by R. W. Peake
“I’ve come to report to Caesar that we’ve secured our part of the outer Parthian defenses,” he began after Pollio turned to him. He had to raise his voice to be heard over what Pullus could also see was a spirited fight up on the rampart. “I was about to ask him for orders, but it looks like Spurius could use some help here.”
Pollio’s back had been turned to the action as he was performing his duties, and he turned now to examine the men who, although they were still in their normal files, both could see that almost every one belonging to this Century had been shortened because of casualties, although it varied from one file to the next. Shifting his gaze to the opposite side of the ramp, over to where Spurius was in command, Pollio quickly decided.
“I think you might be right,” he told Pullus, “but that’s up to Caesar.”
Pullus had expected as much, but before he left Pollio, he asked about the overall situation.
“We’re in control of the outer fortifications, and Felix and Mus asked Caesar for permission to press the attack all the way to the city walls.”
This disturbed Pullus, for a number of reasons; if he had been asked by Pollio, or Caesar, for that matter, he would have claimed that he didn’t think it was a prudent decision, despite having sent the Crassoi reeling from their entrenchments. While it was true that the men attached to Volusenus who were responsible for all the necessary surveying and measuring had declared that the ladders made for attacking the Crassoi positions would work on the city walls, they also said that the top of the ladder would be short of the bottom edge of the crenellations of Susa’s walls by a matter of at least two feet. This wasn’t a problem for men of Pullus’ size, but given there were no more than two or perhaps three hundred throughout the entire army, it would be a not inconsiderable handicap for the vast majority of Legionaries. This, however, wasn’t his true reason for his belief that Caesar should deny permission to Felix and Mus; in its simplest terms, he didn’t want them to have a chance at the glory that would come if they were successful. As far as Titus Pullus was concerned, that honor should belong to the 10th.
Fortunately, Pollio assured him, “But Caesar told them in no uncertain terms that they weren’t to try and take the city walls.” Finishing with a shake of his head, he said, “Caesar’s ordered them to do what they can now to strengthen the defenses in the event there’s a sortie from Susa.”
That, Pullus suddenly realized, was something that he hadn’t thought about, the possibility that the Crassoi would regroup and try to retake their outer defenses. Now he was torn between the chance to come to Spurius’ aid, but do so at the risk of a counterattack that could catch the 10th out of position if he brought them to the contravallation. And, he thought dismally, if they did and I brought the Legion here to help, we’d have to cross the ramp back over the circumvallation, then use the dirt bridge the Crassoi had constructed for their own attack that ended up working to the Romans’ advantage, essentially fighting for the same ground twice.
With some regret, he decided that, just like Felix and Mus, he was doing the right thing, therefore he told Pollio, “Sir, will you tell Caesar that I’m returning back to the Legion? I don’t think they’ll try anything, but he’s right; we should be prepared for it.”
Pollio was about to agree, but before he could say anything, Caesar had briefly glanced over his shoulder and seen Pullus from his spot at the very edge of the level part of the rampart.
“Pullus!” he shouted, forced to cup his hands to amplify the sound. “What are you doing here? What’s the situation with the 10th?”
Pullus opened his mouth to answer, then thought better of it, choosing instead to scramble up the steep dirt ramp to get closer to his general. Reaching his side, Caesar didn’t bother to return Pullus’ salute, a rarity in itself, but now that he was closer to the rampart, Pullus could see that this wasn’t the time for the niceties of the forum.
