Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  Valens’ other reason for wishing to make haste, which he privately knew gave him even greater anxiety, was the possibility of Caecina defeating Otho without his help. Should Caecina destroy the Othonian army and secure the throne for Vitellius, it would spell political doom for Valens. All he had achieved by securing the alliances of the Gallic provinces, either by coercion or force, would be meaningless if his rival ended up winning the war by himself.

  “Let me deal with these upstarts,” Classicus spoke up. “My cavalry can cover ground much quicker, and we could reach Nicaea within a few days.”

  “The first thing we must do is secure Forum Julii,” Valens directed. “That the Othonians have not advanced to within fifty miles of the port is completely baffling.”

  “Agreed,” Classicus said. “It’s as if their expedition hasn’t any real leadership or sense of purpose at all.”

  “We have no ships at the moment,” Valens continued. “But we will. Whoever controls the Misene fleet can ferry reinforcements from Gaul, Hispania, or North Africa at their leisure and with great speed.”

  “Very good,” the cavalry officer concurred. “I have two cohorts of light infantry I can dispatch in that direction. They should arrive at Forum Julii within a week. I’ll take the rest of my cavalry and head for Cemenelum.”

  “Governor Marius has a cohort of urban soldiers there,” the messenger informed the men.

  “Tell him we appreciate the reinforcements,” Valens said. “Classicus, you will send your light infantry with several companies of cavalry to Forum Julii, and four regiments of horse to Cemenelum. That will give you a total force of two thousand six hundred men, plus whatever additional support Marius gives you. You have three weeks to destroy these bastards and rally with the rest of the army at Augusta Taurinorum, just east of the Alpine passes. If you have not arrived by then, we will have to continue our advance without you.”

  The timeline Valens gave the cavalry commander also added a sense of urgency to the rest of his army, for Augusta Taurinorum was situated on a vast open plain in northwestern Italia, east of the Alpes. It was still about a hundred and fifty miles west of their intended rendezvous with Caecina. However, once through the mountains, the last leg of their long trek would be over flat, open ground. Still, crossing the southwestern Alpes in a span of three weeks would require a lot of exhausting forced marches. And Classicus still had the Othonian raiders to deal with first.

  Having dispatched his detachments to Forum Julii, Tribune Classicus arrived at Cemenelum with the bulk of his task force in just three days. Governor Marius greeted him at the north gates, outside of which he had the First Ligurum Cohort in parade formation. Most of these men wore either mail shirts or small brass chest plates and older republican-era brass helmets. Officers carried gladii, while the rankers each wielded a long stabbing spear and circular shield. There was a second cohort which paraded on the opposite side of the road. These men also carried stabbing spears and round shields, though these were unpainted. They were also devoid of armor or helmets.

  “Compliments of General Valens,” Classicus said, as he rode up to Marius. “I have brought two thousand horsemen to help you sweep these vile Othonian raiders from our lands.”

  “For which the general has my gratitude,” Marius replied respectfully. “I am placing First Ligurum Cohort at your disposal, along with these five hundred Pannonian volunteers. All wish to join the ranks, though they are yet to be placed under any of the standards.”

  “If they perform well, perhaps Emperor Vitellius will elevate them into their own auxilia cohort,” Classicus reasoned. He then added, “I have dispatched two cohorts of infantry and three companies of cavalry to secure Forum Julii. Am I right to assume the enemy has not made any attempt to seize the harbor?”

  “It is utterly perplexing,” Marius replied. “When they withdrew from the walls of Nicaea, I assumed they would head west to seize the harbor and the ships stationed there. Instead, they went east pillaged the city of Albium Intimilium. That was ten days ago.”

  “And they’ve been sitting on their asses ever since?” The Vitellian tribune was astonished by this revelation, for he had reckoned speed would be necessary in order to prevent a loss of the ships at Forum Julii. He then shrugged. “Let us make for Albium Intimilium, and say hello to our guests.”

