Caesar Triumphant

  With these instructions, they wasted no time in hurrying out of the praetorium, heading to their respective commands to make it so. As they did, Caesar called to one of his scribes.

  "Still nothing?"

  "No, master. No new couriers have arrived."

  Even as he projected an air of confidence, Caesar was beset with worry. For one reason, of the two scouting parties he had sent to the north, only one had returned. This was how he had learned of the difficulties that would be posed by taking the northern route around the lake. The other one, however, had vanished without a trace, and Caesar understood that there was no good reason for this. Perhaps he hadn't destroyed the entire Wa army after all.

  He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, the royal commander thought sourly. After all, how much more shame could those young nobles bring on themselves? Still, the disappearance of more than 200 men wasn't something he was happy about, when every man who could hold a weapon was needed so desperately. He thought about ordering a search for them, but quickly dismissed the idea. There simply was no time to waste if he wanted to be in position and give his force time to put together some hasty fortifications. His plan was simple, and based on two things; the element of surprise and the Wa's intimate knowledge of the terrain. The latter would be helped by the construction of a breastworks on both sides of the road, made from fallen logs, rocks and heavy branches. But that took time, and even with their knowledge of every fold and bump in these hills, they would be working in the dark as it was. It was this knowledge that convinced the commander not to waste what little manpower he had trying to find cowards who had scurried off. Once the grubworms were crushed, then these men could be dealt with, as well as the families who had bred such traitorous dogs. Turning his mind back to more important matters, the commander surveyed the assembled troops, lined up and waiting to head out for the pass. Calling to the man he had designated to command this group until he rejoined them, he gave him the order to move. Then he called to the palace official who had been chosen to oversee the erection of the fortifications. Watching the official approach with barely disguised scorn, the commander nevertheless kept his tone polite, knowing that while the man wasn't a warrior, he still wielded influence with the emperor.

  "I request that you keep the work going through the night. We're going to crush them up in the pass, but it pays to be prudent."

  While couched as a request, the official knew it was anything but. His smooth features were peculiarly ageless—brought on by another reason why the Wa commander held him in disdain—and his voice added to the feeling that he was not only ageless, but sexless as well. Which, the commander thought, was as close to the truth as it was possible to get.

  "Of course, Commander," the official's speech was also marked by a sibilant quality that reminded the Wa of a serpent hissing. "I know that the Chosen Ones are to be left behind to guard the emperor, but have you detached any others from your force? As you said, being prudent, it would seem to make sense to me that we should at least have a force of archers. Please forgive me, I know I am not a warrior and have little knowledge of these matters, but when it comes to protecting the divine spirit of the emperor, I must ask."

  Just like the commander, the official held his counterpart in low regard, considering him to be little more than an unintelligent brute who was good with a sword and possessed a low cunning, nothing like himself and the rest of the palace eunuchs. Relieved as they were of their testicles, so too were they relieved of all the distraction and turmoil that possession of this part of the male body seemed to bring with it, allowing him and his fellow eunuchs to devote themselves to more important matters. But just like the commander, he was aware that the warrior wasn't without influence among the other officials in the service of the emperor, so his tone bordered on the deferential. For his part, the commander stiffened at the implication that his plan might fail, but he forced himself to consider what the official was saying. As much as he hated to admit it, this eunuch had a point.

  "You are right. That was an oversight on my part. However, the most I can spare is 50 of the archers."

  The official wasn't happy at the paltry number, but could tell that the commander wasn't going to budge. Giving the commander a bow, he made to go but was stopped by the commander, who had decided that what had been fair for him, being asked a tough question, would be fair for the eunuch.

  "Since, as you point out, it is wise to be prudent, what plans have you made to remove the emperor from the capital? And, where would you take his divinity?"

  Now it was the eunuch on the defensive, his normally placid expression creasing with his discomfort at being asked.

  "We have... plans," he conceded grudgingly, "but I think it is premature, don't you? As you said, you will in all likelihood be successful."

  Just as the eunuch had with him moments before, the commander concluded that this was all he was going to get from the eunuch, at least in the little time he had.

  "I will keep you informed, if that is even necessary," the commander concluded. "I will be sending mounted couriers to keep you apprised of developments and leave it to you to make the decision.”

  Their business done, the two men parted, each heading to their respective duties, both men's thinking running along markedly similar lines concerning the other.

