by Peake, R. W.
In early March, we heard that Octavian had moved to Brundisium to begin embarkation, taking 700 Senators with him, most of them the creatures of Antonius. In his coldly logical way, Octavian apparently decided that the best way to keep an eye on potential troublemakers was to keep them nearby, though how he managed all 700, I have no idea. It was early in the year to move an army across the sea, it not being practical to hug the coast all the way up the peninsula and then down the coast of Illyricum and Greece, so Octavian was taking a huge risk. However, the winds were blowing from the west instead of their normal easterly direction and he managed to cross the water without losing a ship, something the men took as yet another sign that he had the favor of all the gods. Landing at Panormus, not the city in Sicily, but the colony by the same name on the Epirot coast, Octavian quickly invested the town before moving south to Toryne. It was here that one of the Liburnians that Antonius used for scouting first spied Octavian’s fleet and, being much faster than anything Octavian had, was able to outrun the pursuit to report to Antonius, who had moved from Athens to Patrae when Agrippa made his crossing. Whatever the scout had to report, it got Antonius and Cleopatra moving, both of them leaving for Actium within the day of receiving the report.
“Have you seen her yet?”
I was munching on a piece of bread, bemoaning to Diocles the sad fact that I had lost my first tooth, so I was not in a very good mood to begin with when Scribonius entered and asked the question. There was no need to ask to whom he was referring and I was sure that he was just trying to put me in a worse mood.
“Not yet,” I grunted. “But we’re having a briefing in the morning and I’m sure that she’ll be there, all dressed up in her armor.”
“Hopefully you won’t do anything to make her want to pick up where she left off,” my friend commented, ducking out of the way of the cup I flung at him. Turning serious, he asked, “Have you heard anything from Octavian?”
I shook my head. It was something that occupied my every waking thought, wondering when Octavian would reach out to me, along with whomever else among the Primi Pili he had in his purse, and how he would do it.
“You haven’t spoken to the other Centurions about this yet, have you?”
“No. I plan on waiting until the last moment, like you suggested.”
“Good. Let me know when Octavian contacts you.”
I assured him that I would. The next morning, I arrived at the Praetorium fully dressed, with freshly varnished leathers and whitened crest, cursing for the hundredth time Antonius’ insistence that all crests and plumes be white instead of black, which is much harder to achieve and maintain. The tent was already crowded with the other Primi Pili and Tribunes, gathered in small knots, usually arranged by rank. The conversations were whispered, but the urgency and tension was palpable as we waited for Antonius and Cleopatra to make their appearance. After what seemed like a full watch, the royal couple finally arrived. From their rigid postures and set expressions, it was fairly clear that they had been arguing. Antonius had a harried, haggard look that indicated to me that Cleopatra was after him about something, and I felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Even knowing that he had willingly done this to himself, I still felt badly that he was in this position. With that harpy constantly gnawing at his bones, I could not imagine that the man had a moment’s peace as she dripped poison into his ear every waking moment. Cleopatra was dressed in her armor, but this time she was even wearing a sword, and had an Attic-style helmet perched on her head, although it was made of gold and studded with precious jewels.
“That’s not going to do her much good,” was Balbinus’ comment. “One good crack with even a mediocre blade would split that golden helmet like a pear.”
“Do you really think she'd get anywhere near a battle?” I asked, my tone as sour as my mood.
“Probably not,” Balbinus conceded as we settled down in our seats while Antonius and Cleopatra made their way to the front of the room.
It took a moment for so many men to quiet down, but soon enough we were all paying attention as Antonius scanned our faces, clearly trying to communicate that a momentous event was awaiting us.
“You all know that little prick Octavian has finally gotten off his pampered ass and crossed the water,” Antonius began.
