Chapter XXI
How Ulamhala's Words Came True
I
The sentries were going their rounds; the camp-fires were burning low.Over on the western hills bounding the Thessalian plain-land lingeredthe last bars of light. It was oppressively warm, and man and beastwere utterly fatigued. Quintus Drusus stripped off his armour, andflung himself on the turf inside his tattered leather tent. Vast hadbeen the changes eighteen months of campaigning had made in him. Hehad fought in Italy, in Spain, in the long blockade of the Pompeiansat Dyrrachium. He had learned the art of war in no gentle school. Hehad ceased even so much as to grumble inwardly at the hardshipsendured by the hard-pressed Caesarian army. The campaign was not goingwell. Pompeius had broken through the blockade; and now the two armieshad been executing tedious manoeuvres, fencing for a vantage-groundbefore joining pitched battle.
Drusus was exceedingly weary. The events of the past twoyears,--loves, hates, pleasures, perils, battles,--all coursed throughhis mind; the fairest and most hideous of things were blended intobuzzing confusion; and out of that confusion came a dull consciousnessthat he, Quintus Drusus, was thoroughly weary of everything andanything--was heavy of heart, was consumed with hatred, was chafingagainst a hundred barriers of time, space, and circumstance, and wasutterly impotent to contend against them.
The Imperator--how he loved and adored him! Through all thecampaigning nothing could seem to break the strength of that nervous,agile, finely strung physique. Sleeping in carriages or litters; evermoving; dictating continually books and letters to a secretary if foran hour there was a halt; dictating even while on horseback, in fact,and composing two letters at the same time; riding the mostungovernable horses fearlessly and without a fall; galloping at fullspeed with his hands clasped behind his back,--these were the mereexternal traits that made him wonderful among men. Worthy of allpraise was the discipline by which the Imperator had held his troopsto him by bonds firmer than iron; neither noticing all pettytransgressions, nor punishing according to a rigid rule; swift andsure to apprehend mutineers and deserters; certain to relax the tightbands of discipline after a hard-fought battle with the genial remarkthat "his soldiers fought none the worse for being well oiled "; evertreating the troops as comrades, and addressing them as"fellow-soldiers," as if they were but sharers with him in the honourof struggling for a single great end. Drusus had known him to ride onehundred miles a day in a light chariot without baggage, marchcontinually at the head of his legions on foot, sharing their fatiguesin the most malignant weather, swim a swollen river on a float ofinflated skins, always travelling faster than the news of his comingmight fly before him. Tireless, unsleeping, all providing, allaccomplishing, omniscient,--this was what made Drusus look upon hisgeneral as a being raised up by the Fates, to go up and down theworld, destroying here and building there. The immediate future mightbe sombre enough, with all the military advantages falling, one afteranother, into Pompeius's lap; but doubt the ultimate triumph of Caesar?The young Livian would have as readily questioned his own existence.
Some one thrust back the flaps of the tent, and called inside into thedarkness:--
"Are you here, Drusus?"
"I am," was the wearied answer. "Is that Antonius?"
"Yes. Come out. We may as well dispose of our cold _puls_ before themoon rises, and while we can imagine it peacocks, Lucrine oysters, orwhat not."
"If sight were the only sense!" grumbled Drusus, as he pulled himselftogether by a considerable effort, and staggered to his feet.
Outside the tent Antonius was waiting with a helmet half full of thedelectable viand, which the two friends proceeded to share together asequally as they might in the increasing darkness.
"You are over sober to-night," said Antonius, when this scarcelyelaborate meal was nearly finished.
"_Perpol!_" replied Drusus, "have I been as a rule drunken of late? Mythroat hardly knows the feeling of good Falernian, it is so long sinceI have tasted any."
"I doubt if there is so much as a draught of _posca_[176] in thearmy," said Antonius, yawning. "I imagine that among our friends, thePompeians, there is plenty, and more to spare. _Mehercle_, I feel thatwe must storm their camp just to get something worth drinking. But Iwould stake my best villa that you have not been so gloomy for merelack of victuals, unless you have just joined the Pythagoreans, andhave taken a vow not to eat fish or beans."
[176] A drink of vinegar and water very common among the soldiers.
"I do not know that I am especially gloomy to-night," replied Drusus,a bit testily. "I know little whereon to make merry."
"The arrows of Amor," hinted Antonius, "sink deep in the soul, and thegod is unfair; he shoots venomed darts; the poison ever makes the paingreater."
