by James Mace
As he departed Ravenna, he thought he should send an immediate message to Primus, informing him of his intentions. However, he decided it would be prudent to first make certain his army was ready to turn against the pretender. After which, he could say he brought the northern army and the Ravenna fleet to Vespasian. It would then simply be a matter of deciding who should command the swelled ranks of the Flavian Army, Caecina or Primus?
He found his army deeply entrenched south of the River Athesis. Palisades had been built up with spikes, snares, and other various obstacles lining the deep trench.
“Sir, our forces have located the Flavian Army,” a staff tribune reported, as Caecina dismounted near his principia.
He ignored the man, who was neglecting to mention anything at all about the debacle of a skirmish from a few nights prior.
“I need all senior officers here at once,” Caecina ordered the tribune. His expression was grave, and he hoped his legions would follow his example. If not, Rome would be subjected to a bitter scene of carnage in the coming months.
The other senior legate was a man named Fabius Fabullus, who was an unassuming officer of adequate tactical skill, though little imagination when it came to long-term strategy. The camp prefect, who had nominally assumed a senior leadership position, was a retired centurion primus pilus named Cassius Longus. They, along with Master Centurion Aetius of First Germanica, made up the senior officers of Caecina’s division. That he had not been given enough officers of rank was telling. It almost felt as if Valens had yet again deliberately set him up for failure. The remaining legates for the entire army were supposed to come up with Valens, but Caecina had no way of knowing when that might be. As the officers assembled, Caecina ordered all centurions pilus prior and above to attend his brief as well.
“Men,” he said, pacing back and forth in front of the assembled officers, his hands clasped behind his back. “I fear our cause has been undone.”
“What are you talking about, sir?” Legate Fabius retorted, his voice indignant. “We have the most powerful army in the world at our command, with more legions on their way. How could we possibly be undone?”
“The Ravenna fleet has betrayed us,” Caecina explained. “Vespasian now has control over most of the Imperial Navy. It won’t be long until all ports are blockaded and they attempt to starve us into submission.”
“Piss on that,” Cassius spat. “Once we smash their pitiful armies and send Primus’ head in a box to the pretender, it is they who will capitulate.”
Caecina was suddenly nervous. The legates, tribunes and centurions were becoming defiant in their speech. He also knew he had no choice but to try and finish what he started in Ravenna.
“My friends, please!” he implored them, his hands raised. “We must look to more than just ourselves. Are we the strongest force in the Imperial Army? Without a doubt. But if we are to bring peace to Rome, it will take far more than just our swords. Vespasian is a noble man and above all a good Roman. He is more than fit to rule the empire, while Vitellius has done nothing except bring us to the brink of ruin. I have assurances from the Flavian Commanding General, Antonius Primus, that all centurions and tribunes will be allowed to keep their positions under the new regime…”
“Fucking traitor!” someone shouted.
Several dozen gladii were suddenly drawn from their scabbards.
“Are we to listen to this?” Fabius spoke up. “Do our oaths mean so little that we would cast them aside because a handful of sailors are cowards and shirkers? The very army Antonius Primus brings against us are nothing more than the same men we defeated barely six months ago. Sorry, general, but we will not capitulate!”
Caecina was now fearful for his life, as the enraged mob stepped towards him. It was Master Centurion Aetius who stopped them. His own blade was drawn, and he quickly stepped between the general and the furious officers.
“Hold!” he shouted. “This will not end with murder. We are legionaries, not barbarians. General Caecina, you are under arrest and will be brought before the emperor on charges of treason. But we will not let our discipline lapse into that of savages, no matter how much we have been betrayed.” He whispered to Caecina, “I am sorry, sir, but if I don’t have you placed in chains now, this lot will kill you for certain.”
“As will Vitellius, should the Flavians lose,” the general muttered despondently.
