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    Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia
    Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia
    Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia
    Ebook662 pages13 hours

    Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia

    By R.W. Peake

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    Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia, is the second volume of the alternate history series in which Caesar survives the assassination attempt in March of 44 BC and carries out his planned invasion of Parthia. After a successful first year's campaign, where Caesar and his army capture the cities of Ctesiphon and Seleucia, Caesar is now determined to face and defeat the young Parthian king Phraates, who is just as intent on avoiding battle with the Roman general. For Titus Pullus, the giant Primus Pilus of the 10th Legion, and his comrades, matters are further complicated by the presence of a force called the Crassoi, the Roman survivors of the ill-fated campaign led by Marcus Crassus, who are now fighting for Parthia. What neither Caesar, nor any Roman, has any way of knowing is whether their former countrymen still hold any loyalty to Rome, or if the decade they have spent under Parthian control has been enough to switch their allegiance to their captors. All will be decided outside the walls of Susa, when Caesar and his army must not only once more face the feared Parthian cavalry, but fellow Romans.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherR.W. Peake
    Release dateJun 13, 2017
    ISBN9781941226230
    Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia
    Author

    R.W. Peake

    I am a 63 year old retired Infantry Marine, born and raised in Texas and currently living on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state. I have been writing since my first novel, written at the age of 10, when my friends and yours truly fought off the Soviet hordes, who just happened to pick my block to launch their invasion. That was their big mistake.But like a lot of dreams, it got sidetracked until recently, when I decided to focus my passion on an era and subject that interested me a great deal. Like my characters in Ancient Rome, I have served as the pointy tip of the spear of our nation's policy, and it is with this perspective that I tell the story of Titus Pullus and his friends.Marching With Caesar-Birth of the 10th Legion was my first published novel, and is the first in a completed series that covers the career of Titus Pullus, his adopted son Gaius Porcinianus Pullus, grandson Titus Porcinianus Pullus, and his great-grandson Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus. The most recent release is Volume XIX, Marching With Caesar-Catualda the Usurper.I also have a completed alternate history series, Caesar Ascending, that imagines a world in which Gaius Julius Caesar survives the Ides of March, embarks on his historical campaign against Parthian...then keeps going. Originally it's a bid to outstrip the Macedonian King Alexander by reaching the Ganges River, but evolves into a decade-long campaign that finds Caesar and his Legions marching to the end of the known world in the form of the mysterious Islands of Wa, modern-day Japan.Finally, in 2020, I began The Titus Chronicles, with Volume I titled Eagle and Wyvern, which tells the story of a descendant of Titus Pullus, (though he's unaware of any connection), named Titus of Cyssanbyrig, who at the age of fourteen answers the fyrd sounded by the Saxon King Alfred, marching with Alfred and his army to confront the Danish King Guthrum, culminating at the Battle of Edington. Blessed with the same prodigious size and strength as his ancestor, young Titus learns he is the recipient of a darker gift, and in his first battle earns the nickname The Berserker.The Titus Chronicles mark the first of an extended genealogy of the original Titus that will extend across the ages as the story of a line of men who have been born and bred for war, and are witnesses to some of the great historical events of the ages.

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      Book preview

      Caesar Ascending-Conquest of Parthia - R.W. Peake

      Caesar Ascending – Conquest of Parthia

      By R.W. Peake

      Also by R.W Peake

      Marching With Caesar® – Birth of the 10th

      Marching With Caesar – Conquest of Gaul

      Marching With Caesar – Civil War

      Marching With Caesar – Antony and Cleopatra, Parts I & II

      Marching With Caesar – Rise of Augustus

      Marching With Caesar – Last Campaign

      Marching With Caesar – Rebellion

      Marching With Caesar – A New Era

      Marching With Caesar – Pax Romana

      Marching With Caesar – Fraternitas

      Marching With Caesar – Vengeance

      Marching With Caesar – Rise of Germanicus

      Caesar Ascending – Invasion of Parthia

      Caesar Triumphant

      Critical praise for the Marching with Caesar series:

      Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony

      Peake has become a master of depicting Roman military life and action, and in this latest novel he proves adept at evoking the subtleties of his characters, often with an understated humour and surprising pathos. Very highly recommended.

      Marching With Caesar-Civil War

      "Fans of the author will be delighted that Peake’s writing has gone from strength to strength in this, the second volume...Peake manages to portray Pullus and all his fellow soldiers with a marvelous feeling of reality quite apart from the star historical name... There’s history here, and character, and action enough for three novels, and all of it can be enjoyed even if readers haven’t seen the first volume yet. Very highly recommended."

      ~The Historical Novel Society

      The hinge of history pivoted on the career of Julius Caesar, as Rome’s Republic became an Empire, but the muscle to swing that gateway came from soldiers like Titus Pullus. What an amazing story from a student now become the master of historical fiction at its best.

      ~Professor Frank Holt, University of Houston

      Copyright

      © 2017 by R.W. Peake

      Smashwords Edition

      All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

      Cover Art by Marina Shipova

      Cover Artwork Copyright © 2017 R. W. Peake

      All Rights Reserved

      Foreword

      I don’t know if this is the same for all storytellers, but speaking personally, nothing is quite as maddening to me as an unfinished story. It’s like an itch inside my brain, and the only way to scratch it is to get it out of my head and onto paper, so to speak.

      When I give talks, in both formal and informal settings, I get asked a fair number of questions about my process, and how I create the stories that comprise both the Marching With Caesar® series and this alternate history series. What seems to surprise people is that I am not very structured, with an outline and each chapter and/or plot point carefully mapped out. While I do have the beginning and the end firmly staked out in my mind, the truth is that I have no idea exactly how I am going to get to that ending that I have created. That means that I am every bit as excited as my readers to see what happens next, which is what keeps my fingers typing away.

