by R. W. Peake
Even as the First and Second Cohorts were defeating the resistance facing them in their own particular manner, Vibius Nigidius of the Fourth Cohort essentially copied his Primus Pilus’ method on the opposite side of the city, using the western wall as the most efficient means of advancing into the city, although just as Pullus and the First, they met stiff opposition from the men of the Pattalan phalanx. Either just before the assault or immediately after it began, most of the citizens of Pattala fled from the northern part of the city, some of them reaching the citadel, which, according to Caesar’s plan, would be the final objective of this assault. Those who were either unable or unwilling to take themselves and their families to the far southern end of the city instead chose the large building a few blocks north of the citadel that had once been the palace of the Pattalan king but now housed the functions of administration of the kingdom. It fell to Scribonius’ Second and Metellus’ Third to surround the building, where the language barrier proved to be a problem. As Caesar had discovered during the parley days earlier, what Greek these people did speak was almost unintelligible to Scribonius, who was fluent in the language, and like Caesar, he correctly assumed that it was a combination of the time passing since purebred Macedonians had last controlled this city and the intermingling of tongues between Greek and whatever dialect these people had used before. He was on the verge of ordering an assault on the building when a Pattalan citizen emerged, his arms aloft in surrender. During the back and forth, Scribonius managed to convince the Pattalan, who identified himself as Dioscores, certainly a Greek name, even if his pronunciation was atrociously bad, that the best, and only real option the occupants had was to surrender. And, not surprisingly to Scribonius, Metellus, or any of their men, when people began streaming out of the building, mixed among them were members of the garrison, all of whom had shed their armor in an attempt to mingle in with the civilians. The consequence of this was that the Second and Third were occupied for the rest of the rapidly fading night, separating the fighting men and herding prisoners into a large group separate from them, where they were put under guard.
Even as this was taking place, Pullus was leading his men, not quite at a run but close to it, in what he viewed as the race for his Cohort to be the men who secured the southern gate. This singlemindedness was nothing new, either to the men of his Cohort, or to his Pili Priores, so Nigidius, whose Cohort was the only other one with the chance of beating the Primus Pilus was equally determined to beat Pullus at his own game. It bordered on the foolhardy, if only because the only way to reach the southern gate required both Centurions to lead their men out into the open, directly underneath the walls of Hephaestion’s citadel, the walls of which were lined with fighting men, including archers, although the southern gateway was just out of range of their missiles. Fortunately for Pullus and Nigidius, and more importantly, for the men they led, the Pattalans were reeling in a state of collective shock at the speed with which their city that they had viewed as impregnable had fallen, at least to the point where the last hope resided in the citadel’s defenders. And, while it wasn’t necessarily by design, Caesar, growing impatient at the delay in his Equestrians reaching and opening the southern gate, had marched the 11th and 15th up the narrow neck of land to within artillery range of the four ballistae that were arrayed on the citadel’s southern wall. Whether or not whoever was in command of the artillery had resigned themselves to the presence of Romans within the walls, or the relatively short range and angle made it impossible to punish Pullus and Nigidius’ men down below ultimately didn’t matter to the two Centurions and their men; what did was the fact that they were able to move to the gateway unmolested, while the Pattalan pieces focused their attention on the two Legions just outside the walls. And, while it was a close-run contest, as always, Pullus and the men of his Cohort reached the gateway a matter of fifty paces ahead of Nigidius, who was leading his own men at a dead run from the opposite direction. Despite the circumstances and the high emotions that came from battle, the men of the First celebrated their victory over their comrades in the Fourth in a manner that was impossible to differentiate from the aftermath of some sort of contest on a festival day, under the gaze of the Pattalans in the citadel, whose collective state of mind was one of dazed and fearful bemusement. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time that foes of Caesar and his army would wonder exactly what kind of men these Romans were, and if they were really men at all.
