Marching With Caesar - Civil War (11 page)

~ ~ ~ ~

The loading of the army took the whole day, and as luck would have it, the 10th was one of the first to embark, meaning that we bobbed about in the harbor, waiting for the rest of the army. Because of the time of year, the water in these parts was excessively choppy, so it was not long before men were draped over the side, spewing their guts out. Fortunately, I managed to avoid the embarrassment of joining the men on the side, but only just. We spent almost two full watches dipping about like a cork while the transports were loaded up, and it was full dark before the fleet formed up, turning to the east to begin the crossing. It was a miserable trip; the last time we were onboard ships was when we invaded Britannia, and I for one had forgotten just how horrible an experience it was, being doused with icy spray and trying not to fall over on the pitching deck. At least I was lucky enough, by virtue of my rank, to be above deck instead of crammed into the hold like the rankers, who were shivering and puking as the ships bucked against the waves. We were perhaps halfway across when the wind changed, blowing from the north, pushing the fleet away from the intended landing site at a spot near Palaeste, which Caesar chose for its good landing beach and relative seclusion. Now we were being forced southward down the coast, bad news because it pushed us closer to the last known location of Pompey’s fleet. As if that was not bad enough, once we were pushed a few miles off course, the wind then died down completely, leaving us motionless in the water. Despite the fact that was good for the men’s seasickness, it was dangerous because it left us vulnerable to being spotted and attacked by the enemy, whose warships were almost exclusively powered by oar, the same as ours, while the transports were sail-driven craft. Standing tensely on the deck, we strained our eyes in the direction of land, where we could see lights of a village that the sailors told us housed the base of the Pompeian fleet. We watched to see if any of the lights began moving, signaling that they were on the warships of the Pompeians and were headed for us. There was no talking; even if we were so inclined, we had been ordered to maintain complete silence, sounds carrying great distances over water. A very tense third of a watch passed as we sat motionless, the only sound the lapping of the waves against the side of the boat, but as usual Caesar’s luck held and none of the lights at the Pompeian base detached themselves to head our way. Finally, a murmur of relief started at the rear of the vessel. Turning to see what the commotion was, I felt the breeze on my cheek, coming from the southwest now, and soon we were underway again, heading back to our original landing site.

~ ~ ~ ~

The sky was beginning to lighten when the lookout whispered down that he had spotted land, causing us to strain our eyes in the direction that he was pointing in the gloom. I imagined more than saw the dark bulk of the hills that rise almost immediately from the edge of the coast in that part of the world, and I exchanged a glance with Crispus, wondering if he was thinking the same thing. There just did not appear to be much of a beach for us to land on, but my hopes were that because of the darkness I was missing something, that there was in fact a sufficient beaching area for us. The chop had picked back up along with the wind so that men were back to retching again, but I kept my eyes focused in the direction we were heading, straining to pick up any details of the landing area. While I did, I called quietly to my Centurions arrayed about the deck, and began relaying instructions to them to rouse the men and get them ready to disembark. The plan was to land on line, with each transport holding a Cohort, with the First, ourselves, Third, Fourth, and Fifth scheduled to be first, depending on the condition and width of the beach.

In the darkness, I could see a blur of white foam off to the right, the hiss of the surf pounding the rocks carrying on the wind to our ears. I felt my throat tighten at the thought of those rocks, waiting to tear the bottom out of the ship, and I automatically walked over to the hold to peer down at my men huddled below. Gazing down at them sitting miserably in the fetid darkness, I sensed someone’s eyes on me and I turned to see Vibius staring balefully up at me. Despite myself, I grinned at him, and he mouthed an obscenity, causing me to realize that it was almost full light if I could read his lips. Blowing him a kiss, I walked back to my spot at the bow of the boat, staring landward. I was able to begin making out more detail, finally seeing the beach we were heading for and I bit back a curse. Essentially, the beach was lodged between two promontories of rock that jutted out into the sea, and it was plain to see why the beach was undefended, since it appeared to be suicide to try guiding any number of ships between the teeth of those rocks. Not for the first time, I wondered at Caesar’s confidence and questioned if it indeed was hubris, although I could also see why he chose the beach, because it presented a wide enough front for almost the entire Legion to land at once, provided every ship managed to steer past the rocks. I stood motionless as our own boat slid past the rocks to the right, no more than a hundred paces away, and it was not until we were safely past that I realized I had been holding my breath. Once it was clear we were safe, I turned my attention to preparing for the landing, watching as the men stood and gathered their gear up, making themselves ready. Since the decks were packed, the men in the hold were forced to wait for the men topside to go over the side before they ascended the ladder. This was the reason why I had ordered that the Centurions, Optios, and
signifer
of each Century be the first over the side, so they could stake out a spot for their units to assemble. The beach was deserted, and I thanked the gods for the small blessing that there would be no opposition, calling the news down to the men in the hold.

“At least it won’t be like that fucking beach in Britannia then,” a voice called out.

“You’re right about that,” said another man. “I almost fucking drowned that day, and had to worry about one of those Brit bastards taking my head off."

“That’s because you’re such a short-ass that was the only thing showing above the water,” the first man shot back, and there was a rumble of laughter.

By rights, I should have told them to shut up, but I had learned that at times like these, humor went a long way to easing the pressure of what was about to take place, so I let it pass. It was only a couple moments later that I felt the crunching of the bottom of the boat, followed by a lurch as it slowed to a halt. Instantly, I moved to the side and swung my legs over, since I would be the first of my Cohort to hit the beach. Looking over my shoulder I roared, “All right you bastards, over the side! We’re not paid by the watch! Centurions, get your parties formed up on the beach. Make sure there’s enough room for your sections! I don’t want anyone standing in the water because you didn’t count your paces correctly!”