      I have said it before, and it bears repeating; of all the books I have written, the strongest reaction comes from this alternate history series. I have readers who love the series, and, as I have been told on multiple occasions, there are those who hate the series and are not shy about expressing that. Thankfully, the former is in the majority, and I’m happy to know that, like me, they are just as fascinated with the what if aspect of history.

      That being said, as always, I strive to keep matters at least semi-plausible, and I would argue that, compared to the ending of this series—which without any sense of irony, I wrote first—Caesar Triumphant, Caesar’s campaign in Parthia has a much more solid basis in the historical record; it is well established that Caesar intended to both avenge the defeat of Marcus Crassus and retrieve the seven Legion standards, the loss of which was a huge blow to the collective pride and prestige of Rome.

      While my grasp of Parthian history is not extensive, the one conclusion I drew is that the decentralization of the Parthian empire, and the mobility of its government, was a sword that cut both ways. And, much as in more modern wars, the key to success lay not in the acquisition of territory and key strategic points, like cities, but in the destruction of the military capability of the Parthians, in the form of their armies, or spads. That, at least, is how I would have gone about it if I was Caesar, although this is not to say that the troubles in Parthia are over for Caesar and his army, particularly Titus Pullus, Quintus Balbus, Sextus Scribonius, Gaius Porcinus, and Diocles, but that’s another story.

      As always, I thank my editor, Beth Lynne, my cover artist Marina Shipova, but more than anyone, I want to thank you fans, whose gentle but insistent pressure and questioning about when is the next book coming out? provided me the impetus I needed during what, for me, has been a stretch where I have written less than normal. I won’t belabor the reasons why; all I will say is that even I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sustain what has been a frenzied pace for the last five years, with thirteen volumes of Marching With Caesar® and the three volumes of this series. That being said, I am hard at work on the next installment of Titus Pullus the Younger!

      Semper Fidelis,

      R.W. Peake

      May, 2017

      Chapter One

      That, Quintus Balbus commented, is going to be a tough nut to crack. And, he added, a bloody one at that.

      I don’t know what kind of nuts you like, Sextus Scribonius replied, but I’ve never seen a bloody nut.

      This elicited a chuckle from Titus Pullus, as well as some of the other men within hearing, all of which prompted their Legate, Gaius Julius Caesar, to glance over his shoulder at them, giving his Centurions a stern though non-verbal warning before returning his attention to the reason they were gathered there.

      That, Balbus whispered to Scribonius, was your fault.

      Maybe you both would like it if we just left you behind so you can argue, Titus Pullus said, torn between his amusement caused by this bickering and his knowledge that the general was not particularly interested in hearing the back and forth.

      Whatever the cause, the one thing that Pullus had to acknowledge was that, colorful language aside, his second in command was only speaking the truth. This was because, spread out before them, some five miles distant, lay the Parthian capital of Susa, sitting on a vast plain where anyone approaching could be seen for miles. Indeed, Pullus was certain, just as Caesar and his senior officers were observing Susa, so too were the Romans being observed, since the Primus Pilus had learned that, despite the appearance of being a flat, level plain, the ground, in fact, held creases and low points, in which a surprisingly large number of men could hide, particularly the Parthians, for whom this land was their home. This was why this scouting party was conducted in force, with two alae of cavalry and Caesar’s personal bodyguard of five hundred Germans, although many of the bearded faces were different from those that had first answered his call with a promise of gold and adventure. Even so, there was an underlying tension throughout the party, created by the hard-won knowledge of their enemies’ ability to use the terrain to their advantage. Because of this, Caesar had taken extensive precautions, stationing groups of ten troopers out more than four hundred paces away from the main party, spread at intervals of no more than a hundred paces apart. This enabled Caesar and his officers to keep their attention on Susa, but it was with equal parts interest and dismay that, for the first time, these Romans saw firsthand evidence that what they had learned just a few months before was true. The evidence before them was in the distinctly different but unmistakable style of the fortifications that surrounded Susa.

      If there was any question before, was how Pullus put it, quietly enough so Caesar would not overhear, about what happened to Crassus’ men, there isn’t anymore.

      Neither Scribonius nor Balbus made any response, frankly because there was nothing they could say. Despite the fact that neither they, Pullus, nor any of the other Romans, for that matter, wanted to believe it, what they were gazing at, even with the distance, was undeniable proof that the surviving men of Marcus Licinius Crassus’ ill-fated attempt to do what Caesar was in the process of doing were now fighting for the Parthian cause. The only question was whether it was a willing or enforced loyalty, but it was in this one aspect of the situation where Caesar had decided to withhold a vital piece of information from the rankers of his army. From prisoners, he had learned about the families that these men, these Romans, had fathered during the more than ten years of their captivity, with Parthian women. That the men the Parthians referred to as the Crassoi were allowed to do as they had had been a shrewd decision by the now-deceased Parthian king Orodes, and it had been based in two separate but salient points, and the first was just a matter of sheer distance. After the defeat of Crassus, the surviving men of his Legions had been marched to the farthest reach of the Parthian empire, to the remote but crucially important trading city of Merv, where they had been forcefully conscripted into the ranks of the Parthian army, charged with the defense of the easternmost trade routes. Initially held as captives, once the reality of their situation settled in, and the Romans realized the practical impossibility of crossing well more than a thousand miles, most of it over the most barren, waterless terrain in the known world, as most humans tend to do, they resigned themselves to making the best of their current situation. And, once Orodes was certain this transition of outlook was genuine, only then did he allow these men to intermingle with the native populace, namely with the females, and equally inevitably, the transformation from Legionaries to Crassoi was completed roughly nine months after Orodes lifted this last restriction. The consequence of his actions was simple, yet profound at the same time, as Caesar, his Legates, and his senior Centurions examined the defenses of Susa and were mentally grappling with the reality that they would once more be facing fellow countrymen before this campaign was over, something they had all fervently hoped was a thing of the past.