He had our complete attention as we waited to hear what he had planned for us, but we were to be disappointed, since he seemed intent only on insulting Octavian while Cleopatra looked on with a smile. For the next several moments, he ranted about Octavian’s perfidy and not surprisingly, the reading of Antonius’ will drew his most bitter comment. Not content with stopping there, he went on to make a number of slurs against Octavian’s sexual tastes, yet despite his wit drawing appreciative laughter from most of the men, there was more than one sidelong glance about to see if anyone else was disturbed by his seeming lack of concern about actually doing something other than calling Octavian names. Finally, he finished with a vague remark about waiting for Octavian to commit himself to a strategy before responding, which did not make any of us feel any better. Of course, we could not relay that feeling back to the rankers when we returned to our Legions; instead, we had to project an attitude of confidence in our general while pretending that we actually had a plan.
“It was never like this with Caesar,” I complained to Scribonius that evening, who I had called on to commiserate with me about the state of affairs.
“Why are you acting surprised?” Scribonius was anything but sympathetic. “He’s never been Caesar’s bootlace as a general. I heard from one of the Tribunes that he's commanded that the fleet be gathered here in the bay.”
I felt a tightening in my chest as the import of what Scribonius was saying hit me.
“The whole fleet?”
He nodded grimly.
“That’s what he told me, and he’s the one who had the scribes copy out the orders so I'm guessing that it’s true.”
“So much for the initiative,” I said glumly, for that was the crux of the matter as far as Antonius’ order.
While it was protecting his fleet, it also meant that we were essentially blinded, unable to make any serious effort at protecting our supply line. Conversely, Octavian would be able to land his troops anywhere he wanted, then force us to come to him, since he would have an uninterrupted line of supply back to Italia because Antonius was keeping his fleet penned up. I was completely mystified by this decision, and I told Scribonius as much.
“That’s because I don’t think Antonius is planning on fighting on land,” Scribonius said.
I looked at him incredulously. That had never occurred to me.
“Why would he want to do that? What did he ship us over here for if he plans on doing his fighting by sea?”
“That I don’t know.” Scribonius shrugged. “But I suspect that it has something to do with his queen. And, it does make a certain amount of sense if you think about it. I’m not saying I agree with it,” he added hastily, reacting to the look on my face. “But if the numbers are right, we outnumber Octavian’s fleet by two to one and we have all of those Egyptian quinqueremes. If Antonius can crush Octavian’s fleet, he can’t prevent Antonius from moving wherever he wants and doing whatever he wants.”
As Scribonius spoke, it became clear to me his reasoning was sound, and I also understood, or believed that I did, what the larger game was.
“He’s saving the army for an invasion of Italia,” I said slowly.
Scribonius nodded. “I think so.”
“That smells of Cleopatra through and through,” and he nodded again, but said nothing.
“Well, think of the bright side,” Scribonius said, with a twisted grin that was more ironic than humorous. “It won’t matter to us because Octavian is sure to call in his debt any day now.”
Somehow, that thought did not cheer me greatly.
One thing about Octavian; he does not move often, but when he does, it is with blinding speed. Now that he made up his mind to move
, he wasted no time. Establishing his forward base on the island of Corcyra, we were now essentially pinned between Octavian to the north and Agrippa to the south. Still, Antonius refused to unleash his fleet. Keeping it penned safely behind a row of ships linked together by a huge chain, much as was done at Brundisium in the first civil war, our fleet was safe but impotent. Ahenobarbus at least had the foresight to establish a pair of forts on both sides of the inlet, emplacing a disproportionately large number of artillery pieces in each one. A fire was kept perpetually burning in each, with a large stockpile of combustible ammunition, ready to rain fire down on the heads of any of Octavian’s ships that were foolish enough to try to run the gauntlet. Duty in the two forts was rotated, with a Cohort in each fort standing duty for a day at a time, while Octavian and Agrippa’s ships cruised back and forth out in the open water in plain view from the watchtowers placed at each fort. Occasionally, they would venture just within artillery range of our larger ballistae, but after the first time or two, the men learned not to waste their ammunition, recognizing that the enemy was testing our defenses.
