Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  What had been discovered fairly early on was that there was a symbiotic relationship between the camp followers and an army on the march. The women of the Legions provided many valuable services, over and above of a carnal nature, and, in fact, eased the strain of supplying such a large, well-equipped force by supplementing certain items. Tunics were mended instead of replaced; spare bits of gear were bought from those merchants who also accompanied the army, relieving the quaestorium from handing these out to the men. To an outside and uninformed observer, it may have appeared strange for a Legionary to go outside the supply system and pay a premium for an item of equipment, but there was a cost associated with an officially issued piece of gear over and above the number of coins. For small pieces, it was usually a swat or two with the vitus, but for other, larger pieces, along with a deduction in pay came an official punishment, and that could be as harsh as execution. Therefore, it made perfect sense that men in such straits would find themselves outside their marching camp, wandering in the area of ramshackle shelters and wagons that was the home of the camp followers. The family of Gaius Porcinus wasn’t one of those families who traveled with the army; in fact, it was very rare to see the woman of a Centurion traveling with the camp followers. The same was true with the children, except for one select group, those sons of Centurions who were perhaps in their teens, but still not of majority, and for the most part had declared their intent to follow in their fathers’ footsteps. In those cases, it was literal, as these boys tagged along, often serving as their fathers’ body servant and, as such, they relieved the army of the cost of a slave’s upkeep on a campaign. To be sure, there weren’t many of these boys, perhaps fifty in total, spread among the four Legions. But to Porcinus’ consternation, one of Titus’ friends, Quintus Pacuvius, was one of those boys; the fact that he was the son of Vibius Pacuvius, Porcinus’ own Princeps Posterior, in charge of the Fourth Century, meant that Titus was convinced he should be allowed to accompany his father as well. Fortunately for Porcinus, the fact that his son was still recovering from his wound gave him the clinching argument that the real reason wouldn’t have, which was that Porcinus’ opinion that his son was too young. Although Titus had pouted when he brought it up at the dinner table the night before, before Iras could say a word, his father pointed out that his sutures hadn’t been removed.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Iras from adding, “Besides, you’re too young! You’re only ten! Quintus is thirteen!”

  Porcinus stifled his groan, yet somewhat to his surprise, rather than lash out and argue in his usual manner, the boy gave his mother a long, thoughtful look, as if trying to decide how forthcoming he should be.

  Finally, all he said was, “I’m not only the same size as Quintus, I’ve already seen battle, Mama.” Porcinus would always wonder who had been the most shaken by his words, the mother or the son, because Titus had immediately dropped his eyes to his plate and mumbled, “But Tata’s right. My arm still isn’t healed.” Then he heaved a sigh that, to Porcinus, almost sounded like he was relieved to have this as a reason for staying behind.

  It was true that the boy was silent for quite some time after that, before he and Simeon had begun talking of Ocelus, but that was as far as it had gone. However, Titus still had one surprise in store for his father when he appeared that morning on Ocelus, who he had walked a short distance away from the gate where the greatest part of the families were concentrated. That hadn’t been the surprise, however; sitting in front of him was Valeria, while behind him, his arms around his older brother’s waist, was Sextus. The two younger children looked every bit as excited as one might expect, both because of the occasion of the army leaving, yet more for the thrill of not only being allowed to ride their brother’s horse, but the fact that it was his idea.

  “You’ll have the best seats in the house.” Titus had grinned as he told them.

