Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  "At this rate, we're going to be out of mules in two or three more days," Avitus commented as we stood watching Urso cursing at one more delay.

  By midday break, it had warmed up enough that, while we kept our bracae on, we could dispense with the sagum, and in my case, the fur-lined socks. The trail of the Varciani was still visible, but about a mile ahead there was a low ridge, and at the base, was the beginnings of what looked to be a fairly substantial forest. As Ventidius had said, it was not as thick as the forests of Germania, but it still required us to move more slowly than I know Urso wanted. On the subject of our Primus Pilus, while he seemed determined to appear as if nothing had changed, besides his physical appearance, he clearly had much on his mind. In some ways, his preoccupation was a good thing for the Century because it exposed the men more to Asinius, even more than is normal for the First of the First. Whereas Tiburtinus had always been present, there were certain duties only the Primus Pilus performed, except now, aside from the command to begin the march, he seemed content to let Asinius handle everything else. And on the two nights we had made camp to that point, he had quickly disappeared, but always with the Centurions of at least the rest of the First Cohort, or with some of the Pili Priores. With one exception; because a one-Legion camp is more compact, the Praetorium was within our line of sight and I tried to keep an eye out, but I had not seen Corvinus around the Primus Pilus' quarters. In fact, I would not for the entire time we were on this march. Do not mistake me; Urso was still clearly in command, and I know every man in the Legion was confident that, when we met the Varciani, he would be as effective as he always had been. First, though, we had to find the Varciani, and it was shortly after we reached the edge of the forest to ascend up the low ridge that the leading Century that is always out in front sent a runner back.

  "Hastatus Posterior Rutilis reports that the barbarians seem to have separated into smaller bands, Primus Pilus."

  While not unexpected, it was no less a bitter blow. Frankly, I had been wondering why they had not done so before this, but as I thought more about it, I realized that the ground over which we had been following their trail was not suited for this kind of maneuver. The spot we were in now was perfect because the forest extended over this ridge for perhaps another mile, before there was another, slightly higher ridge beyond. Even at the crest of the hill we were currently on, the trees obscured any view of the country for any distance, whereas before this, we had the ability to see a couple miles ahead because the ground was so flat and there were only scattered stands of trees. Waiting until this point allowed them to split up and head in different directions and, in doing so, the trail became harder to follow. And, as might be expected, the Primus Pilus was extremely unhappy about this development, cursing the gods for giving whoever was leading this warband enough cleverness to choose such a good place essentially to disappear. Regardless of this news, he sent the runner back with the orders to wait for another Century to come relieve the advance guard, since they had also been acting as pioneers. It was not like it had been in the Black Forest, because the trees were spaced far enough apart that only a handful had to be chopped down to make a path, besides which we were not using wagons that required a much smoother surface. Pushing on, we reached the spot where the advance Century had come across the place where the grass and underbrush was trampled underfoot, heading directly south, at least the first one. Not a hundred paces farther on, we came across another that seemed to veer off to the northeast, followed by yet another I would have sworn was almost parallel to ours, making me think that perhaps one of the smaller bands had headed back west, yet we had somehow passed them. When I mentioned this to the others, a discussion ensued that determined that, in all likelihood, they had been in this spot either the day before, or perhaps even earlier. The truth was, we had no idea where the Varciani were and, once more, we found ourselves making camp earlier than normal, perhaps a mile beyond the eastern edge of the forest we had just passed through. It had started cooling off again, except it was clear so we did not expect snow. Camp was made quickly, then not long after that, the bucina called for a meeting of all Centurions and Optios in the forum. Meanwhile, we sat betting on the likely next step for us.

  "I think he picks one of the trails, and just follows it," was Geta's guess, but not many of us shared that opinion, so the betting was brisk against this as a likelihood.

  "I think we're going to keep pushing in this direction," Avitus offered. "Because there's better ground for their type of fighting that way."

  I glanced at Ventidius, asking him if this was what he had been referring to the day before, and he nodded.

  "There's a series of ridges that aren't as bad as that other spot, but while it's easier going, it's also a bigger area," he explained. "And if they hole up in there, it could take days to find them."

  "I think we're fucked no matter what we do." Caecina was the one who said this, which I found surprising, although he had been quiet for the previous few days.

  That was the final opinion offered before Asinius returned, stopping at our fire last. We all looked at him expectantly, but if he understood that there was money riding on what he said, he did not show it.

  "The Primus Pilus is sure that the large band has split up, but not to return back home. The problem is that there are three different spots a day's march from here where they might be meeting and joining back together. But," he sighed, "knowing this country better than we do, he's afraid that if we search each area one after the other, they'll just move from one spot to the next. So," he smiled grimly, "we're going to stop chasing them."

  This certainly made us pay closer attention, and I had the fleeting thought that perhaps Urso was conceding defeat to the Legate, but I immediately dismissed that idea. From everything I had seen of the man, it was just not in his nature to quit, nor would he allow the Legion to be shamed, as it undoubtedly would be if we failed. My faith in our Primus Pilus was not only rewarded, I was also reminded that he was a hard man, with a soul of iron.

