Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  Naturally, all eyes turned towards me, but the scrutiny from Neratius was the most pointed, and in that moment, I realized that it was natural for him to do so, given how unlikely it was that he knew about my previous service with our Legate, although this did not stop me from answering quickly, “You’re going to use us as the hammer, and the 20th as the anvil.”

  Clearly pleased, Germanicus nodded enthusiastically, exclaiming, “Exactly right!” Turning to Neratius, for the first time, he demonstrated he had noticed the Primus Pilus’ displeasure at seemingly being relegated to a support role. “See, Neratius? Your boys are going to be the anvil, because we’ll drive them right into you. In order to do that,” he returned his attention to his drawing, sketching the relative disposition he wanted the 20th to take, “you’re going to have three Cohorts in a single line perpendicular to the river, and the other two you’re going to place parallel to the river, but at the end of your line of three.”

  Once he was done, Germanicus had essentially sketched a box with four sides, with the river serving as one side and the five Cohorts of the 1st serving as the lid. Provided his basic assumption was correct, that the Germans would wait to attack the town at dawn, they would be walking into a trap. Our break done, we resumed the march at the same pace, then about a third of a watch later, we separated, the 1st continuing north, while Secundus and Neratius took the 20th in a westerly direction, heading for the Mosa. The sun was now on its downward arc, becoming almost as much of an enemy as the Germans, since none of us had any desire to try to move into our final position in the dark. We were met by more of Gaesorix’s men, who were waiting to guide us on the track, which was so narrow that we had to reduce the width of our marching column in order to maintain our pace. The thought did cross my mind that, if Germanicus was wrong in his belief that the Germans would only move after it was dark, then before dawn maneuver into position or shortly thereafter, we might be too exhausted to give a good account of ourselves. That, I decided, was something that was beyond my abilities to do anything about, so I shoved it from my mind, instead focusing on what was my main job at that moment, to appear as if I was not fatigued in the slightest, and make sure none of my men did not straggle. Which, of course, meant that this very thing would happen, and that it would be Pusio.

  I became aware that something was amiss when I heard Structus snarling, “Get up, you fucking cunnus!”

  Before I could turn around, I heard Pusio’s petulant, whining voice. “Optio, I can’t! I swear on the black stone I can’t go another step!”

  I did turn about in time to see Structus, using the cut down turfcutter handle favored by most Optios, strike Pusio on the meaty part of his thigh at a somewhat awkward angle since Pusio was on his knees, his shield having fallen next to him, although he still managed to clutch his two javelins. Yelping with the pain, Pusio did not rise, even after Structus struck him twice more. Muttering a curse, I snapped at Gemellus to keep marching, which the Century did, flowing around the Optio and kneeling man like water, while I stalked back to the two of them.

  “You heard the Optio,” I made no attempt to hide the contempt I felt for Pusio. “Get on your feet before I give you a couple of taps with this,” I brandished my vitus, “and you know by now how much harder I hit than Structus does.”

  Pusio glared up at me, and likewise, he made no attempt to hide the hatred he felt for me, which I returned in full measure, but just as I drew my arm back, he struggled to his feet, picked up his shield, and with Structus cursing him, began a stumbling trot to catch up to our Century, which I had to do as well, putting me in an even fouler mood and gasping for breath when I resumed my spot.

  We made it to the place Gaesorix had picked out before it was fully dark, but it was a close-run thing, and the last mile we moved at double pace until, just ahead through the trees, the setting sun made the water of the Mosa shimmer with a golden hue, signaling the end of the march. Coming to a halt, Germanicus, who looked every bit as fatigued as the rest of us, gave the command to align ourselves in a single line of Centuries in order to provide the longest line possible, except for three Centuries from the Fifth Cohort, who he positioned in a perpendicular line to protect our left flank. The river protected our right, and Germanicus had our First Cohort anchoring the line, with the Second next to them. In a slight variation, the Legate ordered my Cohort to be next to the Second, with the Third to our left and the Fifth on their opposite side. Only then did he give the command that we really wanted to hear, and that was to sit down and rest in place, although saying that the men collapsed right where they were standing would be more accurate.

