Caesar Ascending-India Limited Edition

by R. W. Peake

  “Wait for my order, boys.” Pullus had positioned himself in the cross street, midway between the two blocks that were roughly in the center of the Bargosan advance. “It’s coming, but not until I tell you!”

  The Primus Pilus was at a disadvantage because, while he was shielded from Bargosan arrows, he wasn’t in a position to see exactly how close the enemy was and whether each column was essentially moving at the same pace and were the same distance, but he was relying on his Centurions to alert him if something unusual was taking place. Continually glancing to the left and right, he waited for each Centurion’s signal, which would be vocal since it was too dark for him to see the two blocks down. Finally, the Centurion to his immediate left shouted to him that the Bargosans had just entered their block, just an instant before the Centurion two blocks to his right did the same, then the Centurion to his immediate right said the same. Staring to his left, Pullus willed the Centurion, the Septimus Hastatus Prior, who was dealing with dragging his stricken men out of his formation to the rear, to add his voice.

  Finally, Pullus muttered, “Pluto’s cock,” then turned to the Sixth’s Cornicen standing next him, giving a nod.

  The man wet his lips then blew the long note that was the first of two signals Pullus had ordered. Immediately, the Centurions bellowed their own orders, beginning what was the Roman method for withdrawing from a position, in a two-count movement that maintained the integrity of the formation and kept them facing their foes. Step by step, Pullus watched as the five Centuries, even the Fifth of the Seventh responding, moving backward, their shields still in place, which was a good thing because the arrows were still slashing down into the formations. And, as Pullus, his officers, and his men knew, it was inevitable that, while trying to concentrate on walking backward in perfect unison with their comrades, and keeping their shields in the proper position, whether it be the men in front, or the men who were providing overhead cover, there would be a mistake made. Someone would stumble, an arm would grow tired, or even a moment’s inattention would cause what happened in this moment, as a series of sharp cries and screams sounded, followed by the inevitable ripple in the unbroken wall of shields when a man either collapsed or staggered out of the formation, usually clutching the area of their body from which the arrow that had struck them down protruded. And, equally inevitable when the arrows were falling so thickly and fast, one of the stricken man’s comrade was just as likely to fall victim as the original ranker, but despite this, the men of each Century responded in a manner that spoke of much practice and experience, alternately dragging or guiding their wounded comrades behind them, where the Optio was there to remove them farther down the next block.

  Pullus remained where he was, something that he had wrestled with, since it would place him closer to what was about to happen, but he knew that removing himself from his spot hard up against the building and across the street might alert the Bargosans that he had something planned that they wouldn’t like. Staying put didn’t bother him all that much; the Cornicen, however, was doing his best to keep the shaking of his hands hidden as he held his horn, ready for Pullus’ next command, his eyes on the Primus Pilus, silently praying to the gods that he would hurry up. Pullus’ attention was on his Centuries, waiting for them to call a halt at a point where their front rank was even with the southern edge of each block, which would trigger what was about to happen. He could hear the noise of the approaching Bargosans now, slightly muffled by the intervening buildings and the distance to the more distant streets, but his attention was focused entirely on his own men. Finally, he saw the last wounded men being helped by a comrade, pushing through the front rank of their Century, headed north up the street, and he turned to the Cornicen, giving a nod.

  Mardonius and Pacuvius were lying, side by side, on one of the buildings at the southern end of the third block and the central street of the five that the Bargosans were using to advance, and where Pullus’ trap would be sprung. It was difficult to lie there without betraying their presence as they listened to first the shouting of their comrades in the street below, followed by the sound of arrows striking shields; it was the pungent smell of the elephants that brought home not just the danger of what they were about to do, but the importance of it. They had been selected by Pullus, on the recommendation of Cyclops, because both of them were considered to have the strongest arms and best aim in their Century. For Pacuvius, it came naturally, but Mardonius had learned from his close comrade; he had a naturally strong arm, but as Pacuvius scornfully reminded him, his “aim was for cac,” which he had worked hard, with Pacuvius’ guidance, to correct. Now they were lying in silence, waiting for the second blast of the cornu to play their part in the Primus Pilus’ plan. Stretched out on the other side of Pacuvius was another of their comrades, his task betrayed by the tinder box he clutched in one hand, while on the other side of Mardonius, arrayed side by side to the northern edge of the roof were the rest of the men of their section, also in a prone posture and each of them holding the first of their two javelins.

