Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 31
Naturally, an army of this size required a massive baggage train to support it. Still, even for such a large force the train was excessive, with more than 300 wagons and 11,000 mules. A disproportionately large number of these wagons were used to haul the personal baggage of Antonius and the potentates accompanying us, some of whom also insisted on bringing their concubines, who in turn had their own baggage with them. The most important part of the baggage train, aside from our food of course, were the wagons carrying the siege equipment, because where we were headed was devoid of natural materials needed to build such tools. The most interesting piece of the baggage train was a massive battering ram over 80 feet long that required twelve oxen to pull, the largest such I have ever seen and was undoubtedly inspired by what Antonius had seen at the walls of Samosata, for only a ram of this size could have done any damage to those walls. I must say that it at least appeared as if Antonius and his staff had thought of everything, so it was a confident army that he was leading.
The disadvantage of going on a campaign where the commander tries to prepare for every eventuality and carry everything that might be needed is that it means that progress is ponderously slow, since the army can only move as fast as the slowest wagon. Not surprisingly, the slowest piece was the ram, but it was also the most important so we plodded along, stopping twice an interval instead of the usual one time. Even following a good road, before we actually started crossing rough country, we were happy if we made twelve miles in a day, and it would only get worse when we turned off the road. We camped one night under the ramparts of Samosata, where the Commagene king had patched the sections of the walls that had been undermined, using the pieces of the original as material. He could not have done anything other than this, yet we all understood that if the moment ever came to attack this city again, we knew exactly where we would focus our efforts.
Leaving Samosata, we turned north to head up a valley between two ranges of hills, away from the Euphrates. Because it was still late May the grazing for the livestock was good, the terrain not too rough. We reached Melitene about a week after leaving Samosata, where we had a rest day, more for the livestock than the men, who had not been pushed to this point. Young Gaius was holding up well on the march, but I had to remind him when he would come to visit that we had not really started the hard part at that point. To press this point home, we used the rest day to work on his defense with just a sword and no shield, and I was happy to see that he was gradually improving. That evening, I thanked Scribonius for staying on top of his tutelage. He looked surprised, then a little embarrassed.
“Truthfully, I haven’t been working with him, and I haven’t been checking to see if Poplicola has either,” he said, Poplicola being his weapons instructor.
“Well, someone has, because he’s gotten better since the last time we worked together in Antioch.”
My friend shrugged. “Maybe he’s been working on his own. Or more likely, his section leader and his tentmates are helping him.”
“I’m happy either way. He still has a long way to go, though.”
I could not help worrying about him, thinking of Valeria and how awful it would be if she lost her only son, knowing that pain. Scribonius looked at me, his face unreadable.
All he said was, “I don’t believe you have as much to worry about as you think with young Porcinus.”
I trusted his judgment, but I hoped he was right and not just telling me what I wanted to hear.
We picked back up with the Euphrates north of Melitene, following it north to the point where it turns east just south of Satala. It was about this time that I heard the first mumblings of worry about our progress, along with concern about how late it was getting, now mid-June when we reached the great bend of the Euphrates. Whereas Crassus’ plan of attack had been to cross at Zeugma then take the most direct route to the Parthian capital, both the presence of a garrison there and Artavasdes had convinced Antonius to take the long route through Armenia and into Media, swinging well north before turning east, essentially approaching the Median capital of Phraaspa from the back door. As a plan of campaign, this was sound strategy, but the one thing Antonius had not properly calculated was how slow the baggage train would move. To his credit, it was Scribonius who first voiced his concerns.
“We shouldn’t have spent so much time at Zeugma,” was how he started the conversation, but he shrugged as if it was not weighing heavily on his mind. “But I suppose Antonius had to appease Cleopatra, so it probably couldn’t have been avoided.”
It was true that we spent an extra three weeks at Zeugma, even after the army gathered. At the time the whispers among the men, and the louder voices of the officers was that it was only because Antonius could not bear to be parted from Cleopatra, wanting to spend as much time with her as he could. This was also about as much criticism of a superior Scribonius would utter; he never said anything that blatantly questioned or criticized the generals, which was smart of him, except that we had known each other too long, and I recognized that if it bothered Scribonius to the point that he actually said something, it had to be weighing heavily on my friend.
“We’re being slowed by the baggage train more than he planned,” was my reply, but truthfully, I was not as worried as Scribonius at that point.
As events later showed, I should have been.
