Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia

by R. W. Peake

  Before they could do so, however, he bellowed his own command. “Release!”

  He sensed more than actually saw the missiles streaking over his head because his eyes never left the waiting enemy, and he experienced a sense of ferocious satisfaction at the clear surprise on their faces as, sooner than expected, they were assailed by the hail of Crassoi missiles, completely throwing their own timing off, just as Caspar had hoped. Even more heartening was seeing several of his men’s javelins striking a target, even if most of them were caught by the defenders’ shields, particularly in the front two ranks, which the large Primus Pilus had actually placed so that only the front rank was on level ground just in front of the ramp, thereby giving the next ranks a slight height advantage. While the Parthian javelins didn’t bend and therefore render the shields useless, because of the speed with which the Crassoi were hurtling towards them, the Romans only had the opportunity to yank the missiles out of the wood of their shields, or begin a countercharge of their own, but they couldn’t do both.

  Although Caspar had no way of knowing it, in a highly unusual lapse, the Primus Pilus of the Equestrians hadn’t thought beforehand to order his men to ignore the presence of a missile embedded in their shields and execute a countercharge, the standard practice. This meant that only a handful of men attempted to negate the power of the Crassoi charge with one of their own. Nevertheless, the force of the impact was terrific, creating a crashing din that for an eyeblink overwhelmed all other sounds, although Caspar was barely aware of it. Despite his desperate need for vengeance, Caspar forced himself to keep in mind that he had a job to do before his own personal needs, and he had shortened his strides so that he would be in a better position to direct his men. He still kept one eye on the white transverse crest, on the opposite side of the formation, but his other concern was to his immediate right. Fortunately, he quickly saw he had no cause for worry; while it was true that his Century had been slightly ahead of the Second Cohort to his right during their headlong charge, it hadn’t been enough of a lead to give the Romans across from the Second the chance to loose their javelins at the unprotected right flank of his Century. The Centurion in command of the Caesarians had clearly opted to worry about the needs of his own Century first, and even in the quick glance that Caspar had thrown that direction, he witnessed the collision, noting that, unlike the Century opposing his own, their Centurion had managed to give the command for his men to go to the run in an attempt to counter the force of the Crassoi charge. This resulted in a situation where, to Caspar’s discomfort, there were now Romans to his right who had advanced from the base of the ramp, but since they were furiously engaged with his First of the Second, as long as this was the case, he couldn’t worry about having enemies on his flank. He had taken all this in less than a heartbeat before returning his attention to his own more immediate situation, and he was pleased to see that his boys had managed to fell a handful of Romans just in that timespan. More importantly, they had shoved the first enemy rank backward, up onto the ramp, forcing their formation to compress their normal spacing, and from his vantage point, he could see that the rearmost rank now had less than a pace’s worth of space in front of the ruins of the stone wall that these men had toppled over more than a full watch before. Pushing them back to where their footing would be treacherous; indeed, from Caspar’s brief examination, it seemed that it would be practically impossible for any man to gain a secure foothold, was the first step in regaining control of first the rampart, then the dirt bridge that was vital for any chance of success for Kambyses’ attempt to create a linkage.

  “Third Century! Line up and grab some leather! We’re going to push these cunni off our fucking rampart!” Caspar bellowed, and Asina’s successor Priscus was quick to echo his superior’s command to the Fourth Century behind him, and the men even quicker to comply.

  Because of the casualties that had been inflicted just a couple heartbeats before by the volley of javelins and coupled with the tremendous force of the impact as the Crassoi threw themselves at the Romans, there was a sagging in the center of the defenders’ line where Caspar’s men were already engaging with men in the second rank, straddling the bodies and shields of their fallen comrades.

  “Keep pushing! Keep pushing!” Caspar roared, repeating himself over and over, and his men responded in kind, the first line bashing, thrusting, and hacking at the Legionary in front of them, the clashing of the two combating lines creating a maelstrom of sound and furious movement as men alternated between an attack, then the inevitable defense that came when his foe responded.

