by R. W. Peake
For therein lay the one unforeseen issue that had caught Pullus, Caesar, and almost every other Primus Pilus by surprise once the decision had been made to replace their losses with Parthians. From the outset, it had been an enormously unpopular decision, with men of all ranks, and it had taken all of Caesar’s considerable powers of persuasion, along with help from Pullus and the other Primi Pili who, it had to be said, had been skeptical themselves, to convince the rankers that this was the only way to ensure that the campaign could continue in a timely manner. If they had been forced to hold a new dilectus on the other side of Our Sea, it would have taken almost a year just to assemble the number of men required, ship them across the water, and then march to Ctesiphon. Only then would their training really begin, but by recruiting from the ranks of the Parthian infantry—Caesar never considered trying to integrate men of the Parthian nobility into the ranks—the army could resume its campaign sooner. This had turned out to be over-optimistic; the language barrier alone was daunting, but it also took quite an adjustment on the part of those Parthians who, only after Pullus had nearly bankrupted himself by offering bonuses and beginning what became a flood of new men, joined their former enemies. As Pullus and every Centurion learned, it wasn’t from a lack of willingness, because each of them had seen how hard the new Parthian tiros had worked to learn what were essentially completely new skills. And, honestly, it wasn’t just the language barrier, although this was a challenge. Indeed, what the Centurions of the Legions learned was that when men had been treated as little better than slaves, whipped like dogs for the slightest transgression, or just as commonly at the whim of one of the Parthian nobles who served as their officers, it created a soldier who cringed at the first harsh word uttered by their Centurions, even when that was all that was coming. Early on in the training, Centurions and Optios learned that the use of the vitus on these new tiros was actually counterproductive to the task of transforming these men into Legionaries worthy of the name. This was certainly a challenge for the officers of the Legion, but it was the deep-seated suspicion on the part of the rankers, the men who would be standing next to the new Parthian tiros, that had proved to be the biggest obstacle to integrating the new men. There were some rankers who were certain that, when the moment came, their new comrades wouldn’t be able to face their own kind in battle and try to kill them. And, as Pullus and every other Centurion knew, a good number of these men knew what it meant to face their own kind across a battlefield, having done it themselves during the struggle between Pompeius Magnus and the ultimate victor and the general of this army. They had done their duty—whether that duty had been to Rome or to Caesar wasn’t something that was ever discussed around the fires at night, but having experienced the fighting quality of the Parthian infantry, there was a deep-seated belief that, when the moment of truth occurred, the additions to their ranks wouldn’t have what it took to fight their friends and relatives. Pullus wasn’t alone in his belief that the only way the question would be answered was when it actually occurred, and until battle was joined, the Romans in the ranks were merciless in their taunting and baiting of their nominal Parthian comrades. What Pullus had only shared with Scribonius and Balbus was his view that now that the new Parthian recruits, having served several months under the standard, had begun fighting back, was actually a good sign. Unfortunately, in a practical sense, it also meant that at least once a day, usually more, the Primus Pilus was forced to listen to a recitation of reports like the one Glaxus had given, and he was at a loss what to do about it. He had never been one of the Centurions who believed in the idea of beating his men into a better frame of mind, yet neither could he allow men in his Legion to prey on fellow Legionaries, no matter from where they came originally. Frankly, this was a problem he was more than happy to bring to Caesar and let him make the decision about how to handle, which he resolved to do when they reached Susa and made what would be their permanent camp from which the siege would be conducted.
Until then, as Pullus put it to his Centurions, “I just want you to make sure they don’t kill each other.” His tone turned grim, prompted by the memory of what he had seen waiting for them outside the Parthian capital. “We’re going to need every man we’ve got for what’s ahead.”
