The Die Is Cast--OR--How A Single Birth Changed History
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Alea Iacta Est
Aftermath and Chaos, Redux
Aftermath and Chaos, Redux
As I ponder how to start this, I realize you might be wondering why it is me you are hearing from, and not Caesar. Or perhaps you’ve already received a letter from Caesar and am merely surprised to see your fellow Pincentene writing you for the first time in many months. And for that delay, I am truly sorry. The urgencies of war, as you know perhaps better than I, are enough to keep one too busy to have any time to write. That said, I must ask, how are things in Rome? Neither I nor Caesar have heard much from Rome for over a month now. Are Cato and Clodius—how odd it is to mention those two men together. They make strange bedfellows indeed. A match made in Hades, truly—still filibustering your attempts at securing a command against the Parthians? Do not despair, for if you are still not leading an army in Syria when I return, I will be sure to assist you in whatever ways possible in obtaining it when I become consul.
Now that I fulfilled your narcissism—calm down, I am merely joking—let me digress into how things have been going up here. I met this trader in Narbo…Pompeius was taken aback at Labienus being in Narbo at this time. Perhaps the war was won and Labienus was being sent back by Caesar to run for consul? He continued reading, expecting Labienus to explain himself…who had a fine slave of Germanic stock—as I soon learned, he was one of the men we sold into slavery from our victory over Ariovistus a few years ago—and I took notice of him for he appeared to be strong. He’s just the kind of slave I would need protecting me in Rome, my thinking went. You can understand my surprise, then, when he began speaking to me in only slightly accented Latin! He might as well have spoken perfect Latin, for his accent was hardly noticeable—had I placed him in a toga and sent him to Rome, I believe none of the Senators would notice he was not one of them if he took a seat in the curia.
My apologies for the digression; anyway, he recognized my person and went on a tirade about our unlawful and sacrilegious intervention in his chieftan’s private dispute with the Sequani—it was quite amusing listening to him, for he was very well articulated for a barbarian—and after he was finished, I knew I just had to purchase him. What more can I ask for in a slave than a strong protector to whom I can also hold intelligent conversation with?
Now, you may be thinking, “He’s in Narbo and all he’s interested in telling me is his purchase of a slave?” I must admit, there is more substance in what I am writing than that. However, I felt I would be doing a disservice towards you by jumping straight to the bad news, and not making you smile a bit first. For, I can assure you, what I have to say below will not make you smile.
It is an unfortunate turn of events that I am now once again near the Mediterranean, and I think it deserves a full explanation, if Caesar has not already presented one to you. As Caesar had no doubt informed you, we believed we had Vercingetorix hanging from a cross, and the entire rebellion near complete destruction, by besieging the Gauls at Alesia. This was true, but, much to our misfortune, a relief army arrived of no less than 240,000. Pompeius, starting to piece together where this letter was going, recognized that Labienus was slipping into a more formal tone and perhaps exaggerating, fully expecting this to be read out before the senate…There was a small mount near our circumvallation, that prevented us from completing it, and, much as Caesar tried to hide it, this weak spot was discovered by the Gauls, who, after distracting us first with sallies both from the front and from the city during the night, exploited it. Our men there held out bravely for as long as they could, and, indeed, Gaius Trebonius was killed from the front, bravely leading his men by example, and Marcus Antonius was also killed leading a force to try and relieve our tired but brave soldiers. Despite these valiant efforts and despite Caesar personally appearing to rally the troops, our men could hold on no longer and we were forced to retreat. We found that we would be served best strategically if we retired to Gallia Transalpina and headquartered ourselves at Narbo.
I am terribly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, my friend. Caesar has taken this defeat especially harshly, perhaps too harsh. He blames himself, and I fear he has slipped into a depression. I have tried to disagree with him on the former, but I can hardly blame him for his present state—I too would be in depression if I were in Caesar’s position. I know this puts his entire career in jeopardy. Perhaps it is that stress that he now bears which explains why his epileptic fits have increased in frequency—You do know about them right? Or did he never mention them to you? It appears he was very secretive about ever having them, the first time I knew of these occurrences was when one happened while we were discussion strategy a year ago—I have been told that stress tends to do that.
