Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia

by R. W. Peake

  There was a stir at this, the sound of indrawn breaths, gasps, and softly muttered curses, but it was Felix who, perhaps to turn the thoughts of his counterparts away from the failure of his men, asked Caesar in a tone that was, if not belligerent, then at least tinged with defiance, “What did our cavalry do to stop them? Anything? Or,” at this point, he sensed the glares of his counterparts, and partially understood that they had seen through the reason for his question, yet he still finished, “are they still just following them?”

  Although Felix was uncomfortable with the silent censure of the other officers, it was Caesar’s stare that mattered, and he silently cursed himself for opening his mouth.

  “In fact, Felix,” Caesar spoke quietly, but he broke his gaze from the Primus Pilus to glance down at the wax tablet that, only then, did Felix notice was opened on the table, “they did try to inflict some damage. And,” Caesar sighed, “while they did, it was at a heavy cost. According to this,” he pointed to the tablet, “our losses are more than a thousand men, of the roughly nine thousand total under Hirtius’ command.”

  Again, this caused a reaction among the officers; despite the natural antipathy men of the Legions held for cavalry, none of them wanted to hear of troopers dying when they were part of the army.

  “Did Hirtius give an estimate of the enemy casualties?” Pollio broke the heavy silence.

  “Yes,” Caesar answered immediately, pleased that his subordinate had thought to provide this opportunity for a bit of good news, “he did. And,” once more, he glanced at the tablet, “his estimate is that they inflicted at least five hundred casualties on their archers, more than a thousand of their infantry, and around two hundred cataphracts. But,” he frowned when he got to the last two lines of the report, “unfortunately, there are two Cohorts of Crassoi with this force. And,” he finished grimly, “Hirtius said they went into a porcupine, so their casualties are negligible.”

  Pullus, seated with Spurius on one side and Balbinus the other, exchanged glances with each; a thousand men, veterans and Roman Legionaries, no matter for whom they were fighting, was not an insignificant number.

  “Pullus, Balbinus,” Caesar turned to the pair, “I know your men are still tired, but do you think they’ve recovered enough to carry out the attack on the Crassoi fortifications?”

  “Absolutely,” Pullus replied immediately, ignoring the sharp jab in the ribs from Balbinus.

  The 12th’s Primus Pilus was torn between the natural competitiveness inherent in men of his rank and concern for the condition of his men, who had returned to their home camp just past midday. It was true they had been resting ever since, and because they had brought the much-needed foodstuffs, had been given first choice and had sated themselves accordingly; nevertheless, it had been a hard march. Working in the favor of both Legions was that the battle to take Sostrate hadn’t been a particularly hard-fought affair.

  Giving Pullus a foul look, Balbinus spoke up, hoping Caesar didn’t notice his hesitation, “Yes, Caesar. My boys are as ready as Pullus’.”

  Whether Caesar didn’t catch the note of resignation or he chose to ignore it, he was clearly satisfied, turning next to Spurius of the 3rd.

  “You’re going to stay here in the camp, but I want your men on the walls as soon as this meeting is over,” he instructed. “I don’t expect Kambyses…”

  He got no further, and honestly, it was a rare slipup by their general, but almost to a man, the officers leapt to their feet.

  “Kambyses??”

  “Are you talking about the same Kambyses who was our prisoner?”

  “That you released?”

  Fortunately for everyone, the men were talking all at once, so Caesar couldn’t identify exactly who had uttered that last question, because while true, it had been a decision that he wasn’t going to explain at this moment.

  “Tacete!”

  The single word broke like a clap of thunder, but nobody was more surprised than Caesar, who hadn’t uttered it.

  Pullus had come to his feet, using the advantage of his huge lungs to bellow a command that, strictly speaking, was not his to issue, but it had the desired effect as far as Caesar was concerned, so he wasn’t inclined to reprimand the Primus Pilus.

  Who, glaring from one man to another, declared, “What’s done is done. And we have a lot to do and a short amount of time to do it! So let’s worry about what’s important right now and worry about all the questions about who made what decisions and why later. Because,” finally, his tone softened, though the words were a grim reminder of what was coming, “I have a feeling there will be a few decisions coming over the next few watches that we’ll have to answer for ourselves.” Turning to Caesar, Pullus bowed his head in a gesture of salute, and asked, “What are your orders, Caesar?”