Caspar stood on the dirt wall of the outer ring of entrenchments that surrounded Susa, watching the huge dust cloud created by the approaching Roman army, despite the leading elements still being more than fifteen miles away. Standing next to him were the senior Centurions of the Crassoi; also, never far away was a huge, scarred Parthian noble who was the ostensible commander of the force. In reality, the man’s job was to act both as liaison with Phraates and to spy on the Romans, although to be fair, it wasn’t just Phraates who insisted on this arrangement, since it had been his father Orodes who had been the one to institute the practice. The Parthian, who was the largest man Caspar had ever seen, simply because he had never met Titus Pullus, was named Teispes, and he was a formidable, intimidating specimen, both from his stature and the puckered, scarred hole where one eye had been that he refused to cover with a patch. Teispes didn’t speak often, and indeed to an uninformed observer might have appeared to be rather simple, but as Caspar had learned, this was purely a matter of invention on the Parthian’s part. Yes, he didn’t talk much, but he listened extremely well, something that Caspar was ever mindful about when he was speaking to his fellow Centurions. Normally, this was something with which Caspar had become accustomed, and in fact he had a good working relationship with Teispes; however, the impending arrival of the Romans had upset the delicate balance between not just Caspar and Teispes, but the Crassoi and their Parthian overlords in general. When he thought about it, Caspar acknowledged to himself that this was understandable, although this didn’t make it sit any better with his Centurions, or the men of the ranks.
Now, standing on the hard-packed earth of the rampart, Caspar’s second in command, the Primus Pilus Posterior, who still went by his original Roman name, Gaius Asina, asked in a low voice, “What do you know about Caesar? What kind of general is he?”
Caspar shrugged, but when he answered, it was with the same quiet voice. “Not much more than you do. He’s obviously a good fighter. Look what he did to all those Gauls. Then,” he added with a touch of bitterness, “Pompeius Magnus.”
Asina nodded, since this aligned with his own view. “I wonder how much of that talk we heard about Alesia and Dyrrhachium is true.”
Truly, this had been on Caspar’s mind as well, because it was a crucial question that would have a huge bearing on what was to come. If Caesar ordered his army to perform a circumvallation, then Phraates would be faced with making a choice to either allow it to happen or contest it, and if it was the latter course, Caspar knew full well on whose shoulders the heaviest burden would fall. There had been talk among the most senior commanders, instigated namely by the Spadpat of the great eastern spad, of which the Crassoi had been considered a part of until their arrival in the capital, and who had been too late to have any influence on the siege of Ctesiphon, that they should actually leave Susa. The Spadpat, his name Gobryas, had made the argument to Phraates that by retiring to Istakhr, the city that had arisen from the ashes of Persepolis after its sacking by the Macedonian king Alexander, his force would be in a position to come to the aid of Phraates and the rest of the Parthian army ensconced in Susa instead of having what amounted to the entirety of the remaining Parthian military might penned up in one place. Up to this point in time, Caspar knew that Phraates had resisted Gobryas’ suggestion, but there had been whispers the king was weakening. Now the moment of decision was at hand, because as little as Caspar and Asina may have known about Caesar personally, they were as aware of his reputation for moving rapidly as Phraates had learned firsthand, and if the king dawdled for more than a matter of a couple of watches, the decision would likely be taken out of his hands altogether.
“I have decided,” Phraates announced to the assembled senior leadership of hi
s army and the courtiers who remained part of his court to lend to the fiction that the young king relied on the council of others, “that Gobryas’ suggestion is a good one. The eastern spad will withdraw, immediately, from Susa. Minus the Crassoi, of course, except for two of their Cohorts, which will accompany the spad.” If Phraates heard the clearly audible collective sigh of relief issue from the gathered men, he gave no sign; later, Bodroges would guess that Phraates paused deliberately, just as a way to torment his officers. “But,” the king went on, and it was the small twitch at the corner of his mouth that gave Bodroges the idea this was not accidental, “I’ve also decided that our capital needs our ablest remaining general to defend it.” As quickly as it began, the murmuring and rustling of ornate robes ceased, every man suddenly intent on this change. “Which is why I will be leading the eastern spad from Susa, and Gobryas will remain here as the overall commander.”
