Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  “I wonder how much that cost Barbatus?” was the way Corvinus introduced the topic the night that the new dispositions were made.

  “You really think he bribed Tiberius to keep us with him?” Porcinus asked, more genuinely curious than doubtful.

  Corvinus shrugged, but said, “I wouldn’t bet against it. If he’s been assigned to keep an eye on the youngster, then this is a good way to do it. Besides, if he did, he’s probably not using his money. Or he’s going to be reimbursed by Augustus as an expense.”

  This made Porcinus laugh, thinking with a mixture of amusement and bitterness how matters like spying on a superior could be considered to be so routine that it would be subject to normal rules of business, where an employee could expect to be reimbursed by their employer for expenses incurred. With that thought lingering in his head, Porcinus bid his friend good night before he made his last inspection of his Cohort area, walking the streets and listening to the low buzz of conversation coming from the tents now that the command to retire had sounded. The next day, Tiberius was taking the men into a particularly rugged section of ground, and from past experience, and in his soldier’s bones, Porcinus felt sure that there would be some sort of contact with the rebels the next day. Up to that point, there had been frustrating glimpses of men hurrying up and over the next hill, and tracks of both mounted men and infantry, but it had been a case where the Romans had been just a bit too late. This latest tactic by Tiberius, Porcinus thought, was a good one, and was going to bear fruit. Ideally, the pressure from all sides would compress the rebels into one spot where all four Legions could come to bear. However, there was one possible flaw in Tiberius’ strategy, and while it wasn’t a huge one, it did stick in the back of Porcinus’ mind as a nagging worry. Although it was extremely faint, the leader of the rebels had one chance of extracting his men from the trap they had put themselves in, and that was to concentrate his forces then head for one Legion to fight their way out. Even with the terrain in their favor, the Varciani couldn’t hope to defeat even a single Legion, but they could conceivably force their way through the Legion lines to flee. And depending on how much damage whatever Legion they happened to face inflicted, Porcinus and the army might find themselves either in pursuit, or returning to Siscia.

  “We’ll find out one way or another tomorrow,” Porcinus muttered to himself as he lay down on his cot, falling asleep immediately as he always did on the march.

  Sometime during the night, the weather changed, Porcinus and most of the men awakened by the clap of thunder, followed quickly by the sound of a hard rain against the canvas of their tents. That the rain was now hitting canvas instead of leather was yet another change wrought by Augustus, since canvas was cheaper to produce and, unlike leather, didn’t tend to split apart suddenly once it became saturated to such a point where it couldn’t support the weight of the trapped water. While Porcinus and the other veterans appreciated this, along with the fact that canvas was lighter in weight, there was one drawback to it when compared to the leather, and it made itself apparent that night. When it rained hard, the drops striking canvas were simply louder than they had been under leather, meaning that men who might have slept through the storm were invariably awakened, and if they were like Porcinus, found it almost impossible to fall back asleep. Fortunately, the rain had slackened by the time the bucina sounded the call to start the day, yet it also meant that very quickly the Legion streets became a churned quagmire of mud. And with a sky the color of lead sling bullets, it didn’t appear that it would be letting up, at least for the foreseeable future. It was shaping up to be a miserable day, even without the prospect of any action. The only blessing was that Tiberius had commanded that the camp not be taken down, and the Tenth Cohort was assigned the duty of manning the walls while the rest of the 8th went hunting. After a quick breakfast, Porcinus and the other Pili Priores assembled at the praetorium for their commander’s briefing. Naturally, Tiberius was there, but his brother, Quirinus, and Marcus Vinicius, the other three men of Legate rank, were absent, each of them in command of another Legion. The only other men present besides the Pili Priores were the Tribunes nominally attached to the Legion, men who Porcinus rarely bothered learning their names. The days where a Tribune actually commanded a Legion in anything but name had passed long before, and, in fact, was barely practiced during his father’s time as well.

