by James Mace
“We’re all so used to the dry climate of Judea, everyone is sweating buckets each day,” Tesserarius Julius observed, as he and Optio Gaius Artorius pulled their tunics out of their packs.
“True,” Gaius consented. “And since we only brought enough water for drinking and not washing, the damned Vitellians can probably smell us all the way in Rome!”
Rather than washing in the saltwater of the sea, Galeo and the other centurions had ordered their soldiers to wash at a large pool, where excess runoff from the local aqueduct gathered.
“I wore this damn thing for three days, and it’s practically white,” Gaius laughed, holding up one of his tunics. The once deep red had been partially faded by the sun; the salt stains making it appear as if it had been bleached.
As they sat naked in the cool waters, soaking and scrubbing each of their tunics, Julius reached up and was appalled by the scruff on his face. With little spare water for their journey, most of the men had not been able to shave regularly. He was further repelled by his reflection in the water.
“Ugh, I look like a damned barbarian,” he moaned.
“I think we all do,” Gaius replied, unhappy with the several days of growth on his own face. “Well, in addition to washing our clothes, Galeo says we are all to be clean-shaven before we depart tomorrow.”
“Gladly,” the tesserarius remarked. “Last thing I want is to be mistaken for a bloody savage when we finally rally with General Primus and the Danube Army!”
The total trek from Senia to Emona was two hundred miles, and would take them almost three weeks to complete. The constant marching up and down mountains slowed them considerably. By mid-September, they were well into Pannonia and ready to join with the Flavian division under Marcus Antonius Primus.
Several hundred miles to the west, Tribune Lucius Artorius led his cavalry regiment in training maneuvers along the open plain to the northeast of Castra Auraei. Bisected by numerous rivers and streams which came down from the mountains to the north, the plain was an ideal place for him to learn how to lead a full regiment of horsemen into battle. Training had been relentless over the past month, and Centurion Liberius was proving to be an excellent tutor to the young tribune.
The vast majority of his troopers were lancers, each wielding a long spear with a wide blade that could either be tucked under the arm for support or thrust down onto enemies below. Section leaders, as well as higher ranking officers, carried spatha longswords. Troopers and officers alike wore lorica hamata chain mail armor, carrying long, oblong shields that protected their legs and torso on their non-weapon side. Their helmets were equipped with cheek guards and were very similar to those worn by legionaries, albeit very plain in design, and mostly bronze rather than iron.
Liberius continued to teach and lecture his commander as they rode in a large wedge formation, towards a make-believe enemy in the distance.
“As a regimental commander,” Liberius said, “you must position yourself where you can best see all of your subordinate companies. Not only that, but a good officer will lead from the front whenever possible, especially when charging the enemy. And in a cavalry regiment, it is equally crucial to know when to attack and when to maneuver. Being mounted gives us a decisive advantage in speed and mobility over infantrymen; provided we know how to utilize it.”
“No attacking infantry formations head-on, especially, legionaries,” Lucius remarked.
“Correct…most of the time. If they are in loose array or we’ve caught them completely off-guard, then a timely charge could very well shatter their ranks. But, yes, the majority of the time we will attempt to find our way around the enemy’s frontage. And, of course, we will not be taking on a legionary cohort by ourselves. When the time comes for battle, we will almost certainly be part of a much larger army. Our primary mission will be to protect our own flanks or exploit theirs.”
“It is good that your men are familiar with the terrain between here and Pannonia,” the tribune noted.
“Correction, sir,” Liberius replied. “These are our men. And, yes, they know the terrain well.”
“Yes, thank you.” Lucius appreciated the assertion by the centurion.
His first week as commander of the Siliana Cavalry Regiment had been spent on mostly administrative matters, as well as becoming more acquainted with the intricacies of maneuvering his horse in battle. While an accomplished rider, Lucius learned quickly that, while a crucial prerequisite, there was a lot more to being a cavalryman than simple horsemanship. There was the matter of being able to stay mounted during the frenzy of combat, especially when one’s horse reared up in terror from having an enemy spear thrust in its face. And as Centurion Liberius had stressed repeatedly, the worst thing that could befall a cavalry trooper was to be unhorsed. If not outright butchered by the mass of enemy soldiers that he would likely find himself in the midst of, there was the very real possibility of being trampled by your own companions.
Another lesson had involved effectively wielding one’s weapon while mounted. Lucius found he was most dangerous when his adversaries were within the swinging arc of his spatha, which extended from straight out to his right, around towards his horse’s head. While it was possible to attack enemies on the left, this was extremely awkward and rather impractical.
Having acquitted himself well in these matters, at least according to Centurion Liberius, Lucius had decided he needed to drill with the entire regiment. As such, he left only a small number of lookouts at the necessary garrisons, ordering the rest of his companies to rally fifteen miles northeast of Vicetia along the Via Postumia.
While he had enjoyed a relatively comfortable existence for much of his life, Lucius relished being in the field with his soldiers. He rose every morning before dawn, was washed, shaved, and had his breakfast well before the cornicens sounded the call to wake up and fall in. He observed his companies performing their own drills, while attempting to learn all he could about cavalry tactics, all under the tutelage of Liberius and the other centurions.