  “Blessed Fortuna, please let this work,” Pacuvius said this so softly that Mardonius wasn’t certain that he had heard him, but there wasn’t any time to respond because, from their right, in the direction of the wall, the note finally sounded.

  “Quickly,” Pacuvius hissed, holding the jar so the rag stuffed into the mouth dangled away from the jar, as the other man frantically struck the flint against his iron bar.

  It seemed to take forever before he created a spark that was sufficient to ignite the rag, which Pacuvius was holding just above the flint, although in reality, it was only a matter of perhaps two heartbeats. The instant it caught, Pacuvius shifted slightly to move the rag to where Mardonius could touch his own to it which, because it had been soaked in oil, caught quickly.

  “All right, boys,” Pacuvius whispered, “let’s send these savages to Hades where they belong!”

  Then, with a shout, Pacuvius, Mardonius, and their comrades leapt to their feet; from this moment, events happened so quickly that Mardonius would never really be able to straighten the order of them out. Things went well enough at first; he saw the looks of surprise on the faces of the Bargosans below who were following the pair of elephants that had already passed by and now were nearer to the opposite end of the block, and he heard their shouts as he drew his arm back, aiming for the spot on the near side of the street, about five paces from the intersection. Pacuvius, because of his better aim, had given himself the far side of the street, but also about three paces from the intersection, so he took an eyeblink longer to hurl his jar of naphtha than Mardonius. The Parthian’s arm came down as he threw the smoking jar, but just as it left his hand, he sensed more than actually saw one of the Bargosans on the opposite side of the street lift his bow and draw the string back, giving him just enough time to brace himself to be struck by an arrow. Instead, several things happened in the exact same moment of time, a span not even a heartbeat in length, as Mardonius learned he wasn’t the target by hearing the thudding sound followed so quickly by Pacuvius’ explosive grunt that it seemed simultaneous to the Parthian. He had just begun to react, his head turning towards Pacuvius, when his jar struck the paving stones directly on the spot he had aimed for, shattering in an explosive, boiling ball of flame that instantly engulfed the two Bargosans whose misfortune it was to be just one step ahead of that spot, turning them both into blazing, moving torches. What he and the rest of his comrades closest to the explosion were unprepared for was the power unleashed by the shattering jar, the flames rising up with a swiftness and a heat so intense that it made Mardonius and the Legionary on the other side of Pacuvius go reeling backward, yet even reacting as quickly as he did, the Parthian would discover that his eyebrows were singed off, and his dark features would have a reddish hue that lasted for days. Somehow—Mardonius would never know exactly how—Pacuvius was the only man who seemed unfazed, standing erect in the face of flames that, at their peak, rose a good foot above his head.
The one indelible memory Mardonius would take to the afterlife with him was, even as he was staggering backward, the sight of Pacuvius with the arrow protruding from his chest outlined against the roiling fire, pulling his arm back, taking careful aim, hurling his pot downward…then toppling forward, heading face first towards the flames.

  “Pacuvius! Nooo!”

