Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia

by R. W. Peake

  “We decided that it was better to let a few hundred men through to the city, rather than lose more men trying to keep them from joining the defenders,” Spurius had begun the explanation.

  “And,” this was where Pullus took up, “we couldn’t have taken the city gate. We’d already taken too many losses, and,” he pointed out, “we’ve been fighting since last night.”

  “Besides,” Spurius continued, speaking with an earnestness that was fueled by his understanding that his and Pullus’ fate hung in the balance, “while they may have gained a few hundred defenders, the rest of their army was turned away, and now they have more mouths to feed inside the walls.”

  “Caesar,” Pullus finished, and while he spoke in a lower tone than Spurius, he was no less sincere, “we made the decision, on our own, that this was the best course of action, that it was better to spare our boys because we had more to lose than the Parthians had to gain by letting them get to the city.”

  The next span of heartbeats strung out for a seeming eternity, and it wasn’t until Caesar spoke, and Pullus comprehended the words that he realized he had been holding his breath, which he let out with an audible sound only when Caesar finished, “As it happens, I agree with the both of you.” For a horrifying instant, Pullus was certain his knees would buckle, and his sidelong glance at Spurius told him that his friend was no less affected, the relief clearly written on his weathered features. Then, just as quickly, Caesar’s next word sounded like the crack of a whip as he continued, “But,” Caesar paused, then said, “it wasn’t either of your decision to make. It was mine, and mine alone.” It took quite a bit for Pullus to stop from groaning aloud, yet he managed somehow, and he was thankful that he did when Caesar finished, “However, I can also see how time was of the essence, and there was no really easy way to get a runner to me.”

  Then, the moment was over, and once more, as Pullus’ men liked to claim, the gods favored Titus Pullus almost as much as they favored Caesar. The fact that a mounted rider approached and was recognized as the Legate in command of the long-lost cavalry, had as much to do with Caesar discontinuing the harangue of his two Primi Pili as much as the gods intervening.

  “Why, Aulus Hirtius!” Caesar’s tone was genial enough, but there was just enough of a hint of iron in it that the two Primi Pili exchanged knowing glances, their thoughts running along similar lines, that they were relieved someone else was about to be chewed on by Caesar. “I thought you and your men had been swallowed up by the vast wastes of Parthia!”

  Hirtius slid from the saddle, and Pullus immediately noticed the deep lines of fatigue etched into the man’s features, although it was impossible to see his underlying coloring since his face was as caked with dust as the rest of him.

  Nevertheless, he rendered a proper salute, then replied wearily, “We almost were, sir.” Before Caesar could respond, Hirtius added, with a smile that was all the more striking because his teeth stood out from the gray dust clinging to his face, “But I have a gift for you.”

  “Oh?” Caesar replied, although he was certain he already knew. “Are you referring to your cutting off Kambyses’ escape?”

  “That’s one of them,” Hirtius allowed, but much like Pullus, Spurius, and every other officer under Caesar’s command, while he was certainly awed and intimidated by Caesar’s superior intellect and uncanny ability to deduce answers before they were supplied, he wasn’t above taking satisfaction on those few occasions where he could surprise his commander. “But there’s more than that.” Exacting a tiny bit of revenge, it was Hirtius’ turn to pause for a couple of heartbeats before he could contain himself no longer. “We captured Kambyses. Again.”

  When Pullus sat down that night to finally break his fast with a meal and go over the events of the previous day and night with Scribonius and Balbus, this was the tale he was looking forward to recounting to his friends the most, particularly the look of shock on Caesar’s face.

  By the time the sun set, while there were still bits and pieces missing, Caesar and his officers had a fair grasp of the overall situation and where matters stood. So did their counterparts inside Susa, although the one piece of information that they were missing was in many ways the most important one.

  “The last we saw,” Gemellus was the man speaking, both in his role as the ranking officer who had made it into the city, and because he was the last man to have laid eyes on the subject of this conversation, “Kambyses was cutting his way out of the trap the Romans laid, and I’m fairly sure that they at least got out of the fortifications.”

