Caesar Ascending-India Limited Edition

by R. W. Peake

  “Highness!” the bodyguard began shouting before he reached the king, and he was waving his arms almost as wildly as the man who had been thrown and who, Abhiraka absently noticed, was just sitting upright, with the other bodyguard helping him to his feet, but his attention was on the first man, who repeated, “Highness!” Reaching the side of the elephant, he looked up at Abhiraka as he continued, “That man is the headman of Mehgam! He comes from there with important news! That’s why he almost killed his horse, because he went to Bharuch first, thinking you were there, but…”

  “Enough!” Abhiraka snapped, but then controlled his voice, hoping that his calm demeanor would translate to his guard, a good man who was normally very steady. “Now, Bhiman, what is it?”

  “He says that there is a huge fleet, sailing up the sacred river!” Bhiman had to swallow before he got the next words out. “And he thinks they are Romans.”

  Abhiraka had left Darpashata behind, leaping down to commandeer one of his bodyguard’s horses, and they moved at the gallop the final ten miles to Bharuch, arriving shortly after sundown. There was an inevitable delay as the barge that had been built to ferry men and supplies across the canal was poled across, a faster proposition than bringing one of the ships moored at the river wharf. While they waited, Abhiraka paced, his mind working furiously, trying to divine what this new development meant. His initial reaction is what had compelled him to abandon Darpashata to use the speedier means of horseback, but even as they alternated between a gallop, then slowing just long enough to enable their mounts to partially recover, the initial sense of panic faded, and he began to think more clearly. He couldn’t recall the man’s name, but he had dealt with the headman of Mehgam on those occasions when, in accordance with the custom, the headman had presented himself at Abhiraka’s palace twice a year, accompanied by the portion of his town’s crops that were accepted in lieu of silver, and while the king thought that he was relatively competent, it occurred to him that he was, after all, a civilian who had no experience in military matters. Consequently, when, once he recovered from his fall, he had excitedly repeated to Abhiraka what he had told the bodyguard, that there was a fleet sailing up the Narmada that numbered in the hundreds of ships, Abhiraka had responded accordingly by galloping away, but within no more than a mile, the king began thinking. Now, as he paced back and forth waiting for the barge, the skepticism he had started to experience during his mad dash only grew; how likely was it that this headman, not through malice but simple inexperience, was wildly exaggerating the number of ships? Because of its proximity to the sea, the kings of Bharuch had always kept apprised of all matters nautical; indeed, Abhiraka had begun toying with the idea of opening a shipyard, which had only blossomed further with the construction of this canal, but never once had Abhiraka heard of, let alone seen with his own eyes a fleet approaching the size described. Coupled with this was the size of the Roman force that, even now, he was certain was advancing on the city from the north, or would be when the sun came up; it just didn’t seem credible that there could be another force of Romans anywhere near the same size. Finally, he spun about and called to one of the bodyguards that had accompanied him.

  When the man arrived and knelt, Abhiraka ordered, “I know that your horse is blown, so you will need to find a fresh mount in one of the nearby villages, because I need you to ride along the river to see for yourself whether or not there is truly a fleet of that size coming upriver. And,” he added, “whether the men these ships are carrying are actually Roman.” Glancing at the horizon, which still showed slightly pink, he tried to calculate the speed of this fleet. “Mehgam is fifteen miles from here, and the headman caught us about halfway back to the city. You shouldn’t have to go more than four or five miles downstream before you run into them. When you do, I want you to make an exact count of those ships. Then, return here. I’ll be back in the city by then and organizing the defenses.”