Legionaries were summoned to place their traitorous commanding general in chains. As Caecina was led away, all the while being subjected to torrents of abuse from his former officers, Aetius found himself privately echoing the general’s doubts. Still, he had given his sacred oath to Emperor Vitellius. Having already fought one war on his behalf, he steeled himself to fight another.
“You’re in command now,” the master centurion said to Legate Fabius. “The time for waiting is over.”
Fabius swallowed hard. With General Valens still in Rome with the more senior legates in the army, he was now faced with the daunting task of commanding the entire northern army.
“Summon Tribune Artorius,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
Word of Caecina’s betrayal had spread quickly throughout the camp. The loss of their commanding general to the enemy would greatly harm morale, and the remaining senior officers knew it was even more crucial they acted soon. Within the hour, every legionary cohort and auxilia regimental commander was soon crammed into the principia tent. All eyes were on Lucius Artorius. He relayed what information he had managed to gather over the past few days.
“General Primus has concentrated what forces he has here, south of Ateste,” he said, pointing to a map. “Since we have cut the western bridge across the Athesis, this is the only way they can approach.”
“They’re less than twenty miles from here. What are they waiting for?” General Fabius asked.
“Reinforcements most likely,” Prefect Cassius remarked.
“That was our assessment as well,” Lucius replied. “From what we can see, Primus currently has two legions, some attached cohorts, and a very strong force of cavalry. We can assume the entire Balkan Army has declared for Vespasian, and this is likely just his advance guard.”
“There is also the matter of the entire eastern army,” Master Centurion Aetius spoke up. “We don’t know when they left Syria or at what pace they are marching, but it’s highly probable this army is substantially larger than whatever Primus may throw against us.”
“Meaning we have to deal with Primus now, rather than sitting on our asses allowing him to wait for reinforcements,” Fabius said begrudgingly. “I’ve sent messages back to General Valens and the emperor, informing them of Caecina’s betrayal, urging them to send what forces remain in Rome with all possible speed.”
“What about our troops at Cremona?” a tribune asked. “We have two full legions there plus a strong contingent of cavalry.”
“They were not depleted by having to supply men for the new Praetorian Guard,” Cassius observed. “And Fifth Alaudae Legion has yet to depart for Batavia. We should keep them with us until we’ve taken care of the Flavians.”
“Agreed,” the new commanding general said. “Cremona is a place of strength. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Flavians went around our position and try to take it first, rather than engaging us.”
“Some of my scouts believe they have sent a detachment to Verona,” Lucius remarked. “If that’s the case, and they can overwhelm the garrison at Cremona, they will control all of Italia north of the River Padus. Without the Ravenna fleet, we will be isolated from Rome.”
“It’s settled, then,” the new commanding general asserted. “We must make for Cremona at once.”
“Sir, I recommend we take the longer route, south of the river,” Lucius stated. “Primus’ strength lies in his cavalry. He has an entire corps of four, maybe five thousand troopers. I simply do not have the numbers to keep them at bay, not with only a single regiment. If we take the road north of the river, our columns wi
ll have their flanks completely exposed.”
“The direct road is about sixty miles,” Fabius observed, running his finger along the map. “We could sneak away in the middle of the night.”
“Sir, even if we did, we could only cover half that distance before they discovered we’ve gone, and their cavalry caught up to us,” Master Centurion Aetius noted.
“If we go around, the distance increases to a hundred miles,” Lucius admitted. “But at least that way, we can arrive at Cremona with our army intact and negate the risk of being cut to pieces while on the move.”
While General Fabius and the Vitellians made preparations for their nighttime departure and flight to Cremona, two more Flavian Legions arrived near Verona to reinforce Antonius Primus. Their commanding generals, Legate Lupus of Legio VIII, Augusta, and Legate Aponius of Legio III, Gallica, had arrived a few days prior. The latter was the second cousin of Governor Saturnius in Moesia. These two legions constituted the core of Primus’ second wave and were now within half a day’s march of his advance forces. The commander-in-chief had ridden to Verona with General Aquila. He was relieved the people greeted his forces with the same level of friendly hospitality as at Patavium.
