Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  “I’m sure most of you noticed that there need to be some repairs made to the camp,” he had begun, “and we’re going to make them while we’re waiting. That should keep the men busy enough to stay out of trouble.”

  Like every Centurion, I was all for anything that kept men occupied, especially when they are vibrating with tension from the thought that they would likely be in battle in the near future, but the one thing that Vetera was missing was a town outside its walls, at least of a size that could come close to accommodating an entire Legion, so I was not altogether sure this was the real reason. In my mind, it was more likely that Sacrovir was trying to show some initiative that Tiberius would recognize, appreciate, and I am sure, reward in some manner. Since this would benefit the Legion by extension, I certainly did not begrudge the idea that the men would be kept busy, although I did not think it would occupy an entire Legion, but Sacrovir had thought of this as well.

  “The odd-numbered Cohorts are going to be working on repairing the camp, and the even-numbered Cohorts are going to either repair or replace the bridge boats and the cables holding them together.”

  Now, I was not quite so happy, and I saw that Macer and the other Pili Priores of this second group shared my feeling. The task we had been assigned was straightforward enough, but the complication was twofold; the first was that there was still ice in the river, and men would inevitably be getting wet and muddy. The second, and most concerning, was that the riverbank was within bow shot of the opposite side. Across from Ubiorum, we had long since cleared the opposite bank of any vegetation that could provide cover, and our forays for gathering wood meant that there was no cover of any sort for more than a mile. Here, however, Varus had only seen fit to have his pioneers clear a swathe of perhaps three hundred paces in an arc, the center of which being where the pilings that moored the other end of the boat bridge when it was extended across the river were located. The trees had been felled in a wider semicircle, but the undergrowth had not been cleared for more than a year, and small vegetation in that part of the world grows so quickly that it was impossible to tell if it had ever been cleared in the first place. What this meant in a practical sense was that we would have to have at least one Century standing ready with their shields, prepared to provide cover in the event some Germans could not resist the temptation of a Roman working party. Complicating matters even further was that, after discussing it amongst the Pili Priores, it was decided that the men who would be forced to work near the river could not afford to wear their armor. Between the slippery bank and the current that was running even more swiftly than at Ubiorum as the Rhenus neared the sea, any man who lost his footing and went in would be swept away so quickly, dragged under by their armor, or both, and would be lost before any of his comrades could help. Nevertheless, we had been given our orders, and we began work the next morning, preparing for the rest of the army to arrive.

  While our work did not go unobserved, we were not beset by a shower of missiles as we had feared, but almost from the first watch, we saw Germans, who were making no attempt to hide themselves as they watched us work. That was all they did, however, watch us, although we never let our guard down. Judging from the colors of their tunics and style of their hair, they were of more than one tribe; at least the Tencteri and Sugambri were identified, although several men claimed they saw other warriors wearing the Marsi colors. All that mattered to us as Centurions was that they did not attempt to make any mischief, but neither was it lost on us that those tribes not only occupied the lands immediately across from where we were working, they were part of Arminius’ confederation of tribes. Speaking of the German chieftain, during this period of quiet, we had learned more about why Arminius and his hordes had not crossed the Rhenus and swept us aside, or even attempted to do so. Much in the manner my Avus had faced when marching for Divus Julius, the most potent aid to Rome’s cause were the barbarians themselves, and over the previous eighteen months after the disaster, Arminius had been forced to consolidate his position of leadership over the tribes. To someone like me, who had read not just my Avus’ account, but that of Divus Julius, it was eerily reminiscent of the challenges faced by Vercingetorix, who, before Arminius, almost conquered us and was regarded with a level of respect for a barbarian who had proven to be Rome’s most dangerous foe since Hannibal. Like his Gallic predecessor, Arminius had been beset by tribal jealousies and rivalries that ran back for countless generations, particularly by a faction led by Segestes, who we had learned after the fact had tried to warn Varus that Arminius was plotting against him. And, to the ultimate dishonor of Rome, Varus had not listened to him, supposedly because he fancied that, since Arminius had spent time as a hostage and had been well treated, he was the true friend of Rome and not Segestes. Now, if the rumors were true, Arminius had faced a challenge from Segestes, the former arguing to finish the job he had started, and the latter that continuing to war against Rome would lead to their ultimate destruction. I took it as a sign that there were cooler heads among the chieftains of the other tribes that at least made it difficult for Arminius to carry the question, or, more likely in my mind, those chieftains were jealous at the idea of a Cherusci commanding them. Whatever the true cause, I know I was not alone in being thankful that their internal troubles had given the Princeps and Tiberius the opportunity to shift Legions to the Rhenus. The immediate danger was now past us, but I know that I was not alone in the feeling that the state of near panic that had been so pervasive with all of us, of every rank, was still fresh in our collective memories. No man, at least no man who claims to be a warrior, likes being scared almost out of their wits, and the memory of those days following word of the disaster served as a powerful goad to all of us, making our jobs as Centurions to ensure the men remained alert an easy task.