  Mardonius heard the words but was barely aware that it was his own voice shouting them as he was lunging forward, arms outstretched in an attempt to catch his close comrade and best friend, the first Roman to befriend him and help him adjust to this strange new life. His fingers managed to grab the lower edge of Pacuvius’ tunic, and he would recall how the fabric felt under his fingers as they began to curl, in that fleeting instant when he thought he was about to save his friend from a horrible death. Then, without warning, he was struck a tremendous blow from his right side with enough force that his tenuous grasp on Pacuvius was broken, but even as Mardonius was being driven away from his friend, his eyes never left Pacuvius, forcing himself to watch as he fell forward, disappearing from view, leaving only the flames that were still roiling above the roofline. When Mardonius’ body slammed into the roof, the flames were suddenly replaced by thousands of stars, and the air was crushed from his lungs, but it was the weight on top of him that informed Mardonius at least what had happened, if not why.

  Gasping for breath, he looked up to see the face of the man who had been to his right and had leapt to his feet along with the men on the other side of him to hurl their javelins to give Mardonius and Pacuvius cover, and even inches away from each other, he had to shout to be heard over the screams of the men below in the throes of immolation, demanding, “Percennius, why did you do that?”

  Percennius, who had been one of the last men of Mardonius’ section to accept him into their ranks, looked Mardonius in the eye and, while his voice was raised as well, it sounded quiet to Mardonius. “Because I didn’t want to lose both of you.”

  Then, without another word said, he rolled off Mardonius, but rather than stand up, he crawled to the edge to peek over, leaving Mardonius to lie there, staring up in the night sky, trying to grasp the idea that Pacuvius was gone. He barely noticed the black, roiling smoke that had begun rising into the air as men burned alive, fueled by their own comrades inside the buildings who were now throwing anything and everything flammable to add to the conflagration, just as Pullus had ordered.

  What Pullus was counting on was what he had witnessed during the fight for the dirt rampart just a watch earlier, though it seemed much longer ago than that. Yes, these Indian elephants were more formidable than their African cousins, but it was their training that had impressed on Pullus their danger to himself and his men. That, however, had all changed with the introduction of the naphtha, and he had seen for himself that no amount of training would control animals who were made mindless with fear, something that, Pullus admitted to himself, was completely understandable. Knowing that facing these animals, even with their diminished numbers, was a daunting challenge; there were still enough for a pair to lead each of the five columns of Bargosans, along with another pair that trailed behind the two columns on the outermost streets on each side, the presence of these flanking animals required a quick modification to his original plan. The most pressing issue facing him and his men was the low supply of naphtha, and he was forced to reduce the number of jars the men on the roofs would have at their disposal, giving them instead to the Centuries whose role it was to flank the Bargosans to seal off their route back to the enclosure. Which, to this point, not one Roman had laid eyes on, but like the other Primi Pili, Pullus made the assumption that there was likely a fortified position in the center of the city. Unlike Pattala, however, the ground was board flat, making it impossible to see, even from a rooftop, because of the intervening buildings, several of them three-story structures, including what Pullus assumed were several temples, although they were unlike any he had seen before. In its conception, Pullus’ plan was simple; he would let the fire do the fighting for him and his men by sealing off each street at both ends with flaming naphtha, then count on the elephants’ fear of fire to drive them to the same kind of madness he had witnessed earlier. The difference, of course, would be that the animals and the men with them would be in a much more enclosed space than the area outside the northern rampart, hemmed in by the buildings on both sides of the street, and the wall of fire that was created by men like Mardonius and Pacuvius, sealing off each end of the street. It was far from a perfect plan, and as always, from the instant it went into effect, things went wrong, starting with the issue that not every Bargosan soldier, and a half-dozen of the elephants, were trapped within the same block, leaving approximately three hundred Bargosan infantry, most of them swordsmen and perhaps fifty men from the spear-wielding phalanx troops that, unknown to the Romans at the time, comprised their king’s personal bodyguard outside the confines of the trap. Those that did find themselves caught between the two fiery barriers, however, suffered the fate that Pullus had envisioned when, within a matter of twenty or thirty heartbeats, the elephants panicked, their loss of control hastened by the Romans who had been inside the buildings throwing open the shutters and doors, those closer to the ends of each street hurling the pieces of furniture that they had broken down while they were waiting into the flames, and those inside the dwellings and businesses in the middle of the block flinging javelins, every one of which had been scrounged from the entire Legion. Once the trap had been sprung, Pullus stepped away from the shelter of the northern face of the building and moved quickly across the east/west street so that he was farther from the flames and in a better position to monitor the fighting. The Centuries that had withdrawn remained where they were, ready in the event that one or more of the animals tried to brave the flames and rush through them, although only one elephant actually did, the cloth backing of its armor blanket immediately catching fire, which only exacerbated its mindless panic, while the men riding in the box, recoiling from the flames that were reaching up to a level even with the wooden parapet that served as their protection, were forced to choose between remaining with an animal no longer under control, or leaping backward off the animal to land with their comrades on the street trapped between the walls of fire. Two of them chose the latter, while the spearman and the handler, who was lying flat atop his animal and clinging to it with all of his power, decided to risk staying with the elephant. And, at first it appeared that the pair made the right decision because, rather than continue rumbling straight ahead into the waiting Romans’ siege spears directly in front of the animal, it pivoted and went at a trumpeting run, fleeing east down the cross street. Before the animal had gone a full block, the Romans on the rooftops, seeing the fleeing animal, had hurled their javelins down into the unprotected back of the handler and swept the spearman from his perch with three missiles protruding from his body. Blocking the street in that direction was one of the Centuries Pullus had ordered to flank the main body of Bargosans, but rather than try to stand in the face of a rampaging elephant, they obeyed Pullus’ orders, using the north/south street to scramble out of the way and allow the animal to rumble past, its trunk straight in the air, sounding the staccato trumpeting cry that the Romans had first heard earlier. As it did so, the Romans armed with the heavier siege spears lunged with them, trying to inflict damage, though without much success, and Pullus only gave this enough attention to see that the runaway wasn’t posing an immediate threat, more intent on what was happening with those other animals who were trapped.

