“No, sir,” the centurion said quickly, snapping out of his trance and saluting again. “I shall carry the orders to Centurion Volcula without delay.”
As the demoted officer struck off down the hill, Publius ventured to speak to the perturbed Caesar. “I would say he was a bit stunned by that rebuke, sir.”
“What?” Caesar said looking up from a message that had been placed in his hands by an orderly. “It concerns me little, Publius.”
“You did, by chance, see those medallions on his chest, Caesar? That man has fought in many battles. Indeed, I recognized some of those medals from your campaigns in Gaul and Britannia. It is quite possible that centurion has served under you for many years. Perhaps this injury to his honor is -”
“Damn his pride, man!” Caesar snapped. “He’ll do what I bid him and there’s the end of it!”
Publius paused. He knew that Caesar was on edge. Of late, the normally unflappable general had been irritable and prone to such outbursts. And who could expect otherwise, with men grumbling in the marching columns, and officers grumbling around the campfires, that Caesar had blundered by landing them on this foreign shore? What had he expected to accomplish with only half of his army? Had he not foreseen the massing of the Pompeiian legions, stirred from their winter quarters throughout Epirus and Illyricum? The cloud of dust dogging Caesar’s army grew larger with each passing day. Pompey’s army was strong, and well supplied from both land and sea. Caesar’s troops, on the other hand, could hope for no help from the sea, and had only to rely on the feigned love of the local magistrates in the towns they encountered for subsistence. Publius had even overheard some of the veteran centurions grumbling that Caesar had pushed Fortuna’s favor too far this time.
Publius crafted his next words carefully. “I only wish to point out, General, that this man is undoubtedly a man of much valor. This army needs his sword. I have known some centurions, after such a reprobation, to instantly retire to their tents and commit suicide. I have seen some do it for lesser disparages.”
“The man cannot build a bridge worth the urine in his pisspot, Publius. Jupiter knows, we have enough incompetent fools in this army. We have enough difficulties keeping the men on the march as it is. After today, how many do you think would willfully set foot on a bridge built by that imbecile? We’d have to goad them at the tip of the spear.”
“I do see your point, sir. Still -”
“Forget honor, Publius. Forget swordsmen. What concerns me more are those materials down there. This damnable country is so devoid of timber I doubt we could craft another bridge should we encounter a similar obstacle. We must salvage as much as possible.”
Caesar had obviously moved on to a different matter, and Publius decided to abandon the unfortunate centurion of engineers to his fate. Down the hill, near the edge of the gorge, a long line of one hundred carts waited impatiently as pulleys and cranes methodically hauled the bridge materials up from the gorge. As soon as one cart was loaded to capacity, its drivers whipped the team down the path, and another cart took its place.
Publius glanced at the southern horizon, beyond the ravine. A handful of mounted figures had appeared along the distant ridgeline several hours ago, observing the activities at the bridge, but now there were more. Now, as Publius watched, the cluster of horsemen filling the road began to grow in number until Publius could make out a large formation of lance-wielding riders, driving their horses at a strong gallop towards the bridge. They were Pompey’s advance guard, Galatian and Cappadocian cavalry – picked horsemen from the heart of Asia Minor – whom had sworn allegiance to the exiled Senate and to Pompey. They came on now with great swiftness. Several engineers and slaves were still working on the far side of the bridge, a few planks had been left across the main struts of the framework, allowing them to move back and forth between sides. They continued their work unaware of the approaching danger. A low hill just beyond the bridge hid the closing horsemen from their field of view.
Publius waited as several of the staff officers behind him began to murmur to one another in silent alarm. Certainly Caesar had seen the danger, too, and Publius felt it was not necessary to point it out to the consul. But he noticed that Caesar had become transfixed by the letter in his hands, his face drawing more grave the more he read. Caesar seemed completely absorbed by the letter’s contents, and, if Publius’s eyes did not deceive him, the briefest moment of panic crossed the consul’s face.
“Archers to the front!” Publius gave the order to one of the tribunes behind him. The armored officer saluted and galloped off in a stir of dust.
The Tenth was assigned the rear guard, and were commissioned with the protection of the long train of impedimenta following behind Caesar’s army. Publius had four cohorts drawn up on this side of the bridge – nearly two thousand spears. He chose to keep these in place, for those few planks left on the bridge were too narrow to support cavalry, and the ravine was far too deep and far too wide for the enemy horse to get across otherwise. Those engineers working on the south side of the bridge, however, were in great peril. An auxiliary cohort of Cretan archers was attached to the Tenth, and it was these men, with bows strung, that now took up positions along the steep defile on the north side of the gorge. The archers would cover the inevitable retreat of the engineers – if Caesar ever gave the order.
But the distracted consul kept his eyes transfixed on the message, as if staring at it longer might lead him to the solution of whatever problem lay therein.
“Do you know what this letter contains, Publius?”
“I do not, Caesar,” Publius responded, keeping his eyes on the rapidly closing enemy horse. “Begging your pardon, sir, but the enemy cavalry is less than a mile away. Would it not be prudent to pull the engineers -”
“It is from that hesitant of all hesitants, Marc Antony,” Caesar interrupted, “whom, until recently, I believed to be a somewhat competent general and colleague. He writes, I await temperate weather and am desperately short of transports. That fool sits in Brundisium with our remaining legions, watching the sea, and no doubt the bottom of his goblet!” Caesar slapped the page with the back of his hand. “In this, he goes on in great detail to tell me that he believes the crossing to be too hazardous to attempt in the winter, and that he will make every effort to reach me in the spring! The spring, Publius! Does the fool not realize, I need more than just his legions? He is supposed to bring across the bloody treasury reserves. If we don’t have them soon, this army will mutiny before it ever sees battle. Doesn’t he understand that? The spring! Did you ever hear something so outrageous, Publius?”
“No, Caesar.”
A great shout of alarm echoed from the far bank as the thunder of the horse reached the ears of the working engineers. At nearly the same moment, the surging line of steaming snouts and twinkling bronze armor crested the last hill and were now visible to those still working on the south side of the bridge. Publius saw several centurions there look up at the approaching enemy and then back to the hill where Caesar and Publius sat, as if willing the consul to order the withdrawal. But when no such order came, the veteran field officers ordered their work parties to fetch their stacked arms and began forming a defensive line in the enemy’s path. Seeing this, the Galatian cavalry leveled lances and kicked their mounts into full stride. A horn sounded, and the enemy formation quickly lost its shape as every horse was pushed to its limit. Several slaves screamed in horror at the approaching fury and chose to leap to their deaths rather than face the enemy lances.