The Road to Rome (38 page)

Sabinus looked pleased. ‘Some extra cash would come in handy too. My wife’s always bitching about how little I send her.’

‘You’re married?’

Sabinus grinned. ‘Chained to, more like. Have been for ten years or more. Three kids living, last time I was home. She keeps the farm going with the help of a few slaves. It’s only a little place, about halfway between Rome and Capua.’ He caught Romulus’ wistful look. ‘You’ll have to come and stay when we’re demobbed. Help me take in the crops, roll a slave girl or two in the hay.’ He winked. ‘If we survive that long, of course.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Romulus. The idea of having a wife, a family, a place to go back to was immensely appealing. As a former slave, he’d never really thought about such things, but it was easy to see how much it meant
to Sabinus, despite the deprecating remarks. What have I to look forward to? Romulus wondered. Other than finding Fabiola and killing Gemellus, precious little. Where would I live? What could I do? Greatly disquieted by these thoughts, he was grateful for the arrival of Atilius. They both scrambled up and stood to attention.

The senior centurion studied them with a practised eye. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘You almost look like soldiers now.’

This was the nearest Atilius got to praise, and they both grinned self-consciously.

‘Come on then,’ he ordered. ‘Can’t keep the general waiting, can we?’

‘No, sir.’

The other members of their
contubernium
muttered their good wishes as the pair scurried after Atilius like eager puppies.

It wasn’t a long walk to the
principia
, the headquarters, which was situated at the intersection of the Via Praetoria with the Via Principia. These, the two main roads in the massive camp, ran north–south and east–west respectively. The area in front of the huge pavilion which operated as Caesar’s office and command centre was already filled with hundreds of legionaries, come to witness the awards ceremony. There was no sign of the general yet, but his senior staff officers were grouped by the tent’s entrance. Resplendent in their polished cuirasses, gilded greaves and feathered helmets, they looked magnificent. Twenty hand-picked soldiers from Caesar’s party of Spanish bodyguards stood along the pavilion’s wall, their irregular dress and weapons at odds with the rest of those present. Every legion’s eagle was present, held proudly upright by its
aquilifer
. The general’s own standard, the red
vexillum
, was also on prominent display. A quartet of trumpeters watched keenly to see when Caesar would emerge.

A short distance from the entrance stood a number of legionaries and officers. Their awkward stance told Romulus that these must be the others up for a decoration. Sure enough, it was to the end of this line that Atilius urged them. ‘Good luck,’ he whispered.

‘What shall we do, sir?’ asked Sabinus desperately.

‘Salute, accept your award and thank Caesar,’ Atilius muttered. ‘Then wait to be dismissed.’

They shuffled into place, nodding at the other candidates.

The trumpeters lifted their
bucinae
and sounded a sharp burst of notes.

‘Attention!’ cried one of the senior officers.

Every man present snapped upright.

Romulus and his companions were well placed to see Caesar stroll out into the morning air. Dressed in his scarlet cloak, gilded breastplate and leather-bordered skirt, he wore a
gladius
with an ornate gold and ivory hilt and a scabbard inlaid with silver. A highly polished crested helmet and calf-length leather boots completed his attire. His thin face and long nose gave him a regal air. Caesar looked every part the general.

‘At ease,’ he said calmly.

Everyone relaxed except Romulus and the other men in the line.

Caesar walked forward and raised his hands. At once an expectant hush fell over the whole gathering. ‘Comrades,’ he began. ‘Yesterday was a long day.’

‘That’s putting it mildly, Caesar,’ shouted a wag from the depths of the assembled men.

A loud gust of laughter rose into the clear air, and Caesar smiled. He liked this badinage with his men: it increased the bond between them. ‘It was a hard fight, against terrible odds,’ he admitted. ‘The enemy did his best to annihilate us. But he did not succeed. Why?’ Again Caesar paused, and Romulus saw his art, how the man was a master of oratory as well as a great military leader. He glanced at the men around him, and saw how they were hanging on the general’s every word.

‘Why?’ Caesar repeated his question. ‘Because of you.’ He pointed dramatically at a legionary near him. The man grinned delightedly. ‘And you. You and you.’ His forefinger stabbed at a second soldier, and then a third and fourth. ‘All of you fought like heroes!’