"I would you could endure your own troubles," retorted the other, "andlet me care for mine!"
"_Perpol,_ friend," replied Antonius, "don't be vexed! I see it is acase of your wanting little said on a sore point. Well, keep silent, Iwon't tease you. Doesn't Theognis declare:--
"'Caress me not with words, while far away Thy heart is absent and thy feelings stray'?[177]
[177] Elton, translator.
And doubtless you would reverse the saying and put 'my heart' for 'thyheart.' Forgive me."
But Drusus, now that the ice was broken, was glad to talk.
"Now, amice, I won't harbour any ill feeling. I know that you don'tlook at women the way I do. If you had ever fallen in love with onelike Cornelia, it would have been different. As it is, you can onlystare at me, and say to yourself, 'How strange a sensible fellow likeDrusus should care for a girl from whom he has been parted for nearlytwo years!' That's why I doubt if your sympathy can be of any greatsolace to me."
"Well," said Antonius, washing down his _puls_ with a draught of waterfrom a second helmet at hand, "I can't say that I would be full ofgrief two years from the day my beloved Fulvia was taken from me. Butthere are women of many a sort. Some are vipers to sting your breast,some are playthings, some are--what shall I call them--goddesses? no,one may not kiss Juno; flowers? they fade too early; silver and gold?that is rubbish. I have no name for them. But believe me, Quintus, Ihave met this Cornelia of yours once or twice, and I believe that sheis one of those women for whom my words grow weak."
"Then you can sympathize, can feel, for me," said Drusus, as he layback with his head on the dark green sward.
"Yes, as a poor man who has always possessed nothing can feel for arich merchant whose whole fortune is about to founder at sea. Do notspurn my feeble sort of pity. But do you know nothing of her, not aword, a sign? Is she alive or dead? Much less, does she still care foryou?"
"Nothing!" answered Drusus, and the sense of vexation and helplessnesschoked his utterance. "She vanished out of sight at Baiae, as a flashof lightning passes away in the sky. I cannot imagine the cause of herdisappearance. The pirates, indeed, might have wished to take her forransom; but no, they bore her off with never a demand for money fromany friend or relative. I have tried to trace them--the Pompeian shipson every sea make it impossible. I have questioned many prisoners andspies; she is not at the Pompeian camp with her uncle. Neither can Idiscover that her kinsmen among the enemy themselves know where sheis. And to this is added that other mystery: whither has my Aunt Fabiavanished? How much of the account of those who followed her to theriver dock is to be believed--that pirates saved her from Gabinius,and then abducted her? Upon all, my clever freedman Agias isgone--gone without ever a word, though I counted him faithful as myown soul!"
"And what then do you expect?" asked Antonius, not without friendlyinterest.
"What can a man, who dares to look the situation in the face, expect,except something too horrible to utter?" and Drusus groaned in hisagony.
"You mean--" began his friend.
"That the pirates have kept Cornelia and perhaps Fabia in their vileclutches until this hour; unless, indeed, the Fates have been mercifuland they are dead! Do you wonder at my pain?"
"_Phui!_
we will not imagine any such disagreeable thing!" saidAntonius, in a sickly effort to make banter at the other's fears.
"Don't speak again unless you want me your enemy," threatened Drusus,springing up in fury. Antonius knew his own interests enough to keepquiet; besides, his friend's pain cut him to the heart, and he knewhimself that Drusus's dread was justified under the circumstances.
"Do you think there will be a battle to-morrow?" demanded Drusus,after some interval of gloomy silence.
"I would to the gods it might be so," was his answer; "are youthirsting for blood?"
Drusus half drew his short sword, which even in camp never left theside of officer or private during that campaign.
"Thirst for blood?" he growled. "Yes, for the lives of LuciusLentulus, and Domitius and his accursed younger son. I am hot as anold gladiator for a chance to spill their blood! If Cornelia sufferswoe unutterable, it will be they--they who brought the evil upon her!It may not be a philosophic mood, but all the animal has risen withinme, and rises more and more the longer I think upon them and on_her_."
"Come," said Antonius, lifting his friend by the arm, "and let us liedown in the tent. There will be toil enough to-morrow; and we musttake what rest we may."
