by R. W. Peake
“Of course.” Torquatus turned and snapped his fingers at the nearest ranker. When the man hesitated, Torquatus snapped, “I don’t think the Decurion will mind if it’s more wine than water.” He turned to Silva, “Will you, Decurion?”
“No, Primus Pilus.” Silva smiled, thanking the ranker, who watched disconsolately as the Decurion tipped the canteen and took several long swallows.
When he handed the canteen back, Silva winked at Torquatus, which caused the Centurion to grin, understanding that Silva was helping Torquatus in punishing the ranker in a manner that wouldn’t require anything more official by draining most of the contents.
Turning serious, Silva took a moment to examine the ranks of both the 25th and the Cohort of the 30th that was standing nearby on the eastern side of the road, separated only by the width of the roadbed.
Then, he looked back at Torquatus, and with a gesture of his head, walked a short distance away, out of earshot of the men, which Torquatus interpreted correctly and followed Silva, whereupon he asked the Primus Pilus, “Do you have any naphtha with you?”
Torquatus was startled, not expecting this, but he answered readily enough, “We have some, but not with us. It’s on the ships.”
“Primus Pilus, would you mind a suggestion?” Silva asked diplomatically, but Torquatus’ curiosity was aroused, and he nodded, prompting Silva to say, “Go get every jar of the stuff you’ve got. And get the siege spears. You’re going to need both.”
“For what?” Torquatus asked, trying not to sound too alarmed, although it was difficult.
“Elephants,” Silva replied grimly. “Pollio and the 5th did for a lot of them, but there’s at least twenty coming this way; my guess would be more.”
“Twenty!” Torquatus exclaimed, too loudly, and he immediately dropped his voice to ask, “But why the naphtha? We didn’t have the stuff at Thapsus; Pluto’s balls, we didn’t even know what that cac was before we got here! Why are these elephants so special?”
Silva spent the next several heartbeats explaining to Torquatus exactly how the armored elephants of India differed from their African counterparts.
He wasn’t finished yet when Torquatus turned, and shouted, “First, Second, Third Sections, on me! We’re going to the ships!”
Before he turned to run off, Torquatus said only, “Go tell Primus Pilus Flaminius what you just told me.”
“All of it?” Silva asked.
“All of it,” Torquatus answered grimly, then turned about and went running towards the riverbank.
Abhiraka’s decision to abandon the enclosure and lead the entirety of the forces at his disposal out into the city was certainly born out of desperation, but there was logic to it. As the time passed, and there was no sign of any Romans, from any direction, Abhiraka decided to send men out to try and determine not just the location of their enemy, but why they seemed content to ignore the last bastion standing against their capture of the city. Bolon, Arshad, and Nahapana, each picking two other men, were sent out from the enclosure, with Bolon heading north, Arshad east, and Nahapana west. Abhiraka briefly considered sending men towards the southern gate but discarded it for the simple reason that he intended to lead his men to the northern gate, so he needed to know only about what lay between his men and their destination. With the enclosure now jammed with people, not only was defending it more difficult, it was agitating his elephants, who he still considered to be his last, and really only hope to extricate himself from the situation in which he found himself. What Abhiraka hadn’t divulged to any of his bodyguards was that his intention was to escape and reach Ranjeet, and while he wanted to reunite with that part of his army with as many men and elephants as he could, ultimately, he was willing to sacrifice all of them to escape. Not, he insisted to himself, to flee, but to regroup and carefully plan what came next, and while he was sincere in this belief, in a secret corner of his mind he was also thinking about which of the adjacent kingdoms he could rely on to provide him sanctuary, even of a temporary nature. Unfortunately, as his mind ran through the possibilities, he realized that, because of his relentless, and ruthless, policy of expanding the boundaries of Bharuch’s control, he might have to travel a good distance. What he realized as he waited for his bodyguards to return was that the only possible haven lay in the opposite direction, far to the south and with the relatively new kingdom belonging to the Pandya. He and their king had never met personally, but Abhiraka’s belief that he would be welcome there was based in one thing; or, more accurately, one person, in the form of his eldest daughter, who he had offered to the crown prince of the Pandya, who had accepted the betrothal and now called her his princess. As he thought about this, he began to reconsider his options, specifically about whether he should try to break out to the south, but it didn’t take long for him to reject this as viable. Not only would it take him farther away from Ranjeet and the rest of his army, there would be the question of crossing the Narmada, a not insignificant obstacle even when the river wasn’t full of Roman warships. Consequently, by the time Bolon returned, he was back to the northern option being his best, and really only, one. His one concern was that it wouldn’t take long for some of his subordinates; Arshad, Bolon, Nahapana and Pranav specifically, to discern the huge flaw in his plan, crossing a canal that was packed with Roman warships, or at least had been when he abandoned the northern wall. It was a problem that, understandably enough, he preferred not to worry about immediately; the first challenge was to actually make it that far.
