Masters of the Sea Trilogy: Ship of Rome, Captain of Rome, Master of Rome. John Stack

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СКАЧАТЬ “survivors not fighters, scavengers of food instead of hunters of men”,’ Atticus said. ‘What did he mean exactly? How quickly will the legions lose their ability to fight effectively?’

      Septimus paused for a moment before replying.

      ‘Cut off from resupply, once the Second and Ninth exhaust the supplies they carry with them, they’ll be faced with three shortages, two of which they can survive.’

      Atticus walked over to his own cot and sat down.

      ‘Which two are those?’ he asked.

      ‘Food and equipment,’ Septimus replied, sitting up to face Atticus. ‘The first is always an issue for every army. A hot meal in a soldier’s belly lifts his strength and morale. An empty belly fuels discontentment. If the food supplies that the legions carry are consumed, the men will go hungry, but they won’t starve. Once in enemy territory the army will be free to forage, stripping passing farms of their livestock and grain, leaving famine in their wake but keeping the men of the Second and Ninth marching.’

      ‘Marcus called it scavenging,’ Atticus remarked, ‘and he didn’t relish the prospect.’

      Septimus nodded, his face grave. ‘It’s a precarious practice, with foraging teams open to ambush from the enemy; and should the army pass through more barren mountain land, their foraging would become more desperate and widespread.’

      Atticus nodded, slowly understanding the difficult challenges faced by a campaigning army. ‘You said equipment was also a surmountable problem,’ he prompted.

      Again Septimus nodded. ‘After the stocks of replacements are exhausted, the men will switch to patching up their existing kit. There’s countless ways to keep a legionary’s kit functional, although the end result might not pass a parade-ground inspection. The only vital pieces of equipment are a soldier’s weaponry, his short sword, javelins and a shield. His armour takes second place to these essentials, although men fight more aggressively when they have the protection of segmented armour over their chest and a helmet on their heads. Either way, though, the legions will go into battle and the fallen will provide replacement equipment for the survivors.’

      Atticus nodded his understanding. Now only one problem remained.

      ‘So what’s the third shortage?’ Atticus asked. ‘The one the legions can’t do without?’

      ‘The most essential supply for any army, Atticus. The supply of men.’

      ‘But between them the Second and Ninth encompass nearly twenty thousand men. Surely it will be months before any loss will become so significant as to affect the ability of the legions as a whole?’ Atticus countered.

      Septimus shook his head. ‘The total might number twenty thousand, but a legion’s strength is not in its sheer numbers but in the individual formations within its ranks.’

      Atticus’s puzzled expression prompted Septimus to continue. ‘A maniple consists of one hundred and twenty men. At any one time there are always at least a half-dozen excused duty because of illness. Once the enemy is engaged, the problem intensifies, as the injured swell the ranks of those unfit for duty. A campaign like this one will be riddled with minor engagements, each one sapping the strength of each fighting maniple. With no supply of replacements getting through from the mainland, maniple after maniple will be struck off the fighting roster and, before long, individual commands will disappear as maniples are cannabilized to provide replacements for others. Mark my words, Atticus, this natural attrition of the army’s most basic raw material, through illness, battle injuries and death, and the inability to resupply that raw material to the front line, will destroy the Second and Ninth within a matter of a couple of months.’

      Atticus drew in a slow breath as he absorbed Septimus’s words, the centurion’s explanation painting a vivid picture of the Roman army’s demise. The army was like an individual soldier, its loss of men like the flesh wounds sustained in battle, injuries that healed as new men were fed in to fill the breach, the residual scar tissue hardening the man beneath. Without the ability to renew itself, the army, like the individual soldier, would fall from its wounds, its lifeblood soaking into the arid soil of Sicily.

      ‘Senators!’ Scipio began, his voice holding the absolute attention of the three hundred men who represented the political power of the Republic. The senior consul was standing tall at the lectern positioned at the centre of the semicircle of three tiers of seating in the inner chamber of the Curia. Only moments before, his arrival had been announced by the princeps senatus, the leader of the house, a ceremonial, almost powerless position granted to one of the senior, long-standing senators. Scipio had swept into the chamber with a determined stride, the senators rising as one as a mark of respect to his rank; he had noted with satisfaction that nearly all were in attendance, including Duilius.

      Scipio paused before continuing.

      ‘Senators, I come with grave news from our campaign to remove the Carthaginian horde from the shores of our beloved Sicily. I have come in great haste, enduring great personal risk, to deliver this message to you. You men of courage and intellect hold the key to saving the brave men of the legions now fighting overseas.’

      Duilius could sense the charged atmosphere of the Senate as they hung on every word Scipio uttered. Although the junior consul knew what was to be announced, he couldn’t suppress the tingle of anticipation at Scipio’s words, admiring his eloquence and ability to control the mob that was the Senate. Duilius smiled inwardly at the choice of words: ‘you men of courage and intellect’. He knew that Scipio, like himself, had little respect for the other senators of the chamber, and yet so powerful was Scipio’s ability to control the crowd that those same men firmly believed the senior consul’s description of them was fully warranted, believed that both individually and collectively they held the power of Rome in their hands – while in reality it rested neatly on the shoulders of men like Scipio and Duilius alone.

      When Duilius had stalked out of the Curia on receiving the news of Scipio’s return, he had known there was only one course of action open to him. With the long-before-learnt lesson on the value of information dictating his movements, he had rushed to his town house behind the Forum Holitorium. He had immediately called for Appius, his senior servant, a freedman who ostensibly ran the affairs of the junior consul’s town house, but who in reality was the head of a network of agents spread throughout the homes of the senior men of the Senate. Included in their number were four men in Scipio’s household, all freedmen who were sold into the house as slaves to spy on Duilius’s most powerful rival. The junior consul had impatiently paced the four corridors of the atrium of his home for nearly an hour before, finally, Appius had reappeared with the much sought-after news. Duilius had listened in silence to the report before brushing past the man and returning to the Senate.

      Now, as Duilius sat in the Curia watching Scipio’s speech, his mind was at peace, the precious time to prepare that had been given to him by his spies allowing him to plan a rebuttal to Scipio’s course. As the senior consul sped towards the pinnacle of his speech, the announcement of the Carthaginian threat, Duilius looked from the corner of his eye to the anxious figure of Longus, a junior senator whom Duilius had enlisted to help carry out his plan. Duilius could only hope the young fop was up to the challenge.

      ‘And so my fellow senators,’ Scipio was concluding, ‘it is with trepidation in my heart that I tell you that the Carthaginians have blockaded the northern coastline of Sicily and effectively cut off our gallant legions from resupply. The Punici have placed a stranglehold on our campaign and, if it is not released, it will surely destroy our army in Sicily, placing the enemy in a position to strike at the very centre of the Republic: Rome itself!’

      There СКАЧАТЬ