by R. W. Peake
Ironically, one thing that worked in Caesar’s favor was the unfamiliarity of the vast majority of his men with the geography of India; indeed, their knowledge was confined mainly to the things they had heard from their comrades, which in turn was based in hearsay and rumor. Therefore, when the announcement was made that the army would be marching on to Bargosa, which was how the men referred to it, none of them thought to question exactly how far away that was, or more importantly, what Caesar intended when it came to covering that distance. Not without some logic, most of the men assumed that they would be boarding the ships of the fleet, which they did, sailing back down the river to Barbaricum. However, when they debarked, and no word was passed through the ranks that they would be boarding again, very quickly, the collective mood of the army changed. Somewhat to Pullus’ surprise, which was shared by most of the other Primi Pili, the men had overcome their fear of being aboard ships to the point that they preferred the monotony of days, part of which was spent at the oars, watching the landscape sliding by their ship, to the daily exertion and hardship of a march. Even the addition of the three thousand Pattalan survivors who, while not treated as slaves and being fed almost as well as the men of the Legions, were still closely guarded but did relieve that many Legionaries of serving time on the bench of their ship pulling an oar, weren’t actually viewed as a blessing. Now, when given the choice, they preferred the life aboard ship, particularly when they didn’t land and have to construct a camp; for the rankers, it was a simple proposition of how much time was spent in physical activity, and they wouldn’t be Legionaries if almost universally they preferred to spend a total of two watches at the oars than three or more on the march. To counter this, Caesar liberally spread silver around his network of spies and informers, telling them that the reason for the pause was to allow Caesar to learn more about Bargosa. The reality was somewhat different; while he was certainly interested in gathering intelligence about what awaited them at what was supposed to be one of the wealthiest cities in India, Caesar was also waiting for word from the cavalry column he had sent to the east. Choosing Bargosa as his target had been with two goals in mind, the first of which was what he had told his Centurions, enriching the men and quelling their discontent at being so far from anything familiar. It was the second reason, however, that was the most important to Caesar, because Bargosa served as the gateway to a route to Caesar’s true goal, the Ganges and the city of Palibothra. This had been Alexander’s objective, but the Macedonian king had been forced to turn back a relatively short distance east of the Indus, the river that formed the western boundary of India, and the mouth of which Caesar’s army was now located. The Ganges was the eastern, and Caesar was determined to march his army across the whole of India to reach it, but the reports he was receiving weren’t encouraging. So little was known of the interior that he was forced to rely on hearsay and what scraps of information that he could gather from the few local inhabitants with whom he could communicate. Compounding matters, when the portion of his cavalry that he had sent east, under the command of Ventidius, returned to Pattala two days after it fell, his former Muleteer flatly informed him that the route to the east of the city was too forbidding to be crossed without risking an extreme hazard to the army.
“It’s not as bad as what we had to march through to get to Harmozeia,” was how Ventidius put it to Caesar, “but it’s close. And we couldn’t find anyone who spoke anything but their native gibberish to us, so finding a guide will be next to impossible.”
Frustrated that he couldn’t learn enough to formulate a solid plan, Caesar turned his attention back to the taking of Bargosa, and it was during this planning stage that he made another error that would come back to haunt him.
“Caesar is splitting the army,” Pullus announced to his Pili Priores, having just returned from the praetorium, where Caesar had informed his senior officers of his plans. Continuing, Pullus said, “He’s putting half on the ships, and the other half are going to be marching overland to Bargosa. We…”
Before he could get any further, he was interrupted by Metellus, who asked, “And which half are we?”
Pullus didn’t reply, at least immediately, choosing to glare at the Pilus Prior instead, who, very quickly, averted his gaze and began studying his feet.
“We,” Pullus finally said icily, “are going to be onboard the ships.”
Frankly, this had been expected the instant that Pullus had uttered the words, but having it confirmed elicited a collective sigh of relief from his Centurions, but before anyone could arouse Pullus’ ire more, Scribonius asked, “How far is it to Bargosa, Primus Pilus?”
Pullus gave his friend a sour smile, which was explained when he answered, “That’s a very good question, Sextus. Caesar has been…reluctant to share that information.”
“That must mean it’s a fucking long way from here,” Cyclops observed.
It was rare that Pullus’ former tutor spoke up in these meetings, but when he did, the others listened intently, and with the same level of respect shown the man by Pullus himself, and this was one of those times.
Pullus nodded in agreement, saying only, “That would be my guess.” Then, his smile changed to one that made his men relax as he added, “And I for one am glad we’re going to be sitting on our asses aboard ship. Getting seasick is worth it if it turns out to be as far away as we think.”
Not surprisingly, this elicited laughter, but very quickly, it was drowned out by a noise with which every Roman would become very familiar, although they didn’t know it yet. At this moment, it was unusual enough that it prompted the men to move as a group to the flap and peer outside.
“Pluto’s balls, it’s raining hard,” Gellius commented. “I hope the winters aren’t like this.”