Pullus repeated what he had told Pollio, except before he finished, there were shouts of mingled alarm and, to Pullus’ ears, at least two screams of agony, prompting both men to turn their attention to the spot from where the disturbance originated, roughly in the middle of the formation of what Pullus saw was the First Century of the Second Cohort. In the span of no more than a half-dozen heartbeats, as both men stood watching, first one, then a second, followed by a third man clambered over the rampart, aided by the bodies of at least two men that Pullus could see were serving as an accidental barricade that prevented Caesar’s Legionaries from pressing themselves hard up against the turf parapet. As both Caesar and Pullus knew, this was the moment when, if an assault on a wall was to be successful, the attackers had to establish this kind of foothold on the defenders’ side of the parapet, just as Pullus had done shortly before when crossing over the makeshift stone wall. Aided by his height, Pullus could see that one of the trio of Crassoi was a Centurion, although the crest was a different color than the one belonging to the Crassoi he had defeated not long before. The noise was so intensely loud, as men alternated between shouting encouragement and alerting their comrades nearer to this incursion that there were foes who had managed to get onto the rampart, that neither Pullus nor Caesar could hear whether or not the Secundus Pilus Prior, who was in his spot on the far right of the Century, was both aware of this new threat and if so, whether he was doing anything about it. Although they could see to roughly the middle of the formation, there were too many bodies and too much happening for either man to tell whether or not the man was addressing this situation. Then, Caesar turned to Pullus and said something so shocking that Pullus had to ask him to repeat it.
“I said,” Caesar’s voice was pitched just loud enough for only Pullus to hear, “go back to your Legion, but have them deploy facing the ground between the Crassoi defenses and our circumvallation. Then, wait for my orders.” He favored Pullus with a smile, but there was nothing pleasant in it as he finished, “I have an idea that should end this today.”
“We need to counterattack.”
Caspar hoped his voice was steadier than it sounded to his own ears, but he suspected this had more to do with the dizziness that still had not abated, and he was grateful that his Optio was standing just behind him, surreptitiously bracing him in much the same manner as if they were standing in a file, holding on to Caspar’s leather harness.
Gobryas’ face was impassive, but he didn’t hesitate, saying flatly, “No. We cannot afford to waste more men. You and your men failed to hold your position, and now Kambyses’ attack is doomed to fail. We must protect the city with every available man.”
Although Caspar had expected this response, he still experienced a stab of anger at Gobryas’ characterization of what had happened. While on the face of it, the Parthian in command was correct, Caspar had learned there was more to the story, told to him by Teispes, who was now standing slightly apart from his Crassoi Primus Pilus, looking as if he would rather be anywhere but where he was.
“We…failed,” Caspar knew he was treading on dangerous ground with his tone, but he was beyond caring, “because you refused to release the Thousand when Teispes requested permission to bring them to reinforce us! With those reinforcements, we could have not only pushed the Romans back, but we would have had enough men to pursue them back to their own line!”
“That,” Gobryas replied stiffly, “is your opinion. Which,” he continued menacingly, “I do not share. And my decision is the one that matters. Or,” at this, he glanced over at Teispes, his meaning manifestly clear, “do you need me to send Teispes to the Crassoi quarter to give you a…reminder?”
Caspar had to clench his jaws to keep from blurting out what had leapt into his mind at this explicit threat to his family, and he was only slightly mollified when he saw Teispes give him an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Once he felt somewhat confident that he could control himself, Caspar asked carefully, “And what do you propose to do about Kambyses, Excellency?” Despite himself, he couldn’t help adding, �
�Are we just to let him and the men he’s leading sacrifice themselves with no hope for success?”
At this, Gobryas did at least look uncomfortable, and he looked over at the fourth man present, who had been standing just behind Gobryas, positioning himself in a darker corner where the light of the lamps did not reach.
“Bodroges,” Gobryas asked the noble who had quietly worked his way into the confidence of the overall commander of the Susa garrison, “you were a trusted advisor to our King of Kings. What do you think we should do? Should we attempt to counterattack and risk even more losses in order to reach Kambyses? Who,” at this, Gobryas turned to address Caspar, “we don’t even know his situation at this point.”
“We can see from the walls that they’re still fighting,” Caspar argued, “and they’re already to the ditch.”
“The outer ditch,” Gobryas retorted, “which means that he still will have to fight his way to the inner Roman defenses. And,” he continued, relentlessly hammering his point, “now that you’ve lost our own defenses, there will be a third obstacle.”