      His name had once been Numerius Pompilius, but it was his Parthian wife, whose name was Kira, who had given him the name Caspar, something that he had resisted at first. Then, although he couldn’t recall exactly when it had occurred, much to his surprise, he had begun to think of himself as Caspar first, as the man who had once been Numerius Pompilius slowly vanished, bit by bit. Normally, he wasn’t an introspective sort, but the few times he had taken the time to think about it, he supposed that it was not only natural, but probably inevitable, given his antipathy towards his former country. He had once been as proud of being Roman as any man alive, of this he was certain, but between the horrible ineptitude of the Legate commanding what was ultimately a display of vanity, then the feeling that he knew was shared by most of his comrades that they had been abandoned by Rome, whatever warm feelings he had held had been eroded by the years spent in the farthest reaches of the Parthian Empire. Not, even Caspar would acknowledge, that he and his comrades had completely abandoned their Roman roots, particularly in the area of military affairs, because what were referred to as the Crassoi were still organized along the lines that any Roman would recognize. Indeed, Caspar was currently the highest-ranking Roman in the Crassoi, although he was not usually referred to as Primus Pilus by his superiors; that was the title used by his subordinates, even those who weren’t Roman. That this was the case was something that, unknown to Caspar, the Legate currently commanding the invading Roman force had been forced to confront, which Caspar would have found grimly amusing since he had been through an almost identical ordeal starting five years before.

      As skilled as the Crassoi might have been in waging war, casualties were inevitable, although as any commander experienced in military matters understood, for every man felled by an enemy, there were at least three who succumbed to illness or injury. Replacing veterans was always difficult—when they were not only raw, untrained Tirones—but from a culture as foreign to Roman ways as Parthians were, the challenges were so daunting as to be seemingly insurmountable, but the man known as Caspar still had enough of the Roman in him that this was something that was simply an obstacle to overcome. What he had no way of knowing at this moment was that what he and the other senior Roman officers of the Crassoi had endured was something that his counterparts, the Primi Pili of Caesar’s Legions, had just undergone in the months before. What he did know was that the tiny specks on the horizon were his enemies, and he and his comrades would do everything within their power to stop them from taking Susa, and for reasons that went well beyond the idea that this was their duty.

      Over the course of the previous months, Phraates, the king of the great Parthian Empire, had begun to have second thoughts about several of his decisions, but none worried him as much as the one that led him to stake everything on his defense of Susa. At first, it had seemed to be not only the right decision, but one that was so obvious it would have caused him more grief from his satraps if he had deemed that, like Ctesiphon, Susa was expendable. However, that had been before he had received reports from his scouts about the approach of the army led by Caesar. Even taking into account that the Roman general had left a substantial number of troops that the Romans called auxiliaries behind in the twin cities of Ctesiphon and Seleucia, along with one of their Legions, the huge marching column that approached down the Tigris was daunting, if only because of the precision the Romans displayed as they moved methodically south. By this point in time, the Parthian king could recite by memory the particulars of a Caesarian advance; a minimum of thirty miles a day, followed by the construction of a camp whose defenses were simply too strong to overcome, unless of course Phraates ordered his generals to throw every available man into an assault. Then, rising before dawn the next day, the Romans meticulously destroyed the camp that they had expended so much time and energy to construct, before resuming on their inexorable advance. Never farther than a mile from the river, now that Caesar’s army had left behind the rugged terrain that had marked the first part of their incursion into the Parthian empire, Phraates knew that it would take something extraordinary to keep them from putting that minimum of thirty miles under the tromping caligae of the Legions on a daily basis. This was not to say that the entirety of Caesar’s army was tethered to the lifeline provided by the Tigris; his cavalry force swarmed over the surrounding countryside, searching for every small village and every hoard of food they could locate.

      However, there was one oddity in their behavior that made no sense to Phraates, despite several attempts to think through the possible reasons, but in this, the Parthian king never came away satisfied. While there were courtiers who actually had correctly guessed the Roman general’s reasoning for giving the orders that resulted in this behavior that puzzled Phraates, none of them were foolish enough to say as much to their king. Even in his relatively short reign, Phraates had already demonstrated he didn’t appreciate being made to look in any way as if he wasn’t omniscient in the running of his kingdom, the proof being that the ranks of Parthian nobility who served his court had noticeably thinned. What a number of those remaining members of Phraates’ court recognized was that, by Caesar ordering his cavalry to leave the native populace largely unmolested, even to the point that, if the reports were true, when the Romans did find foodstuffs, they didn’t take the entire supply, they had less cause to worry about a native populace in their wake who would be sufficiently antagonized to rise up and fall on their rear. One of the courtiers, Bodroges, would have gone even further than that, at least if it had been the old king Orodes he was advising, informing his monarch that in comparison to their own overlords, Parthian peasants were being treated better by their conquerors, especially the families of those men who had succumbed to the lure of Roman silver and were now marching in the ranks of the Legions. But, as Bodroges and his fellow surviving advisors had learned, any mention of this to Phraates was a guarantee of a quick, but horribly brutal death, made even worse by the humiliation of being executed in front of one’s fellow noblemen. Consequently, Bodroges kept his observations to himself, as did the other surviving courtiers, watching silently as Phraates paced and raged about the perfidy of his people who, rather than rise up and fall on the invaders, seemed content to allow them to continue towards Susa without resistance. And, with every passing day, Phraates became ever more convinced that he had made a horrible mistake.

      Kambyses had been quite surprised that, after enduring almost a year in captivity, the Roman general Caesar had deemed that the Parthian, who was the former commander of the defending forces of Ctesiphon and Seleucia, was valuable enough to whatever the Roman had planned to be taken along with the army when it resumed the campaign. Despite himself, when Kambyses had been informed, through one of Caesar’s Legates, his heart began beating more rapidly, and he actually became dizzy; not from fear, but joy. As jailers went, even if he was the type to complain, Kambyses had to admit there was little he lacked when it came to creature comforts. Except, of course, the freedom to come and go as he pleased. More than anything, though, as he sat in a daze after Legate Pollio left his small but comfortable room, was his realization that of all the things he missed, the simple joy of riding a horse was at the top of his list, and he had been assured by Pollio that, while his hands would be bound and he would be under escort at all times, Kambyses would not be forced to endure the humiliation of riding in one of the wagons.

