Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians

by James Mace

  The land in this region was mostly flat, open farmland. Fields of wheat, large vineyards, and olive groves extended as far as one could see. The overseers and the slaves tending to the crops, which were in the midst of harvest, scattered from the advancing mass of soldiers. Both horse and legionary alike trampled through the expanses of tilled earth lined with the broken stalks of harvested wheat and other grains. Endless rows of trees lined the roads. Every time the taskforce approached one of these, troopers were dispatched forward to make certain they were clear of enemy soldiers. The sun was falling in the west as they halted near a narrow brook.

  “It’s about another six miles to the bridge,” Arrius said to Centurion Galeo and the senior cavalry officers.

  “It will be dark soon,” one of his centurions observed. “We should keep our lead elements close to the main body, in case they run into trouble.”

  Arrius nodded and turned to his infantry commander. “Centurion Galeo, think your lads have another six miles in them?”

  “It’s already been a long day. But, yes, they can march another six miles…and fight a battle, if need be.”

  “We’ll rest here for a bit and let the men get a quick meal,” Arrius directed. “We haven’t seen so much as a single enemy scout. I think it is unlikely we’ll run into the Vitellian Army this day.”

  “A shame, really,” one of the centurions replied. “The lads have been anxious to give those bastards a good thrashing.”

  “Let’s not forget who we’re fighting,” Galeo countered. “These aren’t mindless barbarians we’ll be facing.”

  “Your legionaries aren’t scared, are you?” the cavalry centurion retorted.

  “Never mistake respect for fear,” Galeo shot back.

  “Alright, enough,” Arrius interrupted. “The sun will be down soon, and it will be at least a couple hours before we reach the bridge. Get your men fed and the horses watered. I want us on the move in half an hour.”

  Lucius’ initial relief at having been reinforced by most of Caecina’s army had been replaced by excruciating frustration. He had been compelled to wait several days before his attached cohorts of auxilia infantry were ready to depart Hostilia; and even then, they had not left until late afternoon. The tribune hoped to secure one of the bridges across the River Athesis, sending his scouts out in force the following day. It had been over a week since they had last seen any of the Flavian horsemen, and the gods only knew where their army was now. Lucius viewed Caecina’s absence as a stroke of luck. Now he had time to find the Flavian Army and bring some useful intelligence to his commanding general.

  The River Athesis served as the boundary between Vitellian and Flavian territory. Two bridges spanned fast-moving currents approximately twenty-five miles apart. Lucius’ taskforce reached the westernmost bridge, where he decided to make camp on the north bank of the river. It was already after dark. A sliver of moon cast its light upon the ground.

  “Tomorrow we should advance towards the crossroads at Montagnana,” Centurion Liberius said.

  “Agreed,” Lucius replied. “We haven’t heard from the lads we left there for several days. It frustrates me that we have not been able to get any eyes on the Flavian Army. We have no idea what their numbers are or if they managed to persuaded all of the Danube legions to rebel. The enemy’s auxilia regiments from both Pannonia and Moesia are disproportionately cavalry, and they have kept us blind to the Flavians’ true strengths.”

  What neither man knew was their detachment had been driven off by one of Arrius’ regiments earlier in the evening. They were now twenty miles further upriver, attempting to evade any would-be pursuers.

  The hour was late, and Lucius was anxious to remove his armor and bed down for the night. As regimental commander, he had come to accept the fact that he was always the last to bed and the first to rise. He therefore decided he should inspect the auxilia infantry cohorts, whose duties including fortifying and securing their position. As he rode through the camp, his servant walking next to him holding a torch, he was appalled to see that the camp had not been entrenched, and that only a handful of sentries were posted.

  “What in the fuck is the meaning of this?” the tribune snapped.

  “Nothing to worry about,” one of the sentries replied. “The Flavians are miles from here.”

  “Excuse me?” Lucius said, his face turning red. “Get me your damned centurion at once!”

