Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians

by James Mace

  “We do what we can,” the centurion replied. His voice was calm, though Lucius could sense he shared a lot of his commander’s vexations. “When there are that many horsemen present, you know their infantry cannot be far off.”

  “That I understand,” Lucius remarked. “But where are they? And how many? I have yet to see a single legionary or auxilia infantryman. What am I supposed to tell General Caecina when he arrives and asks me about the enemy’s strengths? And where is he, anyway?”

  “The army has a long journey from Rome,” Liberius observed. “It will take two, possibly three weeks for them to reach Hostilia.”

  “The orders we received from Caecina are dated three weeks ago,” Lucius noted. “That means they should have arrived by now.”

  “Centurion Petronius is an astute officer,” Liberius said. “Which is why I recommended his company remain at Hostilia. He has sent riders to Mutina. Once the army reaches that point, we’ll know about it.”

  Lucius nodded, feeling reassured that he was still in control of the situation, even though his nerves were frayed. “I cannot help but wonder if I blundered, placing our camp so close to the enemy.”

  “Believe me, sir, if I thought this was a poor choice for camp, you would know it.” Liberius was grinning now, which brought a much-needed sense of relief to his commander.

  The two officers had just sat down to a late supper when they heard the challenge and watchword being given at the camp entrance.

  “Who could be coming to us at this hour?” Lucius asked. “Messenger from Petronius?”

  Liberius nodded, his mouth full of bread, as a dismounted trooper was escorted to them. He looked completely disheveled, but now breathing deep sighs of relief.

  “Thank Juno I found you, sir,” he said emphatically, as he rendered a salute. “It’s pitch-fucking-black out there, and I somehow took the wrong road out of Hostilia. It wasn’t until I was ten miles along I realized I was on the Via Claudia Augusta, heading due north towards Verona. I found my way back and…”

  “We don’t care about you getting your stupid ass lost,” Liberius snapped. “Just give us your bloody report already.”

  “Yes, sir…my apologies.” He took a breath and smiled broadly. “Centurion Petronius sends his compliments and wishes you to know that the army has encamped halfway between Mutina and Hostilia. They should arrive before midday tomorrow.”

  “That is the first bit of good news we’ve had in a month,” Lucius said to his centurion. He asked the trooper, “Were there any orders from General Caecina?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied. “You are to consolidate your regiment and Hostilia with the rest of the army.”

  “That’s a bit strange,” Centurion Liberius said. “We’re the only eyes the army has this far forward right now. If we withdraw all our companies, the army will be left blind. The Flavians could easily maneuver behind us and surround the entire army.”

  “We’ll leave a detachment at Montagnana,” Lucius directed. “It’s near the main crossroads between Patavium and Verona, as well as the roads to the south.”

  “Very good, sir,” the centurion acknowledged.

  Lucius surmised that it would be at least a week before messages got to his scattered companies and they could rally with the rest of the army. While he was as puzzled as Centurion Liberius, regarding the order, he was glad to know they were not alone anymore.

  It was with many cheers and celebratory blasts from the cornicens’ trumpets that the Vitellian Army crossed over the River Padus. Master Centurion Aetius of the First Germanica Legion was the first to ride across the bridge. He shouted a series of orders, directing the detachment from Siliana Horse to escort the army’s surveyors to where the various legions and regiments were to establish camp.

  Aetius was filled with extremely bitter feelings about this war, especially after his experiences during the last conflict just a few months prior. Many of his legionaries died during the attacks on the Othonian city of Placentia, where he himself was captured and held prisoner for a short time. And while his feelings towards Emperor Vitellius were mostly of apathetic indifference, he hated the Flavians for bringing the scourge of civil war back to Rome.

  “Now we wait for General Caecina,” a legate named Fabius said, as he rode over to the master centurion.

  “Sir, we should conduct a robust reconnaissance of the area,” Aetius advised. “I recommend we send scouts in every direction from which the Flavians may approach.”

  “Hmm,” Fabius replied, seemingly bored. He nodded towards a large group of horsemen crossing the easternmost of the two bridges across the northern river. “Well, what about that lot?”