And, when Bolon returned, his face reflected his confusion even before he informed Abhiraka, “Highness, I have no idea what these demons are doing. They are just…sitting there.”
“Sitting there?” Abhiraka echoed. “What do you mean? And, where are they?”
Bolon’s expression turned anxious; his king wasn’t inordinately cruel, but he was impatient, and now he was threatened, which made him unpredictable.
Nevertheless, he answered honestly, “They are five blocks away, and they’re blocking every street heading north, all the way,” he turned and pointed to the east where there was a temple that was higher than the surrounding buildings, “to the temple in that direction, and,” he turned in the opposite direction, “all the way to Dinar’s meat market in the other.” He faced Abhiraka but instead of keeping his eyes downward as was expected, Bolon looked his king in the eye as he finished, “And they are sitting in the middle of each of these streets, in groups, doing absolutely nothing, Highness. I swear it by Ganesha I am telling it true.”
Before Abhiraka could respond, there was a call from one of the men standing next to the northern gate, which was quickly opened, and this time, it was Arshad, but he was alone, gasping for breath, and with blood streaming down from a deep wound to his scalp that covered half his face.
When Arshad made to kneel, Abhiraka stopped him, trying to sound calm as he asked without really caring, “What happened to your two men, Arshad? Are you all right? What news?”
The bodyguard shook his head. “They are both dead, Highness. They sacrificed themselves to allow me to get away…”
Before he could say anything more, Abhiraka interrupted, “So you mean the Romans are near?”
Once again, Abhiraka was confused by Arshad shaking his head, then echoing Bolon, he said, “No, Highness, they’re not advancing in this direction.” Suddenly, the visible part of his features contorted into a grimace of anger and hatred as he spat, “They’re too busy defiling every woman they find, killing every man who tries to stop them, and bashing in the brains of our children!”
Arshad’s anger quickly transformed into a raging grief, which Abhiraka mistook, and despite his impatience, he felt compelled to remind him, “There is no need for you to worry, Arshad. Remember, your wife and children are safe, here in the palace with my queen.”
Rather than being grateful, Arshad looked his king in the eye, and while he wasn’t being overtly rude, there was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone as he answered,
“And I offer a thousand thanks for that, my Lord King. But,” his eyes suddenly glittered, although it was the choking in his voice that betrayed him, “what about my sister and her children? They are my nieces and nephews. And,” he turned and pointed east, “they live in the Temple District, Highness.” Abhiraka said nothing, at something of a loss, but with a visible effort, Arshad gathered himself to finish, “But no, Highness, the Romans don’t appear to be the slightest bit interested in doing anything other than what they are doing. Oh,” he added this as an afterthought, “they have obviously stumbled onto Philotas the wine merchant’s warehouse of date wine. Apparently, these Romans don’t have much head for strong drink.”
While this was useful information, it didn’t help Abhiraka in the moment, but he forced himself to sound grateful at least, placing a hand on Arshad’s shoulder as he said gently, “Go tend to your wounds Arshad, but please be quick about it. We will be departing very shortly.”
