Marching With Caesar - Civil War (52 page)

Turning my attention back to my own men, I called for the Centurions to make a head count so I could get a proper butcher’s bill. To pass the time while I waited, I counted the number of arrows and javelins protruding from my shield, which had been rendered useless. I stopped counting at 30, when I was given the tally. Our losses were heavy; thankfully there were few dead so far, although I did not know the condition of the wounded, but my experience told me that as much as a tenth of the wounded would go on to die of their wounds, or to be so badly injured they would be dismissed from the Legion. The ground in front of the camps was covered with bodies, most of them Egyptian, either soldier or civilian, but there were many Romans lying there as well. Most of the wounded had been pulled off the field, except for the men who fell too close to the walls, and they were still there, most of them pulling their bodies under their shield like I had while they waited for rescue. I knew that for some of them it might be too late, if they were unable to stop the bleeding or if the missile pierced a vital organ. It all depended on something happening, and happening soon. As I looked at the men, it was clear they had physically recovered from their exertions earlier; what I did not know was how deeply they had tapped into their reserves. I pondered whether I should approach Caesar to volunteer the 6th to try again, but thankfully, I did not need to, hearing a great shout come from the walls, and they were clearly cries of alarm.

~ ~ ~ ~

Cartufenus and his three Cohorts had scaled the bluff overlooking the rear of the camp. Then, by tying ladders together, they created a number of bridges from the bluff to the wall. If the wall had been defended, they would have had no chance, yet the gods were with us. Most of the men posted on that wall deserted their posts to go join the fighting on the river side or the front wall. Cartufenus led his men across the makeshift bridges, quickly overwhelming the few men who had remained at their posts before descending into the camp, killing everyone they found. The resulting chaos triggered the cries of alarm that we had heard and Caesar did not hesitate. Turning to the Jewish commander, he gave the orders that he had been pleading for a few moments earlier, and they wasted no time either. With a great roar, the Jews rushed towards the wall, carrying their own ladders, while Caesar turned to his
cornicen
, ordering him to sound the advance for the Romans.

“All right, let’s not let those Jewish bastards have all the fun,” I yelled, giving the command to move at the double time, with the men immediately responding to go running after the Jews, who had already reached the wall and were flinging ladders up.

The volume of fire from the enemy on the wall had dropped drastically, only a few arrows and javelins slicing into our allied troops. Men fell, but not enough to stop the tide of Jews swarming up the ladders. However, I could not spend any more time paying attention to them, having reached the wall ourselves. This time the ladders went up with no problems and I began climbing, carrying a fresh shield that was not riddled with holes, not even noticing my leg at that moment. Vaulting over onto the parapet, I was ready to strike, but there was nobody left in our area, and I looked down into the camp to see that the defenders in our sector had decided to flee, heading for the opposite side, towards the gate that led to the river and the fleet anchored there. Of course, there was a force of Romans between them and the safety of the ships, but I suppose that panic had set in and they were not thinking clearly. The Jews were not so lucky; the Egyptians in their section of the wall were still putting up a fierce fight, though the Jews were getting the better of it and I saw that the wall would be cleared in short order. Sending Clemens’ Century down the parapet to slam into the side of the Egyptians fighting the Jews, I also sent Felix to follow the parapet around to the side opposite the bluff to cut off the retreat of as many of the enemy as we could. I was not about to let men escape that we could catch and kill; I was as sick of this war as anyone, wanting to go home just as much. By this point, my leg started throbbing, but I could not tell if it was from the wound or from the makeshift bandage being too tight, so I had to descend the ladder carefully. Some of the more aggressive of the men leapt down into the camp and were now running down the streets in pursuit of the Egyptians, while others began looting the nearest tents, something that I had to stop immediately.

“There'll be enough time for that later!”

I roared this at the top of my lungs as I hobbled about, grabbing men to push them towards their standards, wanting the rest of the men formed up to sweep the camp and to push the enemy into where I hoped Clemens would be waiting. Unfortunately, it took longer than it should have, so I was in a foul mood by the time we got started. It took several moments to get the men formed on their standards, which may not seem like much, but it was giving too many Egyptians the opportunity to escape. I heard someone shout my name and turned to see Felix and his Century come pounding towards us. The wall was cleared, and the Jews now swarmed into their section of the camp. Shouts and screams of men fighting and dying filled the air, making it hard to be heard, but somehow we began marching down the streets. Each Centurion issued orders for a section of men to do a quick search of every tent that we passed to make sure we left nobody in our rear, and a number of the enemy were killed in this manner, hiding underneath their bunks. I smelled smoke, cursing the fool who had indulged in that particular passion. It should not surprise you to know that just like there are men who live for the time when they are allowed to rape with impunity, there are some men whose passion is to see things go up in flames, and they are always quick to fire whatever is at hand and is flammable. Now we had to worry about the fire getting out of control, but more of a worry was the smoke, because if it got bad enough it could obscure our vision. The streets were littered with bodies as the men marched through, where we would come upon small pockets of men who for whatever reason decided to quit running to make a stand, these holdouts being cut down as quickly as we could do it. By listening to the sounds of battle, we could tell us that there was a real fight going on in the middle of the camp, close to the gate leading to the river. Accordingly, I had Fuscus take his Cohort heading in that direction, with the 7th continuing to push forward to the rear corner of the camp. My plan was to herd as many of the enemy as we could into the corner of the camp, where there was no gate, in the area where the swamp would bog down any men who leaped from the walls. Block by block we continued forward, while I struggled to keep up, let alone lead from the front. I realized that I could no longer feel my foot; I had indeed bound my neckerchief too tightly, but I was afraid that if I loosened it the bleeding would start again, so I limped along, wondering if I was doing permanent damage to my foot. The smoke was getting thicker, coming from the area where the Jews were clearing the camp, and I could finally see flames rising up as a number of tents caught fire.