  Aetius squinted for a moment before recognizing their standard. “Those men are from the Siliana Regiment of Horse,” he said. “I was wondering when we’d find them. Hopefully they have some viable information for us.”

  “Yes, well, see to it,” the legate replied, kicking his horse into a trot and heading towards his legion’s section of the vast camp along the Via Claudia Augusta.

  The primus pilus grumbled to himself as he made his way over to where a section of auxilia infantry had halted the approaching horsemen. Fabius was the senior officer present and should have taken charge; however, he had little interest in any sort of command outside of his own legion.

  “Tribune, sir,” Aetius said, saluting the cavalry officer as he dismounted near the bridge.

  “I am here to see General Caecina,” Lucius explained. “My regiment has been placed under his division, and we await our orders.”

  “Yes, we know. You have been our eyes and ears since the conflict began.”

  “We were until we received orders from Caecina to rally at Hostilia,” the tribune noted.

  “If you are our only scouts in this region, then why is your entire regiment converging here?” Aetius asked, slightly confused.

  “Orders are orders,” Lucius replied with a shrug.

  Aetius’ furrowed brow showed he was still troubled by this directive from their commanding general.

  “We left a detachment at Montagnana,” Centurion Liberius spoke up. “We’ve encountered large columns of enemy horse near Patavium. Whether their main forces come via Patavium or the Ad Finem gap, our lads will spot them.”

  “Unfortunately, General Caecina is delayed at Ravenna, checking on the status of the imperial fleet,” the primus pilus replied. “He will likely be delayed at least two weeks. I can only assume he did not anticipate the Flavian Army invading so soon and hoped to consolidate our forces here, before sending our scouts ahead in larger numbers.”

  “Yes, that makes sense,” Lucius concurred rather awkwardly. Still very new to being a cavalry officer, he was trying to learn the differences between battle tactics and overall strategic thinking.

  “I advise we attach some auxilia infantry cohorts to our regiment,” Centurion Liberius said. “Since General Caecina was unaware of the Flavian’s advance into Italia, we should post a more robust lookout to the northeast.”

  “Follow me, I’ll take you to the camp prefect,” Aetius said.

  Just east of the bridge they found an older officer shouting orders to groups of laboring soldiers, who were fortifying the open ground between the two rivers. The man appeared to be in his sixties, though he was still well-built with a thick head of grey hair and a face that was weathered from decades of campaigns.

  “Cassius!” Aetius shouted to the man.

  “Damn it, Aetius, can’t you see I’m busy?” the old soldier snarled.

  “I’m sure these men know how to properly dig a ditch,” the master centurion retorted.

  “Given the way you trained them, I’m surprised they know where to stick their cocks in a brothel.”

  “Any hole is a good hole, as long as it feels good.”

  Lucius assumed the two men knew each other well, given their rather biting banter.

  “Old friend of yours?” Lucius asked quietly.

  “He
was Primus Pilus of First Germanica before me,” Aetius replied. “After he retired, he was made camp prefect.” He added in a louder voice, “Because the old fucker can barely walk in a straight line without someone barking orders.” This was met with a hard punch to the shoulder. Both men were now laughing.

  “Tribune,” Cassius said, with a nod of acknowledgement to Lucius. “What can this tired old bastard from the ranks do for you?”

  “Stop being so bloody dramatic for starters,” Aetius remarked.

  “The Flavian Army is massing to the northeast,” Lucius replied. “I need infantry reinforcements to help me reconnoiter their likeliest approaches.”

  “Bugger me,” the prefect said, his eyes widening slightly. “I didn’t think they’d be in Italia already.”

  “Nor did we,” Aetius added. “So can you spare a couple cohorts from playing in the dirt?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a couple,” Cassius said. He contemplated for a moment, tapping his vine stick on the ground. “I’ll give you two cohorts of Belgic infantry. These particular lot do nothing but complain, and if they happened to get slaughtered while searching for the enemy, it wouldn’t break my heart.”