The sun was coming up when the final phase of the battle for Pattala began, and any thought that the fall of the city proper would be enough to signal to the remaining defenders in the citadel that further resistance was futile had been dispelled when, one after the other, the half-dozen ballistae on the rampart loosed the instant that the 11th and 15th outside the wall moved within range. While Nigidius and his men had been defeated in their rush to the gate, the Quartus Pilus Prior had made what was arguably a more important contribution during his approach along the western wall, the side of the city where there was a small wharf that the small fishing vessels and merchant craft used to ply their respective trades up and down the Indus. One of his men, who if the truth was known, had taken advantage of a brief lull while Nigidius conferred with his Centurions and gone off in search of something worth taking, had instead stumbled on a small gate, the presence of which had been obscured to the Romans’ view from across the river because of a strategically located stand of trees in the narrow strip of land between wall and riverbank. The gate itself wasn’t anywhere near the size of the main entrance on the southern side, just wide enough for a wagon, but it was sufficient to allow armed men to enter the city from an unexpected direction. When he was informed of this, not by the ranker but by the man’s Optio who, unsurprisingly, claimed credit for the discovery, Nigidius hadn’t wasted the time sending a runner to his Primus Pilus, certain that he knew what the answer would be. In anticipation of what Pullus would say, Nigidius dispatched a section of men to the wharf, giving them orders to attempt to signal the Legion that had been left behind in the camp on the opposite side of the river, the 8th commanded by Clustuminus. If lighting a fire didn’t rouse the 8th, he ordered them to commandeer a boat and row across the river to alert their comrades, which was why he had dispatched a whole section, not wanting to waste time in more back and forth if the signal fire didn’t work. Normally, the fire would have been sufficient and elicited an immediate response from Clustuminus, who, chafing at the reserve role his general had given his Legion, had already loaded his men onto the ships in order to be ready when Caesar summoned them. However, he was outranked by the Tribune Piso, who Caesar had placed in nominal command of the camp that the 8th occupied. Not wanting to raise Caesar’s ire for overstepping his authority, Piso had ordered Clustuminus to remain on the opposite side of the river, while he had himself rowed across the river to where Caesar was located near the southern walls to ask for instructions. Fortunately, at least for Clustuminus, the Primus Pilus had waited just long enough for it to be impossible for the Tribune to order the men rowing him in Caesar’s direction to reverse their course and stop him and his Legion before he gave the order to cross the river. Consequently, the 8th had been the second Legion to enter the city after the 10th, through the western wall, and before the passing of a third of a watch after they landed and entered the city, they had located the remaining Pattalan phalanxes who were still blocking some of the streets. Subduing them, however, would take longer, simply because of one man’s intransigence. When Clustuminus led his men into the heart of the city, they found the Second and Third Cohorts of the 10th still in the process of organizing the captives outside the large building. When this new force was identified as friendly, and that it was the 8th, Scribonius had approached Clustuminus, offering his advice on the best way to attack the heavily armored Pattalans, which was rebuffed.
“While I appreciate your help, Pilus Prior,” Clustuminus had answered dismissively, “I think my boys are perfectly capable of killing a bunch of s
pearmen.” He gave Scribonius a smile that was as condescending as he could manage. “Your 10th aren’t the only experts at killing barbarians, after all. We’ve sent a fair number of Hades all on our own, without any help from the Equestrians.”
