From Serica to Daqin: The man from Peucela

From Serica to Daqin: The man from Peucela

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Part I

Ruspina – Roman Province of North Africa –January 708 AUC

Although he was already planning out the best way to spin the story of the battle so it didn’t look like his old second-in-command turned enemy Titus Laebinus had tactically outmanoeuvred him, the fact that he had ridden out of camp with six thousand more men than he was returning with was a bitter pill for Caesar to swallow.

Arranging his light infantry skirmishers in close-order before the battle so it looked like they were heavy infantry and short on cavalry support had been a masterstroke by Laebinus Caesar had to admit. Having formed up his legionaries to fight a conventional infantry battle Caesar had subsequently been caught badly out of position when the sudden arrival of a horde of Numidian horsemen that outnumbered his own Gallic cavalry four-to-one quickly drove the auxiliaries off and then started to press his flanks just as Laebinus brought his own infantry into the fray.

Knowing that his lightly armoured soldiers couldn’t really take on Roman Legionaries in a pitched battle of sword and shield Titus Laebinus simply allowed them to fight the way they preferred to anyway and soon Caesar’s battle lines had been beset by thousands of Numidian skirmishers running up within javelin ranges, hurling their throwing spears and then quickly retreating ready to do it once again. Unable to get to grips with the opposition, threatened at the flanks by cavalry, and with mounting casualties, the legionaries had eventually started to buckle under the pressure.

If they had been veterans of his many previous campaigns Caesar doubted things would have deteriorated so quickly but unfortunately most of the cohorts he had marched out of camp with earlier in the day were made up of recent recruits with limited if any combat experience. At one point he even had to intervene personally to prevent a standard-bearer from fleeing the field and if not for his words of encouragement, and later a well-timed tactical withdrawal to higher ground, the battle might have ended in a rout rather than a well-ordered retreat back to camp.

As he finally arrived back at his command tent and gratefully drank the wine quickly poured for him by his chief slave while others stripped him of his armour, the one nagging thought in Caesar’s head was how difficult it really was for legionaries to deal with opponents who preferred to fight at a distance. Be the foe Numidian light infantry and cavalry throwing javelins, or the Parthian horse-archers who had slaughtered the legions of Marcus Licinius Crassus at Carrhae seven years before, Roman heavy infantry were simply not well suited to fight them.

Typically Roman commanders had relied upon auxiliary units to fill that gap in their capabilities but the Cretan Archers who had been with Caesar when Laebinus sprung his trap made little impact on the outcome of the fight. They had been too few in number, being in short supply as it took far too long to train a decent bowman, and when things turned rough auxiliaries were never as dependable as good solid Romans anyway.

Caesar finished his cup of wine and handed it back to the slave to be refilled. It was watered down so as to quench his thirst rather than get him drunk no matter how much he might want to be right now ‘Is that annoying Greek who keeps following me everywhere still hanging around?’ he asked, sure he'd seen the man since arriving in Africa.

‘Which one do you mean Dominus?’ the slave queried as he poured more wine. There were always plenty of people seeking an audience with the most powerful man in the known world.

‘The one with the strange accent and the psychotic yellow wife’ Caesar replied.

‘Ah you mean Peukolaos’ the slave realised, a Greek by birth himself he had to concur that the man’s accent in their joint tongue was unusual indeed. ‘Yes I think I saw him earlier talking to the officer in charge of the artillery while I was supervising the unloading of the rest of your personal baggage from the ships’ he recalled.

‘Marcus Vitruvius Pollio’ Caesar provided the name of the artilleryman, knowing the man quite well since Vitruvius had served with him all through Gallic Wars. Something of a polymath Vitruvius knew a great deal about subjects beyond artillery and general military engineering and might be worth bringing into the discussion too for that matter. ‘Send for both of them and make sure Peukalaos brings one of those strange little hand-drawn gastraphetes he keeps trying to foist on me.’

‘At once Dominus’ the slave responded hurrying off to do his master’s bidding as soon as he passed him his re-filled cup.

Thirst quenched by the first cup of watered wine Caesar sipped at the second. The design of the odd little weapon which the Greek Peukolaos claimed to have brought with him all the way from Serica hadn’t really appealed to him so much until now but thinking back to the fighting earlier that day if only a fraction of the legionaries had been carrying one instead of their pila the Numidians would not have had so easy a time of it.

Even if the civil war between his own faction and the Optimates didn’t continue on and on, like it had despite the defeat of Pompey, Caesar planned a war of revenge on the Parthians anyway so the potential new weapons might be of help there too he considered, continuing to ponder the possibilities. Roman military honour had been diminished by the defeat at Carrhae and the loss of Legionary Eagles there was not something the Republic could stomach forever, Caesar considered. Retrieving them and once more proving Roman martial superiority over all her rivals would be popular among all sections of society and help heal the rift, he decided, still sipping at his wine thoughtfully.

Caesar scratched an itch on his scalp with his free hand and grimaced when he realised again how much his hairline was receding. Maybe I actually should make myself king like Labienus and the others think I want to, he thought to himself in amusement, a crown would hide the bald-spot nicely he considered, smiling as now free from his armour he dismissed the other slaves. ‘I wonder if the Greek claims claims the people of Serica have the cure for male pattern baldness too’ he asked aloud rhetorically, taking a seat. From what he recalled of their last brief conversation before the needs of state called on him to attend other more urgent duties Caesar did remember the supposedly very well-travelled Peukolaos talking animatedly about new ways to make iron, plough fields and even plant seeds. Most of those present however had only wanted to talk about the incident where his wife had punched a very drunk Marc Antony on the nose for fondling her rear at a party and then started throwing things at the now uproariously laughing Magister Equitum while screaming at him in a language nobody could understand, including her husband apparently as he dragged her off bright red with embarrassment.


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OTL Caesar responded to his tactical defeat at Ruspina by ordering his men to start mass-producing javelins and sling bullets so they could better counter the tactics of the Numidians fighting for his rivals in the Civil War. Here a twist of fate has provided him with an alternative. As to Peukalaos and his own story you'll find out more in time...

This is going to be perhaps more novel-like than some timelines but despite an attempt to make it entertaining it shouldn't ever stray into the realms of straining incredulity I hope.
 
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