by James Mace
“Set for passage-of-lines!” Centurion Nicanor shouted from the right of their formation. The command was echoed down the line by legionaries and their decani. Soldiers in the front rank braced themselves. Those behind them crouched into fighting stances and made ready to burst past them. Nicanor followed the preparatory command with a blow of his whistle. His first rank quickly lunged backwards between their mates in the subsequent ranks. Those directly behind them leapt forward, crashing into the Vitellian auxiliaries with a wall of shields.
During the split second it took for the second rank to surge into the fray, a handful of enemy soldiers managed to get their footing at the top of the hill. One of them caught a legionary on the left end of the line with his shield, causing the man to stumble. As the trooper brought his spear up high to stab the soldier in the neck, Gaius rushed forward and awkwardly jabbed him in the face with his optio’s staff. The auxiliary trooper gave a yelp and stumbled back. As he did, he swung his oblong shield in a wide arc, the bottom edge catching Gaius on his injured arm. Gaius fell to his knees, blinded by pain. However, he had given his legionary enough time to regain his balance and slam his gladius hard into the trooper’s back. The hamata chain mail only partially impeded the blow. The point of the weapon buried itself several inches into his back. The auxilia soldier cried out in pain, dropping his shield and spear as he tumbled down the hill.
The soldiers from Legio X frantically held off the Vitellian assault. Meanwhile, a series of whistle blows sounded, and the centuries from Legio XV rose up and raced past either end of their allied legionaries. Extending into long lines, only two ranks deep, they enveloped the auxiliary cohorts both on the flanks and from behind. Twin salvoes of javelins followed. Many were cut down in their wake.
“Sound the advance!” Galeo shouted to his cornicen.
The loud trumpet blast was followed by a loud battle cry from the soldiers holding the hill. They surged forward, crashing hard into the disheveled ranks of the Vitellian auxilia. The ensuing quarrel only lasted a few moments, as the panicked troopers began throwing down their weapons, raising their hands in surrender. Legionaries immediately ceased their attack and looked to their officers for instructions.
“Disarm this lot and get them back over the hill,” the pilus prior from Legio XV ordered. “Send a runner to General Primus. Let him know we’ve got a horde of prisoners for him.” He walked over to Centurion Galeo and gave an approving nod. “Good work holding that hill. If you wish to take control of the prisoners, my men will take over this position and give your lot a rest.”
“Thank you,” Galeo replied, his voice tired and coming in panting gasps. As his men led the prisoners over the hill, he sought out their commanding officer.
“It would appear the war is over for us,” the auxilia centurion said. He gave a sinister grin. “That is, if you manage to actually win this battle.”
“If we don’t, I’m sure you and I will be changing roles,” Galeo replied with a morbid smirk of his own. “Your men are to strip out of their armor. I also want your word, as a Roman officer, neither you nor your soldiers will attempt to escape or take any further action in this battle.”
“You have my word,” the auxilia centurion replied. He looked over toward the line where Seventh Gemina was still locked in its death struggle with First Italica. Rows of dead soldiers lay behind the battle line, many smashed by the storm of catapult shot. “I am impressed those men have lasted as long as they have. Still, you marched all day in the heat, you’ve taken a barrage from our siege engines, and now you are slowly being beaten down. I daresay it will take an act of the gods to grant your army victory.”
No one knew what hour it was, or how long this latest clash had been ongoing. Cohorts of legionaries stood head-to-head against each other. The incessant screams of men and the clashing of shields was almost deafening. Master Centurion Vitruvius held his ground with the men of the Seventh Gemina’s First Cohort. The best prospective troops of the legion, they were still mostly inexperienced and were getting a savage baptism in blood and steel. Still they refused to yield. Even as their mates fell, others surged into the fray, holding the line against the Vitellians’ unending assaults. The rows of dead and wounded legionaries extended behind both formations. Neither side would cede so much as a foot of ground.
