‘Majesty, my family are innocent. I beg you to spare them! For the sake of all the years I have served you, and your father before you.’
‘All of which have been rendered meaningless by your treachery. Your family must perish with you. I will not leave one child alive who might one day seek revenge for his father. In any case, treachery is in your blood, and nits breed lice. All must die.’
‘No!’ Haghrar groaned.
‘Silence!’ Vologases sat back and stroked his jaw as he continued. ‘It is our judgement that you, Haghrar, are guilty of high treason. And you, Tribune Cato, together with your men, are guilty of espionage.’
‘Majesty, my men are merely soldiers,’ Cato protested. ‘They played no part in any spying.’
‘They are Romans, and that is enough reason to sentence them to death. Now be silent, both of you, or I will have your tongues cut out here and now. You have been found guilty of the crimes specified, and you are sentenced to death. In two days’ time, it is the feast of the god Angra Mainyu. Haghrar will be bound to stakes in the great market of Ctesiphon, and there his eyes will be plucked out and his organs cut from his living body and burned as an offering to the god. As for Tribune Cato, you and your men are not worthy of such a sacrifice. You will die separately when I have decided on the nature of your execution. Guards, take them to the cells!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
General Corbulo regarded the two officers standing in front of his campaign desk with icy disdain. Rain drummed on the roof of the goatskin tent, and one side bulged where the wind was blowing in from the east. In front of him lay waxed tablets bearing the reports prepared by the two men concerning the ambush of the baggage train. They had made oral reports to him after reaching the army’s camp outside Thapsis, and Corbulo had since spoken to a number of other officers and men from the Syrian cohort, the Macedonian squadron and the surviving wagon drivers in an effort to understand what had taken place. He had demanded written accounts from the two senior officers involved so that they would be available for him to use in evidence if he was called to account for the incident on returning to Rome.
He had summoned Macro and Orfitus to headquarters to inform them of his conclusions and to apportion blame for the disaster. And disaster it was, Corbulo reflected. The entire siege train had been destroyed, and half of the baggage train. The situation had been made still worse by the drivers of the surviving wagons throwing supplies from the vehicles in order to lighten them while making their escape. As for the Syrian auxiliaries escorting the train, one century had been all but annihilated and the others had lost another sixty men between them. With those still sick or recovering from wounds, the cohort had lost a third of its strength.
He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t imagine that I will have to labour the full extent of the unfortunate consequences of the attack on the baggage train. Suffice to say that without siege weapons, I will be forced to maintain the column outside Thapsis until further weapons can be constructed or procured, and that may set us back some months. Thanks to the rocky ground, it is not possible to dig mines under the enemy’s walls, and any frontal assault has little chance of success and would cost far too many lives in any case. I cannot afford to lose men here that I will need if I take the war to Parthia in the spring. So we are stuck here until I have fresh siege weapons to breach the defences. And the responsibility for this lamentable situation lies with you, Prefect Orfitus. First, you should not have trusted this man Thermon. He may have seemed like one of us, but events proved otherwise. You showed a lack of judgement in accepting his word.’
‘I was wary of him at first, sir, but there was a ford just like he said, so I had reason to trust him.’
‘I’m speaking here, Prefect. Do not interrupt me again, or speak until given express permission.’
‘Yes, sir, but I—’
Corbulo shot him a dark look. ‘I will not warn you again.’
Orfitus nodded meekly as his superior continued. ‘If the man who calls himself Thermon is captured, he will suffer death for betraying us to the enemy. Second, you failed to ascertain that the ford in question could be safely crossed by wagons at the time when Thermon told you otherwise. Your orders were to rejoin the column as quickly and directly as possible. Instead, you permitted Thermon to lure you deeper into rebel-held territory. This caused you to walk into the trap set for you by the rebels. Third, you failed to discharge your primary duty to protect the siege and baggage trains. By leaving the wagons under the protection of just one century while you took your cohort off on some adventure, you placed vital supplies and equipment in danger. We know how that worked out. Do you have anything to say in your defence?’
Orfitus swallowed nervously before he replied. ‘Sir, I saw an opportunity to strike a major blow at the enemy. If we had managed to surround the camp and trap the rebels inside, we would have won a significant victory. Using my judgement, I took the initiative to take my men forward to attack the enemy camp.’
‘Events have demonstrated that your judgement isn’t worth the cheap wax your report is written on. As for initiative, it is my belief that you were motivated solely by the prospect of personal glory. In any case, the camp was simply used as bait to lure you away from the wagons. There was no significant victory to be had. Was there?’
‘No, sir,’ Orfitus replied meekly.
‘No, sir,’ Corbulo mimicked. He took a deep breath and exhaled impatiently through his nose before resuming in an authoritative tone, ‘Prefect Orfitus, it is my finding that you imperilled the men placed under your command, as well as supplies and equipment vital to the army’s performance in the present campaign. I also find that you exceeded your orders. Were it not for Centurion Macro’s statement that you performed good service under him after he had taken command, and showed courage by fighting in the front line of your cohort, I would have no hesitation in stripping you of your command and dismissing you from the army. Courage and discipline are the two pillars upon which the success of the Roman military is built. You have proven yourself in one of those qualities and failed abjectly in the other, and compounded your failing by neglecting to exercise sound judgement.