At least, Bodroges thought, Phraates doesn't look surprised, as the huge throne room erupted in noise and tumult. Demonstrating their displeasure in the usual method of the Eastern world, tearing at their garments, tugging their beards, or raising both hands aloft in supplication to their gods, Phraates’ generals and courtiers shouted pleas to Phraates to change his mind.
“Oh, Great King! Don’t desert us now in our hour of need! We will be lost without your wise counsel!”
“Why is it Gobryas you choose for this honor and deny others who have served both you and your father so faithfully and well?”
Bodroges, as had become his habit, remained quiet, content to observe the reactions and behavior of the two separate but equally powerful camps that comprised the Parthian court. Unanimously, the courtiers shouted their despair at this announcement by Phraates, so that even in their “protest,” they were displaying the sycophancy that was a trait held in common by those representatives of the powerful houses of Parthia who had sent one or more son to court. The military men, however, were blunter and more forthright in their protest, but Bodroges wasn’t fooled in the slightest; their objections were based in the jealousy each of these men held for the other, and of all of those men, Gobryas was viewed as the greatest threat to their own chances to ascend to the top of the ladder. Bodroges hadn’t known Kambyses all that well, but superficially at least, there was a marked similarity between the captured general and Gobryas, an air of tough competence, though it was more than that; both men displayed little patience for the kind of antics that were taking place now, as Phraates sat on his throne, silent but with eyes that missed nothing. Everything he does is with another purpose, the courtier thought, his face composed in a mask that betrayed nothing more than he wanted it to, something that his father had urged him to practice in front of a brass mirror. At first, as sons tend to do, he had dismissed his father’s counsel as being the kind of thing foolish old men would advise, but it had quickly changed once three of his counterparts, all sons of high-ranking families, had been executed on charges that were, at best, flimsy. Finally, Phraates raised a hand, languidly but in an unmistakable message, and the room fell silent.
“I,” he said smoothly, “am both humbled and proud to see the ardor and devotion each of you are displaying. But,” Phraates, Bodroges was sure, was trying to at least sound regretful, “I am afraid my decision is final. As poor a substitute in military matters as I may be, as I said, I am taking command of all but the Crassoi of the spad that Gobryas brought, who will remain here as part of his command, with the exception of two Cohorts. And,” suddenly, Phraates’ voice hardened, “I know that I can expect each of you who will be remaining behind to obey Gobryas with the same level of devotion and fidelity that you would show me as your king.”
Before anything else could be said, the Parthian king rose from his throne, and with a swirl of robes, disappeared from the room, leaving turmoil in his wake, as each man there began calculating the best course for them to take, and this included Bodroges. Suddenly, he and the other courtiers had to decide what best served their interests; staying behind, facing possible death when the Roman general Caesar assaulted Susa, or go with Phraates, and face possible death from saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
The forces comprising the eastern spad, led by Phraates, Great King of Parthia, departed from Susa in the pre-dawn darkness of the day after the announcement was made. Accompanying this force were most of the surviving courtiers, save one. Despite knowing what his father would counsel, Bodroges surprised not only Phraates, but himself when he requested permission to stay behind. Only slightly less surprising was Phraates’ acquiescing to his request, but Bodroges, despite his overall youth and relative inexperience, was wise enough to understand that, from the king’s viewpoint, one less courtier, who came with their own retinue, was one less sycophantic flatterer he must tolerate. And, the young noble thought, with a certain amount of amusement, not being around his king meant that his wrath would fall on the heads of one or more of his rivals. By the time he had thought it through, Bodroges was actually quite proud of himself for his cunning turn of mind; now all he had to do was insinuate himself into the good graces of Gobryas, but when he looked across the room at the man, suddenly, he was not so sanguine about his wisdom.
