XV

The army was marching along the left bank of the Euphrates; on the

broad plain, level as the sea, and covered with silvery wormwood, not

a tree was in sight. On all sides lay grass and sweet-smelling bushes.

From time to time, troops of wild asses appeared on the horizon,

raising clouds of dust. Ostriches were seen running; and the soldiers

used to roast the delicate flesh of the bustard at their camp-fires.

Jests and songs lasted till night-fall. The desert received these

soldiers, hungry for glory, booty, and blood, with mute caresses,

starry nights, gentle dawns and sunsets, night-coolnesses breathing

the bitter smell of wormwood. Deeper and deeper they plunged into the

solitudes, without meeting the enemy. Hardly had they passed when calm

descended on the plain, as on the sea over a sunken ship; and the

grass, trampled by the legionaries, lifted up anew its soft spears.

Suddenly the desert became menacing. Clouds hid the sky; rains began;

and a soldier watering his horses was killed by lightning. At the end

of April came the heats. Soldiers envied their comrades who marched in

the shadow of a dromedary or of a wagon. The men of the north, Gauls

and Sicambri, began to die of sunstroke. The plains became sad, bare,

tufted here and there with scorched grass, and every step sank into

the sand. Fierce gusts of wind assailed the army, tearing the

standards from their poles, and blowing away tents. Then again a calm

was restored which in its strangeness and profundity, seemed to the

frightened soldiers more terrible than tempest. Raillery and

marching-songs ceased; but the march went on, day after day; and yet

they never caught a glimpse of the enemy.

At the beginning of May the palm-groves of Assyria were reached.

At Mazeprakt, where lay ruins of the enormous wall constructed by

ancient Syrian kings, the enemy was seen for the first time. The

Persians hastily retreated, and under a rain of poisoned arrows the

Romans crossed the wide canal joining the Euphrates to the Tigris.

This magnificent piece of engineering, made of Babylonian brick,

cutting Mesopotamia in two, was called Nazar Malka, the River of

Kings. Suddenly the Persians disappeared. The waters of the Nazar

Malka rose, overflowed the banks, and flooded the vast surrounding

plains. The Persians had organised the inundation by opening the

sluices and dykes which lay on all sides, threatening the friable

wastes. The foot-soldiers marched on, up to the knees in water, and

their legs sank deep into mud. Entire companies disappeared into

invisible ditches. Even horsemen and dromedaries with their burdens

vanished suddenly. The track had to be sounded for with poles. The

whole desert was transformed into a lake, and the palm-groves appeared

like islands.

"Whither are we going?" the cowardly began to murmur. "Why not retire

at once to the river, and get on shipboard? We are soldiers; not frogs

made for dabbling through mud!"

Julian marched on foot with the infantry, even in the most difficult

places. He helped to haul the labouring chariots out of mud-holes by

their wheels; and laughed at his own soaked and clay-stained purple.

Fascines and floating bridges were formed of palm stems; and at

night-fall the army succeeded in reaching a dry place. The soldiers

fell asleep, utterly exhausted.

In the morning they saw the fortress of Perizaborh.

From the tops of walls and inaccessible towers, spread with thick

carpets and goat-skins, to defend them from the shock of

siege-weapons, the Persians poured down scorn upon their enemies.

The whole day passed in the exchange of insults and projectiles. Then,

profiting by the darkness of a moonless night, the Romans, in absolute

silence, carried the catapults and battering-ram from their ships

(which had all this way accompanied the march) and propped these

weapons against the walls of Perizaborh. The fosses were filled with

earth, and by means of a _malleolus_, or enormous spindle-shaped

arrow, full of an inflammable matter, made of pitch, sulphur, oil, and

bitumen, the Romans succeeded in setting the goatskin carpets on fire.

The Persians rushed to extinguish the conflagration, and profiting by

the momentary confusion the Emperor ordered an attack by the great

battering-ram. This was a huge pine-stem, swung by chains from a

pyramidal tower of beams, and pointed by a ram's head in metal. A

hundred strong legionaries, hauling in rhythm on thick ropes made of

ox-sinew, slowly heaved and balanced the enormous shaft. The first

blow sounded like the rumbling of thunder. Earth shook and the walls

resounded. The furious ram butted his metal head in a swift and

tremendous succession of blows against the walls. There was a great

crash; an entire corner of the wall had given way. The Persians, with

despairing cries, fled in all directions; and Julian, the star of

whose helmet glittered through clouds of dust, bright and terrible as

the star of Mars, galloped into the conquered town.

For two days the army rested under the fresh and shadowy groves on the

other side of the city; the men regaling themselves with a kind of

wine made of palm-juice, and amber-clear dates from Babylon.

Then they resumed their march and entered a rocky plain.

The heat was painful. Men and horses died in great numbers. At noon

the air danced above the rocks in burning rays, and through the

ashen-grey desert wound the silvery waves of Tigris, like a lazy

serpent basking his coils in the sun.