“My cousin sends us good tidings,” Aponius stated. “Seventh Claudia Legion has declared for Vespasian and is on the move with the bulk of their legionaries.”
“That gives us five legions, sir,” General Aquila said. “We’ve lost a number of auxiliaries to guarding our flanks from the sea, and the possibility of enemy reinforcements coming via Raetia. But, we still have most of our cavalry.”
Primus was greatly pleased with this latest development. As he and his senior legates rode back to their ever-growing encampment, they were greeted a few miles up the road by a rather frantic Arrius Varus.
“The Vitellians have hoofed it, sir,” he said quickly. “They must have broken down camp in the middle of the night.”
“Any idea which direction they went?” Primus asked.
“I sent scouts as far as the town of Andes, but the locals said they have seen nothing.”
“If the enemy has crossed the River Padus, should we not pursue them?” Aponius asked.
Primus shook his head. “No. I’ll not have thirty thousand men chasing phantoms. Besides, I know exactly where they are headed.
“Cremona,” Aquila said knowingly. He grimaced at the memories of the last battle he fought not far from there.
“I would bet a thousand denarii that that is where our friend, Caecina, is headed,” Primus remarked. “He may have gotten an early start on us, but he has nearly twice the distance to travel. Ready the legions. Once Eighth Augusta and Third Gallica have joined us, we will advance first to Bedriacum. From there we will head to Cremona and compel the garrison to surrender before Caecina can reinforce them.”
“If there is a second Vitellian division under Valens, they are likely headed to Cremona as well,” Arrius surmised.
“Let us hope we do not give them too great of a head start,” General Lupus added.
Primus held a determined grimace, “The race to Cremona is on.”
The reinforcing Flavian Legions had scarcely a day to rest and recuperate after their long trek from the Danube, before the entire army was on the move. Primus had privately complained before about what he perceived as the slow pace of their advance through Italia. Now his army would have to practically sprint the next leg of their journey. The commanding general was determined to reach Cremona first and goad the two legions there into battle or surrender. If they chose to fight, his five legions and vast cavalry corps would crush them utterly, well before the rest of the Vitellian Army could arrive to reinforce them.
“I was beginning to think the war would be over, ending in some sort of awkward truce,” Tesserarius Julius said, as he and the other principle officers oversaw the frantic breaking down of their camp.
“It did seem strange that we sat around for so long, both sides just looking at each other across the river,” Optio Gaius Artorius concurred.
Neither of the officers realized that was exactly why the two armies had remained static, simply watching each other, since the skirmish at the Athesis Bridge. General Primus had told no one, not even his fellow legates, about his thoughts regarding the possible defection of Caecina and his army. Since the Vitellians had withdrawn during the night and were likely headed for Cremona, it would seem they would not be abandoning the pretender after all. Neither Primus nor any of his soldiers knew about Caecina’s attempt at defection and subsequently being thrown into chains. All anyone knew was it was now a race to Cremona, where they hoped to either compel the garrison to join them or quickly subdue them before the Vitellian’s main force arrived.
“What news?” Gaius asked, when joined by Centurion Nicanor.
“We’re to cut cross-country due west,” their commander answered. “There’s a small river called the Mincius that flows into the Padus. We’re to cross at a town called Mantua about thirty miles from here.”
“If we’re marching cross-country, I don’t suspect we’ll reach it in a day,” Julius noted.
“That’s what the officers from Thirteenth Gemina are saying,” Nicanor concurred. “They know this region well, and have told us it will be slow going until we reach Mantua. However, there is a paved road that intersects with the Via Postumia just northeast of Bedriacum. General Primus wants us to reach the city in two days and has ordered us to establish a stronghold once we arrive. Bedriacum will become our staging point until we know the disposition of the garrison at Cremona.”
“Much like it was for Otho,” Julius grumbled.
“At least we’re not being led by an inexperienced halfwit,” Gaius conjectured.