  We managed to finish the repairs on the boats without losing anyone, but several men, including two from my Century, did slip and fall into the river. They were fished out quickly enough, but the water was still frigidly cold, while the temperature of the air was only slightly above freezing, and almost every one of the unfortunates caught cold and had to be put on the sick and injured list. A few days later, I heard that at least two men had died as a result, but since they were not from my Century, it was only a matter of passing interest. Three weeks after we arrived at Vetera, the Bucinator on duty sounded the call that there was a force approaching. As it happened, I had my Century at the stakes outside the camp, but they were on the northern side, so it was not until we were finished and returned to our area that we saw the rest of the army arriving. Since the 1st had chosen the best spot, putting us closest to the forum, I was marching the Century down the edge to our area when I heard someone call my name from the direction of the Praetorium. Turning, I saw none other than Germanicus, who was still mounted but had turned his horse and come trotting towards me, a grin on his handsome features that I returned. Ordering Structus to take over, I strode in his direction, meeting him just as he slid from his horse, offering a salute, which he returned, but with a laugh, then thrust out his arm, which I took.

  “Well, Pullus, it’s been a while,” he said, then with a mock frown, he made a show of examining me, then added, “but you’ve clearly been loafing.”

  While I was certain he was jesting, I was puzzled enough to ask, “What makes you say that, sir?”

  “Because you don’t have any more scars than the last time I saw you!” As I am sure he intended, this did make me laugh, somewhat ruefully, then he pointed down to my knees, commenting, “Those are some ugly knees, Pullus.” Glancing up, I saw he was actually serious, and he asked with some concern, “Are those scars as painful as they look? It must hurt to bend your knees.”

  “Sometimes,” I admitted, “but it’s not that bad.”

  There followed a brief silence, and I am sure our thoughts were aligned, remembering the night assault we had made on Splonum, when I had been knocked to my knees, directly on top of smoldering coals from the fire we had used to
affect a breach in the wooden wall. It had been an excruciating span of several heartbeats, and standing there with Germanicus, I could distinctly recall not only the agony of the moment, but the smell of roasting flesh as Germanicus saved my life by forcing me to stay kneeling long enough for him to dispatch the barbarians trying to put an end to me.

  “Yes,” he broke the silence, “well, now we’re about to start on another adventure, neh?”

  “‘Adventure’?” I gave him an amused look, and given our relationship, I felt it was appropriate for me to tease him back a bit. “I see you still have all that boyish enthusiasm.”

  As I had hoped, now it was his turn to laugh, admitting cheerfully, “What can I say? I developed a taste for it.”

  “You certainly did,” I agreed. I was slightly concerned I was about to sour the pleasant mood, but I felt compelled to ask, “I take it you’ve forgiven me for abandoning you before the job was done?”

  To my relief, Germanicus seemed genuinely surprised at my concern, assuring me, “There was nothing to forgive, Pullus. I completely understood. And,” his still boyish features turned grim as he added, “if I had been smart, I would have figured out a way to get out of Pannonia myself.” As he shook his head, his mouth twisted into a grimace. “It was ugly, Pullus. Very, very ugly. Those Pannonian tribes just didn’t know when they were beaten, and we had to do some…things that I know we’ll have to answer for in the future.” Although I had heard as much from Domitius, in one of his rare letters, I decided to remain silent, and he said something that I had cause to remember later, even if in the moment, he said it as more of an afterthought. “It was especially hard on the Legions down there, and I don’t know that they’ll ever get over it. And,” he finished with a sad smile, “I know they blame me and my father for making them do the things they did.”

  Realizing that this was heading into dangerous waters, I decided to change the subject, albeit awkwardly, saying, “Well, now we have to teach these Germans a lesson, neh?”

  “Yes,” he answered with a firm nod of his head, “we do. And we will.”

  Suddenly, another voice called out, this one for Germanicus, and we both turned to see one of the clerks standing on the porch of the Praetorium.

  Sighing, Germanicus said ruefully, “I suspect I know what that’s about. My father is chomping at the bit to get across the river, and we have more plans to make.” Clasping arms once more, Germanicus led his horse away, then called over his shoulder, “I’m sure we’ll run into each other across the river.” Then, with a laugh, he added, “I’ll try to stay out of trouble, but if I need you, I’ll be calling for you!”

  “And,” I assured him, “I’ll be there.”