As much as I would like to continue writing, I have many things to attend to as you can imagine, and so must bid farewell for now. Perhaps I may be in Rome before I can write to you again, or perhaps circumstances will keep me here in Gallia for now? Only the gods can discern that, I guess.
To good health,
Titus Labienus
The news shocked the senate as much as it shocked Pompeius, when the annotated version of the letter was read aloud in the Curia the following afternoon. Almost immediately, the Senate devolved into a shouting match over how to proceed. Those loyal to the du-umvirate of Pompeius and Caesar argued immediately for an army to be raised and sent to bolster Roman forces before the Gauls overran Narbo and descended on Italy. Likewise, those in opposition, led naturally by Cato—although in this case, it could be said they were led by no one, for there was hardly any structure to the war of insults being waged—argued that a relief forces should certainly be sent, but Caesar should be recalled, having disgraced Rome with his illegal war enough.
It was with much reluctance that Cicero, strongarmed by Pompeius into doing his bidding once more, stood up and asked to speak. After what seemed like hours, but was instead perhaps only a few minutes, Hypaeus and Metellus Scipio managed to restore order and quiet the room enough for Cicero to speak.
“If we are to remain within our legal bounds—which I suspect there is no reason we should not—then it is clear that Caesar cannot be recalled. As much as Cato may not like this—and, I should add, I am hardly a supporter of Caesar myself, as many of you certainly know—Caesar’s term of office does not end for two more years. Unless of course, my calendar is off and the 5 years are already up.” That, at least drew a few chuckles and silenced the growing boos and catcalls for a moment. The consul designate, Marcus Claudius Marcellus, was not amused however and stood up to cut him off.
“How much longer, Cicero, will you remain Pompeius’s mouthpiece?!” he mocked, drawing derisive laughter and clapping from some Catonians.
“As I was…” Cicero attempted to ignore him, but was again cut off by his longtime friend, the other consul designate, Servius Sulpicius Rufus. “Certainly not as long as you will remain Cato’s!” he shouted accusingly.
“Quiet! Enough!” Hypaeus slammed his fasces against the ground with great force repeatedly in an attempt to bring order back to the session. “I do not believe Cicero was done speaking.”
“Many thanks, Hypsaeus. Perhaps Marcellus is more like his kinsman than I had hoped,” Cicero was obviously referring to Clodius, who had campaigned hard for Marcellus. “As I was saying, gentlemen, since the day noble Brutus overthrew the tyrant Tarqinius Superbus, Rome has been a city governed strictly by laws. It is true, that in recent decades, and, to be more accurate, in recent years the traditions that Rome has been founded on have been in upheaval, and we have strayed away from our values and our adherence to the laws and cursus honorum we have set for ourselves. I hope, however, that we let that remain the exception, rather than the rule.” Cicero was hardly finished yet, and if anything was just warming up. Yet by this point the cheers and boos from opposing camps had gotten so loud so as to make his voice barely audible to himself, and so he despaired of continuing and instead took his seat. Marcellus jumped at the chance to follow him up, and was given the chance to speak. Shouting to make himself heard above all the chatter, he began full of confidence.
“Despite Cicero rather pathetically doing the bidding of Pompeius, I must say, I do agree with him. Rome is a nation governed by laws, and we must respect the institutions that have served us well for so many centuries. Caesar has, on numerous occasions, broken those laws. During his consulship, as I am sure many of you remember, he ignored the auspices regularly, and even gathered the comitia together on religious holidays!”
“You mean every day of that year?” Cicero mumbled to Rufus, who chuckled.
“He circumvented the senate to grant himself control of not one, but two provinces, and then circumvented the senate once more to grant himself a third province when our esteemed late colleague Metellus Celler died suddenly—under less than ordinary circumstances I might add—and made sure to extend his pro-consulship for an unprecedented 5 years. His allies, Pompeius among them if I need to remind you, then used the most unsavory tactics, including force and bribery, to extend his pro-consulship another 5 years. They joined with Milo to terrorize the streets in order to get their way.” It did not matter how much Marcellus exaggerated or twisted the truth, his speech was powerful in its indictment of Caesar. Nor was he finished.