Though he savored every chance to ride with his troopers, his days were broken up with the tedium of administrative matters. There were rations and supplies to be ordered; pay, leave, and disciplinary reports to review; and, of course, the daily intelligence that came from his patrols to the east. On this particular day, he had been notified by a courier from Rome that his regiment would be under the overall command of General Caecina Alienus. The two had only met once before, soon after Lucius’ appointment by Vitellius. Lucius promptly sent him a reply in order to better acquaint himself with his division commander, and to see if he had any pressing orders at this time. Liberius spoke well of Caecina, and said it was good that they were falling under his direct command rather than the political demagogue, Fabius Valens.
Drill would continue throughout the afternoon. Come evening, while the men were feeding and caring for their horses, Lucius would meet with the company commanders and review the day’s training and plan for the next day. While he worked closely with Liberius, he was becoming more familiar with the other centurions. At the end of the day, Lucius was exhausted yet completely exhilarated. He felt as if he had finally found his true calling, and each night he thanked the gods for allowing him to fulfill his destiny as a soldier of Rome.
The gathering of Flavian allies at Emona, in Pannonia Superior, brought a conglomerate of various legates, governors, and other magistrates. All were anxious to exert their influence, while many hoped to coerce their way into a military command. Chief among these was Aponius Saturnius, the governor of neighboring Moesia. It was his legions including the Third Gallica that routed the Rhoxolani raiders earlier in the year. And while disappointed in Vespasian’s appointment of Antonius Primus as commander-in-chief, Saturnius still felt the need to exert his authority and influence wherever possible. While Vespasian had praised Saturnius for his loyalty and resolve, he had seen fit to reward Primus with overall command.
“As long as he doesn’t name you Regent of th
e Empire during his absence,” Saturnius said, with a touch of sarcasm.
“Trust me, I hope he doesn’t either,” Primus said, with a forced scowl of revulsion. He then looked to the large assembly and began to lay out the groundwork of the upcoming invasion.
Most of the auxiliaries in the region would be left to man the frontier, lest the barbarian tribes attempt to raid Roman lands while they fought with each other. The Rhoxolani were still smarting from their bloody defeat, though it was impossible to know if they were properly cowed and docile.
Among his military assets, Primus had the bulk of four legions. Though most were understrength due to natural attrition and casualties suffered in the previous war, he knew the Vitellian legions were in even worse shape. He also had the detachments from Vespasian’s army, along with a very strong contingent consisting of sixteen regiments of cavalry. In all, Antonius Primus had twenty-four thousand men ready for battle, not counting the still-absent Legio VII, Claudia, and a large contingent of auxilia cavalry that was promised to him. Legio XI had still not been heard from, and Primus knew he could no longer depend on their turning out for battle.
“Should we not wait for Mucianus and the rest of the army?” one officer asked. This was followed by several mutterings of concurrence.
“Yes,” Saturnius added. “I cannot help but think you are being a little brash in insisting on an immediate invasion of Italia. Surely you do not wish to make the same mistake that we all admonish Otho Titianus for.”
It was a biting accusation. Surprisingly, Primus maintained his composure. “You make a compelling point, Governor Saturnius.” It was a reply that surprised almost everyone. “I confess, my greatest concern is not repeating the same grave mistakes as our late emperor and his generals. But my reasons for pushing for an immediate invasion are many. Firstly, the Vitellian Legions have been billeted throughout Rome rather than in a proper barracks. They have grown soft from indulgent living, and their numbers have been depleted by the past war and a complete lack of recruitment. However, they are still the Rhine Army, and they can easily be conditioned back into fighting shape in a short period of time.”
“All the more reason to wait for Mucianus, so we can attack Vitellius with overwhelming force,” Saturnius persisted.
“You forget, it is not just Italia where Vitellius has troops,” Primus countered. “The whole of the western empire has remained loyal to him. There are still plenty of legionaries and auxilia regiments he can call upon in Germania. And while we may be in a position to seize control of the Alpine passes, should we lose these, the enemy will have us completely trapped. And there are plenty more forces Vitellius can rally from Gaul, Hispania, and Britannia. This will likely negate any advantage we could draw upon from waiting several months for Mucianus to arrive. Remember, Vitellius still controls the Ravenna fleet. Should we delay too long, he could very well send a maritime force into Dalmatia, cutting our lines of supply.”
“Otho tried the same thing during the last war,” General Lupus remarked. “It did not go well for him. I find it rather preposterous to think Vitellius would do the same to us.”
“In his army’s present state, I would agree,” the commander-in-chief noted. “But if given several months to bring up reinforcements while getting the Rhine legions back into fighting shape, then yes, this could become a very real threat. The harsh reality we have to face is that we accept risk regardless of whether we delay or attack now.”
“We can reach Verona in just a few weeks,” General Aponius of Legio III asserted, in an effort to draw support behind Primus’ intent. “The roads are good and the weather has been fair. Siege trains will be what moves the slowest.”