  “We’re going to split up into forces of three Cohorts each,” Tiberius announced as soon as it had quieted down.

  He pointed down at the model of the area that his praefecti fabrorum had created, based on what little information existing maps had provided, their own observations, and from some of the men who were familiar with the area. It was not built to perfect scale, perhaps, Porcinus noted, or at least, he hoped that the hills didn’t tower so steeply above the narrow ravines that Tiberius was pointing at. Despite his youth, Tiberius always seemed to have a perpetual scowl on his face, the corners of his mouth turned down in a manner that, if Porcinus was being honest, quite reminded him of his oldest son when he didn’t get his way. Still, there was also a brisk air of assurance about the young man, and Porcinus had to admit that he had already proven himself as a general.

  “The force that I will lead, consisting of the First, Second, and Third Cohorts, will head north up this narrow defile that’s about a mile from camp. The second force, consisting of the Fourth, Fifth…”

  Before he got any farther, he was interrupted by the clearing of someone’s throat, in a manner that made it clear it wasn’t because the owner had a tickle.

  Clearly irritated, when Tiberius looked up to see who it was, there was an almost imperceptible change in his manner, so slight that Porcinus, standing near the rear of the group because of his height, was willing to admit he might have imagined it.

  “Yes, Barbatus?”

  “Sir.” Barbatus made no outward sign that he was aware of Tiberius’ irritation, or at least, if he saw it, he was ignoring it, which Porcinus thought was telling in itself. “I’d like to make a suggestion, if I might.”

  Tiberius didn’t verbally reply, but gave his permission for Barbatus to continue with a perfunctory nod.

  “I’d like to request that the order of Cohorts be changed, at least for the one under your command.”

  While this wasn’t unheard of and, in fact, under some generals, it happened fairly frequently, Porcinus was extremely surprised that a new Primus Pilus, handling his Legion in his first campaign, would make such a bold suggestion as to shake up the identity of the Cohorts most likely to see battle. As he glanced around, the tall Roman could see that he was far from alone. The other eight Centurions looked, if not troubled, then at least puzzled.

  Either oblivious to the consternation, or ignoring it, Tiberius instead merely asked, “Who did you have in mind accompanying me?”

  “The First, naturally,” Barbatus replied, “and the Second. But instead of the Third, I’d like the Fourth instead.”

  More than one man sucked in a breath, yet none were more shocked than Fronto, the Tertius Pilus Prior, and Porcinus himself. Even Tiberius seemed aware that this was not only unusual, but could be taken as a slap in the face by Fronto, so he didn’t answer immediately. Porcinus was close enough to see the young general’s eyes dart from Barbatus to Fronto, as if willing the Primus Pilus to make some sort of further comment that might explain away what could be taken as a serious insult. Barbatus seemed oblivious to Tiberius’ silent importuning, holding his helmet under his arm, and calmly returning the general’s gaze.

  Finally, Tiberius was forced to ask, “Is there a reason why, Barbatus?”

  Every Centurion knew that Tiberius was handing his Primus Pilus a chance to make at least some sort of explanation that would remove the sting from his request, but again Barbatus didn’t hesitate.

  “None that I would care to go into with you at this moment, sir. Later, I’m more than happy to do so. But right now, it would take too long to go into.”

&nbs
p; Now there was no hiding the shock on everyone’s face, and there was an audible gasp around the room. The only men who didn’t appear discomfited were the Tribunes, all of whom were watching this drama play out with the avidity Porcinus normally saw at the arena.

  The silence that followed started out as uncomfortable, but in the span of however many heartbeats it lasted, it became excruciating. Finally, Tiberius gave another, single, abrupt nod.

  “Very well.” His tone was curt. “We don’t have any more time to waste on this kind of thing. So,” he took a deep breath before continuing, “The First, Second, and Fourth Cohorts will be with me….”

