Marching With Caesar-Rise of Augustus

by R. W. Peake

  “Let’s go take a look,” Crassus suggested.

  I went with him and Roles, following Cornelius through a seeming maze of small passageways that passed for streets. Nothing was paved, and the rains of the last several days had turned each street and alley into a river of mud. Partially submerged in this mess were the bodies of the Bastarnae who had been cut down, then had the added indignity of being trampled into the mud by the feet of Macrianus’ Legionaries continuing their advance. Not all of the Bastarnae were dead, and when one of them moved, seemingly rising from the muddy street like some numen, it startled all of our horses. Ocelus reared; I barely managed to grab a handful of mane before I would have been thrown down to join the unfortunate Bastarnae. The horses plunged and bucked, each of us struggling to control our mounts with varying degrees of success, while the Bastarnae who caused all the commotion writhed and moaned. I heard a sodden splashing sound, and turned to see one of the Evocatus struggling to pull himself up out of the mud, where he had landed on top of a Bastarnae body. The impact apparently brought the defeated Bastarnae back to life and, like his comrade, he suddenly jerked, raising one mud-covered arm up out of the filth as if trying to pull the Evocatus back down to the underworld. Giving a frightened shout, the Evocatus leapt to his feet, his entire backside covered in mud, pulling his sword as he did so. I returned my attention back to keeping my own seat and not joining him, so I did not see him thrust his blade into the body of the Bastarnae, but I heard the shriek as the man’s life ended. Several moments passed before our animals were calmed enough to continue. Passing the original Bastarnae who had caused the commotion, Balbus leaned over from his saddle, stabbing the man in the chest, even as he held his arms up in the air, clearly beseeching our mercy.

  “That’s for scaring our horses,” Balbus spat, wiping his mud-and-blood encrusted sword clean on an edge of his tunic.

  We reached the place where the Bastarnae were making their last stand to find the Getae mixed with our own men, with the Centurions trying to get the men in some sort of formation surrounding the two buildings. This was clearly difficult because the Getae seemed to insist on choosing a Legionary for his particular new best friend, offering our men skins or jugs of plundered wine. Naturally, our men did not want to be rude, except that it made getting them in hand extremely difficult and it was only after some liberal use of the vitus that saw the men settle down and the Getae separated. Roles directed his sub-chiefs to call the men of their various bands together, and it was in this manner that matters became less confused, or at least clear enough to allow Crassus to take stock of the situation. While it was true that the Bastarnae were in two separate buildings, they were separate in name only, because a completely enclosed walkway bridged the two buildings. These buildings were clearly built for defense, while I surmised that they had been chosen for the purpose of a last stand because that is essentially what they had been designed for. From one of the Bastarnae captives we learned that these buildings were a combination armory, warehouse, and headquarters. Made of rock and built at least two levels high, it was almost windowless, although there were arrow slits cut into the rock at regularly spaced intervals. Through those slits, the occasional arrow would come flying whenever someone came too close or exposed themselves in some way. It was clear that the Bastarnae were conserving ammunition, since we were well within range, but it also told me that whoever was commanding them was wise enough to know that we would quickly form testudo should they attempt any volley fire. Those windows that were present were all shuttered, as would be expected, but occasionally we could see one crack open, a face peering out for a moment before shutting it again. It would be an extremely hard building to fire, the only flammable portion of the building the roof, which was made of wooden planks. The problem was that the continuous rain had soaked the wood, meaning it would take a great deal of effort to get it to burn. There was a set of double doors, almost as wide as the gate into the fortress itself, set into one end of the larger building, which I assumed to be the armory and warehouse. That was obviously the most logical way in, should Crassus not want to waste time, but it would be a bloody assault. Despite the streets, such as they were, being wide enough to allow the scorpions, I doubted that the ballistae would be able to be used, meaning that a battering ram had to be devised. Crassus examined the buildings for several moments before shaking his head, clearly coming to the same conclusion that I had. Turning to Roles, he and the Getae king had a quiet conference before Crassus turned to summon his command group.

  Once we had gathered, Crassus said, “The king has graciously offered his men for the assault of the buildings, and I'm inclined to give the Getae the honor of finishing this.”

  I for one did not know just how much of an honor it would be, but I supposed if he wanted to lose a lot of men, that was his business, so I had no objection.

  “However, Roles has one condition.” Crassus’ words intruded into my thoughts, and the tone of his voice put me on guard. “He believes that since his men are bearing the brunt of the assault, they should reap the rewards.”

  This was fair enough, although Legionaries don’t particularly care about fairness, their Centurions no exception, and I could see that this was not something they appreciated, even while none of them made any overt objection. Hearing silence and taking it for assent, Crassus continued, this time his voice more hesitant.

  “And he believes that the proceeds from the sale of any slaves should also go to the Getae.”

  This was too much for the Centurions to take. They immediately spoke up then, their voices competing with each other as they gave their objections. I had to keep a straight face, since I found it amusing that the Centurions were willing to remain silent over the looting of the fortress, which most benefited the men, yet were not so willing about the sale of slaves, which would be their major source of income from this campaign. Hearing the outcry, Crassus turned to Roles, giving what I assumed was a helpless shrug, as if to say “It’s out of my hands,” and it appeared to work, because Roles looked nervously over at the angry Centurions.

