Marching With Caesar - Civil War (16 page)

Turning to the runner, I said, “My compliments to Pilus Posterior Celer. Tell him that if his Century is still able to fight, I want him to circle around the opposite side of where Niger is.” I pointed to the standard that we could just see bobbing over the line of tents that blocked the men from our view. “When he gets in the same position as Niger on his side, tell him to sound the signal that he’s ready. Then he’s to wait for my signal. Understand?”

As is our custom, the runner repeated the orders back to me word for word before running across the parapet to relay the orders to Celer. We still had some equipment to destroy, but first we had to get rid of the men defending the fort. Hopefully, we would be done in the next few moments.

~ ~ ~ ~

Recognizing that I had done all I could do at this point, now I was forced to wait for Celer and Niger to get into place, while I could only watch the rest of my men fighting it out below. There were now four Centuries committed to the fight in the fort, but the Pompeians had their own reinforcements, when survivors of the fight for the parapet, realizing their cause was lost, broke away and went streaming towards the mass of men in the forum, joining the fight on the other side. Consequently, things were still close to evenly matched, with neither side able to gain the upper hand. The sounds of the battle were dying down at a rate equal to the gradual loss of energy. The men were now content to push against each other, snarling and cursing their opponents’ ancestors, mothers, and anything else they could think of before making a token thrust at each other that held little of the force behind it that was present just a few moments earlier. In short, the men were nearing exhaustion and this interlude would end only when one side caught their second wind, or something else happened to break the stalemate. It was then that I heard the blast of the
cornu,
coming from the side of the camp where I had sent Niger, and I could just see the standard dip to signal that they waited for the response from me. However, I was not ready to unleash them yet, because I wanted Celer to be in position as well, so I held the
cornicen
in check while we waited. The blast of the horn caused the Pompeians in the rear rank to start looking back anxiously, but from their position on the floor of the fort, they could not see our men approaching, so they reluctantly turned back to the front, although I could see some of them continually peering over their shoulders. Scanning the area where I thought Celer’s Century should be, I searched for the sight of his standard. It took me some time to spot it bobbing along, and seeing it nowhere near the spot I hoped they had reached by that point, for the thousandth time that morning alone, I cursed. It was taking them much too long, and even as that thought crossed my mind, I heard another blast of the
cornu
from Niger’s Century. Now there was no doubt that the Pompeians had a force behind them, and the back two ranks whirled around to face the new threat. Snapping at my
cornicen
to sound the charge, not willing to wait for Celer any longer, I also told the player to sound the charge a second time, the moment Celer signaled he was in position, then pulled my blade and leaped down from the parapet. I could not take standing there any longer, and now the die was cast. It was time for me to get back in the fight.

~ ~ ~ ~

The sound of Niger’s Century’s roar as they charged, energized, the men already engaged, on both sides, all of them knowing that the end was near, one way or another. With renewed vitality, we began laying into the Pompeians, who responded with equal vigor, realizing that they were effectively surrounded. Striding to the front of the melee, I pushed men out of the way, and just before I reached the front, I heard the blast from Celer, followed immediately by the signal to charge from my player. Thrusting myself into the front rank, I began laying into the man in front of me and he fell to my blade in a few strokes. Celer and Niger’s men were howling at the top of their lungs, but the men surrounding me were mostly silent, not wanting to waste any excess energy, as were the Pompeians. The only sound in our part of the fight was the clashing of metal and the thudding of blades striking the wood of the shields, punctuated by grunts, gasps, and moans when men were struck down. This was nothing like our battles with the Gauls, with the howling madness and the raging fury that their race displays. This was a brutal fight between professionals; two highly trained units who waged war because it was our jobs. I found it quite unnerving to fight in almost total silence, but it did not stop me from killing whoever stood in my way. Because of my rank and my size, I drew more than my share of attention and I had my hands full, but I was well protected by the men around me, covering my sword arm as I thrust, parried, recovered, all while doing the same for the man on my left. The Pompeians were now being squeezed from two sides, and I could see that our line was starting to overlap the ends of the Pompeian lines. Shouting a quick order to Priscus to swing a couple of sections down onto one flank of the Pompeians, I then ordered Longus to do the same on the other.

In immediate response, the lone surviving Centurion of the Pompeians bellowed out, “Form
orbis
!”

This is the formation of last resort for a Roman Legion, and it told me that the end was near if we could keep up the pressure. However, it also meant that they planned to fight to the last man, a prospect that I did not relish, for my men and for the Pompeians. I had no desire to slaughter such brave men, nor to lose the men it would take to do so, so I made a quick decision, signaling for my runner.

~ ~ ~ ~

The
cornu
sounded the order to suspend the attack, but it took a couple of blasts before all the fighting stopped. Once our men disengaged, they took wary steps backwards, their shields still held in position, blades ready to resume the attack, but the Pompeians did not press, understanding what the call of the
cornu
meant and seemingly content for a breather.

I turned to the man next to me, “Do you have anything white? A bandage maybe?”

He looked at me as if I had grown a third eye, but nervously shook his head. Irritated, I turned around, shouting for someone to produce something to be used as a flag of truce, and it was a moment before I saw something passed through the ranks and handed to me. I looked at it in disgust; it would be extremely charitable to refer to the soiled bandage in my hands as white, but it would have to do.