  Dropping his forehead to the ground, which served as their version of a salute, the man jumped to his feet and hurried away, wondering how he was going to find a horse while knowing that if he didn’t, he needn’t bother coming back. The barge came sliding up, and before it touched the near bank, Abhiraka had leapt across, followed by the rest of his bodyguards. Making the crossing didn’t take long; at least, it didn’t until this moment when every heartbeat was vital, but while Abhiraka stared across at the tightly packed embankment that began where the wooden pilings that served as the bank of the canal ended, he examined what he was seeing. For the first time, he viewed the dirt wall that, while hastily conceived and constructed, had been made as sturdy and substantial as time allowed, as it might look to men trying scale it from the side of a ship. He was heartened by how daunting it seemed, although he also understood that he was standing on a simple barge that rode low in the water; it was unlikely that whatever ships transported these Romans would be such crudely constructed vessels, where water lapped over the side when the boat was rocked even slightly. And, he allowed, it was now almost completely dark, which always made things appear larger and more imposing, yet he was still satisfied that this would present a challenge, before they even got to the walls of Bharuch. While the walls of Pattala were substantial, they weren’t as thick as those of his city, although they were roughly the same height, at least from what he remembered.

  “Highness,” his thoughts were interrupted, but when he looked up, thinking that he was being alerted that they were about to reach the city bank, he saw they were only halfway, and it was with some irritation that he rounded on the bodyguard who had called his name.

  “Yes, what is it, Bolon?” he snapped, but as he did, he noticed that Bolon was actually looking in the opposite direction, back to the receding opposite bank.

  Bolon didn’t take his eyes away from whatever it was he was examining as he asked, “Might it be a good idea to put some men on the opposite side of the canal?”

  Abhiraka’s initial reaction was to dismiss the idea immediately, but even as his mouth opened, something stopped him, and he paused before asking, “What did you have in mind, Bolon?”

  “It’s just that we’re likely to have men who stayed behind with Ranjeet, along with the men from Ushabad’s force who will use the cover of the night to get back to the city.”

  “That’s true,” Abhiraka agreed readily enough, then pointed out, “but I was planning on ferrying them back across to bolster our defenses here.”

  Now Bolon turned away from the far bank to look his king in the eye, as he asked quietly, “Will they make it here before this fleet that’s coming? And if they do, how long might it take us to get them across?” When Abhiraka didn’t immediately dismiss this, Bolon pressed, “But, if you were to send someone back across who went out and met those men and let them know they should stay there, wouldn’t that serve our purposes better?”

  Abhiraka considered this, but before he could say anything, the slight jolt, accompanied by a sodden thudding sound of the barge colliding with the wooden part of the bank signaled that they had arrived, yet, while he was still in a tearing hurry, the king paused for a moment, thinking things through.

  “Highness,” Bolon knew he was running a risk by possibly interrupting Abhiraka, but not only was it a matter of such huge portent, this king wasn’t like that, “I am certain we hurt those dogs to the north, but we did not stop them, we only delayed them. They will be here, probably not tomorrow, at least if we hurt them as badly as we think. But,” he became almost emphatic, “they will be here. If we can delay them even further, then might that not give us the chance to face this new threat first, before they can combine?”

  More than from any real sense of conviction, Abhiraka agreed, saying curtly, “Very well. Send a man across to wait for Ranjeet and whoever he brings with him. Tell him that they are to do everything they can to delay the Romans from the north. But,” he emphasized, “Ranjeet must be informed of this fleet and that we do not know how much of a threat it is, just that it is a threat
.”

  Then, he could waste no more time, and he leapt off the barge and onto the set of steps that had been cut into the embankment, the only set for the entire length of the canal. Scrambling up, he was greeted by the commander of the forces who had been charged with defending the canal side of the city. The man, his name Bhadran, who Abhiraka didn’t much care for but who Ranjeet had recommended very highly as being worthy of the responsibility, dropped to his knees, but before he could open his mouth, Abhiraka made a curt gesture for him to get to his feet.