  “If Fortuna is loving our Legate, we’ll be able to get at least a couple watches of rest before those German bastards show up,” Macer said hopefully.

  I wholeheartedly agreed, and while I would not ascribe the respite we got to the gods, I was nonetheless as happy to be a recipient of Germanicus being proven right as the rest of the men. While we had left our baggage behind, every Century brought their contingent of medici, including those who acted as stretcher bearers, and if things went really badly, extra hands who could at least apply a bandage. This meant that Alex, Lucco, Balio, Krateros, and several others were with us, but aside from my nephew, most Centurions viewed them as smaller, weaker versions of mules, forcing them to carry extra food along with their normal load of medical supplies, especially the slaves. More than one of them had been tasked by their masters to tote either extra cups, not for drinking but to hold the dice, and the portable version of the tables, which were quickly distributed but ended up going unused for the most part, because all of us, from the lowest Gregarii to our Legate, were close to exhaustion. In a practical sense, this meant that the men who were selected to stand the first watch were those men who had either run afoul of their Centurions during this rapid march or were those who more or less stayed on the mental list every Centurion keeps in his head. Which, of course, meant that the man who, by his declaration was the most exhausted of all his comrades, would be standing the first watch. Thankfully, for both of us, my warning to Pusio was still sufficiently fresh that he did not complain, verbally at least, but I did not feel guilty in the slightest when I informed Structus that I expected him to remain awake as well, not only because it was a standard practice, but I was certain that Pusio would fuck it up and fall asleep. Which, I will confess, I hoped for, since falling asleep on watch during a campaign, which this could be defined as, would be all the pretext I needed to rid myself of him for good. Something that he obviously understood, because when Alex roused me a watch later at midnight, Structus had to inform me that Pusio, and the other men who stood first watch, managed to stay awake.

  Relieving Structus, I set the next watch, which Germanicus had decreed would be a full quarter of the men from this point forward until shortly before dawn, wondering if we would make it the full watch before the Germans were sighted. I had yet to see Gaesorix himself, although his men were constantly moving back and forth between our position in the forest and where the Batavians were bedded down two miles to the south, in the next expanse of trees. Like any good officer, he was staying with his men, and while I had no way of knowing with any certainty, I was certain that he had spread his command out, probably by turma, along a line that essentially mirrored our line to their north. Germanicus was certainly taking some risks with his dispositions of our five Cohorts; arraying us in a single line of Centuries as he did, while he extended our line to almost a mile in width, he was sacrificing depth in the form of our more normal disposition of a double line. Frankly, this worried me, and the rest of the Centurions, the most, given how unlikely it was that when the Germans approached, they would be spread out in a manner where we could bring our entire force to bear on them. Granted, Germanicus had thought of this and had come up with a plan to deal with what was almost a certainty, but as any experienced veteran will tell you, once the fighting starts, the most carefully laid plans tend to evaporate like a drop of water on a hot
stove. The only way we would find out if what he had in mind would work would be when it happened; consequently, I spent my time on watch thinking through every situation I could come up with in my mind, something that actually helps me remain calm, as strange as that may sound. Of course, I did this on my feet, walking along the two sections who were standing, or more accurately, leaning on their shields, staring south towards the open ground that began about a dozen paces away. Not that there was much to see, given the quarter moon, but a body of men the size of the German warband, crossing what was essentially a large meadow close to two miles across would be impossible to miss. Behind us, there was a low buzzing sound of men who were whispering to each other, punctuated by the deeper sound of men snoring, mostly those veterans who knew the value of sleep. If I am being honest, this was the one aspect of being a Gregarius that I missed the most, because I have always treasured my sleep, and for any man wearing a transverse crest, this is something in short supply. When my watch ended, I did consider lying back down and trying to catch another third or two of a watch’s sleep, then decided against it. Instead, I found Macer, who was also coming off watch, and we went back to where Lucco had prepared a spot that enabled Macer to recline against a small clump of brush, using his sagum as a ground cloth. I dropped down next to him, and we passed the time in desultory conversation, watching in some amusement at what, despite the gloom, we knew was Germanicus, striding back and forth along the rear of our line, made identifiable by the three Tribunes following behind him.