II
On that same night, in a very sumptuous tent, fresh from an ampledinner and a season over choice wines, the high and the mighty ofCaesar's enemies were taking counsel together. No longer were theydespairing, panic-stricken fugitives, driven from their native landwhich they had abandoned a prey to the invader. The strength of theEast had gathered about them. Jews, Armenians, and Arabians were amongtheir auxiliary forces; Asia Minor, Greece, the Archipelago, hadpoured out for them levies and subsidies. In the encampment were thevassal kings, Deiotarus of Galatia and Ariarathes of Cappadocia,allies who would share the triumph of the victorious Pompeius.
For none could doubt that the Magnus had proved his right to be calledthe favoured child of Fortune. Had not Caesar been utterly defeated atDyrrachium? Was he not now almost a fugitive in the interior ofGreece,--liable at any moment to have his forces cut to pieces, and hehimself to be slain, in battle like a second Catilina, or to die bythe executioner's axe like another Carbo? Had not several delightedPompeians just hastened away to Lesbos, to convey to Cornelia, thewife of the Magnus, the joyful tidings that Caesar's power was brokenand the war was over?
Throughout the Pompeian camps there was feasting and revelry, soldierstrolled low songs deriding their opponents, and drank themselvesstupid, celebrating in advance the return of the victorious army toItaly. Their officers were looking forward even more eagerly to theirreinstatement in their old haunts and pleasures at Rome. LuciusAhenobarbus, who was outside the tent of the Magnus, while his fatherwas taking part in the conference, was busy recounting to a crony thearrangements he was making.
"I have sent a freedman back to Rome to see that my rooms arefurnished and put in order. But I have told him that I need a suitenear the Forum, if possible, so as to be convenient for the canvasswhen I sue for quaestor at the next election, for it is time I began onmy 'round of offices.'" (A "round of offices" being, according to thisworthy young gentleman, an inalienable right to every male scion ofhis family.)
Within the debate was waxing hot. Not that any one had the leastdoubts that the Caesarians were at their last gasp; rather it was soextremely difficult to decide how the spoils of victory were to beequitably shared, and what was almost equally important, how thehostile and the neutral were to be punished. The noble lords were busysettling amongst themselves who should be consuls for several years tocome, and how the confiscated villas of the proscribed Caesariansshould be divided. As to the military situation, they were allcomplaisance.
"There is no need for a real battle," Pompeius was saying. "Oursuperior cavalry will rout their whole army before the infantry jointhe attack."
And Labienus, the only officer who had deserted Caesar, protested thatthe opposing legions had long since been thinned of their Gallicveterans, that only raw recruits composed them now.
Loudly the councillors wrangled over the successor to Caesar'spontificate; Scipio, Domitius, and another great noble, LentulusSpinther, all had their claims. Domitius was clamouring against delayin disposing of Caesar, and in returning to Italy, to begin a generaldistribution of spoils, and sanguinary requital of enemies andneutrals. The contest over the pontificate grew more and moreacrimonious each minute.
"Gentlemen," broke in Pompeius, "I would that you could agree amongstyourselves. It is a grievous thing that we must thus quarrel withbitterness, when victory is within our grasp."
But the war of words went on hotter and hotter. Lentulus Crus noticedthat Pompeius looked pale and worried.
"You look careworn, Magnus," he whispered; "it will be a relief forthe burdens of war to be off your shoulders!"
"I know not how this all will come out," said the general. "All thechances are in our favour. We have numbers, the best position,cavalry, the prestige of victory. Labienus cannot be mistaken in hisestimate of Caesar's men; yet I am afraid, I am almost timorous."
"It is but the natural fear lest some slight event dim yourexcellency's great glory. Our position is too secure for reverse,"remarked Lentulus, soothingly.
"Great glory--" repeated Pompeius, "yes, that makes me afraid.Remember Ulamhala's words,--they haunt me:--
"'He that is highest shall rise yet higher, He that is second shall utterly fall.'
Lentulus, I _know_ Caesar is greater than I!"
Before he could continue, Labienus had risen to his feet in thecouncil.
"An oath! an oath, gentlemen!" cried the renegade legate. "Swear allafter me! 'By Jupiter Capitolinus, Optimus, Maximus, I swear not toreturn from the battle until victorious over Caesar!'"
All the council rose.
"We swear!" cried a score of tongues, as though their oath was thelightest thing imaginable.
"Bravely done!" shouted Labienus, while the two Lentuli and Domitiusand Scipio and many another scion of the great noble houses joined inthe oath. "_Hem!_ Most excellent Magnus, you do not have confidenceenough in your own cause to join us. Do you doubt our loyalty orsoldierly qualities!"