Then, Octavian made his next move, after a probing attack on the inlet, which was easily repulsed, landing his army at a spot about five miles north of our position, near a town called Toryne. There was a shallow bay there, suitable for beaching the bulk of his fleet, despite the fact that it was not nearly as protected from the spring storms as our bay. Overlooking the bay was a high flat-topped hill a few hundred feet high and it was on this height that Octavian constructed his camp. Immediately, our cavalry scouts returned with a report and for the first time we learned the size and composition of Octavian’s forces. After the briefing, I returned to call a meeting of the Legion’s Centurions, minus Metellus’ Cohort, which was still on detached duty.
“Octavian has eight Legions, plus five Praetorian Cohorts,” I reported.
The Centurions treated this as good news, at least until some of the more observant took notice of my grim expression.
“Primus Pilus, we outnumber them by a huge amount. Why are you looking as if you just ate a lemon?”
“Because they’re all Italians, they’re all veterans, and I suspect that there are a fair number of them that were with us not that long ago.”
This quieted them immediately. One recurring topic of conversation among the few veteran Legions remaining in Antonius’ army concerned the quality of the men filling the ranks of the new Legions that were raised in the East. After the first Parthian campaign, when we combed the region to fill our ranks, we had essentially picked the cream of the Roman citizens that populated the regions on the far side of Our Sea. When it came time to re-enlist Legions like the 3rd, 4th, and all the others, Antonius had been forced to waive the requirement of Roman citizenship in order to fill the ranks. This was the first time that non-citizens were enlisted into the Legions on such a large scale, causing quite a bit of grumbling among the men. Antonius was offering every man citizenship at the end of their enlistment, which was a powerful enticement as far as we were concerned, but we Romans also believe strongly in the sanctity of our traditions and customs. Despite these men being Roman-trained, the fact that they were not Romans was never far from any man’s mind. Adding in their unblooded status, it was an open question as to how these Legions would perform. My Centurions were all veterans of long-standing, most of them having been at least in the ranks at Pharsalus when our veterans, whittled down to slightly less than half our numbers, had routed a far more numerous army. In our minds, one truly Roman veteran Legionary, blooded and tested in battle, was worth five or ten men from the East, no matter what their training. The thought that Octavian’s army, or at least the portion which he had shipped over with, was composed almost entirely of such veterans was sobering to all of us.
“So what do we do?”
I did not see who asked the question although I recognized the voice as belonging to Plautius, the Princeps Posterior of the Fifth Cohort. I had been dreading this question, knowing that I had to provide more of an answer than I was given.
“We wait for the general to finalize his plans, which he's working on as we speak.”
“Which means we sit here with our thumbs up our asses and let Octavian fortify his position and do nothing about it,” someone whispered.
I do not know if I was meant to overhear or not, but it was something I could not let pass.
“Tacete,” I roared suddenly, gratified to see men jump, blinking in surprise. “I don’t know who said that, but you’re lucky, because I'd break your bones, both for talking out of turn and for being blatantly disrespectful to your commanding general.” I lowered my voice to a menacing growl as I finished. “And if I hear one more word like that, I'll hurt somebody.”
With my duty done, in the event that one of my men was working for Antonius, I dismissed them to their duties for the day. I had just lied to my Centurions, the first time I had ever done so, at least to this degree. In the past I had lied more by omission than directly, choosing not to tell them all of the information that I had, but I did not and do not believe that this is wrong. Sometimes it is in the best interests of the men you are leading that they not know all of the details of their situation, but this time I had just fabricated something out of the air, since there was no planning of any sort going on in the Praetorium of Antonius and Cleopatra.
Octavian took advantage of our period of inactivity, or paralysis would perhaps be a better description, to fortify and improve his position outside Toryne. To protect his ships in the unprotected bay, he constructed a breakwater extending from the shore out several hundred paces. In addition, he created a double set of entrenchments similar to ours, leading from the camp on the hilltop down to the water. During this time, the Senators and others of similar rank were allowed to pass back and forth between the two camps, something which both Antonius and Octavian allowed, mystifying me completely.
