Centurion's Rise

by Henrikson, Mark

  The historical significance of the chamber was breathtaking. Even the professional soldiers were distracted by what they saw. Mark would have liked nothing better than to take a few hours and soak it all in, but time was still progressing forward, and every second counted.

  “History can wait gentlemen, we have a job to do in the present,” Mark said on his way through a low doorway with a ramp leading the rest of the way to ground level and into the belly of the Sphinx.

  They encountered a lit room ahead of them. As a precaution, Mark sent one of the men forward alone to investigate. He proceeded toward a lighted work station situated in front of a door that was reminiscent of a bank vault. When the soldier came within five feet of the equipment, a small antenna mounted on the ceiling came to life, pointed directly at the unsuspecting soldier and let loose a bright blue beam that enveloped the man’s entire body.

  The soldier did not look harmed in any way, but he moved no farther. Moments later a badly slurred moan came from the frozen soldier. “Stay back, I can’t move.”

  Chapter 23: Pompey the Not So Great

  A weary traveler approached a small cluster of Roman cavalrymen giving their mounts a rest. Vague shadows of his facial features were barely discernible under the hood of his thoroughly soiled cloak. Beneath the garment was a torn tunic with a layer of caked on dirt. Everything about him screamed vagrant approaching to beg for food, but something was off about the situation. Beneath the tears and stains on the clothing, the shiny fabric of fine blue silk peeked through.

  The lead soldier drew his blade as the stranger approached. His patrol had already made three contacts with Pompey’s men that day while screening the movements of Caesar’s army. The man’s approach could be a preamble to an ambush, or they may have stumbled upon a spy attempting to locate the bulk of Caesar’s force.

  “State your business or be gone,” the captain said with a firm tone inviting nothing but a crisp reply.

  The stranger raised his arms to the sky in surrender. He did not look at the soldier speaking; instead, he stared directly at the standard bearer and the insignia on the flag he carried. The preoccupation with the unit identification did not sit well with the captain, so he moved in to place the man under arrest for suspicion of being a spy.

  Before the captain could dismount and execute the arrest the stranger exclaimed, “Thank the gods. On your banner I see you fight for Caesar. Take me to my uncle immediately.”

  The captain let loose a hearty laugh as he finished his dismount. “Octavian died at sea, a fate you will no doubt wish upon yourself when we get through torturing the whereabouts of Pompey’s army out of you.”

  Immediately the stranger pulled back the hood of his cloak to reveal a teenage face the soldiers knew quite well. The young man was worn and tired, but his likeness was unmistakable. He was indeed Caesar’s long lost nephew.

  “Apologies. I expected treachery, but I see now your words carry the truth of the matter.”

  “I don’t need your apology, I need your mount and food rations,” Octavian responded as he struggled to stay on his feet. “Two days spent swimming ashore and the next four weeks dodging Pompey’s patrols has taken its toll. Just get me to my uncle.”

  With that, the young man collapsed to the ground and allowed two of the soldiers to lift him onto the back of the captain’s mount. Then the entire cluster of soldiers rode eastward. Each man was eager to provide an honor guard and possibly earn himself a reward or favor from Caesar for the rescue of his dear nephew.

  Following an hour of rough riding, the soldiers finally located the main body of Caesar’s army. Among the columns of marching foot soldiers a massive covered wagon resembling a boat set on wheels rumbled along the road. Tied to the side of the beastly land vessel was the massive white stallion Octavian gave his uncle. The cavalrymen approached the carriage and signaled for the driver to halt. Eventually the back hatch of the carriage popped open and Caesar strutted out to see what caused the delay. Spotting the cluster of cavalry as the cause he said calmly, “Report?”

  “I carry miraculous news, General,” the captain said as he leaned to the side to reveal his passenger. “We found your nephew.”

  Caesar’s face instantaneously revitalized with life and hope at the news. “Praise Jupiter,” he said as he lurched forward to help Octavian down from the horse. Upon seeing the nearly unconscious boy he shouted to no one in particular, “Send for my surgeon.”

