Marching With Caesar-Rise of Augustus

by R. W. Peake

  My presence was demanded by Crassus, while the senior Tribunes were left in the outer office; Claudius seething with anger at the slight, with Cornelius just looked relieved. Ignoring the poisonous stare of the senior Tribune, I joined Crassus, who was seated behind his desk. He motioned to me to stand behind him before telling his clerk to let the Moesians, who had been held outside the gates, to enter and come to the Praetorium under escort.

  “Now we’ll see how much power Runo has,” Crassus commented while we waited.

  I wondered what he had in mind, deciding to wait and see rather than ask. A few moments later, we heard a commotion outside, followed by the clerk slapping the leather flap that served as a door. Crassus turned to give me a grin, then sat and did nothing for several moments.

  The clerk obviously had been let in on what Crassus wanted to do because he did not knock again, meaning that the delegation was kept waiting for some time before Crassus finally barked, “Enter.”

  Pretending to read a scroll on his desk that only I could see was blank, he ignored the men as they filed in. They were dressed in a manner that marked them as men of the upper classes of their society, with richly embroidered tunics, covered by cloaks of a variety of colors. They were all bearded, while some had their hair bound up in a knot that reminded me of the Suebi. Others simply had their hair greased to hang loosely over their shoulders. Some were warriors, others were clearly merchants, and they were all nervous approaching Crassus at his desk. Crassus did not look up, continuing to study the blank scroll, making it hard for me to keep a straight face, but I did my best to look imposing, glaring at the Moesians. Some of them dared to meet my gaze, but most looked away immediately. I wondered if any of them knew that I had slain a few of their number just a couple days before. One Moesian in particular stared at me with undisguised hatred, furthering my suspicion that he had been present the other day. Neither of us broke our gaze until the Moesian that had apparently been designated to be the spokesman cleared his throat.

  “Yes? What is it that you want?” Crassus did not bother looking up, his tone abrupt.

  “Governor,” the man began, but Crassus cut him off.

  “I am Legate Proconsul Marcus Licinius Crassus, and you will address me by my proper title.”

  The man’s face reddened, though I could not tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. The man I had locked eyes with made no attempt to hide his anger at Crassus’ words, his lips curling back from his teeth, making a hissing sound as he did so. One of the others elbowed him in the ribs, while the spokesman ignored what was happening behind him.

  “My apologies, Legate Proconsul Crassus.” I was somewhat surprised that the man’s Latin was so good. “My name is Charax, and I am the elder of Naissus, which your troops are in the process of besieging. I have been elected to speak on the behalf of my people in the hopes that we can come to some sort of agreement. We regret that the action of one of our nobles has led us to this moment…..”

  Before Charax could continue, Crassus interrupted him again.

  “Let us not waste each other’s time, shall we? You come to me asking what it will take for me to call off the siege of your town. It is simple. Surrender Runo to face justice…”

  “We will do that,” Charax answered immediately, to which Crassus held up a hand.

  “I was not finished.” His tone was icy. “Surrender Runo, and disarm the men who marched for him immediately.”

  “It will be done,” Charax said, although his mouth tightened a bit, while the others were clearly unhappy.

  “Again, I was not finished,” Crassus snapped, and I could not tell if his anger was feigned or not. “And for the damages incurred to Rome, you will make a payment of two thousand talents.”

  “Two thousand?”

  Charax gasped, but the sound was drowned out by the cries of the other men. In truth, it was an outrageous sum. In that moment, I knew that Crassus was not interested in coming to terms; he just wanted the pretext to continue the siege.

  “We could not possibly produce that sum, Legate, and I believe you know that,” Charax said through clenched teeth.

  “Your financial woes are of no concern to Rome. All that matters to us is that you pay what you owe us for Runo’s predations.”

  “And who is it that decides what we owe to Rome?”

  This came from the man who had been glaring at me, except he spoke in Greek and not Latin.

