Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  The track they followed to the west finally emptied out into a wider valley, at a point almost a full day’s march south of the shore of the large lake. By the time Drusus and the army reached this point, all doubt about where the Rhaeti were heading, and their intentions, was removed. The band of warriors they had been following had linked up, not with one or two other bands, but four different groups, bringing their numbers up to more than ten thousand warriors, according to the scouts. As confident as the men of Drusus’ army were, these numbers were daunting, particularly when it was learned that whoever was commanding this combined army had picked his ground very well indeed.

  “There’s another river that runs into the Rhenus at an angle that creates a barrier,” Quirinus, acting in Drusus’ stead for this briefing, announced to the senior Centurions the night they reached the wider valley. “So that in between the Rhenus, this river, the lake, and the mountains, they’ve got a very strong position. We can’t flank them because of the Rhenus and the mountains, and they’re entrenching on the other side of that river, which we’ll have to cross to get to assault their position. It’s not deep, and it’s got a rocky bottom, but it’s more than a hundred paces wide, according to the scouts, so it will slow the men down some.”

  The second in command of the army paused for a moment to let the Centurions digest this and, as he expected, none of them showed any happiness at the prospect of leading their men against a defended position with these kinds of aids. It wouldn’t stop them; every one of them knew that and none held any doubt about success. But unless the Romans could offset these advantages in some way, it was likely to be a very bloody business, and Quirinus smiled thinly at the sight of the men looking at him, half-hopefully and half-resigned to the idea that no such help was forthcoming.

  “However,” he finally said, drawing out the word as if savoring the sudden change of expression and posture that swept through his audience. “They’re not the only ones with a trick or two up their sleeves. In fact, that’s where our commander is at this moment, working out the details of a little surprise we’re going to be springing on these savages.”

  A current of pleased surprise rippled through the Centurions, but as Quirinus anticipated, their collective expressions became expectant as they waited for him to divulge what was in the works. Despite their obvious question, Quirinus responded with a shake of his head.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t divulge what that surprise is. To anyone,” he added forcefully, casting a glance at the two Primi Pili, both of whom gave every appearance of being disposed to argue this point. For his part, Frontinus was willing to take this admonishment at face value, acutely aware that his status was temporary and very much in doubt. His counterpart, Sextus Traianus, however, wasn’t as willing to be put off in this manner, and opened his mouth to argue.

  Seeing this, Quirinus’ expression hardened, unwilling to countenance this sign of disobedience, snapping, “That is final, Traianus. No exceptions. Until our commander deems it appropriate, the nature of this…wrinkle we’re working on will remain confidential. Is that understood?”

  Although Traianus seemed intent on continuing to dispute this, he saw Quirinus’ expression and, wisely, shut his mouth before anything came out, responding only with a curt nod. By regulation and custom, this was a sign of disrespect at the very least, but Quirinus had been leading men for quite some time, and was wise enough to know when ignoring such signs of disobedience was the best course, and this was one of those. Satisfied he had made his point clear, he dismissed the Centurions, telling them as they departed that they could be expecting orders to move towards the enemy the next morning.

  “I don’t know what the plan is, but I hope it’s a good one, because there’s a lot of those bastards waiting for us,” Pacuvius said when Porcinus informed his Centurions during his briefing later that evening, held in his tent.

  “If you wanted to live forever, you shouldn’t have joined the Legions.” Corvinus’ words were mocking, but his tone was sufficiently playful, and just as Porcinus had hoped when he instructed him, the laughter in the tent was hearty and dispelled the mood created by the news of what awaited them.

  Once the mirth had dissipated, Porcinus turned their attention back to the matter at hand.

  “Whatever Drusus has in mind, what we do know is that we’re going to be in action soon,” he continued. “So I want an inspection of the men’s javelins. Make sure the wooden pins are in good shape and don’t need to be replaced. Also, check their shields to make sure the dampness hasn’t warped the wood. We don’t need anyone’s shield falling apart on its own because someone was too lazy to wipe the moisture off it in the mornings like he’s supposed to.”

  Pausing, he waited for questions, but when none were forthcoming, he dismissed the others, calling on Corvinus to stay behind. This wasn’t unusual, so none of the others looked askance at their counterpart, with the exception of Urso, whose mind simply couldn’t grasp that his Pilus Prior didn’t have some deeper motive than spending time with another Centurion simply for the sake of friendship. Shooting a suspicious glance at Corvinus, he left without saying anything, Porcinus watching him exit the tent with a rueful shake of his head.

  Corvinus wasn’t blind to Urso’s suspicions either, saying, “Is it just me, or did it just warm up a bit?”

