by R. W. Peake
While Gaesorix was Prefect, he was no longer the ranking officer of the cavalry that was leading the march; that honor went to Albinovanus Pedo, who had just joined the army in time for this campaign, and it was quickly made clear to the Batavian that this was a Roman who thought that his bloodline and status as a patrician made him more qualified as a cavalry commander than some barbarian, no matter how Romanized or experienced. From Gaesorix’s perspective, the man was ill-suited to any kind of command, except for perhaps a Century of poets and philosophers, the Batavian having been made aware that Pedo’s true passion was not the military, but in scribbling lines of verse. The borderline rudeness did not bother Gaesorix that much; despite having been given a Romanized cognomen, although it was simply his tribal name, very few Romans had ever treated him as an equal, and the higher the rank, the more obvious the disdain. What did drive him to distraction, and put him at a loss when it came to finding a way to get around it, was Pedo’s consistent refusal to take any suggestions. It was because of this that the cavalry force was bunched together far too closely to each other for Gaesorix’s comfort, although he had given up trying to convince Pedo of the need for not only more dispersion, but to send small groups of horsemen out along their flanks in much the same way they were doing for the army behind them.
“The ground is far too soft, and the underbrush is too thick to send anyone out more than fifty paces, Prefect Batavius,” Pedo had said dismissively.
“It is precisely because of that underbrush that we need men out there,” Gaesorix had argued.
“Why? We won’t be able to see them!” Pedo had countered, although he did not deign to look in the Batavian’s direction. “That seems to me to be a perfect invitation for that savage to pick us off in small groups. In fact,” Pedo did turn now, but it was to offer Gaesorix a smile that the Batavian supposed was supposed to make the words seem like a jest, “if I didn’t know better, I might think that you’re trying to help your Cherusci cousin.”
Fortunately, for both Gaesorix and Pedo, Cassicos, who was riding on the other side of his Prefect and shielded from view by Pedo, reached over and grabbed Gaesorix’s thigh and gave it a hard squeeze, which the other man correctly interpreted as a warning, and it was just what was needed, acknowledging this with a barely perceptible nod.
Consequently, instead of lunging at this arrogant, incompetent patrician, Gaesorix managed to confine himself to replying stiffly, “I can assure you, Prefect Pedo, that we Batavians have hated the Cherusci for many, many years longer than Rome. In fact,” he decided to pay Pedo in the same coin, giving him an equally counterfeit smile as he added cheerfully, “I suspect that we Batavians were killing Cherusci back when Rome was just a dirty village full of bandits.”
This had the desired effect, as Pedo’s face went pale first, then suffused with blood, but what Gaesorix found the most satisfying was that it marked the last time Pedo made any real attempt to talk to him. Shortly after the midday halt, four riders approached at the gallop, not from the east but from the north, in the direction of the outriders that, contrary to Pedo’s orders, Gaesorix had secretly dispatched after their first confrontation on the matter, sending Cassicos to relay his orders. Pedo, looking alarmed at the sight of rapidly approaching horsemen, curbed his horse so sharply that it reared, almost unseating the new Prefect, though he somehow managed to remain in the saddle. Gaesorix came to a stop as well, watching men he recognized as part of the contingent of Treveri cavalrymen, while the fact that the men’s horses were coated in mud up to their chests, and the men were almost equally covered gave Gaesorix warning of the kind of terrain from which they were coming. He did have to hide a grin when the lead rider, timing it with the expertise of a man born to the saddle, reined his mount to a sliding stop that managed to spray dirt and mud high and far enough that it spattered Pedo, a clod of moist soil striking the Prefect in the mouth, making him cough and spit. While the rider’s expression did not alter, Gaesorix was certain it was no accident, but if Pedo intended to make an issue of it, he had no chance.
Rendering a salute, the scout began speaking in heavily accented but understandable Latin, and while he was under control, he was clearly excited, “Prefect, I’ve been sent to report that we’ve found a trail that could only be the enemy, directly north of us!”