Scribonius understood perfectly what was going on here; Clustuminus’ dislike of Pullus wasn’t a secret, nor was it much of a surprise. Gnaeus Clustuminus was certain that the only reason for Caesar’s favoring of the 10th, and his reliance on Titus Pullus was based only in the man’s size and strength, and his admittedly formidable reputation in battle, not in anything else, like the overall competence and collective toughness of the men of the 10th. The 8th’s Primus Pilus wasn’t unique in his view, Scribonius knew very well; it seemed unfathomable to many men that the gods could have blessed Titus Pullus not just with his extraordinary strength, but an intellect that was every bit as formidable, but over the years, most of those men had realized differently. Clustuminus wasn’t one of those men, and he extended that view to anyone associated with Pullus, especially his closest friend. Therefore, rather than argue, Scribonius simply saluted, then led his Cohort, minus his Sixth Century, who remained behind to guard the prisoners, through the city in the general direction of the southern gate. The consequence of Clustuminus’ obstinacy was the loss of more of his men than was necessary, when he insisted on a headfirst assault against one of the remaining Pattalan formations. This would have been bad enough, but it was compounded when, whether by design or happenstance, two enemy formations occupied the same block of the same street, with each of them facing in the opposite direction. Because of the narrow confines of the street, the men of the 8th were confronted by the serried row of sarissae no matter from which direction they tried to attack, but it was only when the Primus Pilus Posterior took Clustuminus aside and essentially begged him to reconsider his approach to this problem that Clustuminus partially relented. Even then, his pride wouldn’t allow him to utter the words, so he sulkily informed his subordinate that if he went off and found the Secundus Pilus Prior of the 10th and learned from him how they had managed to leave piles of bodies in the streets, Clustuminus wouldn’t stop him. The Centurion found Scribonius just before the Second reached the spot where, unknown to either Centurion, Pullus had briefly halted on the northern side of the citadel during his race to the gate, and apologetically asked Scribonius for the advice that Clustuminus had spurned which, of course, Scribonius gave. As the Second navigated their way through the streets towards the southern gate, Scribonius examined the citadel, although there was little enough to see because of the darkness. Naturally, all lights on the rampart had been extinguished, but despite the sun not quite clearing the outer wall to the point that the citadel was illuminated, what Scribonius could see was that the walls weren’t as high as the outer walls, which meant that the ladders that were available were tall enough, which had been the first problem facing Caesar’s army and was why Pullus and his Equestrians had scaled the northern wall. Turning the final corner and entering the street that ran along the southern rampart, it was easy for Scribonius to pick out his Primus Pilus, and he trotted over.
“Ah, here comes the Second,” Balbus called out, “living up to their name!”
“Says the fool commanding the Second Century,” Scribonius retorted, which made Pullus laugh and Balbus grimace, knowing that, once more, he had been bested by his friend.
Scribonius gave his report, but even as he did, he could see Pullus eyeing the citadel.
Finally, he abruptly stopped talking, which took Pullus a moment to notice, and when he turned to look at Scribonius, his friend heaved a theatrical sigh and said, “You’re not listening because you’re planning on throwing us against that citadel, aren’t you?”
Pullus answered with a grin, but if he was going to say anything, he was prevented from doing so by the arrival of the first of the Legions who had been with Caesar. The 7th came through the southern gate at the trot, having moved as quickly as possible while carrying assault ladders in an attempt to avoid being pummeled by the rocks hurled by the ballistae on the citadel, the only artillery not neutralized by the Romans. Both Nigidius and Trebellius, who had made the independent decision to return to the rampart, had kept at least one Century on the rampart above them, and they had swept aside the remaining defenders with ease, most of the Pattalans having abandoned their posts to flee to the citadel before they were trapped, leaving the remaining ballistae unguarded. There was one surprise waiting for the Romans, however; when they reached each piece, they discovered that the torsion ropes had already been severed and the pieces rendered inoperable. It wasn’t until after the citadel fell that it was learned that his Parthians had lived up to Kamnaskires’ boast that they could be counted on, and it wasn’t only severed ropes left behind. Around several of the pieces were corpses of Pattalans, most of them with their throats slit, and from this moment forward, whenever Caesar had need of men with skills that enabled them to move with stealth, he picked the Elymais of Kamnaskires. Now, with the arrival of the 7th and their ladders, Pullus immediately sought out Mus, while Scribonius and Balbus watched with an amused interest.
“So,” Scribonius asked, “is he going to use honey or vinegar to get those ladders from Mus?”
Balbus snorted, scoffing, “What do you think? When has he ever used honey?”
And, as they looked on, it seemed as if Balbus was right; one of Pullus’ favorite tactics at moments like this was to lean forward to emphasize his massive bulk, which is what he was doing now, while Mus, whose back was turned to the pair, was clearly leaning backward. Pullus’ other ploy, of poking a finger into a man’s chest, hadn’t been used…yet, but when they saw Mus adamantly shake his head, the two friends were certain that was coming next. It didn’t; instead, without any discernible change in their respective demeanors, suddenly, Pullus thrust out his arm, which Mus didn’t hesitate to grasp, then Pullus came trotting back to the other two.
