*
“The ropes! Grab the ropes!” cried Gaius, seeing the two galleys that had targeted his ship approaching. He had been trying to find a way to create a barrier against the enemy attacks, and hoped that his idea was the right one: circumstances would give him no opportunity for another. The captain looked at him blankly, then ran over to him and shouted, “What are you doing, centurion? You’re not in command here!”
“There’s no time to respect rank,” he replied. “You know that I am part of the General Staff of the triumvirate – we have to try to form a kind of fortress with the ships beside us so they can’t hit our sides, and then together we can board them and take advantage of our numerical superiority.”
“And how exactly do you reckon you’re going to form this fortress?” said the other, sceptically.
“We throw ropes to the other ships and pull them together until we’re side by side, forming a single row!” he explained.
The man shook his head. “Where do you think you are, on a battlefield? It’ll never work: even if we do manage to pull them together, we run the risk of doing the enemy’s work for him and smashing our own ships up before they do it with their rams!”
“So?” asked Gaius, angrily. “Do you have a better idea than sitting here waiting to be sunk, wasting the potential we have on these ships, with all the veterans we have aboard?”
“We just have to hope we survive the ramming. After that, we send our soldiers to attack for as long as the ship remains afloat… We have no choice.”
Gaius had no time to lose, and interrupted the captain with a punch to the jaw that sent him sprawling, unconscious, to the ground. The crew looked at him suspiciously, but the legionaries nodded and some even managed a smirk of approval – the soldiers did not hold the sailors in particularly high regard. The centurion repeated his plan out loud, and all immediately accepted him as leader. In any case, he was not only the highest ranking officer aboard, but also one of the men most trusted by the triumvirate, and that conferred upon him authority over all those Domitius Calvinus had abandoned to the mercies of the enemy.
Gaius distributed ropes and split the soldiers into two teams, lining them up along the sides of the barge. He was the first to throw a rope, but missed the side of the nearest ship. Meanwhile, the triremes continued to approach, their threatening bows growing larger and larger, like two sea monsters about to seize them in their jaws. Others threw too, and some managed to reach the handrail. It had taken those on the other ship a while to understand Gaius’s intentions, but the centurion saw that they were starting to busily grab the ropes and, in turn, other soldiers were rushing to the opposite side to do the same.
The legionaries on the decks began to pull, and very slowly the ships started to move closer to each other. Too slowly, given the speed at which the galleys were advancing. The gap next to Gaius’s ship was still quite large, and the nearest enemy vessel would have no difficulty ramming their side.
“The poles! Get the poles!” shouted the centurion, and some men immediately rushed to grab the long poles used for docking. They pushed them out horizontally through the handrail until they reached the parapet of the other ship, and the new connection gave stability to the two vessels and speeded up the operation with the ropes, but now the trireme was too close and Gaius doubted they would be able to close the gap. He glanced at the opposite side of his ship, and saw that they were having the same problem. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to avoid being rammed.
He pulled the ropes with all his strength, and urged the others to follow suit, scraping the skin off his hands regardless of the fact that, if his manoeuvre was successful, he would soon need to wield a sword. The sides were closer now, but the bow of the trireme jutted towards that of his ship. “Come on! Pull! If you don’t want to end up in the sea!” he shouted, bracing himself in anticipation of the imminent impact.
He continued to pull, but with his eyes on the trireme, like all the others. The gap was almost closed and the sides of the two vessels almost adjacent, but they were still some distance apart when the rising and falling bow of the trireme reached those of the two barges. It slipped between them, and immediately afterwards the deck of Gaius’s ship was shaken by the impact, and then again. But it remained stable. The centurion tried to work out what had happened. He watched the trireme, and, seeing that it was sinking, realised that the narrow space had forced it to go straight, missing the rostrum of both barges and ending up being crushed between them, its light build unable to withstand the pressure from the heavy cargo ships.
The legionaries shouted with joy, and Gaius looked over to the opposite side. Over there, his manoeuvre was going even better: the trireme had found its way blocked and had to stop before reaching the barges. And they hadn’t lowered their boarding bridge: the ships of Caesar’s avengers carried a far greater number of soldiers, and boarding them would be suicidal for Murcus’s men. They had to take advantage of that, decided Gaius. He waited for the momentum of the trireme to bring it close to his barge, then ordered the counter attack. The legionaries didn’t need telling twice, for many were already climbing up on the bulwark, taking advantage of the higher deck of their ship to attack their opponent’s deck below. Gaius jumped down too: he wanted to fight, and in that moment forgot that he was supposed to preserve his own life for the task that had been entrusted to him. And for Octavia, Fabia and Marcus.
He fell onto another legionary, almost impaling himself on the man’s sword. He parried the blow with his shield, then swung one himself that connected with his opponent’s forearm, tearing tendons and muscles up to below the shoulder, leaving it inert and dangling at his side, then moved on to another, while behind him more of his men jumped aboard. Yes, he felt that they were his now, and that it was he who was making the decisions for once, not the ministers of the sect for whom he had fought for the past two years.
