“Is this what you call your own men? A rabble?”
“What you need is not five thousand men armed with sword and shield, but a Roman legion. That is the basis of the army that has conquered the world.”
“But not Parthia.”
“Let us see where Parthia lies in fifty years.” Rufinius waited patiently for the translation.
A corner of Saikan’s lips rose, the palest hint of amusement. “So your answer is no.”
“Who are your enemies, General?” Rufinius asked.
“They are many, but they are one. The Empire of the Han.”
“I have not heard of it.”
General Saikan’s eyes crinkled at the corners with bemusement. “And yet I believe the land ruled by Rome could fit comfortably inside the land ruled by the Han.”
Rufinius doubted it. The world was surely not that big. “Then what difference can one single legion make in any contest between …” He struggled to get his tongue around the words, “… Xiongnu and Han?”
“That is not a question for a captive slave. The Chanyu, my King, believes it will. And so it will.”
Rufinius ignored the mild rebuke. “How many day’s march is your kingdom from this river?”
“It is not days, it is not months. We will march for more than three of the four seasons without stopping to reach it.”
Was this an exaggeration? Rufinius could not keep the surprise from his face.
“The land between here and the city of Talas, where the Chanyu will be residing, is mostly desert, either plain or mountain,” Saikan continued. “Food and water is scarce. In the day it is hot. As the sun travels south the nights will grow cold. You would not see a city or a town for the entire journey, for I would not place before slaves the temptation to run.”
“Roman legionaries do not fear hardship.”
“That is my understanding also … I have five hundred horsemen in a separate camp nearby. These men will join the squadrons of the army of King Orodes – also five hundred men – and escort the march to the end of the Parthian lands. On Parthian soil you will march as slaves unarmed, your weapons captured in the desert battle brought along in the baggage. You will not be permitted to forage. Our Parthian hosts will provide food. Once the Empire of Parthia is behind us, weapons will be redistributed to your men and your service as soldiers will commence. It would be up to you to see that my legion is battle ready.”
“When does the march begin?” asked Rufinius.
“Soon.”
“There are many legionaries here wearing slave torcs. How might you select the men for this legion?”
“If you accept leadership, the method of selection would be yours.”
Rufinius’s mind raced. Was he capable? Would the more senior centurions revolt?
“There are many older veterans among the legionaries,” Saikan observed. “The men who make up your legion should be far from the age of retirement. There is much fighting to be done and our lands, though beautiful, are harsh. Strong young muscles and bones are required.”
“Armies require youth and experience.”
“I cannot afford old age, and where we are going neither can you.”
Rufinius looked into the eyes of the foreigner and saw … nothing. The man’s face was empty of expression. If you could not read a man’s emotions, how could he be trusted? “Would the men be chained on the march?”
“The journey is difficult enough without the added weight of shackles."
Rufinius rubbed his hand across his mouth and chin in consideration.
“Yes or no. You have one day to come to a decision,” the general said, “but every man you choose must be capable of wielding a sword.”
He then turned his back on Rufinius, deliberately making himself vulnerable, exposing his neck and spine. Rufinius made no move toward him. After several moments Saikan, satisfied, walked slowly away. The Parthian officers, archers, and overseers moved aside to let him and his entourage pass.
The rest of the party also withdrew, leaving Rufinius surrounded by legionaries calling out his name and wanting to touch him and gain some of his good luck, for the exchange with the barbarian general had been heard by many.
*
After some private consideration, Rufinius came later to Appias seeking counsel.
“You bargain well, Rufinius,” the historian told him. “You were born to a money lender, surely.”
“Does history have any advice for me?”
“Rufinius, asking for the lessons of history to assist in making a decision suggests that you’re going to make the right one,” said Appias.
“How so?”
“The great Proconsul Crassus knew all the answers before he ever asked the questions. Though he had said he wanted me along to record his greatness, and to provide any wisdom that might have been passed down the ages, in reality he desired all of the former and none of the latter. And so history consumed him. His experiences will be a cautionary tale for generations to come, at least for those prepared to listen. Learning from the mistakes of others helps one avoid the pitfalls. With that said, in answer to your question, I have no advice for you from history.”
“Just tell me what you think.”
“You know the saying of old women – that keeping your hook always baited will bring more fish.”
“You give me a grandmother’s wisdom?”
“It has the kernel of sound advice buried within. As an individual slave parceled off from your men, working in the service of some unknown master or enterprise, the opportunities that come along will be few,” Appias said. “But as the leader of a legion, who knows what might swim along and swallow the hook? Already you seem to have won for five thousand men the opportunity of freedom in exchange for fifteen short years of service, as well as permission to take a wife and the promise of land as payment. What legionary fighting in the service of the Republic can lay claim to all that?”
“So if you were me, you’d agree to the foreigner’s terms?”
“I am not you, so I don’t know what I’d do.”
“You are a slippery cunnus, historian,” said Rufinius.
Appias grinned. “One thing on which we have agreed previously is certain. The legionaries of Marcus Licinius Crassus would receive no triumphant homecoming. We would be objects of shame and derision. Perhaps our path truly appears to lie to the east rather than to the west.”