  "So," Asinius informed us, "we're marching back to Varciani territory, and," his face became even grimmer, "we're going to make the Varciani warriors come to us."

  "But, how?" Lutatius asked this, but he quickly got his answer, just from the looks he got from Caecina and Bestia. "Oh." He suddenly looked down at the dirt between his feet. "I understand. Like that."

  "Yes," Asinius agreed. "Like that."

  With nothing more to be said, he left us to contemplate what we were about to do; lay waste to every Varciani village and farm we found, while obeying the Legate's command to put everyone who were not warriors into chains. Not, I looked over at Caecina and Geta, having already heard some of the tales about their tastes in such matters, without sampling what the Varciani women had to offer first. As I tried to sleep that night, I found it difficult to do so, my mind occupied with what was coming. Being only my second campaign, and the first one commanded by Drusus, who kept a tight control over the Legions when it came to molesting the civilians, I cannot say I was not apprehensive about what I would be experiencing. However, my worry did not stem from the idea I would find our actions distasteful; no, what worried me more than that was the opposite, that I would find I enjoyed them quite a bit.

  The 8th Legion reached the ridge that marked the boundary of Varciani land where it bordered that of the Jasi, whose territory we had been in, perhaps two parts of a watch after midday the next day. Marching with us was a kind of resolve among my comrades I had not seen before, a sort of grim determination on the part of most men who understood that what we were about to do was the kind of thing few of us like to talk about later. Do not mistake me, there was a fair number of men whose moods were in direct opposition to the rest of us – joking, laughing, and eagerly discussing the chance to do something we rarely had the opportunity to do; run rampant over a civilian population. And, as I had been warned once by Domitius, there were men in my section who were part of this smaller group, meaning that I got to
hear them discuss their ideas for new depravities they had been wanting to try but had not been afforded the opportunity until now. Since the majority of the men did not seem disposed to talk about what lay ahead, I got to hear in explicit detail about all manner of acts, some of which I was fairly sure were not anatomically possible. If the Primus Pilus heard Caecina, Geta, Mela, and somewhat to my surprise, Glabrio gloating about this license to essentially run wild, he certainly did not give any indication. As we neared the base of the ridge that ran perpendicular to our line of march that I knew marked the beginning of Varciani territory, I could not suppress a queer feeling, one that I had not experienced before this. It was a combination of a reluctance to even witness what was coming, let alone participate, but strangely, an eagerness at the same time. This created a strange tension within me that is difficult to describe, but I would liken it to being like a moth around a flame, but one that is aware the light that draws it will spell its doom, yet which cannot resist the lure of it at the same time. Such was my state of mind that day, and I suppose it was appropriate that, unlike the day before, the gray clouds were back, while the temperature, which had almost returned to normal for that time of year, was dropping again.

  "There's a village right on the other side of this ridge," Avitus muttered to me, but when I tried to ask what size it was, nothing came out.

  The only question in the moment was how we would approach the unseen village, whether or not we would climb the ridge to descend on the settlement from the east, or parallel the ridge for a few miles to skirt the worst of it by heading to the northern end of the ridge, which was the closest. There were advantages and drawbacks to either approach; going straight up and over the ridge would give us the element of surprise, but the terrain and the heavily forested slopes would not allow us to deploy into anything resembling our normal formation when contact with an enemy is expected. However, while taking the long way would give us the chance to shake out into our open array for a fight, it ruined any chance of surprise. And, while we were relatively sure the warbands of the Varciani were still off somewhere behind us and farther south, it was not out of the realm of possibility at least one of the smaller bands had hurried back here, and because this was the first village coming from this direction, it was a likely spot for them to come. The result of all this was, during a short break, the Primus Pilus called for the Pili Priores, but to our disappointment, he headed back partway to meet them, meaning that some other Century would be lucky enough to hear what was ahead of us. As we stood there waiting, we talked quietly among ourselves, arguing about the merits and drawbacks of what the Primus Pilus was even then deciding. Naturally, the wagering was spirited. I cannot estimate how long we waited, but it was much longer than any of us expected, making it hard to feel confident when the Primus Pilus came striding back up to his spot. He exchanged a few words with Asinius, who was standing with the standard-bearers and Varo. I became frustrated because they were speaking in tones too low to be heard, and I had to remind myself that we would be finding out in just a few more heartbeats. And we did.

  "We're going to come up over the ridge," Urso announced to us as Asinius went trotting back to relay the orders to the rest of the Cohort. "But in column until we get to the top. Then we're going to shake out in single line, but with just the Cohort. We're going to go down the hill first, while the rest of the Legion waits in support. If there's no resistance, Varo will sound the call for the rest of them to come down."

  I felt a ripple of suppressed nerves and excitement, as did my comrades, I am sure, but there was no missing Caecina gloating, "You know what that means. Right, boys? We'll get first pick of everything."