"_Perpol!_" replied Pompeius, with a rather ill-concealed effort tospeak gayly, "do you think, good Labienus, that I am as distrustful ofyou as Caesar ought to be of his men?"
And the Magnus also took the oath.
Outside the tent the sentries were exchanging their challenges. It wasthe end of the second watch of the night.[178]
[178] Midnight.
"It is late, gentlemen," said Pompeius. "I believe that I have givenmy orders. Remember our watch word for to-morrow."
"Hercules Invictus!" shouted one and all.
"Unconquerable' we shall be, I trust," continued thecommander-in-chief. "Good-night, gentlemen; we meet to-morrow."
The council broke up, and filed out of the tent. Lentulus Spintherpaused to cast a look of savage anger at Scipio, who lingered behind.The contest over the pontificate still rankled in his breast. Thatfour and twenty hours hence both of these aristocratic gentlemen mighthave more pressing things to think of seemingly entered the head ofneither. Lentulus Crus, Domitius, and Scipio waited after the otherswere gone.
"I have been wondering all day," said the genial Domitius, when thetent had emptied, "how Caesar will comport himself if he is takenprisoner and not slain in battle. I give him credit for not beinglikely to flee away."
"I trust he will die a soldier's death," replied Pompeius, gloomily."It would be a grievous thing to have him fall into my hands. He hasbeen my friend, my father-in-law. I could not treat him harshly."
"Doubtless," said the ever suave Lentulus Crus, "it would be mostdisagreeable for you, Magnus, to have to reward such an enemy of theRepublic as he deserves. But your excellency will, of course, bow tothe decrees of the Senate, and--I fear it will be very hard topersuade the conscript fathers that Caesar has earned any mercy."
"_Vah!_ gentlemen," retorted Pompeius,
pressing his hands together,and walking up and down: "I have been your tool a long while! I neverat heart desired this war! A hundred times I would draw back, but youin some way prevented. I have been made to say things that I wouldfain have left unsaid. I am perhaps less educated and moresuperstitious than you. I believe that there are gods, and they punishthe shedders of innocent blood. And much good Roman blood has beenshed since you had your way, and drove Caesar into open enmity!"
"Of course," interposed Domitius, his face a little flushed withsuppressed anger, "it is a painful thing to take the lives offellow-countrymen; but consider the price that patriots must pay forliberty."
"Price paid for liberty," snorted Pompeius, in rising disgust,"_phui!_ Let us at least be honest, gentlemen! It is very easy to cryout on tyrants when our ambition has been disappointed. But I amwasting words. Only this let me say. When, to-morrow, we have slain orcaptured our enemy, it will be _I_ that determine the future policy ofthe state, and not _you_! I will prove myself indeed the Magnus! Iwill be a tool no longer."
The three consulars stared at each other, at loss for words.
"Time wastes, gentlemen," said Pompeius. "To your several commands!You have your orders."
The Magnus spoke in a tone that admonished the three oligarchs to bowin silence and go out without a word.
"His excellency is a bit tempted to play the high tragedian to-night,"sneered Domitius, recovering from his first consternation. "He willthink differently to-morrow. But of all things, my good Lentulus (ifit comes your way), see that Caesar is quietly killed--no matter whatfashion; it will save us endless trouble."
"_Mehercle!_" quoth the other, "do I need that advice? And againremind me to-morrow of this. We must arrange the dividing of theestate of that young reprobate, Quintus Drusus, who gave us someanxiety two years ago. But I imagine that must be deferred until afterthe battle."
And so they separated, and the two armies--scarce five milesapart--slept; and the stars watched over them.
III
The sun was climbing out of the dark bank of clouds that pressed downupon the eastern horizon. The green plain of Pharsalus lay spread outfar and wide under the strengthening light; the distant hills werepeering dimly out from the mist; the acropolis of Pharsalusitself,--perhaps the Homeric Phthia, dwelling of Achilles,--with itstwo peaked crags, five hundred feet in height, frowned down upon theCaesarian camp. The Enipeus and one or two minor streams were threadingtheir way in silver ribbons down toward the distant Peneus. Thefertile plain was green and verdant with the bursting summer. Thescent of clover hung in the air, and with it the fragrance of thyme.Wild flowers were scattered under the feet. The early honeybee washovering over the dew-laden petals. Wakeful thrushes were carollingout of the thickets. A thin grey fog was drifting off of the valley,soon to vanish in the blue of a perfect day. Clear and sweet the notesof the trumpets called the soldiers from their camp. The weary menshook the sleep from their eyes. There was a hurried pounding of grainin the stone mortars, breakfasts even more hurried. Then again thetrumpets called out their signal. Busy hands tore up the tent pegs,other hands were folding the coverings, gathering up the poles andimpedimenta, and loading them on the baggage animals.