“What about our families?” Arshad asked, but Abhiraka could see by the visible part of the man’s expression he knew the answer already, so he saw no point in lying, answering, “They will remain here, in the palace, with my queen and my own family.”
“Then I request that I be allowed to stay behind, with fifty picked men,” Arshad said instantly, and the king had to bite the inside of his cheek from cursing the man aloud.
Feigning regret, Abhiraka shook his head, saying, “I am sorry, Arshad, but I cannot grant this request. I will need every man available to reach the canal.”
“Highness,” Bolon spoke up, choosing his words carefully, “may we inquire as to what your objective is? I mean,” he added hastily, “once we reach the canal. Do you not think those Roman ships are still there?”
“No, I am certain they are,” Abhiraka replied, then he offered them both a smile that he hoped didn’t look as false as it felt, “and in fact, we will be using them to cross the canal.”
The pair exchanged a startled glance, but while Abhiraka was making this up on the fly, his mind worked quickly, and he outlined the plan he had in mind. Once he was finished, his stomach clenched at the sight of both men, who were clearly doing their best not to look as if they actually believed the situation hopeless, but then it was Arshad who spoke up.
“Actually, Highness,” he spoke slowly, since he was trying to flesh out the idea as he was talking, “if I may be allowed to offer it, I have a suggestion.”
Abhiraka made an impatient gesture, but then, as Arshad talked, slowly his demeanor changed, the deep-etched lines of worry in his bearded face slightly easing, and for the first time, he smiled, a genuine one that heartened both of the other men.
“Arshad,” he said, nodding his head, “that could work.” Suddenly, he turned brisk, once more the king. “Very well, see to it.” When Arshad turned away, he called him back, “No, Arshad, not you. You need to see that wound tended to first. That is an order from your king. And,” he smiled at the bodyguard, “since we are doing as you suggest, I believe it will be possible to bring my queen and children, and your family will join mine when we leave here.”
Ranjeet aligned his twenty-five remaining elephants in two wings, located on each flank, while the surviving men of his phalanx formed the center of his line, with the javelineers spread out in front in a skirmish formation, and flanking the phalanx on either side were the swordsmen. The only exception as far as the elephants was Darpashata, who was in the center, behind the phalanx, but not with Ranjeet in the saddle. Seated in Abhiraka’s place was the lone royal bodyguard who had been trained as a substitute and who Abhiraka had ordered to remain behind . However, unlike with those who substituted with the other elephants, this man had much more experience handling this animal than the others since the king was often absent, either down on the ground directing the rest of the troops or, more commonly, leading them. Perhaps more than anyone else, Ranjeet knew that his king had many flaws, but cowardice wasn’t one of them, and he was a king who liked to lead from the front. This quality was what made him easy to follow for men like Ranjeet, along with the familiarity that came from a lifetime of service to Abhiraka’s family, one that went back two generations among his own. Now, Ranjeet was standing in the box, staring ahead at the dark line of shapes that were barely visible against the backdrop of the city walls. Darpashata was positioned in the middle of the road that, before the construction of the canal, led straight to the northern gate, and Ranjeet was waiting for the calls from Ushabad and his sub-commanders that everyone was in position.