      Until, Pollio had warned him, his tone nonetheless cordial, you prove that you can’t be trusted. But hopefully you know Caesar well enough by now to know not to test him.

      That, Kambyses thought grimly, was nothing less than the truth. During his captivity, Kambyses had twice been escorted from his room in the palace out to the large square, namely to witness punishments that had been deemed necessary by Caesar. In both cases, the sentence had been death, but it was the method by which one of them was carried out, and more importantly, the identity of the condemned that made a lasting impression on the Parthian, and it served as a reminder that, no matter how courteously he was treated by his captors, there was a line that shouldn’t be crossed if he had any hope of living to see more sunrises. The first had been an internal matter, and Caesar’s ostensible reason for Kambyses’ presence was because the Roman general wanted his Parthian captive to witness the iron discipline of the Legions. Of course, Kambyses was no stranger to scenes of violent death, and he was quite proud of the number of men he had personally slain in combat, but even he was, if not shaken, given pause at the sight of Roman Legionaries beating one of their own comrades to death. Although nothing had been said to him, Kambyses was certain that there had been a message in his attendance as Legionaries, armed with nothing but cudgels, surrounded a man who Kambyses was informed slept in the same tent with the men who were now brutally ending his life.

      What did he do? Kambyses addressed this to Pollio, and even his own ear could discern how much better his Latin had become during his captivity.

      He was caught raping a girl, Pollio replied grimly.

      Frankly, this astonished Kambyses, even though he had actually quarreled with Pacorus, the eldest son and crown prince of Orodes, when the prince had done the same thing just a couple days before the fight for the ridge that had been the first defeat of the Parthian army that resulted in Pacorus’ death. At the time, Kambyses thought it was a perfectly good waste of fighting men for something as trivial as taking some peasant woman against her will, and he wouldn’t have imagined that these Romans would seem to share Pacorus’ view of the matter. It was somewhere in this train of thought that the Parthian realized that something Pollio had said might hold a clue to this puzzle.

      Turning to Pollio, he spoke tentatively, You said he was raping a woman?

      Pollio, whose eyes were fastened on the sight of the scene being played out in the middle of the square, as the Legionaries slowly tightened the circle around the condemned man, seemed reluctant to face Kambyses, but he did so as he replied quietly, No. I said he was raping a girl.

      That, even Kambyses was forced to acknowledge, was a different matter, but it was more out of morbid curiosity that he inquired, How old was she?

      Pollio didn’t reply immediately, shrugging first before answering, I don’t know with any certainty, but she couldn’t have been older than six or seven.

      Kambyses was a hard man, a warrior who had long since learned of the true nature of most men, and understood how most, if not every human, carried a darkness within them, but he was still forced to suppress a shudder, though he didn’t speak. Instead, he turned back to watch as the first blow was struck, no longer as disinterested as he had been just moments before. It wasn’t over quickly, because it wasn’t supposed to be a quick death, and it was only Caesar who could decide the wretch had suffered enough.

      The regulations state that every bone in his body has to be broken before he can be finished off, Pollio explained, correctly interpreting the expression of puzzlement as the condemned man’s screams became ever shriller.

      What Kambyses had no way of knowing was that the orders given to this section of men, from the Fifth Cohort of the 3rd Legion, had been very specific, and in giving them, Caesar displayed to his Legions that he knew all of the many tricks that rankers used to circumvent or modify punishments such as this. This was why Kambyses watched as the men rained blows down on the condemned man, but only in the area of his torso. Deciding that he was done asking questions, the Parthian simply observed and fairly quickly realized that the Legionaries wanted their victim to remain standing as long as possible. If they had immediately aimed for the legs, he understood now, and broken even one of them, the man would have collapsed to the stones of the square. Avoiding the head was self-explanatory once Kambyses learned the particulars of the punishment, which he saw as the infliction of the maximum amount of agony a man could endure yet stay alive. Still, the screaming of the man was growing tiresome, and Kambyses began wishing, silently of course, that one of the Romans inflicting the punishment would either make a mistake or feel some stab of mercy that would cause him to bash the man in the head to shut him up. Not surprisingly, nothing of the sort happened, so Kambyses turned his attention to the other spectators who were there to witness this punishment.

      Arranged on one side of the large square was what Kambyses assumed was the Fifth of the 15th, arranged by Century and their faces uniformly looking as if they had been chiseled from stone, and nowhere in those expressions did the Parthian see a flicker of pity. However, it was the rest of the assemblage whose presence Kambyses thought was probably the most meaningful, and indeed, it appeared as if most of the inhabitants of Ctesiphon were present. There was a man and woman who were standing, slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, closer to the scene than the rest, and Kambyses only needed one glance to read the expression of the man’s face to understand his role. That, he thought, is a father who wants to do more than watch, and for a short period of time, it appeared as if the man would be unable to restrain himself, making Kambyses idly wonder if he would try to lunge at the condemned man to strike his own blow. Before he could do so, there was a noise that was recognizable to everyone in the crowd, sounding something akin to a thick branch of a tree being snapped over one’s knee, but with a deeper, meatier sound to it, causing Kambyses to return his attention just in time to see the condemned man finally fall. After that, it was really impossible to see, as the man writhed on the stones while being surrounded by his tent mates, who were now no longer discriminating where their blows landed. The affair didn’t last much longer after that, and when the panting, trembling Legionaries were finally ordered to stop by a single word from Caesar, what lay at their feet wasn’t even recognizable as a human being. No, Kambyses decided, that is no longer a he but an it, and it looks like nothing more than bloody lump of meat, with splintered ends of bones protruding from it. Only then did Caesar rise from the chair that had been set at the top of the stairs leading into the palace, then slowly descended the steps. But, rather than go to address the Legionaries, now trying to stand to a position that Kambyses knew the Romans called intente, in an attempt to look like soldiers and not butchers, an impression that would have been understandable given how their tunics were soaked with the spattered blood from their victim, Caesar instead went to the couple. Beckoning to a man Kambyses knew had been a palace clerk and now served as an interpreter, through him the Roman spoke softly to the couple, and while the man was visibly afraid, Caesar’s tone was gentle and seemed to put them both at ease. Then, once the interpreter stopped, the aggrieved citizen didn’t speak but gave a grave nod that seemed to satisfy the Roman general, whereupon the couple was then led away from the square, but not before Kambyses saw the man give one last malevolent and triumphant glance at the bloody mess that had just moments before been a man.