“It is not my intent to smash Roman cities into dust,” Primus replied. “Still, we’d best bring them, in case the good citizens fail to come to their senses. What auxiliaries we do have will act as their escorts. Are we agreed, then, that we invade now?”
“You’re the commanding general,” Saturnius remarked. “It’s not as if we have much of a choice.”
“We’re with you, Primus,” Legate Aquila of Legio XIII replied. He then said with a grin, “Your administrative talents are nonexistent, but you know how to win a battle. Just tell us where you want us.”
The other legates and regimental commanders gave nods and words of approval. Everyone, most of all Antonius Primus, understood the gravity of the pending invasion and the dangers presented. They also trusted in the intelligence the commander-in-chief had garnered and his assessment of the enemy’s state of readiness.
“For now, our immediate objective is Aquileia,” he said. “It is about three days’ march from here. From there, we will advance south and southwest towards the River Padus. Centurion Galeo, I want your cohort from the Tenth Legion to act as infantry support to our cavalry scouts.”
“Yes, sir,” the pilus prior responded.
“Seventh and Thirteenth Gemina will follow, along with the cohort from Fifth Macedonia,” Primus continued. “We don’t have our entire army assembled in one place, and I wish to establish ourselves within northeast Italia before all forces converge. The Vitellians haven’t left their comfortable billets in Rome. Although, you can bet they will once they hear we are on the move. And unless the cities close their gates and compel us to lay siege, we should easily get at least as far as Patavium before we reconsolidate and rally with the rest of the army.”
That evening, the newly appointed commander-in-chief supped with his centurion primus pilus, anxious to be rid of his fellow patricians for the time being.
“Logistics are playing hell on getting enough reinforcements this far west,” Master Centurion Vitruvius noted. “Vitellius controls the seas, and Vespasian has only a handful of ships he can utilize.”
“Still, I ask for reinforcements, and all I get is a single cohort from each of Vespasian’s legions,” the legate grumbled. “And that pompous oaf, Mucianus, is doing little except blackmailing his way through the eastern provinces, marching at a snail’s pace. He fattens his coffers, while the Vitellians still hold the capital. Hell, it will be next summer before Mucianus even catches up with us!”
“I thought you two were friends,” Vitruvius said, his head cocked to one side.
“Oh, we are,” Primus said, with a laugh. “I love the man like a brother, but that doesn’t make him any less of a pompous twat.”
“That may be,” Vitruvius conceded. “And I will say this; the longer it takes for us to go on the offensive, greater is the chance that Vitellius will be able to concentrate his forces against us, bringing over reinforcements from Britannia and possibly North Africa.”
“And that is why I don’t plan to sit on my ass while Mucianus takes his bloody sweet time.” Primus quaffed his wine and let out a loud belch. “Fuck him, I say. Nothing in Vespasian’s orders said anything about us having to wait on Mucianus. We have a sizeable force here, and once I rally the remnants of the Othonian Legions, we’ll take the fight to Vitellius!”
“Thirteenth Gemina is no doubt anxious for a little retribution,” the master centurion observed. “Sadly, we have yet to hear anything from Eleventh Claudia. Like us, I suspect they regret missing their chance to take it to Vitellius when Otho was still emperor.”
“And meantime, I have several sets of eyes in Rome keeping track of the Vitellian forces there. Within a week, maybe two, we should have a better idea as to the disposition and overall readiness of our adversaries.”
“Our soldiers are relatively well-trained, though they still lack experience,” Vitruvius noted, while he and Primus reviewed some issues specific to Legio VII. “We have sufficient pila and gladii. I wish we could have procured enough sets of segmentata plate armor for the lads; however, hamata chainmail is better than nothing.”
“The question now is, will they stand when facing their brother legionaries?” the legate confessed. “You understand, of course, that I am going to have to rely on you when it comes time for battle. I have the entire army t
o coordinate. And since our dear chief tribune declared for Vitellius, that leaves you to command the legion.”
“Just tell us where the enemy is and we’ll thrash them, sir,” Vitruvius said. “Legio VII may be raw and underequipped, but they do not lack for valor or desire to prove themselves in battle. And above all, they believe in the cause they are fighting for. They loathed Galba, who had the audacity to think he could append his name to the legion, as if it were his own.”
“Yes, the lads never took to being called Legio VII, Galbiana ,” Primus mused.
“Not one of them shed a tear when that wicked bastard met his end,” Vitruvius added. “Otho they somewhat respected, perhaps because he rid us of Galba. We never got a chance to find out if we would have grown to love him, or if he would have become another despot.”
“And what of Vitellius?” Primus asked. He had always assumed since he was a loyal Flavian, so too were his legionaries.
“ Corpulent twat is what most of the men call him,” the master centurion chuckled. “When we saw one of his statues, one of the lads said they needed as much marble for his fat chin as they did for the rest of his head.”
“I have met Vitellius a couple of times,” Primus remarked. “I never thought much of him one way or the other. He was always genial enough, though never a man of energy or any real initiative. And he certainly looked like he gorged enough each day to feed a squad of legionaries.”