“Stupid bastards, I bet they didn’t bother to clean those tents out before they set them on fire. Probably a pretty bit of loot going up in smoke.”

I do not know who said it, but I heard a chorus of agreement, the men looking regretfully at the sight.

“Never mind what they’re doing, we have our own job to do,” Valens snapped, shoving one of the men who had stopped to gawk back into formation.

Now just two blocks away from the corner of the camp, the Egyptians we had pursued were jamming together, clawing and knocking each other down in their panic. A few, a very few turned to fight, and these we ground into the dust, their bodies piling up in bloody heaps. I did not participate in the carnage since I was barely able to walk, but the men needed no leadership in this most basic task of slaughtering a virtually helpless enemy. After the few who put up a fight were cut down, their comrades began throwing themselves at our feet, begging for mercy, but there was none to be had for the next several moments, the men continuing to hack and thrust their way through the mass of packed bodies. I should have called them off, but too much had happened; we had suffered too much at the hands of these people, so I let them kill every last man who stood or groveled before us. Once they were through, my men stood, shaking with exhaustion, most of them almost up to their knees in bodies, some still twitching. After the cacophony of battle, with men shouting their battle cries or screaming with pain from a mortal wound, all punctuated by the sound of metal clashing on metal, the aftermath is always almost eerily quiet, the only sound now the panting of the victors and the moans of the dying. Ordering a couple sections of men to finish off any Egyptians still living, they walked around the piles, pulling bodies to one side to get to men who still showed signs of life. With them going about that business, I hobbled over to the wall to look back toward the center of the camp to see what was happening. The Jews had advanced through, but had obviously run into stiffer opposition, as what looked like Ptolemy’s royal guard formed square around the rear gate. They were being assailed on two sides, by the Jews from the front and the 28th on their left flank, all while behind them a mob of men were pushing their way through the rear gate itself, intent on trying to escape. There was no sign of Fuscus and the 10th, so I decided to put more pressure on the Egyptians, ordering the 7th to reform facing the right flank of the enemy, then marched them to within a few paces before giving the order to charge. The leading Centuries slammed into the Nubians, whose formation buckled under the added strain, triggering what had been a mob on the edge of panic into full-blown hysteria, with men abandoning their attempts to push through the gate and instead beginning to claw their way up the wall, intent on nothing but escape. In an instant the wall was swarming with men, the first of them jumping over the parapet and down onto the other side, where presumably the three Centuries of the 37
^th
were waiting. Even so, when the men still on the ground saw their comrades were successful, at least in escaping the immediate danger, they followed suit. Immediately, the wall disappeared from view, covered in scrambling, desperate men. Meanwhile, the Nubians were fighting with the desperate courage of men who are doomed and want nothing more than to take as many of their enemy with them as they can, making them oblivious to what was happening behind them. When the wall collapsed, it happened abruptly, the piled turf suddenly tumbling outwards in a huge cloud of dirt and debris. The Nubians, no matter how disciplined they were, could not avoid being distracted by the commotion behind them, and almost to a man they turned to see what had happened, spelling their own destruction.

~ ~ ~ ~

With that last disaster, it was over; all that was left to do was to turn the men loose to looting the camp, except we had to send men to fight the fire that the Jews had started first. Fortunately, it did not take long to put out, being confined to a relatively small section of the camp. Soon after, the men were busy grabbing everything they thought held any value, whether it really did or not, and I finally took the opportunity to sit down, grabbing a stool from a tent, dragging it out into the street to keep a partial eye on things. Only then did I dare to loosen the bandage and as I feared, the bleeding started again, not to mention the excruciating pain, once feeling returned to my foot. I summoned a
medici
, telling him to bandage it properly, but he took one look at it then informed me that the best he could do was a temporary bandage and that I needed to have it stitched up. Every few moments there would be a commotion in one part of the camp or another when men found an Egyptian who had escaped the first cursory search and was summarily dispatched. Once my leg was bound back up, I stood, intent on finding Caesar and the command group to receive orders, but I only went a few steps before I realized that I could not go much farther without some sort of help. Hopping over to a tent, I yanked down one of the tent poles, cut some leather to make some binding material, and with another short piece of wood, fashioned a crutch that allowed me to move more easily. I was not happy about the idea of hobbling up to Caesar, but it could not be helped, and I navigated my way to the Porta Decumana, looking for his standard. The carnage around the back gate was massive, the ruins of the wall studded with body parts protruding from it where men were crushed. Finally, spotting Caesar’s standard outside the gate, I made my way towards it, almost tripping and falling several times. Passing through the ruins of the gateway, I got my first glimpse of what turned out to be the end chapter not only of the Alexandrian war, but of Ptolemy XIII himself. A number of the ships in the river were capsized and there were hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies floating in the water. One of the capsized craft was larger than the rest, but at the time, I gave it no more than a passing glance as I hobbled up to Caesar, who looked at me in surprise and with not a little concern.

“
Salve,
Pullus. What happened to you? Are you all right?”

I grimaced. “A lucky shot, Caesar, it took a chunk of meat out of my calf, but I’m fine.”

He laughed. “You don’t look fine, but I'll take your word for it.”

“What are your orders, Caesar?” I did not want to appear rude, but neither did I want him to think I was weak.