by R. W. Peake
“As you’ve undoubtedly seen, there’s no way we can hide our preparations from the Parthians,” he began, “so we’re not even going to try.”
For the next full watch, the general gave his subordinates the detailed plan for the investment of Susa, using a drawing created by his praefecti fabrorum, under Volusenus, that had been carefully prepared complete with measurements. As Pullus and the other Primi Pili sat and listened attentively, Volusenus alternated with the men of Tribune rank on his staff, each of them having been given a specific part of the Parthian defenses, providing the men responsible for doing the hard work of dislodging the first line of defenses, in the form of the Crassoi.
“They may be fighting for the Parthians, but they haven’t stopped using artillery,” Gnaeus Caecilius Strabo, Volusenus’ second in command and a talented engineer in his own right, was suitably grim, “and so far, they have a coverage of a scorpion every fifty paces, all along their entrenchment.” Pausing for a moment, he added the piece of news that he knew beforehand would create consternation. “What we don’t know is how many ballistae they might have, since they can position those farther behind the dirt wall. And since the ground is so flat, we can’t get high enough to see past it.”
Every Centurion present had performed their own inspection of the enemy position and knew that Strabo was speaking nothing but the truth; this didn’t mean they were any less frustrated at hearing it confirmed. Not far from anyone’s mind, of any rank, was the memory of the horrors that Caesar’s army had endured when assaulting Ctesiphon and Seleucia at the hands of the Parthians, in the form of the combination of the Parthians’ use of artillery, and using the substance called naphtha instead of just stones. In the intervening year since the fall of the two cities, Caesar had expended an enormous amount of time and resources scouring the countryside, looking for the flammable, volatile substance, both in order to understand it better and to acquire it for Romans’ use. The search, unfortunately, had been fruitless; however, there had been such a large stockpile captured with the twin cities, they did have a substantial supply, although this was dependent on how long the siege of Susa lasted. While this was important, particularly from a psychological standpoint, it had no real bearing on the current task, and the meeting concluded with Caesar assigning each Legion a specific set of duties.
He finished by saying, “Be sure and remind the men this won’t be as much work as Alesia, although,” he acknowledged, “it will be more than Dyrrhachium.”
“That will make them feel better,” Balbinus, the Primus Pilus of the 12th, muttered to Pullus.
Understanding that his counterpart was being sarcastic, Pullus was of a similar mind, but in the same tone of voice said, “I hope you have enough viti, because we’re going to be breaking a few.”
Balbinus’ snort was a bit louder than he intended, prompting a sharp glance from Caesar, but for once, he didn’t make an issue of it, and both Centurions were relieved to escape with nothing more than this. Leaving the praetorium, each man left for his Legion area, his mind racing with the details of the great endeavor that was about to start.
Each morning Kambyses awoke for the first week following his reunion with his fellow Parthians, he was surprised that he was still alive. Although the first moments after he caught up with Phraates, more than twenty miles distant from the site of Caesar’s attack, had been the most fraught with danger, there was a part of Kambyses who felt certain that the mercurial King was deliberately prolonging his torment, waiting until he was finally relaxed and convinced he was no longer in danger. Only then would the royal bodyguards appear, seize him, and drag him before Phraates to suffer what would undoubtedly be an ignominious demise, but also probably extraordinarily painful as well. Indeed, in many ways, the Parthian general regretted galloping away from Caesar, although every time this flashed through his mind, he savagely excoriated himself for such unseemly thoughts. He had been raised to sneer at death, to ignore the dangers that were an inherent part of the life of a man raised to be a warrior. However, as Kambyses had learned over the previous year, no matter how much a man might try to inure himself to all manner of hazards, there is something within the human spirit that rebels when the prospect of destruction looms as a coming reality. And, he at least understood as he approached the knot of bodyguards, all of their mounts lathered and having gone as far as they could before being rested, Phraates was at his most dangerous in a moment like this. At first, he wasn’t sure that he would get within hailing distance of the king, because he was immediately swarmed by the outermost line of horse archers who were screening the Parthian column’s flight, but despite circling him with nocked arrows, he was instantly recognized by many of the men. After all, he had been the commanding officer for some of these archers, many of whom had been folded into the ranks of the eastern spad, and none of them were willing to risk the wrath of their current superiors by filling their former commander with arrows, and neither did Kambyses give them any cause to do so, holding his arms out from his sides. It took several more heartbeats before a dozen cataphracts, wearing the distinctive armor of the royal bodyguard, came ponderously trotting to Kambyses, their mounts not only encumbered by their armored blankets, but laboring in the manner an experienced horseman knew meant they were still fatigued, giving him the idea that, should this prove to turn ugly, he still might yet escape. Not only was his horse unarmored, but he had actually slowed it for this very reason, once he saw that Phraates had come to a halt.