“What of your wife? You will be marching ever farther from her embrace. Do you not miss her?”
“Every moment of every day, but I can see no road back. We have been apart now for almost a year and my yearning for her has faded enough to make it bearable. News of Crassus’s defeat and the carnage wrought on his army will have reached her ears. My unknown fate will be difficult for her and knowing that gives me pain, but my life and yours have been fairly won by the Parthians to do with as they choose. All we can do now is have some faith in the gods.”
“And keep the hook well baited,” said Rufinius.
“Indeed. How might you select legionaries from among the men captured?”
Rufinius breathed deep and exhaled. “I would ask for volunteers.”
“I think you will have problems turning men away.”
“I have a role for you, Appias. Camp prefect.”
The request took Appias by surprise. “Rufinius – I have not the experience to manage a legion!”
“You have the learning. You also spent more than a year and a half as part of the proconsul’s staff. You know how the system works.”
“But I – ”
“Appias, someone has to keep an eye on equipment and administration. I need you to do this.”
Fabianus, who had been waiting on the outskirts of the deliberation between centurion and historian, came forward. “Primor, can your own optio have a private word with you?”
“Of course,” said Rufinius, and Appias excused himself. “What is the feeling among the men, Fabianus?”
“You m
ust know yourself that the men would readily choose to stay together, shoulder to shoulder.” The optio could not keep his hands or his eyes still.
“I sense a problem,” said Rufinius, noting the officer’s agitation.
“You consult with a historian. These are weighty issues, primor. Military issues. Since you became a centurion, you have been removed from the men. I hear what they are saying and many are scared at what lies ahead.”
“Scared?”
“Perhaps I choose my words wrongly, primor, but I am a legionary, not a wordsmith like your chief confidant.” He motioned with distaste toward Appias who was settling into a sliver of remaining shade.
“You’re talking in circles like an unloved wife, Fabianus. Speak your mind.”
The optio stiffened to attention at the censure. “The men fear many things about the offer made by the foreigner.”
“Such as?”
“They do not trust him. He can so easily lie about all the guarantees of service. We will only know in fifteen years.”
Rufinius nodded. There was truth in this.
“And not every man can take a companion from the baggage train, for there are more men than women. Will the daughters of the lands we venture toward look like these foreigners? Their faces are different. What else is different? Perhaps they don’t even fuck like us.”
“What else concerns the men?”
“When we marched under the aquilas, we marched for Rome. That meant something – strength, order, a blessed rightness. Out there, to the east, what will we be fighting for? With the aquilas gone, what beast will sit atop the aquilifer’s pole that we are made to follow?”
“We’ll fight for what we’ve always fought for,” answered Rufinius. “Each other.” The optio’s agitation wasn’t yet dwindling and the centurion knew that the boil was yet to be lanced. “You have long been troubled,” said Rufinius.
“No, primor,” said Fabianus stiffly.
Rufinius shrugged. “Well, Optio, the alternative to the offer presented by the foreigner is a journey to the slave market at Babylon, where it’s likely that you will be sold as an individual, cut off from all camaraderie,” Rufinius told him. “You are strong and young. Perhaps if you are fortunate you will be sold to a rich old hag as her bedroom plaything. Perhaps you will find yourself sold and sold again until you are chained to an oar. Roll the dice, Optio. Wouldn’t you rather be with your brothers, sword in hand?”
“And what of the gods, primor?” The optio wrung his hands.
“What about them?”
“Almost a year’s march to the east, into the rising sun? These are lands far from the oversight of the gods of Rome. There will be other gods we know nothing about and who know nothing about us. What would we sacrifice? Will there be animals familiar to us and to the gods? And should we die, will we even go to Hades? How will our souls know how to find Charon’s boat? Will they just wander the desert forever?”
This, Rufinius could see, was the optio’s major burden, at least for the moment. The thought hadn’t occurred to the centurion but the concern was valid. He put a hand on his lieutenant’s shoulder to reassure him. “The gods will not lose sight of us, Fabianus, for we will take them with us on the march.”
XXIV
With the heat of the day already upon them, Rufinius was brought before General Saikan, Translator Bataar and a number of Xiongnu officers.
“What is your answer, Alexandricus?” the general asked, mopping his brow with a rag.
Rufinius drew himself to attention as if being questioned by a Roman legate. “I could accept your offer on behalf of the men, General. But on the singular proviso that the legion is structured in the proper fashion and according to regulation.”
“You do not order me, slave.”
“Those are my terms, primor.”
“And if I do not accept them?”
“I do not see why you wouldn’t.”
“And why not?” inquired Saikan, vaguely amused.
“Properly organized, the legion will be better able to look after itself. You will have far fewer losses on a march that will, as you say, take us from one side of the world to another. The men will belong to a structure they know and understand and, though they venture into unknown lands, they will take with them some comfort of familiarity. That will enhance morale and lead to fewer desertions.”
“Is that all, Roman?”