“Only if we don’t try and retake our positions,” Caspar shot back heatedly, ignoring Teispes’ warning glare.
Fortunately, this served to return Gobryas’ attention back to Bodroges, who had been thankful for the brief interlude, though it wasn’t nearly enough for his purposes, his mind still working furiously as Gobryas demanded, “Well? Bodroges? What say you? What,” Gobryas tried to sound as if he wasn’t sure what answer to expect, completely unconvincingly, “do you think our Lord King would decide? To risk what men we have left to help Kambyses, when we don’t even know if he is having any success in penetrating the outer defenses?”
Put this way, it was obvious to every man in the room what answer Gobryas expecting. Not for the first time, Bodroges cursed himself for his own ambition; this, after all, was what he had been working for, to be involved in moments such as this. For Bodroges, the problem was further complicated because, although he felt somewhat certain that during his years in the Parthian court, particularly the time he spent around Phraates, had given him a good idea of what the King would say, Bodroges agreed with Caspar. Despite a relative lack of experience in military matters, like every young Parthian noble, his father had engaged tutors in a number of subjects, including instruction in strategy and tactics, and to Bodroges, it was a simple proposition; as bleak as the chances might be, the only possibility to send the Romans retreating back to Ctesiphon, the preparatory step to expelling the foreign invaders permanently, rested with the spad outside the outer Roman defenses; this was the final armed force of any size that the Parthians could field, and if it was defeated, nothing would save Parthia from Roman conquest. Realizing that he could stall no longer, Bodroges opened his mouth, but was saved from a completely unexpected source, as the door to the chamber burst open. They all spun about, Caspar’s hand immediately dropping to the hilt of his sword, but while he saw that it was one of the minor noblemen who commanded part of the garrison of spearman, the man’s demeanor still made him alert.
“Excellency!” Such was his agitation that the nobleman didn’t drop to his knees, nor even knuckle his forehead, something that under normal circumstances, Gobryas would have punished harshly, but any chance of that was removed when he blurted out, “The Romans have retreated from their outer defenses! Lord Kambyses’ spad has seized control of the ramp, and it was being lowered even as I left the wall to come and report to you!”
And, just that quickly, everything changed; at least, so they all believed.
It had happened so quickly that Kambyses still was struggling to grasp exactly not only what had occurred, but how it had taken place. This didn’t mean that he hesitated, however, so the instant the signal came from Gemellus’ Cornicen, he ordered the cataphractoi to follow him at the trot, heading for the ramp even as it was being lowered. Despite Intaphernes’ protest, he went galloping ahead, intent on not only being the first to cross the ramp, which the Crassoi were dropping as quickly as they could work the winch, but to see with his own eyes exactly what was going on with the Romans. This was such an unexpected development, though a welcome one, it practically guaranteed that Kambyses wasn’t in the correct frame of mind to perform a more careful examination of the scene where the fight for the ramp had taken place. And this was, indeed, precisely what Caesar was counting on, which wouldn’t become clear to Kambyses until it was too late to do anything about it. In the moment, his first reaction of incredulous surprise rapidly turned to jubilation when, as if it had been planned this way, the ramp dropped the final few feet into place, allowing him to urge his horse across the ditch to where Gemellus was standing, blood-spattered and with his short sword still in his hand. Drawing up before the Crassoi, Kambyses was so affected by this sudden turn of events that, rather than allow Gemellus to offer his own salute, in the Parthian fashion, instead the Parthian commander rendered one of his own…in the Roman manner. Gemellus was clearly startled, but he quickly recovered, returning it in the same style in which it had been offered.
