‘You can put in an appearance now.’
Fronto frowned and turned in time to see Galronus and one of his riders emerge from behind a small stand of maple and scrub bushes. Their horses were exhausted, clearly, and both riders looked tired and worn. Galronus threw up a half-hearted salute and reined in next to the consul.
‘What news?’ Caesar said
‘Estimates of their numbers are more or less accurate, Caesar,’ the Remi nobleman said. ‘Twenty thousand or thereabouts, including more than a thousand horse.’
‘Are they, perchance, showing any faint signs of withdrawal?’
Galronus shook his head. ‘Far from it. I’d say that they are entrenching with every expectation that they are here to stay.’
Caesar turned to the others. ‘As we suspected. Duplicity abounds. The question is what they are attempting to buy time for.’
‘I think that is clear, Caesar,’ Galronus said. ‘Their army occupies a peak close to the city. It would appear that this hill is the site of some ancient fortress. It could be extremely defensible, but the walls and ramparts have long since eroded and tumbled down. The enemy are currently in the process of fortifying the place, building strong walls and digging new ditches.’
‘Ah,’ Caesar said with a nod. ‘This explains their attempts to delay the inevitable. They seek adequate time to construct their defences.’
‘Why use a ruined fortress then?’ Brutus muttered. ‘Why not occupy one of the strong fortresses that needs no work? Jove knows but we’ve passed enough of them.’
‘Logistics,’ Caesar replied. ‘None of the fortresses we’ve seen would be of sufficient size to contain an army of twenty thousand with horse and supplies. It may be that Pharnaces has simply made the best of an unacceptable selection. Better to house his army in one strong position and be forced to fortify it than to split his men into extant fortresses. Now we know for what he is buying time. To prepare defences against us.’
‘And we’ve halted the army?’ Brutus prompted.
‘Temporarily,’ Caesar smiled. ‘Pharnaces now thinks he has delayed us, and that we will encamp or retreat and grant him adequate time to turn the region into a great redoubt against us. And some might. Some might even believe his vows. But note that the ambassador claimed an accord between Rome and Pontus, suggesting that the king continues to lay claim to the land, and moreover he suggested we might be equals. He believes we might leave. He is wrong, but it is important that he does not realise as much for as long as possible. We will allow two hours for the enemy riders to depart. As soon as our scouts signal that the embassy is gone, the army will begin to march once more. Better still, we will now march at speed. Leave the baggage train behind. Every man carries three days of supplies and the cavalry the spare equipment. The slaves following on can port what they can manage. We move at double time. Pharnaces believes us held here, and will be in disarray when the army arrives unexpectedly.’
Fronto grinned. The poor Bosporan bastard had no idea what was coming.
Chapter Twenty Five
Zela, August 2nd 47 BC
‘No movement in evidence?’ Caesar said.
Galronus shook his head. ‘Their preparations continue with desperate speed now that they know we are coming, but they show no sign of retreat.’
‘And why would they?’ Cassius sighed. ‘Outnumbering us two to one and in a position of strength.’
Fronto nodded. The army had marched at speed on Zela, scouts ranging ahead. They had found the ancient city, fortified on its hill, rising in the centre of a wide plain amid the mountains, but that was not where Pharnaces would be found. Galronus and his riders had given the king’s position as a hill fortress some three miles north of the city, approachable only along a narrow, winding valley.
The Roman army had arrived late the previous evening and had encamped close to the city. Word could no longer be kept from the enemy of their approach, for clearly Pharnaces would have eyes and ears around the city, watching the Romans arrive unexpectedly and at speed. At least Caesar’s army had managed to close to three miles unanticipated, which would send the edge of panic through the enemy. The large remaining question, of course, was how to deal with the final approach.
That question had raised great debate in the headquarters during the evening. Galronus had not been part of it, for he and his best riders spent the hours of darkness riding around the locale, keeping a watch on the king’s fortifications, and attempting to identify any other approach.
That had been Brutus’ favoured tactic: a surprise assault via some unexpected and unidentified secondary approach, such as the Persians had achieved at Thermopylae, flanking Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans. Unfortunately, try as they might, Galronus and his men had been unable to find anything more useful than treacherous shepherd’s paths that would allow only for very slow and painful going, which could easily be spotted and blocked by the enemy. Inadequate by far for a legion.
That approach had failed.
Cassius had been in favour of simply digging in at Zela and occupying the plain, fortifying the approach to the valley along which the king’s army lay. It was a long-term tactical approach, and a very traditional one. The enemy would be trapped in poor mountainous territory, their access to good supplies and forage cut off. It was, in truth, probably the most sensible notion. But it would also likely carry them into a siege through the inhospitable months. Caesar had cited such problems as the unknown territory, mountain winters and the distance from Roman supply routes as reasons for setting this plan aside. The undertone that everyone understood was that Caesar could not personally afford to dally over winter, no matter the cost. Rome was slipping further from his control every day he campaigned in the east, his mistress languished in Alexandria, closing on giving birth to a potential heir of the Julii, and last but far from least, Cato, Scipio, Labienus and the others continued to gain strength against him in Africa.