Gaesorix was certain this would be enough to at least alert Pedo, but he sounded barely interested as he asked skeptically, “How could you possibly know that whatever you found belongs to Arminius’ warband?”
The Treveri scout looked startled, and he glanced over at Gaesorix as if hoping for some sort of support from the Batavian, but Gaesorix said nothing, not because he did not want to, instead simply knowing that it would only make matters worse.
Seeing there was no help coming from Gaesorix, the scout answered, “While it is impossible to know the exact numbers, between the width of the trail and how much the ground is chopped up, only a force of several thousand men and as many animals could make it.”
This did seem to make Pedo somewhat uneasy, yet he still seemed unconvinced, and he asked skeptically, “So, are you suggesting that we change the direction of the entire army, just on this… ‘chopped up ground’ that you have supposedly found?”
The Treveri stiffened in his saddle, and for the span of a heartbeat, Gaesorix was certain that the scout would launch himself at Pedo, prompting him to wonder if the man did, whether he would intervene.
He did not have to make that decision, because almost as quickly as it came, the flicker of anger vanished as the Treveri simply answered, “Of course not, sir. I am only reporting what we have found. What you choose to do about it is your decision alone.”
“Quite right,” Pedo sniffed. He thought for a moment, then spoke loudly enough that, even if Gaesorix had any intention of changing the man’s mind, it would have been next to impossible, commanding the Treveri, “Return to your duties, and keep me informed of what you and your men find.” Suddenly, he turned and looked directly at Gaesorix, adding, “Those men who I don’t recall ever ordering to ride to the north.”
More to forestall a dispute, Gaesorix asked, “Do you care to send a courier back to the Propraetor to inform him of this development, Prefect?”
Pedo hesitated, then shook his head.
“No, Batavius, I don’t think that’s necessary. If the Propraetor didn’t have confidence in my judgment, he wouldn’t have put me in command and leading the entire army, would he?”
Somehow, Gaesorix managed to avoid saying something intemperate, mainly by not saying anything at all.
Instead, he gave Cassicos a sidelong glance that his longtime subordinate interpreted correctly, muttering, “I’ll take care of it.”
Realizing he had been dismissed, the Treveri shot Gaesorix a helpless look, but the Batavian said nothing, prompting the man to jerk his horse’s head a bit harder than necessary, while his three companions simply looked confused, which Gaesorix assumed was due to their inability to speak or understand Latin, although they followed their leader readily enough. They went to the gallop immediately, and Pedo only waited long enough to make sure they were not heading back to the west, where Germanicus and the rest of the army was following, before resuming their progress. They had gone perhaps a half-mile when, suddenly, Cassicos’ horse seemed to stumble, and Cassicos was out of the saddle so quickly that, by the time Pedo noticed, looking over his shoulder, the Batavian veteran was already holding one of the animal’s rear hooves, examining it closely, or at least seeming to.
“Is everything all right, Cassicos?” Gaesorix called, mainly to prevent Pedo from doing so.
“Yes, Prefect, Tyr just has a stone lodged in between his hoof and shoe,” Cassicos replied, saying it loudly enough for Pedo to hear but without lifting his head from his apparent examination of the animal. “I’ll catch up shortly.”
“All right,” Gaesorix tried to sound casual, returning his attention to the front while watching Pedo out of the corner of hi
s eye.
For a heartbeat, his heart sank as he saw Pedo’s mouth open, certain that he would call a halt to wait, but it was only to murmur something to the Tribune on the opposite side, who laughed so heartily that Gaesorix was certain that it was something he would find insulting. He contented himself with a grim smile as he thought, We’ll see who is laughing as soon as Cassicos gets to Germanicus.
