by R. W. Peake
~ ~ ~ ~
It took a matter of just a few moments to clear the wall, and not much longer to sweep through the village, killing everyone we found. Truthfully, the Egyptians did not put up that much of a fight, I suppose because they knew they had a fallback position in the camp. Over the rear wall of the village and through the rear gate most of the defenders of the village now went, streaming back towards the camp. Wanting to keep up the pressure, we ran after the Egyptians, thrusting our blades into the backs of those who were too slow. Compounding the confusion were the villagers themselves. They panicked at the sight of Romans sacking their village, and they joined the soldiers who tried to get into their camp. Despite allowing in the first few hundred Egyptian soldiers, the men at the gates saw us in hot pursuit and shut them quickly, leaving the villagers to look out for themselves. The assault had reached a point where the men’s bloodlust was fully aroused, meaning that I and the rest of the Centurions would have had our hands full trying to keep them from putting the civilians to the sword, but the truth is I was not disposed to stop them. The slaughter was total, the only thing stopping us being the men on the walls of the camp who hurled their javelins down at those of us who got carried away in their pursuit and got too close. I lost a couple of men before I ordered the recall sounded, setting the signifer at a spot out of range of the enemy javelins. The detachments of men I sent back to retrieve the ladders had yet to join us, and I could see that Caesar was getting impatient.
Now that we had secured the village, we could approach the camp from all four sides, prompting Caesar to give an order that, when I heard it made me look at him carefully. He ordered three Centuries of the 37th to circle around to the side of the camp that paralleled the river, there being a narrow strip of land between the wall and the riverbank. The reason I was caught by surprise was twofold; there was a large contingent of archers and slingers that had remained onboard the ships of the Egyptian fleet, meaning there would be a threat to the rear of the men of the 37th when they assaulted the camp. The other surprise was that Caesar had picked the Century of Verres Rufus to be one of them, and I wondered if this was an accident, but even if I were so inclined, I would never bring it up with Caesar. There was nothing in Caesar’s demeanor that would lead me to believe that this was anything other than a simple command decision, yet somehow I knew there was more to it. However, it was not something I could dwell on, since I had my own orders. Finally, the ladders arrived so I ordered the men forward, again forming testudo with them carried inside. Ptolemy’s best men were facing us on this wall and it appeared that he had deployed more than half his force on just this side of the enemy camp. Among them were archers and javelineers, so that again we were assailed by missiles flying thick and fast, creating an unholy racket. Fairly quickly, the lead testudo looked like a porcupine, the shafts of arrows and javelins protruding in almost every man’s shield. More than a dozen arrows and a couple of javelins struck my own shield, and it quickly became clear that we could not mount an assault unless we did something about the missile troops. Once we got within range, I gave the command to launch javelins again, having rotated the Centuries so the men who had supported the attack on the village were now the assault element. A shower of our own javelins streaked upwards, some of them striking the wooden stakes of the rampart but many of them burying themselves in flesh. It was still not enough; the volume of fire diminished, just not enough for us to place the ladders, so I ordered another volley, waiting for a lull in the enemy fire. A second round of javelins, and the men of the leading Centuries were now out, but the enemy fire was still too heavy.