  Caesar had every reason to worry about the lost scouting party. They, in fact, had been surprised and ambushed by the leading elements of the army of the north. While not as numerous as the Wa force that had attacked the camp, the 20,000 men that marched were not only fresh, they were spoiling for a fight. The Roman scouting party had been instructed to scout far to the north, and they had obeyed their instructions, so they were intercepted well north of the lake. As darkness fell and both sides continued to make their respective preparations, the northern army of the Wa was still two and part of a third day away from reaching the capital. Catching the grubworms as they had—warned by the dust of their horses so they rode straight into an ambush—they had riddled every one of them with arrows without a sword needing to be drawn. The northern lord commanding this force had issued explicit instructions that the archers aim only for the riders and not the horses. Once his scouts had described the difference between their own ponies and the mounts these grubworms rode, he had coveted one of them for his own. Arriving at the site of the ambush, he immediately saw that his scouts hadn't exaggerated; these beasts were markedly different from the mounts the Wa were accustomed to riding. His pleasure was marred by the sight of one of the animals with an arrow protruding from its hindquarter. Demanding to know who had launched the errant arrow, it was only after threatening to execute every member of the ambush party that one of them took responsibility. The man was promptly executed on the spot, even as the lord approached the animal, which was naturally skittish. Somewhat of an expert in these matters, this lord had developed a deep love for horses, and it was with considerably more sorrow than he had shown for the executed archer, that when he saw that the arrow was lodged firmly in the bone, he decided that the animal had to be destroyed.

  Nevertheless, he was left with 19 of these magnificent animals, two of which were stallions and included a half-dozen mares. Immediately, he started dreaming of how he would be crossing his island ponies with these animals and how with this many new animals he could afford to mount even more of his men, and on what horses! This train of thought was what contributed to his somewhat lax attitude about finishing the day's march. The ambush had occurred with more than a watch of daylight left, but rather than keep marching, the lord decreed that they would be stopping for the day so that he could more closely inspect each animal. Most of his vassal lords were distressed with this delay, since they had been kept informed of all that had transpired to the south, and were aware that the capital and their emperor were in jeopardy. Nevertheless, the northern lord's reputation, and the recent example of what happened to those who incurred his displeasure, guaranteed that any protests would be silent,
or at best muttered among themselves. As much as they knew how potentially dangerous tarrying could be, not even they could imagine how much of an impact the northern lord's decision would have.

  "What in Hades are we doing now?" Titus Pullus demanded of Diocles when the unmistakable sounds of an army breaking camp roused Pullus from his nap.

  As if in answer to his question, the flap that served as the door was pulled aside, and Scribonius' head appeared.

  "We're on the move," he told Pullus, not bothering to climb up into the wagon. This was his first stop before he roused the 10th, and it was out of force of habit more than anything else that Scribonius' initial thought was that the normal Primus Pilus should be kept informed.

  "On the move? Where to?" Pullus asked. "Are we going up through that pass that everyone is talking about? That's going to be bumpy," he grumbled.

  "No, you don't need to worry about your rest being interrupted," Scribonius replied with a laugh. "Caesar is sure that it's a trap, so we're going to skirt the lake and come up from the south like we originally planned."

  Pullus considered this for a moment, then gave a half-shrug, using his uninjured shoulder.

  "Well, if he's not using the pass, he's got a good reason for it," he concluded. "If he thinks it's a trap, then it probably is."

  While Scribonius wasn't quite as thoroughly Caesar's man as Pullus was, he did trust his general, despite the recent setback.

  "My thoughts exactly. Now, if you don't mind, I have some things to attend to. You'll be moving out in a bit, so you might as well go back to sleep."

  Scribonius didn't wait to hear Pullus' reply, knowing that it would be something obscene.

  "There's no point in me trying to go back to sleep," Pullus told Diocles. "Besides, I'm hungry. Get me something to eat, before this thing starts bouncing and rocking all over the place and makes me spill everything."

  With Diocles hurrying off to comply, Pullus lay back and listened to sounds that were as familiar to him as the sound of his own voice by this time. Shouted orders, the sounds of livestock protesting at being roused after such a short respite, the curses of the Centurions as they hurried their men, all part of the controlled chaos that was Caesar's army on the move. Even in the dark of night, the men moved with the speed and surety that comes from tasks performed thousands of times. To an outside observer, even in daylight it would appear to the untrained eye to be a combination and series of completely unrelated actions, but as Pullus knew it would be, the army was ready to march precisely a third of a watch after Caesar had uttered his order. That didn't mean the challenges were over, because without even flickering torchlight to light the way, the advance element of the army was unable to set its normal pace. Still, despite the darkness, Caesar's army moved with a speed that probably matched the rate most other armies marched at in daylight. Unfortunately for Pullus, this meant that the man driving his wagon wasn't able to see any holes or bumps in the path they were following.

  "I'm glad I ate beforehand," Pullus just managed this through teeth tightly clenched from the pain caused by the jarring ride.

  In the deeper darkness of the wagon, Pullus could just barely see the smile from his servant, but he felt the hand on his shoulder as Diocles did what he could to comfort his master. Creaking along, the two of them endured the bouncing and jolting as Caesar's army moved.