  “Do they remind you of ducklings?” Macer asked idly at one point, perhaps the fifth or sixth time our Legate had passed by.

  Laughing, I admitted, “Only every time I see them doing that.”

  As diverting as it was, we soon lapsed into a silence, and I did not need to look over at Macer to see that he was gazing in the same direction, towards the east, waiting for the sun to begin to lighten the sky.

  We heard the drumming hooves before we saw the pair of riders who, taking something of a risk, came galloping towards our lines from the south. Not only were they in danger of an overanxious sentry; as I knew from experience with Latobius, galloping a horse across unknown ground in the dark often ends up badly. Still, these were Batavians, superb horsemen and, as importantly for their health, they knew the correct watchword, which they began shouting as soon as they came within hailing distance.

  “We better go see what’s going on,” Macer remarked, pulling himself to his feet; if he heard my groan as I did the same, he was wise enough to ignore it.

  Following behind him, mainly so that he could not see me hobbling from the aches and pains caused by the combination of a hard march and a night spent on the equally hard ground, we made our way towards the commotion that marked the Batavians entering our lines. Germanicus was hurrying from the opposite direction, and very quickly, we were gathered around the pair of cavalrymen, and while I could not make out his face, I recognized the voice of Cassicos.

  “The Decurion sent us ahead,” he told Germanicus, “but he is withdrawing to the east as you ordered to allow the Germans to pass by. They’re about a mile on the south side of our position.” Pausing for an instant, he amended, “At least, they were when we left. But they are moving fast. And,” Cassicos added, “their cavalry is leading the way, just as you suspected, sir.”

  This, at least to us Centurions, was news; Germanicus had made no mention of the cavalry or his suspicions that they would be in advance of their infantry, yet clearly, he had thought of it, and I looked over to see him nod.

  “Gaesorix knows what to do next,” he said, with a confidence that was reassuring, even while at the same time my thought was, I’m glad someone knows what’s going on. Oblivious to the thoughts of his former Primus Pilus, he went on, “Once he draws the cavalry away, we’ll wait and see how their infantry responds. I doubt they’ll stop to wait for their cavalry to come back, since they’re trying to hit the town before the inhabitants are up and about. And,” Germanicus finished with a grim smile, “they’re going to walk right into us.”

  Macer and I exchanged a glance, but at my silent urging, shook his head, since I knew our thoughts were running in the same direction. Appropriately, it was Sacrovir who spoke up.

  “What if they don’t?” he asked quietly, but if Germanicus was irritated by our Primus Pilus not addressing him in a manner that many men of his rank demanded, he gave no sign of it.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Well,” Sacrovir shrugged, “either the cavalry doesn’t take the bait and stays with the infantry. Or, they do take the bait, but the infantry stops to wait for them.” Turning, he gestured in the direction of the clearing. “Out there, too far away for us to do anything that wouldn’t expose us and spoil the surprise.”

  This caused a reaction from Germanicus, a thinning of the lips and a sudden bulge of muscle along his jaw that I had seen before that I had learned indicated irritation; whether it was because of Sacrovir’s lack of formality, that he thought the questions impertinent, or he was upset with himself because he had not thought about it, I had no way of knowing.

  “If that happens, Primus Pilus,” the manner in which Germanicus emphasized Sacrovir’s rank seemed to me to provide a hint about what had caused Germanicus’ reaction, “I’m sure that we’ll be able to come up with something.”

