Marching With Caesar-Rise of Augustus

by R. W. Peake

Thinking quickly, I made a decision that I was sure would be met with protests.

  “We’re going to attack.”

  I was not a little surprised when none of the others demurred or made any complaint, instead just pointing the noses of their horses down the slope, which we descended much more quickly than we had gone up. It was also noisier and more dangerous, at least for Balbus and Novanus, who had to worry about dodging rocks that the hooves of Scribonius, his spare horse, and my mount dislodged, yet we made it down safely. We put our horses into a gallop, slowing only to splash across the river before pounding up the steep bank, veering to the left in pursuit of the Moesians.

  What I was counting on was the element of surprise, aided by my rock-solid belief in our superior skill in combat. Perhaps conveniently, I was forgetting that this would be a fight on horseback, but I have no doubt that we would not have done anything differently even if each of us had stopped to think about it. Maxentius had been leading his men on a weaving, erratic course, partly because he was unfamiliar with the terrain, but I knew that eventually he would have to turn back in a northerly direction, because that was where Crassus and the 8th were located. Armed with that knowledge, I led the men on an almost directly northern course, at least where the ground permitted, keeping an eye on the low-hanging cloud of dust that marked the path of the pursuers. If there had been any time to think about what to do, perhaps we would have come up with a better plan. Yet with every passing moment, it became more likely that the Moesians would run Maxentius down, and I am not sure what we could have done differently. Also working in our favor was that our horses were still fresh, while the Moesians had been after Maxentius for some time, although we did not know exactly how long. Ocelus ate up ground with every stride; for a moment, I forgot that we were headed for a fight, instead just reveling in the feeling of power and speed that emanated from my animal. His nostrils were fully dilated, but he had not even begun to work up a sweat, the drumming of his hooves competing with the shrieking of the wind in my ears as we raced along. I was clinging to the reins for all that I was worth, feeling like a boy again, exhilarated and afraid all at the same time, watching for any holes or other obstacles that would be gone before my eye could register it enough to make an adjustment to his track. The others were following closely behind, their spare mounts trailing behind them, the gap steadily closing. Bursting through a gap in some trees, I saw the Moesians perhaps 200 paces away as we came up on their right flank. So intent were they on running down Maxentius, not one of them even glanced in our direction. I did not need to urge Ocelus on; seeing the Moesians, he seemed to sense what I wanted and opened his stride even more, stretching his neck out, almost literally flying over the ground. Taking the risk, I loosened my grip on the reins with my right hand to draw the spatha that Crassus had loaned me.

  “Titus, wait!” I heard Scribonius yell.

  Turning in the saddle, I saw him waving at me frantically. Sawing on the reins, I slowed Ocelus, who clearly did not like being curbed like this. The Moesians were now pulling away, but as yet, none of them had seen us approaching, though we could not count on that lasting.

  “What is it?” I snapped, angry that Scribonius had slowed us down.

  As usual, he had a reason, and a good one at that.

  “Let’s use the spare horses as a diversion,” he said, quickly explaining what he was thinking. Seeing immediately that it could only help, I agreed. Taking his spare, he tied one end of the bridle to the second spare horse, and that of the second to the third. Once that was done, he wasted no time, reaching out to grab the bridle of one of the horses, then spurring his own, resumed his pursuit of the Moesians. Back at the gallop, he pointed the leading spare horse in a slightly different direction, meaning that if they remained on a straight course, they would run across the front of the Moesians, between the enemy and Maxentius and his men. Releasing the animal’s bridle, he smacked the nearest horse on the rump, which not being burdened with riders, pulled away quickly. There was no guarantee that they would run in the direction we hoped, but horses are herd animals, and the lure of other horses was too strong to ignore. They pounded along straight and true, cutting across the front of the Moesian cavalry. The enemy was no longer at a full gallop, their horses having grown tired, yet neither was Maxentius. On the other hand, we were going full speed very quickly, while as I expected, Ocelus immediately opened a gap on the others. If I was still praying to the gods, or believed that they had not turned their back on me I would say that they had a hand in our attack, because it could not have been timed more perfectly. Just as the spare horses went galloping by, drawing the attention of every Moesian in the group, I held my arm out rigid, aiming for a rider about a third of the way from the rear of the Moesian column.