That day marked the first of twelve days straight when it rained at least once, and more often than not, it rained twice and sometimes three times during both day and night hours. If the rainfall had been light, it would have been bad enough; what the Romans experienced was a torrential downpour that most of them had only been exposed to a handful of times during their lives. This was especially shocking after their two years in Parthia, when they could count on one hand the number of times there had been rainfall down in the flat valleys during both years of their time there. Regardless of the extra hardship, if the men expected this to change Caesar’s mind, they quickly found out differently. The part of the army that was marching overland, consisting of the 5th, 6th, 8th, 11th, and much to his disgust, Balbinus’ 12th, departed from Barbaricum ten days after the army’s return from Pattala, it being decided by Caesar that they needed a week’s head start before the fleet departed. Once again, Caesar’s conception of a plan was both straightforward and sweeping in scope. Bargosa was located twenty-five miles inland, up a river the natives called the Narmada, but what the Romans didn’t know, and wouldn’t until they arrived in the area, was whether it was a river like the Indus, deep and wide enough for the ships of Caesar’s fleet to navigate upriver. As every man knew very well, there was no way to hide the movement of thousands of men and animals marching overland, which suited Caesar perfectly. While the defenders of Bargosa were watching the approach of the Roman army from the northwest, the shipborne portion of Caesar’s army would sail down the coast, and either move directly upriver to affect a landing as they had done at Pattala or, if the river wasn’t navigable, they would disembark and make the relatively short march, approaching the city from the coast. Where it concerned the identity of the people who inhabited Bargosa and the surrounding area, there seemed to be some dispute; some of the Greeks in the town insisted that the city was owned and controlled by people they called the Sadenoi, there were others who were just as adamant that it was a tribe called the Suarattaratae. One aspect of these Bargosans they did agree on, however, was the very thing that had worried Porcinus.
“They use elephants,” Pullus had confirmed the night before the first part of the army marched out. Seeing Porcinus’ face
, he took pity on the youngster and assured him, “That’s why the 5th is with the first part of the army, Gaius. They’re specially trained to handle elephants, and they’re more likely to face them than we are.”
This certainly made sense to Porcinus; whether this was the reason for the 5th’s inclusion in the land force Pullus had no idea, but it seemed reasonable, and not only did he not want his nephew having nightmares about the beasts, he also counted on him to spread this piece of information about the 5th among his comrades. It wasn’t until after the first part of the army, the Legions commanded by Pollio, along with the cavalry commanded by Hirtius, all of which but an ala that Caesar would use for scouting and screening purposes, had departed that Pullus and the other Primi Pili learned there was another reason for Caesar’s decision to depart later.
The day Pullus learned of this new development, the moment he returned from the praetorium he came and sat on Diocles’ desk, asking his clerk, “Did you know we’re being reinforced?”
Diocles didn’t react immediately, sitting up straight from where he had been bent over adding up figures in a wax tablet, carefully placing his stylus on the desk, but it was the way he refused to meet Pullus’ eyes that told the tale.
The Greek said carefully, “I may have heard…something about that. But,” he hastened to add, since even out of the corner of his vision, he could see Pullus’ jaw tighten, a sure sign there was the danger of an impending explosion, “I just heard about it yesterday. And,” now he did look up at Pullus, speaking quietly but firmly, “Apollodorus told me in confidence and specifically told me not to let you know.”
“So you’re more loyal to Apollodorus than me now, is that it?” Pullus snapped, but while Diocles was apprehensive, his tone was firm as he replied, “Master, if I betrayed a confidence after I swore that I wouldn’t, how would that reflect on you, my master?” Pullus opened his mouth to respond, then shut it, but Diocles wasn’t through, pointing out, “And if I did that, how willing would Apollodorus be to share anything else with me?”
He saw that he had scored a telling blow, but Pullus still grumbled, “Well, it would have been nice to know.” Suddenly, his weathered face split into a grin as he added, “I never can beat you in an argument, you shifty little Greek.”
Diocles laughed, then, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt now that Pullus was aware of the news, to share something he wasn’t sure Pullus knew, which prompted him to ask, “Have you heard which two Legions it is?” When Pullus shook his head, Diocles said, “The 30th…” he paused, then he smiled up at Pullus, knowing how his master would feel hearing this, “…and the 25th.”
“The 25th?” Pullus’ grin returned; as Diocles suspected, he was pleased at this. “So I’ll have to listen to old Torquatus moaning about Balbus, and Balbus moaning about him again?”
“Who am I going to be moaning about?”
Balbus had just thrust open the flap of the tent and entered, only catching the last part of the conversation, but when Diocles opened his mouth, Pullus shook his head, and since his back was turned to Balbus, gave the Greek a wink as he said casually, “Oh, nobody special.”
This didn’t deter Balbus, his scarred face enhancing his look of suspicion as his eyes went from Pullus to Diocles, then back again, and he demanded, “Who are you talking about? Who’s not special? And why,” he jabbed a stubby finger at Diocles, “is he grinning at me like a fucking idiot?”
Pullus refused to answer, saying only, “You’ll find out soon enough,” as he slapped Balbus on the shoulder. Turning back to Diocles, he said, more to torment Balbus than any other reason, “They’re supposed to be here within a week, so I want you to pass the word that I’m going to be holding a pre-boarding inspection in three days. No reason for these bastards to lounge about more than they already are.”