  “We were not entirely successful in stopping those Romans to the north, and we have received new information that there is an unidentified fleet rowing upriver. The headman of Mehgam saw them pass by, and depending on how fast they are going, they could be here soon.” He was striding by as he said this, and their conversation was interrupted while Abhiraka descended one of the ladders, followed by the commander. Once they were both on the ground behind the wall, the king resumed talking as he headed towards the north gate, and while he was striding along, he thought about the situation, which prompted him to say over his shoulder, “Honestly, I don’t believe that if this fleet belongs to the Romans, or someone they’re allied to now, that they’ll attack us until the Romans from the north arrive. It doesn’t make sense to attack a position as strong as this with only half your army.” Shaking his head, he said, “While I want double guard tonight, that’s all. If I’m right, the men need to get all the rest they can tonight, because it will be sometime tomorrow when the real fight begins.”

  Abhiraka’s conclusion, and the decision that stemmed from it, was a sound one; it was logical, and was in accordance with military wisdom. But, as he and his subjects were about to learn, in much the same way that Phraates had with his surprise capture at Sostrate, these principles didn’t mean much when it was Caesar they were facing. And, compounding that error, Bhadran took his king’s word for it, and didn’t bother to let the men who would be standing guard that night know that they should be especially alert, or that there might be a fleet filled with armed Romans coming their way.

  Barhinder was seventeen, which he knew was why he was standing on the dirt rampart outside the walls of Bharuch, staring at nothing, waiting for something that he was sure would never happen. He deeply envied his older brother Sagara, who was twenty-four and had already been promoted to be a member of the phalanx troops, all but a thousand of whom were up north with the king, Barhinder being unaware that Abhiraka had returned. Most of the swordsmen had been left behind in the city, and Barhinder was one of those troops, although he wasn’t considered a full-fledged member yet. He had enlisted six months earlier, a day after his seventeenth birthday, which was the minimum age set by one of the kings who came before Abhiraka, who was the only king Barhinder had ever known. And, as every young man of every nation’s army quickly learned, the difference between his boyhood dreams of glory and the stark reality of military life had been a rude shock, which as often happened, led to a period of disillusionment and resentment. It was only through the intercession of Sagara, who heard from one of Barhinder’s comrades that his younger brother was thinking of deserting, that Barhinder saved himself from probably being executed, and certainly his family from the shame, although it had been accompanied by the administering of a beating by his older brother that was the worst of his young life. He had been unable to walk without a limp or move without pain for several days, but it had also accomplished Sagara’s goal, and while he was still unhappy, it was less about the fact that he had to clean out the elephant stables and more that he longed to go to battle. Sagara was a veteran, and like so many younger brothers, Barhinder was determined that he at least match his sibling in battle. These were the sorts of things he only confided to his best friend, who was a year older, and the thought of him made Barhinder walk along the dirt rampart, searching for him. That his best friend’s name was Agathocles was another reminder of how much of an impact the Macedonian king Alexander, and specifically generals like Demetrios, had on this part of India, although this was completely lost on the two youths. Agathocles’ family had adopted Greek names two centuries earlier, so the reason why they had done so was lost by the time the pair found each other on a dirt rampart outside Bharuch.

  “Did you hear that fish jump?” At first, Barhinder had a hard time spotting his friend, but then he smiled, showing a flash of white in what was nothing more than shapes, some darker than others. “I thought I would piss on myself!”

  Barhinder laughed, punching his friend playfully, saying, “If a fish makes you do that, what do you think you’ll do when those Romans show up?” Grinning, he held his nose as he said, “Maybe I should get upwind of you before that happens so I won’t have to smell your shit!”

  “Bah,” Agathocles scoffed, “like we’ll ever see a live Roman except as a prisoner! They’ll never get here in one piece!”

  Barhinder didn’t argue; he held the same belief as his friend, and for a moment, the pair stood side by side, disconsolate at the thought they wouldn’t get to stick these swords that so far had only been plunged into sacks stuffed with dirt and straw into a real enemy. The moment was shattered by another splashing sound, but they both knew that it wasn’t a fish. However, it sounded as if it had come from downriver, so while they both turned to look in that direction, it was without much interest. Then, when they heard the splash again, for the first time, Barhinder felt a prickling of unease. When the splash came a third time, it was enough for both of them to determine the likely cause.