  As the soldier started to slowly ponder away, sulking all the while, Lucius rode up behind him and kicked him hard in the back of the head, sending him sprawling onto his face.

  “At the double, damn you!”

  As the trooper staggered back to his feet, muttering curses towards the tribune, Lucius was suddenly filled with a deep sense of foreboding. The interception of most Vitellian scouts and couriers had left them completely in the dark. Like Centurion Liberius, he was certain the Flavians were much closer than when they last saw them. And while he would give a sound verbal lashing to the auxilia centurions, he knew he had only himself to blame. They fell under his command now. It was his responsibility to make certain daily camp duties were performed, especially since he did not know the infantry cohorts. After a few minutes, a bleary-eyed centurion stumbled over to him.

  “What is it, tribune?” he asked with much irritation.

  “You were tasked with setting security for this camp,” Lucius said, fighting to control his anger. “Explain to me why there are only a handful of sentries posted and no regulation entrenchments dug?”

  Before the centurion could answer, Lucius’ fears were realized with the sounding of war horns just beyond the edge of the camp.

  “Oh, fuck…” the centurion muttered. He was suddenly alert and realized what a gross transgression he had committed.

  “If we survive this, I will have you stripped of your rank and flogged in front of the entire army,” Lucius growled. “Now get your men up!”

  It was a fortunate stroke of luck for Lucius Artorius that the Flavian advance guard stumbled upon them in the dark. Had they known the strength and disposition of the Vitellian force, they would have taken the time to quietly envelop them, while conducting a more coordinated assault. But because Lucius’ small taskforce departed so late in the day, the Flavians did not even realize they had crossed over the Athesis. Hence, no contact had been made with Vitellian scouts beforehand. Instead, they had been spotted by an enemy sentry, the cavalry officers sounding the charge in an attempt to seize the initiative.

  Gaius Artorius and the soldiers of the Fifth Cohort were still about half a mile back with most of the cavalry. The rapid sounding of trumpet blasts alerted the marching legionaries, who had been plodding along in a daze brought on by fatigue and the encompassing darkness.

  “It would seem your lads have made contact, sir,” Centurion Galeo said, walking over to Commander Arrius.

  “The bridge is not too far from here,” Arrius replied. “I’ll take the rest of my men and have them swing out wide and attempt to surround and fix the enemy in place. Deploy your men into battle ranks and press up the center. Be prepared to withdraw if things take a turn for the worse. Since we saw no trace of them today, I thought the Vitellians were another ten to fifteen miles from here. It seems I misjudged them.”

  “Understood,” Galeo acknowledged. He turned to his still-marching legionaries. “Fifth Cohort…battle formation, on me!”

  Orders were echoed down the column. The legionaries rapidly deployed into battle lines. Packs were quickly dropped and left under the watch of a handful of officers’ servants.

  Every soldier was now wide-eyed and alert. Given the relatively flat and open terrain, Galeo elected to keep as wide of a frontage as he was reasonably able to control. Each century was arrayed in four ranks with a gap of ten to fifteen feet between. Gaius was on the far left of his men, Centurion Galeo and the First Century to his left.

  “Steady, lads!” Centurion Nicanor said, from his position on the far right. “Maintain your
intervals and hold formation. We don’t know what’s out there. Look sharp!”

  “Not that any of us can see shit,” a legionary muttered under his breath.

  Arrius advanced his cavalry in two large wings, each in a lengthy echelon on either flank of the legionary cohort. He was cautious, not wanting to risk a head-on assault should they discover Caecina’s entire army north of the river.

  At the bridge, Flavian horsemen clashed with sentries. Those who could not flee fast enough were trampled under the hooves of their chargers. Meanwhile, the troopers of Siliana Horse frantically rallied around their commander. He sent a squad of troopers ahead to see how large a force was bearing down on them.

  “Could be just some scouts, or it could be their entire damned army,” he muttered, before drawing his spatha.