  With that, for the next sixth part of a watch, Caesar outlined what he wanted his army to do. By the time he was through, not one Primus Pilus left feeling that he hadn’t just been handed a task that would be challenging. This would be the most complex plan Caesar had ever put into motion, more so than Gergovia, or even Alesia, and the fact that they all felt harried was a sign that every Legion had a role to play in what was to come. And, if things went as planned, this would be the battle that ended the campaign to subdue the Parthians, because, frankly, the Parthians would be out of armies.

  The situation inside Susa was almost identical; the only difference being the number of officers present with Gobryas was much smaller than with Caesar, with only Teispes, Caspar, and the two Parthian nobles who were in direct command of the garrison, Artaxerxes and Darius, the former the nobleman in command of the group of cataphractoi that Caspar’s Centurions had trained, now called The Thousand, and the latter the commander of the combined force of archers and spearmen that comprised the bulk of the men defending the city itself. Also present were two other Parthian nobles, but Caspar only knew one of their names, Bodroges, who was presumably there to advise Gobryas. Who, for the first time, seemed indecisive and willing to listen to Caspar, which the Crassoi took as the most potent sign that the nobleman was aware that what was likely the decisive moment, for all of them, was at hand.

  “What,” Gobryas asked Caspar, “do you suggest we do now, Centurion?” Indicating the scrap of parchment that Kambyses had sent with Ophis, which he thought was the only message the man had carried, his frustration was obvious. “This says is that he is riding to Susa and plans on being here before dawn tomorrow, and that is all.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “Kambyses certainly did not give us a clear plan of action.”

  Caspar thought for a moment before he answered, because while he understood Gobryas’ anxiety, he also believed that Kambyses wasn’t being ambiguous; he was giving the Susa defenders the initiative to form their own plan of attack, which he would support.

  “I agree that it’s not clear,” he said carefully, “but I believe that he’s relying on us to make some sort of…demonstration.” Caspar finally settled for this word, hoping that his meaning would be clear.

  “Demonstration?” Gobryas scoffed, telling Caspar that his superior hadn’t grasped the true meaning of the word. “What good would that do?” Suddenly, he balled up one fist and smashed it into the palm of his other hand, in such an overly dramatic gesture that it took a physical effort for Caspar not to groan and roll his eyes. “We must attack these jackals! Now!”

  Then, Caspar thought bitterly, why did you bother asking me?

  Aloud, however, his tone was still carefully modulated, as if he actually thought this was more than just a dramatic statement and an idea with merit as he replied, “Yes, Excellency, I agree that we must do something. But, I believe what’s in our best interests is to risk everything in an assault on one spot.” He paused for a moment to gauge Gobryas’ reaction, but while his expression was still agitated, the Parthian did give a curt nod for the Centurion to continue, which he did, “Then, when the Romans shift their own forces from the nearest camps to meet this threat, this w
ill serve the purpose of actually weakening their outer defenses. Kambyses’ force can then attack that spot from the outside. And,” he finished, “once we see that happen, then we shift more men to the spot where Kambyses is attacking.”

  Caspar stopped then, not only to gauge Gobryas’ reaction, but because he thought the rest was obvious, which his superior disproved by demanding, “Well? What then?”

  “Then,” Caspar answered, somewhat astonished that it wasn’t clear to Gobryas, “we throw everything we have into our own attack and link up with Kambyses’ men.”

  Gobryas sat back in his chair, seemingly bemused, but it was Teispes who spoke up, pointing out what Caspar knew was the one glaring flaw in this plan.

  “Even if we do this, Caspar,” Teispes said quietly, “and we are successful, most of Kambyses’ force is mounted. It’s true that they have a thousand of your men, along with another four thousand men on foot, at least, according to Kambyses’ message. But,” the one-eyed Parthian shook his head, “they would have to find a way to fill in not just one ditch, but two, to a point where the rest of the spad can at least cross over.”

  Caspar nodded; he knew that Teispes was correct, but he had also thought about this and had realized what had to be done.

  “Which is why,” Caspar countered, “when we attack, we have to commit everyone who can be spared from the defense of our outer fortifications. And,” he took a breath, understanding the likely reaction that was about to come, “we need The Thousand, plus at least a thousand more of the garrison.”

  Caspar wasn’t disappointed, as Gobryas, who had only just resumed his seat, leapt up again and shook his head vehemently. “No! Impossible! We cannot afford the risk of sending the men who will be the last defense of this city if you fail!”

  Caspar opened his mouth, but it was, oddly enough, Artaxerxes who spoke for the first time. “I am sorry, Excellency, but I believe that the Centurion is correct to say this is our only chance. If,” he pointed out, “we are unable to break the siege now, when we have what will be our best opportunity, then we will all die in vain anyway.”