The soldiers were grumbling as soldiers will. Drusus, who emerged fromhis own tent just as it was about to be pulled down about his ears,heard one private growl to another: "Look at the sun rising! What ahot day we shall have! _AEdepol!_ will there never be an end to thismarching and countermarching, skirmishing and intrenching,--water todrink, _puls_ to eat,--I didn't take the oath[179] for that. Noplunder here, and the sack of Gomphi, the last town stormed, amountedto nothing."
[179] The military oath of obedience.
Drusus would have rebuked the man for breeding discontent in the army,but at that moment he and every other around him for once relaxed thatstringent discipline that held them in bands of iron. A third trumpetcall cut the air, quick, shrill, penetrating.
"To arms!" Every centurion was shouting it to his men. The baggageanimals were left unladen. A cohort that was about to leave the campin marching order halted, and began to throw away its impedimenta,when Caesar himself rode up to them.
"Fellow-soldiers," said the Imperator, smiling as though he had toreveal a great piece of good fortune, "we can postpone the march. Letus put our hearts into the battle for which we have longed, and meetthe foe with resolute souls, for now or never is our opportunity!"
"_Io! Io!_" cried a thousand hoarse throats.
Out of confusion came the most perfect order. Drusus ran to the horsethat he had yielded for a pack animal on the march, saddled, mounted,flew away to Caesar's side, his heart pounding in his breast.
"Pompeius is leading out his men!" soldier was shouting to soldier.Legion after legion filed forth from the camp. Caesar, sitting witheasy grace on his own favourite charger which he himself had bred,gave in calm, deliberate voice the last orders to his legates. Drususdrew rein at the general's side, ready to go anywhere or do anythingthat was needed, his position being one of general aide-de-camp.
Caesar was facing east; Pompeius, west. Five miles of mainly levelcountry had extended between the camps, but Pompeius had pitched on ahill site, with a river and hills to flank him. There he might safelyhave defied attack. But he had come down from the eminence. He had ledhis army out into the plain, and the camp was a full mile behind. Thelong ranks of the Pompeians were splendid with all the bravery of war.On the right wing by the river lay his Cilician and Spanish cohorts,led by Lentulus Crus,--the flower of the Pompeian infantry. Scipioheld the centre with two Syrian legions. On the left, Domitius was incommand and Pompeius accompanied him. Seven cohorts were behind in thefortified camp. A great mass of auxiliaries and volunteers, as well astwo thousand reenlisted veterans, gave strength to the lines of fullyrecruited cohorts. Out on the left wing, reaching up on to thefoothills, lay the pride of the oligarchs, seven thousand splendidcavalry, the pick and flower of the exiled youth and nobility of Rome,reenforced by the best squadrons of the East. Here Labienus led. ThePompeian ranks were in three lines, drawn up ten deep. Forty-fivethousand heavy infantry were they; and the horse and light troops werehalf as many--Spaniards, Africans, Italian exiles, Greeks,Asiatics--the glory of every warlike, classic race.
Slowly, slowly, the Caesarian legionaries advanced over the plain.Drusus knew that one of the most crucial hours of his life was beforehim, yet he was very calm. He saw some wild roses growing on a bush bythe way, and thought how pretty they would look in a wreath onCornelia's hair. He exchanged jokes with his fellow-officers; scoldeda soldier who had come away without his sword in his sheath; askedAntonius, when he came across him, if he did not envy Achilles for hiscountry-seat. It was as if he were going on the same tedious march ofdays and days gone by. Yet, with it all he felt himself far moreintensely excited than ever before. He knew that his calm was sounnatural that he wished to cry aloud, to run, weep, to do anything tobreak it. This was to be the end of the great drama that had begun theday Lentulus and Marcellus first sat down as consuls!
