by R. W. Peake
Chapter 2
It was during the beginning of the second week named for Mars, the war god, that the gates of the camp outside Siscia opened, and the vanguard of two Legions stepped out, heading north. It was early to be beginning a campaign, but this was to be a coordinated effort, with the two Legions from the Army of Pannonia working in concert with two Legions from Italia proper. First, however, the 8th and the 13th had to be met by their Legate, and contrary to what Vettus had been told, it wasn't Tiberius Claudius Nero waiting for them in Aquileia, which the Legions reached in five days. It was the other stepson of Augustus, Drusus Claudius Nero, who met them there, along with the complement of Tribunes, still six apiece for each Legion. Porcinus had learned from experience that it was in the hands of the gods as to which of the fine young men from Rome's greatest families would know which end of the sword to hold. The Legions had been led to this point by Prefect Macrinus, who, now that his duty was discharged, returned to Siscia to oversee the other Legions left behind in the province to keep an eye on the unruly inhabitants.
Another two days were spent in Aquileia; there was the inevitable shuffling among the Tribunes as their respective roles were defined by the young Legate, who, from what Porcinus had seen, looked to be barely out of his teens. This would have been cause for concern among the Centurions, but Drusus' headquarters staff made up in experience what the young man was lacking. His official second in command was a man in his late thirties, Publius Sulpicius Quirinus, although none of the first-grade Centurions knew him by anything more than reputation. Fortunately, that reputation was of a man who had experience, recently returned from Cantabria in the north of Hispania, and the campaign to subdue the last wild tribesmen who still refused to submit to Rome.
"We'll see who's really in charge the first week," was Vettus' judgment.
The day before their departure from Aquileia, there was a formation held, where the Legate formally introduced himself, and afterward, even the most skeptical man in the army had to admit that he had hit all the right notes. Self-deprecating, but at the same time exuding a confidence that Legionaries of every rank had come to expect from a noble Roman, Drusus also proved to be an excellent speaker, and most importantly, a good motivator. By the time he was through, the men were in full voice, roaring their promise to give their Legate cause to be proud, no matter what they faced. All in all, even Porcinus had to admit that it was an auspicious beginning to what was sounding increasingly like a tough campaign. It was at Aquileia that the strategy for the upcoming operation was announced, and Porcinus and the other Centurions learned that this was, in fact, the second phase of the campaign, one in which the young Drusus had already acquitted himself quite well. At least, that was the word put about, although the veterans of the 8th and 13th gave this talk little credence, knowing that it was equally likely to be the case of a few coins scattered among the scribes and slaves who always served as the information network for the men of the ranks. Only time and action would tell if the fulsome praise was deserved. What was known was that Drusus was coming from a series of actions against the Rhaeti, farther west of where they were headed now, and his brother Tiberius had taken over that initial effort. The strategy was ambitious, but thoroughly Roman; two forces coming from opposite directions, with plans to crush their enemies in between them. There was no subtlety, no artifice; just raw, naked power in the form of what would be a force of four Legions total, two apiece, along with the normal complement of auxiliaries and cavalry. The only discordant note was the weather; it was now the beginning of the last week of March, but even there on the coast, there was a raw bite to the wind that saw the men scrambling to find their fur-lined socks and don the bracae that had finally become approved for wear when the weather conditions permitted, although it was one of those prohibitions that in the past a wise commander ignored. Men had been wearing the bracae since almost the first year of Caesar's campaign in Gaul, certainly after the first winter in the colder northern climes, so when the army stepped out onto its march from Aquileia, those few men still alive who marched for Caesar would have recognized these men were prepared for spring in the mountains of Gaul.
The army marched north, reaching the foot of the mountains early on the second day, but despite the climb and the weather, they made good progress. Stopping at Julium Carnicum (Zuglio) the second day, the third proved to be extremely difficult, with a steep climb through a rugged pass that left the men gasping for breath. Because of the terrain, the young Legate made the decision to make camp early, in a narrow valley that was hemmed in on seemingly every side by towering mountains, where the snow extended down the slopes and into the valley proper. Fortunately, the snow wasn't deep, and there were already more bare patches of earth showing on either side of the roadway than was covered by snow.
About midday of the fourth day, after crossing the Dravus (Drava) River, the road on which they were traveling intersected with the major road running on an east-west axis, in between the towns of Aguntum (Lienz) and Teurnia (Tiburia). This road was wider and of much better quality than the northern route from Aquileia, and it ran in between the high peaks, although moving west meant that it was still uphill. Following the Dravus until it reached Aguntum, Drusus commanded that the army march straight through the small town, telling Porcinus that the Legate knew, if not from experience then because he had been told, the bad things that could happen when Legionaries were allowed to tarry anywhere near civilians and their property. Besides, Aguntum wasn't one of the towns that had shown any signs of rebellion, so the citizens were left unmolested, for the most part, although Porcinus knew from experience that there was at the least a bracelet filched, and more than one woman's bottom or breast got fondled, if a bit roughly. They made camp about ten miles west of Aguntum, although it was still early in the day, although the mystery of the early stop was quickly solved, after Vettus attended a meeting of senior officers in the tent of the praetorium, the headquarters of the army that was always located in the dead center of a Roman camp.