“This man has ignored the laws and traditions of the Res Publica his entire life. It is only through illegal means that he has obtained his command, and even more illegal means that he got his war—and I should remind everyone, this was his war, not a war waged under the auspices of the Roman people—and now his allies would like to lecture us on obeying the law?” Marcellus let out a hearty laugh before continuing in his blistering attack, “What is lawful is assigning Gallia Transalpina as a consular province and sending out one of our esteemed consuls with an army to take over command for Caesar.” By now the boos were significantly outnumbered by the cheers, as they recognized the tide was turning against them. When Cato stood up to speak, Pompeius had had enough and stormed out of the senate house, mumbling obscenities at Marcellus. Clodius, also not eager to stick around, but for entirely different motives, slipped out of the curia silently.
He made his way to the bench where the tribunes sat and pulled Quintus Pompeius Rufus to the side. “Tomorrow you will summon the comitia to vote on which of the consuls is awarded the command against the Gauls,” he instructed him. Rufus was already prepared for the order, for Clodius had learned of Caesar’s defeat a few days earlier, from his own separate sources. Rufus already had a speech written out to give once the senate dispersed for the day, and was ready now that Clodius had given him the okay. It was much to their surprise when the senators left the curia late that afternoon to see Rufus climbing onto the rostra. Even more surprising was the large crowd that had already migrated from the outskirts of the Curia to fill the forum around him.
“Many of you may know me, quirites from the time I was sent flying into your number by my fellow tribune, Gaius Sallustius.” Rufus disarmed and calmed the crowd with his self-deprecating humor, soliciting many laughs. “It is not hard then to figure out why I haven’t been inclined to give many contios since then.” More laughs. “You may be relieved to know that I have actually patched up relations with Sallustius, much as I have patched up relations with those I got in bar fights with in my youth-and I can attest that there were many of those.” More laughs followed. Rufus felt fully at ease now, having ingratiated himself with the crowd. “However, quirites, it is not about myself that I seek to speak to you today. I am here to speak about a far more important matter, a matter that perhaps puts our city itself in mortal danger. As most of you have surely heard by now, that matter, quirites, is the threat the Gauls now pose to Italy. Many of you have fathers and grandfathers who fought in the previous war where the Gauls threatened Italy, when Gaius Marius saved Rome from dark times. I am sure they have—if they survived that is; and if they did not, I am sure they are doing well in Elysium—passed down harrowing war stories about their exploits in the face of the largest threat we have experienced since Hannibal.” He gave a pre-planned pause, and was stunned by the dead silence as everyone paid him their full attention.
“I do not feel it bears repeating to you how terrible this threat is. Caesar has let down Rome with his catastrophic defeat, and now it up to us, quirites, to stand up to the challenge presented us and throw back the Gauls from Italy for good.” Rufus paused once more, this time to allow for the cheering to subside. Clodius stood in the center of the crowd—which by now was overflowing down the Argiletum and Via Sacra—impressed at Rufus’ oratorical skill.
“This is why I believe it should be you, quirites, who send out a pro-consul to replace Caesar immediately. This is not a matter that can be left to the matter of the fates to decide by the drawing of lots. Rather, quirites, it is a matter that should be decided by everyone. Yes, even the head count should have a say!” This was greeted with exceptionally loud cheers of agreement. “It is for this reason, this conviction that in these dire times, that I am summoning the comitia tribute tomorrow to vote for whom to send out to face the barbarians at the gates.”
Rufus did not bother to stay and bask in the adulation. He calmly hopped off the Rostra and slipped away to his home, leaving his opponents bewildered as to how they were so thoroughly outmaneuvered. It only required a simple calculation for Clodius to decide his course of action. If the senate had their way and the command was chosen by lot, it would almost certainly be rigged in favor of Metellus Scipio. This was not acceptable to Clodius, who had his eyes set on attaining the command for his man, Plautius Hypsaeus. Any Roman senator or equestrian with a small understanding of what was going on in Gaul knew Italy was not actually under any serious threat—at least not at this time—and Clodius saw a attaining the command for a very gracious Plautius Hypaeus would be a lucrative investment. Putting the vote before the comitia best served those ends. It didn’t matter that, as it turned out, the Senate had already decreed that Metellus be granted the province, for it would still have to be approved by the comitia, and would be, in any case, overrode by any vote of the comitia.