  “I decide,” Crassus said coldly, answering him in flawless Greek. “For out here, as far as you are concerned, I am Rome, and what I decide is Roman law. That is what it means to have Proconsular authority.”

  “Then you will die beneath our walls,” the hotheaded Moesian shot back, drawing horrified looks and protests from his comrades.

  “Aderbal does not speak for the rest of us,” Charax said quickly, shooting the man a poisonous glance.

  “Then you should not have brought him to this meeting,” Crassus replied. “My conditions stand. Surrender Runo,” he held out a finger, “disarm his men, under our supervision,” holding up a second, then the third, “and a payment of three thousand talents.”

  “Three? But you said two!” Charax wailed.

  “It’s another thousand because of the threat your man Aderbal here made towards me,” Crassus said, making it sound like the most reasonable thing in the world.

  Charax’s shoulders slumped in defeat, at last understanding that this meeting had been a waste.

  “If we don’t have two thousand, then we are hardly likely to have three,” he said dully, but Crassus was unmoved.

  “Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

  They turned to the clerk who had shown them in, and he nodded at the door. For a moment, I thought that they would refuse, while Aderbal looked like he was seriously considering making an attempt to jump across the desk. I realized then the real reason Crassus had wanted me there, and I put my hand on the hilt of my sword, looking the man in the eye as I did so, daring him to make a try. His jaws clenched, clearly furious, but after glaring at me a moment, he turned to stalk out with the others. The clerk shut the door, and I felt the tension slowly drain from my body.

  “I think that went well.” Crassus grinned up at me, but I did not share his happiness.

  “Was there anything they could have done to keep us from taking this town?”

  He looked at me for a moment, studying my face before he replied.

  “No,” he said slowly. “Why? Is that a problem?”

  “Not really. I just would have liked to have known that beforehand.”

  He inclined his head in recognition of what I had said.

  “You’re right. I should have told you. I apologize.”

  “No need to apologize, General,” I said. “I just ask that I be kept informed of your decisions so that we present a united front to the men.”

  “Of course,” he agreed.

  With that, I was dismissed, and I left more troubled than when I had walked in. Despite the fact I did not particularly care whether Marcus Crassus took this town or not, I was afraid that there were others, or at least one other man in Rome, who would care, and would not like it one bit.

  With the question of the Moesian surrender out of the way, work continued on reducing Naissus. Once the trenches were completed, turrets were built along the trenches that ran parallel to the walls, with ballistae and scorpions placed in them. Now that the other Legions were present, not only was the original camp expanded, but two Legions were sent to the other side of the river to cut off the road leading to the town. Naissus was effectively encircled and cut off, making their end inevitable, which meant that the Moesians began to try to break the stranglehold. Their major deficiency was that they were poorly led; Runo showed little imagination, simply sending out sorties of varying strength, with seemingly unclear orders. Rather than try to affect a breakout where mounted men could be sent for help, all of their efforts seemed to be focused on destroying one of the two ramps
at any given time. The only thing they accomplished was whittling down their force a few dozen men at a time, along with giving our men some good experience. The Moesians themselves were brave enough, except they were poorly disciplined, fighting as individuals rather than as a unit. The damage they did to the ramps was minor, usually being repaired by midday of the day after the attack. I do not know for sure, but I suspect that Paperius, the engineering officer, had studied Caesar’s account of our time in Gaul, because the ramps were built precisely in the same manner as at Avaricum, with a layer of logs covered in earth, followed by another layer running in the opposite direction. And like Avaricum, the Moesians attempted to fire the ramp, though they did not try it by tunneling underneath the way the Gauls had. In fact, the Moesians seemed averse to doing any sort of digging at all, making no sorties by tunneling, choosing every time to come out of the only gate into the town.