Now I was faced with a choice, since it was clear that we were at a standoff with the men on the wall, and neither alternative was palatable. In order to break the stalemate, either we could march back out of range, or we could press hard up against the wall of the camp, making it extremely difficult for them to fire down at us without exposing themselves. The problem with the second choice was that our men were basically out of javelins, so we had no missiles of our own to stop the Egyptians when they poked their heads out to fire at us. As far as I could see, we had no choice but to withdraw. There was a fair amount of cursing when I gave the order, but the men began marching backward, those in the ranks closest to the camp completely relying on their comrades to warn them of any obstacles in their path, meaning the bodies of both friend and foe. Moving backwards as well, my shield was held high while I tried to avoid tripping as the missiles flew about me and the rest of the men. An arrow, shot at a slightly flatter angle, hit the ground a few feet in front of me but instead of sticking into the earth, the missile bounced off of it, hitting me a glancing blow in the calf, the point of the arrow gouging a chunk of flesh out. Despite myself, I let out a roaring curse, although at first it did not hurt. Yet when I took the next step, my leg buckled and I felt myself falling backwards, so I tried to tuck as much of my body behind my shield as I could before I hit the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of me. For a moment I could not move, during which time I felt the impact of what seemed to be a dozen arrows thudding into my shield, the points poking through an inch or more as I held it up. If I did not get up, I was a dead man, except my leg had started to throb and I could feel the wetness of the blood running down my leg, already sticking out from under the edge of my shield as it was. Unlike most of the men, I could not curl myself up into a small enough of a shape for the shield to cover my entire body, and I could feel arrows striking the ground around my feet. If I took a direct hit in the leg, I would not be getting back up at all, so despite the pain I forced myself to climb back on my feet, remembering to keep my shield held up in front of me, pulling myself first to my knees before staggering upright. The testudo I was next to had continued moving backwards so I was now all alone, a tempting target for every archer on the wall. The hammering sound of missiles striking my shield was almost continuous, yet I managed to stay on my feet to keep limping backwards. Once I finally got out of range, I was panting with exertion and feeling lightheaded from the wound, which I bound up with my neckerchief. The rest of the men were not much better; the testudo is one of the most exhausting formations to perform properly, and we had just marched up to the walls and back again. They stood there, collectively trembling like a dog trying to pass a large bone, some with hands on knees and gasping for air, others shaking their arms, trying to get the circulation back in them.
Caesar was standing nearby, his disappointment plainly written on his face. For a moment, I considered ordering the men to form back up and try again. However, I was ambitious, but not sufficiently so to march men who were already exhausted back into that maelstrom of missile fire. Fortunately, Caesar did not order me to do so, instead calling for Cartufenus to come to him. He issued Cartufenus an order, the Primus Pilus immediately running off to execute whatever he had been told to do. I could not tell what was happening on the far side of the camp against the river, but I assumed since none of the men manning the front wall appeared to be leaving the parapet, no breach had been executed. Standing there waiting, the Egyptians on the front wall jeered at us, greatly angering the men, who called back to them with their own insults, most of them having to do with the Egyptians’ mothers. I saw Cartufenus leading three of his Cohorts towards the far side of the camp, the side where the bluff overlooked the wall. This was the most protected side of the Egyptian position, and normally would not have been the choice for an assault, but we were not making any progress on the front wall, nor obviously on the back wall either. The auxiliary troops had joined us, the Jews standing in what could only charitably be called a formation, where they stood banging on their shields, calling for Caesar to release them to try their luck on the wall. I could tell Caesar refused them by the animated way that the commander of the Jewish forces waved his arms about as he stood before Caesar, and I marveled at the impunity of the man to behave in such a manner, yet Caesar did not seem to mind.
Turning my attention back to my own men, I called
for the Centurions to make a head count so I could get a proper butcher’s bill. To pass the time while I waited, I counted the number of arrows and javelins protruding from my shield, which had been rendered useless. I stopped counting at 30, when I was given the tally. Our losses were heavy; thankfully there were few dead so far, although I did not know the condition of the wounded, but my experience told me that as much as a tenth of the wounded would go on to die of their wounds, or to be so badly injured they would be dismissed from the Legion. The ground in front of the camps was covered with bodies, most of them Egyptian, either soldier or civilian, but there were many Romans lying there as well. Most of the wounded had been pulled off the field, except for the men who fell too close to the walls, and they were still there, most of them pulling their bodies under their shield like I had while they waited for rescue. I knew that for some of them it might be too late, if they were unable to stop the bleeding or if the missile pierced a vital organ. It all depended on something happening, and happening soon. As I looked at the men, it was clear they had physically recovered from their exertions earlier; what I did not know was how deeply they had tapped into their reserves. I pondered whether I should approach Caesar to volunteer the 6th to try again, but thankfully, I did not need to, hearing a great shout come from the walls, and they were clearly cries of alarm.