Clodius had completely outmaneuvered everyone, including Ahenobarbus and Bibulus, both of whom had been aiming to take their own measures to try and gain the command for themselves. The following day on the 15th of October however, it was Clodius’ turn to be outmaneuvered. Despite the presence of his gangs ominously hovering around the proceedings—he didn’t dare think of putting them to any actual use, the risks were too high—the comitia voted to elect the man with the illustrious name and distinguished ancestors over the less distinguished Plautius. Metellus, having achieved his ends, set out to gather an army an official notice recalling Caesar from his province to return to Rome being sent out ahead of him.
What the hell just happened. What the hell happens now? All of Gaul breaks free?
What happens now is all hell breaks loose. Things are going to pick up a lot now that I am free from the constraints as far as political focus goes during the period between 54-49 OTL. Don't worry. If you think things can't get a lot more chaotic, wait until you see next update.Well the quirites are all of Rome's citizens, so...The Quirites don't have that many decent commanders themselves, do they?
Alea Iacta Est
The First Parthian War Part I
The First Parthian War Part I
The sun beat down mercilessly on Osakes and the Parthian army as they crossed the Euphrates. Although Quintilis had now passed into September, nature hadn’t seemed to have gotten the memo. The sun was as bright and as hot as ever, and Osakes could not wait for winter to at least bring some cooldown. More immediately, he wished he could just set up camp right here and retreat into the shade of his tent. A native of Mesopotamia he may have been, but a lover of its weather he was not.
The 11 year old crown prince Pacorus relaxed in his horse next to him, seemingly unfazed by the heat. Even at this age he seemed to enjoy strategy much more than even Osakes, and was always questioning him in his quest to gain more knowledge.
“Are we going to garrison Zeugma?” he asked, referring to the city along the Euphrates that had surrendered to Osakes in advance. “To make sure they keep their word?”
“Way ahead of you, my lord” It still felt weird referring to an 11 year old as lord. “A detachment was sent out ahead of us to receive its surrender and make sure they adhere to it.” He squinted ahead, more interested in moving forward than in the youth’s questions now that the army had crossed.
Pacorus was undeterred. “How do you plan on taking Antioch? Can we win a siege?”
“I don’t.” Osakes replied dryly.
“You don’t?”
“I don’t…” he let those words hang in the air for a bit. “This question is better suited for Monaesus,” he referred to Surena by his given name. “He’ll explain it better than I can.” Much to his relief, Pacorus trotted off to find Surena, leaving him free to plan. He considered his options, debating them back and forth with his staff, Surena trotting up later due to having to deal with Pacorus.
“We have to give them a good reason to come out,” Vologases spoke up. “The question is how.”
“Thanks for this brilliant insight,” Surena responded sarcastically. “This Cassius, he may be a junior commander, but he’s not an idiot, not like his superior was,” Surena explained. “He needs to have a good reason to leave the safety of Antioch.”
“Apamea.” Something clicked in Osakes head. “We besiege Apamea.”
Surena shook his head. “Too simple.”
“Then what?” Vologases pressed him. “If you have a better idea, now’s the time to tell us.”
“As a matter of fact,” Surena grinned. “I do.”
“How large?” Caius Cassius Longinus questioned his scouts. The Parthian army wasn’t much of a surprise in and of itself, but given it was September, he was expecting them to not try anything at least until spring.
“I can’t say, sir. No more than 50,000” He guessed.
Cassius rested his face on his hand. What good were scouts if they couldn’t give him an accurate assessment of what was coming at him. Octavius shared in his frustration. He had recovered well from his injuries suffered at Carrhae, thanks in no small part to the heroics of Ennius and Tremellius. Now he found himself the second most senior officer, right behind Cassius.
“Go out again.” He ordered. “I have fresh horses; if you’re too tired, send out another scouting party. I want their every move watched.”
“Yes sir!” the centurion saluted and turned to depart.
“Wait,” Octavius places his hand on his shoulder and turned him back around. “Do you at least know what path they are taking?”