He let the cry swelling in every man’s throat burst forth and, smiling, strode forward to the line where Romulus and Sabinus stood. The cheer went on and on, with the watching legionaries now drumming their swords off the metal rims of their shields to create a deafening wall of noise. Eventually, a single word rose above the crescendo, and Romulus struggled not to shout it himself. ‘CAE-SAR! CAE-SAR! CAE-SAR!’ the soldiers cried.

The man is a genius, thought Romulus, his own pride brimming over. There’s no mention of Caesar’s own ability, of the hours of fear and the terror, of the order to stay within four steps of the standards.
Just stirring words to make every soldier here think he’s as brave as Hercules. It works, too. Romulus had never felt so glad to be a Roman legionary. Shoving back his shoulders, he looked down at his mail shirt and polished
scutum
boss, hoping that he looked respectable enough to meet his leader.

Eventually the din died away.

Caesar stepped up to the first man in the line, who saluted with alacrity. ‘Who is this?’ he demanded.

‘Centurion Asinius Macro, sir,’ boomed one of the senior officers. ‘First Century, First Cohort, Fifth Legion. Risked his own life on multiple occasions yesterday, most notably to rescue a section of his men who had been cut off by the enemy.’

Caesar half turned, and a slave stepped forward bearing a bronze tray covered with decorations and leather purses. Picking a gold
phalera
, Caesar fastened it among the others on Macro’s chest harness. He muttered a few words of congratulation, and handed over a purse before moving on, leaving the centurion beaming in his wake.

The process was repeated with each man: an announcement of his name and rank, and what he’d done to deserve his award. All the while, the watching legionaries shouted Caesar’s name over and over. The atmosphere was electric, helping to dispel any lingering fears about the previous day from their minds. When Caesar reached Sabinus, Romulus had difficulty in not looking sideways. His pulse began to race. As with the others, their general clapped Sabinus on the shoulder and awarded him a silver
phalera
and purse. Finally he moved to stand before Romulus.

He snapped rigidly to attention.

‘Legionary Romulus, First Century, Second Cohort, Twenty-Eighth Legion,’ cried the officer.

‘And his reason for standing here?’ asked Caesar.

‘It was his idea to try and kill Petreius, sir,’ Atilius answered. ‘In just their tunics, he and two others crossed the battlefield to infiltrate the Numidians. They didn’t succeed completely, but legionary Romulus injured the whoreson. The enemy broke and ran, when just a few moments earlier, Petreius had been successfully rallying them. If it hadn’t been for Romulus’ action, our counter-attack would have been a complete failure.’

Caesar raised his eyebrows. Of course he’d already heard the story. ‘You vouch for this man?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Atilius confidently.

‘Used to be in the Tenth, didn’t you?’

‘I did, sir.’

Caesar nodded. ‘I heard about your little javelin throw yesterday. Well done.’

Atilius beamed. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Caesar turned back to Romulus. ‘A worthy deed, it seems.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘Have we met before?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Romulus, his cheeks flushing.

‘Where?’

‘In Rome, sir. You granted me my manumission at the arena.’

Recognition flared in Caesar’s eyes, and he smiled. ‘Oh yes! The slave who killed the Ethiopian bull.’

‘Yes, sir,’ answered Romulus, his face burning now.

‘Killing wild beasts is not your only skill, it seems.’

‘It was an honour to take part in the attempt, sir. Sorry that I didn’t kill Petreius.’

Caesar laughed. ‘Never mind, man! He ran away, and his men followed. That’s all we needed, and it’s thanks to you. There’ll be another day to settle the matter.’

‘Sir.’

Taking a gold
phalera
from the tray, Caesar attached it to Romulus’ mail. ‘Continue like this and you’ll end up an officer,’ he said, handing over two heavy purses. ‘Caesar does not forget good legionaries like you.’

‘Thank you, sir!’ Grinning from ear to ear, Romulus thumped a fist off his chest in salute.

The general gave him a friendly nod and returned to his senior officers.

‘I give you – Caesar’s bravest soldiers,’ cried one of the trumpeters. He lifted his instrument and blew a short fanfare.

A rousing cheer went up, with Romulus’ voice straining itself hoarse among them.

Then, followed by his subordinates, Caesar entered his headquarters.