  As the captain assisted with the dismount he said, “He is uninjured from his ordeal, though he does suffer from exhaustion I’d wager. It’s remarkable. He spent two days swimming to shore amid the storm. Of the hundred men on board the boat only he made it to shore alive. Not only that, he spent the last four weeks sneaking and foraging his way past Pompey’s men to reach us. Like you, he truly carries the god’s favor.”

  “Indeed,” Caesar responded with pride. He looked to his orderly. “Make sure these men are well rewarded for the great service they gave me this day.”

  Caesar then gestured for his physician to join him in the carriage, but Octavian suddenly summoned the strength to stand on his own two feet. “That won’t be necessary, Uncle. I’m fine, and this man’s time will be better spent caring for the men who suffer from real wounds, not simply fatigue.”

  Caesar relented and signaled for his doctor to return to his previous activities. “In that case, you will ride with me to rest as we lay our plans for battle.”

  The two men walked past a scowling Mark Antony as they entered the mammoth carriage and shut the door behind them. The sudden return of his main rival for Caesar’s favor did not sit well with Antony. He was second in command of the army and should have been in the carriage making battle plans, not the little whelp.

  **********

  “Pompey, please listen to me,” Hastelloy begged. “There is no need to force battle in this situation. We have him pinned against the sea and your navy prevents any escape attempt. All we need do is trench and fortify our lines. Then we wait for starvation to force Caesar’s hand.”

  “Senator Brutus, a month ago you berated me in no uncertain terms for not taking swift enough action at Dyrrhachium,” Pompey challenged. “Now you stand there and argue the virtues of inaction? Morale is high from our last victory, Caesar’s troops are demoralized. Plus we have him outnumbered two to one. Of course we attack.”

  “You know as well as I that numerical superiority does not by itself convey an advantage,” Hastelloy cautioned. “Even a first year officer knows an attacking army needs three times the size of a defending force to assure victory.

  “Don’t quote military maxims to me, Senator,” Pompey shouted, once again putting extra emphasis on Hastelloy’s political office and thereby pointing out his apparent lack of military experience. “I am Pompey Magnus. I wrote the book on warfare based on a lifetime of commanding armies in the field, not studying some words in the safety of a private library.”

  Hastelloy resisted the urge to raise his voice to match Pompey’s tone. He needed the man to actually listen to his words so he’d be convinced to change his mind. That would not happen through a shouting match. Hastelloy drew in a deep breath; let the excess air out of his lungs, and tried to push his frustrations out along with it. Then, with a slow and calm voice he continued.

  “You have expertly maneuvered Caesar’s army into a terrible spot,” Hastelloy commended. “He’s at a disadvantage right now, that is a given, but let’s consider the two advantages he still carries if we attack right now.

  “First, he has trenches and fortified lines that will at least partially nullify our greater numbers. Second, and possibly more important, his men have their backs against the sea. They will not break like before because there is nowhere else to run. In their eyes right now it is victory or death and you know better than anyone else how motivating that can be for an army.”

  “Bah,” Pompey scoffed with a flippant gesture of his hand. “Caesar’s men fought so hard for him b
ecause they believed he was unbeatable. Now they know different, and the man who beat their general before now approaches to finish the job. His troops will see my army descend on them as if we were agents of Pluto on a mission to send them all to the underworld on his behalf. When we approach with the full mass of our numbers, they will throw up their hands to surrender and this little insurrection Caesar orchestrated will be over.”

  “I concede what you just described might happen,” Hastelloy argued. “I give it a fifty-fifty chance in fact, but I humbly suggest a course of action where the odds are stacked irresistibly in our favor. Forcing Caesar’s men to endure a month long siege will erode his numbers. I’d wager the losses he suffers from desertion will far exceed any we could inflict on the battle field. A month from now, Caesar’s men will be fewer and in no condition to fight, owing to fatigue and starvation. You have him trapped, and he can’t escape; use that advantage.”

  “That is the coward’s way to win a war,” Pompey blasted. “The citizens of Rome demand immediate and decisive victory from me, and they shall have it.”