Nicanor let out a laugh. “That is exactly what the primus pilus of Thirteenth Gemina said.”
The journey across the vast expanses of open grasslands farm fields was indeed slow going, especially now that Primus had most of his army consolidated. The purpose of his dividing his forces into two divisions was for ease of travel, and to prevent congestion by having so many soldiers in such a confined space. He had allowed them to converge only because he anticipated having to fight the Vitellians at Hostilia, should they refuse to desert Vitellius. Instead, he now had to get his entire force of nearly thirty thousand men as far as Bedriacum in very short order. He had no choice but to keep this unwieldy mass of men, pack animals, and equipment together.
It soon became apparent that Primus was fortunate to have Legate Aquila and Thirteenth Gemina guiding his army. Primus himself was completely unfamiliar with the terrain, and only had a handful of crude maps to show him where the roads, rivers, and major cities were. The town of Mantua and its bridge crossing was not even noted on any of his maps. He had, at first, thought he would have to divert his army all the way to Verona before heading towards Bedriacum.
“I’m damnably grateful you decided to tell Vitellius to piss off when he demanded your allegiance,” Primus said to Aquila, as the army made camp along a vast expanse of grassy fields near Mantua.
“Defeating Otho’s army wasn’t enough,” Aquila replied. “Vitellius, or at least his handlers, Valens and Caecina, wished to humiliate us. But, since they sent Fourteenth Gemina to Britannia, and First Adiutrix to Hispania, that left only us. Our lads busted their backs building those damned amphitheaters, all the while being harassed and publicly embarrassed by the people of Cremona. They treated my legionaries like slaves.”
“No wonder they are so anxious for a bit of reprisal,” the commander-in-chief stated.
“To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if my lads try to burn Cremona to the ground,” Aquila said ominously.
“Then the city had better surrender quietly,” Primus declared.
They heard the sound of a horse whinnying just outside the principia tent. The large flaps were soon held open. Commander Arrius entered and removed his helmet.
“Forgive my late appearance, general,” he said. “I was out
with some of my lads scouting for another crossing.”
“And did you find one?” Primus asked.
“We did. There’s a little town called Andes just a few miles south of Mantua. Some of my troopers spotted it when they were trying to see where the Vitellians ran off to. There’s no bridge, but there is a viable fording site near there. The current isn’t too fast, and the water is only about waist deep.”
“We’ll send most of the cavalry that way,” Primus decided. “Eighth Augusta is at the back of the column with the detachment from Fifteenth Apollonia. We’ll send them that way. The rest of the army can cross at Mantua.”
“Once we reach Bedriacum, there are a number of bridges we can use,” Aquila added. “I recall there being one to the east, and at least two more to the north. They’re mostly used by farmers and not very wide, though that will save us from the congestion of crossing everyone at the Via Postumia bridge.”
“There was no sign of any enemy troops?” Primus asked Arrius.
“None,” the cavalry officer confirmed. “I don’t think the few peasants I saw at Mantua even know there is a war ongoing. We were the first imperial soldiers they’ve seen in months. One of my decurions said he saw a bust of Vitellius at the town hall, though most of the people had no idea who he was. For all they know, it’s either Galba or Otho.”
“We’ll make certain no one mistakes that fat bastard for Vespasian once we finish with him,” Aquila remarked.
The crossing of the River Mincius was mostly uneventful. However, the shallow ford proved quite the obstacle for the legionaries ordered to cross, burdened as they were by armor, weapons, and their heavy packs. Primus sent a lone regiment of cavalry into Mantua to clear a path for his remaining legions and auxilia regiments, but it still took several hours for his men to cross the town’s lone bridge. Once his forces were across and out on open ground again, however, their paced quickened considerably. As General Primus predicted, it took the better part of two days for the Flavians to make the journey to Bedriacum. The city still bore the ignoble distinction of being the last viable stronghold for Emperor Otho. For the soldiers of Legio XIII, their return felt like a rather surreal homecoming.