His hand was burning from the abrasion caused by the rope and his arms ached from the effort, but he continued to swing his sword tirelessly and accurately, shouting out to give himself energy and momentum. He shot a glance at the sea and saw other triremes approaching what remained of the convoy. However, the transport ships were increasingly following his example and creating groups of boats which were anchored to each other. He hoped that Murcus would be discouraged and give the order to retreat, but then he saw that the few triremes of Caesar’s avengers – a tiny group compared to that of the enemy – were about to be encircled, and were in no position to provide support to the rest of the fleet.
He judged that the enemy commander must have well over a hundred boats: too many for them to hope to prevail in the clash. They could only hope to resist, deploying closer to one another and letting the soldiers do what they did best: fight one-on-one. Then, night would come to put an end the conflict and, perhaps, even the wind, which would allow the slow cargo ships to break free and head for the coast of Epirus which was now nearby.
Suddenly, a flash of light caught his eye. A flaming projectile streaked across the sky just above his head, falling right onto his vessel. The deck immediately caught fire, and many of the sailors still on board jumped into the sea. But it was what he saw on the adjacent boat which shocked him most: the crew on the deck were rushing along the handrail pulling out the poles and cutting the ropes to break away from the burning ship.
So he couldn’t even get back onto the barge from which he had come.
*
Popillius Laenas assessed the situation carefully, as a true commander should. It was just a question of holding out – sooner or later Antony’s troops would come to the rescue of the men surprised by the enemy in the swamp. Until then, it would be he, and he alone, who co-ordinated defence operations.
He felt that he had developed a good plan. Those Germans out there had proven to be skilled fighters, and would form a bulwark against the enemy tide until Antony’s troops had organised themselves. In the meantime, he would be able to prepare the resistance ins
ide the fort.
He knew he should have let them in. They were followers of the Sect of Mars Ultor, and he was supposed to help them before all others. Octavian would certainly have demanded it. But once they had fallen, they would just be two more deaths in the battle, and none of the other members would ever know how.
And anyway, they were barbarians.
He would not have said so to Octavian, but he could not bear the idea of savages being part of such an exclusive sect. He had concluded that his supreme leader must have chosen them as labourers, and that they were expendable. Well, he was sacrificing them, to save the Romans of the sacred bond, who were much more important for implementing the projects of the ministers of Mars Ultor. The sect that he had in mind, and the perfect society that it would create at the end of its work, was to be composed exclusively of Romans, the only ones with a divine right to dominate other people.
He went up to the battlements and began to issue orders to all the optiones who had taken refuge inside the fort. “How many scorpios have we got? Distribute them evenly along the four sides. Actually, no: only put one on the side towards the marsh!” he shouted. “All on the battlements, come on! Optiones, distribute the men equally! Are there any archers? Slingers? Come forward! Get a move on with those scorpios, I still can’t see them in the battlements! The door! Bar the door! You there, you’re not doing anything – get some shovels, start digging in the centre and pile the earth in front of the doors.”
Yes, he felt like a god, able to do to with the men what he pleased. He liked being a centurion, but he liked being in the sect even more – it was a position that would give him more opportunity to influence, or even determine, the fates of others, than that of an officer. He was no aristocrat, and would never be able to command great armies or take important political decisions like the senators, but through the sect he could say his piece and make history. It was so exhilarating that he had never before faced a battle with such excitement.
Having issued his first commands, he turned his attention to the situation outside the fort. The Germans were about to be overrun by the enemy. As brave as they were, they couldn’t hold out for long, and it was good that his men were rapidly preparing for the assault. But then he saw the Germans spreading out and falling back along the two sides. He had been wrong, then – they were not brave, they were damned cowards who were of no use at all! And in fact they were now trying to save themselves by sacrificing the Romans, and even an adherent of the sect!
He felt a wave of panic grip his stomach, and his exultation of a second before gave way to agitation. He grabbed the closest legionary by his scarf and unleashed all his frustration in the man’s face. “What are you doing standing there like an idiot? Get a spear and prepare to throw it at the first enemy who dares touch this wall!”
The soldier looked terrified, but Laenas was already shouting at another. They needed scorpios to sow disarray in the ranks of their opponents. And they were not yet ready. If they left it any longer they would be useless, like any similar machine against targets which were too close or too low. “Slingers! Archers! I want you here, by me, damn you!” he shouted, cursing those Germans who had abandoned them, to himself. But he would make them pay.
He was soon joined by all the available archers and slingers, and looked at them in dismay. “Is that all?” he asked, regarding the twenty men. Nothing compared to the tide rushing towards the fort. He looked down for a moment, and saw that the soldiers were working hard to reinforce the doors with an embankment. “More legionaries with spears, here, come on!” he shouted. And while two teams put the available scorpios into place, he deployed fighters along the side that would be attacked first – the east.
“Scorpios ready, centurion!” shouted one of the operators.
“Ready, over here!” shouted another, near the second machine in the stands.
“So what are you waiting for?” he cried, hysterically. “The enemy to climb over the parapet? Fire! Fire!”
