‘I am informed correctly, I presume? The legions of Pannonia, Moesia and Dalmatia have all declared for Vespasianus?’
Valens looked up at him with a grim face.
‘So it would seem. Which means that the pretender’s army is swollen to thirty thousand legionaries, eighteen thousand from the east and another twelve from the Danubius. And that’s before we consider their auxiliary cohorts.’
The emperor spoke again, his voice, Varus noted, remarkably calm for a man so badly betrayed by legion commanders who had sworn oaths to follow his commands unquestioningly less than three months before.
‘He’ll field fifty thousand men. As many, more or less, as our own strength.’ Vitellius looked up at his praetorian prefect with a determined expression. ‘I’ve decided that we need to gather as many men as possible, including those Batavians of yours.’
Varus raised an eyebrow.
‘Hardly mine, Caesar. And might they not be better employed guarding the northern border?’
The emperor shook his head, and the other men around the table turned to face Varus with a variety of expressions ranging from irritation on the part of Lucius to open curiosity on the part of Caecina, the more malleable of the two generals.
‘Four thousand men, Prefect. Hardly weakened by their part in the battle at Cremona, and all of them veterans. The equivalent of a legion, no less, and some of our bravest and most adaptable soldiers. How many other units do we have that are capable of swimming a river in their armour and then giving battle when they reach the far side, eh? I won’t leave them standing idle when the entire army of the Danubius will be marching south to join with Vespasianus’s legions from Syria and Judea. And besides …’
He gestured to his brother and sat back in his chair with a brooding expression. Lucius looked up at Varus for a moment before speaking.
‘You are a friend of Quintus Petillius Cerialis, are you not?’
Varus frowned at the unexpected direction the conversation had taken.
‘What? Yes, of sorts. I know him well enough, although I couldn’t be considered a close friend, and just as well given he’s Vespasianus’s son-in-law. Presumably he’s been arrested?’
Lucius snorted.
‘By the time the urban cohorts had woken up to his family relationship with the pretender he was gone. Apparently he was last seen leaving the city by one of the northern gates, presumably in hopes of meeting his father-in-law’s army, dressed as a peasant and in the company of two rough types who would appear to be ex-soldiers who protect him wherever he goes.’
Varus shrugged.
‘That’s hardly surprising, is it? After all, Vespasianus’s brother is still the Urban Prefect. You could hardly expect him to hurry to have the man arrested, and let’s face it, one sadly failed legion commander isn’t exactly going to tilt the scales of power, is he?’
Vitellius looked up and spoke in a weary tone, rubbing a hand across his face.
‘It’s not Cerialis that worries me. It’s the Batavians.’
He raised a hand to forestall Varus’s baffled question.
‘Who was it who visited the Batavian prince Civilis when he was imprisoned in this very palace accused of treason? Cerialis, that’s who. And who hosted him to a lavish dinner the very night that he was freed by Galba? Cerialis. And who among Cerialis’s friends, the informers tell me, spent the most time talking to Civilis while he was Cerialis’s guest? Gaius Plinius Secundus.’
Varus waited in silence for the emperor’s chain of apparently unrelated facts to gain clarity, and Vitellius continued with the thread of his thinking.
‘And who rode north from Rome a month ago, all on his own, for a nostalgic tour of his former military postings in Germania? At just about the same time that, as we know now, Vespasianus was declaring himself emperor in the east? The self-same Gaius Plinius Secundus. For all we know his trip north had one aim, and one aim only – to solicit his friend Civilis to raise the Batavians in revolt against us in support of Vespasianus, and just at the moment when our northern frontier is at its weakest! We will be forced to fight on two fronts, and at no cost in men to the pretender. As a military strategy it’s little short of perfect.’
Varus nodded slowly.
‘I can only bow to Caesar’s insight. And again, to your eminently sensible decision to recall the Batavian cohorts before Civilis has a chance to embroil them in whatever it is that he’s planning.’
Vitellius sat back, mollified by his prefect’s words.
