‘He was, sir, but he found me readying my horse to join my unit and ordered that you be told that the army was headed east. He’s taken command of the detachment of the Twenty-Second Legion, since their tribune is dead.’
‘You’ve done well, soldier. Remind me to have Cerberus promote you if we survive today!’
‘Thank you, General,’ the man beamed.
‘Before you go I need you to find Prefect Publilius Sabinus and his men, they can’t be more than a mile or so away.’ I pointed towards the loop in the river to the west. ‘Bring them here as quickly as you can.’
‘At once, sir.’
Hastily I called the engineer to me, and sought out First-Spear Centurion Nepos, the legion’s senior officer. He was the man who had stayed by my side in the chaos of New Year’s Day, the day we had abandoned Galba in favour of Vitellius.
‘Nepos, I’ve been rather neglecting my own legion of late. I hope you’ll forgive me?’
‘We do our duty, sir. Even if it means building bridges rather than a good, honest scrap with the enemy.’
‘Well now, I need the two of you to stop building the bridge and prepare for battle. General Valens has left Cremona without us. For all I know the battle for the empire might already have begun!’
‘I’ll have the men ready to march in five minutes, sir.’
‘Good man.’ I turned to face the engineer. ‘We don’t have time to pack everything away. We’ll have to abandon all your tools and any other kit you don’t need so that you can march at double pace. Nepos, I’m leaving you in command of the legion.’
‘What about you, sir, and the tribune?
‘He’s gone ahead with the Twenty-Second, and I must reach the battlefield as quickly as possible. I’ll be riding with Publilius and the cavalry along the Postumian Way until we find the army.’
‘Very well, sir. Good luck.’
* * *
We flew along the road, Publilius and I, at the head of 200 cavalrymen. In under an hour we came within sight of the rearmost unit of Valens’s column, thousands of legionaries marching double-time along the road, not two miles beyond the altar to the twin gods where I had suffered my first betrayal.
‘You there,’ I called out to the nearest soldiers, ‘which legion are you?’
‘The Fifteenth, sir,’ they answered. They were from Valens’s column.
‘Where’s the rest of the column?’ Publilius asked.
‘We’re all strung out along this road, sir. We left in too much of a hurry to march in a full column, each legion marched as soon as it was ready to move off.’
So Valens had lowered his horns and charged straight for the enemy, so keen to start the battle without me that the army’s march was slapdash, different units setting off in fits and starts. Without Quintus I would have been building that pointless bridge all day. So much for a shared command!
We passed cohort after cohort, hundreds upon thousands of men marching ever eastward, but with no purpose or co-ordination, simply under orders to keep on going until they found the enemy. Soon the wheat fields gave way to vineyards as we passed from one landowner’s estate to another. We were not yet at the height of spring, and the infant vines offered far less cover than the tall stalks of wheat. At least we wouldn’t suffer another ambush like the one General Paulinus had sprung on us just two days before.
My ears caught the sounds of clashing metal, faint over the noise of the marching men and galloping horses all around me. We had to be close to Otho’s encampment at Bedriacum by now, with Cremona a good six or seven miles behind us. Rather than speeding ahead to join the battle, Publilius had his men slow down for fear of wearing out the horses. After another mile we found the battlefield.
The battle was still in its infancy. I could still make out the shapes of individual units. Away on the right flank I could see a large body of men in line, four ranks deep strung out in the vineyard. By the sheer number of them it had to be Pansa’s men, the Twenty-First. It was the only full legion in the entire army. Ahead of them was another full legion launching a volley of pila into the heavens. From the ragged timing of the volley I guessed it was the legion of conscript sailors and marines that Nero had formed, Galba had dismissed and now Otho had called upon to help him cling on to his throne.
The road was awash with praetorians, marked out by their purple plumes, and they faced various detachments of our own legions, but everywhere else was a mess. The vines and ditches meant that the two armies had to fight in little pockets of men where the ground allowed contact between the two lines. It was impossible to tell friend from foe at this distance; you had to get near enough to see the standards to know whether to charge or support the cohorts closest to you. I was looking only for one man, and there he was, sitting haughtily on a grey horse.