"Maybe he does know what he's about," Vettus' tone was grudging, "because he stopped us to give us our orders for tomorrow. It appears that Littamum (Innichen) is one of the outposts that was overrun. It's just ahead on this road, so he wants to be cautious in case there's a barbarian force still waiting there."
Porcinus thought this made sense, and he saw the others felt the same. He waited for more, and he was quickly rewarded.
"The 8th is going to be the lead Legion, but the First is going to be the vanguard."
So far, this wasn't unexpected; because of the fact that the First Cohort of every Legion was twice the size as all the other Cohorts, whenever there was some sort of initial contact expected, it had become customary for the First to lead the way. However, what Vettus said next wasn't as customary.
"But I want the Fourth immediately behind my Cohort," he continued, ignoring the whispers of surprise, and truthfully, disagreement.
Porcinus was no less surprised than the other Pili Priores, but he felt the flush of pleasure creeping up his neck, and was horrified at the thought that he would be seen blushing like a schoolboy who had just experienced his first kiss. He struggled to maintain his composure, and he had a hard time listening to the rest of what Vettus had to say. Fortunately for him, nothing that the Primus Pilus had to say concerned him. Dismissing his men, Vettus stood watching them file out, but he stopped Porcinus.
"I want to talk to you for a moment," the Primus Pilus said quietly.
Porcinus stood next to Vettus, waiting for the men to file out, trying to ignore the looks he was given by the Secundus Pilus Prior, a man named Lucius Volusenus, and the other Pilus Prior of the first line, Gnaeus Fronto. Once they had left, Vettus motioned to Porcinus to resume his seat on one of the stools in front of the Primus Pilus' desk, while he took his own.
"I wanted to talk to you about why I decided to have you following my Cohort on the march tomorrow," Vettus began.
"We all have to take
our turn," Porcinus responded.
"That's true," Vettus granted. "But there's more to it than that. Ever since your actions against the Daesitiates, I've been watching closely, and I wanted to tell you something. But if you ever repeat it, I'll call you a liar to your face. Is that understood?"
Porcinus shifted uneasily; where was Vettus going with this? Nevertheless, he promised his Primus Pilus that no word of what he was about to say would escape Porcinus' lips.
Hesitating for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts or something else, Vettus finally said, "Your Cohort, and the way you run it, is the best in this Legion. Barring the First, of course." Vettus said this with a laugh so that Porcinus wasn't sure if he was being truthful, or just fulfilling his duty. Probably, Porcinus reflected, that's his goal. "But you've got a good head on your shoulder, and I think your choice of Ovidius was one of the shrewdest moves you could have made. Although he's not going to be much help at paperwork."
Vettus laughed at the face Porcinus made at this statement, mainly because he had learned how true it was.
"I don't suppose you could have warned me about the fact he can barely make his letters," Porcinus said, and while it was in a jesting tone, he was half-serious.
"But then you wouldn't have anything left to do," Vettus retorted. "I know you'd be bored."
"So you were just thinking of me when you recommended him," Porcinus said dryly, prompting another hoot of laughter from Vettus, who slapped the desk in delight.
"Exactly! I'm always thinking of my men first." Turning serious again, Vettus returned to the subject. "But I just wanted to tell you what an excellent job I think you're doing. And, of course, in the Legions, the way good work is recognized is by giving you more responsibility, and putting you in more danger."
Now Porcinus laughed, because it was a truth that he had often thought about. And yet, he was more ambitious than most men were, although he had long since recognized that his breast would never harbor the burning passion for advancement that had been his father's. How odd, he realized with a sudden start as Vettus stood, signaling the conversation was over; this was the first time he had thought of Pullus as his father, without reminding himself that it was through adoption. Iras had insisted that the moment would come when he would think in this way, but he hadn't been convinced. Clasping arms with Vettus, instead of rendering a salute, Vettus' parting words snapped him back to the moment.
"I don't know what to expect tomorrow, but my soldier's bones tell me that we might see a little excitement. So I'm ordering my boys to march with shields uncovered since there's no sign of bad weather. I'll leave it up to you what to do in that regard. Just be ready."
With that, Porcinus rendered a salute, which Vettus returned, then offered his hand again as well.
"Remember," he warned, "I never said any of this."
"Not a word," Porcinus agreed.
Despite the fact that he couldn't share it with anyone, Porcinus felt a glow of warmth against the chill of the night as he returned to his own tent. Words of encouragement, especially from a man like Vettus, made so much of the hardship and sacrifice worthwhile. Now, all he had to do was make sure he didn't let his Primus Pilus, or his own men, down.