‘Very well. Get them back over the Alps as soon as you can, Prefect. Send one of those bright young tribunes you’ve appointed to command my new guard, just to make sure that your man Germanicus, or Scar, or whatever his name is today, completely understands that to disobey the command to return would be treason. Yes?’
Varus bowed again.
‘As you command, Caesar.’
‘Good. Now take a seat. We have a good deal to discuss, starting with how we’re going to put more troops into the field in time to deal with Vespasianus’s Danubian legions. Your colleagues …’ he waved a hand to Caecina and Valens, the former smirking while the latter’s expression eloquently bespoke his usual ill-temper, ‘are of the opinion that Legatus Augusti Flaccus should provide at least another five thousand men from the German garrisons, which should easily be replaced by the men he’ll have recruited since our forces marched south. I’m going to order him to start conscripting men from the allied tribes as well, so he’ll have no excuse not to release the forces we need.’
‘Conscription?’ Varus nodded. ‘A sound decision, Caesar. Let Rome’s subjects take some of the pressure that we’re under. Presumably not the Batavians though, given their treaty exemption?’
Valens scoffed across the table at him, leaning forward to stab a meaty finger at the table.
‘Especially the fucking Batavians, Alfenus Varus! Rome needs men, and under the circumstances they should be proud to make their contribution. And besides, pulling a couple of thousand of their men of fighting age out of the tribe will serve to blunt any ambitions this man Civilis might have for a revolt. It’s hard to stage a successful uprising when all you have to fight for you are old men and children!’
The Winter Camp, Mogontiacum, August AD 69
‘There’s an officer to see you, Prefect!’
Scar nodded curtly at the centurion who had knocked on the door of his office and saluted punctiliously.
‘Bring him in.’
The Batavi stepped back, and another man replaced him in the doorway. Scar was already halfway round his desk, coming to attention and saluting once he had room to do so, while Alcaeus, who had been sitting on a chair facing his superior, was already standing in the brace position.
‘Greetings Tribune! Prefect Germanicus reporting for duty! This is my deputy, and the cohorts’ chief priest, Centurion Alcaeus.’
The newcomer, a young man fully equipped in armour of the usual high quality, looked him up and down before replying. Scar was wearing his best tunic, his dress boots and belt, and had shaved less than an hour before, looking every inch the legion senior centurion even if his command was of a lower status. He returned the salute and looked about him at the office, painfully clean and tidy with only a sword and a sharpening stone on the desk as evidence that it was in use, although a flask and three cups had been placed on a small table flanked by a pair of wooden chairs.
‘At ease, Prefect, Centurion. My name is Marcus Aelius Varus, and I am indeed a tribune, although you seemed to know as much before I arrived. How did you know my rank, by the way?’
Scar’s imperturbable face didn’t display even a scintilla of satisfaction as he answered.
‘We’ve had time to get to know the local legionaries, Tribune Varus, and some of our lads played them in a game of harpastum and made friends with them in the bath house afterwards a few days ago. So when you arrived in the fortress last night it didn’t take long for us to hear about it.’
The younge
r man nodded his understanding, waving a hand at the wine.
‘Military intelligence at its best, eh? But why does this office look like it’s been prepared for my arrival?’
‘Intelligence plus deduction, Tribune.’
‘Which means …?’
‘It wasn’t hard to work out, Tribune. The only battle-proven units in this great big half-empty two-legion fortress are the eight cohorts I command. So when a man arrives and declares himself to be here on behalf of the new praetorian prefect, a man we fought with at Cremona, having come from the south on a horse that was just about on its last legs, it wasn’t hard to make an informed guess as to what your purpose here might be.’
Varus smiled.
‘And the wine?’
‘This is your office now, Tribune, I’ve already moved my effects to the senior centurion’s quarters, I simply thought you might appreciate a moving-in gift.’
The Roman nodded cheerfully.
‘You’re remarkably subtle, Prefect. I was expecting someone a little more …’
‘Rough-edged, Tribune? There are a few of us with the ability to soak up the lessons that we learn in a lifetime of service to the empire. And besides, I’m fond of a cup of wine myself.’