“They seemed to be moving between Antioch and Apamea. I couldn’t tell which.”
“Thank you. You are dismissed.” Octavius let him go before sighing and sharing an expression of exasperation with Cassius.
“If they’re following the roads, that means they haven’t reach Beroia yet.” Cassius thought hard about the geography of Syria.
“Or they’ve passed it and aren’t following the main road anymore,” Octavius countered. “We don’t know. What we do know, is they are striking either at Antioch or Apamea.”
“It has to be Antioch,” Cassius was deep in contemplation. “They want to confuse us, maybe make us split our forces, but Antioch has to be their main goal.” Octavius decided against questioning him—it was as good a conclusion as they were bound to come to given their lack of information—and instead focused on the implications of that conclusion.
“So let them siege Antioch.” He responded calmly. “They’re advantages are negated up against a wall.”
“I guess we’ll see,” Cassius agreed.
Three days passed before the Parthian army arrived at the gates of Antioch and settled in for a siege of the city. Immediately they encountered problems, due to the hilly and forested terrain on its eastern side. The first days were spent cutting down the trees, both to clear the area to make it more suitable for Parthian missiles, and to build siege equipment to contest the city. Starving them out was not a likely prospect, for Cassius had already fortified the nearest crossings of the Orontes, preventing them from completely encircling the city.
Roman attempts to harass them were mostly ineffective, due to Parthian archers keeping any smallscale sally at bay. The siege was going a week strong, when the Parthians made their move.
Menander and Lysander silently approached the Orontes, careful not to alert any Roman pickets on the other side. A crescent moon filled the night sky, granting them enough light to guide them to their destination, while still not providing enough to make them easily noticeable to anyone who might be across the river. Stealthily, they slipped into the river, and began their swim in the direction of Antioch.
Slipping into the city grounds, they sheltered under a bridge for a few minutes, peering out to see if anyone was looking in their direction from the walls. As they swam further, they spotted a lone sailboat and swam up right beside it, hugging it for a brief distance to avoid detection. They rested alongside it until Menander felt a warm fluid raining down on his head. Lysander looked up for him and spotted one of the crew taking a leak over the ship’s side. He had to fight the urge to laugh at his friend, knowing it would likely give them away.
Now with Menander smelling of piss, they made their way to another bridge, and finally found a gate from which they figured they could enter the city. Wading up to shore, they rested at the edge of land, planning how to sneak their way in. They had already gotten further than either of them had expected. Now they scanned the wall and came across a section that was partially eroded enough for them to like their chances climbing it.
Keeping their heads low, they raced towards it. Menander locked his hands together for use as a stepping stone by Lysander, who climbed up, Lysander trailing behind him. A Roman guard sleeping against the tower woke up from the noise, and, upon seeing Lysander and Menander, began shouting. Acting quickly, Menander silenced him with his dagger, but the damage had already been done. More Romans raced across the wall to apprehend them. Valuing their life, they didn’t bother to resist, and instead let the Roman guards tie them up and take them into custody.
Cassius was awoken in the middle of the night to the welcome news that two Parthian soldiers—Greeks apparently—had been captured trying to sneak in. Rubbing his eyes, he got up groggily from his sleep and went to question them. It was all the better that they were Greeks, for he didn’t want to deal with translators at this hour, and they would likely be more cooperative than Parthians. He hoped this would go by rather quick, for this was the first night he hoped to get a good sleep in awhile, and he would have liked nothing more than to go back to bed.
“If I am understanding you correct,” he spoke in Greek, “You were trying to slip in and open the gates for an overnight attack?” Much to his relief, the two Greeks were being as cooperative as he had hoped. It never crossed his mind in his sleep deprived state that perhaps they were being too cooperative to be above suspicion.
“Yes,” Menander spoke up. “Their army is waiting for us to open the gates as we speak.”
“All night?” Octavius questioned, first in Latin and then correcting himself by switching to Greek.
“All night,” Lysander repeated.
“So they’ll be exhausted by morning,” Cassius turned to Octavius, who was thinking the exact same thing. “How prepared are they for a sally,” he turned back to his two captives.