  Frankly, Porcinus didn’t really hear much more of what was said; he had heard the part that was important to him and his men, and the rest of the time Tiberius spoke, his mind was whirling with the import of this new development.

  “We move in a sixth part of a watch,” Tiberius concluded.

  Then, without another word, he faced about and stalked off, heading to his private quarters.

  Nobody moved for a moment, then Barbatus barked, “You heard the man!”

  Filing out, Porcinus took care to hang back and put as much distance between himself and the Primus Pilus, who had yet to don his helmet. He probably doesn’t want to muss his hair until the last moment, Porcinus thought sourly. Then he felt a hard, unfriendly jab from behind. Spinning about, he faced a furious Fronto.

  “What by Pluto’s cock was that?” Fronto hissed, making no attempt to hide his anger.

  Porcinus put his hands in the air, trying to placate the other Pilus Prior.

  “I have no idea, Fronto! I swear it! I’m as mystified as you are, believe me!”

  Fronto didn’t answer immediately and just stared hard into Porcinus’ eyes. Then, his body relaxed and he shook his head.

  “I believe you,” he muttered. “Juno’s cunnus, I knew you didn’t have anything to do with it before I asked you. I just wish I knew what that bastard is up to.”

  “That makes two of us,” Porcinus replied fervently.

  Then there was nothing more to be said as each man headed to rouse his Cohort for the day’s work.

  “The bastard has something planned,” was Corvinus’ immediate assessment, the first words spoken after Porcinus informed his Centurions of their change in assignment.

  The other Centurions, although they weren’t as vocal, were clearly as disturbed as Corvinus was and, while that made Porcinus feel better, the fact that Urso seemed equally upset puzzled and troubled him. He had expected his second in command to be positively beaming at this development, but he looked anything but happy. Porcinus couldn’t devote any more time to this topic, as he had the Cohort cornicen, a veteran named Sextus Nigidius sound the command for the Cohort to assemble at the intersection of the Cohort street and the Via Praetoria. The men were assembled and ready in a matter of moments, whereupon Porcinus gave the command to march to the forum to meet Tiberius and the other Cohorts. It was a small victory, but he was nonetheless pleased to see that his Cohort was the first to arrive. However, it was made even better when, after the arrival of Volusenus and his men, the First Cohort came marching up last. The crowning blow was that Tiberius was mounted and waiting as well, and there was no mistaking the even darker glower he gave Barbatus.

  “So pleased you could make it, Primus Pilus,” the general said sourly, looking down at the Primus Pilus, who at least had the good grace to appear embarrassed. “But I can see your judgment about the Fourth is to be commended! They were here first and I can tell they’re frothing at the mouth to get stuck into the enemy!”

  As could be expected, this brought a roar of approval from Porcinus’ men, and Porcinus was no less pleased himself, and he made no effort to hide his grin as Barbatus strode past, glaring at him. Once the First made its way to the front of the column, the command was sounded, and the Cohorts under Tiberius went looking for trouble. And Gaius Porcinus somehow knew that, at the very least, he and his men were going to find it; if it were just from the enemy, he would be satisfied.

  When the column reached the point where a small tributary stream came down out of the hilly country; Porcinus wasn’t sure where it led, but he assumed it ended up in the Savus, which was directly south behind them, the command was given by Tiberius to change from marching column to one that prepared the Legion for battle. They would still move in column, but unlike the narrow front of four or six men abreast designed for rapid marching on roads, it was doubled in size, going to either an eight-man or ten-man front, with more space between files. With the First Cohort, it was somewhat more difficult because it was double the size, although it normally was a simple case of sixteen men across. That wasn’t possible here, because the defile was too narrow, so they were aligned like the other Cohorts, making their formation longer. Shields were uncovered, and it appeared that all was ready. Although the Fourth was part of this group, they were still placed at the end of the column, meaning they had to wait for a period before they could begin moving. Once they finally started, they hadn’t gone more than fifty paces, however, before there was another halt.