  The other elephant on this street, rather than follow its companion, took advantage of the room now that the other animal had bolted to spin around and move at a run for the opposite end of the street. Pullus’ view was partially obscured by the flames, but over the roaring noise of panicked men and animals, he heard the shrill screams of those Bargosans who were unable to leap out of the elephant’s way. All along those five streets, similar scenes were being played out, with the
Romans who had been hidden in the buildings doing their part to aid in the destruction of their enemy, either by hurriedly opening a shutter to hurl a javelin at a range of no more than five paces distance or by continuing to break apart anything remotely flammable to throw into the conflagration at either end of the five streets. The heat was searing, even inside the buildings, but it was inevitable that, in a matter of moments after the attack began, desperate Bargosans came rushing at the doors, desperately trying to reach at least a temporary refuge from the flames and the panicked elephants. Despite bracing the doors, while it took several attempts for some of the men outside, they finally came bursting through each doorway. And, in the raging heat, the fighting in these enclosed spaces was ferocious and without quarter as, more often than not, the combatants ended up on the floor, rolling around, making feral growls of rage and fear as they tried to gouge out the eyes of their opponent or free a hand to reach for a dagger. It was the most vicious, personal fighting that many of these men, particularly the Bargosans, had engaged in, but they were no less committed to their own survival as their enemies. However, even when an individual Bargosan vanquished his foe, there were Romans standing less than a pace away, waiting to plunge their sword into the body of the temporary victor. While the Bargosans started by assaulting the doors, it wasn’t long before men were trying to force their way through shuttered windows, and the battles fought for these smaller openings were no less desperate, or important to both attacker and defender. One difficulty facing the Romans within the confines of the buildings along each street was that once the openings were forced, the smoke from the burning material thrown out by the Romans came streaming in. The visibility became nonexistent because of the smoke, even with the light provided by the blazing fires at each end, adding another element to the fight that would be the subject of much discussion during the long winter watches.