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Cartufenus and his three Cohorts had scaled the bluff overlooking the rear of the camp. Then, by tying ladders together, they created a number of bridges from the bluff to the wall. If the wall had been defended, they would have had no chance, yet the gods were with us. Most of the men posted on that wall deserted their posts to go join the fighting on the river side or the front wall. Cartufenus led his men across the makeshift bridges, quickly overwhelming the few men who had remained at their posts before descending into the camp, killing everyone they found. The resulting chaos triggered the cries of alarm that we had heard and Caesar did not hesitate. Turning to the Jewish commander, he gave the orders that he had been pleading for a few moments earlier, and they wasted no time either. With a great roar, the Jews rushed towards the wall, carrying their own ladders, while Caesar turned to his cornicen, ordering him to sound the advance for the Romans.
“All right, let’s not let those Jewish bastards have all the fun,” I yelled, giving the command to move at the double time, with the men immediately responding to go running after the Jews, who had already reached the wall and were flinging ladders up.
The volume of fire from the enemy on the wall had dropped drastically, only a few arrows and javelins slicing into our allied troops. Men fell, but not enough to stop the tide of Jews swarming up the ladders. However, I could not spend any more time paying attention to them, having reached the wall ourselves. This time the ladders went up with no problems and I began climbing, carrying a fresh shield that was not riddled with holes, not even noticing my leg at that moment. Vaulting over onto the parapet, I was ready to strike, but there was nobody left in our area, and I looked down into the camp to see that the defenders in our sector had decided to flee, heading for the opposite side, towards the gate that led to the river and the fleet anchored there. Of course, there was a force of Romans between them and the safety of the ships, but I suppose that panic had set in and they were not thinking clearly. The Jews were not so lucky; the Egyptians in their section of the wall were still putting up a fierce fight, though the Jews were getting the better of it and I saw that the wall would be cleared in short order. Sending Clemens’ Century down the parapet to slam into the side of the Egyptians fighting the Jews, I also sent Felix to follow the parapet around to the side opposite the bluff to cut off the retreat of as many of the enemy as we could. I was not about to let men escape that we could catch and kill; I was as sick of this war as anyone, wanting to go home just as much. By this point, my leg started throbbing, but I could not tell if it was from the wound or from the makeshift bandage being too tight, so I had to descend the ladder carefully. Some of the more aggressive of the men leapt down into the camp and were now running down the streets in pursuit of the Egyptians, while others began looting the nearest tents, something that I had to stop immediately.
“There'll be enough time for that later!”
I roared this at the top of my lungs as I hobbled about, grabbing men to push them towards their standards, wanting the rest of the men formed up to sweep the camp and to push the enemy into where I hoped Clemens would be waiting. Unfortunately, it took longer than it should have, so I was in a foul mood by the time we got started. It took several moments to get the men formed on their standards, which may not seem like much, but it was giving too many Egyptians the opportunity to escape. I heard someone shout my name and turned to see Felix and his Century come pounding towards us. The wall was cleared, and the Jews now swarmed into their section of the camp. Shouts and screams of men fighting and dying filled the air, making it hard to be heard, but somehow we began marching down the streets. Each Centurion issued orders for a section of men to do a quick search of every tent that we passed to make sure we left nobody in our rear, and a number of the enemy were killed in this manner, hiding underneath their bunks. I smelled smoke, cursing the fool who had indulged in that particular passion. It should not surprise you to know that just like there are men who live for the time when they are allowed to rape with impunity, there are some men whose passion is to see things go up in flames, and they are always quick to fire whatever is at hand and is flammable. Now we had to worry about the fire getting out of control, but more of a worry was the smoke, because if it got bad enough it could obscure our vision. The streets were littered with bodies as the men marched through, where we would come upon small pockets of men who for whatever reason decided to quit running to make a stand, these holdouts being cut down as quickly as we could do it. By listening to the sounds of battle, we could tell us that there was a real fight going on in the middle of the camp, close to the gate leading to the river. Accordingly, I had Fuscus take his Cohort heading in that direction, with the 7th continuing to push forward to the rear corner of the camp. My plan was to herd as many of the enemy as we could into the corner of the camp, where there was no gate, in the area where the swamp would bog down any men who leaped from the walls. Block by block we continued forward, while I struggled to keep up, let alone lead from the front. I realized that I could no longer feel my foot; I had indeed bound my neckerchief too tightly, but I was afraid that if I loosened it the bleeding would start again, so I limped along, wondering if I was doing permanent damage to my foot. The smoke was getting thicker, coming from the area where the Jews were clearing the camp, and I could finally see flames rising up as a number of tents caught fire.
