The camp that Mithradates had erected was almost identical to a Roman camp, so it did not take us long to find the appropriate section to erect our tents and to get settled in, while Caesar and Mithradates conferred. In a matter of a watch, I was summoned to the Praetorium to attend a briefing, where we received our orders. It took a bit longer than normal, since some of the commanders of the various contingents did not speak our tongue and someone had to translate. Looking around, I began to worry a bit; never before had Caesar commanded such a varied assortment of men. There were easily a half-dozen different tongues being spoken inside the large tent, and I could not help wondering what would happen in the heat of battle, when orders had to be instantly given and instantly obeyed, without the slightest hesitation.
“Quite a scene, isn’t it?”
I was startled from my reverie, so absorbed in my own thoughts that I was unaware of the man approaching to stand next to me. I looked over to see that it was one of the Jews, a man of average height and build, with a bushy beard of ginger-colored hair and piercing brown eyes that regarded me with open amusement. He was clad in a leather jerkin that had metal plates sown on, each one overlapping the other, while on his head he wore a simple leather cap, not dissimilar to our helmet liner. His Latin was heavily accented but understandable and his manner was friendly.
“It is that. I was just wondering how this was all going to work when it’s time to face the Egyptians.”
“I was wondering the same thing myself. I guess we will just have to see.” He offered his hand in the Roman manner, saying, “Joseph ben-Judah. I am the commander of the forces from Memphis. We joined Mithradates and Antipater a few days ago.”
“Titus Pullus, Primus Pilus of the 6th Legion. Or,” I amended, “the two Cohorts that are with Caesar.”
We shook hands, then stood in silence for a moment, watching the scene as men argued back and forth, trying to translate their individual orders being given by one of Caesar’s staff into their own language. Hands were waving about, and, as inevitably happens when people are having a hard time understanding each other, voices started to raise in volume as frustration grew.
“How long do you think this will take?” Joseph broke the silence between us. I shrugged.
“Who knows? I just hope that everything is straightened out here and there’s no confusion when we meet the Egyptians. I mean, any more than normal,” I added.
“Well, I know what we are supposed to do. We are on the left wing as part of the allied forces. I suppose you are on the right?”
I nodded, only partly engaged in the conversation. The more I was watching, the more disturbed I was feeling about the upcoming battle. Realizing that standing here I could not do anything to help improve communications, I turned to Joseph and wished him well.
“If I do not see you before we fight, may your gods protect you,” I said, and I was both surprised and slightly irritated to see his mouth lift at the corner in obvious amusement.
“There is only one god, Roman,” he laughed. “But I thank you and I return your wishes back to you.”
I left the tent completely bemused by both what I had seen and what Joseph had just said to me. One god? What did he mean by that? I wondered, and I resolved that I would find out more about these Jews whenever I had some spare time. In the meantime, I had to get my men prepared for what hopefully would be the last battle with the forces of Ptolemy.
~ ~ ~ ~
Marching out of the camp at dawn, we headed south towards Ptolemy, leaving behind perhaps a Cohort-sized guard contingent. Caesar put us in the vanguard, with a cavalry screen of course, the men moving out in good spirits, all signs of fatigue gone from their stride. The sun made our highly polished helmets appear as if they were on fire, and soon enough our heads felt like they were when the heat started to broil our brains. In accordance with his normal practice, Caesar had ordered us to wear full parade gear, with all plumes and decorations, making for an impressive sight as we tramped along. We marched perhaps a third of a watch before we came across our first obstacle, a substantial one at that. A tributary of the Nile was cutting directly across our path, running roughly east and west. Not particularly wide, it was deep; the scouts reported that their horses could not touch bottom, and the sides were unusually steep. That meant we would have to construct a bridge, already difficult enough because of a scarcity of timber, but compounding the problem was that Dioscorides beat us to the spot. Arrayed on the far bank was a sizable force of cavalry, along with what looked like skirmishers. Faced with this obstacle, we stopped, remaining out of range while waiting for Caesar to make his way to us, and during the pause, I sent two Centuries out to look for trees of a suitable size to use for bridging material. Caesar arrived, and I gave my report. Surveying the situation, he called for his Germans to range farther east to look for a ford, giving them orders to cross if they found one then immediately attack the enemy’s left flank. After about two parts of a watch, during which the Centuries returned with the location of an orchard that held trees of sufficient size to be used to construct a bridge, our cavalry came thundering down onto the enemy’s flank, making short work of them and scattering the men to the four winds. Immediately setting to work, the Germans stayed on the other side of the river to keep the Egyptians away from us while we built the bridge. It was finished quickly, but the heat took a toll, and when we started out again, it was not with the same spring in the step as when we had started.
Marching for another two parts of a watch, our scouts once more came galloping back to report that the enemy camp was close, and further it was announced that finally Ptolemy and his fleet were present. Consequently, we halted again to wait for Caesar to decide what we were to do. Deeming it unwise to march to the attack after all the work we had done, we were ordered to make camp, giving us time to rest and to scout the enemy works. Ptolemy, or more likely one of his Gabinian commanders, had chosen the site for their camp well, locating it close to the river, on a small rise, with the northern approach blocked by a steep bluff with an area of swampy ground to the south. There was a village perhaps a half mile from the camp that the Egyptians linked to the camp by a wall that covered access from within. The only practicable approach was from the east, where the ground gently sloped up to the walls of the Egyptian camp. Additionally, the village was situated in such a place that it would need to be reduced first before we assaulted the camp, or we would have an enemy force in our rear. Accordingly, these were the orders that we received that put us immediately to work building assault ladders and checking the artillery to make sure it had not been damaged during the march. We would form up for the assault at first light, Caesar making it clear that he intended to end this once and for all tomorrow. The mood around the fires that night was one of grim determination, the men talking in low tones about what they planned on doing to the Egyptians the next day. To a man, we had our fill of these people and this place, considering the Egyptians to be one of the most faithless, devious, and scheming people we had ever met. Perhaps not surprisingly, it was accepted as fact that the only reason we were unable to break out of Alexandria to crush the Egyptians was due to a combination of numbers and their refusal to fight in a manner that we considered worthy.