“They'd put themselves between us and thewater,” he said finally.
However, he was not ready to concede defeatyet.
“But they wouldn't be able to dislodge usfrom our position, and if they tried, they'd lose most of theirarmy.”
“They wouldn’t have to,” I countered. “Allthey'd have to do is sit here, on this hill that we're on now andwatch us die of thirst.”
“We'd knock them off this hill, though,wouldn’t we?”
Now the Tribune was sounding doubtful, hisearlier confidence in tatters, but I wanted to make sure thislesson stuck with him, so we wouldn’t have to have thisconversation again.
“How?” I asked him, pointing back to theother hill. “The advantage of that hill as far as defending it isalso its biggest weakness. The minute we began leaving camp, we'dhave to reduce our march down to perhaps a section-wide front toget down the only approach to that hill, and the Dalmatians wouldsee that. All they'd have to do is send a thousand men from theirposition here, or wherever they were, to block it. We’re good,Tribune, we’re very good, but not even the 10th Legionunder Caesar could have forced our way off that hill under thosecircumstances.”
Scipio looked crushed and, despite myirritation with him, I felt a pang of sympathy, though I did notshow it.
“I see.” He could not hide hisdisappointment.
“Tribune,” I said as gently as I could. “Ifyou want to be successful at this, you have to learn to trust themen who've been doing this since before you were born.”
“Meaning you,” he said bitterly.
I must say I was surprised at the vehemencein his tone, but I did not strike back.
“Not just me,” I replied with a patience Idid not feel. “It was the exploratores I was referring to inthis case. They have a great deal of experience in selecting a campsite, and they've been trained to take into account all the variousfactors that make a good camp.”
“What would Caesar have done?” he askedsuddenly. “That’s what I should be asking myself.”
I stifled a groan; here was yet another fineyoung man determined to put himself in the same class as Caesar asa general, none of them realizing that Caesar was in a class all byhimself, that no man would ever occupy with him. As great a generalas Marcus Agrippa is, not even he is Caesar’s equal. I suddenlyfelt even more for the boy, realizing the soul-crushing pressurethat young men like Scipio felt, trying to live up to the legend ofCaesar. The fact that the pressure was self-imposed did not make itany less acute, and I had to fight the urge to put my arm about theyoung man’s shoulders, so disconsolate was he looking, staring atthe hill that he had thought would show me his tactical acumen.
“If you want to be another Caesar, Tribune,then you have to learn to think about the larger picture, whileattending to the smaller details. It’s like a game of tables,” Isaid, trying to find a suitable example to make my point. “In orderfor tables to be more than just a game of luck, you have to thinkseveral moves in advance, not just about the next one.”
Scipio seemed to consider this, noddingslowly, though he said nothing, so I continued.
“And you have to learn to think like yourenemy. That was perhaps Caesar’s greatest failing.” I cannot saywho was more surprised that these words came out of my mouth, butnow that the words were out, I plunged ahead. “Caesar could neverunderstand why men opposed him, because he always believed thatwhat he was doing was best for Rome, even if it did improve his ownposition at the same time. And he never realized, at least untilthe last few moments of his life, just how much men hated himbecause of his excellence.”
“You knew him well?”
Scipio’s question did not sound skeptical,though I could see how hard it would be for a young nobleman to seewhat a man like Caesar and I had in common.
“Not that well,” I said, looking off intothe distance. “I don’t think anyone knew Caesar well. But he wasthe man who put me in the Centurionate,” I continued, saying thisnot without some pride. “And I marched for him from the time he wasPraetor in Hispania, so I got to see him at his best and worst. Soperhaps I knew him as well as any man.”
“Was he as great a general as peoplesay?”
I looked at the Tribune. I was struck by howyoung he was, how childlike his curiosity was, and I felt very,very old.
“Better,” I said simply, then turned awayagain, my mind moving elsewhere.
To his credit, Scipio could see I wanted tobe alone. Turning his horse, he went off somewhere; I suppose tolick his wounds and try to soothe his savaged pride.
Our progress was slow but steady; while wenever made thirty miles in a single day like we had under Caesar,we averaged a bit over twenty-five, which I was satisfied with,given the rugged terrain. The weather cooperated for the most part,though we did have one stretch of a week where it rained every day,slowing our progress considerably. The Dalmatians were our constantcompanions, in the form of small groups of horsemen hovering offeach flank, so that we did lose an occasional straggler whodisappeared, never to be seen again. The losses were notsignificant enough to justify making some sort of response, sincein fact, these disappearances did me a bit of a favor, keeping themen more alert while we marched.
Our first hint that we crossed into Moesiawas when the Dalmatians abruptly stopped following us, pulling upshort on a low rise one day about second watch, content to watch uscontinue to march away. I was alerted to this development by one ofthe outriders, though I did not understand the significance atfirst. It was not until our advance party sent a man galloping backto