  The surviving officers were in the throne room, where Gobryas had summoned them to both apprise him of the situation and, as Caspar knew would be the case, demand an explanation for what the nobleman would consider a failure. Militarily, he might not have been nearly as formidable as his reputation had indicated, Caspar thought, but Gobryas was astute enough to understand that the addition of what in the final tally added up to be almost five hundred more men didn’t compensate for the fact that the Susan defenders had lost well more than five hundred men over the course of the previous few watches, which meant they were still at a net loss of able-bodied fighters. As worrying as this might be, Caspar dreaded even more what was coming, but he had decided that he would be the man to bring it up, not Gemellus.

  Not knowing this, Gemellus went on, “Once we saw that Kambyses had to choose between trying to press on with us and have two Legions fall on his rear, or getting away, we knew there was only one choice he could make, so we were on our own.”

  Before Gemellus could say anything else, this was when Caspar cut in, “We had managed to push the Legion that surprised us last night back across the dirt bridge we had constructed. With,” he turned to indicate Artaxerxes, who was standing in the single line of officers facing Gobryas, “the help of The Thousand. We couldn’t have retaken it without them.” Gobryas was listening attentively, but to this point, things had been straightforward; now was the moment matters became…complicated. Caspar continued in what he hoped was the same matter-of-fact tone, “Gemellus’ Cohorts had also managed to push the Romans back from the wooden ramp they had lowered to launch their assault on our own lines, but we were still, what,” Caspar looked to Gemellus, “about two hundred paces apart?”

  Gemellus thought for a moment, then answered, “Closer to two hundred fifty.”

  “That’s all?” Gobryas shrugged, saying offhandedly, “Then it’s easy to see how you managed to get here, Gemellus. That’s not very far.”

  “It is,” Caspar countered, “when there are at least two Cohorts in between you.”

  Although Gobryas understood the rebuke, his face coloring, he clearly didn’t grasp the significance, as he made a stiff bow from the waist in their general direction, saying unenthusiastically, “Then I must congratulate you on your valor in cutting a path through those dogs to reach us. Although,” Gobryas’ voice changed, subtly but unmistakably, and Caspar braced himself, “it does make me wonder. If you were able to do that, why did Kambyses flee? Surely you could have fought your way to his force of cataphractoi and archers.”

  Gemellus opened his mouth, but Caspar made a sharp, chopping gesture so that he was the one to inform Gobryas, “I didn’t say we had to fight our way to each other, Excellency.”

  A look of puzzlement crossed Gobryas’ features, and he leaned forward in his seat, demanding, “What exactly does that mean, Centurion?”

  “It means,” Caspar didn’t hesitate, but he hoped that the quaver in his voice was audible only to him as he answered, “that for some reason, both the Cohort that Gemellus and his men were facing and the Cohort we were fighting chose to move out of the way.”

  There was a silence then that lasted, if Caspar was any judge, at least a dozen heartbeats, while Gobryas, and judging from the otherwise inscrutable demeanor of Teispes, who had been standing silently to the side of Gobryas, tried to divine exactly what that might mean. Somewhat oddly, the one-eyed Parthian hadn’t been prese
nt for this decisive moment; only later would Caspar learn that Gobryas had commanded Teispes to stay near him. That this Roman maneuver wouldn’t be done to Parthian advantage was likely the only thing every man present could agree on, but Caspar had a suspicion that it had to do with something concerning Kambyses. As Gemellus had said, the last sighting of the mounted portion of the spad had been just as Kambyses’ cataphractoi had slammed into the first line of the Legions that had managed to move unobserved into a position blocking the wooden ramp that Gemellus’ men, and the regular spear-wielding Parthian infantry had managed to seize at such cost; they were still unaware that this had been another decision made by Caesar to retreat to the circumvallation and not because they had been driven backward.

  Finally, Gobryas sat back and spoke in a monotone voice that betrayed that he understood very well that there wasn’t anything positive for their cause that could be construed from this information. “The only reason I can see them doing this is because they are confident in the outcome for some reason.”