Just as Gaesorix expected, less than a sixth part of a watch later, there was a call from behind them, prompting him to turn and see a pair of horsemen, and while they were not covered in mud, they were moving at a gallop. Pedo, also turning in the saddle, but in obvious annoyance, frowned at the sight, not immediately able to identify that one of the riders was Cassicos, although it was the Batavian’s companion that would cause Pedo the most consternation. Gaesorix was somewhat disappointed to see that it was not Germanicus, Caecina, or even Stertinius, the only other Romans of Legate rank who would immediately render Pedo’s rank of Prefect meaningless, but the fact that it was the Tribune Asprenas, and he was holding what appeared to be a tablet in his free hand, gave him hope.
Asprenas was careful at least not to spray the Prefect with dirt, and his manner was respectful, yet even so, he said without saluting, “I bring orders from the Propraetor, Prefect.”
He thrust the tablet out in a clear signal, and it seemed as if Pedo thought that, simply by refusing to accept it, he would be able to avoid what Gaesorix could see he knew would be a countermanding of his orders, but he finally reached out and, reluctantly, accepted it. Holding it in a way that kept Gaesorix from even glimpsing whatever was incised in the wax, Pedo’s face gave nothing away, then he snapped it shut, handing it to the Tribune on his opposite side.
“Very well.” His tone was clipped, and as he had with Gaesorix, he did not look in Asprenas’ direction. “You can assure the Propraetor I’ve received his orders.”
Clearly thinking this was enough, he nudged his horse forward, but Asprenas did not move from his spot, calling out, “I apologize for not making myself clear, Prefect. I was specifically told by the Propraetor to have you acknowledge your new orders.”
“I just did,” Pedo snapped, but if Asprenas was intimidated, he did not show it, nor did he accept this, although he did sound slightly apologetic, answering, “The Propraetor was very clear that you’re to repeat the order you just read so that I can hear it…sir.”
Pedo reined in, clearly furious, but Gaesorix was not the least bit surprised when he replied flatly, “My orders are to turn and head due north until we intersect the trail that…someone,” he shot a poisonous glare in Gaesorix’s direction, but it was probably aimed at Cassicos, who, his horse Tyr seeming completely fine, had returned to his side, “told him was reported by scouts.” Asprenas, satisfied, saluted, but as he turned to go, Pedo called out, “I also want you to be sure and inform the Propraetor that in my professional opinion, this trail could just as easily be one of the normal tracks these barbarians use to conduct their business.”
There was no way not to interpret what the Tribune did as an insult, because he called over his shoulder, “I will do that, Prefect,” but he was already moving away as he did so, going immediately back to the gallop.
“That boy has some balls,” Cassicos murmured; Gaesorix only answered with a nod, keeping his eye on Pedo, who, to his eye, appeared as if he was thinking of disobeying because when he resumed moving, it was in the original direction.
Gaesorix was just about to open his mouth when the other Prefect finally turned his mount, leading the column off the track they were following. Within less than a hundred paces, they entered a thickly forested area, making it next to impossible to remain in the tightly bunched formation that Pedo had demanded, but despite being happy that the terrain had accomplished what he could not with the Prefect, Gaesorix also had to acknowledge that Pedo’s concerns were not unwarranted. This was not the kind of country that favored cavalry, which was one reason why the Cherusci were a tribe whose reliance on their cavalry was significantly less than those tribes whose lands were more open. However, while it was tense, the column negotiated what turned out to be about a mile wide belt of thick forest without incident before they came out into a more open area, and even before they reached it, Gaesorix saw what appeared to be a black ribbon that marked the very trail the Treveri had discovered. As they drew closer, Gaesorix kept glancing over at Pedo, waiting for him to call a halt to at least call a quick meeting of the Decurions to explain why the change of direction, and the meaning of this unmistakable sign that Arminius’ army was nearby. While it was certainly true that it was difficult to ascertain the direction of a large body of men when coming across their trail, it was not impossible, and what Gaesorix read in this mass of churned up earth convinced him that the Cherusci were traveling roughly parallel to their own line of march, but about a mile north of it. It was possible, he allowed to himself, that Arminius might be leading his men in the opposite direction, towards the rest of the army, but something within him told him this was not the case. Pedo did not call a halt, simply nudging his horse follow the track, and when they topped a low hill, Gaesorix could see it curving further to the north, prompting him to stop his horse. At first, the Prefect seemed intent on ignoring him, continuing for a few paces before holding his hand up to halt the rest of the column.
