Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  The following morning, Caecina rode at the head of his massed column; legionaries, auxilia infantry, archers, as well as several regiments of cavalry. First Germanica marched at the head, with none of them knowing one of their own former centurions now commanded the garrison that opposed them. Drummers beat a quick marching cadence, while trumpeters played their music to announce the army’s approach. The entire display was a little grandiose, perhaps, but Caecina wanted there to be no doubt as to which imperial army controlled northern Italia.

  Merchant and other civilian traffic was surprisingly heavy, though many were oblivious to the reality of there being a war going on in the first place. While several of Caecina’s standard bearers carried long poles with copper images of Vitellius at the top, few if any citizens in the region had any idea what he or Emperor Otho looked like. To them, one Caesar was as good or bad as the next.

  The bridge just west of Cremona was crammed with carts, wagons, and pedestrians. All soon made way for the vast column of soldiers, who forced the civilian merchants and pedestrians off the road. After all, the paved thoroughfares throughout the empire were built by the legions, for the legions. That civilians were able to make use of them was simply an added benefit. The region between Cremona and Placentia was predominantly flat, covered with farm fields and vineyards. The army made rapid progress, covering roughly three to four miles every hour before halting for a short rest. Infantrymen marched eight abreast with pack animals bearing tents and other equipment, and the majority of the cavalry riding behind them. The entire column stretched over four miles in length.

  Two companies of horsemen had ridden ahead, to scout for any enemy forces in the area. They had reached Cremona a few days prior, with little time to conduct a thorough reconnaissance of the region. The only intelligence Caecina had was given to him by Centurion Liberius from the Siliana Regiment. And even that was limited. What he did know was Otho was on the march, though his total strength was completely unknown. Brixellum was the natural place for the enemy to establish themselves, as it was just south of the Padus and fairly easy to defend. As a precaution, Caecina dispatched a company of horsemen to the town of Vulturina just a few miles northwest of Brixellum, in case the enemy crossed the Padus en masse to threaten Cremona while he was capturing Placentia.

  By midafternoon, the lead elements of the division were within a few miles of their destination. Once established within full view of Placentia, it would take a couple of hours for the rest of the column to arrive and emplace themselves. Caecina hoped such a display would discourage any potential resistance from the garrison. At the crossroads where the Via Aemilia and Via Postumia converged, the general saw a section of his scouts waiting for him.

  “The local garrison has been reinforced by Othonian soldiers, sir,” the section leader reported.

  “So the usurper intends to play out this little game with us,” Caecina replied, with a macabre chuckle.

  “It would seem so, sir,” the scout stated. “They proudly display their standards from the walls. We saw the purple vexilation flags of three praetorian cohorts, and what appear to be those of the Adiutrix Legion.”

  “Effeminate praetorians and untrained former marines,” said the master centurion of First Germanica. He was a hardened veteran named Aetius.

  “Have the legion make ready to assault the walls,” Caecina ordered.

  “Sir, most of our siege equipment is at the rear of the column,” the master centurion stated. “All we have are some ladders.”

  “Those will be sufficient,” the legate replied. “A little show of strength while the rest of the army encircles the city, and they will capitulate soon enough.”

  Centurion Spurinna had kept his soldiers busy, readying the city’s defenses. Their only archers were a small contingent of around fifty local militia, and so the centurion primus ordo devised a few stratagems to deal with the coming assault.

  “We’ll likely be facing legionaries,” Spurinna observed. “Their armor is impervious to archers, of which we have so few. And we only have six scorpions to supplement our wall defenses. What we need is missile weapons with a lot of weight to them. Large stones, chunks of metal, anything heavy enough it will crack their armor when flung from the walls.”

  “I’ve got men scouring every smithy, shop, and stone mason in the city,” a praetorian officer reported. “Every piece of scrap iron and heavy rock is being loaded onto wagons and brought to the defenses.”

  The blast of trumpets in the distance alerted the officers.

  Spurinna was somber. “And not a moment too soon.”