  We ended up spending another week at Vetera, waiting for the final train of supplies that would be left at the camp, guarded by the auxiliaries, waiting to be sent to wherever the army was located across the Rhenus. Then, the auspices were taken, the augurs pronouncing the omens favorable, as we all knew they would, and the process of crossing the Rhenus began. Two boats were rowed across the river first, trailing smaller ropes that were attached to the larger cables, while the Batavians, led by my friend Gaesorix, swam their horses across to provide security. Once across, large wooden pulleys were attached to the pilings, the smaller ropes threaded through them, then the team of men assigned to the task began heaving the cables across. When this was done, the mounts of a half-dozen troopers were used to haul on the cables, taking out the slack before the line of boats began moving across the river. This had to be done slowly, and it was hard work even for the horses, especially cavalry mounts that were not accustomed to being used as draft animals. Because the current is so strong at Vetera, care had to be taken not to pull the boats so quickly that the end facing upriver dipped down enough to swamp even one of the twelve boats since that extra resistance would likely be enough to snap one or both ropes that are as big around as my wrist. Then, once the boats were safely pulled across, the cables pulled taut and secured to the pilings, the immunes attached to the Praefectus Fabrorum and woodworkers, along with a few dozen slaves, laid the planks that would serve as the surface of the bridge atop the boats, lashing them securely to the series of spikes that had been driven into the gunwales and sides of each boat. It is a process I had seen several times, but every time, I found myself watching with a combination of interest and pride, knowing that there is no nation, let alone barbarian tribe, that can operate with such efficiency.

  A full watch after it began, the bridge was deemed safe enough to cross, and once more, we had to deal with the somewhat treacherous footing caused by the rippling movement of the boats from the men crossing before us. Fortunately, this time, the entire army made it across without one man pitching into the water, something that was instantly pronounced as a good omen by the more pious, or superstitious, among us. The 14th was leading the way on this day, while we were second in the column, directly behind the officers and all their attendants and bodyguards, with the 20th behind us and the 2nd with the unpleasant duty of marching behind the baggage train. Our normal practice when crossing the Rhenus was that the first day on the march was spent with the men allowed to wear just their tunics and bracae, which had become standard issue for the entire year for the Legions of Germania. When we were down in Ubiorum, this might be extended to even the next day, simply because our control of the eastern bank extended more than twenty miles, mainly because it was the Usipetes now occupying that strip of land. This, however, was not a normal day, not just because of the reason for the campaign and the aforementioned issue with the amount of cover, but the tribe to whom this land belonged was part of the confederation of Arminius, meaning we were in armor from the first day. Since it takes so long for an army of four Legions and all its baggage to cross on a bridge made of boats that is only wide enough for one wagon at a time, we made it only ten miles deep into Sugambri territory. Because of the size, our camp was not finished until shortly after dark, which was exacerbated by the days ending earlier in spring, and because Tiberius deemed it prudent to put an entire Legion on guard while the other three worked. In what would become a pattern, the Legion who had marched drag, the 2nd, got to stand watch, and it was no longer cold enough that their lack of movement did not equate to shivering and numbed extremities. Honestly, it was one of those ideas that, when Tiberius introduced it, I know that I was not alone in wondering why this had not been thought of earlier, if only for relative peace and quiet from the complaining that inevitably came from both marching drag and then having to construct camp. Also, two Centuries were sent out to chop the necessary wood for the towers instead of one, while the same held for the party gathering wood for fires. Nobody was surprised when those Centuries came back and reported they had spotted movement around them that was not that of animals, although it was no more than a fleeting glimpse. The Fourth was assigned watch once camp was finished, and as I had experienced in my first campaign across the Rhenus, it had only been dark for perhaps two parts of a watch when the wolves began to howl. This was something to which I had grown, if not accustomed, then inured to somewhat, but it was the crashing in the undergrowth that I knew from experience was meant to be heard by our sentries. Thankfully, my men, along with the rest of the Fourth, were mostly veterans, and the new replacements were always paired with a man who knew not to waste javelins; more importantly, they knew not to sound the alarm, since this was what the Germans intended. We all knew that it was not their intent to attack a fortified camp; say what one will about Varus and his incompetence, but they had been ambushed on the march, and when Camp Prefect Caedicius managed to gather enough men to escape the site of the battle and make it to the abandoned camp, they held out for a few weeks. All these Germans outside the camp hoped to accomplish was to rattle us, perhaps force a panicked sentry to sound the alarm that would then rouse the entire army. Thankfully, that did not happen when we were standing watch, and the night passed peacefully.

  Within a matter of a week, it became
clear that, rather than stand and fight us, Arminius had decided the time was not right for another offensive action. However, what became equally clear, and was a bit disconcerting, was that neither did Tiberius seem anxious to hunt down and close with Arminius and his army. Instead, he appeared content with what was essentially nothing more than a show of force that took us from one village to the next, where we put everything to the torch. Adding to the unusual atmosphere was that, since it is impossible to move an army of four Legions with stealth, none of the villages were occupied when we arrived. On a couple of occasions, there was still smoke rising through the holes in the roof of some of the huts, but there was no sign of people, or animals for that matter, all of them retreating into the surrounding forest. For a short time, there was a rumor going around that Tiberius was waiting to send us out to hunt the villagers down, although nobody could come up with a reason why he would do so. Naturally, this did not mean that men did not try, and this became the predominant topic of conversation, both around section fires and among the officers.