  Again, before Caspar could add his own voice, this time, it was Teispes who said unhesitatingly, “I concur with Artaxerxes and with Caspar, Excellency. This is not just our best chance; it is truly our only chance. We must put every available man into this assault. We must risk all.”

  Caspar decided to remain silent; never lost on him was that, despite his record of service, he wasn’t considered a Parthian, and there was a level of, if not distrust, then a reserve with most Parthians, both superiors and subordinate, therefore choosing instead to simply regard Gobryas as he sat, visibly distressed.

  Finally, the Parthian in overall command of the defenses snapped, “Very well. I will release the garrison. But,” he pointed a threatening finger, not at the Parthians, but directly at Caspar, “I will hold you personally responsible for the success or failure of this…venture, Centurion. If you succeed, you will be rewarded, handsomely. But,” he glowered at the Roman, “I do not think I have to remind you who will pay if you fail.”

  Aloud, Caspar replied impassively, “No, Excellency, I don’t need to be reminded.”

  Inwardly, however, Caspar marked this as a moment of recognition that, even if he and the Crassoi were successful over the course of the next few watches, the threat to those he loved would never truly recede. And that, he realized, had to end, somehow. First, however, he and his boys had to live through the night, so he dismissed the concerns he couldn’t control in the moment, standing and walking over to the large table, upon which lay a large map, not knowing that this was essentially the counterpart to the one in Caesar’s praetorium.

  Pointing to a spot, he said decisively, “This is the spot we need to convince the Romans we are trying to penetrate.” Then, he shifted to another part of the map and continued, “But here is our real target.”

  “The northern camp?” Teispes asked doubtfully. “Why there?” He pointed to the large square marked to the western side of Susa. “We should attack here. It is dark now, but we would have the advantage of the sun behind us when it comes up.”

  “And,” Caspar answered immediately, “it would mean Kambyses’ men would have it in their eyes as they tried to cut their way through the outer fortifications. Besides,” he added, “this would mean Kambyses’ spad would have to swing around, and that would add, what,” Caspar pursed his lips as he calculated, “five, maybe six miles to reach us?”

  “That’s not very far,” Teispes countered.

  “No,” Caspar seemingly agreed, but then added, “It’s not for mounted men. But,” he reminded the Parthian, “the men who are going to be the ones to actually seize that ramp on the outer trench are on foot. And they’re already marching hard now so they can reach us by the time the sun is up.”

  To his credit, Teispes instantly understood, acknowledging Caspar’s words with a grunt that the Roman had long learned was as much of an agreement as he would get.

  “They are going to have their best Legions there,” Teispes pointed out, “since Caesar is there.”

  “I know,” Caspar answered grimly, “which is why we’re going to need as many men as we can put together.”

  For the next few moments, they discussed more details, then Gobryas dismissed them, looking as apprehensive and anxious as Caspar had ever seen him, the Parthian’s normal haughtiness eroded by the knowledge that all was being risked in one night. Caspar and Teispes left together, while Artaxerxes and Darius hurried back into the city to rouse their own men. Although the Primus Pilus of the Crassoi was correct in his assessment of the situation, and his plan was sound, there was one thing he hadn’t considered, but it was due more to his lack of familiarity with Caesar than any oversight on his part. With a normal commander, Caspar’s assumption that the Roman general would be more concerned with what would seem to be the more proximate threat, in the form of Kambyses’ spad, and consequently shifting his focus to the outer entrenchments, would have been a sound one. But, this was Caesar, and the defenders of Susa were about to learn that in a way that wouldn’t be forgotten.