With an army the size of Caesar’s, it took two full watches between the time the leading elements arrived at the spot marked out by the exploratores for what would be the first, and main camp of the army, where Caesar’s praetorium would be located. Caesar had yet to determine exactly where the other encampments were going to placed, which meant that the first one had to be constructed large enough to temporarily accommodate ten Legions, the five thousand auxiliaries, half the original number because the other half remained behind in Ctesiphon, and with space for a significant portion of the cavalry. Although everything was happening according to Caesar’s orders, the commander wasn’t with the main body, having taken the bulk of the cavalry, save for enough troopers to screen the flanks of the army, in pursuit of a column of rising dust that, while not as large as that created by Caesar’s force, was still considerable. Giving Susa a wide berth, the general, accompanied by his personal bodyguard, led ten thousand horsemen in a pursuit that was cautious, but also with the swiftness for which Caesar was famous. His cavalry Decurions, now with well more than a year’s worth of campaign experience in this desolate land, had at least learned what to look for when it came to likely ambush sites, and the column only paused long enough for a turma to scout a spot that every trooper had learned could be dangerous. The consequence was that it was past midday before Caesar’s scouts reported sighting the rearguard of the Parthian column, and he was unsurprised when he was informed that it was of a substantial size. After all, it had been a bit much to expect that the Parthians wouldn’t notice the same telltale signs of movement by a large group of men that the Roman general used to follow their trail. Nevertheless, Caesar felt a stab of disappointment as he tried to think of a way whereby he could get a better idea of the size, and more importantly, the composition of this newly discovered force. In his bones, he felt certain that this column wouldn’t contain the Crassoi, for the simple reason that, given the clear indication that Phraates planned on fighting for Susa, the former Romans would be the best choice for a siege when compared to the array of troops available to the Parthians. Unfortunately, they were also dangerously close to reaching the outer edge of the area his scouting parties had roamed, back when Ventidius and Octavian had trailed Phraates to Susa. During their time spent watching the city, the old former mule driver had assiduously sent out detachments to scour the countryside, both for the purpose of foraging, and in preparation for this moment now. Naturally, there had been a practical limit to how far even mounted scouts could move in such an inhospitable and unfamiliar environment, and Caesar, with his prodigious memory, recognized a large outcropping of rock that seemed to have materialized from out of nowhere in the otherwise level ground, remembering that this rock formation had been the southern limit for Ventidius’ scouts, and the rear of th
e Parthian column was now passing by it.
It was this that caused Caesar to turn in frustration to the man who had been silently riding next to him, asking Kambyses without much hope of cooperation, “I don’t suppose you’d care to share your knowledge of the ground beyond that outcropping, would you?”
Perhaps it was the manner in which Caesar asked, with a light, humorous tone, but it prompted Kambyses, a normally dour man even under the best of circumstances, to cheerfully grin at his captor and reply, “No, I do not think I care to share that, Caesar.”
Sighing, Caesar took the rebuff well, saying only, “No, I didn’t think you would.” Turning to the man on his opposite side, Caesar ordered Gundomir, “Send one; no,” he corrected himself, “two alae on a swing southeast and get ahead of their column.”
The German, who, despite Caesar’s best attempts, spoke in a Latin so broken and salted with camp terms that only Caesar could understand him completely, looked unsettled, but he nevertheless saluted and turned to obey his general’s order.
Seeing the man’s unease, before Gundomir cantered away, Caesar assured him, “I don’t want them to do anything other than raise some dust, Gundomir. We need to make them stop long enough for us to get closer. If they see I’ve sent someone ahead, they’re going to slow down at the very least.”
The German’s features cleared, and he kicked his mount into a trot, reassured now that he wasn’t sending men to be slaughtered. Over the course of the campaign, Gundomir and every other cavalryman had taken the measure of their enemy, and in matters like this, Caesar’s cavalry held little fear of the Parthians. Their mounted archers were more of a problem for the Legions, but no Parthian armed with a bow could fend off a determined assault by men who were also mounted, and the cataphracts were formidable if they were allowed to close with their enemy, but too slow for any kind of pursuit. No, the only danger would be if Caesar had ordered those two alae to stand and try to hold the Parthians, but now that Caesar had explained his intent, the German rode with a clear conscience back down the column, looking for the men he knew were right for the job.