Final Campaign

the fortress, and that the Serdi had already attemptedto send reinforcements. The road leading to Serdica never crossedthe river, because the city was sited with the river along itswestern wall as it continued north from the valley, forming abarrier from that direction. This was good, since it meant we didnot have to worry about the Thracians destroying a bridge once thefortress fell. However, it also meant that it was absolutelyessential to block that road before they could make another attemptto send help to the fortress. And it could not wait until the nextday; we had to move that night.

Two Cohorts would be sent, under cover ofdarkness, to take up a blocking position athwart the junction ofthe road to the fortress with the main one leading to Serdica. Idebated about sending one from each Legion, then decided againstit, seeing the possibility of some sort of conflict between the twoPili Priores over who was senior. Choosing the 8^th, Ileft it up to Macrinus to select which two, and since he knew howimportant their job would be, he chose carefully.

“The Third and Fifth,” he told me. Despitemyself, I heaved a silent sigh of relief. Gaius had been givenlight duty by the camp physician, but like a good Centurion should,he had refused, returning to his Century. He still sported a hugewhite bandage around his head that was so thick he could not gethis helmet on, making quite the odd sight, standing bareheaded withhis bandage almost seeming to glow in the sunlight, yet I was proudof him. I was also happy that he would not be in danger. Despitehow wrong I knew it to be for feeling that, I could not help it. Onthe spur of the moment, I also told Capito to send five hundred ofhis auxiliaries to act as slingers, although they could also bepressed into service as infantry.

“They march in light order. No more than twodays’ rations, weapons, shields, armor, and digging tools,” I toldMacrinus, who nodded his understanding, but I was still notfinished.

“They’re going to march without armor,” Icontinued.

“What? You just said that you wanted them totake their armor.”

“I do,” I confirmed. “But I don’t want themwearing it tonight when they’re sneaking past the fortress. Youknow it’s too noisy. Metal pieces of gear always hit against it andmake noise.”

“How are they going to carry their armor ifthey don’t have their packs?”

I thought for a moment.

“We did this once in Gaul. Use yourcloaks….” Realizing that it would be easier to demonstrate, Icalled to a nearby Legionary, ordering him to strip out of hisarmor, which he did, albeit with a surprised look on his face.

“Now hand me your cloak.”

He did so. I laid it out on the ground,fully spread out. I placed the armor on one half of the poncho,folding the second half over the top. That done, I began rollingthe cloak up with the armor in it, and when that was done, I pickedthe roll up, placing the bundle around my neck so that the longends hung down off each shoulder in front. I had to make someadjustments to make it ride evenly, then gave it a test by hoppingup and down a few times, rewarded with a small sound of metalclinking that I doubted could be heard a dozen paces away.

“There, that’s how.” I could not hide mytriumphant grin, clearly irritating Macrinus, who walked awaymuttering something about people who knew everything.

For all the humor, this was a deadly seriousbusiness, and we both knew it. Despite being obscured by darkness,moving more than a thousand men was running a huge risk, with mostof that risk coming from sound. Noise travels much farther at nightthan it does during the day, for what reasons I do not know. Alongwith the muffled armor came the standard practice of wrapping thetools and weapons, as well as the men’s feet. I just hoped therewere enough rags to go around to do what needed to be done. Thesound of hobnails striking rock makes a very distinctive noise thatany experienced sentry would recognize, and multiplying that by twofeet per man meant we had to do everything we could think of toavoid detection. While the two Cohorts were preparing themselves, Ifound Flavianus still at the plutei, despite it now beingfully dark.

“Is there any way we can continue thebombardment at night?” I asked, without much hope. Nonetheless, Iwas still disappointed when Flavianus shook his head.

“Not if you don’t want to run out ofammunition,” he told me. “And we would have no way of knowing untilmorning how much damage we had done. Besides, after each shot wehave to make adjustments to the ballista because the jar itreceives causes it to jump a bit.”

“Don’t you have those marked?”

Again he nodded, but he continued in thesame vein.

“We do, but we also have to factor in thatthe night air is heavier, making the missiles fly differently, soputting the piece back in its old marks doesn’t necessarily mean itwill be back on target. Not to mention that the air is damp as wellas cool, which also affects the torsion ropes. No,” he concluded,“we’re better off waiting until it’s light.”

“How much ammunition have we expended?”

Flavianus considered for a moment.

“About a third part,” he said finally.

That was more than I had hoped, and it didconvince me not to risk continuing the bombardment during thenight. Leaving Flavianus, I returned to find the two Cohorts ready,faces, arms and legs blackened with the mixture of oil andcharcoal, their armor wrapped in their cloaks like I hadinstructed. The Centurions were walking up and down, tugging onbits of gear to make sure they made no noise, ordering men to fixthose items that did. Didius Julianus was the Tertius Pilus Prior,a good, solid man if a little unimaginative yet very dependable andsteady in a fight. The Quintus Pilus Prior was Aulus SeptimiusLicinius, though he was known as Septimius, a quick-temperedCampanian who had been part of the dilectus for the other10^th Legion raised by Octavian during the civil war,which I tried not to hold against him. He was a good leader of men;his flaw being