  Having only one entrance into the town certainly made it easier to defend, but it also meant that we only had to watch one spot, especially since the Moesians did not try to open up another exit. A week after the rest of the army arrived, as Paperius had predicted, the work was essentially completed. Two ramps, one on each side, along with two siege towers, had been built and were ready to be rolled up each ramp. All that remained was filling in the last section nearest the wall with earth and rock, while the mantlets that the men would use to carry the materials under cover were lined up the ramp. The assault was set for the next day and in both camps the men went through their pre-battle rituals, while I circulated among the Legions in both as well, telling jokes and relating stories of the times I had done the same as they were doing now. Crassus had not informed me of what role I was going to play the next day, but I planned on being somewhere in the fighting. That evening, Crassus held a command briefing for the Tribunes, Primi Pili, and Priores, where he gave the details of his plan of attack.

  “It will be a simple assault,” he began, while I thought to myself that I had yet to see an assault go simply, but I held my tongue. “We'll bombard the walls with ballistae and scorpions until the last possible moment, while we're rolling the towers into place, to keep the Moesians busy. The Legion that will be conducting the assault on the far side will have the job of not only clearing the parapet, but of opening the main gate. I want the two other Legions ready to enter the town, though I only plan on using one and keeping one in reserve.”

  There was a bit of grumbling by the Primi Pili at this, since Crassus had not announced his decision on who would lead the assault. The Legion in reserve would miss out on the looting of the town, which would make the men of the unlucky Legion extremely unhappy. However, Crassus had thought of that and held up a hand, smiling at the Primi Pili.

  “You don't have to say anything, I already know what your objection is, and I've thought of that. The town will be divided into four parts, and each Legion will get one part to loot.”

  Not surprisingly, this cheered up the Primi Pili, and they settled down to wait for Crassus to announce who would be conducting the assault.

  I had already been told, and I watched the faces of the Primi Pili as Crassus said, “I've decided that the 8th, because they've already faced the Moesians and know what to expect from them, and the 13th will be the Legions leading the assault. The 8th will be on the far side, and will have the job of opening the gate.”

  He turned to Macrinus. “Primus Pilus Macrinus, I'm counting on you.”

  Macrinus saluted, promising that the 8th would perform well.

  Crassus then looked over at me to say, “Prefect, since we don’t have the cavalry here, we're going to have to use a scratch force made up of the Evocati, the Tribunes, and my bodyguards. We'll be the first in the gates once they're opened. I know that I can count on you and the Evocati.”

  I nodded my head, not feeling the need to salute him.

  “We'll begin the bombardment a third of a watch before dawn,” Crassus announced. “And the assault will begin a third after that.”

  “Do we have enough ammunition for a bombardment that long?” asked the Primus Pilus of the 14th, Gnaeus Saenus his name.

  Crassus assured him that we did, and I knew that he had ordered men to comb the banks of the river for stones that were of a sufficient size and smoothness to use in the ballistae. Meanwhile, he had the armory immunes working into the night to make more scorpion bolts. With those matters decided, we were dismissed, but Crassus held me back, the rest of the men filing out. For perhaps the tenth time, I saw the senior Tribune Claudius shoot me a poisonous glance; again I ignored it, long used to the envy of men like him.

  “I'll be happy that you'll be with me tomorrow,” Crassus began.

  I was not sure what his point was, yet I sensed that he was more nervous about the coming attack than he had let on.

  “There's no place I'd rather be,” I assured him, which was true enough. Perhaps if Miriam had lived, it would have been a lie, but she had not, meaning nothing else really mattered. “And I assure you that the Evocati will do well tomorrow. Most of us haven’t done much fighting on horseback, but we’ll hold up our end.”

  He seemed relieved to hear me say that, then paused a moment, as if trying to decide whether to say more.

  Finally, he said in a low voice, “I'll have Prixus and his men with us as well. But tomorrow I'm sure that things will be extremely confused, and there's no telling what might happen.”