  “Caesar!”

  Bellowing the name of our old general at the top of my lungs, I was thinking of him and not Octavian, which the others quickly picked up. Just glimpsing the face of my target when he whirled around at the sound of my voice, I could see it was white with shock and surprise as the point of my blade slammed right under his right rib cage. I had never hit a man with my blade going so fast in relation to him, the impact nearly tearing the sword from my gasp and I felt myself slide backwards over the rear of the saddle, flailing to grab the front of it before I flew off my horse. Somehow, I managed to latch on, staying in the saddle and wrenching the blade free before Ocelus and I passed. The other three had each slammed into a man and, in the time it takes to blink, things became a mass of confusion, fear, and anger. Men began shouting in alarm in their tongue, turning their horses to meet this new threat, the momentum of our horses taking us into their very midst. Suddenly surrounded on all sides, I realized that for the first time in my career, this was the time where the edge beat the point. All of our training with the Spanish sword focused on the thrust instead of the slash, but I recognized that trying to skewer men from horseback when they were on the defensive was not an easy task. Instead, I began swinging my blade, slashing left and right, the Moesians jabbing at me with their spears in answer. Twisting and turning, I was just managing to avoid the thrusts of their longer weapons, the thought striking me that we should have been carrying shields. Risking a glance, I saw that Scribonius was in much the same predicament I was in, swinging wildly with the unaccustomed sword, but I was pleased to see that there were men reeling in their saddle or already fallen to the ground around him. Meanwhile, I had scored several blows, and the surprise initially counterbalanced the disparity in numbers, yet that advantage was dissipating with every beat of our heart. It was becoming clear that the Moesian commander had not kept his head about him, dividing his forces to send part of them to take care of the four of us, while continuing his pursuit of Maxentius. Instead, we were now essentially surrounded by the entire force, our only hope now that Maxentius had heard or seen what was happening, turned around, and taken the initiative by making his own attack. Someone struck me a glancing blow from behind, knocking the breath from me, but on this day, I was wearing my old mail shirt so it absorbed most of the blow, yet I knew from experience that some links would need to be replaced. Twisting about just in time, I saw a Moesian with hair and beard the same color as the boy’s who I had killed in the woods, lips twisted in a grimace of fear and hatred, pull his arm back to land another thrust to my unprotected back. Without thinking, I swept my spatha in a backwards stroke, just as he made his thrust. Again, it was either a matter of dumb luck or the gods favor; whatever the case, my blade struck the man’s spear shaft just behind the head of the spear, slicing through it as if it were a twig. I barely felt the impact of my blade striking the shaft of his spear; in fact I had been expecting to meet some resistance and so put my body weight into the stroke, which twisted me almost all the way around until I was lying almost flat on Ocelus’ hindquarters. Before I could pull myself upright, another spear came whistling into the space that I had just occupied. Knocking the shaft upward with my spatha, I sat upright, then jerked Oce
lus around, kicking him in the ribs as I spotted an opening, needing to get out from where I was in the middle of all the Moesians. However, seeing what I intended, one of them jumped his horse into the spot before I could take advantage. Scribonius and Balbus had managed to get side by side, facing in opposite directions so they could watch each other’s backs. Novanus was surrounded in the same manner as I was, except he was too far away for me to get to him to pair up the way Scribonius and Balbus had.

  My arm was growing tired from my continual slashes at any threat, then one of the bolder men pushed closer, trying to grab Ocelus’ bridle. Ocelus, seeing a strange hand come into his field of view, suddenly reared, front hooves flailing out, one of them catching the man square in the forehead, caving in his skull. Flung backward by Ocelus’ sudden movement, it was only at the last instant that I grabbed a handful of his mane to keep from being thrown. The dead man was still upright in his saddle, while his horse, smelling blood, suddenly bolted, riding past me and throwing the man’s body from his back. Using my knees, I pushed Ocelus around to follow the fleeing horse, and we managed to push past the Moesians trying to block our path, albeit because I cut one man’s face in two. With a bit of breathing room, I wheeled about, looking for Scribonius and Balbus. Just then, I heard another shout, but this one was a welcome one.