Taking the hint, Varus gestured to the table.
‘In which case join me, and I’ll tell you why I’m here. If, that is, you haven’t already read my orders?’
Scar poured the wine while the tribune placed his helmet on the desk alongside his dagger and then took a seat. The two Batavi officers sat, Scar raising his cup in salute.
‘There was no need, Tribune. A man doesn’t have to be blessed with the skills of an augur to know why you’re here.’
‘Oh really?’ Varus took a sip. ‘Decent wine too. I could get to like you, Prefect. Go on then, tell me what you’ve deduced with regard to my purpose in being here then.’
Scar sipped his wine.
‘There’s a new pretender, Tribune, a legatus augusti called Vespasianus who has declared himself emperor in the east. When Vitellius sent us away up here he thought that his position was safe, and that he could disperse the legions that had opposed him, to prevent an unscrupulous rival from taking advantage of their combined strength. He believed that it was therefore safe to do as his praetorian prefect was suggesting, and so he sent us back north to guard the frontier.’
The tribune nodded.
‘Not forgetting that it was also deemed a good move to stop you from picking any more fights with certain legions. Tribune Varus sends his regards to you, Centurion Alcaeus, along with the hope that your back is now completely healed.’
Scar conceded the point with a raised wine cup.
‘But now Vespasianus has declared that he’ll fight for the throne. Which means that all those defeated legions will need to be rehabilitated, where possible. And that our eight cohorts of battle-hardened, mad-eyed barbarians are suddenly no longer surplus to requirements. Vitellius ordered our former colleague Alfenus Varus to recall his former command, and Varus chose you to come and get us. Although that in itself is making me wonder if it’s just the legions from the east that Vespasianus has on his side. After all, even if the eastern legions are more experienced than those declared for Vitellius, even that many legions aren’t going to be enough to let Vespasianus take the throne by force, not with a good dozen on the other side, and most of them recently blooded. Unless there’s something that we’ve not been told?’
Varus stared at him for a moment.
‘Such as?’
Scar shrugged.
‘Not for me to speculate, Tribune. But it does occur to me that while Vitellius has the legions from Britannia and Germania sewn up tightly, he might or might not inspire the same loyalty in the men posted along the Danubius?’
The tribune nodded slowly.
‘An astute surmise, Prefect. It seems that the legions of Pannonia, Moesia and Dalmatia are not proving as loyal to the emperor as he might have wished. Every man available is being recalled to Italy in readiness to face an attack from the north-east, including your command.’
Scar nodded cheerfully.
‘Very good. In which case it’s a good thing that Alfenus Varus thought to send you along to collect us, Tribune. Our equipment has seen better days, and some of the men are wearing boots that have been worn to ribbons, more or less. We’re going to need you to perform that trick you senior officers are so good at when it comes to persuading reluctant stores officers to produce the necessary equipment to make soldiers battle-worthy.’
‘Ah, you mean the one where I manage to squeeze blood out of a stone?’
Scar nodded sombrely.
‘That’s the one.’
The Old Camp, Germania Inferior, August AD 69
‘Conscription. You’re certain about that, Legatus?’
Munius Lupercus looked up from the scroll before him and nodded soberly.
‘There’s no doubt about it, Marius, and no room in these orders for interpretation or attempting to skate around the issue, especially as these instructions have come direct from Rome and not via Hordeonius Flaccus’s headquarters in Colonia Agrippina. I am hereby directly ordered to commence conscription of all the local tribes, with particular attention to the Batavians. The emperor is expecting me to recruit and train a full legion of new soldiers from the German tribes by this method, and to send the equivalent strength south to join his army as soon as they’re in barracks and ready for training.’
He read from the order’s text.
‘“You are to recruit five thousand men from the Batavians and their allied tribes, the Ubians, the Chattians.”’
He looked up at Marius.
‘He goes on to name numerous other tribes just in case I’ve forgotten them, and then tells me to release ten cohorts to march south under my broad-stripe tribune just as soon as their replacements have been recruited. Need I continue, or do you see the thrust of the emperor’s instructions?’