  One, then another Roman in the second row fell, although both managed to scramble backward through the ranks with some help from their comrades in the third and fourth ranks, before the first of Caspar’s men, overextending his own lunge, left himself vulnerable to a counterthrust, not from his opponent, but the ranker to his opponent’s shield side. Caspar saw it happen, but was in neither the position nor was it appropriate for him to do anything about it; he had instantly known by his position in the formation that it was Lucius Sergius, probably the most respected ranker in his Century. More importantly, he could tell just by the manner in which Sergius collapsed, then made no more than random, spasmodic jerks, that the veteran was dead. Fortunately, the man behind him had already stepped into the gap, hopping over Sergius’ body even before his comrade stopped twitching, maintaining the small but critical amount of space they had already gained. The corpse was roughly yanked out of the way by the men in the second rank, temporarily relinquishing their grasp of the harnesses of the men in front of them, and Caspar judged that, aside from Fidenas, who had been the man to replace Sergius, his first rank was ready for relief. Given there was no way accomplish this while allowing Fidenas, who had instantly gone on the offensive, to remain in his spot, Caspar blew the whistle that hung from the lanyard around his neck. At first, he thought that the fact that the large Primus Pilus blew his own whistle from his spot on the far side an instant after he had was a coincidence, but he was thankful that this was so nonetheless, because it meant the transition went as smoothly as if it had been done in training. Indeed, the actual relief was performed so quickly that there wasn’t a discernible lull in the corresponding sounds that, as a veteran knew, were as telling about the course of a fight as what his eyes perceived. With fresher men, and with the Third Century, the one now directly aligned behind the First, adding their weight by grabbing onto the harnesses of his last rank, Caspar watched as his Crassoi continued pressing more deeply into the Roman formation. The heels of the rearmost feet of the rear ranks weren’t yet touching the dressed stones of the fallen wall, but now Caspar guessed it was a matter of four or five inches.

  “Keep it up, boys! Keep it up! They’re failing! We’re pushing them back!”

  Even if the two forces had spoken in different tongues, there was no need; Caspar could see by the expressions on the faces of the Romans, shining from the sweat pouring down because of both the exertion and the hot sun, that this was the case. They were doing it! They were winning!

  Kambyses’ savage joy at what seemed to be an inevitability, facing Caesar after cutting his way through the Romans surrounding him, was plainly visible on his face as he performed what he thought would be his final thrust that removed the last Legionary standing between him and the Roman general. For his part, Caesar had already drawn his sword, and in a slightly unusual move, had accepted a shield from one of the rankers in what had been the third line of defenders, which the man had taken from a fallen comrade to hand to his general. Now he was standing ready, not so much because he was relishing the idea of a personal trial by combat with the mounted Parthian, but because there was really nowhere for him to go. He might have been able to leap down into the ditch, but over and above the fact that he wasn’t a youngster anymore, and there was no way to know that he would be landing on solid ground and not plunging into a pit containing one of his lilies, it was the kind of action that would tarnish his reputation
with his men. Consequently, he stood, outwardly calm, watching as Kambyses seemingly forced the last ranker into making an error that gave the Parthian the opening he needed. But, as Caesar watched, the ranker, in a desperate attempt to do nothing but save himself, instead changed the course of the battle. He had been forced off-balance when defending against a slash by the Parthian general, and if the moment had been frozen, it would have appeared as if the ranker had bent over at the waist, his shield held out away from his body, exposing his back to a counterstroke by Kambyses. It was from this awkward position that he launched himself, not backward, which would have seemed the obvious maneuver yet would have been almost impossible to do because of the manner in which his weight was distributed, but forward, directly underneath Kambyses’ horse. However, it was what he did even as he sprawled, face-down, his upper body actually disappearing from Caesar’s view because of the armor blanket that draped down below Kambyses’ spurred boot, performing a blind and wild upward swing with his sword that was nothing more than an act of desperation. And, as such things went, it wasn’t particularly damaging, actually only inflicting a shallow, slicing cut; that it was on the tender abdomen of Kambyses’ stallion was ultimately the most important aspect of this, yet another accidental moment in battles that can turn the fortunes of both sides in opposing directions. Kambyses’ horse was certainly trained for war, and of all the many horses Kambyses owned, this one, coal-black with a fiery temperament, had quickly become one of his favorites, but like its human counterparts, when suffering an unexpected pain, particularly in an area as tender as the belly, no amount of training would have kept the horse from suddenly rearing while it emitted an almost human-sounding bellow. Unlike his unhorsing in Ctesiphon, Kambyses stayed in the saddle, but in the instant of time when his animal was on only its rear legs, the supine ranker rolled onto his back and thrust his sword upward, its motion coinciding with the horse’s front hooves falling back to earth. The low-pitched sound the animal had been making changed into a shriek of agony that only increased in intensity as the ranker savagely ripped his blade down the length of the unfortunate beast’s body. That this meant the Legionary was almost smothered by offal, the intestines and internal organs falling out of the body cavity of the stricken animal was grotesquely unpleasant, but it was the almost instant collapse of the dying horse on top of him that ensured the ranker would certainly die, especially since neither Caesar nor anyone nearby but the man’s close comrade had any thought to extract him. Instead, and understandably, it was Kambyses who was the center of attention, as he reacted with an astonishing quickness at the sudden collapse of his horse. He was inadvertently aided by the manner in which his mount dropped straight down onto its knees, allowing Kambyses to land on his feet, straddling the animal.

