‘You may not have to wait long. The talk in our centurion’s mess is that legions all along the Rhenus are hostile to Galba, given the murder of our own legatus augusti, and the replacement of the man who rules Germania Superior with a man whom his legions despise.’
Hramn nodded with a hard glint in his one good eye.
‘I pray daily for another man to take the throne, restore my men’s lost honour and give back some meaning to my years of service. For that I would risk more than a bruised face. Much more …’
3
Colonia Agrippina, Germania Inferior, December AD 68
‘Gentlemen. May I first say what a pleasure it is to finally get the chance to speak to you all together.’
The gathered legionary legati of the army of Germania Inferior and their senior centurions looked back at their new legatus augusti as he greeted them into his palatial office. Decimus shot a surreptitious glance to either side, quietly amused at the stances of the men around him. The four legati were looking at their new general with obvious interest, while their senior centurions, including, he mused, himself, stood to their superiors’ rear, their stiff and awkward stances a reflection of the novelty of this unexpected situation. It was one thing for an army commander to exchange pleasantries with his centurions if the occasion demanded it, or even a little rough humour if he was that sort of a military man, but for such an august man to invite his legions’ most senior professional soldiers to join him and his legati in the commanding general’s praetorium was almost unheard of. Vitellius gestured to the steward moving among them with a tray of wine in glass cups, an unimaginable luxury to men used to taking their drink from metal cups.
‘Please do help yourselves to a glass cup of wine and take a seat. You’ll find them stronger than they look, so there’s no need to worry about breaking them unless you manage to drop one!’
Decimus took a glass and held it carefully between his fingers, marvelling at the subtle shade of blue in its impossibly thin, transparent walls, then turned his attention to the newly appointed commander of the four legions that comprised his army. Tall and overweight, he stood slightly crookedly, the result, it was rumoured, of a chariot accident caused by the emperor Caligula over thirty years before, when he had occupied the somewhat risky position of one of the deranged young emperor’s favourites. The Old Camp’s two legati had been equally gloomy on the subject of the man’s competency during their ride south, the Fifteenth Legion’s commander, Munius Lupercus, venturing an opinion that had his colleague Fabius Fabullus’s head nodding in agreement.
‘He was an unexpected appointment to the role, and that’s no secret. The collective opinion is that Galba has put a pair of nonentities in command on the Rhenus in order to neuter the threat from the German legions. Neither Hordeonius Flaccus in Germania Superior nor this man Vitellius on the lower half of the river have the military record or the dynamism to muster much support from the troops, strictly between us.’
The legatus augusti took his own seat behind the massive slab of oak that was the office’s defining feature, clearing his throat, and Decimus was careful to show the right degree of attentiveness, noting in the corner of his eye his brother centurions assuming similarly alert positions.
‘Well now, comrades.’ Vitellius raised his glass. ‘Let’s drink to the success of our army and the destruction of our enemies!’
They repeated his words, each man sipping at his wine and watching their new commander over the rims of their glasses, waiting expectantly for whatever it was that he intended to say next. Shifting in his chair a little awkwardly, as if in reflection of his thoughts, he paused for a moment before speaking again, a note of regret entering his voice.
‘I only knew my predecessor Gaius Fonteius Capito a little, gentlemen, but he always struck me as an upstanding man. A principled man, and not easily diverted from a course of action if he believed it to be the right thing for the empire. So if you’re wondering how I feel about assuming command of your legions at this time, after his murder, my feelings on the subject are mixed, to say the least. I am delighted to have the opportunity to work with such a fine selection of Rome’s gentlemen, not to mention some of the very best soldiers in the empire. The reputation of the German legions as the finest army in the world is well known.’
Heads nodded, and Decimus found himself joining with the reaction to their general’s words. The man was only stating what they knew to be the truth, but his sincerity was evident.
