they would wear their armor and follow the rules and regulations of the conventional order of battle.
Ctesiphon lay fifty miles away. Two days' march, and they would reach their objective. But first, a day's rest…
The legions formed. The outriders were sent racing ahead to stop any warning of their approach. All villagers and other persons in the path were herded into retaining pens to prevent their informing the capital of the approach of the eagles and their allies.
It was amazing what one day's rest could accomplish. With that one day the Romans had reconstituted themselves and were even now looking as formidable as if they were parading on the Field of Mars in Rome itself.
The foragers returned, driving cattle and sheep before them. Wagons were sent out to loot the villages of their stored grain. The Roman army would feed on the land, and if in their path they left starvation for those of the land they crossed, well, that was just the way it was… and always had been. Eat, or be eaten.
Avidius sent his Arab contingents racing ahead of the main army. They reached and isolated the city of the Greek kings, Seleucia. The Arabs kept the inhabitants inside the walls, and no messenger reached Ctesiphon. Just a few hours across the Tigris the lights of the great temple of Zeus gleamed in the evening, the fires on his altar symbolizing eternity. The light cavalry of the Arabs performed its task admirably. The slower foot soldiers of the legion advanced, escorted by their heavy cavalry. That night the legion rested within eyeshot of Ctesiphon and made ready for the crossing of the river. Confiscating all boats and barges, before dawn broke they had established a bridgehead on the other side and had begun the crossing. Time after time, like strange water-borne beetles, the small boats and skin coracles of the native fishermen served Rome, transporting soldiers. The horses and livestock were herded across under their own power.
It would have been a miracle for the Roman forces to be able to reach the walls of Ctesiphon without being observed, but through the planning of Avidius they did reach within striking distance. The city faced the Romans before any help could reach the Parthians from the distant battlefields of Europa and Amida. There the forces of Parthia were embroiled in a bleeding fight with their Armenian enemies, Romans, and Cappadocians. Even as Avidius approached Ctesiphon, the defeated Parthians were withdrawing from the battle around Europa, and that city was in Roman hands. The Parthians had achieved greater success against the Armenians who had not had the benefit of Roman troop support to stiffen their lines and serve as a model. The Armenians were reeling back to their own border in panic, pursued by the heavy cavalry of the Parthian empire. Yet even their defeat served the purposes of Avidius Cassius well enough. All these actions had drawn off the majority of the armed forces of Parthia. By the time they could return to their capital it would be too late. Even if they came faster than expected, they would be exhausted and worn out from their trials and battles. Avidius was confident of his victory.
Casca watched the preparations for the coming battle with a detached eye. Gradually, though, an unusual and oddly upsetting feeling began to possess him. It was as though he were someone else watching the scenario of his life being endlessly repeated. Even the simplest routine things took on an oddly misplaced, unreal tinge. The pylum on his shoulder and the wicker container full of light throwing spears-even the small steel heads and bamboo bodies of the spears themselves-seemed to be slightly unreal… as though he were watching a circular dream that went round and round. He wondered if he were going mad.
The army drew near to the city and finally invested it all around. Avidius Cassius sent this message to the city elders:
Hail, citizens of Ctesiphon.
I am Avidius Cassius, praetor and consul of Rome. I make you this one offer-and no more.
Send out your men to fight, and we shall settle this as men of war should. Your armies in the battles to the north, at Europa and Amida, have been destroyed. How else should I be here before your walls unopposed? Surrender the city, or send out your men to do battle. If you agree to surrender, I give you my solemn oath on the honor of Rome that none in your city shall suffer or be sold into slavery. There shall be no rape or pillaging.
But if you refuse, again on my honor I swear that every living thing in your city shall perish, even unto the beasts and vermin. I shall level your city to the earth and sow the ground with salt so that nothing may ever live here again. That is my word and my honor. Surrender, or come forth and do battle. You have until the first light of dawn to make your reply. And then all shall die.