Slowly, slowly, that long snake, the marching army, dragged out of thecamp. The sun was high in the sky; the last cloud had vanished; theblue above was as clear and translucent as it is conceivable anythingmay be and yet retain its colour--not become clear light. The head ofthe column was six hundred paces from the silent Pompeian lines whichawaited them. Then cohort after cohort filed off to the right andleft, and the line of battle was ready. On the right was the tenthlegion, on the left the weak ninth, reenforced by the eighth. Therewere eighty cohorts in all, to oppose one hundred and ten. But theranks of Caesar's cohorts were thin. The numbers were scarce half asmany as in those of the foe. And to confront Labienus and his cavalryCaesar had but one thousand horse. His army stood in three lines,facing the enemy's infantry; but, though it weakened his own legionsdangerously, there was but one thing to do, unless Labienus was toforce around the flank, and sweep all before him. Six cohorts Caesarstationed at the rear of his right wing, a def
ence against the hostilecavalry. The third line of the legions the Imperator commanded to holdback until he ordered them otherwise, for on them lay the turning ofthe battle.
Antonius commanded the left, Publius Sulla the right, Calvinus thecentre. Caesar himself took post on his own right wing oppositePompeius. Then, when the lines were formed, he rode down before hismen, and addressed them; not in gaudy eloquence, as if to stir aflagging courage, but a manly request that they quit themselves asbecame his soldiers. Ever had he sought reconciliation, he said, everpeace; unwillingly had he exposed his own soldiers, and unwillinglyattacked his enemies. And to the six chosen cohorts in the fourth linehe gave a special word, for he bade them remember that doubtless ontheir firmness would depend the fate of the battle.
"Yes," he said in closing, while every scarred and tattered veteranlaughed at the jest, "only thrust your pila in the faces of thosebrave cavaliers. They will turn and flee if their handsome faces arelikely to be bruised." And a grim chuckle went down the line,relieving the tension that was making the oldest warriors nervous.
Caesar galloped back to his position on his own right wing. The legionswere growing restive, and there was no longer cause for delay. Theofficers were shouting the battle-cry down the lines. The Imperatornodded to his trumpeter, and a single sharp, long peal cut the air.The note was drowned in the rush of twenty thousand feet, the howl ofmyriads of voices.
"_Venus victrix!_" The battle-cry was tossed from mouth to mouth,louder and louder, as the mighty mass of men in iron swept on.
"Venus victrix!" And the shout itself was dimmed in the crash ofmortal battle, when the foremost Caesarians sent their pila dashing inupon the enemy, and closed with the short sword, while their comradespiled in upon them. Crash after crash, as cohort struck cohort; and sothe battle joined.
* * * * *
Why was the battle of Pharsalus more to the world than fifty otherstricken fields where armies of strength equal to those engaged therejoined in conflict? Why can these other battles be passed over asdates and names to the historian, while he assigns to this a positionbeside Marathon and Arbela and Tours and the Defeat of the Armada andWaterloo and Gettysburg? What was at stake--that Caesar or Pompeius andhis satellites should rule the world? Infinitely more--the strugglewas for the very existence of civilization, to determine whether ornot the fabric of ordered society was to be flung back into chaos. TheRoman Republic had conquered the civilized world; it had thrown downkings; it had destroyed the political existence of nations. What butfeebleness, corruption, decay, anarchy, disintegration, disruption,recurring barbarism, had the oligarchs, for whom Pompeius was fightinghis battle, to put in the place of what the Republic had destroyed?Could a Senate where almost every man had his price, where almostevery member looked on the provinces as a mere feeding ground forpersonal enrichment--could such a body govern the world? Were notGerman and Gaul ready to pluck this unsound organism called theRepublic limb from limb, and where was the reviving, regeneratingforce that was to hold them back with an iron hand until a forcegreater than that of the sword was ready to carry its evangel unto allnations, Jew, Greek, Roman, barbarian,--bond and free? These were thequestions asked and answered on that ninth day of August, forty-nineyears, before the birth of a mightier than Pompeius Magnus or JuliusCaesar. And because men fought and agonized and died on those plains byPharsalus, the edict could go from Rome that all the world should betaxed, and a naturalized Roman citizen could scorn the howls of theprovincial mobs, could mock at Sanhedrins seeking his blood, and cry:_"Civis Romanus sum. Caesarem appello!"_
How long did the battle last? Drusus did not know. No one knew. Heflew at the heels of his general's charger, for where Caesar went therethe fight was thickest. He saw the Pompeian heavy infantry standingstolidly in their ranks to receive the charge--a fatal blunder, thatlost them all the enthusiasm aggression engenders. The Caesarianveterans would halt before closing in battle, draw breath, and dashover the remaining interval with redoubled vigour. The Pompeiansreceived them manfully, sending back javelin for javelin; then theshort swords flashed from their scabbards, and man pressed againstman--staring into one another's face--seeking one another's blood;striking, striking with one thought, hope, instinct--to stride acrosshis enemy's dead body.