  Naturally, they needed no persuasion, and while Iras was a bit bemused at her oldest boy’s generosity in sharing something he had jealously guarded at the beginning, it still gladdened her heart. Now she stood next to the big gray horse, cradling Miriam, who was peering out at the spectacle of an army on the march from her swaddle with a great deal of interest. Next to Iras were Diocles and Birgit, and despite having some time to become accustomed to the idea, when Porcinus saw the pair, he had to stifle a grin at the sight of the pair holding hands. Under normal circumstances, the Legates turned a blind eye to men, usually Centurions by virtue of the fact that they walked alongside a marching column, stopping for a moment to say last goodbyes before hurrying to catch up with their Century. Porcinus had already warned his family the night before that, now with a new Primus Pilus, and even more because of who it was, this would be one time that Porcinus did no such thing, not wanting to give Barbatus the slightest excuse to make an issue of it. Consequently, when he drew level with his family, who was waiting for him, it was with some regret that he only gave them a wave, blowing a surreptitious kiss to his wife, although the nearest rankers saw it and made their normal good-natured comments and catcalls.

  “Shut your mouths,” Porcinus said to them, but it was equally equable, more because it was expected than anything else.

  But he was a bit surprised when Titus turned Ocelus and began walking the horse alongside the column. When Porcinus gave him a warning glare, his son was completely unrepentant.

  “You said you wouldn’t be stopping. You didn’t say anything about us walking with you for a bit,” he said cheerfully.

  Despite a slight worry that Barbatus would take exception even to this, Porcinus couldn’t stop a laugh.

  “Maybe you should be a lawyer,” he told Titus ruefully, his comment his tacit acceptance of this development.

  Titus and his siblings kept pace with their father for about a half-mile, stopping just before they reached the last signs of the outer reaches of Siscia.

  “Take care of them,” Porcinus repeated his instructions of the night before, indicating Sextus and Valeria.

  “I will,” Titus assured him, and there was something different in the way he said it.

  It was almost as if, Porcinus mused, he was already a man. With a last wave, Porcinus, along with the Fourth Cohort, went marching off to the north in search of rebellion.

  They didn’t have to march far; barely more than two days’ march to the north, the Varciani tribe, in fact, had risen up just a matter of days before Tiberius’ army had arrived in Siscia, although it had taken them longer to get organized than the Romans. That meant their depredation and raids on the Roman settlers and small settlements had been minimal, and Tiberius was determined to keep it that way. It was a normal topic of conversation, particularly while the army was on the march, the relative merit of the Legate in overall command, yet this campaign was different. What talk there was about how Tiberius and Drusus handled the Legions and themselves was usually in short snatches of muttered conversation between the Centurions. It didn’t take Porcinus long to see how, contrary to past campaigns, the Centurions of the 8th Legion kept their conversations restricted to one or two close friends, and almost always within their own Cohort. Gone were the meetings in one of the Pili Priores’ tents that had been an almost nightly occurrence in the aftermath of Vettus’ death. And while Porcinus assumed that their new Primus Pilus had something to do with it, not until he and Corvinus discussed it at length one night, albeit in whispers, did he get a better idea why.

  “Everyone’s scared,” Corvinus told Porcinus. “Especially after something Barbatus said just a couple days after he took command, that Augustus had picked him because he was sure of his loyalty and that the Princeps has some doubts about the 8th.”

  This was the first Porcinus had heard this, and he said as much, commenting, “Where was I? Why didn’t I hear about this?”

  Corvinus gave him a long, level look that told Porcinus the answer, which the Pilus Prior supplied, “Because I had other things on my mind, like where my family was.”

 
Corvinus only nodded in answer, and they sat for a moment in a companionable silence.

  Finally, Porcinus broke it by asking, “And what do you think? Is that true? That Barbatus is here to spy on us?”

  Corvinus considered for a long moment before answering slowly, “No, I don’t think so. At least, I don’t think that’s the only reason. I mean,” he hurried on, “I think that might be part of why he’s here. But I don’t think spying on us is his primary assignment…”

  His voice trailed off, unwilling to say anything more, despite Porcinus being sure that what they were saying was pitched so low that their words couldn’t be understood outside the tent. Slightly irritated at his friend for making him work it out, Porcinus thought about it, slowly realizing that Corvinus’ emphasis on one word was important. As he turned it over in his mind, he felt his eyes widen as he looked at Corvinus.

  “You mean,” he whispered, “Barbatus is spying on Tiberius?”