  “They demand victory,” Hastelloy interrupted. “As long as Caesar is contained, the speed and style of that victory becomes more a function of your ego than the demands of the citizenry.”

  Pompey’s face turned bright red as his rage rushed to the surface. “You’re out of line!”

  “And you’re being reckless,” Hastelloy shouted. “If you press this attack, it will be all over for us.”

  “I am not over,” Pompey exploded. “I am Pompey Magnus, winner of three Triumphs, and I have never been beaten in battle.”

  Pompey stepped forward to get in Hastelloy’s face and pointed a meaty index finger at his nose. “I know what you’re trying to do, Senator. You’re trying to diminish my victory to enhance your position with the people. You plan to take all the credit and take Rome for yourself just like Caesar tried to do.”

  Hastelloy slapped the finger away from his nose and barely fought back the urge to punch Pompey in his. “You’re insane.”

  “And you’re under arrest,” Pompey concluded. “Chain him to a tree on the highest hilltop so he can watch my victory and be dissuaded from any ambitions of staging a coup of his own some day.”

  An hour later, Hastelloy found himself chained face first to a particularly tall oak tree. He strained his neck to look around the stout piece of lumber to see the three soldiers who oversaw his imprisonment walking back to their cohort for the coming battle. His arms were just long enough to wrap around the base of the tree while the three large chain links between his wrist shackles gave him adequate mobility to poke his head around the tree and watch the action below.

  The tree holding Hastelloy in place stood alone on top of a hill overlooking the peninsula that housed Caesar’s entrapped army. The soldiers on both sides of the battlefield were already starting to form up.

  “Best view in the house,” Hastelloy sighed. A sudden twinge on his right earlobe made him rub the side of his head against the rough tree bark for relief. As he did, a wave of déjà vu ran over him like a charging chariot. It struck him how similar this situation was to the one he faced back in Egypt. In both instances, Hastelloy was chained up and forced to look on as an Alpha plot to take over the planet unfolded before his eyes.

  The key difference in Egypt was that Tomal was working for him to destroy the Alpha ship. Now Tomal was inadvertently helping the Alpha by leading Caesar’s armies in battle. Hastelloy lamented the lack of control he had over the situation. If he commanded the army, the Alpha threat posed by their complete control over Caesar would be no more. Now the only hope he had was Pompey’s leadership skills on the battlefield. Those skills were very much in doubt now given the man’s complete lack of adherence to sound military strategy. Whether by age or arrogance, Pompey the Great was a distant memory Hastelloy feared.

  Looking down into the valley, he could clearly see the right wing of Caesar’s army would see the hardest fighting. Pompey arrayed his entire complement of 1,000 cavalry against Caesar’s measly 500. In theory, once Pompey’s cavalry dispatched their counterparts they’d be free to attack Caesar’s right flank and rear.

  Normally, a line of foot soldiers presented a formidable front, but that front only faced one direction. If those soldiers were engaged in combat in one direction, having a cavalry charge slam into them from an unprotected side would devastate them. If Pompey’s cavalry got free, they could almost single-handedly roll up Caesar’s entire army into a disorganized jumble. Then they would simply sit back and watch as the foot soldiers mopped up the shattered lines left in their wake.

  That was the plan anyway, but Caesar and Tomal knew what they were about on the field of battle. The plan was obvious, and they would certainly prepare for it. Only time and the death of men would tell.

  Hastelloy felt a rush of adrenaline course through his veins as the two cavalry lines met off to the side of the main body of soldiers who were rapidly closing the void in between to begin the bloodletting. After only a few minutes of heavy fighting, Hastelloy could plainly see Caesar’s cavalry forces were in trouble. They fought well, but the weight of numbers arrayed against them was too much. A low trumpet roared from that side of the battle field and Caesar’s horsemen began pulling back. Slowly at first, but they soon broke into a full speed retreat.