  Chapter XI: First Clash

  Near Patavium, Northern Italia

  30 September 69 A.D.

  Legionaries in battle formation

  (Photo © Cezary Wyszynski)

  The city of Patavium had welcomed Antonius Primus and his advance legions with celebratory ovations. The mayor offered the services of the city’s merchant guilds to assist in the ferrying of food and supplies to the advancing army. He further dispatched a hundred of the city’s militia to the small ports of Ad Portum and Portus Edronis to serve as lookouts, in case the Vitellians did launch a counterattack by sea. He was clearly placing a rather sizeable wager on the Flavians’ success, and the hopes that he would be suitably rewarded by Emperor Vespasian.

  “This will cover our more immediate flank and negate the necessity of detailing more troops to provide security,” General Aquila noted.

  “Which means we can turn our attention towards our friends to the southwest,” the commander-in-chief remarked. He asked Arrius, “Any new movements to report?”

  “No, sir,” the cavalry corps commander replied. “There is a very small force encamped near Montagnana, though it is no more than twenty horsemen. I have two regiments holding at Ateste. The rest of my corps are screening the Ad Finem gap all the way to the Via Postumia.”

  “Which means their main army is most likely here,” Primus said, pointing to a spot on his map marked Hostilia .

  “We should take our advance guard and secure Ateste,” Aquila suggested.

  “Agreed,” Primus nodded. “From there we will tease the enemy a bit and see if he bites.”

  Though his sizeable advance guard was moving through Northern Italia at a pace that would certainly alarm the Vitellians, to Primus it felt like their trek was agonizingly slow. They were now into the first week of October, and he began to wonder if his intent of winning the empire for Vespasian by Saturnalia in December was mere fantasy. Primus was an experienced general, and he knew it was unlikely the war would be decided in a single action, like the conflict between Vitellius and Otho. What he needed was a decisive victory in order to break the morale of the Vitellians, while compelling more defections from their ranks.

  The Flavian forces that departed Patavium consisted of Legio XIII, Legio VII, Gemina, four regiments from Arrius’ cavalry corps, and the single cohort from Legio X. The commanding general and Legate Aquila rode behind the lead cohort for Legio XIII. They were approaching the town of Mons Silicis where the road curved to the west, when they saw a horseman being escorted back by several troopers from their vanguard.

  “A courier from Caecina, sir,” a tribune said, accompanying the messenger who wordlessly handed the scroll to Primus.

  “You come from Hostilia?” the commander-in-chief asked.

  “No, sir,” the messenger replied. “Ravenna.”

  “What in Hades is Caecina doing in Ravenna when his army is at Hostilia?” Aquila asked.

  “I have my suspicions,” Primus replied, breaking the seal on the scroll. The general slowed his horse to a slow walk as he read through the message. After the first few lines, he began to smirk. By the end, he was bursting into a fit of laughter.

  “Our adversary has some new jokes for you?” Aquila asked. “If it’s the one about the Vestal Virgins and the anatomically correct horse statue, I’ve heard it.”

  Primus was still chuckling as he rolled the scroll up and handed it to the legate. He was then composed and rather stern as he addressed the courier. “You will remain with my column until I am ready to send a suitable reply to your commander.”

  “By Juno’s tits this is weak,” Aquila said, as he scanned over the scroll. “Caecina exhorts the prowess of the Rhine Army, which he confidently claims has us badly outnumbered.”

  “They have more legions and cohorts,” Primus stated. “But given how depleted their ranks are, I would hazard a guess that their actual numbers of fighting men are about equal to ours. And that’s only if you include the legions at Cremona, who thus far have not moved an inch. If you keep reading, he spouts off a slew of colorful flatteries towards Vespasian, yet not once does he even mention Vitellius. Makes one wonder which side he’s on.”

  “Well, if he’s trying to scare us into capitulation, he’s doing a terrible job of it,” the legate replied.

  “I doubt he is,” Primus said contemplatively. “Were he trying to panic us, he would have berated our legions as inexperienced and poor fighters, while singing the praises of his master in Rome. I don’t doubt he believes strongly in the fighting prowess of his army, but his indecisive tone tells me he has rather pervasive doubts about the cause he fights for.”