‘And at the same time I find myself downcast, gentlemen, horrified at the depths to which the empire has fallen in the past few years, and the way in which any hint of military genius has been snuffed out with brutality that smacks of simple dictatorship. First came the enforced suicide of the finest general the world has seen since the Divine Julius …’ The legati were nodding now, each of them musing on what might have been if Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo had not been ordered to fall on his own sword by Nero two years before. ‘It was my fondest hope that the accession to power of Servius Sulpicius Galba would at least result in a more rational rule, but it seems the new emperor has taken up the reins where the old one dropped them. You may or may not know that he had the First Classica, a legion of marines who had been recruited into the army by Nero, cleared from his path by cavalry and then decimated with significant loss of life, when he arrived at the gates of Rome in his triumphant march from Hispania. Decimated, gentlemen, a punishment from the early republic, when Rome was literally fighting for her life and discipline was unavoidably harsh, a penalty so brutal that in these enlightened days no emperor since the divine Augustus has resorted to it! And Galba, gentlemen, is no Augustus, with neither the stature nor the justification for such a desperate measure. Consider it! A legion guilty of no more than petitioning the man they consider to be their emperor for the chance to continue in his service, ready to bend their knees and swear loyalty to him and him alone, found themselves under the cavalry’s lances. And worse, as the penalty for their understandable disquiet at being dismissed with their petition unheard, Galba ordered their decimation!’ His audience looked at each other in shock, this being news to them. ‘It was suppressed, of course, and not made general knowledge, but I have the right of it when I tell you that on his order one man in ten was pulled from their ranks, and the remaining nine ordered to beat him to death with their bare hands, guaranteeing the brutal deaths of many not responsible for the mild protest their comrades had voiced! I saw their corpses with my own eyes, so that’s no rumour but the absolute truth. And the murder of my predecessor, apparently without motive, hints at a similar lack of scruple when it comes to dealing with the men of his own class. It seems that Rome has exchanged a paranoid tyrant for a tyrant of an entirely different sort: cold and calculating where Nero was irrational and bestial. I find myself uncertain as to which of them represents the greater threat to the empire.’
He paused for a moment, shaking his head slightly in evident disgust.
‘I am dismayed, brothers, heartbroken that the man we were told would bring a new honesty and vigour to the throne only represents more of the same, just more rational in his brutality although, it seems, even more paranoid and afraid of the threat he perceives in his own military leaders. But enough of my concerns.’ He flashed a hard smile at them. ‘Let us talk about your commands. Tell me what you need and I will make it available to you. After all, there can be no greater priority than the defence of the empire’s frontier, even if there are drawn swords at our backs. And tell me, since I’m quite sure your men will be in need of some cheering up in the wake of Legatus Augusti Capito’s murder, what is the one thing I can do now, today, that will prove to them that their general understands their worries and is determined to do the right thing for the empire and for them?’
In the moment of silence that followed, Decimus found himself musing that he knew exactly what the men of his Fifth Legion wanted when Vitellius spoke again, staring straight at him.
‘You have the look
of a man who knows exactly what would make his men a deal more content with their lot. Would you perhaps care to share it with us, First Spear?’
Standing reflexively, literally jumping to attention and saluting, Decimus dithered for a split second under the general’s keen gaze before half a lifetime of indoctrination to the fact that the legionary centurion was the most superior form of life in the world overrode any qualms he might felt at being asked a direct question by such a lofty personage.
‘My name is Decimus, Legatus. And it’s an easy enough question to answer, sir. There’s a local man who your predecessor accused of treason and participation in a revolt of the Gauls, with evidence so strong that he had this man’s brother executed without a single man doubting that his death was deserved. He sent the traitor to Rome to face imperial justice, only for him to be freed by the new emperor a few weeks ago.’ He paused for a brief moment before delivering the point that would see just how closely tied this new commander was to the man who had elevated him to his new office. ‘The same emperor who had stood to gain the most from this man’s treason, Legatus.’