It was Scribonius who noticed that Pullus wasn’t grinning triumphantly, which was what he expected, yet neither did he seem angry at being thwarted, which caused Scribonius to ask cautiously, “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you looking like the cat who got the cream like you usually do?”
“Did he not give up the ladders?” Balbus asked, but Pullus shook his head.
“No, he did,” Pullus replied, but then said nothing else to them, instead barking out orders for Lutatius to hurry to the 7th to relieve their comrades of their ladders.
Now Scribonius was certain that there was something amiss; suddenly, he had a dawning suspicion that whatever it was, the men wouldn’t care for it, which prompted him to ask, “Titus, what did you do?”
“I got us the ladders,” Pullus snapped, but then, while he refused to look his friend in the eye, he heaved a sigh. “But,” he admitted, “I may have given up too much.”
This arrested and caused Balbus, who had been walking towards his Century, to whirl about and demand suspiciously, “What does that mean? What did you promise him? Every guard shift for the rest of the campaign?”
“No,” Pullus sighed, but it was the manner in which he refused to even look in their direction that at least prepared the two that whatever it was, it was bad. “I promised him half of the loot.”
Balbus sagged with relief, thinking that Pullus meant from his own share, and at first Scribonius was of a like mind, but his eyes had never left Pullus, and he gasped, “Titus. You’re not talking about just your share, are you?”
Pullus didn’t reply verbally; the shaking of his head as he walked away to where Lutatius and the men who were carrying the ladders back to the 10th was more than enough.
“Oh, Titus,” Scribonius had the presence of mind to keep his voice down so that only Balbus could hear, “what have you done?”
“What has he done?” Balbus asked incredulously, though he matched Scribonius in volume. “He’s lost his fucking mind, that’s what.”
Which, Scribonius thought dismally, was as good an e
xplanation as any. The men had already been grumbling about this foray into India; being informed that they would be getting half of what they thought would be their share was going to make things worse. To Scribonius, who was as devoted a friend as one could find, this was an example of how whatever it was that drove Titus Pullus would likely prove just as damaging to his giant friend as it was to anyone who tried to stand in his way.
Chapter Four
As she tended to, Fortuna smiled on Titus Pullus, although in the moment he didn’t see it that way; only later, when his ardor had cooled and his reason returned, did he acknowledge this to be true. His savior was none other than Caesar, who had come galloping through the southern gate right behind the 7th, and when he learned that the 10th’s Primus Pilus had finagled Mus into surrendering their ladders to take their rightful place, he had immediately countermanded the order. And, in the process, he had issued a relatively rare stern rebuke to Pullus in the presence of others, something he normally did in private. Part of his ire originated in the idea that his orders were being countermanded by a subordinate, but most of it was that, given the amount of time it had taken the 10th to secure the southern gate, Caesar suspected that taking the citadel would be a bloody business. And, as all generals must do, he viewed the matter dispassionately; he could afford to lose more men in the 7th than he could in the 10th, especially since, at that moment, he hadn’t been informed of the casualty rate of the 10th. Naturally, Pullus didn’t take this rebuke well, particularly since it had been issued in front of not just Mus, but his own men. Regardless of his personal feelings, however, Pullus rendered a proper salute, executed an about turn, then stalked back to where his Cohorts were waiting. With this matter dealt with, Caesar gave Mus his permission to begin the assault on the citadel, and as he feared, it not only turned out to be bloody, he was forced to commit another Legion, picking the 6th and not the 3rd or the 12th, for essentially the same reason he had stopped the Equestrians. It was noon before Mus sent a messenger to inform Caesar that the citadel was secured, and the Pattalan king captured, wounded but alive. The news was met with cheers, at first; when Caesar issued orders that the town was not to be sacked and the civilians were to be treated in the same manner as they had been treating the Parthians, the mood quickly changed. Later, after a series of other events, Pullus and most of the officers would point back to the fall of Pattala as the moment when the seed was planted for the mutiny that was coming.