      Now, as he rode along in what had become his accustomed spot in the column, surrounded by a dozen of Caesar’s Germans, Kambyses reflected that, as striking and impactful as that first execution had been, it was nothing compared to the second, and the Parthian was honest with himself and acknowledged he was still shaken. And, he thought grimly, that’s exactly why Caesar did it, and why he chose the day before we left to do it. Once more, it was Pollio who appeared to tell him his presence was requested by Caesar, a nicety that, even as transparent as it was, Kambyses appreciated from his captor, the order disguised as something other than what it was. No matter how politely it was put, Kambyses wasn’t foolish enough not to comply, but this time, as he and Pollio walked from the wing of the palace where Kambyses was confined, the Roman refused to divulge anything that might have given the Parthian a hint of warning. Only in hindsight did Kambyses understand this had been intentional, and he was temporarily distracted by the movement out into the dazzling light that he now only received in small doses. Shading his eyes, it still took several heartbeats for Kambyses to take in the scene, which in some ways was not unlike the execution of the Legionary. There was a crowd, but it was the composition of it that was different, and it was this that gave Kambyses his first hint that something not only unusual but probably something he would personally find unpleasant was taking place. They were civilians, certainly, once more arrayed, except along three sides of the square instead of two, but Kambyses understood that they weren’t the inhabitants of Ctesiphon. Instead, these were the people who lived in Seleucia, across the river, made apparent to Kambyses by another distinction with this crowd, their native mode of dress, which they had preserved, despite their people now having spent more than two centuries here in what was now Parthian territory, and under direct Parthian rule for longer than any of these citizens had been alive. It looks like every Greek is here; this was the thought that flashed through Kambyses’ mind, but when his attention was drawn to a small commotion near where he was standing on the portico of the palace, only then did he understand the meaning. The answer came to him in the form of a man, held up on either side by two Legionaries, and this time there was no mistaking the expressions on the Romans’ faces; this was something they were looking forward to with great relish. Kambyses took no notice of the pair; his eyes were drawn to the slumped head of the man who appeared to be only semi-conscious, and before he could stop himself, the Parthian gasped in shock.

      Anaxagoras?

      At the sound of his name, the Greek dully lifted his head, but while he turned his face in Kambyses’ direction, the Parthian saw it was an automatic reaction because the man’s eyes were swollen shut and crusted with blood, which was a match to the rest of his face. Whoever did that, Kambyses thought, knew what they were doing, and he experienced a stab of unease as, unbidden, the idea that he might actually be next occurred to him. That this was due to more than just the normal sense of anxiety with which he had been living for the previous year had everything to do with the identity of the man who was being dragged out into the middle of the square. Exerting every bit of self-control he could muster, Kambyses tried to appear as impassive and disinterested as he had been for the execution of the Legionary, but his mind was racing as he tried desperately to recall any scrap of information regarding the meetings between this Greek and himself that could be used as a pretext for Kambyses joining this man for whatever was about to happen. Even as he was thinking, his body tensed in preparation for the moment when he was seized by one or more of the guards who were always present, standing behind the party, while his eyes were fixed on Anaxagoras, who had just been roughly dumped onto the stones of the square. Certain that he could feel more than one set of eyes on him, Kambyses struggled to maintain his composure, but as the moments dragged by, nobody around him moved in a manner that indicated he would be seized. That, Kambyses understood, didn’t mean he was out of danger, because once the Greek was shoved down onto his knees, facing in the direction of the palace, he slowly lifted his head and, to the Parthian, seemed to look directly at him. The wild hope that the beating the Greek had taken had rendered him effectively blind leapt up in Kambyses’ mind, but it wasn’t until Anaxagoras turned his face directly towards where Caesar was standing, without a flicker of recognition, that the Parthian realized he had been holding his breath.

      This man, Caesar’s voice, pitched higher than it was in normal conversation so it would carry farther, rang out across the square, was caught in possession of a coded message from our enemy, the Parthian king Phraates. And, Caesar paused, causing Kambyses to brace himself for the Roman to suddenly wheel about and point to him, but instead, he continued, he has confessed his role and given the names of his co-conspirators.

      Here it comes, Kambyses thought, and without making a conscious decision to do so, his muscles actually tensed in the anticipation of what he was certain was coming, but along with the fear, there was a certain amount of anger. Caesar, he was sure, was toying with him now, yet the Roman still hadn’t even glanced in his direction.

      Instead, Caesar continued, Those he has named have been arrested, and have either already been executed or are in the process of being interrogated themselves. But this man, Anaxagoras, he pointed down at the battered Greek, who was at least facing in Caesar’s direction, and Kambyses knew the Greek well enough to recognize the look of defiance, mixed with fear, on his battered features, "is the ringleader of these spies. A Greek, Caesar’s tone turned scornful, and it apparently unleashed the collective contempt of the assembled Romans, as a chorus of growls, taunts, and curses almost drowned out their general as he finished, has betrayed us."