His First Spear shook his head in amazement.
‘Has the emperor …’
Marius choked on the words that were forming in his mind, unwilling to voice them even to a man with whom his relationship was as good as it could be given the social gulf between them. Lupercus smiled sadly.
‘Has he failed to appreciate the realities of this frontier, and of the time it takes to make fighting men of willing volunteers, never mind sullen conscripts? Undoubtedly. Has he lost his mind? Quite possibly.’
The words hung in the air between them for a moment.
‘The emperor, Marius, is a worried man. Vespasianus has enough legions committed to his cause, if he can bring them to the battlefield at the same time, to match or even better what’s available from the western provinces. In that state of fear Vitellius will cling on to whatever sources of manpower he believes are available, and in the short term that means Germania. Taking a lenient approach to Hordeonius Flaccus’s understandable reluctance to volunteer any more men was an easier decision to make when he only faced a callow youth like Otho, and had unleashed some of the most dangerous legions in the empire on him, but now that he’s faced with the most powerful man in the world apart from himself, an enemy with battlefield experience going back twenty-five years, he’s probably feeling a good deal less affable on the subject. Hence this …’
He waved the scroll at Marius with a wry grimace.
‘You can be sure I’ll be taking very good care of this, if only to make sure my family aren’t implicated by the whole sorry mess that must result when the tribes react in the way I believe to be inevitable.’
‘But can’t he see …?’
The legatus shook his head.
‘No. He really can’t see what we can. Vitellius isn’t a soldier, Marius. To him a man is just a man, and once you have that man you have a legionary. And if you don’t, then you’d better make him into one quickly, hadn’t you? So we’re going to have to do as we’re told, I’m afraid.’
Marius thought quick
ly.
‘The Batavians …’
‘Yes?’
‘They’re not going to be easy to intimidate. They have the emperor’s former Bodyguard, for a start, five hundred battle-hardened cavalrymen. And our spies tell us that they’re drilling their militia every day, making them into soldiers. If we march in there proclaiming that we’re conscripting their men of fighting age I expect that their reaction is going to be unhappy to say the least. And if it came to a straight fight I have my doubts as to whether our new boys could stand up to them.’
Lupercus looked down at the order in front of him.
‘Well, in point of fact this doesn’t tell me exactly how many men I’m expected to levy from them specifically, just that I have to perform the levy. So I suggest that we think a little creatively around that aspect of what we’re being told to do. How many men do you think you could get away with if you sent recruiting parties into the villages closest to the edge of their tribal territory, and used the distraction of a centurion going into Batavodurum at the same time to hold their attention long enough for those parties to bring out anyone they could conscript?’
Marius frowned.
‘Not many at all. Half a dozen villages, say ten men apiece, since most of them would be in the fields. If we grabbed men on the march in as well, perhaps twenty, because most of them will see us coming and run for it just on instinct. Two centuries’ worth at best.’
Lupercus nodded.
‘Then that may well have to be the best that we can do for the emperor from the Batavians. We’ll focus our recruiting on the other tribes who are less well placed to resist and satisfy Vitellius with the overall number we take from the area around the old camp. If I omit to detail the numbers by tribe in my dispatch informing him of the result of this conscription, and simply detail the tribes involved it might just be enough to satisfy the man.’
‘But—’
The legatus raised a hand.
‘I know. How are we going to release ten cohorts to Vitellius when we barely have that number ourselves? What if the Batavians choose to open hostilities with us over this matter, given we’ll be breaking the terms of their treaty with Rome? And what if they chose to take that momentous step after we’ve sent the cohorts he wants south, and there’s nothing in the fortress but rebellious conscripts? Perhaps the position of First Spear isn’t turning out to be quite as attractive as it once sounded, eh? The gods know I still reminisce fondly about the time I was a military tribune in Britannia, during the year of Claudius’s invasion, serving under a fire-eating legatus called Hosidius Geta with nothing more to worry about than how I’d perform if I ever saw action. Vespasianus was his colleague as it happens.’
Betrayal: The Centurions I Page 32