  Corvinus didn’t reply, just kept looking at Porcinus before giving a small nod, which was quickly followed by a shrug.

  “That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. Although I have a feeling that Drusus is under watch too.”

  Porcinus sat back on his stool, grabbing a cup to take a drink of watered wine as he thought about what he had just heard. Although it made some sense, Porcinus still was unsure, and his lack of certainty was down to what to him was the obvious flaw.

  “But if Barbatus is watching them, and us, he’s going to be too busy to go to the latrine, let alone do his job.”

  Corvinus favored Porcinus with a slight grin as he tapped the side of his nose.

  “There are some advantages to crawling in the gutter,” he told his Pilus Prior. “And one of those is you hear things that others don’t, because they’re at home tucking their children in and listening to their women nag them about the gods know what.” He just dodged the cup that Porcinus threw at him, laughing for a moment before turning serious again. “Did you know that the First Cohort got plumped up?”

  “Plumping up” was the term Centurions used when men lost in the ranks were replaced, and it was a common occurrence before a campaign. However, Porcinus hadn’t thought it would or could have happened in the short week back in Siscia.

  “How did that happen so fast? Where did they come from?” Porcinus asked. “They didn’t come from us.”

  “Because they came with Barbatus,” Corvinus answered.

  Porcinus thought that was unusual. When the First Cohort plumped itself up, those men always came from the higher numbered Cohorts of the same Legion, while the other nine Cohorts received men from the various recruiting parties that were out scouring the Republic for men who qualified, usually whether they actually did or not. This was what Porcinus was referring to, because as a front line Cohort, the Fourth was always one of those that the largest Cohort in the Legion drew on first, and that hadn’t happened in their week at Siscia. In fact, Porcinus had been somewhat expecting it because of the losses the First had suffered against the Rhaeti, but had put the inactivity down to the lack of time. Now he was hearing that the First had indeed replaced their losses.

  “Where did he get them from?” Porcinus asked.

  Corvinus told him, “They came from the same place Barbatus came from. The Praetorian Guard. In fact,” Corvinus took a sip before adding his last piece of information, “what I heard was that the men come from his Cohort.”

  Porcinus considered this, and as he digested it and decided what it meant, he exchanged a look with Corvinus that told him his friend was thinking along the same lines.

  “So Barbatus brought his own spies with him.”

  This disturbing revelation about the eyes among them aside, there was the more urgent question of the Varciani. Silva’s ala, now reunited with the army and back in their role as scouts, had located the main body of the rebels, a bit more than sixty miles north of Siscia. The rebels had managed to burn out a small settlement that had formed around a natural springs, which once belonged to the Jasi tribe and supposedly had medicinal qualities. However, when they caught sight of Silva and his men, they had, perhaps surprisingly, headed south a short distance, back in the general direction of the main body of Tiberius’ army. Regardless of appearances to the contrary, there was a good reason for the leader of this Varciani warband doing so; if he had led his men north of the Dravus River, or even worse, eastward toward the Ister, or as it was becoming more known as, the Danuvius, it would lead them into wide open country that, while it had patches of heavy forest, was the perfect kind of terrain for the Legions of Rome to deploy in their favored formation. Compounding matters further was the presence of a huge lake, Pelso was what the locals called it, located in that direction as well, meaning that sooner or later, the Varciani would have found themselves trapped in a triangular wedge of land with the Danuvius to the east, the lake to the north, and the Legions to the south. Nevertheless, what Porcinus and the other veterans of Pannonia understood was that, while the rebels were closing the distance to their enemy instead of gaining some breathing room, they were heading into territory that veterans of the region knew from bitter experience was a nightmare to control. In area, it was very small; a strip of land about thirty miles running east to west and no more than ten miles north to south. And considering that the Varciani band numbered some seven thousand men, to those unfamiliar with the area, it was hard to believe that there was any way to hide a force of that size. Unfortunately, Porcinus and the others knew better. Heavily forested, mostly with birch, poplar, and other trees that at this time of year were in full foliage, there were very few flat, open areas where an army of the size of Tiberius’ could deploy. This was especially true because, at least if the Varciani leaders behaved as they had before, the warriors would break into smaller bands to melt into the hundreds of small pocket valleys, draws, and hidden glens that riddled the area. Adding to the difficulty was what the Legionaries had discovered the first time they chased a rebelling tribe into the area, that a fair number of the low spots between the low but steeply sloped hills were marshy, with thick, sucking mud that left the men filthy, tired, and frustrated. What had always been most puzzling to the Romans was that the ability of natives to hide hadn’t been confined to just their infantry, but their cavalry as well, which took a great deal more space. Yet, whenever a tribe’s warriors, infantry, and cavalry entered into this territory, they all just…vanished.

