by R. W. Peake
“When does the attack begin, Primus Pilus?” Scribonius asked, as much to rescue his friend as for the information, and Pullus did look somewhat relieved as he replied, “We’re moving upriver a watch before sunset. There’s a bend in the river three miles downstream from the city that will keep us out of sight, and we’re going to wait there until the beginning of second watch. Then,” he finished with a tone that his subordinates recognized, “we’re going to take this fucking city.”
With nothing more to be said, Pullus dismissed his Pili Priores, but as he stood there watching them move to the spot where the small boat that had ferried them over was tied up alongside Pullus’ ship, he overheard Nigidius muttering to Metellus, “Then maybe we can fucking go home.”
This didn’t surprise Pullus; it was Metellus’ response that did, because his Tertius Pilus Prior gave a laugh that held no humor, then replied, “Vibius, you don’t seriously think you’re ever going to see Italia again, do you?”
Pullus was unable to hear Nigidius’ response, because he had just dropped over the side, but he wondered what it would be. Caesar’s ambition, he thought bitterly, is going to end up getting us all killed. Then he turned away and returned to his quarters to make his own preparations for what was to come.
At roughly the same time, Balbinus was regretting his decision to leave the horse that Caesar had given to each Primus Pilus behind in Parthia. Being the vanguard Legion was usually a sign of distinction; when that Legion was arrayed in a line of Cohorts as part of an agmentum quadratum, it meant that their Primus Pilus spent most of his time huffing and puffing as he ran along behind his Cohorts to confer with his Pili Priores. His one consolation was that the march was at least a straightforward matter when one was the leading edge of the quadratum; it was the Legion in the rear who had to spend their time alternating between marching facing forward, then at an interval specified by their Centurions, turning to walk backwards for a few paces. Normally, only the men of the rearmost rank did that, but Centurions always rotated that duty in order to spread the misery. Not that any of this occurred to Balbinus as, for what had to be the fiftieth time since the march began, he cursed at the sweat streaming down his face at a rate that was almost as if he had dumped a pitcher over his head. And, he thought miserably as he went trotting behind his men to reach the end of the quadratum, it hasn’t rained yet. Reaching the spot where his Quartus Pilus Prior was marching next to the Cohort standard bearer, it took Balbinus several heartbeats to recover before he could speak normally.
Once he was able to, he pointed ahead at what had materialized into the edge of a dense forest, although it was still too far away to make out anything more than that, “That’s where they think those bastards are waiting, Gellius. Be sure and listen for the signal; Pollio is going to stop us while he sends the cavalry ahead to scout it out.”
The truth was that Gellius was more irritated than grateful; what did Balbinus think, that he was a raw tiro?
Wisely, he didn’t let that show in his tone as he assured Balbinus, “I understand, Primus Pilus, and will obey.”
Satisfied, Balbinus sighed as he decided to stand and wait for his Eighth Cohort, which was the first Cohort of the part of the quadratum that served as the southeast side of the square. These men were able to march in a normal manner, although they weren’t aligned in their normal marching formation, but the more open one that would allow them to go immediately into battle. By and large, the men didn’t care for this unless they were actually marching directly into a fight; otherwise, on what appeared to be a normal day on the march, it made it more difficult for them to chat as they moved, with the man on the little end forced to yell to be heard by his comrade on the opposite side. Despite Balbinus and the other Primi Pili arguing that, until they sighted the enemy, this was unnecessary, Pollio refused to budge; he was determined that he wouldn’t be the Legate who was surprised. Once Balbinus was through repeating his instructions to the three Pili Priores on this side, he wrung his spare neckerchief out to mop his face, took a deep breath that he was convinced was half water, then forced himself to move at a trot, heading for the opposite side of the quadratum, where his First Cohort was marching. Before he reached it, however, a horn sounded, but Balbinus and the rest of the army recognized its slightly higher pitch that identified it as the cavalry version of the cornu, which was understandably lighter and easier for a mounted man to carry. In obedience to the meaning of the notes played, the army came crashing to a halt, for which Balbinus offered up a silent thanks to the gods. By the time he returned to the front rank, he saw why the command had been given, as Hirtius sent a turma of his cavalry forward to examine the ground ahead. They were close enough for Balbinus to distinguish individual trees, and that the part that lay directly in their path was much thinner than the forest on either side of this strip. To Balbinus’ eye, it was only slightly wider than the width of the quadratum, while the trees that remained seemed to be almost exclusively of the type that the men had been talking about, with their multiple trunks and spreading branches. While he couldn’t see any distinctive pattern in how these trees were arranged, it was obvious that this had been by design, not accident, and as he watched the detachment trotting towards the forest, he idly wondered what the purpose was.
More to pass the time than anything, he commented to his Aquilifer, “I wonder why just this part in front of us has been cleared out, and why they left those trees?”
Petronius, the Aquilifer of the 12th, had actually been wondering the same thing, so he didn’t hesitate in replying, “Maybe those trees are sacred, and they use the rest of them for buildings and such.”
