“Don’t get too happy,” I growled at them. “You know how it works; Fortuna will take a dump on us for this.”
My words had the desired effect, the little spots of white disappeared all around me, causing me to smile on my own.
~ ~ ~ ~
Cries of alarm then reached my ears; I turned to the source and could barely make out a transverse crest bobbing up and down as one of my Centurions ran towards me. Finally getting close enough for me to recognize that it was Valens, I saw him pointing across the valley.
“Looks like they’re up and about, Primus Pilus.”
Peering through the darkness, after a moment I could just make out a movement of some sort, followed an instant later by a torch, followed by another, then another. Men holding torches were spreading out, the bright points of light suddenly appearing once they passed through the gate of their camp so that they were no longer shielded by the wall. After a moment, I determined that these men were being sent out to mark the shape of the enemy formation. As we watched, we saw a mass of something darker than the surrounding area moving across the slope parallel to where our own lines were formed. Grabbing my runner, I ordered him to go find Caesar to inform him that the enemy was aware of our presence and was forming up. He ran off, and I heard him trip in the dark, cursing whatever it was that had caught his toe, causing the men nearby to laugh. I did not bother to tell them to shut up; we were about to start fighting and I would rather have men who could laugh at times like this than men scared out of their wits. We could hear the Bosporan army now, the clinking of metal on metal carrying through the air, along with the yells of their officers, though they were just noises, their words not distinguishable. Looking to the east, I saw that the sky was getting light, the silhouette of the low hills in that direction becoming more and more distinct, rimmed in orange. There were no clouds that day, meaning it was going to be light fairly soon and even in the short time since Valens alerted me, I was able to make out more details, the men working on the camp distinguishable to the point where I could tell what each man was doing and not just detect indistinct movements.
“What do you suppose they’re going to do?”
I was startled; I had been deep in my own thoughts and forgotten Valens was there. I did not answer, so he asked, “Do you think they’ll try and come up the hill and knock us off before we’re finished?”
I shook my head. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I think they’re going to at least wait until it’s fully light before they do anything.”
While we stood there watching, the enemy troops continued to stream out of the camp to push their way through the mass of men already standing outside the walls, finding their spot in formation.
“There sure are a lot of them.” Valens said this like he was remarking on the weather, but I was struck by the fact that I had been thinking the exact same thing. There did not seem to be any end to them, and now that it was light enough to make out individual men, I began to try making a count, but quickly gave up. “What’s our strength, Primus Pilus?” Valens asked.
I thought for a moment, then replied, “We're at 913 effectives. The 36th is just a few more than 3500. The Deiotarian Legion is almost full strength, but that’s because it’s two under strength Legions combined, so that’s about 4,000 men. Then there are about 1,000 cavalry, and a thousand or so Jews. So all told about 10,000 men, give or take a couple hundred.”
Valens nodded in the direction of the enemy host, still streaming out of the camp. “I’m not the best at doing sums, Primus Pilus, but I'm pretty sure that there’s at least twice that many over there.”
He was absolutely right about that.
~ ~ ~ ~
By the time the enemy formed up, the sun was now fully visible above the hills, flooding the valley with the golden-orange light of a new morning, a morning that would be the last for only the gods knew how many men on both sides. I stood facing the enemy, watching them as the last of them moved into place, their officers striding back and forth in front of them, but my gaze was turned inward as it always was at these moments. I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I did not hear the bucina sounding the assembly of officers, and it took Valens tapping me on the shoulder before I became aware of my surroundings. Feeling the heat rise to my face, I turned to trot up the hill to where Caesar was standing.
“How kind of you to join us, Primus Pilus,” he said peevishly. “I hope that we're not disturbing anything important.’
“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”
That was all I was going to say, but fortunately, he did not press, turning to the business at hand. “Pharnaces certainly didn't waste any time,” he began. “But he's just making a demonstration, I'm sure of it. He's trying to force me to deploy the army and stop us from working on the fortifications, but we'll continue.”
We were facing Caesar, who in turn was still facing the enemy so our backs were to them. That is when I saw Caesar’s eyes narrow as he raised a hand to shield them to squint across the valley, something obviously catching his attention.
Before we could turn to see what it was, he told us, “It seems that Pharnaces has brought his scythed chariots with him. This should be interesting.”
As one man, we all whirled around to look for ourselves, and I heard a number of men mutter curses. An even 40 of them came wheeling out of the camp, arraying themselves on the left of the enemy formation, and I felt my heart shudder. Unless I missed my guess, being Caesar’s most reliable and veteran troops, we were destined for the right wing, just as the 10th had always been, meaning that we would be facing these chariots. Despite the fact that I had experience with chariots during our time in Britannia, the Bosporan chariots are a different breed altogether than those used by the Britons. Much more heavily constructed, instead of being nothing more than a flat platform with wicker sides, the Bosporan chariot has a semi-circular low wooden wall that serves as a parapet to provide protection to the driver and missile troops onboard. But what makes it a weapon that strikes fear in the hearts of those facing it are the long blades attached to the axle, which act in exactly the same manner as a scythe, except that instead of cutting down grain it is cutting down men. Most Briton chariots were pulled by two horses, although there were some pulled by four and I had even seen a couple pulled by three, but the Bosporan chariot was pulled by four exclusively. It is a nasty weapon, and I did not like the idea of one of those things getting into the midst of my men, let alone forty.
“Well, Pullus, it looks like you and your men will have your hands full.”
I nodded; there was not really much to say about it.
Turning back to us, Caesar picked up where he had left off. “As I said, I don't believe that Pharnaces has any intention of actually attacking, so we'll continue to have the 6th standing ready while the rest of the men work. The only change I want to make is to shift the 6th over there,” he pointed to a spot that placed us directly across from the chariots, “so that the rest of the army has room to deploy and we're not overlapping their lines on either side.”
Suddenly, the sound of enemy horns began blaring across the valley floor. Again, we all turned to see what was happening and we were not disappointed. The Bosporan army was moving, albeit at a slow walk, down their hill towards the valley floor.