  “There’s a ship rowing this way,” Barhinder said uneasily.

  “Maybe it’s some merchant who was delayed for some reason,” Agathocles suggested, but his friend heard by his tone that he was doubtful.

  “What should we do?”

  “Let’s wait and see if they keep going,” Agathocles said. “If it is a merchant, then they’re heading to the wharves. This thing is too new for anyone to know about, so if they turn up the canal, we’ll raise the alarm.”

  “Maybe we should do that anyway,” Barhinder argued.

  “And have Bhadran thrash us for raising a false alarm?” Agathocles scoffed, but Barhinder felt certain that his friend’s heart wasn’t in it.

  Straining to see in the darkness, they hesitated as they tried to tell themselves that this wasn’t anything bad, but then the two simultaneously heard another splashing sound, but in between that noise they had determined was the rhythm of the oars from what had to be an approaching ship.

  “There’s more than one,” Agathocles gasped, and his reluctance to alert the commander of the guard evaporated, but it was Barhinder who moved first.

  Turning and breaking into a run, Barhinder ran along the dirt rampart, shouting, “There are ships coming! There are ships coming! Sound the alert!”

  The battle for Bharuch, as Barhinder thought of his city, and Bargosa to the Romans, the real battle, had just begun.

  Pullus heard the shout, and while he couldn’t understand the words, there was no need; the tone of what sounded like a young voice told him all he needed to know.

  “All right, boys, they know we’re here!” He bellowed this, followed by the command, “Get your shields up in front of you in case they have fucking archers!” Turning to the men who would be manning the scorpions, he ordered, “Get to your weapons, but wait! You’ll know when to loose!” Finally, he walked over to the left side of the ship, where not much more than a man’s height separated the oars of his ship with those of the first of the craft carrying the ballistae, shouting across to them, “Prepare to light the hurdles, but wait for my command!”

  Then, all was done for the moment, and he moved next to Balbus, staring into the darkness. Their ship and the one alongside theirs had just turned into the entrance to the canal, and because of the narrowness, they could feel the slowing under their feet as the current became stronger. The Legionaries who were at the oars were men of the last two sections from each Century aboard, so they wouldn’t be e
xpected to go from the exertion of making the ship move to battle immediately, and they had taken their place at the oars just before they had reached the canal, but it was still something Pullus worried about. Out of the darkness, the wall suddenly loomed above them to their right, and Pullus experienced a sudden stab of concern, because it didn’t seem to him that the modified ladders would come close to being long enough to allow his men to leap from it up onto the flat part of the rampart. This, however, was only one worry; despite the gloom, he could see movement on the rampart, but it was the shouting in a foreign tongue that gave him more of an idea that the Bargosans were now aware of the Roman presence.

  Turning away, Pullus returned to the opposite side to shout, “Light the hurdles!”

  He paused only long enough to see a series of sparks struck by each man assigned to that task before he moved yet again, this time hopping down from the raised deck of the of the prow to where his men were kneeling, their shields held up in front of them, who were in turn protected by men immediately behind them resting the bottom of their shields on top of those belonging to the men of the first line. His bireme was still moving, but when the first of the hurdles finally ignited, the light from it reflected off the helmets of his men and the dirt wall that loomed above them, and it was enough for him to see that the navarch was guiding the ship perilously close to the bank, and he also noticed that the wall of the canal was lined with wood. Before he could shout a warning, the Legionaries sitting on the first two benches were impeded in their return stroke when the ends of their oars struck the side of the bank. This made the ship shudder, and while it wasn’t enough to stagger anyone kneeling, it did cause Pullus to take a step to counteract. More importantly, it slowed the ship down and completely disrupted the rhythm that was such a crucial part of moving vessels by oar.