Balbinus looked over at Petronius in surprise, but as he thought about it, he realized, “That’s as likely as any other reason, I suppose. But at least it means we won’t have to be hacking our way through that.” He pointed off to their right, where the density of the underbrush returned to its normal state.
It was the sudden halt by the horsemen ahead that caught Balbinus’ eye, and he turned just in time to see one horse rear, while the rider’s comrades wheeled their mounts about and went immediately to the gallop. The rider who was left behind quickly got his mount under control so that he was only a few lengths behind his comrades as they came rushing back towards the army. Because of the dampness, there was only a barely perceptible dust cloud behind the returning cavalrymen, which was what enabled Balbinus to spot what had clearly alarmed the scouting party. At first, it was only a dark mass that was several hundred paces deep in the forest, but he could instantly see that it was too regularly shaped to be anything other than manmade, and since it hadn’t been there moments before, could only be the enemy. Finally, he thought, with that combination of excitement and anxiety that was the purview of every man who leads other men in war; the more the men under his command, the more intense the feeling. Now all that remained was for Pollio to decide what to do.
Asinius Pollio was a good, competent commander. No, he didn’t have the tactical brilliance of Caesar, but nobody did; what he did possess was a sound grasp of the fundamentals of combat, along with an excellent mind for strategy. And, when Hirtius came galloping up with the Decurion who had commanded the party he had sent ahead to get a deeper look into the forest, Pollio’s overriding objective was linking up with Caesar and the fleet. Given what he knew of the situation, and with an extremely limited knowledge of the geography of this strange place, for Pollio, it was a simple proposition; the fastest way to meet Caesar was to get to Bargosa, and the fastest way for that to happen was through this forest, no matter what the enemy put in his path. Once he heard the report, Pollio spurred his own mount, going to the canter to see for himself, over the objections of Hirtius and the commander of Pollio’s personal bodyguard, but he didn’t need to get as close as the scouts had, because the sight that had caused them to turn about was now more easily distinguishable.
“It’s one of those phalanxes.” Pollio’s voice was grim, but despite the sight, he wa
sn’t dissuaded from pursuing his course of action.
As they sat watching, the width of the formation changed as men in the rear ranks moved outward then forward, and fairly quickly, their intent became clear.
“It’s basically like Pattala all over again,” Pollio commented, his eyes never leaving the Bargosans. “Except instead of buildings, they’re going to use that forest to keep us from flanking them.”
“I wonder if they have men hiding in there?” Hirtius mused, pointing to the thickest sections of the forest on either side.
Pollio shook his head, saying, “As bad as it is for our style of fighting to be in stuff that thick, it’s even worse for a phalanx.”
This was certainly true, but Hirtius wasn’t convinced, although he was careful to modulate his tone, not wanting it to be perceived as criticism, either by Pollio or the other men within earshot, saying, “It’s possible that they have more than just spearmen, Asinius, and they could be waiting for us either to try to go around, or once we push those men back, they can fall on our flanks from under cover.”
Pollio knew that this was certainly a possibility, but he didn’t think it was much of one, which prompted him to reply, “That’s where your men come in, Aulus.”
Hirtius looked over in surprise, exclaiming, “My men? How could we help? As bad as that ground is for them, and for the Legions, it’s worst of all for cavalry. Surely you don’t expect me to lead my men into that!”
To his relief, Pollio shook his head, saying, “No, I just want your men to screen our flanks once we push these bastards out of the way. We’ll narrow our front once we do to give you room on either side. You can see that there will still be trees, but they shouldn’t be too much for your cavalry, should they?”
Hirtius shook his head in reply, then asked, “What about the elephants?”
This had worried Pollio as well, but he pointed at where, even as they were talking, the Bargosan phalanx had reached the edge of the forest and said, “If they had them here, we’d see them behind those men there. This is the only place they could maneuver because, just like cavalry, they can’t operate effectively in a forest with this much undergrowth.” Shaking his head, he concluded, “No, I think that however many elephants they have, they’re going to be waiting for us at Bargosa.”
It was a reasonable assumption to make, and Pollio was correct about the war elephants of Bargosa not being suited to the thick forest because they couldn’t maneuver very well. Not, at least, for any distance, but for a hundred paces and with a running start, the huge beasts could crash through anything, as Pollio and his men were about to discover.