No, Fronto knew the general could not stay long enough to effect a siege. He needed to end this.
There was only one way, then. They had to march up that narrow valley and risk everything, deploying in the ground between peaks where the king had fortified. And no officer present liked those odds. It had ‘trap’ or ‘ambush’ written all over it.
‘And you’ve found nothing along the valley?’ the general asked, not for the first time.
‘The valley appears to be clear, Consul,’ Galronus replied wearily, now approaching his second day without sleep. ‘Though it should be noted that the sides are steep, there are woodlands, scree slopes and rocky outcroppings – places where cavalry simply cannot go. We cannot say for certain that nothing awaits you, just that nothing waits where the cavalry can see.’
Caesar nodded. They had also sent out native scouts on foot, men from Deiotarus’ army, and nothing had been spotted, but then it had been night-time, after all.
‘Then, all being well, our path is clear. We move at speed through the valley and fortify our position once we face the enemy.’
‘And if the enemy do have traps and ambushes in place along that valley?’ Cassius asked.
‘We are in the hands of the gods, Cassius.’
The general waved over the man in the white robe. ‘What have you seen, Meno,’ he asked the man.
The augur stretched his hands wide, theatrically. ‘Mighty Caesar, the omens are good. I have seen in the first strains of dawn light this morning four eagles, which, being the number of legions’ eagles with this army, shows the favour of Jove, Minerva and Mars. The largest eagle soared north into that same valley, and within moments put up a flock of lesser birds, returning with one of them in its talons. The gods are with us.’
Caesar straightened. He looked down from the tribunal rock on which they stood with its unparalleled view of city, plain and mountain pass ahead, moonlight still giving the world a silvery glow with dawn yet an hour or two away. The better part of ten thousand soldiers stood in ordered columns below, waiting for th
e signal, cavalry off to the side – those who were not still out scouting – and the slaves drawn from the baggage train gathered in clusters, weighed down with the kit they bore. Everyone waited, silent and tense, including the officers.
Caesar stepped to the edge of the rise, reached up with his left hand and pulled his white cloak up over his head so that the folds hung like a hood, the usual crimson cloak bundled ready on his horse close by. Suitably attired, he waited as four men brought a heavy altar before him, grunting under the weight, while others set a brazier nearby, producing a white towel and a bowl of water.
Once everything was in position, Caesar raised his hand. A flautist began to play an oddly haunting melody nearby. The consul then washed his hands in the bowl, drying them on the towel before drawing the ornate silver-hilted pugio at his side. Hirtius poured a little wine into the brazier, to which Cassius added incense, the heady smoke that rose with a loud hiss strange and otherworldly.
‘Jupiter, greatest and best,’ Caesar intoned loudly, ‘accept this sacrifice and grant your sons swift victory this day, that we might restore to Rome that which has been taken, and chastise the thief-king and his horde.’
As he finished, two slaves appeared, dressed in pristine white and carrying a lamb draped with red ribbons and gold phalerae. Caesar held out his free hand, and the small jug of wine was handed over. As the lamb, which seemed oddly calm, dazed even, was laid on the altar, Caesar anointed it with a few drops of wine on the head.
Cassius stepped forwards and swiftly removed the ribbons and medals, leaving a quiet, still, white lamb. Fronto watched as the knife plunged down, and the lamb briefly cried out and struggled, too late to do much else. The two slaves came to hold it still as Caesar went to work, blood running up his arms to the elbows and coating his ornate blade as he continued to intone his prayers, removing the meat for the god and pushing it onto the stick held up by Hirtius. This was then placed in the brazier, an offering for Jupiter. The rest of the animal, the god appeased, was divided up and plated for meals.
There would be no sacrificial banquet, of course – there rarely was with Caesar’s rituals, for there was always a battle to fight – so the remains of the lamb would go to worthies in the city, helping tie them to Rome once more. As everything was taken away, Caesar handed his knife to a slave to clean, and washed his hands once more, drying them.
The crowds below remained silent. The auguries were good, and Caesar had invoked the greatest god of Rome, sacrificing to him, and nothing had gone amiss. No one could now doubt their success.
Dry and clean once more, Caesar removed the white cloak, lowering his makeshift hood, and a slave brought forth his red cloak and fastened it about him. Fronto couldn’t help but notice the symbolism of pure white to blood red. The consul held his hands up to the waiting legions.
‘Men of Rome, the gods are with us. Beyond the valley lies a man who has stolen land from the republic and tortured and murdered our people with impunity. We go now with divine blessings to teach him a lesson. Are you with me?’
The answer came in a roar that rose like a wave, dipped and crested at least three times as the legions of Rome assembled before them gave their approval to their general and the cause. Even Cassius, usually dour in the consul’s company, seemed to be caught up in the fervour. Fronto smiled. Days like this were why a man knotted a general’s belt around his middle, or drew his sword at all.
‘Give the order,’ Caesar said finally to the men around him. ‘Everyone knows their deployment and order of march, the cavalry have scouted the terrain at the far end of the valley, and all is in place. There are only three miles to cover. The men can move at double time, with support to follow, lightest kit possible. Have the slaves got everything?’
Hirtius nodded. ‘An entire camp on the backs of men, sir. Remarkable.’