  “Magnus!”

  I did not know what had taken them so long, but when Maxentius and his men finally did attack, it was with devastating effect. Drawn by the sound of their battle cry, I watched them hurtle into the mass of Moesian horsemen on the opposite side from where we had made our own attack. Men and horses screamed in panic and pain when Maxentius and the others slammed into their midst, slashing and cutting their way towards us. Renewing my own attack, I kicked Ocelus in the ribs. Having drawn blood on his own account, he needed no urging. This time, I headed to help Novanus, who had just been struck a blow that caused him to reel in the saddle, arriving just in time to keep him from falling, using my free hand to steady him. There was blood running down his face from a cut to his forehead, and he pawed at his eyes to clear them.

  “I’m all right,” he muttered, pulling away from me to charge at the man who I assumed had been the one to strike him.

  Determined not to let him get cut off again, I followed him, choosing a large man wearing a fine suit of armor for my next target. He was intent on closing with Novanus, but at the last moment, either saw or sensed me coming, and with a reflex that would have done a cat proud, managed to wheel his horse, bringing his shield up just in time to meet my blow. I had straightened my arm to make a thrust, using Ocelus’ momentum to drive the blade home, except instead of punching into flesh, the tip hit the shield instead, glancing upward. The force of the blow drove my arm upward, exposing my side; my opponent did not hesitate, except Ocelus chose that moment to rear again, flailing with his hooves and knocking the man’s spear to the side. Coming down, the hard surface of his hoof gouged the shoulder of the Moesian’s mount, in turn causing the other horse to let out a shriek of pain and twist away. The movement was so sudden that it almost unseated his rider and left him exposed, giving me an opportunity to strike the man a blow at the base of his neck. The blade cut deep, almost severing his head, sending a spray of blood into the air, with his head flopping to the side. My last sight of horse and rider was the beast fleeing with his rider slumped over in the saddle, head bouncing grotesquely with the stump of his neck still spurting blood.

  Giving Ocelus a pat on the shoulder, I said, “I don’t know if you did that on purpose, but thank you, boy. You saved my life.”

  In answer, Ocelus tossed his head while I looked for another target. However, the attack by Maxentius had shattered the Moesian cohesion, their men turning to flee instead of fighting. There were a few diehards left, still engaging with Scribonius and Balbus, and Novanus and I rode over. In a few heartbeats, we put a couple in the dirt and the rest to flight. As quickly as it had happened, the fight was over, leaving us panting, with our horses blowing, pawing the earth and hopping about as their nerves settled down from the action. While gathering our wits and catching our breath, Maxentius and his men trotted over. It was only then that I saw that there were six men instead of four. I instantly recognized the extra pair as two of the Evocati that had been sent out together, Libo and Messala their names. Seeing my questioning gaze, Libo explained.

  “We saw Maxentius and the rest being chased by the Moesians, but we didn’t know what to do, so we kept pace with them, waiting to see what happened. When you attacked and they stopped chasing, we joined up with them.”

  While that explained Libo and Messala’s presence, it did not explain what had taken Maxentius so long to make his own attack, but his reason was a valid one.

  “Our horses were blown,” he said, his tone apologetic. “We would have attacked sooner, except our mounts would have foundered. We had to let our spares go during the chase, but it would have taken us just as long to switch out mounts as it did to let the horses rest a bit.”

  That made sense, so I did not hold it against him. Checking on the others, I was relieved to see that there were only minor wounds, the most serious being Novanus, who had taken a spear to his lower left side, just above the hip. The wound was not deep, but it was a nasty gash and we helped him remove his mail shirt, which I examined closely, looking for missing links. There is always a danger, even with a minor wound, that pieces of a man’s tunic or links from his mail shirt are driven into the wound. If that happens and they are not removed, that man is in for an ugly, lingering death. To my dismay, I saw that there was a section of links missing, but we did not have time to try to fish about in his wound to find them or search the ground to see if they had fallen.

