Masters of Rome - 07 - Antony and Cleopatra by Colleen Mccullough

Author:Colleen Mccullough [Mccullough, Colleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Colleen McCullough, Rome
ISBN: 9781416552956
Google: EFUOPQAACAAJ
Published: 2007-01-01T13:00:00+00:00

No one from the command tent was there to see Marcus Titius begin his mission because no one wanted to carry the memory of his perky, freckled face into the future as more than that wretched nuisance of a quaestor, Titius, in charge of the army’s finances and utterly incapable of managing his own.

He had been gone a nundinum when the wind changed direction and began to blow out of the north. With it came rain and sleet. And on that day some Phraaspans atop their walls roasted sheep, the smell of it floating through the vast encampment on the plain; a way of telling the besiegers that Phraaspa had plenty of food for the winter, that it would not surrender.

Antony called a war council, not a meeting of his intimates but a gathering that included all his legates and tribunes, plus the primipilus and pilus prior centurions—sixty men altogether. An ideal size for personal communication; he could be heard by everyone without the nuisance of having heralds follow his words and transmit what he said onward, outward. Those commanded to be there exchanged significant looks: no foreigners were present. A meeting for the legions rather than the army.

“Without siege equipment we cannot take Phraaspa,” Antony began, “and today’s little exhibition says the Phraaspans are still eating well. We’ve been sitting here for a hundred days and have denuded the surrounding countryside, but at a price—the loss of two-thirds of our mounted auxiliaries.” He drew a breath and tried to appear sternly resolute, the general in total command of himself as well as the situation. “It’s time to go, boys,” he said. “We know from today’s weather that it swings from summer straight to real winter, and on the last day of September. Tomorrow, the Kalends of October, we march for Artaxata. One thing the Phraaspans won’t be prepared for is the speed of legions on the move. By the time they get up tomorrow morning, all that will be left of us are campfires. Order the men to carry a month’s supply of grain—century mules are to be used for food and firewood, and the mules drawing wagons will be turned into pack animals—what we can’t carry on our backs and mules will have to be left behind. Food and burnables to go, everything else to stay.”

Most had been expecting this announcement, but no one liked hearing it. However, of one thing Antony could be sure—these men were Roman, and would not mourn the fate of the auxiliaries, tolerated but never esteemed.

“Centurions, between now and the first sign of dawn, every legionary has to know the situation and understand what he must do to survive the march. I have no idea what lies out there just waiting for us to retreat, but Roman legions don’t give in, nor will they on this coming march. The terrain means it will take us about a month to reach Artaxata, especially if the rain and sleet continue. They mean muddy ground and freezing conditions.

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