Brutus turned a furrowed brow on the general. ‘Sir, at double speed and with light kit, the men will be easy targets. We might have scouted as much as possible, but if Pharnaces does have traps and ambushes waiting for us in the valley, then this battle might be over before it’s begun. We should move steadily and alert, clearing out each woodland as we pass, and checking every outcrop.’
Caesar nodded. ‘That is most certainly what a general would usually do, and Pharnaces knows that. He therefore must know that any small ambushes he has left will come to naught. No, the valley is clear. The gods have confirmed it for us. And Pharnaces will be expecting a slow and careful approach. But just as we force-marched here and took him by surprise, so we shall do the same once more. We shall emerge before his forces long before he anticipates us, and at dawn, when he will only just be expecting us to break camp.’
‘Sir?’
‘Pharnaces is an impulsive man. He may have men of moderation in his army, but unlike the forces of Rome, his army is that of one man alone, a sole ruler with absolute power. It is my belief that when confronted with something so unexpected, he will react instinctively, without thought for strategy and care. That, Brutus, is where our advantage lies, and why the disparity in numbers will make no difference today. We’ve come this far and we can all but see the enemy waiting. I will be damned if we do not defeat them this day. Onward.’
As Caesar turned and marched towards his horse, the signals went up in the valley, whistles and cornua blaring and shrieking. The legions began to move towards that narrow defile in the pre-dawn gloom.
Fronto’s hand went to the figurine of Fortuna at his neck. Prayers to Jupiter notwithstanding, he felt that in the circumstances luck was what they needed.
Let that valley be clear.
* * *
Fronto rode Bucephalus along the last stretch of the valley. They had traversed two miles in minimal time, marching at impressive speed. Despite the fears of a number of the officers, no traps or ambushes had been sprung along the snaking, narrow valley. Now, the army was moving with officer-driven restraint, the men straining at the leash and wanting to be out into the plain and finally at the enemy. The gods were truly with them, and every man was sure of it.
As the mackerel streaks of dawn began to lace themselves through the high, dark, indigo cloud, they reached their destination. The lead elements of the army, consisting of Calvinus’ Thirty Sixth Legion, rounded the last corner of the valley, scouts ahead waving the all clear, and Fronto, along with several of the other senior officers, emerged into the new valley with them.
The defile they had left had been tight and winding, spacious enough only for a column twelve men wide much of the time, and switching this way and that, following a dry seasonal river bed. What that defile opened into was impressive in its dimensions. A wide vale, almost a mile across and some four miles long, filled with good arable land and dotted with native farmsteads, lay hemmed in by moors and peaks. Pharnaces’ army was visible the moment they rounded the last turn, sitting on a rise at the far side of the valley. The huge, sprawling fortress that awaited them was instantly daunting, powerful ramparts atop high slopes, filled with fervent warriors.
Fronto was reminded unpleasantly of Gergovia, one of few occasions during the Gaulish campaign when the legions had been roundly battered and defeated by the tribes. The slope and the situation was reminiscent. He prayed that Caesar’s divine entreaty had been enough, and that his own dear lady of luck would shelter them through the day.
The riders, including the figure of Galronus, who had scouted ahead, were now sitting upon the slope to the left of the valley’s entrance, of a height with the enemy camp, and facing it over a distance of perhaps three quarters of a mile.
In response to their signals, the legions began to move into position. Along with the staff officers, Fronto climbed the slope to meet with Galronus and watch the army settle around them. The camp they were creating upon this slope was not intended as a massive defence from which to hold off an aggressive enemy. Caesar had avowed his intent to see this fight finished today, and would countenance no delay; certainly no siege. But, despite that, P
harnaces was an unknown quantity, and the legions’ approach would place them in instant danger. Thus they would deploy immediately into a makeshift fortification, while the next move was considered.
The problem had been that they could hardly afford the time to construct a camp. A fortification large enough to hold this number of men would take at least two hours, during which time they would be at risk of attack from a clever enemy. Moreover, digging ditches and raising ramparts would tire legionaries who were clearly expected to win a battle today against overwhelming odds, and that they could scant risk.
Fronto watched Caesar’s innovative solution at work.
The men of the Thirty Sixth, weighed down with only shields and armour, filed to the left hand, western, end of the rise, and formed up ready for a fight. Behind them, Deiotarus’ native legion followed suit, so perfectly a reflection of the Thirty Sixth that they might as well have been Roman themselves, with Calvinus’ other forces falling in next, and the Sixth bringing up the rear on the eastern flank. It was all perfectly organised, and would even now be causing urgent discussion in the enemy camp. Indeed, Fronto could see sudden and widespread movement behind Pharnaces’ ramparts. They would be coming soon, if Pharnaces was half as impulsive as they had been led to believe. While they were still undefended, the rebel king would see his opportunity. Was that what was happening? The entire enemy force preparing to sally forth?
As they stood, watching, the camp began to form around them. The slaves, usually shuffling along as part of the lengthy baggage train under the watchful eye of a few veteran centuries, had instead moved forwards behind the legions, each man carrying a burden equal to the weight of the legionaries’ own gear.
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