Immediately afterwards he heard two thuds almost in unison and the bolts flew over the battlements. He followed their trajectories into the mob before them. He had no way of knowing whether or not they hit their target, but the density of the fighters was such that there was little doubt about it. His men launched other projectiles, and this time he saw a man collapse, knocking over several of his fellow soldiers. “Shooters, wait until they are closer!” he ordered, leaving only the scorpios in action for the moment. But it seemed that the enemy tide had grown even denser and that the entire army of Cassius had descended upon the battlefield. He hoped with all his heart that Antony, who was responsible for the sector along the marsh, would intervene promptly.
The third scorpio arrived at the front of the fort, and set to work, but they were drops of water against a human sea. “Slingers! Fire!” shouted Laenas, and his men began to twirl their slings, launching the deadly projectiles which could pierce a helmet at a great distance.
“Archers! Your turn!” the centurion shouted now, and immediately arrows joined the stones flying from the stands. More drops in the ocean. The more enterprising of their enemies ran under the walls, where they were safe from the projectiles, so Laenas ordered his men to throw their javelins down on them, and some legionaries leaned out over the parapet to obey him. The spears struck the first to arrive, surprising those who had not been sufficiently prepared to protect themselves with their shields, while others were unbalanced by the impact, falling and ending up at the mercy of new projectiles. But there were marksmen in the enemy ranks too, and Laenas saw a legionary by his side, who had leaned out over the parapet, fall into space, his neck pierced neck by a pilum.
A second fell, plunging down after being stunned by an object the centurion was unable to identify, and at that point the others became more cautious and stopped leaning out. “Cowards! You damn cowards!” cried Laenas. “Throw! Throw, like me!” and so saying he snatched a spear from a legionary, leaned out over the parapet and threw it down at two soldiers who were beginning to form a tortoise. His throw was so violent that, with the help of gravity, it pierced a shield and slipped into the shoulder of one of the enemy soldiers, sending him sprawling to the ground. Laenas remained standing there ostentatiously, holding out his hand for his men to pass him another spear.
They brought him two, but in the meanwhile his men had started throwing spears at the base of the fort again. “Good,” he thought. “Nothing better than an example to inspire courage in the soldiers.” And to hell with all the shit that their commanders had told them: that lot always made sure they were far from the front. But there were now so many assailants under the walls that it was impossible to stop them. Their efforts to establish a tortoise were starting to take shape and, using the bodies of their dead comrades and those fallen from the battlements to increase the height of their base, a canopy of shields had formed which was increasingly resistant to the projectiles from above.
The slingers continued to fire, stopping some enemies from climbing onto the shields of their fellow soldiers to form the second layer of the structure, but for each man who lost his balance and fell, two more took his place, and in a short time the second level was ready. Laenas saw it forming before his eyes: the soldiers climbed from the rear onto the backs and the shields of their companions, then began to advance precariously towards him on that improvised canopy. They were thus able to gain access to the battlements where, in the meantime, the supply of spears had run out. There was nothing for it: they would just have to wait for their opponents to be close enough to force them back with their swords. Blades out, moments later they were fighting what was practically a standard pitched battle.
Laenas defended himself doggedly, as did his men, but each time a legionary fell on the battlements it became more difficult to replace him and at the same time fill the gap that had been created, while their opponents had an endless number of replacements swarming up over the tortoise. The centurion slashed tirelessly, mowing down anyone who came
within range, but he soon began to despair of maintaining their defences: he realised that he was having to cover a larger area than at the beginning of the assault, and increasingly feared that he would not manage to prevent them from taking the fort.
A few steps away from him, where two legionaries had collapsed under the blows of their assailants, a breach was created: Laenas shouted for others to converge on it, but nobody obeyed, so he went himself. He pounced on the fastest of their enemies and sliced open his neck. The man fell to the ground inside the fort, and Laenas pushed the next soldier into the railing, swinging wildly at him until he managed to strike him in the groin, freeing himself soon after. He turned to another soldier, who was preparing to swing at him and just about to cross the battlements when he saw him suddenly disappear behind the parapet. After a moment of waiting, he dared take a look below. The tortoise had dissolved, and its components were moving away. He glanced around him in bafflement and then looked towards the plain.
Antony’s men were arriving in force.
XX
The trouble with war was that it was the politicians who made it. If the decisions were left to professional soldiers, they would fight on the battlefield, fairly and with no tricks, and the strongest, as opposed to the most cunning, would win. This was what Salvidienus Rufus was thinking as he observed his troops deployed just outside the gates of Octavian’s camp, ready to assist those of Antony.
But the triumvir, unexpectedly, did not need any help.
Maecenas’s bizarre plan was not having the desired effect. The Etruscan, using the strategy devised by Agrippa, had hoped to force Antony to threaten Cassius and induce him to act. As expected, though, a battle had broken out along the causeway and the enemy’s defensive fortifications, and the triumvir had taken advantage of it to unleash an attack on the camp of Caesar’s killers. And after having blocked the enemy assault on the forts along the marsh, Antony had set off to conquer the enemy camp – and it was at that point that Maecenas’s plans had gone up in smoke.
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