      Once more, he stopped, allowing his men to demonstrate their feelings, and it appeared to Kambyses that this troubled Anaxagoras more than anything that had been said to this point. He thinks that Caesar is going to have him punished the way that Legionary was, Kambyses realized, and he experienced a momentary urge to somehow attract the Greek’s attention and send a surreptitious signal that he was certain Caesar would not order this, although he had no real way of knowing. Fortunately, he instantly dismissed this notion; if he had managed to escape being implicated by Anaxagoras to this point, it would be the height of foolishness for him to essentially betray himself because of a moment of pity. When he thought about it later, Kambyses couldn’t recall that much about all that took place once he realized he wasn’t going to be joining Anaxagoras, other than the fact that, for a man who had never fought as a warrior, and a Greek at that, Anaxagoras had died well, beheaded with a single stroke from one of the men Caesar used for such purposes without ever uttering a cry of fear or begging for his life. Once it was over, Kambyses was escorted back to his quarters, hoping that the shaking of his legs was only something he felt and the pair of guards with him couldn’t see, then once he was alone, he wasted no time. Waiting long enough only to determine that he wasn’t still being observed, made possible by looking for the shadows under the door, he moved to the bed that, at first, had been a source of irritated amusement because of its sumptuous adornment, with pillows covered in silk and an ornate carved headboard. He knew this had once been the quarters for the favorite concubine of the Great King, and when he had first been ensconced in them, he was certain it had been an insult on the part of Caesar. Only with time did he realize that it was due more to the fact that this was one of only a handful of rooms where there was only one way in or out; now, he didn’t mind the comfort as much. Even more, he appreciated the cunningly hidden compartment in the back of the headboard, and it was from this compartment he extracted a small handful of slips of parchment. Using the oil lamp that hung from one wall, he quickly ignited each and every scrap, burning the evidence that, if Anaxagoras had mentioned Kambyses’ name, would have sealed his fate and seen him joining the Greek.

      Titus Pullus had a headache, though not necessarily of the physical kind, but of the sort that plagued every Primus Pilus of Caesar’s army.

      There was another fight in the Fifth Section of my Century, Marcus Glaxus, Pullus’ Nones Pilus Prior, reported during the meeting Pullus held on his return from the scouting mission with Caesar.

      Not again, Pullus groaned, but before he could say anything else, several of his other Centurions joined the chorus, adding their own tales that, with minor variations, were essentially the same.

      This, Pullus thought miserably, is getting worse, not better, and he caught Scribonius’ eye, silently but clearly imploring his best friend to offer some sort of assistance, but all his Secundus Pilus Prior did was give a slight shrug.

      You’re no help, Pullus grumbled, then held a hand up wearily in a signal that his Centurions knew. Speaking to the men assembled in his quarters, he said, And I assume that it’s for the usual reasons, with the usual men. Waiting only long enough for the nine other Centurions, the most senior of his Legion, to affirm his conjecture, Pullus sighed and continued, Well, then you’re going to hear the same thing from me that I’ve been saying for the last year. Stripe the bastards bloody and make offerings to Mars, Bellona, and every other god you can think of that we see some action soon.

      For therein lay the one unforeseen issue that had caught Pullus, Caesar, and almost every other Primus Pilus by surprise once the decision had been made to replace their losses with Parthians. From the outset, it had been an enormously unpopular decision, with men of all ranks, and it had taken all of Caesar’s considerable powers of persuasion, along with help from Pullus and the other Primi Pili who, it had to be said, had been skeptical themselves, to convince the rankers that this was the only way to ensure that the campaign could continue in a timely manner. If they had been forced to hold a new dilectus on the other side of Our Sea, it would have taken almost a year just to assemble the number of men required, ship them across the water, and then march to Ctesiphon. Only then would their training really begin, but by recruiting from the ranks of the Parthian infantry—Caesar never considered trying to integrate men of the Parthian nobility into the ranks—the army could resume its campaign sooner. This had turned out to be over-optimistic; the language barrier alone was daunting, but it also took quite an adjustment on the part of those Parthians who, only after Pullus had nearly bankrupted himself by offering bonuses and beginning what became a flood of new men, joined their former enemies. As Pullus and every Centurion learned, it wasn’t from a lack of willingness, because each of them had seen how hard the new Parthian tiros had worked to learn what were essentially completely new skills. And, honestly, it wasn’t just the language barrier, although this was a challenge. Indeed, what the Centurions of the Legions learned was that when men had been treated as little better than slaves, whipped like dogs for the slightest transgression, or just as commonly at the whim of one of the Parthian nobles who served as their officers, it created a soldier who cringed at the first harsh word uttered by their Centurions, even when that was all that was coming. Early on in the training, Centurions and Optios learned that the use of the vitus on these new tiros was actually counterproductive to the task of transforming these men into Legionaries worthy of the name. This was certainly a challenge for the officers of the Legion, but it was the deep-seated suspicion on the part of the rankers, the men who would be standing next to the new Parthian tiros, that had proved to be the biggest obstacle to integrating the new men. There were some rankers who were certain that, when the moment came, their new comrades wouldn’t be able to face their own kind in battle and try to kill them. And, as Pullus and every other Centurion knew, a good number of these men knew what it meant to face their own kind across a battlefield, having done it themselves during the struggle between Pompeius Magnus and the ultimate victor and the general of this army. They had done their duty—whether that duty had been to Rome or to Caesar wasn’t something that was ever discussed around the fires at night, but having experienced the fighting quality of the Parthian infantry, there was a deep-seated belief that, when the moment of truth occurred, the additions to their ranks wouldn’t have what it took to fight their friends and relatives. Pullus wasn’t alone in his belief that the only way the question would be answered was when it actually occurred, and until battle was joined, the Romans in the ranks were merciless in their taunting and baiting of their nominal Parthian comrades. What Pullus had only shared with Scribonius and Balbus was his view that now that the new Parthian recruits, having served several months under the standard, had begun fighting back, was actually a good sign. Unfortunately, in a practical sense, it also meant that at least once a day, usually more, the Primus Pilus was forced to listen to a recitation of reports like the one Glaxus had given, and he was at a loss what to do about it. He had never been one of the Centurions who believed in the idea of beating his men into a better frame of mind, yet neither could he allow men in his Legion to prey on fellow Legionaries, no matter from where they came originally. Frankly, this was a problem he was more than happy to bring to Caesar and let him make the decision about how to handle, which he resolved to do when they reached Susa and made what would be their permanent camp from which the siege would be conducted.