It was where he stayed for the following few weeks. Although enemy activity in and around his camp at Ruspina was vigorous, Caesar calmly ignored it all. With the defences of the camp being increased daily – every craftsman
available was making sling-shot balls and javelins, catapults were mounted on every guard tower and the walls were fully manned day and night – Caesar had the confidence to remain out of sight, receiving reports and issuing his commands in response. His assurance was proved correct by the Pompeians’ failure to attack. Even when Labienus’ forces were reinforced by the arrival of Metellus Scipio and his army, Caesar’s enemies did not act.

More legions and cavalry arrived from Italy, bringing with them much needed supplies. There were regular skirmishes with the Pompeians, but none were decisive. Caesar’s attempt to take the town of Uzitta, which was the main source for his enemy’s water, failed, but the Pompeians lost many soldiers in their unsuccessful attempts to dislodge Caesar’s forces from their positions. Eventually, realising that there was little gain to be had from continuing the siege, Caesar led his ten legions off towards a settlement by the name of Aggar. They were harassed all the way by the Numidian cavalry, and struggled at one stage to move a hundred paces in more than four hours. What helped the beleaguered soldiers then was the knowledge that if they stuck together and did not break ranks, the enemy horse was able to do little more than injure a few men with their throwing spears.

Romulus was pleased when new training began for all the legionaries, teaching them how to fight alongside their cavalry. Three hundred men from each legion were then picked to remain in battle order each day, their purpose to act as close support for their horsemen whenever a skirmish began. In this way, the probing Pompeian attacks were resisted more easily. On a number of occasions the frustrated Scipio offered battle, but each time Caesar refused it. Although he knew that his general was waiting for the best moment to fight, Romulus began to grow impatient as time dragged by. He lost count of the times both armies faced each other, ready to fight, only to march away a few hours later.

Romulus was pleased that his comrades shared his sentiments. Fully part of his
contubernium
and century now, he sat around each night gossiping, wondering when the campaign would end. It seemed that everyone wanted the conflict to cease now. For some of the veterans who’d crossed the Rubicon with Caesar, the war had gone on for more than three years, and while he didn’t say so, Romulus had been on campaign since he’d left Italy
nearly a decade before. A sense of weariness that he’d never acknowledged before was awoken by the conversations about home, family and planting crops. Romulus’ loyalty to Caesar was unswerving, but he too began to wish for a quick victory in Africa. Only Hispania would then remain as a potential campaign before they could all be demobilised. Yet Romulus’ desire to leave the legions was always underpinned by his doubts as to what he’d do with his life. In some ways, dying in battle would be a simple way out.

It wasn’t until Caesar’s legions abandoned their attack on Aggar and made a night march to begin the siege of the coastal town of Thapsus that things started to look as if they might change. The fortifications had barely been finished on the first evening when news came of the Pompeian army’s arrival. Scipio had come in hot pursuit. The ground around Thapsus was flat, facilitating a hard face-to-face encounter. At first glance, the situation didn’t look good. The enemy outnumbered them in all parts of the army: infantry, skirmishers and cavalry; they also retained more than a hundred elephants, while Caesar had none. However, more than half of Caesar’s men had fought under him for a decade or more, while the majority of the Pompeians were new recruits. Enemy deserters had also revealed that the elephants had only recently been captured and were thus not hardened in combat.

As well as sitting on the coast, Thapsus was protected by a large salt-water lagoon and an inward-pointing tongue of sea, which meant that it could be attacked in only two places. Shrewd to the last, Caesar had ordered a fort constructed on the route which afforded the best options to attack the town. This left a spit of land a mile and a half wide which ran between the sea and the lagoon as the only way to approach his forces.

As Romulus and his comrades had discovered at dawn, it was an avenue which Scipio had taken. Word had come from the outlying positions that a large army was advancing towards Thapsus in
triplex acies
formation. The classic three lines of soldiers used by most Roman generals, it had been strengthened by the presence of Numidian cavalry and the feared elephants on both flanks. In a surprise move, though, half the Pompeian army – including most of the Numidians – had been left to cover the second route by the fort. Consequently, Caesar’s veterans now almost equalled their opponents. To the understandable delight of his entire army, the wily general did not attempt to avoid battle this time.