  With that slightly unsatisfactory admonition, we were sent back to our Centuries, and I was thankful that we did not have as far to walk as Clepsina and his Centurions. As we did, while five of us were chatting quietly, I noticed that Volusenus barely said a word, which in turn reminded me that he had been almost completely silent on the entire march. The sky to the east was now unmistakably pink, and our Optios had already roused the men, who were now crouching or kneeling in their spots, their shields leaned against them as we waited for the first sign of the approaching enemy. I occupied myself during this period by walking up and down the ranks, offering a quiet word to one ranker, a shared jest with another, and a few glares at men who were on my mental list, performing what had become a ritual in itself. This, honestly, was something I was unaware of until, one time, I did not do it, and Structus approached me on the behalf of the men to ask if they had displeased me in some way, which was not the case. While seemingly trivial, it was an important reminder to me just how superstitious men under the standard are, myself included, and since that time, I never failed to do this whenever the moment arose just before a possible action. Once that was done, I tried, as casually as I could do so, to make my way to where the Sixth Century was located, at the end of our Cohort, standing next to the First of the Third. Even in the semi-darkness, Volusenus was impossible to miss, and I experienced a queer sensation as I realized for the first time what others must experience when trying to pick me out in the dark. I had long before forgotten about being conscious of my size, but as I thought on it while I approached Volusenus, I realized that his presence had caused me to do so more in the time he had been in his post than I had devoted to it in years. His Signifer spotted me coming, prompting Volusenus to turn and face me, so that as I drew closer, I tried to get a sense of his state of mind, hindered by the darkness and my own clumsy attempt to not appear as if I was doing that very thing.

  “Princeps Prior,” he said conversationally enough, but I thought I detected a note of caution. “What brings you down here?”

  “Just stretching my legs, Hastatus Posterior Volusenus,” I tried to sound casual, then I offered, in a lower voice now that I was within a pace of him, “and trying to loosen up some after that march. And,” I do not know why I felt compelled to add, “lying down on the hard ground is for young men like you. Not,” I laughed ruefully, “for someone as ancient as I am.”

  His chuckle did not seem forced, and indeed, I was sure I caught just a hint of pleasure in it; whether it was simply that of a younger man relishing the fact that he is not as decrepit as an older man, or because it was me, I chose not to think about.

  “
So,” I turned to survey his men, most of whom were in the exact posture as mine, kneeling or squatting as they waited for what came next, “your boys look ready.”

  “They are,” he answered instantly, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice.

  Dropping my voice to almost a whisper, I asked, “And? How about you?”

  At first, I was certain that I had erred, that his young pride and the arrogance he still had a fair amount of would make him say something that would cause both of us problems and rupture the still-fragile relationship that had been forming through watches spent on the training field.

  Then, he took a breath and answered, in the same tone, “There’s only one way to find out, neh?” I nodded, pleased that he had chosen not to bluster, which seemed to encourage him to ask, in a clearly plaintive manner, “But what if I’m not? Ready, I mean?”

  “You are,” I replied firmly and without hesitation, not just because I believed it, but knowing from observation how the slightest hesitation from a comrade can shatter a man’s confidence in himself when it is, frankly, at its most fragile point, just before he goes into battle for the first time and learns one way or another. “I’d tell you if I thought differently. But,” while it felt somewhat awkward, perhaps because it was the first time in my life I actually did not have to place my hand on a shoulder lower than mine, “you’re ready, Volusenus.”

  It could have been pitch black and I would have been able to see how much this pleased him, but even in the short time in which we were speaking, his features had become more visible, so I did not miss the flush of pleasure.

  “Riders coming!”

  The shouted warning broke the moment, and more importantly, reminded us why we were there, but before I returned to my Century, I said, “We have a tradition here in the Fourth of the 1st.” Thrusting out my arm, I intoned the words we Centurions always used with each other, although this time, I said the entire thing, “May Mars and Fortuna bless you and your boys.”