Vitellius sat back in his chair with a thoughtful look.
‘And your men still believe that Gaius Fonteius Capito should have had this man executed?’
Decimus shook his head with a small smile.
‘Such a thing wasn’t within his powers, more’s the pity, sir. It seems the man in question is a citizen of the empire as he has served twenty-five years with the auxiliary forces, whereas his brother was still short of having served his term and was therefore subject to a different legal code that allowed for his execution. As an honourable man Legatus Augusti Capito was obliged to send the older brother to Rome for an imperial judgement, and by the time he got there, the emperor who would have condemned him to death without hesitation had killed himself and been replaced.’
‘By Galba, whose rise to power was brought about, eventually, by the ripples and echoes of the very revolt I presume you’re talking about. You mean that this traitor was deemed guilty of participating in Vindex’s attempt to put Gaul behind Galba’s cause, I presume?’
Decimus nodded, knowing that the moment of greatest danger had been reached. Vitellius stared at him for a moment before speaking again, his tone thoughtful.
‘So you offer me a way to gain the confidence of my men, all twenty thousand of them, while at the same time risking loss of favour from the man who appointed me to this post and who, with a single sentence to the right person, can have me removed from it, by one means or another. And he won’t hesitate to do it, I’ve known this new emperor long enough to be in no doubt about that. Servius Sulpicius Galba, as I am well placed to be able to relate as a fellow senator, is an original, a throwback to an age that we lost a long time ago, that may only ever have truly existed in the body and mind of the man who founded this empire we serve. Who he is old enough to have known personally, by the way. Only as a child mind you, but it’s a well-known fact that the Emperor Augustus himself pinched his cheek when Galba was a small child, and some measure of the man’s appetite for war must have communicated itself to the boy, because he grew up to quite the soldier. As a legion legatus he went on manoeuvres with Caligula when he was two years past his fortieth birthday, and the emperor later confided to me that Galba had trotted alongside his chariot at the double march, carrying a shield, mind you, for the best part of twenty miles. He was as hard as oak then, and he’s lost little of that inner fortitude as he’s grown older, I can assure you of that. When Caligula was murdered by the praetorians, and his friends all urged him to take the throne over Claudius, he’d have none of it. As honest as a vestal’s virginity. So when he called on me to take command of this army I was of course flattered … at first. Until the whispering started, the gossip that I was to command the four legions of the army of Germania Inferior simply because Galba believed I was too fat and comfortable to pose him any threat. I was to be classed with my colleague Marcus Hordeoneius Flaccus as a commander who is considered unfit for command, and therefore given this command to remove the threat posed by these legions in the wrong hands. He knew the stories would get back to me, he’s nobody’s fool, but when I went to receive my orders from him in person I smiled to his face and told him how honoured I was. I told him that I wouldn’t let him down, and that the army of Germania Inferior would be as loyal to him as it was to his predecessor under Capito.’
He looked around the gathering, a half-smile creasing his lips.
‘And so, Centurion Decimus, you offer me a difficult choice. On the one hand, the emperor may look askance at my re-arresting a man he has already pardoned for the same crime, which means that his reaction to my having him executed might well be … severe. He might with good cause consider such an act an affront to his authority, and few emperors take such things lightly. On the other hand, it seems that you propose a means of putting the men of four legions on my side with no greater effort than my telling you to arrest this man …’
‘Civilis, Legatus. His name is Gaius Julius Civilis.’
‘Civilis. I see …’
Vitellius fell silent for a moment, and Decimus looked around at his colleagues to find them intent on the man’s face, each of them clearly eager for his answer, as were their legati for the most part, only the Fifteenth’s commander, Munius Lupercus, apparently perturbed by the discussion’s unexpected direction. At length the legatus augusti nodded decisively.
‘Under the circumstances, gentlemen, it seems to me that there can only be one appropriate course of action with regard to this Gaius Julius Civilis.’