  “What now?” Porcinus muttered, although they resumed the march quickly enough.

  Almost immediately upon entering the defile, the mood of the men changed, as the idle chatter and banter stopped and men began peering up the slopes. Operating under their standard procedure, Porcinus sent a section from his Century to scramble partway up the slope to the left, as did the other odd-number Centuries, while the even-numbered sent a section to the opposite side. This was an important duty, even though it was one that was universally loathed by the men because, as brush-choked and rough as the terrain along the bottom of the defile might have been, it was still better than forcing one’s way across a heavily forested slope. Particularly important was keeping pace with the rest of their comrades who were marching down below, which meant it was a duty that was always rotated to keep men fresh, and depending on how rough the going was, the sections might be switched during more than just the midday break. They had moved perhaps a mile up the defile when the cornu from the front of the column sounded the call for the Pili Priores to come to the front, and Porcinus trotted forward, catching up with Volusenus. Dreading having to deal with the surly Pilus Prior, Porcinus was nevertheless curious about something.

  “Any idea why we came to a stop and just stood there in a perfect spot for an ambush?” he asked him as they made their way forward.

  Volusenus gave a humorless laugh.

  “You didn’t see? Our Primus Pilus had us marching up this fucking ravine without any flank security.”

  Porcinus stared, not sure he had heard Volusenus correctly, but he was assured this was the case by the sidelong glance the other Pilus Prior gave him.

  “That’s…disturbing,” was the only thing Porcinus could think to say, prompting another laugh from Volusenus, although this time, there seemed to be some humor in it.

  Reaching the command group, now Porcinus saw the reason for the halt; they had reached a point where another ravine intersected the one they were currently standing in, and he tried to recall from the large model whether or not it was known where this eastward ravine led. He assumed that Tiberius was going to split his forces even more.

  Tiberius confirmed Porcinus’ guess by telling Volusenus and Porcinus, “I’m going to continue in this direction with the First, but I want the Second and the Fourth searching this ravine that branches off to the east. The scouts say that it should eventually curve back to the north. You can decide between yourselves how to arrange your men.”

  “I want the Second to lead the way,” Barbatus interrupted, prompting even more astonished gasps from everyone within hearing.

  Which, unfortunately, Porcinus noted dismally, were the Tribunes and the men of the First Century. He had long since learned how damaging it could be to not just morale, but discipline when rankers were witness to shows of discord between their superiors. Consequently, something caught his ey
e, and he turned in time to catch the knowing smirks exchanged between two men standing side by side, who were men he didn’t recognize. Instantly understanding that these two men had to be some of the Praetorians brought by Barbatus, Porcinus scanned the ranks of the rest of the Century. In the limited time he had, he saw at least three more faces that were unknown to him, and Porcinus wondered if Barbatus had salted all of his spies just in his Century, or if they were spread out. He reminded himself to look into that further, then his attention was returned to the moment by Tiberius’ response to Barbatus.

  “As you wish,” Tiberius said coldly, but once more glared down at the Primus Pilus from his horse.

  Then he wheeled the horse about and moved back just behind the vanguard. Meanwhile, Volusenus and Porcinus returned to their Centuries, where Porcinus waited for the Second to begin its movement up this defile to the east. If anything, Porcinus could see that this was even narrower a passage than the one they had taken into this part of the search area. Volusenus had perceived much the same thing, and reduced his own front to just two men wider than they would have been if they were marching on a road, in column, although their spacing was for battle instead of the march. If men were alert and tense before, now they were getting nervous, it quickly becoming apparent that the slopes on their right side steepened to the point where it wouldn’t have taken much effort to drop the abundant rocks littering the hill down onto their collective heads. Compounding the difficulty even further, Volusenus quickly determined that the slope to the right was simply too steep for a section to travel it, at least with any hope of them keeping pace with the men down below, sending word back to Porcinus.