“It’s for us,” was the way Scribonius explained it. “Octavian knows that we'll hear about all that they're doing and how well prepared they are for a fight.”
“I can see why Octavian would want that,” I agreed. “But why would Antonius allow it? Our morale’s for cac; half of the Legions here barely know which end of the sword to hold, and the Centurions are unhappy.”
“How many Senators do you think can look at us and see those things? Out of this current crop, there aren’t many left of Caesar’s men. Oh, most of them have at least been under the leather for a campaign season, I'll grant you that, but how long ago was that?”
I mulled over what Scribonius said. I did not like it, but I knew that what he was saying was most likely true. Scribonius was not finished, however.
“And as ignorant as they might be, do you think Antonius is any better? He's either ignoring the true state of this army, or Cleopatra has indeed slipped him some potion or performed some magic that makes him blind to what's really going on.”
When Scribonius was like this, there was no sense in trying to stop him. I could tell that this agitation had been building up inside him for some time and now he was letting it out before he burst. I was just thankful that we were in the privacy of my tent, though I was somewhat worried that our voices would carry.
“No,” he finished. “Those men come and go because both of them think it’s in their best interests to let them and neither of them are blind to the fact that there are friends and relatives on both sides of this fight. No matter who wins, Rome has to keep going and those are the men that run Rome. As powerful as Octavian and Antonius might be, they can’t afford to alienate them.”
As it turned out, the Senators turned out to be as effective as any of our scouts in relaying not just information on enemy dispositions and numbers, but in the exchange of messages between the two generals. It was not long before word leaked out that Octavian had sent Antonius a letter, offering to meet in battle five days later, at a spot mutually agreed upon. Antonius ignored the letter, leading to a huge argument between him and Ah
enobarbus, who emphatically urged him to accept the challenge and end the struggle once and for all. Feelings had been growing tense between our most competent general and the royal couple for some time, the strain clear to see at every briefing. With the camp and defenses constructed and the presence of a nearby enemy curtailing training outside the walls, there was little for the men to do as they waited for Antonius to announce his plans. Days passed with men listlessly playing at dice or tables, not even having the interest or energy to fight over disputed throws. The desertion problem spread to the crews of the ships, with rowers slipping away at seemingly every opportunity, so that Antonius was forced to start pressing local fishermen into service on the benches. For my part, I waited for the message from Octavian, and worried about Miriam and Iras.
Days dragged into weeks, the seasons changing from spring to summer, the heat rising every day, increasing the lethargy of the army. Then, the defections of the higher-ranking men who were still with Antonius began in earnest. The numbers of the Senators who once came flocking to Alexandria with Ahenobarbus and Sosius the year before now reversed direction, heading back to Octavian, all of them with the same complaint: Cleopatra. And it was not just Senators; Legates began leaving as well and none of them were stopped by Antonius, despite Cleopatra’s furious demands that these men be punished. The defections were clear to see at every morning briefing, with more empty stools almost every day. Antonius had long ceased bothering to show up, letting Ahenobarbus conduct the briefings as the ranking officer. Then, Ahenobarbus took ill, coming down with the fever that was sweeping the camp. The 10th had an average of one man per tent on the sick list, most of them from fever, although there were a fair number of men ill from other reasons. As bad as it was with the 10th, we were still better off than most of the other Legions, particularly those filled with the Eastern tiros, who seemed to be more susceptible to illness for some reason. It was something I had noticed throughout my career in the army; Legions filled with new men usually had a higher rate of sickness early in their enlistments than veterans did, though I do not know why. Canidius was now the ranking general conducting the briefings and for some reason he had managed to stay, if not in her good graces, at least sufficiently out of range of Cleopatra’s wrath.