Caesar Ascending-India Limited Edition

by R. W. Peake

  Returning, Scribonius called out, “We’re not waiting. Everyone else is ready, so time to get up, boys!” He was moving as he said this, but when he hopped up onto the ladder, he paused long enough to turn to the Optio, “Carbo, get this straightened out! We’ll meet you up there!”

  Then, he was stepping on the planks nailed to the ladder to climb up the embankment, bent over at the waist while holding a shield up in front of him, his blade drawn and pulled back, while the man in the First Section who had been designated to follow their Centurion had to scramble to catch up. Just as Pullus’ First was doing, the men following behind the Centurion, or whoever was the first man up the ladder, each carried their javelins and was holding one of them in the position that would enable them to hurl it immediately. Porcinus was going to be the last man to follow Scribonius, who he could see clearly outlined now that this part of the rampart had been illuminated by the blazing hurdles. With his heart in his throat, Porcinus watched as the tall, lean Pilus Prior reached the base of the wooden parapet, the top of which was midway between his waist and chest. There was a Bargosan there, his round shield resting on the top of the parapet, which he was using as cover so that all Porcinus could see was the very top of his helmet. The Legionary behind Scribonius; Porcinus recognized that it was the Sergeant of the First Section, a thickset veteran from Scallabis named Gnaeus Sura, didn’t hurl his javelin at this Bargosan. Instead, he moved as closely behind Scribonius as he could, then extended the javelin out, using it as a lance to jab at the face of the defender, who reacted automatically by moving his shield to block the hardened triangular point. Which, Porcinus saw with satisfaction, was what got the Bargosan killed, because in doing so, he lifted the shield up, creating a gap between the parapet and the bottom of his protection. He couldn’t see the thrust that Scribonius launched, but he saw the reaction, the shield dropping from the Bargosan’s hand as he let out a shrill scream, his now-free hand reaching for his stomach, but it never reached the spot because Sura launched another jab, this time with enough force to not only penetrate the cheekbone of the Bargosan, but to bend the soft shaft.

  The Bargosan vanished as he fell backward, and before any defender behind the man could react, Scribonius swung one leg, then another up and over the parapet, the bottom half of his body disappearing. Immediately, the line of men shuffled forward a spot. Porcinus kept his eyes on the scene above him as he did so, and he saw when Sura reached back with his now-free hand, making a gesture that, to Porcinus, was an obvious demand for another javelin, making him idly wonder if Sura had already thrown his second, though he couldn’t remember seeing him do so. The ranker behind Sura, however, had his attention turned to his left and didn’t see Sura’s gesture, which contributed to what happened next, another reminder to Porcinus of how the smallest mistake could be fatal. When no javelin was placed in his hand, Sura turned his head, and Porcinus saw his mouth open, except that what came out wasn’t a demand for a javelin. Instead, he let out a breathy, barely audible shout, but it wasn’t until he staggered to his right, his foot immediately losing traction on the steeply banked dirt before Porcinus saw the cause, a Bargosan javelin protruding from the Sergeant’s upper chest. Before the second, or third, man on the ladder could react, Sura had fallen backward and came sliding down the embankment headfirst, his shield preceding him, while Vulso broke from his spot ahead of Porcinus to rush over to catch their comrade’s body before it crashed onto the deck, or worse, down into the water through the narrow gap between the ship and the wall. Porcinus hurried to join him and, dropping their own shields, they dragged Sura down onto the deck face up, the shaft still protruding from his body.

  “Pluto’s balls,” Sura wheezed, “that hurts.”

  “Don’t worry,” Porcinus was kneeling by Sura now, desperately trying to determine in the dim light how serious the wound was, “the medici will patch you up and you’ll be on easy duty for months, you lucky bastard.”

  This caused Sura to chuckle, but it was more a burbling, wet gasp that sprayed frothy blood into the air than anything identifiable as humor.

  “Don’t ever play tables, boy,” Sura’s voice was barely audible, “because you’re a terrible liar.” Suddenly, his body spasmed so violently that only his shoulders and heels touched the deck. “Blessed For…”

  Sura never finished the prayer, going limp, his eyes open and staring upward, and Porcinus wondered what he was seeing at that very moment.

  “Let’s go,” Vulso muttered, picking up his shield, and Porcinus followed suit.

  The line had already moved up two more places, though one of those was because of Sura’s death, and now Vulso was stepping up onto the side of the ship. Porcinus returned his attention to the fighting above him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the medici who was down below decks appear, check Sura, then begin dragging his body out of the way. It’s the way of the Legions, Porcinus thought; nothing is enough to stop it, not even death. Before he could dwell on this, Vulso moved up the ladder; now it was Porcinus’ turn, and he was grateful that his legs were long enough that he could simply step instead of hop up onto the side, because despite being stabilized with the modified ladders, the boat still moved a bit, and he didn’t want to plunge down into the narrow gap between the side of the ship and the wooden pilings, having heard about the fate of the ranker in the 11th who had been crushed in this manner. Just as he did so, another man came sliding down the embankment, but unlike Sura, Porcinus saw that he was doing so on his ass and going feetfirst, clutching his upper arm as he tried to control his speed.

