by Peake, R. W.
Caesar leapt up from behind his desk, but even as he was moving, Prixus added a warning, "He needs to hurry. I don't know how long either of them is going to last."
Fortunately, they lasted long enough to tell Caesar more about the island of Wa than he had learned in all of the time he had been on the island. For the first time, Caesar knew the general shape and size of the island and, more importantly, the location of the largest cities. But, most crucial of all, he discovered that in the capital city, still weeks away to the east, the alarm had been sounded, and that a huge army was being formed to repel the invaders. One tidbit Caesar found grimly amusing: one of the Wa continually used a word Caesar had never heard before. When he asked Zhang, the Han was reluctant to translate it, and then when he finally did, it meant nothing—until it had gone through the laborious process of traversing the Pandya-Parthian-Greek connection. All of the translators were shocked when Caesar threw back his head and roared with laughter. When Hirtius and Pollio heard the long unheard sound of their general laughing, they quite naturally came running.
"You know what the word the Wa use to describe us means?" Caesar asked between gasps for air. Without waiting for an answer, he finished, "Barbarians! They call US barbarians! The same thing we call them!"
Once over his bout of mirth, he told the two, "Sound the assembly. I want to let the men know exactly where we're going and exactly what we can expect to find when we get there."
The march was a hard one, and, as Titus Pullus had feared, a number of the wounded who had survived the critical two days after the assault on the 10th's camp succumbed from the rough ride in the wagons.
"At this rate, we're going to be lucky to field a Cohort before we get off this island," was how Balbus put it on the third night after they broke camp, sitting in Pullus' tent with his Primus Pilus and Secundus Pilus Prior Scribonius, eating their evening meal.
Pullus' only reaction was a grunt, but Scribonius added, "That's if we get off at all."
Normally, this was talk that Pullus would have quashed, even if his heart wasn't in it, but now he saw no point, because he was in the same frame of mind as his friends. Educated they were not, but between the three of them were decades of fighting experience, and all three of them saw how dire the situation was. During their march across the lands of the Parthians, the Pandya, the Gayan and the Han had tacitly accepted the presence of Caesar's Legions- once they had demonstrated their military might and smashed whatever armies they faced, and this was especially true with the Han. Once they determined that not only was Caesar not overly interested in conquest, and that subduing his army would have been an extraordinarily costly endeavor, there had been a quiet word sent out that their Emperor would have no objections if men sought to enlist in this foreign army. Caesar instantly understood this as a shrewd move on the part of the Han: the Emperor had his hands full already with the various rebellions, and allowing men to enlist in the exotic armed force removed these men from the rolls of the rebels at one stroke. Moreover, there was a strong allure to joining Caesar's army; as strange and foreign as they may have appeared, it was clearly apparent to any Han warrior that the Romans could fight, and once their origins were known, the fact that they had marched across the vast expanse of Asia marked them as favored by every god imaginable.
But none of that seemed to matter to the Wa. Those Wa that Caesar's army had encountered either fled or fought to the death. Those that chose to fight did not show any interest in doing anything other than kill the men of the barbarian army, and it had also become clear that they viewed their lives as cheap, especially when compared to the chance of repelling these foreign invaders. Simply put, Caesar was running out of men and they were no longer being replaced. In fact, it wasn't just the Centurions who were aware of this. Around every fire there were faces missing, particularly in the 10th, where the loss was even greater. While it was true that many of those faces would return, once they recovered, there were still too many gaps for anyone not to notice, even if most of the missing faces weren't Roman, but brown or yellow. What it took to be accepted at a tent section's fire was one simple requirement: a man had to be able to fight proficiently enough to be considered a member of Caesar's army, an army that each man now knew was famous throughout the entire known world. This notoriety was a source of huge pride and had as much to do with a section’s cohesiveness, and their willingness to endure far beyond anything their predecessors in Alexander's army had, and was as powerful as the lure of loot and women. But now even this wasn't enough to keep men from complaining, and, more importantly, worrying.
Caesar was well aware of all that was taking place in his army: the muttered conversations, the small acts of defiance that men in the ranks would perform to let their Centurions and Optios know they were unhappy. The problem was, he didn't know what to do about it. The idea of turning back now was unthinkable to him, not after all that had been endured for the last 10 years. Didn't the men realize that they were now so close to their goal? The idea that he had already surpassed Alexander no longer brought Caesar any satisfaction. No, his soul still ached for more, more conquest, more new sights, more distinction. In fact, he was worried about the moment when they had traversed the length of this island and put down the last sparks of armed rebellion. What would they do then? As much as the men thought him a god, he knew he was mortal; in fact, he was aware that he was starting to fail. Caesar knew in his bones he would never see Rome again, that the only knowledge his countrymen would have of his exploits would come from those few, those very few men who might make it back. Oh, he knew that word of some of what he had done had undoubtedly reached the ears of those little men in the Senate. How bitter they would be, he thought with some satisfaction, whenever a merchant arrived from the East, bringing word of all that Imperator Caesar had accomplished. If only Cato had survived Thapsus to see this! And what of Cicero, he wondered? Was he still alive, carping about what Caesar was doing, all from the comfort of his luxurious villa in the Roman countryside? Turning his mind back to the matter at hand, he concentrated his prodigious intelligence planning his next step. Finally, he came to a conclusion: he would do nothing! At least, nothing overt. Despite its going against every fiber of his being, Caesar made the decision that his only and best chance was to fight a defensive battle. If the two Wa warriors who had talked were to be believed, and Prixus assured him that they were telling the truth, there was a huge Wa army headed their way. If he could shatter that army, then the island would be his to do with, as he willed. More importantly, he could turn it over to his men and let them wreak their vengeance. Just as he had at Pharsalus, he would lure the enemy army into thinking him weak and ready to crack. Then? Well, then he would show these Wa what Caesar was capable of, and the matter would be decided once and for all.