“Stupid bastards, I bet they didn’t bother to clean those tents out before they set them on fire. Probably a pretty bit of loot going up in smoke.”
I do not know who said it, but I heard a chorus of agreement, the men looking regretfully at the sight.
“Never mind what they’re doing, we have our own job to do,” Valens snapped, shoving one of the men who had stopped to gawk back into formation.
Now just two blocks away from the corner of the camp, the Egyptians we had pursued were jamming together, clawing and knocking each other down in their panic. A few, a very few turned to fight, and these we ground into the dust, their bodies piling up in bloody heaps. I did not participate in the carnage since I was barely able to walk, but the men needed no leadership in this most basic task of slaughtering a virtually helpless enemy. After the few who put up a fight were cut down, their comrades began throwing themselves at our feet, begging for mercy, but there was none to be had for the next several moments, the men continuing to hack and thrust their way through the mass of packed bodies. I should have called them off, but too much had happened; we had suffered too much at the hands of these people, so I let them kill every last man who stood or groveled before us. Once they were through, my men stood, shaking with exhaustion, most of them almost
up to their knees in bodies, some still twitching. After the cacophony of battle, with men shouting their battle cries or screaming with pain from a mortal wound, all punctuated by the sound of metal clashing on metal, the aftermath is always almost eerily quiet, the only sound now the panting of the victors and the moans of the dying. Ordering a couple sections of men to finish off any Egyptians still living, they walked around the piles, pulling bodies to one side to get to men who still showed signs of life. With them going about that business, I hobbled over to the wall to look back toward the center of the camp to see what was happening. The Jews had advanced through, but had obviously run into stiffer opposition, as what looked like Ptolemy’s royal guard formed square around the rear gate. They were being assailed on two sides, by the Jews from the front and the 28th on their left flank, all while behind them a mob of men were pushing their way through the rear gate itself, intent on trying to escape. There was no sign of Fuscus and the 10th, so I decided to put more pressure on the Egyptians, ordering the 7th to reform facing the right flank of the enemy, then marched them to within a few paces before giving the order to charge. The leading Centuries slammed into the Nubians, whose formation buckled under the added strain, triggering what had been a mob on the edge of panic into full-blown hysteria, with men abandoning their attempts to push through the gate and instead beginning to claw their way up the wall, intent on nothing but escape. In an instant the wall was swarming with men, the first of them jumping over the parapet and down onto the other side, where presumably the three Centuries of the 37th were waiting. Even so, when the men still on the ground saw their comrades were successful, at least in escaping the immediate danger, they followed suit. Immediately, the wall disappeared from view, covered in scrambling, desperate men. Meanwhile, the Nubians were fighting with the desperate courage of men who are doomed and want nothing more than to take as many of their enemy with them as they can, making them oblivious to what was happening behind them. When the wall collapsed, it happened abruptly, the piled turf suddenly tumbling outwards in a huge cloud of dirt and debris. The Nubians, no matter how disciplined they were, could not avoid being distracted by the commotion behind them, and almost to a man they turned to see what had happened, spelling their own destruction.