While Pollio and Hirtius were holding their discussion about what came next, Abhiraka, two miles to the south and on the other side of the stretch of forest, sat atop his personal war elephant, Darpashata, watching as the other hundred animals, divided into two groups, gradually disappeared from sight, following the two parallel paths that had been cleared for them. It had been a close-run thing, to the point that the commander of the labor force had come to Abhiraka and warned that the approaching Romans might be able to hear the sound of the men busy felling the trees. That hadn’t happened, but it only contributed to the tension the Bharuch king was feeling. For perhaps the thousandth time, he wondered if he had properly allocated his most devastating weapon, and more than once he had been on the verge of summoning another fifty of the war elephants from the city but changed his mind. As confident as he was that the elephants would prove to be the decisive edge in this first clash, Abhiraka was also acutely aware that he could be incorrect, and when he thought about the prospect of not completely crushing these Romans here and now while committing the majority of his corps of war elephants, then being forced to defend the city with whatever forces he had left, he changed his mind back to his original plan. Better, he thought, to leave something in reserve, especially with elephants. As terrifying as these huge animals were to their enemies, the truth was that they only posed slightly less risk to the men who guided them into battle, or to the men around them. They were notoriously difficult to control; Abhiraka admired and, while he would never say as much publicly, loved these animals a great deal, respecting their power and intelligence. However, it was another characteristic that, while it could help create a bond between animal and handler, could also prove fatal. These animals had a temper, just like humans, and as long as that anger was properly directed, it greatly enhanced their lethality, but in Abhiraka’s experience, they were almost as likely to turn that temper on their handlers and anyone nearby. And that, he thought ruefully, was under normal conditions; at that moment, there were fifteen of his bulls who were back in Bharuch, wearing heavy chains around each leg, which was attached to a heavy iron collar, while another heavy chain ran from the collar to a huge post driven deeply into the ground. These animals were in musth, an affliction that, for reasons even those who knew the animals well could only guess at, made bull elephants not only much more aggressive, but wildly unpredictable. Yet, despite the hazards posed by these animals even under normal circumstances, Abhiraka was happy to have them, particularly the beast that he was sitting astride right now, and he reached down to offer the animal a reassuring pat on its huge head, which Darpashata responded to with a quiet huffing sound through his long trunk that the king knew was his way of showing affection. As befitted a king, Darpashata was the largest of all two hundred elephants, but Abhiraka had raised him, receiving him as a gift from his father when Abhiraka had been twenty. Now, twenty years later, Darpashata was in his prime, and the king was thankful that his animal wasn’t in musth. Whereas the men of Parthia, and to a lesser degree, of Rome, often developed bonds with their horses, for Abhiraka, this was reserved for the animal he always rode as its handler, and not in the square platform, which in his case was occupied by two of his most trusted bodyguards, Bolon and Arshad.
The skirmishers and swordsmen were already in position, having moved into the dense part of the forest under cover of darkness, while the phalanx only left their camp when the Romans had been sighted. Timing was crucial, as was coordination, and it all started with the ability of Ushabad, the man who commanded the phalanx, to convince the Romans that, once they began to withdraw, it was for a reason that convinced the Romans it was genuine. Understanding that this meant taking casualties, Ushabad was the best choice for Abhiraka to make; the man, the king was convinced, had no soul. Ushabad only had one interest, one that bordered on passion, and that was in making war on the enemies of his king, making him the kind of subordinate who wouldn’t shrink from standing in the face of these Romans so that enough men fell, before beginning the rearward movement, back in this direction. Everything was as ready as he could make it; now it was time to see if his plan would work.
Pollio cantered over to Balbinus, pulling up next to the Primus Pilus.
“Before you attack, I’m sending the slingers forward,” he told Balbinus, but the Centurion was doubtful of their usefulness.
“As heavily armored as those men are, I’m not sure what good sling bullets will do,” he commented, but Pollio had something else in mind.
“Remember what they did to the cataphractoi,” Pollio reminded him, “and they’re using those lead missiles. Besides, if we send the slingers forward first and they have archers hidden in those woods on either side, hopefully, they’ll expose themselves.”
Balbinus had indeed forgotten about the battle where Pacorus had been slain, and while he didn’t care all that much for slingers, or any other kind of missile troops, for that matter, sharing the disdain all infantrymen had for those who wouldn’t stand face to face with their enemies, even to him this seemed to be a callous thing to do, although he held his tongue. There were two thousand slingers in total, half of them with Pollio, the other half with Caesar, and it wasn’t long before these men, dressed in the short tunics of the Balearic Islands and their customary leather bags slung over their shoulders, came forward, moving in between the standing Legionaries, who we
re in the process of grounding their packs and uncovering their shields. This movement didn’t provoke a reaction from the Bargosans, who were standing in ordered ranks that placed the men closer to each other than the Roman formation, their spears held vertically as they waited for the Romans. As Balbinus walked down the ranks, he split his attention between checking his men and watching to see if Pollio’s gambit would work. The slingers were spread out across the entire expanse of the cleared area, the men on each end slightly overlapping where the thick undergrowth began, then Balbinus heard a shouted command that was instantly echoed by other men in the formation. Arms raised upward, the hands making a whirling motion above their heads, the sight prompting Balbinus as well as the rest of the men to stop what they were doing to watch. After a span of a few heartbeats, another shout sounded and was repeated, presumably by the same men, whereupon a thousand missiles went streaking through the air at a height just above the heads of the slingers, sailing with a speed that, every time Balbinus saw it, didn’t seem possible from such a simple weapon, powered only by a man’s arm. Too far away to hear the impact, there were some thin cries that drifted across the open ground, signaling that at least some of the missiles had struck home, and this roused a spontaneous cheer from the Legionaries. Once the first volley was released, the slingers were allowed to work at their own pace, but once each man had released several missiles, there was another command, and the slingers moved closer.
“All right, boys, it’s about time for us.” Balbinus shouted this so that more than just his Century heard. “Keep your intervals, and we’re going to use both javelins before we go to the sword!”