  Auxilia centurions kicked and berated their men as they scrambled up and haphazardly threw on their armor, struggling in the dark to find their weapons and shields. By the same token, Lucius’ cavalrymen were moving with a sense of urgency, yet refusing to let panic set in. Within minutes, all of his companies were formed into six ranks, ready to ride into battle, lances resting on their shoulders, officers’ spathas drawn. Soon his scouts rode back to him, their horses sprinting, and their expressions wrought with fear.

  “The Flavians are attacking in force, sir,” one of the men reported. “We spotted both cavalry and legionaries.”

  “Could you see how many?” Centurion Liberius asked.

  “No, sir, it’s too bloody dark. We damn near ran right into them as it was. But their legionaries are in battle formation, and they are marching at the quick step. This is not a mere reconnaissance; they’re coming to fight, sir.”

  Lucius gritted his teeth. Were his camp properly fortified, they could make a viable stand with the auxiliaries while his cavalry probed for weaknesses. As it was, his attached infantry were proving useless, and the enemy horsemen greatly outnumbered his.

  Reluctantly, he turned to face his assembled regiment. “Alright lads, our mission was to locate the Flavian Army. And as you can hear, we found them. We need to hold them long enough to get everyone across the bridge. And, yes, that includes those damned fools who got us in to this predicament. Form a screen line around the camp. As the last elements cross the bridge, they will cut the supports behind them.” He saw the despondent looks on the faces of his men, who were hoping to take the fight to the Flavians. “This is not a defeat, but simply a redeployment. Your lances will taste the flesh of traitors soon enough.”

  Liberius and his subordinate centurions shouted orders to their men. The companies deployed into a large horseshoe-shaped formation around their camp. The Flavians were mostly skirmishing with the near-panicked infantrymen, out of concern there might be a larger Vitellian force encamped within. As the enemy’s true strength became apparent, Lucius was suddenly thankful for the cover of darkness. While it greatly impeded the ability of leaders from both sides to coordinate, he now realized the Flavians had them badly outnumbered, though they probably didn’t even know it. His own horsemen spurred their mounts forward, engaging in a series of brief clashes with the enemy’s mounted troops.

  Lucius had positioned himself and a mounted escort nearest the road. He could not see any enemy soldiers to his front. “Keep your eyes open, we know they have infantry support,” he told those nearest him. He tried to listen carefully over the sounds of shields and swords crashing together, while injured cried out as they were struck down. He turned his ear towards the north and held his breath. Just then, he thought he heard the faint sound of advancing footsteps.

  After a few moments, there was no mistaking the echoing of hobnailed sandals off the paving stones.

  “Centurion Liberius!” he shouted.

  “Sir?” his second quickly rode over to him.

  “What’s the status of our withdrawal?”

  “About half the infantry are across,” the centurion replied. “I’m collapsing the circle and sending the first two of our flank companies over.”

  “We’d best hurry,” Lucius said, looking down the road. “Their infantry are almost on us.”

  Both of them were able to catch the faint glint of moonlight reflecting off the armor and shields of what appeared to be at least a cohort of legionaries. Both sides had spotted each other at the same time, and unintelligible orders were heard being shouted from the Flavian officers. The legionaries were now advancing at a quick jog. Within a minute or so, the Vitellians would be in range of their javelins. Their extraction would be a bloody affair, should they fail to withdraw quickly. And if the enemy managed to get some of their troops over the bridge before it could be collapsed, it would be a disaster.

  “There they are,” Centurion Galeo said, keeping his voice calm. He nodded to his cornicen, who sounded a pair of notes on his horn.

  “At the double time!” centurions shouted up and down the line. “March!”