Civitas Lingonum, Gallia Lugdunensis, December AD 68
The tent party was more or less ready to go on parade when Alcaeus walked in through the barrack door.
‘Centurion!’
The soldiers snapped to attention, drawing a satisfied nod from Alcaeus to their leading man.
‘Nice and taut, Grimmaz, you’ve been doing your job for a change, I see?’
If the statement had an undertone of relaxed humour, the subject of its enquiry took no risks in his response.
‘Yes, Centurion!’
‘Good man. We’ll make a watch officer out of you yet, if we can just get you to smile every now and then.’
Alcaeus dispensed the compliment with his look of wry amusement, turning to look at the tent party’s newest member.
‘Well now Egilhard, let’s have a look at you before we get on parade. At the command “stand to attention”, show me what you can do.’ He drew breath, shooting Grimmaz a swift conspiratorial glance. ‘Stand to atten-tion!’
While most of the command had been delivered in a tone not much louder than a normal conversational tone, the final syllable was barked so loudly and high pitched that it could have been the enraged scream of a man suffering an unexpected physical violation. The recruit snapped smartly into the required posture, head up, chest out, shield and spear held neatly upright and boots clamped together.
‘Not bad. You’ve been coaching him, Grimmaz?’
The leading man shrugged.
‘Yes, Centurion! I wasn’t going to have one of my boys look bad on parade and get the rest of us into trouble. Besides, his father and uncle seem to have done most of the hard work for us. He knew all of the tricks we tried to play on him, he knows how to wear his equipment, his boots already have a better shine than half of this lot—’
‘Oh, so you like to polish leather, do you, sonny?’
Egilhard kept his gaze fixed rigidly on a point over Alcaeus’s shoulder, barking his reply in the expected manner.
‘Yes, Centurion!’
‘Excellent! I’ve got two pairs in need of some attention. I’m sure Grimmaz can spare you for an hour or two while you exercise your strong right wrist and make them gleam for me.’
‘Yes, Centurion!’
‘Good boy. After all, what would the world be coming to if the new recruits didn’t have to pay some sort of price for entry into this, the finest o
f all places that a man could be?’
He turned to Grimmaz with a satisfied nod.
‘Good work, he even looks a bit like a warrior. Very well, let’s get you all on parade before Scar starts blowing his whistle and getting all bad tempered.’
Marching through the rows of wooden huts that had been built on their arrival at the city, as part of a semi-permanent camp intended to demonstrate to the previously restive Lingones that Gaul was as much a part of the empire as ever, and that the empire fully intended to keep the relationship exactly as the divine Julius had defined it over a century before, Alcaeus stood aside as Grimmaz led his tent party out onto the parade ground. A cold north wind stirred the hairs on the white wolf’s head that was mounted atop the iron bowl of his helmet to denote his priestly status. Banon walked over to join him.
‘They all look tidy enough, Centurion. That new boy in the sixth tent party, the one with the muscles, he had to be given a couple of clips around the ear for the state of his boots, but he seems to have responded to encouragement.’
The centurion nodded, looking across the freshly constructed parade ground to where the cohorts’ senior centurion stood waiting for his men to take their positions. The wide expanse had been hacked out of the flattest piece of ground available into which drainage channels had been cut and filled with shingle, then covered in tons of gravel broken by labour conscripted from the defeated Gaulish tribe on whom the cohorts had been posted to ensure peace, all to provide enough room for the eight Batavi cohorts to parade together.
‘And now that Scar’s got a parade ground big enough to take all eight cohorts, what game do you think he’ll have us playing today?’
Alcaeus grinned at his subordinate’s question.
‘I prayed to Hercules for help to see that future last night, but all he could show me in my dreams was battle drill. Hour after hour of battle drill, led by a bad-tempered Prefect looking a good deal like our own beloved leader, until our boys were puking with exhaustion.’
Betrayal: The Centurions I Page 10