  Porcinus laughed, then waved to his friend to follow him into the second chamber of the tent, which was cut roughly in half by a partition. This part served as Porcinus’ separate quarters, and as a Centurion and a Pilus Prior, it was larger than the one Corvinus occupied. Porcinus’ quarters were a reflection of the man; tidy, but with a number of small touches that gave a keen observer some insight into its occupant’s character. Sitting on his personal desk was a small portrait of Iras, which Corvinus thought was exceptionally well done. Nevertheless, it still didn’t really capture Porcinus’ wife’s true beauty, something that Corvinus, with his reputation, was wise enough to refrain from commenting about. His Pilus Prior wasn’t the suspicious, or from what he had seen, the jealous sort, but considering how Corvinus had never tried to hide his appetite for conquests of women, single or otherwise, the Hastatus Prior thought it best he keep his opinion to himself. Sitting down in the other chair, he accepted Porcinus’ offer of wine, despite knowing that it would be heavily watered. If he had been in his tent, alone, the refreshment would be more potent, but he accepted his superior’s abstemiousness with as much grace as he could. They sipped from their respective cups in companionable silence, before Corvinus decided to open the conversation.

  “So, I know what the official word is, but unofficially; any idea what our great general Drusus has in mind for his master stroke?”

  As usual, while Porcinus secretly enjoyed, and shared, Corvinus’ irreverence, it still made him uncomfortable. Bitter experience, albeit secondhand through Pullus, had taught him that those that were socially superior to men like him and Corvinus tended to look rather dimly at the slightest hint of mockery or ridicule, even if it was in jest. Still, he felt sufficiently safe within his tent to offer Corvinus a smile, although that was about all he could give his friend.

  “No,” Porcinus admitted, somewhat ashamed since he normally had a better idea of matters in the praetorium, thanks to Lysander, primarily. “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Any guesses, then?”

  Porcinus considered for a moment, then said with a shrug, “The only thing I feel fairly certain about is that it has to do with his brother, Tiberius. But exactly what, I really can’t say. Just having him reinforce us before we face these bastards would be a help, but from the way Quirinus was talking, I think there has to be something more involved than just that.”

  “Maybe they’ve learned how to fly over these fucking mountains.” Corvinus chuckled. “And they’re going to drop on the Rhaeti out of the sky.”

  Porcinus laughed at the thought, but as it would turn out, Corvinus had come closer than either of them realized.

  D
espite being prepared for what they would encounter, the sight that greeted the army of Drusus was still sobering. For reasons that, again, nobody in the praetorium who knew would divulge, the young nobleman hadn’t seemed very eager to close the remaining distance to the Rhaeti. In fact, the next day, they had marched barely half of the fifteen miles when Drusus ordered the halt, prompting a dull uproar of speculation. Men immediately began wagering on not only what it meant, but when they would do battle, since it appeared that their young general was losing his nerve. Quirinus was singularly unhelpful, tersely informing the Centurions that, while the moment of battle was approaching, it had still not arrived. This time, Traianus was joined by Frontinus in an attempt to pry more information from the second in command, but Quirinus refused to budge, finally losing his temper and ordering them from his sight. Therefore, the sighting of the Rhaeti host was delayed for a day, which, in Porcinus’ opinion, exacerbated the consternation and unease that the men seemed to experience once they did come close enough to the lake and the Rhaeti position. Making matters worse was the fact that the Rhaeti commander was using the Romans’ seemingly leisurely approach to his advantage by improving their position. Not normally known for their skill, or enthusiasm for that matter, for erecting static defenses, whoever was commanding this group of Rhaeti didn’t seem to be cut from the same cloth as his fellow tribesmen. The natural advantages of the position he selected were formidable enough, but on the other side of the river from the Romans, he had somehow prevailed upon his warriors to dig a ditch that ran parallel to the riverbank. He had chosen to set up his defenses at a point where there was barely a mile between where the smaller river turned from its generally east-west orientation, to the north to feed into the lake. The distance from the riverbank closest to the lake and the ditch varied, from perhaps fifty paces to at least a furlong, but that was about the only weakness Porcinus could see in the position. Although the ditch itself wasn’t huge; the surveying party, consisting of Drusus and the command group, the praefecti fabrorum, the Primi Pili and, of course, an armed escort, had reported that it was nowhere near the width and depth of that created for a Legion camp under normal condition, let alone that of Caesarian proportions. Still, it would slow down an assault, which was its primary intent. Drusus ordered their own camp to be built a little more than a mile away, so that as soon as they had the chance, the Centurions from both Legions trooped out the Porta Praetoria to go conduct their own survey. As was normal, Porcinus went first with Frontinus and the other Pili Priores, then later in the day brought his own Centurions out for an inspection. It was a solemn bunch that stared at the wall, created from the dirt of the spoil from the ditch, which was lined with Rhaeti warriors, essentially doing the same thing that they were, trying to get a sense of what their enemy had in store for them.