‘As you know, according to tradition, the failure of a unit to carry out its orders is the failure of all the men in that unit. For that reason, you and your cohort will be denied the shelter of the camp and will sleep in the open, without tents. You will also be denied any rations save barley. Your punishment will endure for a period of four months. The Fourth Syrian Cohort is to quit the camp immediately. Any of its men, including the wounded, found here after midday will be subject to death by stoning. Dismissed!’
Orfitus stiffened, saluted and then hesitated as if he was about to speak. He thought better of it, however, and turned quickly to march out of the general’s tent.
Corbulo watched him go, and then turned his attention to Macro, who had been standing at ease throughout the humiliation of the prefect. ‘Do you think my punishment of Orfitus and his men is too severe, Centurion?’
‘It’s not for me to say, sir. That’s your job.’
‘But you do have an opinion, don’t you?’
‘Of course, sir. But opinions are like arseholes – we’ve all got ’em. That’s why I don’t question your decision. It’s up to the general to give the orders, and once they’re given, that’s the end of it as far as I am concerned.’
‘And that is precisely why you were promoted to the centurionate. But you are also a man, Macro. So out of curiosity, I ask you to indulge me.’
Macro looked at him warily. ‘Is that an order, sir?’
‘Does it have to be?’
‘It would help.’
‘Then yes, it’s an order. Spit it out.’
‘Very well, sir. I think you did the right thing. The prefect deserved it, though it’s a bit hard on his men. They fought well enough, but the centurions didn’t make
any attempt to question his orders. They should have said something. It will be good for the other units to see what happens to those who fuck up. The Syrian lads will be uncomfortable for a few months, but they’ll learn a valuable lesson. It may even be the making of them, and the prefect. That’s what I think, sir.’
Corbulo grinned. ‘Then we are of one mind, Centurion Macro. Of course, we’re still in a right old pickle as far as the siege is concerned. I’ve sent men to scour the province’s arsenals for siege equipment, and requested whatever the governor of Syria can spare me.’
‘Good luck with that, sir. It’s no secret that Quadratus has got it in for you.’
‘Quite. In the meantime, we’ll need to construct what we can from local sources. The difficulty will be making up the iron components. The quartermaster says he can get a forge set up easily enough, but he’ll need ingots and moulds from Tarsus. We’ll also need to start foraging further afield in case there’s any more delay in supplies reaching us. We’ve stripped the area around Thapsis, so we’ll need to send columns out into the hills. I’m putting you in charge of that. As part of your duties as acting camp prefect.’
‘Camp prefect?’ Macro’s eyebrows rose in surprise. The post was awarded to only the most senior and respected of centurions.
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘You’ve proved you’re up to it, Centurion. I am well aware of your record, but I reserve judgement until I have direct experience of an officer’s capabilities. You did well to save what you did of the baggage train. This army will need seasoned campaigners like you in the months to come. It’s going to be hard on the men. And I will make sure it is equally hard on the officers.’ The general nodded to himself. ‘This could turn out to be something of a blessing in disguise. The army needs a challenge. It needs discipline. It needs to toughen up for what lies ahead. There’ll be no more toleration of minor infractions or regulations. Kill or cure, eh?’
Macro nodded. ‘Kill or cure, sir.’
The weather began to change quickly as October gave way to November. The rain fell more frequently and the roads and the ground in the camp that had been baked hard a month previously turned into a glutinous morass. Trees were felled in the nearby forests and laboriously transported to provide log corduroys to serve as the main thoroughfares through the camp. As soon as it became clear that the army might be wintering outside Thapsis, the men began to construct more substantial shelters, using whatever materials were left from the ruins of the settlement between the camp and the town, and what could be gleaned from the surrounding landscape. Within days, the makeshift shelters of strips of cloth and leather stretched over hastily cut branches were replaced by stone windbreaks covered by wood shingle tiles held down by pine branches and small rocks. Soon the camp had taken on the appearance of a peasant village, but with a somewhat more ordered layout.
Even though the repairs on the bridge were completed and supply convoys began to reach the camp, the change of season meant that the river was becoming more swollen. The engineers were constantly having to repair further damage and attempt to strengthen the bridge at the same time. The rising waters also meant that the fords the Romans had found were no longer usable, and if the bridge collapsed again, the only alternative supply route would add nearly a hundred miles to any convoy’s journey. Such a diversion caused further complications. Since the route would take the wagons through rebel-held territory, they would need a strong escort, and those men, as well as the drivers and draught animals, would require the wagons to carry their rations, thereby reducing the space for supplies needed by the army camped outside Thapsis. Even as things stood, the worsening weather was delaying supplies reaching the camp. As a result, the men in the camp were forced to go hungry, as rations were cut on the general’s orders. Even Macro’s forage parties were struggling to find enough to make up the shortfall.