Lysander and Menander looked at each other, pretending to guess the preparedness of the Parthian army. “Not very. They can handle the small parties you’ve been sending out against us, but the siege is being conducted very sloppily. You couldn’t tell?” Lysander took a subtle jab at Cassius’ apparent lack of knowledge on the Parthian camp.
“Well men,” Cassius ignored the question. “I thank you for your cooperation. I think I’ll release you from the city, for you are of no more use.” He ordered 4 guards to escort them out.
“You’re letting them leave?” Octavius looked at him like he was insane.
“If they don’t go back, the Parthians will suspect they were captured and killed. I left them with some coin, they won’t divulge their capture. Even without the bribe, they’d probably be executed as spies if they did.” Octavius looked unconvinced but didn’t bother harking on it. “Anyway,” Cassius yawned and stretched his arms. “Tomorrow morning, at 8 o’clock sharp, we send out everything we have in a sally to drive them away from the city. If they’re up as late and as disorganized as those two Greeks say, we should be able to drive them off with ease. Get our men an early breakfast. I suggest making the preparations now, Octavius. I’m off to bed.”
“Do you think they bought it?” Pacorus eagerly asked Monaesus the next morning.
“Of course they bought it,” Monaesus replied jovially while mounting his horse.
“What makes you so sure?”
“The Romans,” Monaesus explained, “Find the Greeks more trustworthy, and in any case less friendly to us, than any other people. It’s why I chose two Greeks. They’ll believe them.” Pacorus thought about it before agreeing. As if on cue, Monaesus turned towards the walls at the sound of Roman trumpets blaring. Legionaries began pouring out from the gates (and, though Monaesus couldn’t see it, they were also flanking from the river as he guessed they would).
“You know the plan!” He hollered over to Vologases, who was already ahead of him. He nodded and galloped off to take control of his wing.
The Parthians let the Romans “catch them off guard”, and allowed them to enter melee combat for awhile, encouraging their blood lust. When he sensed the time was right, Monaesus ordered the retreat of the men and horses in the center, and Osakes and Vologases followed suit with the wings. As he retreated, he gave the order for the cataphracts to cover his back, and they duly charged in, blunting the Roman assault for a time before pulling back to join the rest of the army in retreat.
Cassius was emboldened by his success, and after pausing for an hour to regroup his army, he decided on pursuing the fleeing Parthians. If they were allowed to regroup, he might lose his advantage. Otherwise, he sensed an opportunity to chase them down all the way back over the Euphrates, securing a lasting victory for himself and Rome.
Monaesus was encouraged when he finally saw Cassius’ army appear again on the horizon. Everything was falling into place. He linked up with the rest of his forces, who, for the past week had been encamped a few miles away to conceal the true size of his army. Riding over to Vologases, he gave him the signal to spring his trap. Vologases duly complied, gathering the forces under his command to swing around and prepare to hit the Romans on the flank.
Meanwhile, Monaesus led the main force up to harass the Romans head on, while Osakes got himself in position on the other flank. At the approach of Surena’s force, Cassius realized his mistake. He was leading his army into a trap. When he tried to extract his force however, he was greeted by a swarm of horse archers on both flanks and behind him that sprung up seemingly out of nowhere, and he resorted to digging himself in in yet another square, except this time with far less men than he had commanded with Crassus the year before.
Everything working perfectly up until this point, Surena ordered the cataphracts to charge. Learning from his mistakes in the first battle, he merged them into a wedge formation, targeting one specific corner of the square with most of the cataphracts, hoping a breakthrough in one spot could collapse the whole square. He was not disappointed. Despite a fierce resistance put up by the Romans, the cataphracts were able to break through, and the square splintered into several pockets that could be picked off individually as the Parthians saw fit. Cassius was in one of these pockets, and he was soon cut down by a Parthian arrow. Octavius managed to lead another back to Antioch, but, when realizing he could not contest control of the city, he pulled back further, this time retreating with all speed to Seleucia-Piera and hopping on a ship to Cyprus and then Asia. The east was now wide open to Parthian occupation.
Stay tuned.
Standard Parthian prince I guess?
Snake?Slyfox? Slyfox? SNAAAAAAAKE~