  He quickly made his way to the eastern wall. The gate was barred shut and braced with a pair of ox-drawn wagons. A single scorpion was mounted just above the gate and manned by a pair of legionaries. A trio of archers stood on either side of them, though most of the defenders on this section of the defenses were praetorians. The corner ramparts were manned by legionaries from Spurinna’s own First Cohort. The centurion noted the nervous expression on the face of the young soldier standing behind the scorpion.

  “Bellona preserve us,” he said quietly.

  Spurinna followed the man’s gaze to where three cohorts of legionaries were already arrayed in battle ranks. They advanced at a slow half-step, allowing the subsequent cohorts time to get off the road and to their places. Long lines of cavalry were seen riding in either direction, encircling the large city. To his right front, the centurion saw what looked like cohorts from a second legion crossing a farm field and making their way towards the southern ramparts. As it was only early spring, crops had yet to spring up, though the farmers lamented that their fields were being trampled by the swarms of thousands of enemy soldiers. The defenders of Placentia had a full view of their adversaries, though their concerns were not of ruined crops, but what should happen, if they Vitellians managed to capture the walls.

  “And to think our lads thought they could face them out in the open,” a praetorian centurion said, in a low voice.

  Spurinna said nothing, but stared hard at the enemy cohorts advancing towards him. Next to their eagle, he saw the bull standard of Legio I, Germanica.

  “I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

  Seven cohorts from First Germanica had come on this expedition. The remaining three were left to garrison their fortress on the Rhine under the command of their chief tribune. All were now arrayed in a massive battle line, six ranks deep, continuing to advance slowly and methodically towards the ramparts.

  Caecina was mildly surprised to see the walls crammed with defenders. It mattered not. He had ordered the legate of Legio XXI to launch his assault on the southern ramparts as soon as they were in position. Caecina would attempt to parlay with the garrison commander. But if that failed, he was not about to give them any chance to ready themselves for the coming onslaught. Halting just beyond range of the few archers they spotted on the walls, Caecina rode forward with his aquilifer and Master Centurion Aetius, who was acting commander of First Germanica.

  “Defenders of Placentia,” he called out. “In the name of your emperor, Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus, I demand you surrender this city at once! Caesar offers you his hand in friendship and will welcome you into the ranks of his triumphant legions!”

  “We serve Rome’s true emperor, Marcus Salvius Otho, whose rule was lawfully sanctioned by the Senate of Rome,” a voice replied from the ramparts. “Your master has no legal authority here. He is but a violent pretender, who would seize the imperial throne through force of arms. I call upon you to lay down your arms and repent of your treason!”

  This was met by raucous laughter from the ranks of legionaries behind Caecina and Aetius. The general gave a cocked smile and shook his head at the absurdity of their adversary’s demands. All the while, Master Centurion Aetius stared with squinted eyes towards the ramparts. The voice sounded familiar to him...

  “Look around you!” Caecina retorted. “The greater part of three legions, and just as many auxiliaries, de
scends upon you. And what do you have to offer in resistance? All I see are a handful of petty guardsmen, used to watching battles in the arena rather than taking part in them. And who accompanies them, but a few sailors pretending to be legionaries?”

  “Just a moment, sir,” the master centurion said, quickly placing a hand on his shoulder. “I think I know this man. Let me speak with him.”

  Caecina, already aggravated at the audacity of the enemy commander, agreed.

  “Spurinna?” Aetius called up.

  “Fancy seeing you here, master centurion,” came the reply from the ramparts.

  “Well, I’ll be buggered,” Aetius said, shaking his head. “I knew you accepted a promotion into one of the new legions. But, damn it all, what in Jupiter’s name are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question, sir,” Spurinna retorted. “The answer is the same for both of us; we are following orders. The difference is mine come from Rome’s lawful emperor, yours from a despotic pretender.”