  Crossing the river that fed from the huge lake at about two parts of a watch after midnight, the leading element of Caesar's army, particularly the two leading Legions, seemed infused with a new sense of energy and purpose. While by rights they should have been showing signs of fatigue, having had so little rest before starting out again, the effect was quite the opposite, to the point that when the Centurions called a halt, the men in the ranks let them know there was no need. Pressing on, the darker bulk that marked the end of the ridge was to their right, as they made their turn to the west. There was no talking allowed, but even if there had been, the men would have remained silent, grimly determined to finish what was for all of them the toughest campaign they had ever participated in, no matter how long they had been marching for Caesar. Moving remarkably silently for such a large body of men and animals, Caesar and his men closed inexorably on the enemy capital. From his spot leading the command group, just behind the two lead Legions, Caesar continued issuing orders to a variety of couriers, some mounted, some on foot who trotted back along the column to give their messages to a Primus Pilus marching along with his men. At the same time, the mounted scouts continued to ride parallel to the column, but out about a mile on either side, alert for any dangers. Part of their duty was to silence any possible source of warning, which meant that every lonely farmhouse they came to was surrounded, then men sent in to put the inhabitants to the sword, regardless of age or sex. Naturally, while this order was carried out, in the event that women were found, these unfortunate souls were snatched up to be used, then disposed of, their naked bodies left behind, dully glowing in the pale moonlight like a series of markers that denoted the progress of the vengeance being brought to the Wa. Any possible finer feeling about these people had been extinguished because of the battle, but not for the reasons that might seem evident.

  It wasn't what the Wa had done to their comrades that unleashed the savagery in the Roman army, it was what the Wa general had done to his own men. To the soldiers' way of thinking, if their own people didn't value the lives of these yellow savages, why should men who suffered so much at their hands? The talk around the fires after the battle had ultimately made its way to this topic, and what it meant. It's not unusual for soldiers of any army to view their foes as less than human, but what was unusual was that as far as the men of Caesar's army were concerned, that feeling had been proven to be a truth by the actions of their foes themselves. Not surprisingly, this didn't bode well for any Wa the Romans came across, no matter their station in life. Civilian or soldier was no longer a distinction at all, even if it had been a faint one before. Marching through the night, not even Caesar knew what destruction he was bringing with him.

  Work on the fortifications at the pass was completed to the royal commander's satisfaction about a third of a Roman watch before dawn. Only then did he allow the men to rest, knowing they would need every bit of their strength for what was about to happen. As they did so, he also found a quiet spot to sit, away from the demands and concerns of command to allow his mind to clear and prepare itself for the coming task. He was confident that he had baited the trap, and that belief extended to what would happen when the trap sprang shut. His instructions were explicit: not until the grubworm general was fully in the middle of the trap would the command be given to open fire. The initial volley from every single archer was to be aimed at the grubworm general which is why he had them concentrated along one section of the entire trap. To further ensure there would be no escape, at each end of the trap a deadfall had been created of as many logs and rocks that could be held safely by a barrier of smaller logs, rigged so that when a pair of men yanked on a rope, the debris would tumble down the steep slope to cover the road in both directions. The interval between the two deadfalls certainly wasn't wide enough to trap the grubworm's entire army, but that wasn't his goal. Very similarly to Caesar, the royal commander's respect for the grubworm commanding this army had only grown with every message, starting with the failed attempt to repulse the barbarians when they landed on the island weeks before. As distasteful as he found it to be in the presence of the cowards that fled the most recent battle, he had forced himself to do so and had plied them with questions. From them he gleaned even more information that strengthened his suspicion that, as pale and foreign as these grubworms were, the one commanding them was of a rare quality. Therefore, his conclusion was straightforward: their best and only chance of stopping the barbarian army was to cut off the head of the serpent. From what his scouts had told him about how the barbarians marched, he had tried to estimate the width between the deadfalls to be enough to trap perhaps a third p
art of the grubworm army. But once the trap was sprung, not only would he remove the enemy commander, he would also block the pass from being used, and the only option left to the grubworms would be to turn about and descend the pass. And he didn't intend on them doing it unmolested; however many men he had left would be harrying the grubworms all the way back toward the lake. Even if his force wasn't strong enough to finish them off, the least he would do would be to create enough turmoil that, as the barbarians reorganized, the lords of the north would arrive and then finish them off. Normally not prone to such daydreams, the commander allowed himself to think of the kinds of accolades and rewards that would come his way for saving the emperor from the ignominy of being forced to flee, a small smile on his lips as he savored the idea. All in all, it was a good plan. As long as his prey did what he expected them to do.

  With the ridge bypassed, the scouts had turned north and now they returned to find Caesar. The darkness made it extremely difficult, but the Parthian Decurion managed to trot his horse down the length of the column, until he could just make out in the gloom ahead a series of darker shapes that were different from those formed by the marching men. Understanding that these different shapes, being higher off the ground as they were, had to be mounted men, the Parthian nudged his horse in that direction and was rewarded by the guttural sound of one of Caesar's German bodyguards who rode out to meet him. Giving the watchword, he was escorted back to Caesar, who greeted him with more cordiality than the day before now that the Decurion had redeemed himself.

  "Caesar, we've found something that I think you would be interested in," the Decurion said after rendering his salute. "Just a few miles ahead there's another group of low hills. They're a little to the west of this big line, and in between there's a valley."