  For a moment, a long one, Caspar began to think that perhaps the worst was over, that the overall commander would accept the current set of circumstances and begin planning accordingly for the final phase of the siege of Susa.

  Then, Gobryas turned to glare at Caspar as he said, “What matters now is that we regain our outer defenses. Prepare your men for another assault. I expect that by the time the sun rises tomorrow, your men will have regained possession of them.”

  Caspar stood there, dumbfounded, for a long moment, but when he regained a semblance of his control, he attempted to quash this notion, shaking his head as he replied firmly, “Excellency, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” The words were certainly bitter in his mouth, but like any experienced commander, he had learned not to dwell on matters that had already been decided, even if that decision hadn’t been in one’s favor. “We don’t have enough men, for one thing. For another, the men we do still have need to rest. Remember,” he attempted to reason with the Parthian nobleman, “we began our assault almost a full day ago.”

  Caspar immediately saw that this had no impact on Gobryas whatsoever, confirmed when he shot back stiffly, “That your men are tired has no bearing on the fact that when you began this attempt to affect a meeting with Kambyses and his spad, we had control of the fortifications outside the walls, and now we don’t.” In a move close to desperation, Caspar looked over at Teispes, which wasn’t lost on Gobryas, who snapped, “Teispes is not in command here, and you would do well to remember it! In fact,” the Parthian nobleman slowly turned his face towards Teispes in a move that was calculated to increase the menace of the words he uttered when he said, “perhaps it is time for you to carry out what we discussed, Teispes.”

  For his part, Teispes’ demeanor gave nothing away, as usual, but neither did he acknowledge Gobryas’ naked threat, nor did he move. Indeed, what seemed to make the one-eyed Parthian the most uncomfortable was the manner in which every eye turned towards him.

  After an excruciating pause, Teispes finally answered, “I do not think that will be necessary, Excellency.” Then, before Gobryas could respond, he went on, “Because I agree with Caspar. Trying to regain our outer fortifications will not only be costly, I do not believe it could be done. I have no doubt that the Romans have already invested those positions, all around the city. No,” he shook his head with a grave dignity, “I believe that we should concentrate our efforts on the walls now. And,” Teispes finished, “count on Lord Kambyses to regroup, and wait for him to alert us that he is making another attempt to reach us and break the siege. Then,” he finished grimly, “we will have to commit every man to achieving what we failed to do this time.”

  Gobryas recognized that, for the moment, he was outmaneuvered, but that didn’t mean he bore it with good grace, snapping, “Very well! Let it be on your heads when our King achieves his freedom and he asks me who helped in defending not just this city, but the entire kingdom! Because,” he pointed an accusing finger that he moved from one man to the next, “make no mistake. Everything rests on our ability to keep Susa out of Roman hands! If we do not, then all is lost!”

  Standing up, Gobryas then stalked from the throne room, leaving his officers standing there, each of them privately pondering not only their respective fates, but their best course of action.