The Wa capital, according to what the prisoners had yielded up, was almost due north, barely a hard day's march away, and yet the scouts still hadn't reported sight of more than small groups of armed Wa— too large for the scouts to engage, but too small to be anything worthwhile pursuing with the entire army. Without knowing where the Wa army was, it was very hard for Caesar to choose the ground on which to make a stand, but he finally found the spot he was looking for: a ridge that was oriented on a north/south axis. It ran for more than 14 miles, which was a longer distance than he would have liked, but it was part of an almost unbroken line of ridges that almost cut the island in two on a northwest/southeast axis, the southern part of the ridge projecting deep into the peninsula they had just crossed. He would have the fleet behind him, to the east, since the capital city was to the west, meaning his line of supply would be secure. But even if the Wa army were somewhere else, to the east of Caesar's current location, for example, Caesar would be between the Wa army and the capital. The ridge itself was extremely rugged, and Caesar knew it would be a hard job to fortify it properly, but he was also thankful that there were only two places to cross the ridge, at least without climbing hand over hand: one at the
northern end and one at the southern end. After doing a thorough reconnaissance, Caesar deemed it impossible for the Wa to ascend the ridge anywhere along its length in any numbers sufficient to cause more than some mischief. That meant he could put a strong, fortified camp at one end and one at another, while his engineers would carve out a road traversing the length of the ridge to enable his troops to rush to any trouble spots.
"No, this will do very nicely," was Caesar's comment to Pollio, who was sitting his horse next to his commander. It had been a hard climb for the horses; but, Pollio thought, as always, Caesar knew what he was about. The view was tremendous; any army could be seen coming from any direction for miles.
"Give the order to make camp at the base of the ridge, on the eastern side, so we're near the bay. The fleet's not here yet, but it will be in the next day or two. This," Caesar extended his arm to encompass the ridge, "is where we crush these Wa once and for all."
As disgruntled as Caesar's men were, they nevertheless dug. And dug. Thousands of shovels threw mounds of dirt up to form the basis for the rampart of what would be a line of fortifications extending almost 16 miles along the ridge. The northern end overlooked the one northernmost passage from the interior out to the huge bay behind them, where the fleet was going to be anchored, with the southern end overlooking a similar pass in that direction. Although Caesar didn't have enough men to cover the entire length, he had his men construct a series of fortified camps, each one holding at least a Legion, while the two camps anchoring both ends contained two. Linking each camp, Caesar ordered a road hacked out along the top of the ridge, wide enough for each Legion to march in a column formation, in order to move men to wherever they were needed. Even as experienced as his army was at constructing fortifications, this was a massive project and would take more than a week before Caesar felt that the bare minimum would be accomplished.
Meanwhile, his scouts continued to range about the countryside, concentrating their efforts to the northwest and northeast, looking for the Wa army, and on the third day after Caesar's army started working, they found what they were looking for. Unfortunately, the small group of scouts that came into contact with the outriders of the Wa army were ineptly led, so the entire force was wiped out in an ambush. Consequently, Caesar was unaware of the Wa army's existence for two more days, until they had moved southward along the shores of the great lake to Caesar's west, barely 20 miles away.
"We've finally found the bastards," Primus Pilus Pullus informed his Centurions, gathered in the forum of the camp that was designated for the 10th's use, the northernmost camp, where Caesar deemed it the most likely that the Wa would make some sort of attempt to outflank his army. Pullus' news was met with the predictable stir, a buzz of low-toned conversation crackling through the ranks of the 60 Centurions, as they murmured to each other about the import of this news.
"Silete!" Pullus snapped, his nerves betrayed by the harshness of his command. "You're as bad as the rankers! This isn't the first time we've faced this, so stop acting like it!" Chastened, the men immediately fell silent to listen to their Primus Pilus, who took a deep breath before he continued. "We don't know all that much, but there's a lot of them, and they're camped on the shores of that big lake we heard about. So far, though, they haven't budged for the last couple days."
"What are our orders, Primus Pilus?" Scribonius, the commander of the Second Cohort asked, and, in fact, this was prearranged between the two of them, because Pullus had predicted that this news would unsettle his Centurions, a judgment proven correct by their reaction.
"We're going to do what we did at Alesia, and at Ecbatana," Pullus said, naming the Parthian city that was the site of a siege and battle rivaling that of Alesia, for which Caesar had won everlasting fame. "Caesar wants the ground in front of the rampart filled with his lilies, the stakes, and all the other little surprises he loves so much."
