by R. W. Peake
What the first ranker, a veteran named Gnaeus Gemellus, did with his pot of naphtha wasn’t done with any forethought, but was an example of how the exigency of a moment shaped future tactics. Planting himself in front of the elephant who had just plowed through the men of the Third, leaving several of them supine on the ground, Gemellus didn’t have the time to try and prepare the jar of naphtha to ignite as soon as it impacted, so it was more in desperation as the Roman realized he was about to be run down that he hurled the jar, unignited, directly at the elephant. His aim was true, the jar shattering directly on the bronze headdress of the animal, which was startled enough by the sensation, and likely the foreign smell of the substance to actually slow almost to a stop. In turn, this gave Gemellus the opportunity to implement the idea that had come to him only because of the proximity of one of the blazing pyres, which was about twenty paces away. Ignoring the intense heat from the fire that was still burning fiercely, bending down, the Legionary snatched up the unburned end of a piece of wood and, in almost the same motion, turned and flung it directly at the elephant, which was coated in unignited naphtha. The result was spectacular, and gruesome, appearing as if the animal spontaneously combusted into flames, along with the handler, who had been spattered with some of the substance when the jar shattered. This particular animal, blinded by the fire and the horrific pain, didn’t turn and flee for the city, instead making the same staccato trumpeting sound as it went moving with remarkable speed, directly for the river. The two surviving crewmen avoided the pain of incineration by leaping from the box, whereupon they were instantly surrounded and butchered by the men of the Third Cohort, while the elephant thundered headlong into the prow of one of the beached ships before collapsing next to it. This had an unintended consequence; before the navarch and his crew could react, some of the fiery substance had transferred from the animal to the bow of the trireme, but what exacerbated the situation and ended up in the destruction of one ship and serious damage to the craft alongside it occurred when one of the crewmen panicked and, forgetting what he had been told about not just the futility but the danger of trying to douse naphtha with water, grabbed a leather bucket used to bail, scooped up water from the river, and dumped it on the small patch of flames. He learned in the worst way imaginable what happened when water was dumped on burning naphtha, the flames leaping up so quickly that before he could react, his tunic was on fire, and more quickly than seemed possible, the trireme was fully aflame.
Meanwhile, other Legionaries were following Gemellus’ example, throwing their pot then using a burning brand to ignite the substance coating the animal they targeted; inevitably, there were accidents and some Legionaries suffered burns of varying degrees, but very quickly, those elephants who had just emerged from the gateway turned about and fled back into the still-open gate, while the animals waiting their turn just inside the walls, smelling or sensing danger, also turned about and bolted. And, just as had happened at Avaricum, so many thousands of miles away, Cartufenus’ men didn’t hesitate to take advantage of this lapse, pouring into the city, quickly cutting down any Bargosans they found, civilians included. Most of whom, the Romans would quickly discover, were cowering inside their homes in stark terror, wondering why their gods had deserted them. On the opposite side of the city, the 7th was the most fortunate, because the handler leading the elephants out of the gate on their side was immediately assailed, although from above, thanks to the decision of their Primus Pilus to distribute the jars to the men who would be assailing the rampart, even before Gundorix and Teispes showed up to warn Mus to expect an attack by armored elephants. The men of the 7th used the conventional method of using a neckerchief stuffed into a slit made in the leather lid then igniting it before dropping two jars down onto the heads of the lead elephant and crew, turning animal and men into a blazing torch that was so overwhelming that the beast took barely two more steps before collapsing, its shrieks mingling with the four humans, all of whom at least tried to escape the flames but not getting much farther than their elephant before succumbing. This had two effects; it caused the remaining elephants to turn around and move at a trot back towards the enclosure, not just because of the sight of their leaders, animal and human, fully ablaze, but from the animal collapsing close enough to the gate to block it. This also led to the second effect, that the 7th had to make their way into the city by scaling the ladders, a much, much slower method.
Pullus had moved down from the rampart the instant he saw the attacking Bargosans emerge from beyond the eastern edge of the camp, where the tents were largely undamaged and, as they had for the Romans, obscured the Bargosans from Roman view long enough to enable them to reach the southeastern edge of the camp before being observed. The Sixth Cohort was nearest to the attack, and Pullus watched approvingly at how quickly Gellius responded, turning his Fifth and Sixth Century perpendicular to the dirt rampart, facing the oncoming Bargosans, while the rest of his Cohort remained in place, ready to pounce on the Bargosans from the flank. Now that he was down on the ground, Pullus’ view was obscured, but he heard the collision when the Bargosan swordsmen rushed at the front line of his men, and he had every intention of making his way to the fighting, telling himself that he had done enough directing of his Legion and, more than most times, he needed the release of the inner tension wrought by the events of this night by engaging in what he did best. Before he could do so, however, he was hailed by Scribonius, but when he turned to watch his Secundus Pilus Prior, his eyes were drawn to the man walking alongside him, and despite himself, he muttered a prayer of thanks. Even with his relief, Pullus was also the Primus Pilus, so he forced himself not to rush to Porcinus to embrace him, and to appear as if he was just another Gregarius.