  Kambyses was, understandably, despondent at finding himself a captive of the Romans once more. This time, however, his confinement was completely dissimilar to his previous time as prisoner, finding himself in one of the wagons normally used for Legionaries on some sort of punishment, chained to the central post that supported its roof. His only consolation, as small as it may have been, was that the wagon wasn’t moving, thereby adding the discomfort of a jolting ride. Despite this, Kambyses didn’t feel fortunate in any way, and he realized that, this time, he was essentially a condemned man, yet this was perhaps the most pleasing prospect facing him at this moment. It was forgivable that he had, albeit conveniently, forgotten that Caesar had allowed him to escape from his captivity the first time; in the intervening period of his freedom, Kambyses had convinced himself that, rather than Caesar allowing him to gallop away, he had actually exercised considerable guile and escaped during the Roman’s attack. In his present situation, for the most part, he was ignored, despite the wagon being surrounded by four guards, although it became clear to Kambyses that they were under orders not to speak to him after, recognizing that one of the men belonged to what the Romans called provosts and had stood guard outside his quarters in Ctesiphon quite often, Kambyses tried to engage him in a conversation, to no avail. This left the Parthian with nothing but time to ponder when and where everything had gone wrong and wondering what he might have done differently. As he thought about the events of the day, now that the sun had finally gone down, he was forced to confront one essential, albeit bitter truth; the blame for this crushing defeat lay on his shoulders, and his alone. None of his subordinates had failed in carrying out their duties, while every man in his spad had fought with exemplary courage. Perhaps the most surprising performance was that of the contingent of spear-wielding native Parthian infantry, those lowborn men who were viewed as little more than expendable fodder for the lances and swords of an enemy. Unlike the very first battle on the ridge, these shoddily equipped, poorly trained men had fought with as much passion and courage, if not quite as skillfully, as the hardened veterans of the Crassoi. Perhaps, Kambyses thought ruefully, if I had had five thousand more of those men, I wouldn’t be in this cage right now, and instead I would be in Susa, discussing what came next. The bitterest blow was twofold; he had come so close to striking Caesar down, yet all he had to show for it now was his own captivity and a dead brother. Thinking of Intaphernes was particularly raw for him, as Kambyses realized with a regret that was both painful and poignant that, up until the moment of his death, he had viewed his younger brother as a rival and not as a sibling. That Intaphernes had proven in the most profound way possible that he himself viewed Kambyses as the head of one of the most powerful clans in Parthia and had no desire to supplant him, Kambyses realized glumly, would be a memory that he had to live with, for however much longer he had left. The image of his brother, grinning up at him as he slapped the rump of the horse he had ridden to rescue his older sibling, was burned so vividly in Kambyses’ mind that, despite his attempts to drive the image from his consciousness, it kept returning whether his eyes were open or closed. This was why, when four men came marching up to the wagon, Kambyses paid no notice until the door rattled as it was being opened, causing him to flinch in startled surprise, which in turn prompted one of the men to laugh.

  “If I were you,” the Roman spoke with a cheerfulness that made Kambyses burn with shame and anger, “I’d be worried too. I can’t imagine that Caesar is going to make the same mistake twice and let you live this time. He sent us for you. Says he wants to talk to you.”

  Contrary to the man’s hope, this not only didn’t shake
Kambyses, it came as a piece of welcome news; death was the only thing that would assuage the shame the Parthian was suffering, although he refused to give his escorts the pleasure of seeing him do anything other than what he did, slowly stand, walk to the opened door, and jump to the ground, his head high and not even deigning to acknowledge these Romans. He did take a glimmer of satisfaction at seeing his tormentor’s face darken, the grin disappearing at Kambyses’ haughty refusal to respond to the jibe.

  “We’ll see how high and mighty you act when you’re dragged out to the forum and your head parts company with the rest of you,” the man taunted. When Kambyses still refused to reply or even glance in the man’s direction, he added, “I’m going to volunteer to be the man who swings the sword. What do you think of that?”

  “That’s enough, Rufio,” one of the others snapped. “Leave it alone.”

  Somewhat to Kambyses’ surprise, the newly named Rufio obeyed, informing Kambyses that it was the other Roman who was in command. Nothing more was said as they marched through the northern camp, yet as they did, Kambyses was reminded that, while it was largely undisturbed, there were definite signs that his orders to leave the camp alone as they drove the Romans back from the outer entrenchments had only been partially obeyed. When they reached the praetorium, Kambyses saw men hard at work repairing what appeared to be slices in the leather walls, signs that some of his men had stopped to at least try to loot the command tent. It didn’t surprise Kambyses that he was led into the tent without the sentries at the entrance bothering with the normal ritual that he had noticed was extremely important to Romans, but when he was taken directly to the partition that served as the wall to Caesar’s private office and ushered through the flap, when the guards turned and exited without a word, leaving him clearly alone with Caesar, Kambyses suddenly felt uneasy. Consequently, he stood, just inside the entrance, carefully examining the office, trying to determine what Caesar had in mind; that the man himself was seated behind his desk, examining Kambyses with an expression that, as usual, didn’t betray his thoughts, made Kambyses even more suspicious.