  “Juno’s cunnus,” the Legionary’s words were hard to distinguish because of his clenched teeth, but Porcinus could just make him out. “The exact same fucking spot as the one I got at Susa.”

  “That’s because you’re so fucking lazy, Pinna,” Vulso called out as the man reached the deck and dropped down, where the medici were waiting now that casualties had begun to come in. “How many times has the Pilus Prior or Carbo bashed you for dropping your shield?”

  “I’m not lazy, you bastard!” Pinna shot back, reluctantly allowing the medicus to pry his hand from the wound. “I just forget sometimes, that’s all.”

  “You’re going to forget one time too many.” Vulso was anything but sympathetic, but before Pinna could think of some retort, he let out a howl as the medicus began to swab the blood away.

  Besides, other matters took Vulso’s attention away as the man ahead of him moved up, and Porcinus quickly followed. He was now within javelin range, and he hefted his, although he felt fairly certain that it wouldn’t be needed, at least until after he was on the other side of the parapet. Above him to his left, where he knew the Sixth of the First was already up on the rampart, he couldn’t see any more Bargosan helmets, which was about all he could see from his vantage point, while to his right, there were still some because of the delay with the ladder next to his, although it was now in position and men were standing on it. Slowly but methodically, just as the First Cohort was doing, and the Third was just beginning, the Second Cohort pushed its way onto the rampart, and Porcinus prepared himself for whatever would be facing him on the other side.

  Abhiraka had just fallen into a light doze when his chamberlain came to alert him that a messenger had arrived. Leaping to his feet, the king curtly ordered that the messenger be brought to him. While he was waiting, he decided to take the precaution of donning his armor, part of his mind ruing the fact that he hadn’t lain down earlier. It was shortly after midnight, and the king had spent all of the time since sunset getting reports from the various commanders and their subordinates, which he had organized in five groups—one for each of the walls—and then Bhadran and his men on the dirt wall guarding the canal. The only defenders that remained directly under Abhiraka’s control were his elephants, housed in what was only slightly smaller than the palace but larger than the royal stables, all of which was contained within a huge, walled enclosure, while there was a smaller enclosure within t
he walls where the animals were allowed to exercise, and certain maneuvers were practiced. It had seemed necessary for him to remain awake, but now Abhiraka was regretting his choice because, while he didn’t know what the message was, he was sure about who was bringing it. He was proven right when the bodyguard he had sent downriver was ushered into his presence, the man’s face gray with fatigue.

  “Well?” Abhiraka didn’t expand.

  There was no need to, the bodyguard answering with a nod, then quickly realizing this wouldn’t be sufficient, said, “Yes, Highness. There’s a fleet coming, and I am just ahead of it because they’ve stopped at the bend three miles downstream.”

  Despite suspecting this was the case, it still hit Abhiraka like a punch to the gut, and it took quite an effort for him to remain impassive as he looked for any reason for comfort, asking, “Is it as large as the headman said it was?”

  When the bodyguard shook his head, it felt to Abhiraka as if a stone was lifted from his heart, a feeling that lasted only long enough for the words, “No, Highness. It’s bigger. Much bigger.”

  The combination of fatigue, worry, and this destruction of his last hope was enough to cause Abhiraka to lose his composure, something that, even as he was doing it, he knew was the wrong way for a king to behave. And yet, he couldn’t seem to help himself from turning and, without warning, punching his chamberlain in the face, knocking him cold. Fortunately for the chamberlain, he was saved from further damage by the sound of a horn that caused Abhiraka to whirl about in the direction from which it came.

  When it sounded again, he frowned, saying, “That sounds farther away than the wall.” Just as the words left his mouth, he understood why, while the bodyguard had instantly divined the meaning, so they both said in unison, “The canal.”

  The king began moving, then stopped abruptly, looking down at the unconscious servant, and he felt a stab of embarrassment, not from the harm he’d done to the man but because he had lost his composure. Then, he swept out of his quarters, heading for the northern wall, where he would be able to view whatever was happening at the canal from above. As he did so, he issued the necessary orders to rouse the entire garrison to man all four walls, which meant that by the time he had gone less than halfway to the northern wall, only one man was left at his side, the rest rushing off to carry out the king’s orders. This turned out to be a problem, because the citizens of the city, hearing this alarm and having been given very little information, had come rushing out into the streets. And, not surprisingly, the sight of their king with only one man to keep him from being accosted by his people emboldened some to actually block his path.

  “Great Highness, what is going on? Are we under attack? Who by?”

  “Are we safe? Should we hide?”

  “What about our children? What should we do now?”

  Fighting an urge to draw his sword, Abhiraka adopted what he thought of as his kingly tone that he used when addressing subjects, although it had never been under these conditions.

  “Have no fear!” he shouted, holding up both hands in a gesture that he hoped would help calm the crowd down. “Our walls are thick, our men are brave, and Bharuch is safe!” There were cheers at this, but they were scattered, and to his experienced ear, not imbued with any real enthusiasm, so he decided to change his approach slightly, adding, “But at the same time, being out in the streets won’t be safe, especially when I unleash my Harem on whoever it is thinking they can take this city!”