We plodded along, now heading east. It was during the march one day when we had the vanguard and crested a low hill that it was brought home to me just how massive an undertaking this was. While the men marched by, singing their songs or bantering back and forth, I paused, ostensibly to watch them as they marched by, but really to catch my breath, which I was doing with more frequency than in the past, and I looked back along the column. I had seen more than my share of such sights, yet what lay before me made me gasp. As far as the eye could see, stretching even over the horizon was a ribbon of black movement, rippling as if it were a giant serpent moving along the ground, except this serpent was composed of a mass of men and horses. Out on the flanks on either side were squadrons of cavalry, along with units of the native infantry, watching for any sign of the enemy, or more likely for a small village or hut that they could plunder. From my vantage point, I saw the command group just behind the last Cohort of my Legion, identifiable by Antonius’ standard, dispatch riders galloping up and down the column carrying messages of one sort or another. Following was some more of the cavalry, walking their horses to save them in case they were needed, then behind came the rest of the Legions, for no matter what order we march in, the Legions always march ahead of the auxiliaries, which I suppose led to some hard feelings on the part of the native troops, though none of us cared. Row upon row of men, each with their furca over one shoulder with the pack attached, from which their wicker basket hung, their long-handled tools lashed to the staff of the furca along with their spare javelin. Strapped to each man’s back was their shield in its leather cover; attached to the shield were their helmets, though every man was wearing their armor from the moment we crossed into Armenia on the orders of Antonius. In their free hand was the other javelin, which was used as a staff to help over rough terrain, also being available for its primary purpose in the case of an ambush. Century after Century, Cohorts, and Legions stretched back as far as I could see. I could barely make out where our men ended and the auxiliaries began, distinguishable only by the more indistinct shape they made when compared to our precise spacing and intervals between each group. Legion eagles, Cohort, and Century standards all bobbing with each step of their bearers added to the spectacle, while hanging just above it all was the veil of dust that followed us everywhere except when we were slogging through mud. From tip to tail, the column was 15 miles long, and with the flanking guard of both cavalry and auxiliary infantry spread on either side, was almost three miles wide.
I did not envy the Legion marching drag, because they would be scraping the muck and filth left behind by thousands of animals when they finally did make it into camp in the middle of the night, then could look forward to perhaps a watch's worth of sleep before setting out again. I also dreaded when it would be our turn, but as bad as spending the day in the rear of such a massive column is, the next day is invariably the worst. Although a Legion never goes from rearguard to vanguard the next day, they still have to be roused at first light to strike their tents, then pack everything up. Only then are they allowed to lie back down in their Legion area of the camp, using their pack for a pillow, rolling up in their cloak if the weather required to get a precious third of a watch or two of sleep before being roused to take their place in the column. In a march like this, the auxiliaries actually had it the easiest of all, since their spot in the column never varied as they were never expected to march drag, nor were they ever allowed to work on building the camp. Of course, neither were they allowed to shelter inside the camp; only in the event of an attack would they be let in, meaning they had to set their own up a short distance from ours. The fires at night stretched as far as one could see from any spot within our walls, which also served to guide the end of the column into camp. The Legion mules carrying our tents, stakes and grain marched with each Legion, while the wagons carrying the heavy supplies, artillery, the officers’ luxury items, and the like would come rumbling in late each night. The only blessing for the men and animals of the baggage train was that their spot in the column was always the same, so they knew the exact time each day when they needed to be ready to move out, thereby giving the animals and men a sufficient amount of rest. Furlong by furlong, mile by mile, this massive host plodded through increasingly barren land, while it became more and more difficult to find enough wood to have a fire for every tent in such a large army. Before we had gone much farther, the cavalry was roaming over vast tracts of countryside, dragging whatever scraggly piece of brush they could find back to camp, along with every scrap of food they could lay their hands on.
Before a month had passed, we were forced to reduce the number of fires down to one for every two sections of men, even then the fire only used to cook, the unburned sticks being dragged out of the fire after the meal was prepared, in order to be used the next morning. None of the Centurions spoke of it openly, but I know we were all thinking about what would happen when it got colder.
In mid-June, we reached a mean collection of huts that is now the settlement of Calcidava (Erzerum), meaning that we were not yet halfway to Phraaspa, which is not even Parthia proper, but Media Atropatene. Now the quicker and more experienced of the rankers were beginning to have quiet conversations about the fire. We were joined at that point by the bulk of the Armenian army of infantry and mixed force of horse archers and cataphracts, whereupon Antonius decided that it was a good idea to have a review of the entire army, in full inspection uniforms. This meant that plumes had to be dug out of packs, leathers had to be varnished, and decorations polished; all of these items being stored in the single wagon designated for each Legion devoted to that purpose. While the men worked to make themselves ready, repairs were made to the wagons, some of which had evidently begun to start breaking down as the bouncing and rattling over the increasingly rough terrain began to take its toll. The march to Calcidava had also been over a gentle uphill grade, so the air was noticeably thinner, giving the air a bite at night, in stark contrast to the blinding sun that beat down on us during the day. The only constant between night and day was the wind, always keening in our ears, continually throwing up a fine veil of dusty sand that clung to everything, making the men’s task of readying for inspection that much harder. The review itself was a farce, consisting of Antonius, Artavasdes, Polemon, and a gaggle of other officers, both Roman and foreign trotting by on their horses, barely casting a glance in our direction as they talked among themselves.