Despite the tension, the man leading the bodyguards approached wearing a smile, and without thinking, Kambyses returned it, calling out, “Intaphernes! Brother! Have you been molesting the sheep again?”
The bodyguard laughed, revealing a set of surprisingly good teeth, which stood in contrast to the savage, disfiguring scar that had taken the tip of what had once been a proud nose. “Every chance I get! Better than the little boys you like so much!”
“Ah!” If Kambyses had thought about it, he would have recognized how peculiar this was, but he and Intaphernes had been indulging in this back and forth since they had been boys, and it gave him the first glimmering of hope that, perhaps, just perhaps, he would live to see another sunrise. “You haven’t tried it! Boys are much better than sheep!”
The men surrounding the pair were either grinning or looked bemused at this exchange, but then the bodyguard’s smile disappeared, and he said, “I’m sorry for this, older brother, but I need your sword. Then I’ll take you to see Phraates.”
He had known this was inevitable, yet Kambyses tensed nonetheless, every instinct screaming against the idea of a warrior surrendering his weapon. However, he hadn’t lived as long as he had and risen as high as he had in the Parthian court by giving in to his impulses, so with an impassive expression, he carefully and slowly drew the Roman spatha, which he handed to Intaphernes.
The bodyguard regarded it with a raised eyebrow, then said lightly, “It’s a shame you had to borrow a sword.”
“Yes,” Kambyses agreed, his voice tight as he thought, he’s trying to provoke me, “it is. But it’s not the weapon, it’s…”
“…The warrior who wields it that makes the difference,” Intaphernes finished for him, echoing the words of the man who had been their first tutor in the art of arms, their father. Then, with a jerk of his head, he said, “Come, brother, let’s go see Phraates.”
And Kambyses obeyed, following his younger brother to see the King of Kings.
Phraates had, understandably, been in an unsettled state of mind, yet for some reason, he didn’t seem to be all that surprised when he saw Kambyses approaching, with Intaphernes subtly but unmistakably riding just behind his older brother. That, the Parthian king thought idly, is something I have to investigate; does Intaphernes love, or does he envy his older brother? Suddenly, this line of thought made him think of Pacorus, and it would have surprised, indeed shocked, everyone around him if they had known that Phraates experienced a sudden pang of regret for all that had tr
anspired between himself and his dead older brother. There were very few men of the Parthian court who still survived who would remember that once, when they had been children, Phraates and Pacorus had been extremely close, and in the manner of so many younger brothers, the current King adored his elder sibling, tagging along wherever Pacorus went. But, unlike so many older brothers, Pacorus had done more than tolerate Phraates’ presence, and while he would never utter this to another soul, one of Phraates’ cherished memories had been when his brother had put him on his horse, seated in front of him, and been the first one to show him how to guide the animal with the reins. That, however, had been before Orodes had begun showing Pacorus more favor, and the reality was that Phraates had just cause for bitterness, because Orodes had gone farther than that, openly spurning the younger son for the older. It was in this the seeds of bitterness and discord had been sown, and now, as Phraates saw the former general of the western spad approach under the escort of his younger brother, his thoughts were on all that had led to this moment. Complicating matters was that, despite now being out of immediate danger, the Parthian king was still rattled from the sudden and completely unexpected attack by Caesar, although ironically, this served in Kambyses’ favor. He had just spent a year in Caesar’s company, and despite Phraates’ natural inclination to suspicion and preference for solving potential problems by killing them, his curiosity and desire to know more about this Roman who had scared him so badly overwhelmed his need to lash out in some way for the humiliation he had just endured. Besides, he thought, once I’m satisfied I’ve learned everything, and if I don’t think he’ll be useful, I can have him killed. The fact that he was regarding Intaphernes just as Kambyses approached didn’t betray any of his thoughts about how he would go about it. Then, Kambyses was there before him, sliding off his horse, then kneeling in the manner of the Parthian court, placing his forehead on the dirt.