  The mention of his elephants, which the people jokingly called Abhiraka’s Harem and which he had quickly adopted, had the desired effect, making him think ruefully that he should have begun with that, but before a span of twenty heartbeats, his path was clear as the people did as he commanded. Breaking into a trot, it was perhaps another thirty heartbeats more before he reached the stairs, which he ascended with some difficulty, already winded. This slight delay was enough that it meant that he was walking across the rampart and reaching the crenellated parapet just as the two ships leading what he could see was a twin column of vessels negotiated the bend in the canal for the portion that ran parallel to the northern wall. It had been Abhiraka’s decision not to move some of the artillery that lined his ramparts down to the ditch wall, but it had been at the advice of the man who served as the commander of these weapons.

  “The canal isn’t wide enough, and the angle is too great for our catapults to work,” he had explained to the king. “The only value they would have is if the invaders put troops on the opposite side of the canal, but that’s unlikely.”

  This made sense to Abhiraka, but now he was beginning to question the decision; it was one thing to sit in the palace when discussing this, and another entirely when standing on the wall and seeing these seemingly defenseless ships row so boldly across his front. Because of the gloom, he could only get a sense of the size of each craft, but the churning water created by the oar strokes were an aid in determining the length and width of each ship, and he saw that there wasn’t much space between the reach of the two vessels side by side. Shortly after he arrived, he saw the nearest ship suddenly veer to its left, it taking a couple of heartbeats before the sound created by the oars on this side striking the broad wooden planks that lined the canal to explain why. For a brief moment he hoped the two ships would collide, and in doing so, one or both of them would sink, thereby blocking the canal from the rest of the ships he could see following closely behind. Instead, the near ship corrected itself, and it was immediately after that the ship on the opposite side began launching flaming objects that, at first, Abhiraka thought was some sort of flammable weapon designed for destruction. As this was happening, Abhiraka was heartened to see how quickly Bhadran’s men were responding, but he also immediately saw the problem posed by the orientation of the slope of the dirt wall, watching helplessly as men were forced to form into lines to ascend one of the ladders. There were more than two dozen spread along the length of the canal, but the king saw that even if there had been twice as many, there would still be a delay. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to cost the defenders, so that by the time the first of what Abhiraka now accepted were Romans began leaving their ships, the rampart was fully manned by both his javelineers and swordsmen. Thanks to the flaming bundles, which continued arcing over the wall, Abhiraka could see the fight for the rampart clearly; what wasn’t clear was how the enemy was getting from the ships and up the steep embankment, which he had been assured would be too steep for men to climb unassisted, while at an angle that would render ladders useless, although he quickly realized how didn’t matter. He had made the decision to keep those men of his skirmish troops who used the bow within the walls of the city, so there were none on the dirt rampart, and he saw the arms of those javelineers in what seemed to be almost a constant blur of motion as each of them hurled their missiles as fast as they could throw them, a sight that made him grimly happy.

  “I hope every single one of those javelins is buried in the gut of one of those dogs,” he muttered, although he knew that wouldn’t be the case.

  The short range certainly helped, but it didn’t stop the Romans from finally appearing at the wooden rampart, something that Abhiraka could only tell by the manner in which his men were behaving, their bodies blocking his view even from his spot on the wall. The attack began, as he expected, to Abhiraka’s far right, where the first ship had come to a halt at the spot where the canal made the bend at an identical angle as the one at the downstream end, and he wondered why it had stopped there and not gone all the way to the point where the canal intersected with the river, near the northeastern corner of the wall. His mind began working, seizing on this as a possible opportunity; by not doing so, they had left a gap where, if he sent a force out by his eastern gate that moved along the wall towards the canal, they would be able to quickly move into open ground created by the city wall and the canal. And, he began to think with growing excitement, it would put us on their left flank. Before he did anything about it, he looked downs
tream, towards the western wall, where it appeared as if these Romans intended to make the same mistake as on the eastern side, although the last ships were still moving into position. Waiting just long enough for the trailing ships to start illuminating the western end of the canal, once he saw that the enemy was doing the same thing there, he clenched a fist and growled in fierce delight; they had made a fatal mistake! Now he would be able to sally out from both eastern and western gate, while all the men holding the dirt wall had to do was keep these Romans occupied long enough for their comrades to descend on both flanks. Turning away from the scene, he began moving down the rampart, his intention to summon one of the men manning the rampart, and it irritated him that, as usual, his presence had caused them to drift farther away, but before he could do so, another horn sounded from the western wall. Closing his mouth before calling out, after a brief moment of thought, Abhiraka decided that this wasn’t as alarming as it seemed; naturally, there would be other ships approaching from downstream, and this was probably the commander on the wall just affirming that fact, so he resumed moving.

  “You! Yes, you!” he barked, pointing at a dim figure who was a step slow to begin wandering farther down the rampart. Naturally, the man froze, and when Abhiraka reached him, he dropped to his knees, but the king wasn’t worried about obeisance, and he snapped at the sentry, “There’s no time for that! I need you to…”