“Yes, what is it now, Batavius?” he asked wearily, adopting the kind of tone one would expect of a parent being pestered by a persistent child.
“Prefect, I have been over the ground that’s directly ahead of us,” Gaesorix began, trying to modulate his tone to offer the amount of respect Pedo would find appropriate. “While it’s a bit more open terrain, it’s even softer ground than what we have just covered.” Pausing to gauge how Pedo was taking this, when the Prefect did not interrupt, he decided to press, “I would suggest that we send out at least a turma, both to scout and to try and establish contact with the scouts that are already out there. Honestly, I expected them to be here waiting for us when we came to this trail.”
Pedo listened patiently enough, which was unusual, then when Gaesorix stopped, he asked, “Are you done, Batavius?”
“Yes, Prefect.”
Nodding in seeming agreement, Pedo’s words were exactly opposite, his tone cold as he said, “Then, I have heard you out, I have considered your suggestion…and I say that we continue forward now, without any further delay.”
Gaesorix was not angry at this response, nor was he particularly surprised, and he also knew that there was no use in arguing, so instead, he simply nodded his acceptance, which clearly surprised Pedo, who seemed to expect more of an argument from his subordinate.
“Perhaps,” Pedo said coldly, “if you and your friend here hadn’t betrayed me, I would be more inclined to believe that you’re being sincere in your advice. But,” he shrugged, then kicked his horse back into motion, “I’m even more convinced that you might be in league with Arminius. It wouldn’t be the first time a German has betrayed Rome, would it?”
Gaesorix had to sit his horse for a moment to regain his composure, and when he did return to the column, it was well behind Pedo and his gaggle of Tribunes, where he was joined by Cassicos, who gave him a grin.
“I think we should feel blessed to be in the presence of such an able Prefect,” he told Gaesorix in their native tongue, then laughed when his companion uttered an oath in the same that the Romans around them would not know so that they could not go to Pedo to report that the Batavians were questioning whether his mother made her living on her back.
When the attack came, as with all successful ambushes, it was a complete surprise, coming out of nowhere from a spot where it would not seem possible that men could be hiding away. Somehow, Pedo survived the initial volley of javelins, but the Tribune next to him was swept from the saddle with two shafts protruding from his upper body, while the horse of the man immediately behind Pedo was struck in its left flank. If it had just been the hail of missiles, thrown by a f
ew hundred German skirmishers, it would have been enough, but when several times that number materialized from the low undergrowth, all of them covered in mud that not only disguised their presence but masked their odor from the horses of the Roman cavalry, immediately going to an all-out sprint to launch themselves at their selected target, the simple but brutal truth was that the Romans had little chance. Gaesorix managed to narrowly avoid being struck by a javelin, twisting his body just enough for it to go slashing in front of his chest, yet while it missed him, he heard a sharp cry from the trooper who was riding next to him, although he could not pay any attention to the man because his eye was drawn to the movement of a figure, smeared in mud so thoroughly that the only thing Gaesorix could see with any clarity were his eyes, widened with the kind of fury and fear that any warrior knows, coming at him at a dead run. It was the long spear, however, that posed the most immediate threat, and in the fraction of an eyeblink he had after this warrior’s appearance, the Batavian had to determine whether the German’s target was him or his horse. Perhaps it did not really matter; if he had raised his shield to protect his upper thigh and body, the warrior simply had to shift his aim by dropping the iron point of the spear slightly and moving it to his right or left, or if he tried to protect his mount, it made himself vulnerable, but Gaesorix would never know either way if he could have defended himself from this attack.