The Romans saw at length, beyond the Tigris, a lofty rock rising,

rose-coloured, bare and jagged. This was the second fortress defending

Ctesiphon, the southern capital of Persia. It was a place far more

difficult to take than Perizaborh, and soared to the clouds like an

eagle's nest.

The sixteen towers and double enclosing walls of Maogamalki were built

with the famous bricks of Babylon, sun-dried and mortared with

bitumen, like all the ancient monuments of Assyria, which fear not the

centuries.

The attack commenced. Again the ungainly slings groaned, and the

pulleys of _scorpions_ and _onagers_, or frames for flinging stones.

Again huge flaming beams hissed like arrows from their engines. At the

hour when even lizards go to sleep in fissures of the rock, the

sun-rays fell vertically on the backs and heads of soldiers, stifling

them like a crushing weight. The desperate legionaries, in defiance of

their officers and of increased danger, snatched off their helmets

and bloodied armour, preferring the chance of wounds to enduring that

fearful heat. Above the brown towers and loopholes of Maogamalki,

vomiting poisoned arrows, lances, stones, leaden bullets, and Persian

fire-darts of choking sulphur, stretched the dazzling blue-grey of a

dusty sky, blind and implacable as death.

The heavens beat down the hatred of men. Besiegers and besieged,

utterly exhausted, ceased fighting. And a silence of noon-day, more

sullen than the blackest night, fell on both hosts.

The Romans lost no whit of their courage. After the taking of

Perizaborh they believed in the invincibility of the Emperor, compared

him to Alexander the Great, and expected miracles from him.

For several days, on the east side of Maogamalki where the rocky steep

was less abrupt, soldiers were set to hollow a tunnel. This mine,

passing under the walls of the fortress, led up to the centre of the

town. The width of the passage--three cubits--allowed two soldiers to

proceed abreast. Huge beams at intervals supported the ceiling. The

diggers worked gaily. The damp and obscurity seemed delicious to them

after the excess of sunlight.

"A day or two ago we were frogs and now we're moles," said the

soldiers to each other, laughing.

Three cohorts, the Mattiarians, Lactiniarians, and Victorians, fifteen

hundred picked men, keeping the sternest silence, crawled into the

subterranean passage, impatiently waiting orders to burst into the

town. At daybreak the attack was expressly directed on two opposite

sides, in order to divert the attention of the Persians, and Julian

himself led up the soldiers by a single narrow path under a hail of

stones and arrows.

"We shall see," he said to himself with glee at the danger; "we shall

see if the gods preserve me, or if, by a miracle, I shall escape death

even now."

Some irresistible curiosity, or thirst for the supernatural, urged him

to expose himself, and with a defiant smile to challenge Fate to do

her worst. It was not death he feared, but only defeat in his

purposeless and intoxicating game against the higher powers.

The soldiers followed him on, fascinated by and catching the contagion

of his mad mood.

Meantime the Persians, laughing at the efforts of the besiegers, were

singing on the battlements songs in glory of King Sapor, "Son of the

Sun." And from the precipitous terraces they shouted to the Romans:

"Julian will scale the heavenly palace of Ormuzd before he gets into

our fortress!"

When the fire of action had risen to its hottest, the Emperor, in a

low voice, sent word to his officers on the far side of the city.

The legionaries hidden in the tunnel burst out into the interior of

the city, and found themselves in the cellar of a house where an old

Persian woman was kneading bread. She uttered a piercing cry at the

sight of the Roman legionaries, and was promptly killed. Then, gliding

unperceived, they threw themselves on the rear of the besieged. The

Persians flung down their arms, and scattered into the streets. The

Romans then rushed to the city gates, and by the double assault the

town was taken. From that moment not a legionary doubted that the

Emperor, like Alexander of Macedon, would conquer the whole of the

Persian Empire as far as the Indies.

Leaving its larger ships behind on the Euphrates, the army now drew

near to Ctesiphon, on the river Tigris. But Julian, whose almost

unnaturally feverish imagination gave his enemies no time to recover,

made practicable the old Roman canal, hollowed by Trajan and Septimius

Severus between the Tigris and the Euphrates; the same channel that

had been filled in and flooded by the Persians. By this means the

whole fleet left the Euphrates and reached the Tigris a little above

Ctesiphon. The conqueror found himself thus at the centre of the

Asiatic Empire.

On the following day Julian summoned a council of war and declared

that the troops should be transported that night to the other bank,

under the walls of the capital. Dagalaïf, Hormizdas, Secundinus,

Victor, Sallustius, all seasoned warriors, were terrified at this

idea. For hours they strove to persuade the Emperor to relinquish so

rash a project, urging the fatigue of the soldiers, the width and

rapid currents of the river, the steepness of the banks, the proximity

of Ctesiphon, and the innumerable army of Sapor; the Persians being

certain to make a sortie at the moment of disembarkation. Julian would

listen to nothing.

"Wait as long as we will," he exclaimed impatiently, "the river will

not grow narrower nor the banks less steep; and the Persian army will

get bigger every day we delay. If I had listened to your advice, we

should still be at Antioch."