“Well,” he addressed his friend first, “the last time I saw you, I was sure you were fucked. Good thing one of your boys was stupid enough to save your bacon!”
Scribonius laughed at this; Porcinus, on the other hand, scowled at his uncle, and it was this that gave Pullus an instant’s warning about what to expect when Scribonius pointed at the young Gregarius and said, “Here’s the stupid one, Titus.”
“You?” Pullus tried to sound severe, turning his attention to his nephew. “And who taught you to do something foolish like leaping in front of a charging elephant?”
“Why,” Porcinus replied, with what to Pullus sounded like an almost obscene amount of satisfaction, “you did, Primus Pilus. I learned by watching you.”
“Oh,” Pullus grumbled, “go piss on your boots, the both of you.” However, as he was saying this, he was reaching out to clasp Porcinus’ shoulder, squeezing hard enough that, even through the double layer of mail, it made his nephew wince and flush with pleasure at the same time, which earned him a smile from Pullus as he said gruffly, “But, if you had to do something stupid, saving this miserable bastard’s life is probably the best way to do it.”
“He did, Titus,” Scribonius said this softly so that only Pullus could hear, even in this moment unwilling to address his best friend by his praenomen in a place where others could hear. “If Gaius hadn’t done that, I would be nothing but a pile of bloody meat.”
As the trio talked, no more than a hundred paces away, the men of the Sixth Cohort were battling with the last remnants of the force that had originally been arrayed on the dirt rampart, while all around them there were what, at a glance, appeared to be similar to the pyres that were outside the other three walls, except instead of a pile of wood and flammable material, it was the corpses of armored elephants, which gave off an odor of cooking meat that was both repellent and, in many cases, made men unconsciously begin to salivate.
Pullus was acutely aware that he needed to take control, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from this short moment of normalcy, something that Scribonius saw and understood so, knowing the Legion needed its Primus Pilus, asked him formally, “What are your orders now, Primus Pilus?”
This served its purpose, Pullus returning his attention menta
lly and physically to the larger situation. Scanning the area where the Second and his First Cohort were being organized by the Centurions, and in the case of the First of the First, by Lutatius, Pullus decided, “You and my Cohort are going to be in reserve. As soon as I hear from Metellus, if they’re in the same shape as us, they’re going to be in the reserve as well.” Before Pullus could continue, he was hailed by a Legionary who came from the western side at a brisk run, and in the light provided by the nearest flames that were only beginning to die out, he recognized him as a Gregarius from the First of the Tenth. Pullus finished with Scribonius, ordering, “Go get your butcher’s bill and get unscrambled.” Scribonius saluted, and Porcinus turned to go with his Centurion, but Pullus called out, “Gaius.”
When Porcinus turned to face his uncle, he was expecting a continuation of the scolding; instead, his uncle didn’t say anything, giving Porcinus a nod that, to the younger man, was more impactful praise than anything Pullus could have said. Returning the acknowledgement in kind, Porcinus turned and hurried away before breaking into a grin, while Pullus’ attention turned to the Gregarius.
“Primus Pilus, Pilus Prior Nasica sent me to report that he moved off the rampart, but there weren’t any of those Barbosan bastards, er,” he corrected himself, “I mean, enemies in the way. He wants to know whether he should advance to the wall with the ladders we have.”
It wasn’t until this moment that Pullus realized, with a kind of embarrassment that he didn’t dare show, that he had completely forgotten that the objective wasn’t just the dirt rampart but the city wall, and when he had ascended the rampart lining the canal, his burning desire was to be the first to set foot on the city wall. That, he thought, seems like a year ago.
Outwardly, he thought for a moment, then answered the runner, “No, not yet. He needs to wait for the other Cohorts. Where exactly is your Cohort?”
The Gregarius turned and pointed to a spot that was partially obscured by the remaining tents along the western fringe of the Bargosan camp, which Pullus estimated was within the artillery range of the Bargosans on the wall. That the Bargosans hadn’t resumed bombarding the Tenth Pullus ascribed to a paucity of ammunition, thinking that whoever was commanding the defensive effort had decided should be saved for when it was needed more. Nevertheless, he didn’t like the idea of one of his Cohorts, particularly when they were fresh and relatively unscathed, to be so exposed, and he told the runner to return to Nasica, ordering him to withdraw another hundred paces away from the city wall, then wait for the cornu command to begin the assault. As the man departed, Pullus signaled to Valerius, who was still standing on the rampart next to Paterculus, but the noise was too much for him to be heard, so the Cornicen clambered down the ladder.
“Sound the assembly for the Pili Priores,” Pullus commanded, then as he waited for the Centurions to comply, he began trotting in the direction of where the Sixth Cohort was battling with the last Bargosans, but he ran into his Sextus Pilus Prior coming in the opposite direction in response to the summons. “What’s happening?” Pullus demanded, and Gellius didn’t break stride, although he did salute as he answered, “There’s only a couple dozen left. They’ve put themselves in an orbis, but…”
He didn’t get any farther because from the direction of the Sixth, a roaring chorus of men’s voice made further explanation unnecessary, and the pair exchanged a grin.
