fufius Calenus and Publius Vatinius, Caesar’s men, of course. We had been in Alexandria for almost seven months, and much had happened, not least of which being that young Cleopatra was now pregnant with Caesar’s child. That kept the tongues around the fires wagging, I can tell you!
Coming with Mithradates was Antipater, a king of the Jews, or whatever they call their leader, bringing 3,000 Jewish soldiers with him. This force now made its way west, heading to our relief, composed of about 12,000 men total. Between them and us was the city and fortress of Pelusium, sitting at the eastern border of Egypt. While Mithradates could have bypassed the fort, it would have put a force in his rear; therefore, he halted his army, encircled the city, and reduced it in a day. Leaving behind a garrison to hold the city and guard the prisoners taken, Mithradates continued marching. News of his approach reached both Roman and Egyptian ears, with equally emotional but violently opposing sentiments. Immediately upon hearing this, Ptolemy ordered a scratch force of regulars composed of the remaining Gabinians and militia to march east to confront and destroy Mithradates. By this time, Mithradates had entered the Nile Delta, and while there, he was approached by a delegation of Jewish and Egyptian citizens of Memphis, the traditional home of the Pharaohs of Egypt before Alexander came and changed everything. They offered Mithradates free entrance to the city, with the sizable Jewish population also providing Antipater a large number of soldiers to bolster his forces, bringing the numbers of the Jewish contingent to about five thousand. With these reinforcements, Mithradates began marching down the Nile towards Alexandria, which ironically meant that he was marching north instead of the normal south, with the river to his left. Marching to meet him, the Egyptian commander, our old friend Dioscorides, was informed by Ptolemy that defeat of Mithradates was not crucial to success; delaying his force would be enough, because our supply situation had become extremely critical. Ptolemy’s reasoning was that there was no need to waste men on an assault when starvation and the resulting weakness that came with it would do the work for him. All in all, it was not a bad plan, and one that came very close to working.
~ ~ ~ ~
I was summoned to headquarters in the afternoon one day, where I learned that there had been a battle between Mithradates and Dioscorides. Despite the Egyptians being repulsed, the defeat was not decisive enough to move the Egyptian army out of Mithradates’ path. The enemy had encamped, directly blocking the line of march for our reinforcements, and now the two sides were staring at each other from behind their respective ramparts. Both Mithradates and Dioscorides sent dispatches to their respective commanding generals apprising them of the situation and it was this message that was the cause for my summons.
“Prepare your men for march, Primus Pilus.”
Appolonius handed me the wax tablet with my written orders.
As I read them, Appolonius continued, “We're embarking on ships, and we're going to head east towards the Delta, but once it grows dark, we're going to turn back west to sail past Alexandria and land to the west of the city. Then we're going to march overland to link up with Mithradates. Our goal is to meet up with Mithradates without a fight. Be prepared to board in one watch.”