“The people of Susa,” Kambyses’ voice was husky with emotion, “owe you and your men a great debt, Gemellus.” Before the Crassoi could reply, he turned his attention to the ground beyond the contravallation, and the sight of the Romans fleeing through their own camp and not bothering to stop even to retrieve their valuables so inflamed Kambyses that Gemellus never had the chance to respond. “Now,” Kambyses pointed with his sword, hearing the pounding hooves of the cataphractoi reaching the ramp, “we need to keep up the pressure!” He did pause to give Gemellus a savage smile. “But that’s up to us! You’ve done the first part, so while we’re pressing the attack, I need you to rally your men, catch your breath, then follow us!”
Then, he was gone, going to the canter so quickly that Gemellus didn’t even have time to offer another salute, instead having to leap out of the way as the six-abreast column of heavily armored horsemen, led by Kambyses’ brother and two other men, swept past him without so much as a glance. Following closely behind the heavy cavalry came the rest of the mounted contingent, the archers, and Gemellus noted that, despite the brief respite they had been given, their horses were still heavily lathered and most had the telltale white ring of foam around their mouths that, despite not being an experienced horseman himself, he knew was the sign that these animals needed more time to recover. That was troubling in itself, but what was more worrying to Gemellus was that he hadn’t even gotten the chance to warn Kambyses that there was something going on that had alerted the Centurion that something was amiss. As he stood there thinking about it, however, he realized that, if he had voiced his concerns to Kambyses, the Parthian would rightly demand on what he was basing his warning, and the truth was that Gemellus couldn’t have articulated his misgivings in a way that made sense. Yes, they had inflicted a fair number of casualties on the Romans; the bodies strewn along the rampart bore testimony to this fact, but although he had no way of knowing the strength of the Legion his men had just faced, it seemed likely that they had suffered no more than fifteen percent casualties, and that was including wounded. Who, Gemellus was relieved to see, were being treated by the Parthian slaves who served as the medici for the Crassoi; he had been slightly worried that his men would want to slaughter their former countrymen, but he saw his concern was misplaced, as during his brief examination, he watched as some of his men knelt by a wounded Roman, offering him a flask of what Gemellus knew contained wine, despite the fact that, just like the Roman Legions, this was forbidden by Crassoi regulations, and which was almost universally ignored when men went into battle. Amidst the moans, the cries for help and the curses, he heard the incongruous sound of laughter, and it didn’t take him long to see it came from one of his men who was kneeling next to a wounded Roman whose back was propped against the turf wall. Although he hadn’t been given specific orders by his immediate superior Caspar before he departed Susa, Gemellus was certain that his Primus Pilus would approve of the manner in
which his men were treating those who were fellow countrymen, but because of circumstances beyond any of their control, found themselves ostensibly enemies. It was a minor thing, this distraction, yet it served to draw Gemellus’ attention away from his troubling thoughts that there was more to the Roman retreat than met the eye. Indeed, before the span of a hundred heartbeats had passed, Gemellus was so absorbed in the task of regrouping not only his men, but those spearmen who had, quite surprisingly, acquitted themselves in a manner that did them great credit, his concerns were shoved to the back of his mind. As he hurried about, bellowing orders to his subordinate Centurions of the two Cohorts of Crassoi, he tried to mark the progress of the fully Parthian contingent of cataphractoi and archers, noticing that Kambyses had somehow managed to enforce discipline to the point where the mounted men refrained from stopping in the Roman camp to loot it, with the archers actually spreading out on either side to dissuade the retreating Caesarians from attempting to fall onto the flanks of Kambyses and the cataphractoi. Although Gemellus was happy about his men offering their wounded Roman foes aid and comfort, he had no compunctions about the prospect of looting the Roman camp, knowing that, if the circumstances were reversed, Caesar’s Romans would be doing the same thing. Satisfied that his command was now fully assembled, he relayed the orders to his horn player, and they began moving forward, counting on Kambyses and his men to completely shatter the retreating Romans. Despite his misgivings, that this victory had come too easily, it didn’t occur to Gemellus that what he and Kambyses, were doing was exactly what Caesar wanted.