As exhaustion took hold, with each commanding centurion making ready to order the next passage-of-lines, the shouts and the fighting suddenly ceased. Every soldier was filthy and completely spent. They leaned against their shields, gasping and trying to catch their breath.
“What the fuck are we doing?” someone on the Flavian line spat.
“I don’t even know anymore,” a despondent Vitellian legionary replied. The two men had spent the last several minutes slamming their shields together, trying to find an opening to strike at one of their adversary’s vulnerable areas. Now, as they leaned against their shields, the thought of trying to kill one another became an absurd atrocity.
Other similar mutterings were heard from soldiers on each line, with many protests as to why they were fighting each other. Vitruvius sensed what he hoped was an opportunity. He raised his gladius and stepped in front of his cohort.
“Hold, friends!” he said loudly, for all to hear. “Why must we fight each other? What good has come from this senseless act of Roman slaying Roman? Are we not brothers?”
“This war brings us neither joy nor honor, sir,” a Vitellian decanus spoke up. “A tragedy that would serve rival Caesars.”
“We can put an end to this now,” the master centurion said, trying to gage the demeanor of the enemy soldiers. “All of us are defenders of the empire. We should be fighting together, as Romans.”
“Yes, we should,” the voice of a Vitellian centurion said. The man strode in front of his own formation and stood face-to-face with Vitruvius. “We are all brothers here, sir. To kill fellow Romans is an affront to the gods themselves. If your men will abandon the usurper, Vespasian, their previous treason will be forgiven. They will return to their place of honor as imperial soldiers.”
“You speak of treason, yet it was Vitellius who betrayed the will of the senate and people of Rome,” the primus pilus countered. “How many more will die for him? He is not worth a single drop of blood from any one of your soldiers or mine. You cannot hope to win this war, not with another Flavian Army rapidly approaching from the east. Their numbers are even greater than ours. Surely you must know this.”
“I’m not here to argue whose cause is right or wrong, sir,” the centurion replied. “You may have reinforcements coming, but so do we. And we have the whole of Gaul, Germania, Hispania, and Britannia from which we can call additional soldiers. I do not want to lose any more of my brothers, but I cannot forsake my oath.”
“Neither can I,” Vitruvius said, grimacing in frustration. “Let us reform then, and pay our penance for offending the gods in blood.”
The two officers exchanged salutes with their gladii before returning to their positions on their respective battle lines. As Vitruvius settled into his fighting stance his most overwhelming emotion was not fear, but sorrow.
At least my father died fighting Rome’s enemies and not his brothers-in-arms , he thought to himself. He took a deep breath and blew his whistle. His cohort came alive. Men in the second rank came rushing past those in front, bellowing with rage. The Vitellians executed a similar maneuver and soon the clash of arms commenced once more.
Similar actions played out all along the battle line, in particular amongst the competing ranks of legionaries. Whenever exhaustion led to momentary pauses in the brutal grind, men on both sides would plead with their enemies to give up their cause. They would state that the other side could not possibly win, and the spilling of further Roman blood was a futile abomination. And though it was a hateful thing, having to fight fellow imperial soldiers, not one man on either side capitulated to the other’s entreaties. Privately, every soldier on the field held at least some measure of re
spect for the stubborn will of their opponents and the refusal of any man on the field to break his sacred oath.
After another twenty or so minutes of relentless fighting, the Vitellian cornicens sounded the withdrawal. They did not go far, however. They simply needed time to rest and regroup. As for the Flavians, they found themselves fighting a new pair of enemies, fatigue and hunger.
Chapter XVI: An Inexplicable Truce
Field of Cremona
Midnight
***
It was now midnight, and the moon rose high through the broken clouds, casting a pall of ethereal sadness upon the battlefield. The Vitellians withdrew about fifty meters from the battle front, dragging away their wounded. They were met with a much-needed reprieve. Hundreds of Cremonans, mostly women, had come out of the city, bearing baskets of bread, pots full of stew and cooked meat, as well as carts laden with casks of wine and water. They were led by the wife of the governor of the city, who oversaw the distribution of food and drink. She led a large number of younger women to where General Manlius had assembled with a handful of his senior officers.