“No. We are infantrymen. You are horsemen. We fight differently and our tactics will be unknown to you. Do you know how to use a legion in battle, General? Do you know how to cut orders that the legion understands, let alone best maneuver it to achieve your tactical goals?”
“I believe you already know the answers.”
“And that is why my terms are inflexible.”
“What is this structure? And what might be your role within it?”
Rufinius charged ahead. “You need a military tribune, General, well versed in our manner of waging war. There is no other way. Instruct the tribune on your objectives in battle and he will wield the legion to best affect them. But whether it is myself or someone else in this role, that is up to you. There are others beside me that you can select.”
“That’s all?”
“No, General. To function properly, the legion requires a unit of cavalry and archers or slingers, as well as engineers, surveyors, artillerymen, signifers, and cornicens. Also, there will be losses through injury, disease and – unavoidably – desertions. You will need an additional cohort of reserves.”
Saikan wrestled with the word. “Cohort?”
“Four hundred and eighty men.”
Saikan appeared to consider the numbers, stroking his beard. Eventually he said, “What is a signifer?”
“A standard bearer.”
“Are they necessary?”
“It is the signifer who conveys the commander’s orders to his century. Without them, the army is uncoordinated at best and blind at worst. Also, in the confusion of battle, a century’s standard wielded by the signifer provides men who get separated with a visible rallying point. Yes, they are necessary.”
Saikan grunted. “My mounted archers will provide your cavalry …”
“We would have to school them in our communications and maneuvers,” Rufinius pointed out.
The general brushed Rufinius’s concern aside. “How many men altogether are in a Roman legion?”
“Not many more than your original five thousand. Around five thousand, three hundred.”
“Anything else?”
A thought had occurred to Rufinius, an opportunity that he had scarcely admitted to himself let alone discussed with others. It concerned Lucia and a possible means of keeping her close by. “The men must have servants so that they can focus on being legionaries.”
“How many servants?”
“A legion of sixty centuries will require a thousand servants and more.”
“Providing I can purchase them at an acceptable rate – agreed.”
Rufinius felt a thrill of relief.
“Anything else?”
“I require the freedom to move among the men, to fight with them, eat with them and use the same ground to sleep on, as I choose.”
“You will require a bodyguard.”
Rufinius shook his head. “But I have an entire legion.”
“You will take a personal guard with you when the occasion requires it.” Saikan was not altogether happy about allowing what would be his second-in-command to fight in the lines, sword in hand, but this Roman was a true warrior and there would be little stopping the man. “Nothing else?”
“No, primor.”
“The number of men I buy is less important than their ability to fight. If Romans need structure to fight at their best, then that is what I have bought. How you organize my legion so that my aims and those of my Chanyu are achieved, that is up to you … Tribune.” Saikan held out his arm to shake and Rufinius took it.
*
A white bull
was found and sacrificed in the correct Roman manner: with gilded horns before an altar on which honey, grains and wine were offered. Parthian devotees of Mithra – a more acceptable god to the Romans than Ahura Mazda – conducted the ceremony. The animal’s exta was read by an ancient haruspex brought up from Babylon. When the beast’s liver was held high for all to see, it was large and healthy, with generous lobes. The intestines also glowed with vitality. The priests had received their answer: the gods of Rome approved the enterprise.
Once this was concluded, Rufinius immediately set to the formation and organization of the legion. All captured legionaries, regardless of age, had volunteered for service in the slave army, so a process of acceptance was conducted. Lots were drawn among the legionaries under the age of thirty-five from each of the contuberniums. A man who picked a white pebble from among the many black could then choose the remainder of his contubernium from known comrades, so that they would bond as a unit more quickly. Each century was populated by ten of these contuberniums, as was the normal practice. Once a century was formed, the legionaries then nominated five candidates for officer roles. From among these men Rufinius selected the centurion who in turn chose his officers and lesser ranks from the remainder. With the sixty centuries filled in this manner, each was placed in the legion according to the seniority of its centurion – the most experienced toward the lead, and the least experienced occupying the tail end.
Suitable men left over with artillery, medical, and other valuable skills were given places in the reserve cohort. A cavalry of 120 Xiongnu horsemen was also mustered and assigned to the legion for training.
The First Cohort, the legion’s shock troops made up of five double-strength centuries, was handpicked from among the bravest men. The appointment of primipilus, the man who would lead the First from the front, went to a centurion named Petronius Araxo, a native of the African city of Leptis Magna. Petronius was one of the few senior centurions who had survived the slaughter outside the walls of Carrhae. He was a large black man reputed to have single-handedly brought down five cataphracts in skirmishes against the Parthians, and on another occasion dragged several of his own wounded men to safety, though both his own legs were pierced through with arrows. It was his sheer ferocity that had enabled him to survive the carnage that followed Proconsul Crassus’s capture, when Petronius had hacked into the Parthians and their horses, creating so much panic and confusion around himself that the Parthians had let him alone. Numerous eyewitnesses came forward to attest to his achievements with sword in hand and Rufinius was relieved to have this role ably filled.
Field of Mars (The Complete Novel) Page 24