  It was not just the Vitellian reinforcements that were completely perplexed as to the lack of action by the Othonian raiders. Guardsman Tiberius Statius was absolutely disgusted by the actions of his supposed leaders. In retrospect, he would not have disagreed with the sacking of the city had it served some purpose. The complete lack of direction or guidance, as well as the oblivious demeanor of Centurion Suedius, made it all seem so pointless.

  The guardsman was still angry with Proculus for ordering him to kill that woman. Although in the week since, the optio had proven to be one of the few officers to show any sort of competence. Even Veturius and the other centurions seemed content to simply wait for Vitellius to make a move, all the while pressing the hapless citizens of Albium Intimilium into serving them like slaves.

  Statius was now manning a lookout post fourteen miles west of the city, near a fork between two narrow rivers. The Via Julia Augusta curved to the north, then about two miles west veered south into Cemenelum and Nicaea. Optio Proculus had commandeered several horses, and posted two-man lookout teams at various intervals from every conceivable avenue of approach the enemy might take. Statius, who had become even more of a loner since the death of Atticus, insisted on taking a post by himself. It was no surprise, then, when the optio rode out to check on him.

  “All quiet, sir,” he said, as he shifted on the rock he sat upon. A large Mediterranean pine tree provided shade from the midafternoon sun.

  “And no word from our volunteer scouts?” the optio asked, kneeling down next to the guardsman. The men he referred to were Ligurians who, somewhat surprisingly, volunteered to help the Othonian detachment against the Vitellians.

  “The First Ligurum Cohort is encamped just outside the city,” Statius replied. “They are supported by another cohort of volunteers, though these are poorly equipped and likely ill-trained. I suspect they are waiting for reinforcements from Fabius Valens.”

  “We’ll likely hear from him sooner or later. No doubt every town and city within five hundred miles knows what we’ve done here.” The optio paused awkwardly for a few moments.

  Statius knew he had come to do more than just check on their lookouts.

  “Listen, Tiberius, I am sorry about what happened. I don’t regret ordering that contemptuous woman’s death, but given the circumstances, I should have dispatched her myself.”

  “She was the bravest person I saw that day,” the guardsman replied, his eyes still fixed on the road below. “A mob of armed renegades tortured and threatened both her and her unborn child, yet she defiantly resisted us.” He looked back at the optio. “But I still follow my orders, and I am glad to know there is at least one officer who will admit when the orders he gives are wrong.”

  Proculus wasn’t sure how to take this remark, but he had said what he felt he needed to. The two men continued to watch the road for some time, they soon spotted a lone horseman riding towards their position. He wore only a tunic and riding breeches but carried a long spear and oblong shield.

  “One of your volunteers?” Proculus asked.

  “It looks like it,” Statius replied. He stood and waved to the man, who sprinted his horse up the long slope towards them.

  “The Vitellians have arrived,” the man said quickly.

  “How many?” Proculus asked.

  “I guessed their strength at around two thousand cavalry,” the scout replied. “No infantry spotted yet.”

  “Are they on the move yet?” Statius asked.

  “No, at least not when I left.”

  “It’s already late afternoon,” Proculus noted. “Most likely they will start their advance in the morning.”

  “Th
ere’s some good ground about eight miles back,” Statius remarked. “It’s a small open plain. We can take the high ground to the east and wait for them there. The waters look fairly deep, so our ships should be able to get in close enough to threaten the enemy with their catapults and scorpions.”

  “I’ll ride back and inform Centurion Veturius,” the optio stated. “Suedius is an idiot, but if we tell him we have a spot of good ground to meet the enemy, he won’t argue. Stay here for now, until your shift change. If the enemy does advance, ride back at once.”

  “Yes, sir,” the guardsman nodded.

  That he was now addressing the optio with a measure of respect was reassuring to Proculus.