  “We’re going to be here for a month, just like last time,” muttered Munacius of the Third Century. “And the men are going to be pissing and moaning the whole time.”

  “Good thing it’s only the rankers doing it,” Porcinus commented, hiding a smile by taking a drink from his cup.

  The other Centurions snickered at their Pilus Prior’s subtle jab at the Princeps Prior, who reddened slightly before chuckling himself.

  “Fair enough,” he said with as much grace as he could muster, but he understood that there was a serious message behind the Pilus Prior’s words. “And I’ll make sure that my boys don’t do more than the usual complaining.”

  Porcinus inclined his head in silent thanks, as the others murmured similar assurances. Because as they had all learned, their Pilus Prior was in some professional peril; whether it had come from Corvinus, Porcinus didn’t know, but it had become very clear that his Centurions were aware of the enmity Barbatus held toward their leader. As Porcinus also discovered, again in the form of quiet, snatched conversations, not only had the Centurions of his own Cohort become aware, but the other Pili Priores, who he had sought out one at a time, had also learned of the identity of the newly added men of the First Cohort. Never in his entire career had Porcinus seen the kind of atmosphere settle over the Centurions of the 8th Legion that permeated it now, and he wondered if the 13th, the 15th and the Legion that was normally stationed on the Rhenus, the 22nd, were experiencing similar issues. Nobody knows who they can trust, he thought with some dismay on the day they reached the southern edge of the rough c
ountry. He knew he trusted Corvinus implicitly; Munacius and Verrens almost as much. Pacuvius was a close friend of Urso’s, but in and of itself that wasn’t an indictment of his loyalty, although Porcinus also didn’t discount that it was meaningful. As far as Urso was concerned, Porcinus already guarded what he said and how he conducted himself with his Cohort’s second in command. Still, it was just one more thing to worry about, as if the coming ordeal wasn’t enough.

  Very quickly, the men of the Legions found themselves in what, for most of them, was familiar and hated territory, both physical and otherwise. Ironically enough, under normal circumstances, Porcinus normally enjoyed these kinds of operations, at least as much as one can enjoy a kind of operation where what seemed to be a normal, routine day was suddenly made more challenging by either plunging into calf-deep mud, struggling up a steep slope covered in heavy underbrush, or worst of all, a sudden, screaming attack by rebelling tribesmen. What Porcinus liked was that the terrain was tailor-made for operations by smaller units than Legions, as detachments of Cohorts were given an area to search. Not only did he enjoy the challenge and independence, the fact that he was away from the prying, hostile eyes of Barbatus and his spies in the First Cohort made it even better. Almost as quickly as the rankers, Tiberius recognized the nature of the challenges facing his army, so that once more, he split his forces, although this time he was even more drastic in his dispositions than with the Rhaeti, splitting his force into four, consisting of one Legion each, with a detachment of cavalry and auxiliaries of missile troops with each. He basically positioned his forces so they were roughly aligned with the four points of the compass, completely surrounding the area of rough country. What was not lost on Porcinus or any of the other Centurions was that the 8th stayed under the direct command of Tiberius.