  “We have to get moving. Those Moesians are likely to be coming back, either to get their dead or to have another go at us.”

  There were now ten of us and we had inflicted more than a dozen casualties on the Moesians, making the odds much better, but that was no reason to tarry. Once Novanus was bound up, we headed north, back to the safety of the Legion, and to report to Crassus on what we had found.

  As we rode, I asked Maxentius, “Magnus?”

  He instantly knew what I was talking about, giving a short laugh.

  “It was all I could think of, and Plautus and I started with Pompey’s 1st. I heard you use Caesar’s name when you charged, so I decided to use that of Magnus.”

  “I was thinking of young Caesar when I did it,” I said.

  “No you weren’t,” he replied genially. “You were calling on Divus Julius. That’s all right. Pompey Magnus would have been a god too, but he lost, so he isn’t.”

  “Just be careful using his name when we’re around the rest of the Legion,” I warned.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve lived a long time by using my head. I won’t do anything stupid.”

  And he did not; I never heard him mention Pompey’s name again.

  We did not reach the Legion until after dark, only finding the camp because we spotted the torches on the ramparts from a distance. Novanus was reeling in the saddle, but he was a tough bastard and made no complaints, although I know every mile we traveled, he must have been in agony. We gave the watchword when we got within hailing distance, and only then were we permitted into the camp, where I immediately headed to the Praetorium while the rest of the men headed to their quarters except Novanus, who went to the hospital tent. Crassus was still awake, and I was relieved to hear from him that all of the other Evocati had made it back safely. I told him briefly what we had learned and showed him on the crude map the relative position of the stronghold we had found.

  “And you think that Runo’s entire army is there?” he asked.

  “The place is big enough to hold that many,” I told him. “But we didn’t actually see them all enter the place.”

  “We’ll just have to find out,” he said confidently. “Can we reach this by tomorrow, given the terrain we have to cross?”

  I thought
for a moment.

  “Since it’s too late to try and head them off, we can take the same route they did and be there by late afternoon. If you want to take the shorter route, we might get there earlier, but it will be harder on the men and they will need time to recover.”

  He listened, then made a decision.

  “We’ll take the short route. The men need a good, hard march, and if we show up sooner than they expect, it will hurt their morale.”

  I did not argue, since there was sense in what he said, despite knowing that the men would not feel the same way, but such is the nature of the army. Decisions are made every day that the men do not like, which they obey nonetheless, and in the long run, it is better for them. Hard marching makes hard men, and it is men of iron that make up the Legions, as the Moesians were about to discover. We talked a bit more about what I had seen of the defenses and the nature of the fort, but I made it clear that my examination had been anything but thorough.

  “Once we make camp tomorrow, we’ll do an inspection and find a weak point. We always do.”

  With these matters settled, I took my leave to head for a bath and a scraping to get the sweat and grime of battle off of me. Diocles had taken Ocelus to be rubbed down, fed, and watered, but before I took care of myself, I stopped by his stable with an apple to thank him for saving me.

  “You did well today,” I murmured to him as he munched on his treat. “I never thought I'd go into battle on horseback, but I’m glad that it’s you carrying me.”

  He nickered softly in answer, then I bade him good night. With my bath done, I felt almost as good as new, except that I was extremely sore, with a huge bruise on my back where the blow had struck but not penetrated my mail. I wondered idly whether my new cuirass would have stopped the thrust, even if I had no real intention of finding out. Thinking about this reminded me that I needed to get my mail shirt repaired, so before I went to my tent I took it to the armorer, rousing the duty immunes from his cot to drop it off. I gave him a gold denarius to ensure that it would be ready for me to pick up before we went into battle again, which meant I would use the cuirass in the meantime. My last task was to check on Novatus, but the physicians were still working on him so I could not see him, though I could hear him yelling plainly enough. Finally, I retired to my quarters, only to find Scribonius and Balbus waiting for me, along with a cup of wine.