Vettus' bones turned out to be right, although it wasn’t right away; the outpost, little more than a way station where horses were kept for couriers, a ramshackle inn for travelers, and the barracks housing the twenty auxiliaries turned out to be deserted. At least, it was absent any live humans, although the vultures and other birds of carrion circling above the former inhabitants told the men of the approaching army a story that needed no translation. Marching through the station, once it was determined that there were no hostile tribesmen about, the men were subjected to the sight of corpses that seemed to be divided into two categories. Those few civilians, men, women, and at least two children that Porcinus saw, had been cut down where they were found, and for the most part their bodies were left undisturbed, although all half-dozen women were naked. It was the men who had obviously been the auxiliaries, or identified as Roman citizens, for whom special treatment was reserved, if special was the right word. Hung from their feet, all of the corpses had clearly been abused in some way, but there were a handful of them that, as hardened as Porcinus and his men were, turned their collective stomachs. These men had been flayed; the only question was whether it had been done while they were still alive, but Porcinus knew from experience that the huge dark stain underneath each body was a telltale that their hearts had still been beating, at the very least. All he could hope, and it was one shared by every Legionary that marched by, was that these men, despite being auxiliaries, were senseless when this horrific act had been perpetrated.
Needing no urging, the army pressed on; Vettus had given Porcinus the basic lay of the land, so he knew that there was yet another point where contact with the enemy might happen. The next station was Sebatum (St. Lorenzen), and was about eighteen miles from Littamum, but while Drusus was disposed to stop short of the station, the word brought back by his scouts, who told the men of the vanguard the news by virtue of the way they were whipping their horses, changed his mind. He did order a brief halt, and Vettus, from his spot at the front, started trotting back to where the command group was located just behind Porcinus' Fourth. However, he was met by Drusus, along with Quirinus, so that as it happened, the impromptu meeting occurred right next to where Porcinus was standing, meaning he didn't have to try to find a way to eavesdrop.
"The scouts have reported that we’ve surprised the Rhaeti," Drusus told Vettus, then amended, "or at least one of their warbands. The Decurion estimates that there are perhaps two thousand men still remaining at the station, and unlike Littamum, they haven't killed everyone. Yet," he finished grimly.
Although the young Legate's tone was calm, even where Porcinus was standing several paces away, he could feel the undertone of tension underneath, and he supposed it was because of this last bit of news. Drusus paused, and Porcinus was standing at just the right angle to see the Legate shoot a sidelong glance at the older Quirinus, as if waiting for his second in command to add his thoughts. Or perhaps, Porcinus thought, to contradict Drusus, but Quirinus remained silent, creating an awkward pause.
"Yes, well." Drusus hurried to cover the gap. "So with that in mind, we're going to push on, but just with the 8th. I want your men to drop their packs; I'll have your slaves round them up and follow behind with the mules. I want to move as quickly as possible to catch these cunni, at least before they get away, if not before they slaughter our people there."
Porcinus saw Vettus suppress a smile at his young Legate's use of profanity, since it was clear that words used by rankers in every sentence was something that didn't usually pass his lips, although Porcinus, for one, appreciated the effort the young noble was making to connect with his men. With the instructions given, Drusus and Quirinus trotted back to their spot, while Vettus paused for a moment next to Porcinus.
"Get one of your men to drop out and let every Century know what's happening," the Primus Pilus instructed Porcinus. "You heard the Legate. We don't want to waste any time." Before Porcinus turned to call to one of his men, a short, wiry Umbrian who was the best distance runner in his Cohort, Vettus grabbed his arm.
"Remember, we're going to be moving fast, so don't let too big a gap open up between your boys and mine. By rights, we should stop to at least catch our breath, but I have a feeling the Legate is going to get excited at the sight of these bastards and forget, so we're probably going to be shaking out into line, then heading straight for them." Vettus gestured to the narrow valley in which they were marching, and finished. "And if this is all the space we're going to have, we're only going to have enough room for your Cohort and mine, and that's if we go double line. So be ready to take the spot on the left."
Finished, Vettus trotted back to the front of the formation, while Porcinus sent his runner in the other direction. A moment later, there was a clattering sound that Porcinus h
oped couldn't be heard all the way to Sebatum as the men dropped their furcae, the long sticks with a crossbar that they carried on their shoulders and from which their packs were slung. Since they had begun the march with their shields uncovered, Porcinus judged that it was safe to allow the men to keep them slung on their backs, although he mentally chided himself for not checking with Vettus. That thought was interrupted by the blown command to resume the march, and in a matter of a few heartbeats, the column was moving again. However, the normal chatter was notably absent as each man, understanding that a fight was a real possibility, retreated within themselves, doing whatever each did to prepare for what was coming. Men like Porcinus didn't have the luxury of introspection; there were too many details for a Centurion to worry about, and when one was Pilus Prior, those details were even more abundant. It was times like this that Porcinus would remind himself of whenever he felt the tug of ambition, because he didn't envy the load that his Primus Pilus was carrying as the 8th headed towards whatever awaited them just up the road.