‘Come on,’ I said to Publilius, digging my heels into Achilles’s flanks.
As we rode within shouting distance, I hollered Valens’s name. He turned to see who was calling, and saw me bearing down upon him. Whereas the pompous idiot Vindex had turned deathly pale at seeing the man he had tried to poison, Valens merely closed his eyes in irritation, as though I were some troublesome puppy that had slipped his master’s leash.
‘You took my men,’ I accused him.
‘I’m not stopping you from joining them,’ he said nonchalantly, as though he had never sent me out of the way while he took the rest of the army to fight.
‘If you balls this up, we’re all dead men. You know that?’ I said angrily.
‘What about you? Have you stopped Placentia’s garrison from joining him?’
‘I left the river with the cavalry as soon as I heard you’d left camp. The Fourth won’t be more than an hour away by now.’
‘So those three thousand men can join Otho, that’s what you’re saying?’
‘They’ll have to march the long way round to get here, far to the east then loop northwards. They won’t make it.’
‘Or they could just cross the bridge you’ve left unguarded and attack us in the rear.’
I hadn’t thought of that. ‘They won’t,’ I told Valens. ‘The gladiators fight best in single combat; on open ground they won’t be able to break through the Fourth’s line. What do we know about the enemy’s disposition?’
Valens shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. ‘I can’t really see with all the vines and things in the way. All we have to do is kill the enemy where we find them, then we’ll win.’
‘Kill the enemy where we find them? That’s what I’d call a battle, Valens. What about attacks, counter-attacks, feints, artillery, cavalry charges?’
‘All right, all right. I left the artillery in camp so that we could march quicker, there’s nothing for them to aim at anyway. And the only place a cavalry charge would work would be on the road here, but the infantry are packed together too tightly to let even a troop of horsemen past, let alone a squadron.’
I scanned the battlefield quickly, taking in the lie of the land. He was right, the fields north of the road were criss-crossed with unseen ditches that would break the legs of unsuspecting horses and catapult their riders into the enemy. Away to the south I could see Pansa and his men engaging the other full legion.
‘Look over there,’ I said. ‘Beyond the right flank the vines give way to water meadows. They’re narrow and muddy, but it’s better than having the cavalry do nothing.’
‘Well then, what are you waiting for?’ Valens said impatiently.
‘Why, your permission, oh mighty general,’ I mocked. Turning round, I called out to Publilius’s squadron, ‘Follow me, men!’
Our horses picked their way down the embankment that carried the road, and then we were among the vines. The gaps between them were barely wide enough for a horse and all its trappings, so we were funnelled as we rode. Publilius on my left led a file of riders, some followed me, and others still rode in separate columns. Though we were off the road, from Achilles’s saddle I could just about see the Twenty-First, but mo
re critically I could see a vast swathe of the opposing legion cutting deep into their ranks.
We closed in on them. Pansa was there on foot, shouting and chastising his men, men who had spent their entire careers high in the mountains with no one to fight. My eye lighted on the legion’s eagle, high on its brass perch. It began to move frantically in the air as its bearer was jostled in the thick of the fighting. Then the standard fell for a moment before being picked up and carried towards the enemy. Only the legion wasn’t advancing. The sailors had captured the eagle!
When the rearmost legionaries heard the sound of horsemen bearing down upon them, some of them turned to make a new line of shields and swords to defend themselves.
‘It’s me, General Severus,’ I shouted, in case some of them decided to let fly with their javelins. Pansa appeared from their midst, almost unrecognizable with his face covered by the cheek-pieces of his helmet and his torso caked in mud.
‘What are you doing here?’ he bawled, surprised.
‘We’re here to help! You’ve lost your eagle, Pansa, I suggest you take it back if you want to keep your command.’
The legate nodded grimly, then turned to face his men.