      Until then, as Pullus put it to his Centurions, I just want you to make sure they don’t kill each other. His tone turned grim, prompted by the memory of what he had seen waiting for them outside the Parthian capital. We’re going to need every man we’ve got for what’s ahead.

      Caspar stood on the dirt wall of the outer ring of entrenchments that surrounded Susa, watching the huge dust cloud created by the approaching Roman army, despite the leading elements still being more than fifteen miles away. Standing next to him were the senior Centurions of the Crassoi; also, never far away was a huge, scarred Parthian noble who was the ostensible commander of the force. In reality, the man’s job was to act both as liaison with Phraates and to spy on the Romans, although to be fair, it wasn’t just Phraates who insisted on this arrangement, since it had been his father Orodes who had been the one to institute the practice. The Parthian, who was the largest man Caspar had ever seen, simply because he had never met Titus Pullus, was named Teispes, and he was a formidable, intimidating specimen, both from his stature and the puckered, scarred hole where one eye had been that he refused to cover with a patch. Teispes didn’t speak often, and indeed to an uninformed observer might have appeared to be rather simple, but as Caspar had learned, this was purely a matter of invention on the Parthian’s part. Yes, he didn’t talk much, but he listened extremely well, something that Caspar was ever mindful about when he was speaking to his fellow Centurions. Normally, this was something with which Caspar had become accustomed, and in fact he had a good working relationship with Teispes; however, the impending arrival of the Romans had upset the delicate balance between not just Caspar and Teispes, but the Crassoi and their Parthian overlords in general. When he thought about it, Caspar acknowledged to himself that this was understandable, although this didn’t make it sit any better with his Centurions, or the men of the ranks.

      Now, standing on the hard-packed earth of the rampart, Caspar’s second in command, the Primus Pilus Posterior, who still went by his original Roman name, Gaius Asina, asked in a low voice, What do you know about Caesar? What kind of general is he?

      Caspar shrugged, but when he answered, it was with the same quiet voice. Not much more than you do. He’s obviously a good fighter. Look what he did to all those Gauls. Then, he added with a touch of bitterness, Pompeius Magnus.

      Asina nodded, since this aligned with his own view. I wonder how much of that talk we heard about Alesia and Dyrrhachium is true.

      Truly, this had been on Caspar’s mind as well, because it was a crucial question that would have a huge bearing on what was to come. If Caesar ordered his army to perform a circumvallation, then Phraates would be faced with making a choice to either allow it to happen or contest it, and if it was the latter course, Caspar knew full well on whose shoulders the heaviest burden would fall. There had been talk among the most senior commanders, instigated namely by the Spadpat of the great eastern spad, of which the Crassoi had been considered a part of until their arrival in the capital, and who had been too late to have any influence on the siege of Ctesiphon, that they should actually leave Susa. The Spadpat, his name Gobryas, had made the argument to Phraates that by retiring to Istakhr, the city that had arisen from the ashes of Persepolis after its sacking by the Macedonian king Alexander, his force would be in a position to come to the aid of Phraates and the rest of the Parthian army ensconced in Susa instead of having what amounted to the entirety of the remaining Parthian military might penned up in one place. Up to this point in time, Caspar knew that Phraates had resisted Gobryas’ suggestion, but there had been whispers the king was weakening. Now the moment of decision was at hand, because as little as Caspar and Asina may have known about Caesar personally, they were as aware of his reputation for moving rapidly as Phraates had learned firsthand, and if the king dawdled for more than a matter of a couple of watches, the decision would likely be taken out of his hands altogether.

      I have decided, Phraates announced to the assembled senior leadership of his army and the courtiers who remained part of his court to lend to the fiction that the young king relied on the council of others, "that Gobryas’ suggestion is a good one. The eastern spad will withdraw, immediately, from Susa. Minus the Crassoi, of course, except for two of their Cohorts, which will accompany the spad. If Phraates heard the clearly audible collective sigh of relief issue from the gathered men, he gave no sign; later, Bodroges would guess that Phraates paused deliberately, just as a way to torment his officers. But, the king went on, and it was the small twitch at the corner of his mouth that gave Bodroges the idea this was not accidental, I’ve also decided that our capital needs our ablest remaining general to defend it. As quickly as it began, the murmuring and rustling of ornate robes ceased, every man suddenly intent on this change. Which is why I will be leading the eastern spad from Susa, and Gobryas will remain here as the overall commander."

      At least, Bodroges thought, Phraates doesn't look surprised, as the huge throne room erupted in noise and tumult. Demonstrating their displeasure in the usual method of the Eastern world, tearing at their garments, tugging their beards, or raising both hands aloft in supplication to their gods, Phraates’ generals and courtiers shouted pleas to Phraates to change his mind.

      Oh, Great King! Don’t desert us now in our hour of need! We will be lost without your wise counsel!

      Why is it Gobryas you choose for this honor and deny others who have served both you and your father so faithfully and well?

      Bodroges, as had become his habit, remained quiet, content to observe the reactions and behavior of the two separate but equally powerful camps that comprised the Parthian court. Unanimously, the courtiers shouted their despair at this announcement by Phraates, so that even in their protest, they were displaying the sycophancy that was a trait held in common by those representatives of the powerful houses of Parthia who had sent one or more son to court. The military men, however, were blunter and more forthright in their protest, but Bodroges wasn’t fooled in the slightest; their objections were based in the jealousy each of these men held for the other, and of all of those men, Gobryas was viewed as the greatest threat to their own chances to ascend to the top of the ladder. Bodroges hadn’t known Kambyses all that well, but superficially at least, there was a marked similarity between the captured general and Gobryas, an air of tough competence, though it was more than that; both men displayed little patience for the kind of antics that were taking place now, as Phraates sat on his throne, silent but with eyes that missed nothing. Everything he does is with another purpose, the courtier thought, his face composed in a mask that betrayed nothing more than he wanted it to, something that his father had urged him to practice in front of a brass mirror. At first, as sons tend to do, he had dismissed his father’s counsel as being the kind of thing foolish old men would advise, but it had quickly changed once three of his counterparts, all sons of high-ranking families, had been executed on charges that were, at best, flimsy. Finally, Phraates raised a hand, languidly but in an unmistakable message, and the room fell silent.