The chiefs left his tent in consternation.

"He cannot last long in this mood," murmured the well-tried and wily

Dagalaïf, a Goth grown old in the service of Rome. "Remember what I

tell you. He seems gay, and even laughs, but there is something ill in

his expression. I've seen it in people who are close to despair or

death. That gaiety augurs evil."

The warm misty twilight descended rapidly on the immense

river-reaches. At a given signal five galleys bearing four hundred

warriors, were unlashed from their moorings, and for long nothing was

heard but the regular dip of their muffled oars. Then, silence. The

obscurity became impenetrable. Julian gazed fixedly in the direction

in which the boats had disappeared, concealing his emotion under

affected cheerfulness. The generals muttered among themselves.

Suddenly a blaze lit up the night. Everyone drew his breath, and all

looks were turned on the Emperor. He understood what that blaze meant.

The Persians had succeeded in setting light to the Roman ships, by

means of fire-balls hurled from engines on the other bank.

Julian grew pale, but immediately collecting himself and giving his

soldiers no time to think, he rushed into the first ship lying along

shore and shouted to the army--

"Victory, victory! Do you see that fire? They have landed and are

masters of the bank. I myself ordered the cohorts to light the bonfire

as a signal of success. Follow me, comrades!"

"What is this?" muttered the prudent Sallustius in his ear. "All is

lost; that fire is on board our galleys...."

"Cæsar has gone mad!" groaned the terrified Hormizdas to Dagalaïf.

That wily barbarian shrugged his shoulders in perplexity.

With an irresistible impulse the legions dashed down to the river, all

ranks elbowing each other and shouting "Victory! victory!" Jostling,

falling into the water, dragging each other out, the men swarmed on

board.

A few small boats nearly sank; and there was no room on the galleys to

take over all. Many cavalry swam across, hanging to the manes and

tails of their horses. The Celts and Batavians flung themselves into

the water, pushing over, afloat, their great hollowed leather shields.

Through fog they swam, many being caught and whirled round in eddies,

but regardless of danger they too shouted "Victory, victory!" from the

water. So great was the number of ships that the current was slightly

broken, thus aiding the swimmers. The conflagration of the first five

galleys was extinguished without difficulty. Then only did all ranks

understand the Emperor's audacious ruse. But the spirit of the

soldiers rose still higher after the avoidance of such a danger. Now

everything seemed possible.

A little before dawn they made themselves masters of the heights of

the far bank, but hardly had the Romans time for a brief rest on their

arms when they saw at daybreak a vast army sally from the walls of

Ctesiphon into the plain round the city.

The battle lasted twelve hours. The Persians fought with the

fierceness of despair. Julian's army here saw for the first time the

great war-elephants which could crush a cohort like a tuft of grass.

Never had the Romans won such a victory since the great days of the

Emperors Trajan, Vespasian, and Titus.

On the following morning at daybreak Julian brought a grateful

offering to Ares, the god of war. It consisted of ten white bulls,

beautiful beasts like those on the old Greek bas-reliefs. The whole

army was given up to merrymaking. Only the Tuscan wizards, who at

every victory of Julian's had become more sombre, mute, and enigmatic,

remained obstinately sullen.

The first bull, arrayed with laurels, was led to the smoking altar. He

walked slowly and passively. Suddenly he stumbled to his knees, lowing

pitifully, almost humanly, so that a thrill ran through the

spectators; and then, burying his muzzle in the dust, shuddered.

Before the axe of the slayer had touched his forehead he had reeled

over and died. A second bull similarly fell dead, then a third and a

fourth. All paced weakly to the altar, seeming hardly able to stand

upright, as if attacked by some mortal malady.

The army was in dismay at the presage. Some said that the Etruscan

wizards had poisoned the bulls, to revenge themselves for the

Emperor's contempt for their art. Nine bulls thus fell, and the tenth,

snapping his bonds, escaped, and rushed bellowing through the camp

beyond hope of recapture.

The ceremonial became disorganised, and the augurs smiled among

themselves a satisfied smile. When the entrails of the dead bulls were

opened Julian, being skilled in magic, saw at a glance terrifying

omens in the organs. He turned aside, his brow dark with wrath,

attempting but failing to assume carelessness.

Turning again he approached the altar and spurned it violently with

his foot. The altar reeled, but did not fall. The crowd uttered deep

sighs and the prefect Sallustius rushed towards the Emperor,

whispering--

"The men are looking! It would be better to cut short the

sacrifice...."

Julian waved him away, and overturned the altar with his foot. The

embers were scattered and the fire extinguished, but the fragrant

smoke still thickly ascended.

"Woe, woe upon us! The altar is profaned!" groaned a voice.

"I tell you he is mad," growled Hormizdas, grasping Dagalaïf's arm.

"Look at him.... How is it that the rest don't see it?"

The Etruscan augurs watched the proceedings, motionless, with

imperturbable faces.