Picking up a spent javelin, I stuck it on the end, holding it up and stepping into the space between our two forces, calling out, “I propose a truce and I request to speak to the commanding officer.”

It was relatively easy to spot who that was, there being only one man left standing wearing the transverse crest of the Centurion, and the Pompeian men immediately looked to him. Reluctantly, he stepped forward, pushing through his men to stand facing me a few feet away. I was surprised to see that he was somewhere around my age. I had become accustomed to being one of the youngest Centurions in Caesar’s army, making it rare to see someone like me in the uniform of a Centurion. He was clearly a man who had seen fighting, having a long, vividly red scar running up the length of his sword arm. Standing stiffly, he waited for me to speak, and I cleared my throat, knowing that what I had to say was as much for his men as for himself.

“I am Secundus Pilus Prior Titus Pullus, of the Tenth Legion,” I said clearly, hoping that my voice did not hold the tremor that I felt. A lot was riding on my ability to convince this man that it was useless to keep fighting. “Who am I addressing?”

He did not speak for a moment, then grudgingly answered, “I am Decimus Princeps Prior Quintus Albinus, of Pompey’s First Legion.”

Raising an eyebrow, I turned back to my men, saying with a smile, “Funny, I thought that the Legions belonged to Rome, not one man.”

This was met with chuckles from my men, but Albinus apparently did not find it humorous.

“Pompey Magnus is Rome,” he snapped. “And you are traitors to the Republic.”

There was a low growl behind me, and I knew that if I did not do something quickly, my attempts at avoiding further bloodshed would be for naught.

Stepping closer to Albinus, I said so that only he could hear, “Quiet, you idiot! I’m trying to save your life!”

“Don’t worry about my life,” he shot back. “I’m happy to die today if I can take more of you bastards with me!”

I looked him in the eye, saying quietly, “Do they feel the same way?” With a jerk of my head, I indicated the men behind them. Before he could answer, I continued. “And don’t you have a duty to your men as much as you do to Pompey?”

I saw the doubt in his eyes, and I was about to say more before deciding that silence was the best approach.

We stood looking at each other for a moment, then finally, his shoulders slumped and he nodded sadly. “You’re right, Pullus. I do owe them their lives. They fought well today.”

“That they did,” I agreed, being totally honest. “And we would treat you with honor; all we ask is that you surrender your weapons, and swear a solemn oath to leave the fort and fight no more.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he protested. “We can’t very well go back and tell Pompey that we won’t fight again.”

I knew he was right. I shrugged and said, “Honestly, I don’t care what you do once you leave the fort, as long as you don’t try stopping me and my men from what we’re supposed to do. Once you go back to your camp, you can rearm yourselves and we’ll fight another day.” I grinned at him. “And who knows, maybe next time things will be different, and you’ll return the favor.”

I could tell he did not want to, but he smiled back, saying with heavy humor, “Don’t bet on it. You don’t know our officers. If they’re involved, we won’t have any choice.”

“Oh, I know them all right. Labienus was our commander, remember. In fact, you tell him that Titus Pullus sends his regards and if I see him on the battlefield, I’m going to cut his balls off and feed them to him for what he did.”

He gave a startled laugh, then saw that I was perfectly serious, and he swallowed hard before answering, “Well, I’ll give him the first part of the message at least.”

“No, you tell him the whole thing,” I said firmly. “And tell him if I don’t, one of my boys will. Now,” I said, turning back to the business at hand, “I’ve given you my terms. What is your answer?”

He stood there, looking at the ground for what seemed like several moments, then finally nodded and responded faintly, “I accept your terms. But only for my men, you understand?”

I nodded, for I truly did and I said so. “Who else but a fellow Centurion could help but understand? You’re doing the right thing, for your men. I salute you Quintus Albinus.”

Then I offered him my hand and for a moment, I thought he would refuse, but he grasped it and I could hear the collective sigh of relief from both sides flow around us.

~ ~ ~ ~

Making arrangements for the Pompeians to stack arms and with my Centurions supervising, Albinus and I stood to one side. At first, there was a strained silence, but before long, we were talking like we had known each other for years. His story was similar to mine; he was from Gades, and he had been in his first enlistment when he was promoted to the Centurionate. He had seen action against the pirates and in the East, and against the Parthians. We carefully avoided any topic that could prove contentious, such as the war currently going on, but it was there between us. He was a good sort and I would have enjoyed sitting with him, sharing a jug of wine and swapping stories, but we both knew that it was impossible under the current circumstances. Once the surrender of the weapons finished up, I cleared my throat and asked Albinus, “What would you like to do with your dead? Your wounded will be cared for by our
medici
, and I think you know that Caesar will treat them as his own.”

He nodded and replied grudgingly, “Traitor he may be, but I will say that we’ve been impressed with his clemency.”

“He’s only a traitor if he loses,” I reminded him, and he shot me an angry look, then shrugged.

“We’ll see.”

He turned to gaze at the bodies strewn around us, then said sadly, “How do we tell which is ours?”

His words struck at my heart like a dagger; he was right. It would take much too long to try to separate our dead. The wounded would be easier, at least those who were still lucid. “Albinus, I swear to you by any god you care to choose that I’ll see that your men are accorded the proper funeral rites, and we’ll treat them as if they were our own dead.”

“Very well, Pullus. And…..thank you,” he said, offering his hand again. With that, he and his men marched out of the fort. Now we had to do what we came for, destroying every piece of engineering equipment and artillery.