  “He’s a damned slow learner, then,” Aquila stated bitterly. “He could have made up his mind six months ago and saved much needless bloodshed. I’ve never forgiven him and Valens for attempting to humiliate my legion after Bedriacum. Forgive me, sir, but I would rather piss on Caecina’s bloody corpse than parlay with him.”

  “Save your venom for Vitellius,” Primus remarked. “I will write an official response from the army, and I want you and the other legates to do the same. Insult Vitellius all you want; I intend to use a number of descriptive terms like tyrant , despot , usurper , along with some more colorful words like fat bastard , corpulent twat— which happens to be a favorite term of endearment from the lads—and some other choice phrases. But I don’t want any disparaging words said about either Caecina or his soldiers. In fact, we shall play up the nobility and valiant heritage of the Rhine Army while reassuring every centurion and tribune that they will keep their rank in a post-Vitellian Rome.”

  Ateste was located at a crossroads approximately twelve miles north of the River Athesis. The road ran close to a small hilltop, and it was at the base of this Centurion Galeo ordered the Fifth Cohort to make camp. The rest of their force spread out in either direction with one legion on each side of the southern crossroads. As Gaius Artorius strolled up the side of the hill, he could see hundreds of cavalry troopers watering their horses in the stream that ran from the western slope. It was midday, and the sun shone down as he scanned the west in the direction of Montagnana.

  “I wonder if they know we’re here?” he asked, as he was joined by Centurion Nicanor.

  “That road station is at least twelve miles from here,” Nicanor observed. “If they haven’t seen us yet, they will once the sun goes down and all our campfires light up the sky.”

  “It is rather impressive,” Gaius said appreciatively, as he nodded towards their vast camp below. It extended for at least two miles to both the east and west. “And to think this is just our advance guard.”

  “The enemy has at least as many soldiers as us,” the centurion remarked. “Rome is the only nation in the whole of the world that can feed and supply such vast armies for so long. If not fo
r our extensive logistics networks, we would either starve to death or devour every town and city we passed through.”

  “Which is what I hear Vitellius did,” the optio said.

  “Nicanor!” The voice of Centurion Galeo shouted from halfway up the slope.

  “You should come up here, sir, it’s a lovely view,” Nicanor replied.

  “I would love to, but unfortunately there’s no time for it. Get your lads ready to march. We move out in thirty minutes.”

  “Where to?” Nicanor asked, as he and Gaius trotted down the hill towards their cohort commander.

  “General Primus wants us to provide infantry support to a large mounted reconnaissance force,” the pilus prior explained. “He has one regiment riding towards Montagnana to clear out any stray enemy horsemen still in the area. He wants the rest of us to head southwest towards the River Athesis. We’re to goad the enemy into a scrap, if possible. If not, then we are to secure the westernmost bridge over the river.”

  “It will be after dark by the time we get there,” Gaius remarked.

  “I want the lads traveling light,” Galeo ordered, ignoring the optio’s statement. “One day’s rations and entrenching tools only. It will mean sleeping under the stars tonight, but at least it doesn’t look like rain.”

  Though soldiers were notorious for grumbling, the men of the Fifth Cohort were filled with excitement. They and their large force of cavalry would be the ones to strike the first blows for Emperor Vespasian! Even though they had yet to catch sight of the main Vitellian Army, it was widely conjectured that their camp lay somewhere just beyond the Athesis. No one knew whether or not any of their lead elements had crossed over, though the Flavian soldiers were hoping for a brawl.

  Because of the impending chance of contact with the enemy, Arrius decided to personally lead the mission. A thousand horsemen would form the crux of his force, two companies scouting ahead, and the rest forming a massive wedge that spread out a half mile in each direction. Centurion Galeo and his cohort of legionaries would occupy the center, near the apex of the wedge. Small groups of cavalrymen would ride out in numerous directions, providing eyes on the flanks. Their main force had to walk at a much slower pace to keep the correct distance between themselves and their infantry support.