  Tiberius Statius was one of the most ruthless and self-serving members of the entire Praetorian Guard, yet he was also one of its most profound thinkers. He was older than Proculus and Veturius, with a substantial amount of actual combat experience earned during his time in the legions. That he possessed a scary intellect made his refusal to accept any sort of promotion even more perplexing to the optio. In that moment, with incompetent officers leading them and a sizeable force of Vitellian cavalry just a few miles away, Proculus wished Statius was his centurion rather than a mere guardsman.

  Despite there being at least twenty miles between Cemenelum and Albium Intimilium, Julius Classicus did not rouse his taskforce to make their departure until almost noon the following day. He dispatched two companies of cavalry to screen their advance, and to alert him once they spotted the Othonian forces.

  “Given the cruel manner in which they’ve treated my people, I doubt they will attempt to hold the city,” Marius noted, as he rode beside Classicus. Though he had deferred command of his cohorts to the tribune, Marius still felt a responsibility as governor of the small province to take part in the purging of the invaders.

  “Once we catch them in the open, my cavalry will make short work of them,” Classicus remarked. He was supremely confident, as were all of his troopers, that a band of pampered praetorians who had thrown off all modicum of discipline would be no match for their lancers.

  While most of the column kept to the Via Julia Augusta, a company of horsemen rode along the high ground on their left flank. The enemy, as far as they knew, had no cavalry or skirmishers, yet Classicus was an experienced officer who rarely took unnecessary risks.

  Halfway to Albium Intimilium, they passed a large mining complex which had been temporarily abandoned due to the war. It was here that a pair of riders from the advance guard rode quickly back to them.

  “We’ve found the enemy,” one of them reported. “Approximately five miles to the east, arrayed for battle.”

  “Time to teach these errant guardsmen a harsh lesson,” Classicus said.

  Approximately six or eight miles west of Albium Intimilium, the road veered to the southeast for about a mile ran along a modest plain that bordered the long stretch of beach. Dispersed throughout the sizeable bay were a dozen trireme class warships. The smallest of Rome’s imperial naval vessels, their draft was much shallower than the much larger quinquereme five-deck warships. They were arrayed in a long line, their prows angled towards the Vitellian force’s avenue of approach.

  Across the plain stood the praetorians and their attached urban cohorts. On the left, on a long ridge, was a detachment of the ships’ marines, as well as a couple hundred local volunteers.

  “First Ligurum will occupy our left, with the Pannonians in reserve,” Classicus ordered. “I’ll take the bulk of the cavalry and drive these bastards all the way back to Italia.”

  “Their line extends almost to the sea,” Marius noted. “If you attack there, you risk running afoul of whatever armament may be aboard their ships.”

  “A trifling display,” the tribune said dismissively. “Speed will be key to this victory, and I doubt that their onagers or scorpions will be able to engage us for long.”

  A cornicen’s horn sounded, and the four regiments of auxiliary cavalry formed into a massive battle line, six ranks deep. Classicus, who rode at the head of the formation, raised his spatha high. As he brought the weapon down in a sweeping arc, his troopers gave a loud cry and spurred their horses into a fast gallop. The Ligurum cohort advanced at the quick march, making for the high ground that was occupied by the marines and their traitorous fellow countrymen.

  As they were predominantly used to fighting aboard ships, imperial marines wore only light armor and carried a small metal buckler and a gladius for their primary weapon. However, they each also carried a sling, with a pouch full of either lead bullets or smooth rocks. And while the sling was a crude and archaic weapon, in the right hands it could cause havoc, as well as fearful injuries. As the Ligurum cohort marched up within fifty feet or so of the top of the long ridge, they were met with a salvo of sling bullets. At that range they were ineffective against the Ligurums’ light armor, though they still smashed into the exposed arms, legs, and faces of their victims. Men screamed in agony as the storm of missiles continued to rain down. Their anguish soon gave way to rage, and with a burst of energy fueled by wrath, they sprinted the remaining distance to the top, and soon became engaged in a frenetic melee with the marines. Though lightly armed, the imperial mariners had the advantage of holding the high ground. And while fighters fell on both sides, the skirmish soon ground to a stalemate.

