Blood and Steel

Chapter 36

Africa

The Plain before Carthage,

Five Days after the Ides of March, AD238

Disheartening was too mild an adjective, Gordian thought, as he rode with his father, inspecting the army and the new recruits.

The regular troops were drawn up to the right, facing the levies, to inspire confidence in the latter. There was nothing much wrong with these regulars, except lack of numbers. The cavalry were particularly short-handed. Together the Horse Guards and speculatores only had just over two hundred in the saddle. Perhaps it would have been wiser not to have them on parade.

There were five units of professional infantry. The Cohort of the 3rd Legion were accoutred for war, shield covers removed to display their Pegasus emblem. Gordian had been reminded that the majority of recruits for the legion were drawn from Africa Proconsularis. They should fight harder to defend their homeland, and possibly the bulk of the legionaries with Capelianus might be more inclined to desert, if the battle turned against them.

The 13th Urban Cohort looked the part, yet it had to be kept in mind that their usual duties involved overseeing the docks and controlling crowds at the spectacles, rather than campaigning. The recently raised Praetorians were smartly turned out, and although their previous training in the youth organizations of the Iuvenes was minimal, no body of men were more closely bound to the Gordiani. Next to the Praetorians stood the new unit, grandiosely named the 1st Legion Gordiana Pius Fidelis. It numbered about four hundred, and consisted of veterans recalled to the standards, and stationarii. The latter, soldiers detached from their units, and for some reason or other present in Carthage, were likely to be better at finding easy billets than at fighting in pitched battle. The hastily painted insignia on their mismatched shields were all too visible signs that these men had not served together before. At the end of the line were the auxiliaries of the 1st Flavian Cohort, who had arrived from Utica, tired and footsore, earlier that morning. Of the other auxiliary Cohorts in the Province all but one were on the distant southern frontier. Only the 15th Emesenes would reach Carthage in time, and the army of Capelianus would be close behind them. Gordian thought it best not to mention this when he addressed the levies.

The imperial cavalcade halted at the tribunal. Gordian took his father’s arm, and they ascended the steps. The senior Emperor made a short speech, stressing duty, courage, discipline. A fresh southerly breeze made his words hard to hear.

Gordian ran his eyes over the recruits. The three hundred or so mounted men were not unpleasing. They were local landowners and their well-equipped retainers, accustomed to the hardships and near military manoeuvres of hunting. The eight thousand men on foot were another story. The majority unarmed except for a knife, butcher’s cleaver or pitchfork, this was nothing but a mob from the backstreets of the city. No doubt they could riot, but there would be no more than five or six days to train them to stand in the line in open battle.

His father finished, to no great discernible enthusiasm, and it was time for Gordian to speak.

‘Quirites! Julius Caesar with that one word transformed a mutinous legion from soldiers to civilians. Today we do the opposite. Milites! When you take the oath, no longer shall you be citizens, but soldiers!’

Some at the front grinned and waved whatever weapons they carried. Most were silent, and appeared apprehensive.

‘Do not let your lack of training distress you. You are Romans! The children of the wolf! Ausonian beasts! Your forefathers conquered the world. You are feared from the Atlantic to the Tigris. The battlefield is your birthright. It is in your blood. Cincinnatus was summoned from the plough, and he saved the state. You will save the Res Publica!’

Simple rhetoric, but a number cheered.

‘Do not be concerned at your lack of arms. The gods themselves offer the weapons stored in their temples. Throughout the city, blacksmiths forge swords and spears, carpenters make shields. When you march out, you will be as well equipped as any Praetorian.’

A blatant lie, but that did not matter.

‘Give no thought to any lack of experience. Four hundred gladiators have been granted their freedom. These heroes of the arena, skilled fighters all, will stand in the front rank between you and the enemy.’

The audience seemed somewhat encouraged. Fools, Gordian thought. A gladiator was no soldier. But the general idea should be developed.

‘You are not alone. Look at the thousands of regular troops in their serried ranks opposite. These veterans will be at your side.’

With luck, the professionals were not considering how the levies might guard their flanks.

‘What brings victory? Is it years of lolling in barracks, swaggering in bars, requisitioning animals, using threats and violence to oppress fellow citizens? No, it is innate courage, overwhelming numbers, good generalship, and a just cause, one which brings the certain favour of the gods. Look into your hearts, recall your native courage. Look about you. Who would stand against such overwhelming numbers? Consider my leadership. Have men under my command ever tasted defeat? Think of the justice of our cause. We fight to free the empire from bloody tyranny. The gods will fight at our sides.

‘Finally, remember you fight for your homes and families, for your ancestral gods, for all you love. Let no one think he can stand aside. There is no safety in flight. The Moorish tribesmen that Capelianus brings against Carthage could not be restrained from pillage and sacrilege, rape and slaughter, even if that bloodthirsty general, that servant of a murderous tyrant, so wished.’

Now the throng called out their willingness.

‘As one take the oath, say the binding words of the sacramentum. Every man who stands with us for freedom will be accounted a hero. Every man will receive the pay of a Praetorian for the rest of his life.’

Prompted by the soldiers, they said the time hallowed, powerful words.

By Jupiter Optimus Maximus and all the gods, I swear to carry out the Emperors’ commands, never desert the standards or shirk death, to value the safety of the Emperors above everything.

The oath administered, Gordian kissed his father, and Brennus and Valens helped the old Emperor down the steps and onto his horse. Gordian remained on the tribunal with Sabinianus. They would stay to watch the first steps in the training of the levies.

Senior officers shouted orders, and Centurions pushed clumsy recruits into some sort of formation.

Gordian again had tried to persuade his father to leave for Rome. The old man was adamant he would not go. At least Gordian had sent Parthenope away. She would bear his child in the villa on the Via Praenestina. It would grow up safe amid the marble luxuries of that beautiful and peaceful place. Chione he had kept with him. A man had needs, as much as anything companionship in these troubled nights. Before Parthenope had left, he had had a ridiculous desire to emancipate and marry her. Should the worst happen, he would leave a legitimate heir. Sabinianus had pointed out that no Senator, let alone an Emperor can wed a freedwoman. Anyway, such thoughts of death were premature. If the battle was lost, there was a fast ship crewed and waiting in the harbour.

It was ill-omened to think of defeat. The forces at his disposal were not good, but the battle would be fought on this field of his choosing. There was nothing Capelianus could do but come to him. They would make their stand here, astride the Mappalian Way. The aqueduct and burial ground and walls of Carthage would be at their backs, the villa of Sextus to their left, the fishponds further off on the right. The plain was flat and featureless, but there was time to prepare, and Gordian had to squeeze what advantage he could from the terrain.