  Muttering something to Crassus, he jerked his horse about, cantering off to talk to his own people, leaving Crassus to tell the Centurions, “The king has graciously withdrawn his request about the slaves.”

  Giving me a wink, he ordered Macrianus to march the men of the 8th out of the fortress to join the rest of the army still gathered outside.

  “We’ll stay and observe the Getae taking the buildings,” Crassus told the Evocati and Tribunes, so we dismounted to find anything suitable to take a seat and watch the action, the wagering beginning almost immediately.

  As I had feared, it was a bloody affair, made needlessly more so because the Getae really had no idea of the best way to storm a fortified position of this nature. Roles seemed content to send his men in carrying axes, with little protection from the fire from the adjoining building, so that one Getae after another either fell or staggered away with the feathered shaft of at least one arrow protruding from some part of their body. His idea of achieving some sort of tactical surprise seemed based on the idea of sending men not just to the double doors, but to a number of the shuttered windows, and predictably, these were breached first. Just as predictably, men trying to clamber through a relatively narrow passageway, coming from the bright light of day into the gloom of a darkened building, made for very tempting targets, the cries of victory quickly becoming shouts of fear and panic when men were cut down as fast as they could climb through. For our part, we just sat watching the Getae getting slaughtered, and I kept my eye on Crassus, waiting to see him get impatient and send for one of the Legions. However, he kept his own eye on Roles, who did not seem in the least perturbed at the sight of so many of his men being cut down, and therefore said nothing.

  Finally, after what seemed like a full day, the Getae finally broke down the door, then climbing over the pile of their comrades’ bodies, went storming into the building. We could hear the screaming begin,
the sounds of men gone mad with bloodlust taking out their rage and frustration on anyone they found in their way. The slaughter continued into the night, with the Getae fighting through both buildings while the comrades who could not fit inside continued their pillaging of the other parts of the fortress. Men were staggering drunk, many of them carrying screaming women over their shoulders, laughing and boasting to their friends about what they were going to do with their prize. In short, it was almost exactly the same sight as one expected to see when a Roman Legion sacked a town, proving that fighting men everywhere are essentially the same.

  I had long since grown bored of watching the spectacle, obtaining leave from Crassus to go out of the fortress and return to the camp, which had been resurrected on the same spot. My tent was waiting, as was Diocles, with a jug of wine and loaf of bread, and Scribonius, Balbus and I shared it, along with some cheese and bacon, chatting about what we had seen. We were still chatting when a runner came from the Praetorium, demanding my presence immediately. Scribonius gave me a quizzical look, and I just shrugged.

  “He probably wants to discuss how we’re going to handle the prisoners,” I told him, then left to meet with Crassus.

  I found him in his office, pacing back and forth, clearly spitting angry. Without waiting, he launched into a tirade that left me rocking on my heels as I listened.

  “Do you know what that faithless bastard Roles did?” Before I could answer, he continued, “I’ll tell you what he did. He put everyone in that fortress to the sword! There will be no slaves for sale because he killed them all! Can you believe that?”

  In fact, I could absolutely believe it, but I knew that at that moment Marcus Crassus did not want me saying anything other than, “No, sir. I can’t believe it,” and that is exactly what I said.

  He did not acknowledge me; I am not sure he even heard as he continued to stalk back and forth like the caged lions I had seen in Cleopatra’s zoo in Alexandria.

  “He’s put me in a damnably awkward spot. Do you think the Centurions are going to care about the fact that he killed the prisoners so there’s no money for them? No,” he raved, still answering his own questions. “No, they won’t. They’ll blame me for not watching and making sure that he didn’t do anything so underhanded.”

  That much was true and I could see why it concerned him, but I also did not believe that they would be as angry with him as he thought. It helped that he was liked by men of all ranks in the army, while the more levelheaded of the Centurions would realize that there was no real way he could have controlled Roles. What was important to me was what he was going to do to Roles about it, and that is what I asked him.

  “Nothing,” he said bitterly. Seeing that I was about to object, he held up a placating hand. “Pullus, there's really nothing I can do. I didn't specifically forbid him from killing the prisoners, and that's my fault as much as his.”

  “He should have known better,” I protested.

  “Yes, he should have,” he agreed. “But I imagine that his inability to promise his men that they would profit from the slaves was as unpopular as mine would have been. So to relieve himself of the problem, he killed them all. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same in his position.”

  When put that way, it was hard to argue, but I still did not like it any better than he did.

  “So you're not going to punish him in some way?”

  He shook his head.

  “Regretfully, no. I can’t justify revoking our agreement, and even with Proconsular authority, given that he’s going to Rome to meet Caesar, if I fine him monetarily, he’ll just complain, and that will cause me more trouble than it’s worth.”

  With that settled, all that was left was to tell the Centurions, which as I suspected, was the reason Crassus had called on me.

  “I'll break the news to them, but I think you should be present.”