  There was no way Urso did not hear him, but the Primus Pilus gave no indication he had, and I wondered about that. Regardless, when he gave the order, we started climbing the ridge, with the Fifth Century about two hundred paces ahead. To save time, instead of traversing the slope at an angle to lessen the severity, we went straight up, so that by the time we reached the top, we were all gasping for breath. Still, we were only given the time it took for the other Centuries of the First to reach the top, then spread out in a single line. Ordering us to drop our packs, he ignored our pleas to let a section from each Century stay behind, curtly telling us the slaves leading our mules would be sufficient security. Naturally, we obeyed, many of the men grumbling under our breath, but I was not one of them, if only because I was too absorbed with what was at the bottom of the slope, waiting for us.

  "First Section," Urso commanded, bringing me back to the present, "you're advance guard. But," in that instant he sounded like the Primus Pilus of old, "make sure you bastards keep your alignment with the advance guard of the other Centuries' sections. You're the anchor of the line and everyone else is going to be following your lead on our spacing, so don't fuck up and get too far ahead of the rest of us."

  When a ranker receives an order, very rarely if ever is there any consideration given to how difficult it might be to adhere to it. At least, that is what we all believe when in the ranks. But now that I am in the Centurionate myself, most of the time, we are keenly aware of the degree of effort needed, but neither can we allow the men to dwell on the reasons that make obeying a given order harder. Naturally, in the moment, that was the farthest thing from my mind, because in essence, I was the man on which everything pivoted. Flaccus, Capulo, and Urso were with the rest of the Century, and being the last man on the right meant that I could not blame anyone else for an error. We had gone about a hundred paces down the slope, which was when the rest of the Cohort would start descending, and I was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain my footing. Heading straight down the slope naturally meant the steepest angle, and the soil of the slope was loose, with a layer of small pieces of rock and gravel, making footing difficult. Several times I had to use my arms to counter when I slipped, and while it was already awkward from carrying my shield, it was even more so because when I made a sudden, unexpected move in reaction to one foot slipping out from underneath me, the pain of the motion shot up my arm, reminding me I was not fully healed. I had reached a point where there were moments where I forgot my arm was damaged, but this was a reminder I did not need, at least at that moment. Avitus was having similar troubles, and from the muttered curses I heard farther down the line, I at least had the comfort of knowing the others were finding the going as treacherous. But this also forced me to slow down, and of course, meant that our entire progress was slowed. While it is almost impossible to judge time in moments like this, my best estimate was that it was about a sixth part of a watch before I got my first glimpse downslope of a lightening that suggested we were not only reaching the bottom, but the cleared area that had been created by the Varciani for the purpose of having some warning in the event of an attack. My, and I am sure every other man's, hope was that the only thing waiting for us when we reached the cleared area was an unsuspecting village, and not a line of Varciani warriors armed with their javelins and bows. Reminding myself that the Varciani tribe was one of the relatively few who did not view the bow as strictly a hunting weapon, I cannot say that remembrance made me feel any better. Still, we pressed forward until we arrived at a point I estimated to be about two hundred paces, the point where we were to stop and wait for further orders. By this point, I could see farther ahead through the trees, but just the base of what I could see was a wooden wall was visible; that was enough. A wall, I wondered? Glancing over at Avitus, I saw that he was no less dismayed.

  "That wasn't there the last time we came through here," he muttered.

  "When was that?"

  I got my answer before he spoke in the way he glanced away, shrugging. "Two years. Maybe three."

  "Pluto's cock." It was difficult to keep my voice down, because it seemed to me that our Primus Pilus had overlooked one important detail in preparing us for this assault.

  Yet, when he came sliding down to stop next to me and, using my javelin as we are taught, I pointed to the grayish
-brown line of the wall, he did not appear surprised.

  "All right," now that the Century was reunited, he had to speak more loudly than he clearly wanted, "we can see that they're not expecting us."

  Unless they're on top of that wall, I thought, just waiting to poke holes in us.

  Unmindful of the quandary of one of his men, he continued, "We're going to use the slope to build up our speed, and we're going to be across that clearing before any of the cunni down there have a chance to stop us."

  I had my attention on the Primus Pilus, yet I sensed the movement and mumbling of the rest of not just my section but the Century. It was a small comfort to know I was not alone in my trepidation, yet somewhat to my surprise, nobody spoke up, even if it was to ask what his plans were for the thing that we could all see waiting for us. I glanced over to where Asinius had moved from the opposite side of the Century to receive the orders, but when our eyes met, he only gave a small shake of his head. What I did not know, nor could I tell from his expression, was whether my former Sergeant was telling me he had no intention of opening his mouth, or sending me a warning to follow his example. So, consequently, I found my mouth opening, even as a part of me screamed in frustration at my lack of discipline.

  "Primus Pilus," I tried to keep my voice steady, "what about that wall?"