Seeing that he wasn’t going to be rewarded in his inquiry, Balbus tossed the pair of tablets on Diocles’ desk in disgust, muttering that he was turning in the daily and ration report before turning and stalking out of the tent. Pullus wasn’t repentant in the slightest, grinning at his friend’s retreating back, then once Balbus was gone, turned and went into his quarters, whistling cheerfully. It, he thought, torn between amusement and a bit of unease, is going to be interesting having those two back together again.
Gnaeus Torquatus was leaning on the rail of the ship, but he was thankful that this time it wasn’t to empty his guts into the water. It had taken three days, but here on the fourth, he was beginning to feel well enough that he actually kept the chunk of bread down that he had consumed to break his fast, although his appetite still hadn’t returned. That he was far from alone was the only thing that made the thought of the Primus Pilus of the 25th Legion retching for the entire voyage bearable, and he was perversely happy to see that several of his men still were unable to keep anything down. It hadn’t helped that the navarch of this tubby transport was clearly barely competent to handle what was essentially a broad version of a bireme and had proven almost hopelessly inept at the task of training Torquatus’ men how to work as a team during their shift at the oars. The fact that Octavian had neglected to mention this important piece of information meant that, when the ships arrived, and the slaves were led off the ship chained together and never to return, both Torquatus and Flaminius were completely unprepared, which in turn meant that there was no time to get their men accustomed to the idea that they were expected to sit on a bench where, just a matter of a couple days earlier, a stinking, vermin-infested slave had been pulling at his oar. It had taken liberal use of their viti to get the men to accept that this was the reality of their situation, but very quickly, the men learned that there was more to manning an oar than they thought. What it meant in a practical sense was that several oars had been snapped or otherwise damaged when they clashed together, and rather than the smooth, rhythmic gliding they were all expecting, their ships moved in fits and starts, the jerking motion exacerbating already roiling stomachs. Even now, on the fourth day, while things were markedly improved, there were moments when someone’s hands slipped from their oars, or more commonly, men got out of rhythm for a few strokes.
They were now on the opposite side of the Persicus Sinus, moving east along the coast, and like Pullus had done, Torquatus stared dully at the passing terrain, but instead of wondering why anyone would want to claim such a barren land, Torquatus was thinking about rejoining what he still occasionally thought of as his Legion. Torquatus had been the Primus Pilus of the Equestrians, promoted into that slot when the late legend Gaius Crastinus had retired, and Titus Pullus had been his Secundus Pilus Prior, but it wasn’t Pullus that caused Torquatus a twinge of…something. That feeling that, frankly, he had a hard time differentiating from his nausea, came whenever he thought of Quintus Balbus, who had held the same post with Torquatus as he held with Pullus, the second in command of the Legion. But Balbus had been much more than just a subordinate; they had been tiros together, that was true enough, but they were also first cousins, and had once been as close as Titus Pullus and Vibius Domitius had been. The cause of the falling out between Pullus and Domitius had become legend in the Legions; Pullus had chosen his loyalty to Caesar over his loyalty to Domitius on the day the 10th mutinied. The reason for Torquatus and Balbus’ falling out was much more mundane, and wasn’t nearly as dramatic, but it was no less painful for both men. As happened with so many other men under the standard, it was about a woman; Torquatus’ woman, who he considered to be his wife. When Torquatus received word that his father, and Balbus’ uncle, had died, Torquatus went home to arrange affairs, leaving Balbus to take care of his woman during his absence. Which, as it turned out, Balbus did a bit too well; by the time Torquatus returned, she was pregnant with Balbus’ child, and his cousin never forgave him. The fact that she died in childbirth meant that Torquatus had never forgiven him, despite Balbus’ attempts to make things right,. Then, when the 10th mutinied at Pharsalus, Torquatus had not only been unable to stop it from happening, he hadn’t
even seen it coming. When Caesar ordered the 10th to return to Rome, under the command of Antonius, Torquatus was still the Primus Pilus, but he knew then that his days in that post were numbered; when the 10th had run rampant, marching out into the countryside to sack the villas of several wealthy patricians, he was relatively certain that the best he could escape with was a flogging and being demoted back to the ranks. However, it wasn’t until almost a year later, when Caesar finally summoned the 10th to march with him in Africa before Torquatus was relieved of command, and Titus Pullus, who had been with Caesar in Alexandria, was named Primus Pilus. Under normal circumstances, Torquatus would have suspected Pullus of undermining him, but he had learned that it had been a condition of Pullus taking the post that he prevailed on Caesar to reward Torquatus with the command of one of the Legions Caesar was forming, which had become the 25th. It was something Torquatus never forgot, but neither did he forget what Balbus had done to him, and now his thoughts dwelled on what it would be like to see the man he had once thought of as a brother again. Heaving a sigh, Torquatus thought, At least it helps pass the time. Soon he was absorbed in watching the barren land sliding past once more, and the navarch had promised that they would be reaching the rest of the army in less than a week, but the man had been wrong about everything else, so Torquatus didn’t put much faith in him. They would get there when they got there, and he and his boys would handle whatever came their way.