Like Abhiraka, he had no plan formulated when it came to what they would do to cross the canal, but also like his king, he had confidence that he would come up with something, although he was certain that the ships that crowded the canal would play a role. First, however, he had to crush these demons, and to do this, he had formulated a different plan than the original one Abhiraka had devised for stopping the Romans, who he was still very aware were somewhere behind him and could arrive as early as shortly after dawn. Rather than sending the elephants to the attack first, he was going to throw most of the men at his disposal against the line of Romans blocking their path. Once he was certain that his men and these demons were completely engaged with each other, only then would he release the animals, but despite their positioning on the wings, they were to converge on the center of the fighting, using their mass to punch a hole directly through the middle of these demons, using the road as their reference point. While there was no way of knowing with any certainty, Ranjeet was behaving as a prudent commander should in assuming that whatever the potion used by the demons they had clashed with earlier that day was, their fellow demons in front of him probably possessed it as well. Consequently, he concluded that the best, and really only chance of protecting his elephants from the fire produced by the potion was to literally come to grips with the Romans, intermingling his men with theirs as they fought, so that when the elephants arrived, the enemy wouldn’t be willing to employ this terrible weapon. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but while his intellect told him that there was a rational explanation for this substance that clung to whatever it struck and seemed impossible to extinguish, there was a part of him that gave credence to what most of the men under him were saying; this was some sort of concoction from the underworld, and anyone who wielded it must be some form of demon. Although he hadn’t been close enough to see what had taken place, in the time since the surviving elephants had returned to the retreating army, Ranjeet had had time to talk to several of them, both handlers and crewmen, and one thing he had learned was that, as deadly as this fiery substance was to the animals and the men who rode them, it was no less so for the Romans who had hurled what the men described as innocuous-looking jars, setting aside the flaming rag stuffed into the mouth. One crew and handler had been the most informative, describing how, for whatever reason, the jar one of the demons had hurled at their animal had actually bounced off the armored blanket, rebounding and landing at the Roman’s feet before shattering. Despite their hatred for these invaders, Ranjeet could hear the pity in these men’s voices as they described how, seemingly in an eyeblink, what had been a demon in the shape of a man was transformed into a shrieking torch who turned and sprinted off, running directly into the midst of some of his fellow demons, all of them suffering a similar fate. This event, ironically enough, had proven the salvation of the elephant these men were aboard, along with themselves, as it immediately panicked, spun about and went fleeing back towards the spot where it had emerged from the forest. Nevertheless, these Romans had clearly decided that whatever risk it posed to their own men was worth the consequences, and there was no arguing the results, in the form of the attack being repulsed at great loss to the king’s forces. Ranjeet hoped that the fiery weapon was restricted for whatever reason to the Romans behind him, but he was preparing for the likelihood that it wasn’t, and plunging his elephants into what should be a melee where the sides were hopelessly intermingled might negate the chance of it being employe
d. Realizing that he was stalling, since he had heard Ushabad call out that his men were ready, Ranjeet turned to the spearman who did the double duty of using the signaling horn.
“Sound the call to advance, boy.”
They heard the beginning of the note sounded by a horn, but very quickly, it was drowned out by the roaring of men, and animals.
Titus Pullus, having returned to stand with Gellius, stopped what he was saying, as both Centurions spun about to face in the direction from which the sound came, Gellius gasping, “Are they heading this way?”
Pullus didn’t answer immediately, instead lifting the ear flap of his helmet that was turned in the direction from which the sound came, but it only took a heartbeat before he answered, “It’s getting louder, so yes, they’re heading this way.” Spinning about, Pullus bellowed, “All right, you lazy cunni! On your feet!”
It would have been impossible to say who was more shocked; Pullus, or those men who began to obediently rise but were yanked down by a comrade. The only thing that was obvious that could be clearly read in the expressions of the men who were staring up at their Primus Pilus was the expectation of an explosion of Pullus’ famous temper.
But that didn’t happen; instead, Pullus heaved a huge sigh, then lifted his vitus and pointed it south, in the direction from which the sound had come, and while the shouting and roars of the elephants had died down, the din made by armored men and animals moving in their direction was clearly discernible, which forced Pullus to raise his voice and say, “If you want to sit there and die, I can’t stop you. But this isn’t about Caesar and what he owes you right now. It’s about seeing another sunrise.” He stopped speaking, but while men began stirring, it was mostly to turn and talk to each other; this, it turned out, was too much, and Pullus, his face contorted into a mask of rage, went striding into their midst, kicking and lashing out with his vitus, roaring, “Get on your feet, you fucking cowards! You’re the 10th Fucking Legion, not a bunch of tiros! Quit sniveling about going home! GET ON YOUR FEET AND GET READY TO FIGHT!”