“But it didn’t help them,” Pullus finished for him, nodding in satisfaction.
Returning to where Pullus had directed Paterculus to stand, not on the rampart but on the ground, standing in the center of the northern road, the two Centurions were greeted by all but Nasica and Glaxus although the latter was coming at a run.
Wasting no time, Pullus began issuing his orders, addressing the Centurions of the second and third line Cohorts, “You’re going to be making the assault on the city walls. Our Cohorts,” he indicated where Scribonius, Metellus, Trebellius and Nigidius were standing together, “are too badly chewed up, so you’re going to be the first Equestrians on the wall.”
It was another sign to Pullus that this had already been a night to remember when none of the second and third line Centurions expressed anything but a grim determination. Normally, these men were almost always relegated to serve as reinforcements, meaning that their men didn’t have the first choice of the loot from a fallen city, but this had been a night of firsts.
Turning to Paterculus and Valerius, he said, “You’re with me. I’m going to be with the Sixth, who,” he turned and pointed to the eastern end of the rampart, “is going to lead the way through the part of the camp that isn’t burning. You,” he turned to the Septimus Pilus Prior, Marcius, informing him, “are going to do the same thing, except that Nasica and the Tenth will be ahead of you. The Eighth,” he nodded to Cyclops, “is going to follow us, and the Ninth is going to follow the Eighth. Once we get to the wall, the Sixth will put their ladders on the east side of the wall, while the Tenth and Seventh are going to be on the western side,” he directly addressed Marcius again, “and you’re going to tell Nasica about that.” Pausing for a breath, Pullus asked, “Do you all have the ladders?” When they all affirmed that they did, Pullus turned to Scribonius. “Tell Balbus he’s in command of the reserve. Although,” Pullus allowed, “I hope we won’t need you.”
With that done, Pullus dismissed the Pili Priores, and while he waited for them to rejoin their Cohorts and array themselves accordingly, he took the opportunity to run to the nearest ladder to get one last look from a higher vantage point. His decision to send the Cohorts the slightly longer way was based not just in the fact that, while the area around the original two jars of naphtha was now burned out for the most part, there were too many places in between the Romans and the northern wall that were still blazing to plot a clear path for five Cohorts to negotiate, it would also mean that his men would be forced to confront the carnage that had been wrought. Several of the elephant corpses were still burning, but inevitably, the humans who had succumbed to the flames weren’t just Bargosan, and Pullus’ memory of the scene just inside the breach in the wall of Seleucia, where the Romans in general, and Spurius’ 3rd in particular had first learned the devastating power of the substance that had ironically saved his Legion on this night was still too raw. Pullus had been fairly certain he was doing the right thing; returning to the rampart to overlook the Bargosan camp confirmed his decision, and he didn’t waste any more time, scrambling down the ladder to run and join the Sixth Cohort, whose comrades in the Fifth had just stepped aside. Marching was impossible, there being too many Bargosan bodies in the way, and Pullus was pleased to see that the Roman dead and wounded had already been carried to a spot at the base of the rampart, where the medici who had been sheltering aboard the ships until the order came for them to come tend to the casualties were now busily working. It was just another example of Roman efficiency, but while Pullus was happy that men were already being ministered to, this was tempered by the sheer numbers and the nature of some of the wounds. Burns were bad enough, but Pullus saw men with appendages that had been crushed flat under the foot of an armored elephant, and he suspected that losing the affected limb was a virtual certainty. Once they neared the spot that marked the outer range of the Bargosan artillery, he had Valerius call a halt, then a few heartbeats later, one of the Corniceni with the Cohorts on the western side of the camp sounded an identical set of notes, the signal that they had heard and were complying with the order to stop.
“All right,” he spoke to Gellius, his eyes scanning the parapet, “as soon as we start back up, it shouldn’t be long before they figure out this is what they’ve been waiting for.” Suddenly, he frowned, squinting up at the wall, the top of was only partially illuminated by the flames down on the ground. “I don’t see any men up there,” he said, a bit worried.
“Probably hunched down so we can’t see them,” Gellius answered, yet while this was certainly reasonable, Pullus’ instinct was that this wasn’t the case,
although he didn’t say so.
They continued moving, and now that they were clear of the refuse and debris of the fight, the Optios were quick to arrange the men in a semblance of a formation, with the men carrying the ladders in the inner files where they could be protected by shields when the Bargosans finally began loosing both artillery and missiles. However, every step closer with nothing happening only compounded Pullus’ worry, certain that the defenders had something planned, and given what they had done with the elephants, he was certain he and his men wouldn’t like it. Then, they were under the wall, to the left of the northern gate, which remained closed of course, and still there was no response. In fact, as Pullus stepped away from the men of the First of the Sixth so that he could hear better and stared up at the crenellated parapet, he realized that he couldn’t hear anything that would indicate an enemy presence. Either these Bargosans are even more disciplined than we are, he thought, or…