  “Come off it, man,” Aetius remarked. “Spare me your talk about loyalties. I will tell you what loyalty I understand, for you once understood it as well. You see those shields behind me? Yours once bore the same emblem, for more than twenty years! These are your brothers, and these are the men you should pledge your loyalty to. Will you really give up your life ignominiously in a losing cause? You cannot win this, Spurinna. You are hopelessly outnumbered, and you know better than anyone what these men are capable of. Open the gates, and let us speak no more of this. Return to your brothers, and I will see you properly rewarded.”

  There was a lengthy pause. It appeared Spurinna was debating Aetius’ proposition. Caecina was hopeful he would not be required to storm the city. He looked back to his cornicen, who held his horn ready to sound the notes that would call off the Predator Legion’s attack. Centurion Spurinna’s next words enraged the general, though Aetius closed his eyes in sorrow.

  “Those men will always be my brothers,” Spurinna replied. “As are you, sir. You have my love, even though I must spill your guts this day. My oath is more sacred than my life, and it cannot be purchased with a usurper’s gold or the threats of his minions.”

  “Then gods go with you,” Aetius said sadly. “If you fall this day, I pray they will welcome you into the gates of Elysium.”

  “And to you, sir,” Spurinna acknowledged. “If this day should be your last, may you die with honor.”

  Centurion Primus Ordo Spurinna had no time to lament the cursed fates. He was now the enemy of the very legion he had once called his own. A messenger was riding as fast as his horse could run over the cobblestone road within the city below.

  “Sir, the enemy is assaulting the south ramparts!” the man shouted.

  “Damn them,” Spurinna growled, glaring for a moment at General Caecina riding back to his legion. He then caught a quick glace towards Master Centurion Aetius, who gave a slow salute before returning to his men. Spurinna’s heart broke at this hateful dilemma. Aetius had been his superior officer, as well as his mentor, back when Spurinna was a centurion pilus prior. Now, the treason of his own former soldiers meant they would have to die should they fail to repent. With battle imminent, Spurinna steeled himself to do his duty.

  He quickly climbed down the wall, mounted his own horse, and rode the half mile to where his own soldiers from the Adiutrix Legion were readying themselves to face the coming attack. Mounds of stones and rusted scrap iron were piled all along the rampart. His men had their javelins. But after two volleys, they would be gone.

  “They’re crossing the wheat field to our front, sir,” a legionary said, pointing towards the seemingly endless plowed rows, now being kicked up and stomped over by several thousand soldiers from Legio XXI.

  The fields, saturated with irrigation water, slowed them considerably. Yet there was an open stretch of a hundred meters from the bordering road to the walls.

  “They’re carrying ladders, sir, but I don’t see any other siege equipment.”

  With perhaps twenty ladders in the entire assault force, Spurinna knew their foes could only send a small number of men over the wall at a time. He was shocked at the lack of archers, scorpions, or any other supporting missile troops. Still, facing an entire legion was extremely daunting, especially to his inexperienced soldiers.

  “Men of the Adiutrix Legion!” the centurion shouted. “Our enemies come to us full of arrogance and overconfidence. They mock you as not being true soldiers. You have already suffered much. You have endured the wickedness of one tyrant, and now another now seeks to strip you of your honor as men. I say, damn them! Throw back our enemies, and no one will ever think to deny you of your rights as soldiers of the empire. On this day, paid for in blood, you will earn the right to be legionaries of Rome!”

  This was met with as loud an ovation as the centurion had ever heard in his lifetime. His men were filled with anger, grit, and determination. What they lacked in experience, they made up for in extreme bravery. No one would doubt them after this day’s fighting was done!

  “I will take my place on the battle line, sir,” Master Centurion Aetius said, as he dismounted his horse.

  “What are you talking about, man?” Caecina asked, his brow creased. “You’re the acting commander of this legion, I cannot afford to lose you.”

  “No one man is irreplaceable,” Aetius countered. “If you send the First Cohort into the attack, I go with them. If my old friend and former protégé is to die, I’d rather it be by my sword.”