‘You heard the general, you spineless sons-of-bitches. Pass the word to the front, I want them to fan out and flatten these vines. Cut them down, crush them with your shields, whatever it takes to give us some room. I want those bastards surrounded and filleted, do you hear?’
Publilius and I were already moving towards the water meadows. It had not rained for a few days, but hundreds of hooves churned the soft earth more thoroughly than any plough. Far away on the opposite bank were the enemy troops I had supposedly been guarding. They were half marching, half jogging to reach the battle in time but still have energy left to fight. I knew that the next bridge lay on the road to Brixellum, a good hour’s march away. And once they had crossed they would have to march three miles back again to join the fight.
Pansa’s men were lumbering through the vines, trying to smash their way through so that they could bring more men to bear on the opposing line. All that lay between my cavalry and the enemy legion was a thick hedgerow, too wide to jump. The only way through was a narrow gap on the hedge a few hundred paces behind the Othonian line, where there would no doubt be a heaving mass of auxiliaries waiting in reserve.
‘Do you fancy a leap into the dark, Publilius?’ I asked my friend.
‘I must admit I have missed a good flanking manoeuvre!’ he joked. ‘What do you say, men? Shall we put these jumped-up sailors in their place?’
They roared their acceptance of the prefect’s challenge, thrusting their long javelins into the air.
‘Before we ride, Publilius, there’s one thing I’d like to know,’ I said.
‘Yes, General?’
‘Why Agamemnon? I don’t act like a king, do I?’
Publilius smiled, then saluted me: ‘Agamemnon, the great warlord who could never quite control Achilles!’
I laughed and patted my horse’s neck. ‘Did you hear that, Achilles? Apparently you’re a better soldier than I am. But don’t die on me, understood?’ Achilles pawed the ground eagerly, the sound of battle ringing in his ears. The men were putting their pila at rest, I had no spear so I drew my sword, wincing as my fragile arm reached across my body to grasp the hilt. We were already on the move, with no whoops, screams or sounding the tubae to alert the enemy to our presence. We rode in a column three men across; any wider and we would have to reorganize ourselves to pass through the gap in the hedge and lose surprise and momentum.
Our trot rose into a canter. The world seemed to bob wildly up and down as Achilles ratcheted up his pace. Instinctively the squadron wheeled away to the right, only to come round harder to the left so that we could approach the gap head on. Our only point of reference was the stolen eagle that was being carried back eastwards, no doubt to the safety of Otho’s reserves. On either side the combination of hedge and ditch menaced us like a palisade, but through the gap there was nothing but daylight. My stomach lurched as Achilles leapt over the fearsome ditch, horse and rider airborne for a fraction of a second that felt like eternity.
We were through. On our left Pansa’s men were counter-attacking the legion of sailors who had fought their way into the bowels of the Twenty-First and taken the symbol of the men’s honour. To the right a small handful of those sailors ran as fast as their legs could carry them, a triumphant soldier holding the eagle aloft. Where should we go? I made my decision in an instant. Pansa had lost his eagle, it was his duty to retrieve it, not ours. My priority was to win the battle, and charging the sailors in the rear would do more damage than pursuing the eagle or even sending a troop away from our main attack. I caught sight of Publilius and he read my thoughts exactly.
‘On me!’ he cried, then made straight for the unprotected rear of the enemy. We rode obliquely towards the legion’s corner, the cavalrymen able to throw their javelins into the mass of men without the risk of hitting the riders in front of them. The first ranks fell with pila embedded deep in their backs. The men who survived were ashen-faced as they saw a horde of cavalrymen bearing down upon them. Our angled line struck the corner first, but soon the whole squadron hit the legion hard.