“Oh, Great King,” Kambyses’ voice was muffled because of its proximity to the dirt, but was clearly audible, “I rejoice to be back in your presence after so long a period of captivity! I come before you and humbly beg your pardon for my absence!”
The silence drew out as Phraates, his face a mask that betrayed not a flicker of emotion, stared down at Kambyses’ back, the tension drawing out with every breath.
Finally, Phraates broke it, saying, “Rise, Kambyses. You are welcomed back to our presence.”
Not surprisingly, this was met with a visible reaction, as Kambyses’ body sagged in relief, although he didn’t immediately rise back up, except it wasn’t Kambyses Phraates was studying, but Intaphernes, trying to determine whether the happiness the younger brother showed was feigned, and if it wasn’t, what it meant.
Kambyses did come to his feet, if only after a couple tries, and nobody was more surprised than he was at how badly his legs were shaking, but he willed his voice to sound steady. “Thank you, Great King.”
“Now,” Phraates cut him off, “tell me about Caesar. I want to know everything about the man.”
Thus began Kambyses’ ascent back into the good graces of Phraates, yet even after several days, he was never sure if the dawn he saw would be his last. This was not to say that Phraates didn’t lash out as a result of his humiliation at the hands of Caesar; once the Parthians stopped to make camp at the end of that first day, he ordered the summary execution of the commander of the screen of horsemen on the side of the column from which Caesar attacked. While Kambyses, with his unique perspective from being part of the attacking force, thought this was somewhat misplaced, he also understood the need for Phraates to make an example of someone. However, it was the fate of another man that disturbed Kambyses, and reminded him of just how dangerously unpredictable Phraates could be, not to mention that the condemned man’s role in the debacle was negligible. The fact that this unfortunate man of the ranks was selected in the first place was one thing, but it was the method of his execution that, Kambyses had to admit, certainly did send a message to the rest of the spad. He didn’t even know the man’s name, but he was the Parthian equivalent of the Roman Cornicen, and Phraates’ accusation was that it was because of his tardiness in sounding the orders that Phraates had supposedly relayed that the Parthian king decided was the other cause of a situation in which he was forced to flee like a dog caught trying to steal table scraps. It wasn’t like Kambyses hadn’t seen the punishment meted out before, and indeed, he had ordered it once himself, when one of his men had been caught not just raping but mutilating a young child, although he couldn’t even recall the sex. As Kambyses watched impassively, certain that there was a deeper reason for Phraates’ ordering this gruesome fate, the man, if he could be called that since he appeared to be no more than sixteen or seventeen, was dragged in front of the Parthian king and his court, whereupon a heavy rope was tied to each limb. The other ends were then wrapped around the saddle of four horses, each one facing in one of the cardinal directions, while the young Parthian stood with a dazed expression that told Kambyses that he was in disbelief. He thinks that Phraates is just trying to scare him, but, the general thought, he clearly doesn’t know Phraates. Even when the men leading each horse, at Phraates’ signal in the form of a slight nod, began leading the horses away from the condemned man, he didn’t seem to believe that his life could be measured in heartbeats. Then, the slack was taken out of each rope at roughly the same time, until more quickly than it would have appeared likely because the horses were moving so slowly, the youngster was suspended in air, each limb fully extended. Only then did he seem to recognize that this wasn’t just a harsh lesson he was being taught, evidenced by the shrill scream of panic, and the sudden darkening of the drab beige trousers worn by Parthians who were mounted. Kambyses watched impassively, but he continually surreptitiously glanced over at Phraates, hoping that if the king was indeed intent on exacting this punishment, he would at least get it over with quickly. This was not to be; the ordeal undergone by the condemned man was destined to