Then I leaped down, gasping despite myself when the shock of the water hit me. There was a flurry of men slipping over the side and I heard the splashing behind me, followed by the inevitable curses as the cold water hit men in their most sensitive bits, but I was already wading ashore. Looking to the side, I bit back my own curse as Crastinus grinned and waved at me; we had a wager about who would be the first on the beach, and he had beaten me by several feet. That did not help my mood, and I cursed at what I thought was the ragged performance of my Cohort as they came streaming onto the beach, looking for their Centurions and Optios, each of them bawling out their Century number. The men spilled off the boats, dripping water and squeezing out the hems of their tunics as they shuffled into their spots in formation. It did not take us long to get formed up, partially because of our experience, but also because there were so few of us left. At times like this when I could graphically see the toll the years of fighting had taken, I was struck by a wave of sadness, thinking of all the comrades that were not there to take their places. Compounding the problem was that an outbreak of the bloody flux had swept through camp in the weeks before we had arrived, so despite the 10
^th
being spared, the other Legions were hit hard. The average strength per Legion was barely 2,400 men; we were just a little better with 2,800 men. My Cohort could field 305 men, and the First Century, my original unit, was down to 47 men standing on that beach. It was a sobering sight, but I would not have traded one of these men for ten new
tirones
. What we lacked in numbers, we more than made up for in experience; years of campaigning had weeded out the weak, the slow, and the unlucky. What was left was the fighting core of the Legion, the men who had always borne most of the burden, even when we were at full strength, so it was with the utmost confidence that I took my place at the head of my Cohort and waited for the command to step off.

~ ~ ~ ~

Our first mission was to take Oricum, which lay about 25 miles to the northwest, at the base of a deep inlet that provided a sheltered harbor for the Pompeians. The only way to approach was by a roundabout route that followed a dry riverbed through steep mountains, actually heading east before gradually turning in the direction of the town. As we set off, Caesar ordered the fleet, commanded by a general named Calenus to go back to get the next wave. The 10th was the vanguard, and it was not long before we were huffing and puffing because of the steep climb up from the beach. Taking a look back, in the growing light I could see the rest of the army hundreds of feet below, looking like a group of well-organized ants waiting their turn to begin the climb up the trail. The path we were following was little better than a sheep track, forcing us to move single file for large stretches of time, making the going very slow. By the time we descended from the hills onto the plain that surrounds the landward side of Oricum, the sun was high in the sky. We had to halt to wait for the rest of the army making its way over the track to join us, so we took advantage of the delay by eating a quick meal and resting a bit, stretching out, and using our gear as a pillow. With the men resting as we waited, I walked with Crastinus and some of the other Centurions to take a look at the fort that was situated in the western corner of the inlet, with the water to the north and a steep ridge to the west. The water of the bay was a striking deep blue, and there were a number of ships of all types anchored there. As was usual in such cases, there was a town hard by the walls of the fort, although I do not know which came first. Even from where we stood, we could see that the walls of the town were lined with people watching us, although we could not tell if they were soldiers or civilians.

“That’s going to be a tough nut to crack,” commented Crastinus. He pointed to the possible approaches. “To get to the fort, we’re going to have to cross in front of the walls of the town, which will expose us to fire.” Shifting his attention, he indicated the town. “But if we take the town first, we’re not only going to have to worry about fighting in the streets, we’ll have to keep at least one Legion and more likely two in reserve to watch for any sortie from the fort.”

“Unless they commit their forces to defending the town and abandon the fort,” I suggested. “Then we’ll have to commit everything to the assault on the town or it’s likely we won’t even get over the wall.”

“What we don’t know is what quality of troops are in the garrison.” This came from a swarthy Centurion from the First Cohort named Plinius, another of the men who had been recalled by Caesar.

“We have to assume they’re some of Pompey’s veterans,” Crastinus replied grimly.

Our scouting trip had been sobering and when we returned to the army, the last of the first wave was descending from the track, falling into their designated spots. Crastinus went to report to Caesar what we had seen while the rest of us returned to our respective Cohorts, kicking them awake and on their feet. Shortly after we landed, Caesar freed a prisoner that he had brought with us, a patrician named Rufus who had been a Legate of one of Pompey’s Legions, with instructions to go find Pompey, making one last offer of a peace settlement. There was considerable wagering about the outcome of his mission, most of the money being placed on the mission failing. Meanwhile, after receiving Crastinus’ report, Caesar gathered his staff and all his panoply together, including the lictors he was entitled to by virtue of his Proconsular authority, and approached the walls of the town to parley. As we stood watching, he rode with grave and stately
dignitas
towards the walls, which had grown even more packed with people, waiting to see what their fate would be.

~ ~ ~ ~

The parley lasted less than a third of a watch. At the end of it, the gates of the town were thrown open, surrendering without a fight. Simply put, the citizens of the town were not willing to wage war against a Consul of Rome and the garrison commander, Torquatus was his name, was forced to capitulate. With the fate of the town and fort settled, we were given orders to make camp outside the walls, and access to the town was put off-limits. For once, the grumbling was muted; we were all tired from the rough march through the hills and thankful for the rest. The next morning we set out, marching north along the bay, leaving the 27th behind to man the fort and town in the event that any of Pompey’s fleet decided to show up. Our next goal was Apollonia, taking two days of hard marching to reach, but when we did, the result was the same; the townspeople refused to resist a Consul of Rome and the commander of the town was forced to surrender. In quick succession, the towns of Bylis and Amantia followed suit, and we began to think that perhaps this war could be won without any bloodshed after all. The next objective was the site of Pompey’s main supply depot at Dyrrhachium, some 70 miles away, and we made haste to reach it before Pompey did.