I hacked down at the nearest soldier. The man instinctively swerved to avoid the strike, but my sword caught him on the part of the helmet that protected his nape. The force of my blow knocked the man to the ground, but I also felt my shoulder weaken from the jarring of my halted attack. As the rider next to me dealt with the fallen man, hastily I transferred my sword to my other hand. My left arm was unused to carrying a sword, and I felt hideously unprotected. With the next few blows my heart clenched as the sword threatened to slip from my awkward four-fingered grasp. The riders around me saw that I was floundering and cut their way through to me. I waved them on, fit only to finish off the men that Publilius and his comrades didn’t kill outright.
Publilius himself was fighting like a man possessed. In the very heart of the unit the enemy legate sat astride a terrified-looking horse. In a matter of seconds Publilius snatched up a spear that stood planted in the turf, took swift aim and let fly. The spear struck the officer square in the chest. The man hastily grasped the shaft and tried to pull it out, but he was already toppling from the saddle, his heart failing him. Not ten paces beyond the dying officer I could make out the red plume of Pansa’s helmet. Our two forces had almost met, obliterating the body of sailors in a matter of minutes.
‘Publilius, I’m going to find Valens. Tell Pansa to keep on advancing and support him with your men.’
Publilius nodded his understanding, and I had Achilles take me out of harm’s way to the safe ground behind Pansa’s legion. I had no idea how the battle was going away from the Twenty-First. All was chaos as Roman fought Roman and auxiliary fought auxiliary. As I rode closer to the causeway, I could see the massed ranks of praetorians and our own men struggling to contain them. Valens struck a solitary figure behind the battle line, making sure he was out of range of a well-aimed pilum.
Achilles was frothing at the mouth from exertion, but he clambered up the embankment until he reached the road, then stood, his chest heaving.
‘The Twenty-First have lost their eagle,’ I reported. ‘But we caught the marines between Pansa’s men and my cavalry. When I left, most of the enemy were dead and Pansa was going to advance against their reserves with around two hundred horse in support. What’s happening on the left flank?’
‘I’m not sure. That’s where the auxiliaries are and from this distance I can’t tell them apart. But the centre’s where the battle will be decided. The praetorians have been massed where the ground is surest while Otho’s inferior troops scuttle around in the fields. I’ve thrown every reserve at the road and neither side is willing to budge.’
‘Most of the legionaries here must be yours. Is the detachment from my province here? The Twenty-Second?’ I asked.
‘Yes, they’re in the thick
of things,’ Valens said.
‘Well, instead of sitting here and enjoying the view, I think the men deserve to have their generals with them. Let’s see if we can boost their morale for one last surge.’
I tugged hard at the reins and had Achilles carry me along the road to the beleaguered centre. For a moment I didn’t know whether Valens would follow; after a few heartbeats he must have decided he didn’t want the shame of refusing to support his younger rival.
The legionaries from Valens’s province cheered when they saw me, a blood-spattered general come to egg them on, but not half as loudly as they cheered their own general, who in his immaculate uniform looked lofty, even godlike. But there were still screams and yells from the front line. Somewhere there was Quintus, leading the men of a legion that was not his own.
Worryingly, Valens and I had only been there five minutes before the rear rank had retreated almost into our horses. Otho’s men were proving why they didn’t deserve to be scorned as mere palace guards. Granted, some of them would have bought their position or had it given to them by influential friends, but the majority were there on merit, picked for their size, strength and ruthlessness in the field. The fact that they had turned on their own emperor, the unfortunate Galba, after Otho had mortgaged his entire estate and more to buy their loyalty, must have driven them on. The eastern reinforcements and the sailors were fighting because their emperor had summoned them. The praetorians were turncoats, they knew in their hearts they would be shown little mercy by Vitellius.
Neither Valens nor I had a clue as to what was happening on either side of the road. The fields were awash with scattered groups of men fighting equally important battles, if on a smaller scale. There were no reinforcements to be had, Valens had already thrown them in, trying to batter the enemy into submission. The line teetered ever backwards. I could see an ominous swarm of plumes bulging into the centre of our line. If they broke through, even a handful of them, the rest of their comrades would pour into the gap, bringing even more swords to bear on our line.
The Sword and the Throne Page 19