  Encouraged by their progress, Pompey’s cavalry pursued. Hastelloy’s pulse raced as he sensed the pending victory. It was there, it was almost there, but it was too easy. He forced his adrenaline rush aside to look at the field objectively. That’s when he saw it. There was a shiny haze among the tall grass Caesar’s cavalry were retreating towards. His stomach bound up into a tight knot when he realized what was about to happen. In futility he yelled out from a half mile away, “No, it’s a trap.”

  Time screeched to a halt as Hastelloy watched Pompey’s cavalry bear down on the tall grass. In unison, three hundred men rose from their hiding place among the three foot tall greenery and hurled javelins at Pompey’s unsuspecting cavalry. From Hastelloy’s vantage point he saw half of Pompey’s horseman go down in the volley. As the horsemen wheeled about to run away, a second wave of needle sharp wood inflicted another devastating wave of casualties.

  The coup de grâce came when Caesar’s formerly retreating cavalry charged back at full speed sending Pompey’s horsemen running for their lives in every direction. Caesar’s men reformed and promptly smashed into Pompey’s left side.

  In a matter of minutes, Caesar’s army managed to wheel around Pompey’s left wing to envelope the entire force into an insanely tight circle, the soldiers barely had room to swing a sword as Caesar sent in his reserve veterans to finish the job. Those in Pompey’s army who did not die immediately soon threw down their arms in surrender as the situation was utterly hopeless.

  Up on the hilltop Hastelloy heard the roar of horse hooves approaching the tree he was made to embrace. He rotated his body around to the other side of the trunk in time to see Pompey riding by with a cluster of bodyguards a hundred yards behind. Pompey didn’t make eye contact or even utter a word as he rode past his captive. Hastelloy had something to say though.

  “I told you so you arrogant fool. Pompey the Great, more like Pompey the Fake.” As the body guards rode past he hollered one last remark. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the mess you left. I hear Egypt is nice this time of year; go enjoy yourself.”

  That got a response as Pompey shot a menacing look over his shoulder. At least as menacing a look as a grown man running with his tail between his legs could possibly convey.

  Over an hour later, after the surrender of Pompey’s army was all but complete; three men on horseback approached the tree. Tomal was on the left side with a young teenager on the right and Caesar himself occupying the middle position.

  “Ah, Senator Brutus,” Caesar said in a conversational tone. “You appear to be in a rough way at the moment. Either that or you’ve developed a plant fetish I was not previously a
ware of.”

  “I prefer my sexual partners to have softer skin I’m afraid,” Hastelloy chided. “Would you mind breaking these chains? This is a terribly uncomfortable position.”

  “You don’t want me to do that, Senator,” Caesar sighed. “If I free you it will only be to add a cross-beam to that tree and nail you to it. That way everyone will know from this day forth any traitor to the Republic will be crucified for their crimes. It’s your choice, but I’d wager being nailed to that cross would be less comfortable than your current predicament.”

  “Traitor?” Hastelloy responded. “I’m a duly elected Senator of the Republic. My duty was to resist any invader, and that is precisely what I did. If you mean to execute me then get on with it, but at least be honest about why you’re killing me. You think I betrayed you, not the Republic.”

  “I did not invade the Republic,” Caesar challenged. “I approached Rome with one single legion; one. I left the rest of the army to protect the Roman province of Gaul. One legion did not constitute an invasion, it was a glorified honor guard for a Tribune who was assaulted in the senate house.

  “You and your Optimate allies violated sacrosanct,” Caesar continued. “Every citizen of Rome takes an oath to regard those laying violent hands on a Tribune as enemies of the state, regardless of their station.”

  “So all this bloodshed has been about you carrying out a death sentence on Pompey for punching a Tribune?” Hastelloy asked.

  “Not just Pompey,” Caesar corrected. “Every man who took part in the offense as well, and Senator, I am afraid that includes you.”

  “Now hold on,” Hastelloy shouted. “I was the one who restrained Pompey. I pulled him off the Tribune in order to observe sacrosanct.”

  Caesar looked to his left at Tomal. “You were the one assaulted, does the Senator speak the truth?”