  Caecina gave what appeared to be a bored sigh. He cared nothing for the sentimental or noble feelings amongst the plebian soldiery. He waved off the master centurion, but said no more. He then rode his horse towards the left end of their line, from which he could watch his legion, as well as the Twenty-First as they stormed over the walls. The men of the Predator Legion had crossed the wheat field and were now bracing their ladders against the wall. The general snorted as he thought about the vanity of legionaries and their own thirst for glory. After all, the first man over the wall of an enemy stronghold, provided he survived, would be awarded with the much coveted gold Rampart Crown.

  As the tops of the ladders from the Twenty-First Legion smacked against the wall, defenders tried quickly to overturn them. A pair of enemy soldiers at the bottom attempted to hold each one in place. They only had a few moments each time. Once more than a couple of soldiers mounted them, their weight would be too great to overturn. It only took an attacker a matter of seconds to reach the top, with subsequent assailants only a rung or two beneath their feet.

  Two of the ladders were successfully tipped over before they could get any of their men over the wall. Each time, the attackers would simply pick them back up and try again. One ladder was pushed back, almost all the way over, before the weight of the soldiers riding it carried it back down against the wall with hard jolt. This caused the man at the top to drop his shield in an attempt to hang on. It cost him dearly. A defending legionary threw his pilum straight into his exposed neck. The soldier’s eyes slammed shut, his mouth agape, as his throat and spine were smashed by the heavy javelin. He was dead before his twitching body hit the ground.

  Others who brazenly attempted to win the Rampart Crown met with similarly brutal ends. Some were swarmed by defenders, who hacked and stabbed at anything not covered in armor. A couple were simply grabbed by numerous hands and flung down into the cobblestone courtyard inside the city. One soldier was unceremoniously tossed only to land hard on his back on the stone steps a few feet down, rather than falling all the way to the ground. And though the wind was knocked from his lungs, his armor protected him from more serious injury. He somehow managed to maintain control of his gladius. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he gave a growl of rage and ascended the steps, plunging his blade deep into the exposed thigh of an Adiutrix legionary. The man screamed in agony. His assailant scampered up to the top, grabbed an unsuspecting defender by the head, and slashed his throat.

>   The entire rampart was now a display of equally frenzied brawls, with the assault troops attempting to secure a foothold upon the wall. The attack upon the eastern defenses was being met with a similar amount of brutality and violence. The praetorians made a far more stalwart defense than Caecina anticipated. Having employed only ladders to get his men over the walls, his vast numerical superiority was suddenly rendered meaningless. The guardsmen and Adiutrix legionaries were not cowed at all, but driven to great acts of bravery by the Vitellian army’s impudence.

  Within an hour, it became clear to General Caecina that the walls would not fall this day. He ordered his cornicen to sound the retreat and rode his horse away from the lines. He wished to retire to his principia tent. But with the entire legion engaged, and having thought he would dine and sleep within the mayor’s palace by nightfall, there was no camp to retire to.

  Both the Germanica and Predator legions withdrew with as much discipline and cohesion as they could muster. Shields were kept close together to repel any enemy arrows or other missile weapons. As many wounded as they could manage were dragged away. The dead were left where they fell.

  Beaten and dejected, the survivors set about preparing their camp for the night. Meanwhile, centurions and decani began to assess who among their ranks was missing, presumed killed or taken prisoner. It was quite the tribute to the imperial army’s discipline that soldiers were able to efficiently go about their duties, despite the savaging they had just suffered.

  While torches on long poles were placed in the ground, near where his headquarters tent was to be placed, Caecina found Master Centurion Aetius. He was seated on a small campstool, his battered helmet beside him, wiping down the blade of his gladius.

  “I see you bloodied your weapon in the emperor’s service,” Caecina said, taking another stool and joining the primus pilus.

  “One praetorian,” Aetius replied, his eyes still fixed on his weapon. “I managed to stick one praetorian in the guts today. A small bit of recompense for the losses my legion suffered.”