“We had to shift most of our reserves to the right to counter a Flavian Legion that arrived late on the field,” Master Centurion Aetius was heard saying.
“And we’ve twice failed to take that damned hill,” an auxiliary tribune said. “Siliana horse ran into a wall of legionaries, lost a good number of troopers, and their commanding tribune was badly wounded.”
“We thought it was just a single cohort,” another officer stated. “So we dispatched two auxilia infantry cohorts from our reserve. But when they got to the top, the Flavians had been reinforced. They were soon surrounded, and it appears the whole lot of them were taken prisoner.”
“So just like that, we’ve had a cavalry regiment mauled and lost two entire cohorts of infantry,” General Manlius noted, grinding is teeth in irritation. “Alright, no more attacks on that fucking hill. The high ground alone provides the enemy with a decisive advantage. And besides, we don’t need to take the hilltop in order to beat them. Exhaustion and hunger are their biggest enemies now.”
“Noble Manlius Valens,” the governor’s wife said. “Forgive the interruption, but we have come from Cremona to offer food, drink, and medical assistance to your army. These women are here to tend to your wounded.”
“I am indebted to you,” Manlius replied. “We have many who have been injured in this battle against the traitors. And all of our soldiers hunger and thirst.”
He then saw a sizeable number of younger women retrieving discarded gladii and spears from the long line of casualties. “Do they intend to fight as well?” the legate asked.
“If you will have us, let us help you defend our homes.”
“Are you alright, sir?” a legionary asked the still dazed Optio Gaius Artorius.
“I’ll be fine,” he replied, painfully trying to get back to his feet.
The soldier standing over him extended a hand and helped pull him up. “I just thought I should thank you for saving my life, sir,” the legionary said. “That damned auxiliary would have stuck me through the neck, had you not jabbed him in the face with your optio’s staff. Come on, I’ll help you down the hill. The lads from the Fifteenth are taking over here.”
Gaius was glad to leave the hilltop. He knew he was in no condition to fight anymore. Besides the pain in his now useless right arm, he was completely exhausted. Pangs of hunger manifested themselves as he sat with his back against a rock at the base of the hill. These were soon forgotten, however. He saw the row of dead legionaries, each with their traveling cloaks draped over them. The numerous wounded were being helped to a large open space. General Primus had sent for the medics and hospital crews, though they would likely not arrive from Bedriacum for several more hours. In the meantime, soldiers did as best as they could to tend the wounds of their injured friends. Gaius was very much surprised to see the legionary who had taken a spear to the thigh and tumbled down the hill was still alive. His body was battered and filthy, and his leg was wrapped in a rag. He gritted his teeth in pain as four of his companions carried him over to the casualty collection point.
“Another lull in the battle?” Gaius asked as his friend as Centurion Nicanor knelt beside him.
“So it would seem,” his commanding officer replied. “The lads are still holding, and the Vitellians have been taking a beating just as much as we are.”
“Centurion,” Tesserarius Julius said, walking over from the direction of Seventh Gemina. “It’s the strangest thing out there.”
“What is?” Nicanor asked.
“It looks like a damned festival across the way. I saw what may have been some cooking fires. With my bad ears I couldn’t hear a damned thing, but some of the lads said they heard women’s voices.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Gaius said. “Cremona is loyal to Vitellius. Their women are probably bringing food and drink to the pretender’s army while our men hunger.”
“That does bode ill,” Julius remarked. “All they need to do is hold fast and wait for dawn to come. Our lads are already exhausted, and the want of food will only make it worse.”
“If they do not attack again,” Nicanor said, “and decide to simply wait us out, we may have no choice but to retreat all the way back to Bedriacum. Let us hope the darkness can cover our withdrawal.”