I am AVIDIUS CASSIUS
Commander of the Roman Forces in Parthia
That night the legion dug in around the only entrances to and from the city. Casca sat watching the walls, wondering what the next day would bring. Would the city surrender? Or fight? Most of the Parthian cavalry was away to the battles in Europa and Amidas, but there were still the city guards and many veterans who remained behind. The city should be able to muster at least thirty thousand men. Well, we'll find out in the morning… Casca made a meal of dates and barley ground together and washed the whole down with a mouthful of water from the Tigris. Wrapping his cloak around him, he found a soft spot on the earth and curled up after shifting around for a few minutes and moving some small stones out of critical spots.
He slept the sleep of soldiers the world over. The night passed while the Roman guards walked their perimeters. One sang softly of his girl at home and would she wait for him while he was away… an old story to be endlessly repeated. Casca slept lightly. Any unknown sound was enough to jerk his eyes open instantly for a quick look around. Then, just as fast, they would close and he would be asleep again.
Instincts are hard to lose, and well before the final hour Casca arose and prepared himself and his gear, wiping down his armor and giving his sword one last honing. The scraping sound of the honing, whispering through the dark predawn, was echoed by many others doing the same thing.
The army of Avidius was filled with veterans who had plied their trade from Spain to Numidia and beyond. The only thing that Casca noticed as being different from the legions of Augustus, with whom he had served, was that there were a great deal more men from the barbarian lands serving in the legion-Germans and Sarmations, even blue-eyed Celts from the tiny isles called Britannia. Shaking his head, Casca wondered what had happened to the valor of Romans that they now showed an ever-increasing need to bring in barbarians to fill their armies. Didn't the idiot politicians know that they were training and supplying leadership for those whom they would have to fight some day? True, not all of these foreigners would return home, but some would, and when they were back with their home tribes they would teach them the Roman manner of fighting-and when that happened the day of Rome was numbered. When the order and discipline that made Rome great was common to the barbarians of the north, they would swoop down and feed on the decaying carcass of a corrupt nation that no longer deserved to rule. Thinking back on the ruined temples and other relics of the forgotten cities he had passed on his way to Cenchrea so many years before, he again wondered if he would live to see Rome in ruins.
Going to the river to rinse off his face, he heard the voices of the soldiers talking. As he passed one group, a trooper called out to Casca, holding up a goatskin wine sack: 'Kamerade, willst due eine trink haben mit uns?' Shaking his head no, Casca returned to his company area, but he grumbled underneath his breath: It may not be much longer. When the language of the legion is German, how long can Rome endure?
Dawn rose over the plains of Persia. Here had marched conquerors whose once-mighty armies now were dust. Here the land had known the tread of Alexander's Greek phalanx as they passed on their way to lay the world at the feet of the young Macedonian. Now the inheritors of his empire, Rome and Parthia, met again. At first light the forces of Parthia marched out the great gate and formed their lines facing the Romans. Rank after rank, they bristled with spears and with the fearsome laminated bow that could drive its arrow through all but the thickest armor. The forces of Parthia waited, their faces calm and determined. They knew the choice they had made: victory or death. Inside the city the altar fires were being lit and the priests were sacrificing to their gods. Not even Baal Amon was neglected. He received his measure of blood. Kettle drums began to roll, and the city's dogs began to howl in the way of premonition that animals have of coming violence. Parthia faced Rome.
Avidius was no tiro. He had planned everything to the last detail. He formed his infantry into four ranks deep and placed his cavalry on the Parthian left to keep them from being able to break into the open and maneuver.
The Parthian general called out to Avidius: 'Roman! Do you hear me?' His Latin was heavily loaded with a Greek accent. 'Roman, hear me. We have accepted your terms. It is not within our rights to surrender the city without a battle being given, but we have seen you, and you are not greater in number than we. So in response to your ultimatum I give you mine. Lay down your arms and leave our country, and you will be spared. Go back the way you came, and you will live. Stay, and you will die. We are warriors, as are you. The only favor I ask is that this day's business be handled as such, with honor. We are here. Romans, what is your answer?'