I ran back to our area, my mind racing with all the things that needed to be done. Thankfully, the years spent with Caesar had taught me to keep the men prepared to move at a moment’s notice, but it was still a daunting task. I called a quick meeting of the Centurions, giving them their orders and listening to the inevitable groans of dismay and claims that what Caesar was asking was impossible, before they ran off to their respective Centuries to get them moving. Three Cohorts of the 28th, plus the auxiliaries that came with the 37th were going to be left behind to man the defenses, but this was not going to be a surreptitious move; Caesar wanted the Egyptians to be well aware that we were leaving. The enemy had their own agenda, their courier arriving at roughly the same time as ours, bearing the same news. This meant that both sides were absorbed in the task of preparing to move out, easing the burden of maintaining vigilance against any sortie by either side. We would be marching with our full kit, including entrenching tools. Despite the short preparation time, I could see that the men were excited. After being ground down by the mind-numbing routine of what was essentially garrison duty, even with the added danger of the almost daily attacks against our lines by the Egyptians and the stress of short rations, the idea of going on the march again actually filled the men with enthusiasm. Normally they would have been complaining about the idea of a forced march, but it was a sign of their boredom that they were extremely cheerful, going about their tasks with gusto. The added incentive was the belief on the part of the men that we were nearing the end of this ordeal; with the reinforcements provided by Mithradates, we were all confident that we would crush the Egyptians, and be free to go home. Consequently, the men were finished packing and forming up almost a sixth part of a watch early, whereupon we marched down to the docks without any problem, the Egyptians being busy with their own preparations. The sun was setting, so Caesar ordered large fires built to enable the Egyptians clearly to see what we were doing. Filing on board, I was thankful that either Caesar or Appolonius had the foresight to segregate us from the 28th, since nothing good could have come of my and Cartufenus’ men being crammed together in the hold of a transport for any period of time. It was dark by the time we were all fully loaded and departed the Great Harbor, heading east with every lantern on every ship blazing forth, ensuring that the Egyptians could clearly see where we were headed. Hugging the coast, the fleet headed east for perhaps two parts of a watch before the order was given to douse the lanterns and we turned about to head west, swinging out of sight of the coast when we passed Alexandria. Naturally, this made the men nervous, but the seas were calm and we made it past the city without incident, landing several miles to the west at Chersonesus shortly after dawn.
Disembarking as quickly as possible under the circumstances, we began marching immediately, with the months of relative inactivity and the heat, even now in early March making the problem of men straggling something that the Centurions had to be especially vigilant about. The knowledge that any man who dropped out would be left to the tender mercies of the Egyptians and the desert was enough to keep men from dropping out altogether. The farthest any man dropped out was the rear of the column, where there was a Nabataean cavalry contingent marching drag. Caesar set his usual cracking pace, and we covered the flat ground quickly, choking through the thick dust that soon covered us from head to foot, the sounds of the men coughing and spitting out mouthfuls of sand ranging up and down the column. My eyes were burning, the grit under my eyelids making the continuous blinking I had to do to clear my eyes an agony, and my nose
was clogged, no matter how often I tried to blow it clean, yet there was no slackening of the pace. Caesar chose to forego the standard break every third of a watch, marching us for a full watch before pausing for perhaps a sixth part. The men collapsed where they halted, grabbing for their canteens to wash their mouths out, while trying to snatch a few moments of sleep. Like most veterans, they fell asleep immediately, using their packs as a pillow, the air soon filled with the sound of snoring and mumbled conversations between the few men who could not sleep. I wished that I could do the same, but I had to get a head count and find the stragglers wherever they had stopped in the column to boot them in the ass to make them catch back up. Knowing as I did that the men who fell out would simply fall out again shortly after we resumed marching with those who were recovering from wounds or had been on the sick list, I was not as strict about making them spend some of the rest break rejoining their comrades. However, there were men who were as healthy as the rest of their comrades who simply were lazy. After all these years, these men were the best of the malingerers, the smartest of that portion of a Legion composed of men whose sole purpose in life is to do as little as possible and not get caught. Their slower, dumber, and less crafty counterparts had long since been winnowed out; by either being too slow in battle or deserting, or in some cases, being caught in a serious enough crime to be executed. What was left were the cream of the crop of the do-nothings; the shirkers and tricksters who could conjure their way onto a sick list, or mysteriously disappear when a work party was called. These were the men that I went looking for, kicking them to their feet, shoving them up the column. Resuming the march, we plodded across the barren terrain, the lake that rings the southern side of Alexandria barely visible on the horizon to our left. Once night fell, we made camp in the usual manner, although cutting turf blocks in the sandy soil was quite a challenge, while the men barely had the energy to chew what little rations we brought with us before retiring in their tents, not spending any time around their fire. I was as exhausted as the men, as were the rest of the Centurions, and it was times like these that I was thankful to lead such a veteran group of men, for they made my job much easier.