“What about all of our wounded?” Julius asked, nodding towards the open area that was covered in badly injured soldiers. Nicanor could only grimace and shake his head.
As he dismounted his horse and stretched his legs, Antonius Primus was filled with the same trepidations expressed by Centurion Nicanor. He would not describe the sounds heard across the field as merriment, for the Vitellians were badly battered and had lost many men this night. Yet it was a far cry from the somber silence that consumed the Flavian Army.
“They feast, drink, and rest to regain their strength,” Legate Aquila said, as he rode up to his commanding general.
“If they do not attack us again within the hour, I am going to order a withdrawal from the field.” The commander-in-chief’s order was dismaying, but scarcely surprising, given the state of their army. “If we wait until dawn, our soldiers will be even more beaten down by hunger and exhaustion. The enemy will run right over us. We must prepare to retreat while we still have the cover of darkness.”
“Sir, what of our wounded?” General Lupus asked, echoing Julius’ concerns. “They number in the hundreds, maybe even thousands.”
“We cannot take them with us,” Primus said, his voice cracking. “It is a terrible thing, but we must leave them to the mercies of our enemies, who I hope will show them clemency.” He shook his head as he removed his helmet and threw it onto the ground. “I am sorry, my friends; sorry my aggressive initiative has proven to be nothing but recklessness. It has cost us dearly.”
“They’re coming again, lads!” a centurion’s voice shouted, from the battle line.
“At least they’re not leaving us to starve to death,” Aquila said grimly, as he turned his horse about and quickly rode back to his legion.
As he forced his way through the mass of legionaries, Primus noted a large number of torches among the advancing mass of Vitellian soldiers. “What in Hades are they playing at?”
“Sir, it doesn’t even look like they’re armed for battle,” a soldier stated. “They’re not carrying shields, nor are their weapons drawn.”
“They’re not coming to fight,” Master Centurion Vitruvius said. His eyes were sharper than most, and he was the first to see the wagons and carts that came with the enemy soldiers.
“Come, friends!” a voice shouted from the Vitellian ranks. “Here is meat, here is drink!”
“Bugger me, are they really asking us to come eat with them?” a perplexed legionary asked.
“Take and eat, take and drink!” another voice called, as if in answer to the question.
“Let us be strong when we slay and are slain! Let none of
us die while ignominiously fainting from hunger!”
“Fuck this,” another soldier said, dropping his shield. “If those bastards want to stick me, it’ll be better than starving for another six bloody hours!”
Neither Primus nor any of the man’s officers tried to stop him. Instead, they watched to see if it was perhaps a ruse. A loud cheer was heard, and they could see the Vitellians handing the soldier a clay pitcher and a wooden plate piled high with meat and bread. Similar cheers were heard up and down the line, as other soldiers made their way across the field, succumbing to their hunger and thirst.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Primus said with a grin, shaking his head in disbelief.
“It would seem our enemy has brought us salvation,” Vitruvius added. He nodded to the dozens of soldiers, whose eyes were fixed on the scene playing out barely two hundred meters away. “Go on, lads. Eat and drink your fill.” With the clattering of thousands of dropped shields, the entire Seventh Gemina Legion rushed towards their enemies, not with swords drawn for battle but with eyes wide and mouths salivating.
“Were I not seeing this with my own eyes, I never would have believed it,” Primus said, as he and his master centurion slowly walked across the field. “I wonder which of their generals ordered this act of noble charity.”
In fact, no Vitellian officer had ordered the truce, nor did anyone know who started it. While they had gorged themselves on the plethora of meat, bread, fresh vegetables, water, and wine that the women of Cremona had brought forth, there were mutterings about what a shame it was that their brethren adversaries hungered while they feasted. Many openly stated it was both unmanly and dishonorable to defeat such worthy foes and fellow Romans only by exhaustion and hunger. Like an unstoppable wave cresting over the shoals, Vitellian soldiers began to pile food onto carts before making their way across the battlefield, calling out to their enemies to join them.