The nearest villages and farms had been torched by the rebels before they retreated behind the walls of Thapsis, and the settlements further away from the city had had ample warning of any approaching Romans and had done their best to hide their stocks of food, or remove them, before the Romans arrived. Once in a while, Macro managed to catch the inhabitants by surprise and seize a good haul of grain, cheese, cured meat and even some wine, as well as small herds of goats and the odd pig or cow.
Those locals who failed to escape were manacled and marched back to the camp to labour on the siege works rising up around Thapsis. During daylight hours gangs of captives toiled alongside the Roman soldiers to dig a ditch extending from the main camp around the hill upon which the rebel town had been built. The spoil was heaped up to the side of the ditch and packed down to create a rampart. Sharpened stakes were driven into the top of this to form a palisade, with towers rising up every hundred paces. Two small camps were constructed a quarter of a mile either side of the main camp and garrisoned by a cohort of legionaries.
Just over a month after the arrival of the column, the town was sealed off, and there was no escape from within, nor any hope of relief from without. Now work began on the earthworks, so that the replacement siege weapons could go into action as soon as they arrived. The rebels had already revealed the range their weapons could shoot out to, so Corbulo had issued orders to his engineers to design and start construction of a more powerful catapult that would be able to hurl missiles against the walls from a safe distance.
Accordingly, a fortified enclosure was built in front of the camp, just short of the blackened ruins of the settlement. A stockpile of rocks was piled inside, with men using iron chisels and hammers to give the rocks a roughly standard shape and size.
As soon as the battery’s defences were completed, the first assault trenches were dug, zigzagging round each side of the settlement, thence up the slope towards the town. When the wall was finally breached, the trenches would provide cover for the soldiers to get as close to Thapsis as possible before they rushed into the breach. Despite the rain, the ground was hard to work and the soil was filled with rocks and boulders that had to be dragged away or broken up. As the trenches climbed closer to the walls, the rebels’ catapults unleashed occasional volleys of missiles to harass the work parties, but few shots ever landed in the trenches and there were no casualties.
When night drew in, the temperature dropped close to freezing and those on sentry duty were obliged to keep moving in an attempt to stave off the cold and stay awake. The general’s decision to enforce strict discipline had been made known to everyone in the ranks, and the men knew that if they were discovered asleep on duty, they would face execution at the hands of their comrades according to regulations. So far there had been no executions, Macro reflected as he made the rounds of the camp one night, checking that the sentries were making the correct challenges and accepting the correct watchword. True, several men had been given a severe beating for minor infractions of regulations, such as turning up for morning assembly with incomplete kit, or failure to maintain and clean kit to an acceptable standard, or being outside of the camp without permission. The rest had swiftly learned from such examples and ensured that the offences were not repeated.
What did concern Macro was the mood of the men. There were always grumblers in the ranks, but their presence was generally leavened by the good humour of their comrades. Now, though, there was a strained atmosphere in the camp. He noticed that the men fell silent whenever officers were present, and the usual banter he enjoyed with the rankers had gone. Instead, men regarded his approach warily and did not meet his eye unless he addressed them directly. He knew from experience that prolonged hunger and cold had a bad effect on morale, but the iron discipline imposed by the general was adding to the sour atmosphere. Macro was no longer certain that Corbulo’s efforts to toughen up the men were bearing fruit. Good discipline was one thing, but it was supposed to build confidence, not fear and resentment.
He reached one of the watchtowers on the side of the camp over
looking the Syrian cohort and climbed the steps. The sentry was awake, and after a brief challenge and watchword, Macro leaned on the timber rail of the tower and gazed out over the ditch. Unlike those in the camp, the Syrians had been refused permission to erect shelters and were forced to continue sleeping in the open. Five men had already died from exposure to the increasingly harsh weather, and more would be lost as winter set in. Fires flickered across the bare patch of ground on which they were eking out their punishment, and men clustered around them for warmth against the biting wind sweeping down from the mountains to the north. Macro spared them a moment’s pity. They were unfortunate to have been punished for what was largely the fault of Prefect Orfitus, but their suffering served as a stark warning to the men of the other units of the fate that awaited those who failed in their duty.
A sudden outburst of shouting from the heart of the camp drew his attention, and he turned away and crossed to the other side of the tower. There were pools of light around the campfires and the braziers burning close to the headquarters huts. By their glow he could see a small group of men milling around close to the quartermaster’s stores. As he watched, the crowd parted to reveal two men rolling on the ground, fighting. Others flew at each other.
‘Oh shit . . .’
Macro hurried down the ladder and ran towards the confrontation as fast as he could. As he approached, he could clearly hear the angry shouts carrying across the camp. Rounding a line of shelters, he saw the seething mob ahead of him, dark against the glow of the braziers. He thrust his way through the loose cluster of men at the rear of the throng.
‘Make a hole there!’ he bellowed. ‘Officer coming through. Move yourselves!’
Some men looked back and hurriedly pulled aside as they caught sight of the crest on his helmet. Others responded more slowly, as if defying him, and Macro thrust them out of his path.
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