  This, however, was only the briefest of respites, as the remaining Roman who had blocked the Parthian’s path to Caesar with his shield now leapt over the bodies of his comrades, leading with it again in a clear attempt to force Kambyses to commit to defending himself, and at an awkward angle at that, thereby creating an opening for another man to attack. The nearest Roman who was in any position to do so was Caesar, who had discerned what his man was doing and had already begun to react, yet although it was without the kind of fervor and fury that was typical from men like Titus Pullus, the Roman general was nonetheless grimly determined, moving as quickly as he was able. Kambyses wanted this; this was the thought that flashed through Caesar’s mind, so I’ll give him what he desires, just not in the way he thinks. Then, he had crossed the three paces separating him from the actual fighting, the first obstacle the bodies of the Legionaries Kambyses had felled, yet in doing so, he realized that his vision had been obscured by the men of the three files who had originally been between him and Kambyses and were still standing on the sloping part of the rampart, facing the rest of the cataphractoi force still behind the leading elements. Despite knowing the danger of taking his attention away from a man he was going to try to kill, Caesar nevertheless took in the larger situation in a single glance. Even before Kambyses’ horse had been slain, it was apparent that the Parthian general had become isolated, as what appeared to be a half-dozen Legionaries had either killed the cataphractoi following Kambyses or driven them back down off the rampart. Farther along from his spot, Caesar was heartened to see that for the most part, his men were still defending the sloping part of the dirt wall, although he saw horsemen on the level part of the rampart in a handful of spots. His brief inspection done, it was time to finish things with Kambyses, who, in the heartbeat’s span of time Caesar had hesitated to take in the larger situation, had swung his left leg over the corpse of his horse and was now standing ready, his sword still dripping the blood of the Romans he had slain. Protecting his rear were a pair of cataphractoi who had managed to force themselves into the Roman formation, and were furiously engaged in their own survival, battling the Legionaries on the opposite side of the horse’s corpse from Kambyses, Fortunately for the Parthian commander, just the bulk of their animals allowed that his attention could be solely on the threats to his front. Caesar began his approach, holding his sword loosely, the ivory hilt in the form of an eagle’s head worn smooth from years of use, both in practice and from moments like this, holding the Legionary’s shield with only slightly less aplomb than the sword. It was an extraordinarily dangerous thing to do, for both Parthian and Roman commander, reverting to being warriors instead of generals, yet in a strange way, both men were of a single mind, understanding that this moment could decide all. It was with this in mind that Caesar launched his first attack; that, contrary to Roman practice, he didn’t lead with his shield but with his blade actually saved his life. Piecing it together later, the picture would still be incomplete, but it began with a simultaneous eruption of noise that was over the din of the fight, at the same instant accompanied by a blur of motion at the edge of Caesar’s vision to his left. It wasn’t the movement itself that alerted Caesar and prompted him to turn slightly in that direction, but from where it seemed to him to originate, above the heads of his Legionaries, all of whom reacted in a reflexive manner to this new danger by ducking, thereby allowing the threat to reach Caesar. From Caesar’s viewpoint, it happened so quickly that it was more sensation than sight, as the bright light of the sun still climbing in the sky was blotted out, then less than an eyeblink later, a terrific force slammed into his shield, sending him flying with such power that he felt his feet leave the security of the dirt rampart as he hurtled backward, hitting the ground with a terrific impact. Although it didn’t seem like it in the moment, Caesar’s life and the fortunes of his army were saved by virtue of the strength of the blow, because it knocked him back to the spot almost from where he had begun his approach. Landing heavily on his back, the wind was forced from his lungs, and he was dazed from his helmet slamming into the ground, so he was only vaguely aware of the sight of his personal standard bearer hopping over him to stand in front of his fallen general, his legs straddling Caesar’s body on either side. That Caesar was in no immediate danger only became apparent when, again over the sounds of furious fighting, Caesar heard a man shout something, though he only recognized one word, a name, actually.