  “This is going to be a right bastard of a job,” Verrens muttered as Porcinus, his Centurions, and Optios slowly walked perhaps half the distance of the Rhaeti position.

  Privately, Porcinus agreed with Verrens, and in fact, his Hastatus Posterior was just unconsciously echoing his Primus Pilus, since Frontinus had said almost exactly the same thing earlier. While it was true that a mile and a half, which was what the engineers had announced as the total distance of the ditch and wall, counting the part that curved almost all the way to the shore of the lake, was a lot of ground that had to be covered, even with ten thousand men, the reality was that there appeared to be three, or perhaps four points along the line where an assault was feasible. And the Rhaeti chief had already shown he knew what he was about, so Porcinus, like everyone else on the Roman side, assumed that the enemy understood that as well. It was also true that the Romans had one distinct advantage, aside from the Legions themselves, when it came to assaulting a fixed set of defenses, and that was their artillery. Although it was next to impossible to knock down a dirt wall, since the dirt of the wall just absorbed the rocks used as ammunition, while a stone or even wooden wall would crack or break under bombardment, the ballistae and scorpions would at least serve to force the Rhaeti to keep their heads down. This would help negate the problem of being under missile fire for at least part of the approach, although as Porcinus well knew, they would have to cease-fire once the Centuries got ready to throw up the ladders in order to avoid killing their own men. That was the idea, anyway, but like every other Centurion, Porcinus possessed enough experience to know that sometimes the enemy didn’t cooperate, and there was always some intrepid slinger, archer, or javelineer who was willing to run the risk of being skewered by a scorpion bolt. All in all, Porcinus thought glumly, Verrens had summed it up perfectly. This was going to be a right bastard of a job.

  That evening, a briefing was held in the forum of all Centurions and Optios. The forum was needed because, while the praetorium was a large tent, it couldn’t accommodate 240 men. However, the forum was also problematic because it was out in the open, meaning that for as long as there had been a forum in a Roman army camp, Legionaries had contrived numerous ways to make sure they were within earshot. That meant that whenever possible, these meetings were actually held outside the camp, usually near one of the side gates, either the Porta Dextra or Porta Sinister. Because of the proximity of the enemy, this wasn’t possible, so instead, Drusus ordered the provosts to cordon off the area, several paces beyond the edge of the forum, in an attempt to discourage eavesdroppers. This, Porcinus understood, was a futile gesture, something he knew from experience since, more times than he could count, he had been designated by his tentmates to be the ranker to sneak into a nearby tent to listen to what the Centurions and officers were discussing. Knowing what lay in their future was almost an obsession with men, of all ranks, which was understandable, particularly at moments like this. And while Drusus was indeed young, he was either very shrewd, or he had been given very good advice, although that only became apparent sometime after the fact. That evening, he gave no hint of dissembling, or withholding any information as he outlined the plan for the next day. Because, as he announced immediately once everyone was gathered, there would be no more delays; the Legions would be assaulting these walls the next day. When he thought about it later, Porcinus concluded that it was the youth of their general that emboldened what took place immediately after that announcement when, if he was being fair, Porcinus acknowledged was only the verbalization of the exact same thing that was running through all of their collective minds.

  “What about your brother and the two Legions with them? Aren’t we going to wait for them?”

  There was a sudden silence as men who had been whispering to each other just a heartbeat before suddenly stopped, both because they also wanted to know and from shock that Traianus should commit such a breach of etiquette and discipline. Although he was as surprised, and uncomfortable, as he assumed his compatriots to be, Porcinus also noted that Traianus didn’t seem the least bit worried, or apologetic. In fact, Porcinus realized, he looks as if he either already knows the answer, or has already been forgiven in advance. For his part, Drusus didn’t seem to be taken aback, or uncomfortable, deepening Porcinus’ belief that this had been arranged between the two of them. But why? he wondered, even as he listened intently for what the general had to say.

  “The forces under my brother’s command are very close by,” Drusus said calmly, although he had dropped the volume of his voice a bit. “In fact, they will be arriving at any time now. They may be here in time to support the assault, but I can assure you all of one thing.” Drusus paused, and despite himself, Porcinus felt his body leaning forward, just like the men around him. “You and your men won’t have to worry about sharing in the spoils of victory, because no matter when they show up, I know that the army I am leading is more than up for this challenge, so the reward will be yours and yours alone!”