  Javelins were now resting on their shoulders, as legionaries anticipated the pending order to unleash upon their panicked adversaries. Their own cavalry, having not been able to coordinate with Arrius and Galeo beforehand, were still skirmishing with the Vitellian horsemen on the flanks. Distances were also extremely difficult to judge in the dark. As they approached the bridge, the last of the Vitellian horsemen could be seen fleeing across to the other side. The sound of axes and gladii hacking away on the support ropes halted any attempts to cross over.

  “Halt!” Galeo shouted, raising his gladius high.

  “Fucking cowards, good riddance!” a legionary said, before spitting on the ground in contempt.

  “I don’t suspect they are attempting to lure us into a trap,” Centurion Galeo said, when Commander Arrius rode up to him.

  The sounds of the bridge supports crashing into the river on the far side seemed to confirm this.

  “Well, bugger,” Arrius said. He then addressed his own officers. “Did we take any prisoners?”

  “Just a couple, sir,” a centurion reported. “Damned barbarian auxiliaries who probably don’t know shit.”

  “Well, find out what they do know,” Arrius replied curtly. “Send a rider back to General Primus, tell him we’ve found the Vitellian Army. The rest of you start fortifying our camp.”

  “Sir, our packs and equipment are a couple miles up the road,” Centurion Galeo stated.

  “Very well,” the commander said. “I still want this camp dug in when you return. I don’t suspect we’ll have any more trouble with our friends across the river, but I’m not taking any unnecessary chances.”

  The first contact between Vitellian and Flavian forces had amounted to little more than a minor skirmish. Fifteen Vitellian infantrymen had been killed along with three of Lucius Artorius’ cavalry, with about twice as many wounded. Four men from Arrius’ regiments had been slain and another dozen injured. What mattered was both sides had found each other. As for the Artorian brothers, they had, for the briefest of moments, been within a hundred feet of each other, yet neither knew it. It was as if the fates were playing a cruel game with them, and every other brother, father, son, or other kinsman who found themselves on opposing sides of this war.

  Word reached General Primus the following day, and soon the entire division was encamped just north of the River Athesis. After this brief and rather anticlimactic first encounter, both armies remained anchored to their camps, neither side willing to take the next move. While this inactivity was frustrating for the men in the ranks, both commanding generals were playing for time.

  The Vitellians were in a strong defensive position, though Primus knew they were in no position to openly attack his forces. And while his second wave of legions were but a few days’ march away, his scouts to the west had reported no movement from the legions at Cremona. The next move, he reckoned, fell to Caecina.

  “Come on, Caecina,” Primus said one evening as he gazed across the river. “Time for you to show us which side your pieces are playing for in this game.”

>   Chapter XII: The Race to Cremona

  Northern Italia

  18 October 69 A.D.

  Marcus Antonius Primus

  Though the Flavians and Vitellians had yet to engage in any sort of decisive battle, the overall strategic situation was quickly becoming bleak for the emperor in Rome. Vespasian had already cut grain supplies from Egypt, and while there was no shortage of food supplies that could be imported from loyal provinces like North Africa, Caecina suspected their fealty was superficial at best.

  His brief meeting in Ravenna with Admiral Lucilius Bassus was the last bit of reassurance he needed to convince himself the time was right to turn on Vitellius. Bassus was not only still personally angry with the emperor, but his mariners had been deprived of much-needed rations and supplies, and had not been paid since Vitellius came to power. So, unbeknownst to Antonius Primus, who had detached some of his auxiliaries to Altinum to protect his flank and communications, the Ravenna fleet was ready to declare for Vespasian.

  Once the Flavians discovered the vast majority of the Imperial Navy was now theirs, they could easily blockade every port in Italia and wait for the Vitellian armies to be weakened by hunger. Food shortages would also lead to riots within the major cities, and even though the Vitellians possessed a fearsome army, the Flavians would have them substantially outnumbered in the coming months once Mucianus arrived with his division. A decisive victory over Antonius Primus could change all of this, and turn the tide in favor of Vitellius. However, Caecina was more interested in saving his own neck. The sooner he defected, the better.