  He stared at me meaningfully, but I was confused. Was he giving me his tacit approval for killing Prixus? Why would he do such a thing, I wondered? He had hired Prixus, after all; why would he want me to kill him?

  As if in answer to my thoughts, he whispered, “The worst mistake I ever made was hiring him and his men. They've caused me nothing but trouble, and I don’t know how to get rid of them.”

  I stared at him, hardly believing what I had just heard. Here was the grandson of one of the most powerful, and definitely the richest Roman of our time, admitting that he was not as powerful as I had thought. There was a desperation in his voice that was impossible to ignore.

  I stared down at him for a moment before I said, “I understand your dilemma, and I'll do what I can.”

  His shoulders slumped in obvious relief and he closed his eyes.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “I promise you that I'll do what I can,” I repeated, not wanting there to be any misunderstanding, “should the opportunity present itself. That's the best I can promise.”

  He nodded his head in understanding before he suddenly turned to his desk.

  “I'm afraid I have quite a bit of work to do, Prefect, so if you will excuse me.”

  Knowing that I was being dismissed, I said nothing, and left the office. Now, in addition to surviving the assault, I had more to worry about with trying to remove Prixus from the employ of Marcus Crassus. There was a part of me that did not like the idea that I was a hired blade, yet the truth was that I had my own score to settle with Prixus. Besides, I decided that it would not hurt to win Crassus’ favor while removing a man who was a threat to me personally at the same time.

  The next morning started early; in fact, I do not believe many of the men got much sleep at all. The camp was a hive of activity, men hurrying about and performing their last-minute tasks. The 8th would be crossing the river on the bridge that had been built a half-mile down from Naissus, and they were leaving the camp early to get into position. Before they left, I found Gaius with his men, and while he exuded the confidence of a true professional, I knew him well enough to see how nervous he was.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” I warned him, but he barely seemed to be listening.

  “I won’t,” he answered, his eyes roving over each of his men.

  Stepping away from me, he called to one of them.

  “Placus, I told you to leave the sack behind. I don’t want it flopping about when you’re going over the wall.”

  He looked at me apologetically.

  “I’m so
rry, Uncle, but I really need to see to the men.”

  “Go ahead,” I replied, a little hurt but understanding nonetheless. “Just remember what I said.”

  “Yes, I remember,” he said absently, his mind already elsewhere. “Don’t do anything stupid. I won’t.”

  With Gaius returning to his men, I was left standing with Ocelus’ reins in my hands. Sighing, I was happy that I did not need help to mount my horse like so many men did, meaning that there was no witness to my dismissal by my nephew. Guiding Ocelus through the men who were going about their tasks, I returned to find the Evocati ready to mount their own horses. Leading them out of the camp, we crossed the bridge. I had Crassus’ spatha still strapped to my saddle, choosing to wear my own blade at my side, and I saw that most of the others had done the same. We would be going in on horseback, but I did not expect that we would stay that way, dismounting at some point when we had gotten inside the walls. That was when the Spanish sword would be the most useful, when we were in the streets and alleys of Naissus.

  On the other side of the bridge, we waited for the 8th to march across, followed by the other Legion. As we were waiting, the artillery began their firing at the walls, first with blazing balls of pitch, both to start fires and to illuminate the targets for the men manning the weapons. The scorpions held their fire, waiting for there to be more light, real or artificial, enabling them to pick their targets. The sounds of the fireballs striking the wood of the walls punctuated the air with a noise only slightly less substantial than if the missiles had been stone. Each one flared more brilliantly than the last when they splattered against the wood, but none of them caught fire. Still, some of the missiles struck other targets and we could hear the men screaming as first their clothes, then their flesh caught on fire. A couple men toppled over the edge, their screams cut short when they hit the ground at the base of the wall, tumbling and cartwheeling down the slope of the hill. By this lurid light, I caught a glimpse of the men of the front ranks of the 8th, their faces clearly on edge and nervous, and I remembered how it felt to be waiting to go up and over a wall.