last through the entire night, with the horses forced to stand motionless, albeit with feedbags strapped to them, only moving after roughly the equivalent of a Roman watch, and only then just a matter of a few more inches. Not surprisingly, Kambyses didn’t get any sleep that night, first because of the unfortunate youth’s screams, which only stopped when his voice gave out, then as he waited for the heavy footfalls of Phraates’ bodyguards. Since he couldn’t sleep, he spent the night wondering if it would be Intaphernes who Phraates would send for him; knowing the king, he thought it likely. More importantly, if this was the case, would his younger brother be inclined to help him escape? Or would he act as a Phraates to Kambyses’ Pacorus? This, more than the man’s screams, was what kept him awake that night, but when the dawn came, he was alive, and the condemned man had yet to succumb. Once it was time to resume the march, only then did Phraates give a curt command, the four horses were hit with the lash, and in the span of no more than a heartbeat or two, there was nothing but a bloody torso and gore in place of where there had once been a man. It was an image that Kambyses found hard to dismiss the rest of that day on the march, as Phraates led the spad farther away from Susa, and away from Caesar.
Chapter Two
As Pullus had predicted, the Centurions were kept busy “encouraging” their men to perform the drudgery and hard work that was required for the task Caesar had set for the Legions. Very briefly, Pullus ordered his Centurions to point out to their men that, with their investment of Ctesiphon and Seleucia, they knew what to expect when it came to digging into the baked ground and how hard it would be. This rebounded, in a spectacular manner, in the process reminding Pullus that just because men were uneducated, it didn’t mean they were unintelligent, since it didn’t take long for the cleverer rankers to add up the amount of work this investment of Susa required compared to Ctesiphon, which meant that instead of persuasion with words, the Centurions were using their viti. Where Pullus, Balbinus, Spurius, Carfulenus of the 28th, and a couple of other Primi Pili restricted the
ir punishments to this, in extra duties, albeit suspended until the work at hand was over or in the dispensation of the rough justice that remained off the books, there were others who took a different approach. Batius, the oldest Primus Pilus, commanding the 5th Alaudae, was considered a man of the old school of Centurions, those whose own Centurions were directly descended from the original Marius’ Mules, the first of the Head Counters who were allowed to fill the ranks of the Legions, and in his Legion, there were a half-dozen floggings of those deemed to be the most recalcitrant. The 5th had the most, but both Lucius Aquilinus of the 7th and Aulus Mus of the 15th availed themselves of this, one of the harshest punishments of the many that governed the lives of the men of the Legions. That Pullus and the other Primi Pili who were like-minded didn’t do so wasn’t because of any squeamishness; they just didn’t believe that it was all that effective. Consequently, the type of retribution against men who were too lax in their working or too loud in their complaining got what was known in the Legions as “bathhouse justice,” the type that might not have been a permanent mark against a man in his record, but didn’t leave him unmarked in other ways. Day by day, the work continued, divided into two segments, since the middle of the day was so hot that more than three dozen men were felled the first day, prompting Caesar to order that work begin earlier than normal in the morning, but cease during the hottest part of the day before resuming a watch before sunset, where they worked well past dark. Since this was the phase where precision wasn’t required—all a man had to do was either swing a pick to break apart the bricklike surface or use a spade to pick up the loosened dirt and swing it up and out of the trench—working past dark was a hardship only in the sense of the fatigue it caused. As always during work like this, a Cohort from each Legion stood guard, and because of the heat, in many ways, they were the men who suffered the most, forced to stand motionless, facing the dark line that marked the packed dirt wall of the outer defenses of Susa.