  It was in the first third of a watch past midnight by the time Pullus was satisfied that his men were ready to conduct the assault, although there was one more step that, frankly, he was unhappy about. It wasn’t because he thought it was pointless, but for the simple reason that this was something that had never been done before in battle; furthermore, the smell was something else altogether. The preparations had been completed, but nobody knew with any certainty how long it would take for each man in the first three Centuries of every assaulting Cohort to walk past the large barrels, then stand there while a slave, one on each side, withdrew the sopping wet, heavy leather sleeves that they then slid onto each arm, tying them in place with thongs that had already been threaded through the men’s chain mail. Under any other circumstances, Pullus, and Caesar, for that matter, understood that the rankers would resist this, except the memory of the horrors they had witnessed because of the Parthians’ use of naphtha ensured that the grumbling had been at a minimum. This innovation hadn’t come from Ventidius this time; instead, it came from the men attached to Volusenus, in his capacity as Praefectus Fabrorum, and as many such great inventions, it was discovered by accident. During their experimentation on different ways to douse the flames created by the naphtha, one of the immunes who worked under Volusenus got careless with the substance, allowing some to spill out of the jar he was using and onto the wooden bench where he was working. Despite his claims that there wasn’t any kind of open flame nearby, somehow, the puddle ignited; within a matter of heartbeats, the immune and the other men inside the shed that served as their makeshift workshop were in real danger of immolation. Not surprisingly, the immune panicked, grabbing an amphora, one of several stored in a corner of the shed, thinking that it was water, despite the fact that the Romans had learned that water was not only useless, it made matters worse by enabling the naphtha to spread. Ignoring,
or more accurately, oblivious to the alarmed shouts of his comrades who, unlike him, hadn’t lost their wits, the immune dumped the contents of the amphora on the fiercely blazing fire that was already consuming the table. And, to the massive surprise and almost hysterical relief of both the immune and his comrades, the flames were instantly doused in the same manner as when water was poured over a normal fire. This was so unexpected that it took a bit of investigation by Volusenus, who interviewed every man present, before it was learned that what had been contained in the amphora wasn’t water. Ostensibly, the half-dozen amphorae were part of the monthly wine shipment from Rome, but it was discovered they had been improperly sealed, a common enough problem. The Romans had several uses for vinegar, hence the fact that they weren’t disposed of but had been set aside to be used later. What was learned that day, completely by chance, was that for reasons none of them understood, vinegar was the only known substance that could extinguish flaming naphtha. Once this was determined not to be an accident, Volusenus and his staff set about trying to come up with a way that this new discovery could be used. And, somewhat to the chagrin and half-hearted protests of the men of the Legions, what Volusenus came up with was what Pullus was watching take place now, who at least knew that the efficacy of the vinegar-soaked sleeves had been tested, albeit on Parthian prisoners. However, what hadn’t taken place was any kind of trial or training that would indicate how badly hampered the men would be when it came to a fight, but Caesar hadn’t been willing to risk doing so and allowing some sharp-eyed and clever Parthian in one of the stone towers overlooking the earthen inner wall to see this new countermeasure. The final step was more straightforward; once the sleeves were fastened, the men would move to another barrel and dunk their spare neckerchief in vinegar as well, then tie it around their lower face and neck. Once attired, the only vulnerable spots left were the legs, but a number of attempts to come up with a workable solution had proven fruitless, something that several of the prisoners had learned in an excruciating manner. And now, this new protection was about to be put to the test by the men of the 10th and 12th Legions, chosen by Caesar to conduct the assault from the northern camp. The decision that only three Centuries per assaulting Cohort would be equipped with this new countermeasure was due to the supply of vinegar and nothing more, since Caesar realized that even he couldn’t afford to convert their entire stock of wine into the substance without fear of a mass mutiny. As far as the expected attack by Kambyses, Spurius and the 3rd weren’t going to be alone and expected to defend what was now widely understood as an imminent assault; the 8th and 7th had been given orders to march to the northern camp, although in a manner similar to his plan at Gergovia, Caesar had ordered that these Legions not attempt to move with any sort of stealth, and that they delay their movement to begin only after the assault from the northern camp had commenced. To the contrary, he wanted the Parthians to know that the Romans were shifting their manpower. Consequently, he gave instructions to Clustuminus and Aquilinus, ensuring that the men of both Legions made a suitable disturbance, with the corniceni of each Cohort blaring the orders for the men to first assemble, then begin marching out of their own camp. Since there were only two Legions, the 5th and the 11th, remaining in the southernmost camp and under the command of Ventidius, they were put on alert, although for the moment, they stayed in place, waiting for further orders, with one Legion manning the contravallation and the other standing watch on the inner fortifications. In all three other camps, the barrels of vinegar were hauled to the forum, while the leather sleeves were placed in them to begin the process of soaking up the liquid that would protect Caesar’s men from the effects of the Parthian naphtha. Everywhere around the entire circle of fortifications, every man of Caesar’s army, combatant and noncombatant alike was hurrying about, making their own preparations. And, in the northern camp, Pullus was cautiously pleased to see how quickly the men moved through the process of having the soaked leather sleeves put on, although when he tried to walk past the barrels himself, he was greeted by Balbus and Scribonius, both of them wearing the sleeves.