  “I understand,” I agreed, and I did.

  If he was going to face angry Centurions, he did not want to do it by himself, while having someone like Claudius there would just make matters worse. I was the only real choice, but that does not mean I relished the chore. Crassus had his bucinator sound the assembly for all the Centurions, then we walked outside to the forum to wait for them to assemble. It did not help matters that the rain resumed so that the Centurions came slogging up in a bad frame of mind to begin with. When Crassus informed them of what Roles had done, there were the predictable howls of outrage from some of them, with a few even loudly calling for Roles’ head. However, the majority seemed to understand, or at least they indicated that they did, and if they did not, they were unwilling to voice that in front of the others. With the matter settled, Crassus took the opportunity to announce his immediate plans for the army.

  “We're marching back to Siscia, but we're not heading the most direct way.” Waiting for the whispers to subside, he continued with more details. “Our business with the Moesians isn't entirely finished, and I plan on chastising them severely for their attempt to attack us.”

  I do not believe that this announcement went over the way Crassus had hoped, but I was not surprised at all when I saw Centurions exchanging glances, muttering and shaking their heads. These men did not care about punishing the Moesians any more than they had already been punished; we were nearing the end of the campaign season, and they merely wanted to go home. Nearly all had families, however unofficial they may have been, and something as nebulous as teaching the Moesians a lesson did not appeal to them in the slightest. Crassus shot me a look of alarm, but this was not the place for me to explain why they were reacting in this manner, so my only reply was a slight shake of my head. Saying nothing for a moment, Crassus appeared to be gathering his thoughts, but I was sure he was thinking furiously, trying to think of the reason the men would be showing such discontent. Finally, he gave a broad smile, the kind designed to be seen by onlookers even in the last row.

  “Of course, I don't expect you men to go unrewarded. I know I made you a promise concerning the sale of slaves, but because of what happened today, that's not possible, at least with the Bastarnae. But I don't think you're particular about who we capture, are you?”

  This got men’s heads moving in the right direction, along with the beginnings of smiles, but the men were not quite there yet. Seeing this, Crassus expanded on his promise.

  “So whoever we capture in Moesia, the proceeds from their sale will go to you, down to the last sesterce. I vow this before Jupiter Optimus Maximus.”

  Now he had them, this last announcement met with lusty cheers. To show their appreciation, they hailed him as imperator three times, the traditional way that the Legions showed their appreciation for their general. And in doing this, I believe they sealed the fate of Marcus Licinius Crassus.

  Camp was broken the next morning, the army marching away from the still-smoking ruins of the Bastarnae fortress. It was good that we were leaving, since one could already start to smell the stink from all the bodies; I do not know the exact numbers, but it was several thousand. We left the Getae behind, most of them still in a drunken stupor from their celebrations of the day before. Roles and Crassus made a great show of friendship before we left, but the Centurions were still unhappy with Roles, even with Crassus’ promise, choosing to stand stone-faced as the two clasped arms, then embraced in the manner of the Getae. Our business with the Getae and the Bastarnae concluded, we began the march heading due south, retracing the path we had taken to get there. As soon as I could, I pulled Scribonius aside, both of us riding a short distance away from the column so that we could talk privately.

  “Did you hear about what happened yesterday?” I began, deliberately not mentioning the particular incident I had in mind.

  “You mean the Centurions hailing Crassus as imperator?” Scribonius asked, confirming my suspicions.

  “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

  “Hard to keep something like that secret,” he replied. Shooting me a sidelong glance, he asked me quietl
y, “What exactly are you asking me, Titus?”

  “I’m asking what you think,” I said, irritated because he clearly enjoyed making it difficult for me.

  “I think that Marcus Crassus is in a lot of trouble.” Scribonius had turned serious, and I felt my heart sink.

  Despite the fact that I agreed, having someone as intelligent as Scribonius, who was so much wiser in the politics of Rome than I was, confirm my feelings was not a happy thought.

  Trying to find the bright side, I offered, “It wasn’t the whole army, though. Doesn’t it have to be the whole army acclaiming a man imperator for him to be able to claim the wreath?”

  “Normally yes,” Scribonius said, but his tone was cautious. “It all depends on how it’s reported to Caesar. Who else was there?”

  I thought for a moment, but I could not remember seeing anyone other than the Centurions. Then I recalled seeing someone walking from his tent, and while he was a fair distance away, I supposed it was possible that he had heard, but I did not think that there would be any threat from this source.

  “I did see Cornelius, but he was just passing by,” I said offhandedly.

  My gaze was averted from Scribonius, so it was only after there was a long pause that I sensed something was not right. I turned to see him staring at me with a look of foreboding.

  “I heard about it from Cornelius,” he said, which I did not see as a problem, but Scribonius was not through. “And Claudius was standing there when he told me.”

  It felt like my blood had turned to ice. Claudius had no love for Crassus before I arrived; after Crassus had sided with me at the first meeting between Claudius and me, the little worm hated Crassus almost as much as he hated me. He had been overheard making several caustic comments about Marcus Crassus, which Crassus had refused to do anything about.