  “Kambyses!”

  Almost from the moment he had committed himself to turning to attack Caesar, Kambyses had realized it was a mistake; that he managed to kill or wound at least four Romans brought him no satisfaction, realizing even as he was doing so that he was almost certain to fail in his quest to reach Caesar and strike him down. It had been an unusual act on his part. Kambyses normally shared with Caesar a level of detachment that meant he typically thought like a general, not a warrior; however, the sight of his former captor had inflamed the Parthian with a burning, fierce desire to avenge the humiliation that he still felt from his time as a prisoner. Almost before he was aware of doing so, he had slashed and hacked his way to within a just a matter of a few paces of the Roman general before the tide had turned against him. Then, one Roman dog
had not only managed to evade Kambyses’ thrust, the one that would have removed this last man between him and Caesar, but in the Roman’s desperate attempt to live for another breath longer, had thrown himself under Kambyses’ horse. Although Kambyses couldn’t see what had happened then, the results were undeniable, and he felt his mount shudder from what he correctly assumed was a first blow to the animal’s abdomen, which gave him just enough warning to grab the saddle with his free hand when the stallion reared. However, it was only a matter of fortune that, when the animal came back down and suffered its fatal wound, it collapsed straight down onto its knees and didn’t either roll on its side or convulsively rear again, then fall backward, which would have been more common. Landing on his feet as he had, despite this small miracle, Kambyses had known his life was now measured in breaths, so he resolved that he would make them count for something that would aid Parthia. That two of the cataphractoi who had been to his left were still mounted, stabbing with their long lances and keeping the Romans at bay, while the corpse of another horse was just behind that pair, creating enough of an obstacle that the shorter swords of the Romans couldn’t reach him, was also to his benefit, but he was acutely aware it wouldn’t last more than a matter of heartbeats. Then he saw Caesar, moving quickly to close the distance between the two with sword in hand, and he forgot all else, intent only on taking the Roman general with him to the afterlife. And, like Caesar, his attention was solely focused on his opponent, meaning that he was as surprised as the Roman general when the violent commotion to his right began, but whereas Caesar wasn’t able to turn in time to fully understand the cause, Kambyses managed to do so, aided in his effort by not being the actual target. Nevertheless, while he saw the horse and rider, which had clearly been at the full gallop before the pair launched into a leap that, under any circumstances, was one men would talk about around the fires for some time to come, it happened so quickly that it took his mind a longer span to recognize the rider than would have occurred otherwise. No matter how disciplined a Roman Legionary might be, standing in the face of a thundering horse, coming directly at him at a full gallop, without flinching, was too much to expect, even for those men not directly in its path. The result was that, despite whatever intentions they may have had, the three Romans who happened to be standing along the animal’s arc all ducked, although the rear hooves of the animal managed to clip the helmet of the rearmost Roman, making a sound similar to the striking of a bell, instantly dropping the man, dazed but alive. Then, Kambyses’ vision was filled with the bulk of the horse, and his astonishment was only deepened when, as the animal skidded to a stop, he looked up to see the face of his brother, who even under these dire circumstances, was grinning down at him.