There was an appreciative chuckle from the men at this, each of them thinking back to the two times such extensive traps had been laid. Alesia had been particularly brutal; some of these Centurions, having been in the ranks back then, still smarted over the money they had lost from wagers placed on how long Gauls who were hooked on the lilies—the barbed iron points skewering their calves and keeping them in place—could survive being the targets of their javelin practice. Some of those Gauls had looked like blood-soaked porcupines by the time the Legionaries were through, and there were some rueful memories, as these Centurions stood listening to Pullus. Well, more than one of them thought, this might give them a chance to recoup some of the money they had lost back then.
This was the start of a grim race against time, all the men of Caesar's army knowing that every Wa they could disable or kill with a well-placed stake, or a sharpened iron hook, was one less screaming, sword- or spear-waving Wa they would have to face trying to clamber up the rampart to skewer them. Now that the Wa army was located, Caesar demanded reports several times a watch, so that men were seen constantly galloping back and forth across the valley floor, the lake barely a glint of blue on the horizon. The Wa army wasn't visible from the ridge, although every once in a while one of the men would shout at a cloud of dust rising in the air, although that always turned out to be one of Caesar's scouts coming or going, the premature alert drawing the jeers and curses of his comrades down onto the head of the unfortunate who raised the warning. But for reasons neither the men nor their commander could fathom, the Wa seemed content to stay in their spot on the shore of the lake, despite the fact that Caesar knew without any doubt that the Wa were aware of the location of the Roman army. Just as Caesar's scouts were busy, the Wa scouts had been seen on their small ponies in the vicinity, and, in fact, a couple of them had been captured, although they never yielded any useful information before they succumbed to the questioning by Prixus. Whatever the reason for their lethargy, Caesar was thankful for it, pushing the men relentlessly to bring the fortifications up to a level that met with his approval.
While some men were occupied constructing the traps, others were just as busy, a number of them entering the several running streams, searching their banks and beds for stones to pull from the water and making them perfectly round to serve as ammunition for the artillery. There were forests of new-growth trees along the slopes as well, and from the suitable branches of these trees, more scorpion bolts were made. Unfortunately, there was no seasoned timber of a sufficient quantity or size to make more artillery pieces, which Caesar was unhappy about, but he hoped that he and the men would have all they required to repulse the Wa. As it was, Caesar's legions marched with more artillery than any other army of Rome to date, but it was never enough as far as he was concerned. One of the secrets to his success was his use of artillery to inflict as many casualties on his enemy as possible, even before they came to grips with his Legionaries, so that they were already demoralized from the casualties they suffered, as they marched to close within sword length of the Romans.
The men worked through the watches, but on the sixth day they were heartened by the news that the fleet, taking the long way around this huge peninsula, had just been spotted rowing northwest along the shore, around the headland that jutted out at the bottom of the bay.
"They should be here by second watch tomorrow," Caesar announced to his officers and Primi Pili, all of whom to one degree or another let out a sigh of relief. None of them liked being out of sight of their fleet, especially on this accursed island, so the days spent waiting for them had been tense ones, exacerbated by the knowledge of the Wa army just a day's march away.
"Once they're in position, we'll begin transferring every kernel of rice, every pig, and every chicken up to the camps," he continued. "Minus what the men of the fleet need, of course. But I want our position to be as self-sufficient as possible, just in the event that the Wa do manage to force either of the passes, get behind us and cut us off."
What he didn't say, for there was no need, was that if that happened, Caesar would have to force battle, b
ecause once they were out of the food that the ships were carrying, there would be no resupply. That knowledge filled his Centurions, particularly Pullus, with a determination that the Wa would be stopped from negotiating the pass.
To help Pullus in his goal, the next day, when Caesar, Pollio, Hirtius, and the rest of his staff went out for a ride to inspect progress to that point, the commander of the army saw that there was still one weakness to his position. The pass to the north was actually relatively wide; Caesar estimated that the width was almost 3 miles, which meant that the Wa could hug the far slope, avoiding the array of Roman artillery to swing around behind his position. However, the Wa couldn't simply march down the middle of the pass either, because of a river and a mass of swampy ground that extended from the banks on either side for perhaps almost a mile.
"I want a fortified redoubt of at least 5 Cohorts' strength over on that far slope," Caesar pointed across the floor of the pass, "and I want it by the end of the day."
"Caesar, do we have any idea how deep that river is? Or how soft the ground is? I can tell from here that it's a swamp, but have any of our scouts surveyed the ground?" Pollio asked.
"Yes," Caesar replied, not perturbed in the slightest to be questioned. "They say it will support men, but only if they're spread out; and the river is shallow, with a rocky bottom."
"So how are they going to get any artillery across?" this came from Hirtius.
"They're going to carry the scorpions, and that's all, but I'm going to give them a Legion's worth of scorpions and extra ammunition. All we want to do is to keep the Wa from moving along the far side of the river, because that's the only firm ground they can use to negotiate the pass to get behind us. With the muck down there, they're likely to keep close to this slope, but only if we have someone on the other side making sure they don't go on the other side of the river."