The Pompeian reserves ran up to aid their comrades in the line. Theodds against the Caesarian cohorts were tremendous. The pressure ofshield against shield never abated. Woe to the man who lost footingand fell; his life was trampled out in a twinkling! The battle-criesgrew fewer and fewer; shouting requires breath; breath, energy; andevery scruple of energy was needed in pushing on those shields. Therewere few pila left now. The short swords dashed upon the armour, butin the press even to swing a blade was difficult. More and moreintense grew the strain; Caesarians gave ground here and then regainedit. Pompeians did the like yonder. The long reach of the line swayedto and fro, rippling like a dark ribbon in the wind. Now and then acombatant would receive a mortal wound, and go down out of sight inthe throng, which closed over him almost ere he could utter one sharpcry.
Caesar was everywhere. His voice rang like a clarion down the lines; heknew, as it were, each soldier by name--and when a stout blow was tobe struck, or a stand was needed to bear up against the weight ofhostile numbers, Caesar's praise or admonition to stand firm was as afresh cohort flung into the scale. Drusus rode with him, both mounted,hence unable to mingle in the press, but exposed to the showers ofarrows and sling-stones which the Pompeian auxiliaries rained uponthem. Caesar's red paludamentum marked him out a conspicuous figure forthe aim of the missiles, but he bore a charmed life.
Drusus himself did what he could to steady the men. The contest in theline of battle could not continue long, flesh and blood might notendure the strain.
"Imperator," cried Drusus, riding up to his chief, "you see that thiscan last no longer. Our men are overmatched. Shall I order up thethird line? The centurion Crastinus, who swore that he would win yourgratitude living or dead, is slain after performing deeds worthy ofhis boast. Many others have gone down. What shall I do?"
Caesar drew rein, and cast his eyes down the swaying lines.
"I dare not order up the third line so early," he began; then, with aglance to the extreme right, "Ah, _Mehercle!_ we are at the crisisnow! Our cavalry have given way before the enemy's horse. They areoutflanking us!"
"The six cohorts!" cried Drusus.
"The six cohorts--ride! Make them stop those horse, or all is lost! Onyour life, go!"
And away went Drusus. The supreme moment of his life had come. Thewhole act of being, he felt, he knew, had been only that he might liveat that instant. What the next hour had in store--life, death--hecared not at all. The Caesarian horse, outnumbered seven to one, hadfought valiantly, but been borne back by sheer weight of numbers. Withnot a man in sight to oppose them, the whole mass of the splendidPompeian cavalry was sweeping around to crush the unprotected flank ofthe tenth legion. The sight of the on-rushing squadrons was beyondwords magnificent. The tossing mass of their panoplies was a sea ofscarlet, purple, brass, and flashing steel; the roar of the hoof-beatsof seven thousand blooded coursers swept on like the approaching ofthe wind leading the clouds in whose breast are thunder and lightningunfettered. Behind them rose the dun vapour of the dust, drifting uptoward heaven,--the whirling vortex of the storm. It was indeed thecrisis.
The six cohorts were standing, resting on their shields, in the rearof the extreme right flank of the third line. They were in an obliqueformation. The most distant cohort extended far back, and far beyondthe Caesarian line of battle. The hearts of the soldiers were in thedeathly press ahead, but they were veterans; discipline held themquiet, albeit restive in soul.
On swept the roar of the advancing Pompeians. What must be done mustbe done quickly. Drusus drove the spurs into his horse, and approachedthe cohorts on a headlong gallop.
"Forward! I will lead you against the enemy!"
No need of second command. The maniple
s rushed onward as though themen were runners in a race, not soldiers clothed in armour. Drususflew down the ranks and swung the farthest cohorts into alignment withthe others. There was not a moment to lose.
"Now, men, if ye be indeed soldiers of Caesar, at them!"
Drusus was astounded at the resonance of his own voice; a thousandothers caught up the shout.
"_Venus victrix!_" And straight into the teeth of the galloping hostscharged the thin line of infantry.