  On the plain below, nearly two thousand horsemen sprinted their mounts towards the line of praetorian guardsmen. Unbeknownst to Tribune Classicus and his men, the naval vessels had pre-sighted their onager catapults and scorpion bolt-throwers. They had even gone so far as to stake out the ideal range at which to engage the Vitellian cavalry.

  As Classicus leaned forward in his saddle, eyes fixed on the wall of praetorian shields less than a quarter mile away, the trooper just to his right was smashed in the chest by the large stone flung by a shipborne catapult. As it sent the fatally stricken rider from his mount, the same stone struck the leg of a horse behind them, tripping it up and causing even greater havoc. A volley of catapult shot landed among the densely packed ranks of Classicus’ cavalry, with both man and beast screaming in pain as they were crushed. A few seconds later, a handful of horsemen were skewered by a wave of scorpion bolts. The horrific nature of the destruction wrought by these weapons caused the regiment on the right to flounder. Panic ensued, and the force of their charge lost its momentum.

  On the praetorian battle line each guardsman held his javelin up on his shoulder, waiting for the order to unleash. Tiberius Statius stood in the second rank of his century, his face hard and grim. Whatever bitter feelings he harbored for the officers of this taskforce and their gross incompetence, the riders charging towards them were still the enemy. As the guardsmen stood ready to do battle, their long-lost discipline and training at last took hold. Each man became like a machine; a machine bred for one purpose.

  “Javelins ready!”

  To their front, the hammering of the catapults and ballistae had broken up much of the enemy formation, and their charge was starting to founder. Upon the subsequent orders, the guardsmen unleashed their pila in a storm of death upon their hapless foes. Dead and dying men and horses fell into thrashing heaps, creating obstacles for those behind them.

  “Charge!”

  The praetorians drew their gladii and brazenly attacked the horsemen head-on. Speed and momentum were the greatest weapons the cavalry had, and now that these were denied them the tide of battle was quickly turning. The guardsmen rushed in close to their adversaries, negating the reach advantage the mounted lancers should have enjoyed. The battle was now a frenzied brawl, praetorians and cavalrymen intermixed amongst each other. The horsemen were attempting to back away so they could utilize the reach of their long spears. Those who were able to do so managed to inflict casualties among the Guard. And yet, as their charge had ground to a halt, with horses now being tripped up and knocked over by their stubborn enemies, the fear and realization that they were losing the battle took hold.

&nbs
p; Trumpets frantically sounded the retreat, and within thirty minutes of their bold and confident charge the Vitellian army was in full flight. The Ligurum infantry, upon seeing their cavalry fleeing from the field, immediately abandoned their assault and fled. Neither side had gained any ground during their battle with the marines, but with the cavalry on the run their right flank was completely exposed.

  On the praetorian line men shouted in triumph, waving their gladii in the air as their adversaries disappeared over the next low ridgeline. Even Guardsman Statius allowed himself a grin of satisfaction. He had not fought in open battle in many years, since his time in the legions. He had long since forgotten the intoxicating thrill of having faced death and come out standing.

  As the emotional surge of their victory subsided, the brutal sight of battle’s aftermath brought them back to reality. The field was strewn with hundreds of dead men and horses. An even greater number were badly injured. The most grievously maimed cried out as they sought an end to their horrific suffering. Some were missing arms and legs, and these would most certainly bleed to death in a matter of minutes. Others had their guts split open, either by sword or by lance, and for them death would come far more slowly. These poor souls were still outnumbered by those whose injuries, while not fatal, caused terrible suffering. Broken bones, hideous gashes, the loss of a finger or hand, an eye gouged...all inflicted in that bloody struggle for victory.

  “We’ll gather up our dead and wounded,” Centurion Suedius said, his face white with the shock of what he had just been through.

  Statius then remembered, Suedius had never bloodied his gladius before, nor even taken part in any battle that was not a mockup on the parade field. Still, they had managed to hold the line, while inflicting a far greater toll upon the Vitellians than they suffered, so he must have at least performed adequately as their leader.