Every few moments, Antonius would come to a halt, sliding off his public horse, who was named Clemency as a not-so-subtle criticism of his late patron’s policy, to walk among the men; making a joke, pretending to inspect a man’s leathers, or asking to test the edge of his sword before slapping him on the back while making some light remark before climbing back on Clemency, resuming his conversation where he had left off. This was in marked contrast to the Antonius of a few years before, shortly after Caesar’s death, when he and Octavian first started contending with each other, where Antonius could barely be bothered to meet with delegations of his own troops. While I wanted to think that Antonius had learned his lesson, as I watched him I believe that he just was doing what he needed to do, because he needed his army as he never had before, here in the wilds of Armenia. Simply put, it was the wildest country that I had ever seen, with the possible exception of those vast tracts of forest on the other side of the Rhenus, which this country reminded me of in some ways. In appearance, they could not have been more different; where the sun could barely be seen even when there was not a cloud in the sky in the Germania forests, in Armenia it was always present, the rays seeming to bounce off the ground, hitting a man from every angle. There was wood and game in abundance in Germania, while we would go days only getting a glimpse of the backs of antelope or wild goats, but they both had a wildness about them, along with a sense that a man could be swallowed up and never be missed.
We were at Calcidava for three days before the review, then ended up staying another week. Almost immediately after we began the march again, things began to go wrong. Although the going was rough before, now the land was crisscrossed with small gullies and holes, the road nothing but a dirt track that had obviously never seen a wagon wheel, so that wagons that had just been overhauled and repaired began breaking down. Wheels would shatter when a careless driver would miss seeing a hole, or in extreme cases would topple over, requiring dozens of men armed with ropes, shovels, and tackle to set them back upright. Our progress slowed even more, so we were doing less than ten miles a day, while on some days we covered only seven or eight. By the middle of Julius, we had made less than 50 miles from Calcidava, after two weeks of marching. The prospect of even worse terrain ahead of us on the route we were taking prompted Antonius to make a choice that sealed the fate of thousands of men and doomed his grand campaign to failure.
“I’ve decided that we're going to leave the baggage train behind,” Antonius announced to an assembly of the Primi Pili and Pili Priores and our auxiliary counterparts.
Antonius had clearly discussed this with the client kings and princes, along with his own staff, because they were all sitting behind him stone-faced, none of them with the same look of surprise that were on our faces. Our reaction must have struck home with Antonius, because he raised a hand.
“Actually, I’m not leaving it behind as much as I’m letting them take a longer route that's less arduous for the wagons and livestock. Artavasdes has provided a guide who knows the region well, and I'm assigning a Legion and the equivalent number of auxiliaries, along with 2,000 cavalry to guard it. I have appointed Oppius Statianus as the overall commander and the Legate of the Roman Legion, and King Polemon,” he indicated the broad-chested man with the oiled ringlets and beard sitting to his left, “will command the Pontic contingent and cavalry.”
Oppius Statianus was sitting just behind Antonius to his right, and had nodded his head at the mention of his name, but he looked anything but happy at being given an independent command. I wondered what the scene in the Praetorium had looked and sounded like as I made a note to have Diocles poke around.
“Where are we going now?”
I did not see who asked, but I recognized the voice as another of the Primi Pili, sounding as unhappy as Statianus looked.
“We're still going to Phraaspa,” Antonius said, tight-lipped, though his tone was calm enough. “Artavasdes has assured me that not only is it the capital of Media, it's where the other Artavasdes keeps his fortune locked up, and more importantly, it's likely to draw Phraates out to come to the aid of one of his allies.”
He turned to the Armenian, who nodded in confirmation, then Antonius turned back to address what was on everyone’s mind.
“If we can make Phraates come to us, we don’t have to keep marching deeper into Parthia and can still end this campaign this season. I don’t want to spend the winter here any more than any of you do.”
“Who are you sending with the baggage train?” If I remember correctly, Corbulo asked this question.
“I’m sending the boys of the new enlistment of the 35th.” He nodded towards their Primus Pilus, a tall, rangy man with a reputation of being one of those whose rise through the ranks was due more to his cultivation of his patron than any fighting ability, though I did not know the man personally.
Unlike everyone else involved with this venture, he was the only one who looked pleased at the thought of striking out with a plodding line of wagons, oxen and slaves, and I suppose he viewed this as a chance to make his mark with an independent command. He certainly did that, but I doubt it was in the way he had hoped.
Leaving the baggage train behind, we took only our own mules with us, which we loaded down with as much extra food as they could carry, along with the wagons designated for use by the medici, and of course, those wagons that carried items that Antonius deemed he could not live without. One consequence of leaving the baggage behind was that we would now be forced to live off the land, something we had not done much to that point because we were traveling through Artavasdes’ Armenian kingdom. Once we crossed into Media, we were given permission to pillage or scrounge for food and anything else of value, so to that end, every day a Cohort from each Legion was sent out, along with a contingent of cavalry, their orders being to bring back whatever we could carry back to supplement our rations. Naturally, men brought back more than just food; sometimes in the form of two-legged captives, almost always female, but we could not keep captives as they would slow us down and required food, so once the men were done with them, they were disposed of. It did not take long for those Medians who did not have their towns and farms raided to flee into the hills, taking everything with them in the way of stored grain and their livestock, leaving empty buildings and barns, with barely a kernel of grain left behind.