The line was weak, its members strong. They were rural Italians,uncorrupted by city life, hardy, god-fearing peasants and sons ofpeasants, worthy descendants of the men who died in the legions atCannae, or triumphed at the Metaurus. Steady as on a review the sixcohorts bore down into action. And when they struck the great mass ofhorsemen they thrust their pila into the riders' eyes and prodded thesteeds. The foremost cavalrymen drew rein; the horses reared. Thesquadrons were colliding and plunging. In an eye's twinkling theirmomentum had been checked.
"Charge! Charge!" Drusus sent the word tossing down along the cohorts,and the legionaries pressed forward. It was done. The whole splendidarray of horsemen broke in rout; they went streaming back indisordered squadrons over the plain, each trooper striving to outridehis fellow in the flight. Pompeius had launched his most deadly bolt,and it had failed.
Now was Drusus's chance. No further order had been given him; topursue cavalry with infantry were folly; he needed no new commands.The six cohorts followed his lead like machinery. The crash of battledimmed his voice; the sight of his example led the legionaries on.They fell on the Pompeian archers and slingers and dispersed them likesmoke. They wheeled about as on a pivot and struck the enemy's leftwing; struck the Pompeian fighting line from the rear, and crushed itbetwixt the upper and nether millstone of themselves and the tenthlegion. Drusus drove into the very foremost of the fight; it was nolonger a press, it was flight, pursuit, slaughter, and he forced hishorse over one enemy after another--transformed, transfigured as hewas into a demon of destruction, while the delirium of battle gainedupon him.
Drusus saw the figure of a horseman clothed, like Caesar, in a redgeneral's cloak spurring away to the enemy's camp. He called to hismen that Pompeius had taken panic and fled away; that the battle waswon. He saw the third line of the Caesarians drive through the Pompeiancentre and right as a plough cuts through the sandy field, and thenspread terror, panic, rout--the battle became a massacre.
So the Caesarians hunted their foes over the plain to the camp. And,though the sun on high rained down a pitiless heat, none faltered whenthe Imperator bade them use their favour with Fortune, and lose not amoment in storming the encampment. They assailed the ramparts. ThePompeian reserve cohorts stood against them like men; the Thracian andother auxiliary light troops sent down clouds of missiles--of whatavail? There are times when mortal might can pass seas of fire andmountains of steel; and this was one of those moments. The Pompeianswere swept from the ramparts by a pitiless shower of javelins. Thepanic still was upon them; standards of cohorts, eagles of legions,they threw them all away. They fled--fled casting behind shields,helmets, swords, anything that hindered their running. The hills, themountain tops, were their only safety. Their centurions and tribuneswere foremost among the fugitives. And from these mountain crests theywere to come down the next morning and surrender themselves prisonersto the conquerors--petitioners for their lives.
Not all were thus fated. For in the flight from the camp Domitius felldown from fatigue, and Marcus Antonius, whose hand knew no weariness,neither his heart remorse or mercy, slew him as a man would slay asnake. And so perished one of the evil spirits that hounded Pompeiusto his death, the Roman oligarchy to its downfall.
Drusus sought far and wide for Lentulus and Lucius Ahenobarbus. Theconsular had fought on the most distant wing, and in the flight he andhis mortal enemy did not meet. Neither did Drusus come upon theyounger son of the slain Domitius. Fortune kept the two asunder. Butslaying enough for one day the young Livian had wrought. He rode withCaesar through the splendid camp just captured. The flowers had beentwined over the arbours under which the victory was to be celebrated;the plate was on the tables; choice viands and wines were ready; thefloors of the tents were covered with fresh sods; over the pavilion ofLentulus Crus was a great shade of ivy. The victors rode out from thearbours toward the newly taken ramparts. There lay the dead, heapsupon heaps, the patrician dress proclaiming the proud lineage of thefallen; Claudii, Fabii, AEmilii, Furii, Cornelii, Sempronii, and adozen more great _gentes_ were represented--scions of the mostmagnificent oligarchy the world has ever seen. And this was their end!Caesar passed his hand over his forehead and pressed his fingers uponhis eyes.
"They would have it so," he said, in quiet sadness, to the little knotof officers around him. "After all that I had done for my country, I,Caius Caesar, would have been condemned by them like a criminal, if Ihad not appealed to my army."
And so ended that day and that battle. On the field and in the camplay dead two hundred Caesarians and fifteen thousand Pompeians.Twenty-four thousand prisoners had been taken, one hundred and eightystandards, nine eagles. As for the Magnus, he had stripped off hisgeneral's cloak and was riding with might and main for the seacoast,accompanied by thirty horsemen.
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