      I, he said smoothly, am both humbled and proud to see the ardor and devotion each of you are displaying. But, Phraates, Bodroges was sure, was trying to at least sound regretful, "I am afraid my decision is final. As poor a substitute in military matters as I may be, as I said, I am taking command of all but the Crassoi of the spad that Gobryas brought, who will remain here as part of his command, with the exception of two Cohorts. And, suddenly, Phraates’ voice hardened, I know that I can expect each of you who will be remaining behind to obey Gobryas with the same level of devotion and fidelity that you would show me as your king."

      Before anything else could be said, the Parthian king rose from his throne, and with a swirl of robes, disappeared from the room, leaving turmoil in his wake, as each man there began calculating the best course for them to take, and this included Bodroges. Suddenly, he and the other courtiers had to decide what best served their interests; staying behind, facing possible death when the Roman general Caesar assaulted Susa, or go with Phraates, and face possible death from saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

      The forces comprising the eastern spad, led by Phraates, Great King of Parthia, departed from Susa in the pre-dawn darkness of the day after the announcement was made. Accompanying this force were most of the surviving courtiers, save one. Despite knowing what his father would counsel, Bodroges surprised not only Phraates, but himself when he requested permission to stay behind. Only slightly less surprising was Phraates’ acquiescing to his request, but Bodroges, despite his overall youth and relative inexperience, was wise enough to understand that, from the king’s viewpoint, one less courtier, who came with their own retinue, was one less sycophantic flatterer he must tolerate. And, the young noble thought, with a certain amount of amusement, not being around his king meant that his wrath would fall on the heads of one or more of his rivals. By the time he had thought it through, Bodroges was actually quite proud of himself for his cunning turn of mind; now all he had to do was insinuate himself into the good graces of Gobryas, but when he looked across the room at the man, suddenly, he was not so sanguine about his wisdom.

      With an army the size of Caesar’s, it took two full watches between the time the leading elements arrived at the spot marked out by the exploratores for what would be the first, and main camp of the army, where Caesar’s praetorium would be located. Caesar had yet to determine exactly where the other encampments were going to placed, which meant that the first one had to be constructed large enough to temporarily accommodate ten Legions, the five thousand auxiliaries, half the original number because the other half remained behind in Ctesiphon, and with space for a significant portion of the cavalry. Although everything was happening according to Caesar’s orders, the commander wasn’t with the main body, having taken the bulk of the cavalry, save for enough troopers to screen the flanks of the army, in pursuit of a column of rising dust that, while not as large as that created by Caesar’s force, was still considerable. Giving Susa a wide berth, the general, accompanied by his personal bodyguard, led ten thousand horsemen in a pursuit that was cautious, but also with the swiftness for which Caesar was famous. His cavalry Decurions, now with well more than a year’s worth of campaign experience in this desolate land, had at least learned what to look for when it came to likely ambush sites, and the column only paused long enough for a turma to scout a spot that every trooper had learned could be dangerous. The consequence was that it was past midday before Caesar’s scouts reported sighting the rearguard of the Parthian column, and he was unsurprised when he was informed that it was of a substantial size. After all, it had been a bit much to expect that the Parthians wouldn’t notice the same telltale signs of movement by a large group of men that the Roman general used to follow their trail. Nevertheless, Caesar felt a stab of disappointment as he tried to think of a way whereby he could get a better idea of the size, and more importantly, the composition of this newly discovered force. In his bones, he felt certain that this column wouldn’t contain the Crassoi, for the simple reason that, given the clear indication that Phraates planned on fighting for Susa, the former Romans would be the best choice for a siege when compared to the array of troops available to the Parthians. Unfortunately, they were also dangerously close to reaching the outer edge of the area his scouting parties had roamed, back when Ventidius and Octavian had trailed Phraates to Susa. During their time spent watching the city, the old former mule driver had assiduously sent out detachments to scour the countryside, both for the purpose of foraging, and in preparation for this moment now. Naturally, there had been a practical limit to how far even mounted scouts could move in such an inhospitable and unfamiliar environment, and Caesar, with his prodigious memory, recognized a large outcropping of rock that seemed to have materialized from out of nowhere in the otherwise level ground, remembering that this rock formation had been the southern limit for Ventidius’ scouts, and the rear of the Parthian column was now passing by it.

      It was this that caused Caesar to turn in frustration to the man who had been silently riding next to him, asking Kambyses without much hope of cooperation, I don’t suppose you’d care to share your knowledge of the ground beyond that outcropping, would you?

      Perhaps it was the manner in which Caesar asked, with a light, humorous tone, but it prompted Kambyses, a normally dour man even under the best of circumstances, to cheerfully grin at his captor and reply, No, I do not think I care to share that, Caesar.

      Sighing, Caesar took the rebuff well, saying only, No, I didn’t think you would. Turning to the man on his opposite side, Caesar ordered Gundomir, Send one; no, he corrected himself, "two alae on a swing southeast and get ahead of their column."

      The German, who, despite Caesar’s best attempts, spoke in a Latin so broken and salted with camp terms that only Caesar could understand him completely, looked unsettled, but he nevertheless saluted and turned to obey his general’s order.

      Seeing the man’s unease, before Gundomir cantered away, Caesar assured him, I don’t want them to do anything other than raise some dust, Gundomir. We need to make them stop long enough for us to get closer. If they see I’ve sent someone ahead, they’re going to slow down at the very least.

      The German’s features cleared, and he kicked his

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