Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  Caecina’s plan was neither original nor inventive. Another reality of civil war he failed to consider was the possibility of his plans being betrayed to the enemy. It was no surprise there were soldiers on both sides who were discontent with their leaders and contemplated defecting to their enemy. One such man was a cavalry trooper tasked with sending a dispatch to the auxilia regiments screening the Vitellian army. Instead of delivering the original message, the soldier gave the commander a hastily scribbled copy, then rode past his own lines under the cover of darkness. He arrived at the Othonian camp around midnight, where sentries took him to General Paulinus. The trooper gave him the original directive which bore Caecina’s personal seal.

  “So the Vitellians want to lure us into a trap,” the general said, with a derisive grin. He told the turncoat soldier, “You will return to your regiment this night. If Caecina finds one of his messengers is missing, he will likely guess his plan has been compromised.”

  Paulinus then gave the message to one of his own couriers, whom he sent to Brixellum to inform the emperor. Knowing Otho would want him to engage the Vitellians and thwart their attempts, Paulinus had one of his aids wake General Celsus, Legate Drusus Benignus of First Adiutrix, and Legate Vedius Aquila of Thirteenth Gemina. Though ever cautious and methodical, the veteran general was pragmatic enough to seize the initiative.

  “Since you and I are both, essentially, being demoted from our commands, we have everything to gain and little to lose,” he told Celsus, after briefing him on the intelligence he’d received.

  The two other legionary legates, along with the auxilia regimental commanders, soon arrived. It was still three hours before dawn. All were bleary-eyed, their hair a mess from quickly making their way to Paulinus’ principia. As imperial officers, they understood all too well that in war, sleep was a luxury that was often denied them.

  “Gentlemen,” Paulinus began. “We have received intelligence written in Caecina’s own hand. The enemy intends to goad us into an ambush near the waypoint of Ad Castores. I have stressed the need to refrain from taking decisive action until after the Balkan legions arrive in force, but we now have an opportunity to destroy one of Vitellius’ divisions.”

  “Tell us where you need us, sir,” Benignus said. “Just be advised, I am short almost two cohorts, as they were detached to Placentia. Of course, once the rest of my lads heard about how they gave the Vitellians a damned good thrashing, they have been anxious to take the fight to the enemy.”

  A veteran commander who had served two previous tours as a legate, Benignus clearly recognized the folly of replacing the two senior generals with more popular political appointees. He, therefore, relished the opportunity to route the Vitellians while Paulinus still held overall command.

  “And I only have four of my cohorts available,” Aquila added. “The rest are still at Verona. However, they are more than ready to do their duty.”

  Paulinus nodded in appreciation of his fellow legates. These were good soldiers and solid leaders. He abhorred the thought of their talents being wasted under the command of someone as lackluster as Lucius Titianus and Licinius Proculus. “In addition to your legionaries,” he said, “we have four regiments of cavalry with approximately five hundred troopers apiece. We also have six cohorts of auxilia infantry and three cohorts of praetorian guardsmen.” He then laid out a map, running his finger along the road, stopping near the spot scribbled ‘Ad Castores’. “General Benignus, you will take up position just to the right of the road with First Adiutrix. Two cohorts of auxilia infantry will be to the right of you with one regiment of cavalry anchoring your flank.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “General Aquila, you will be to the left of the road. As you have far fewer legionaries, I’ll place four cohorts of auxiliaries on your left and one regiment of cavalry on the extreme flank. Praetorians will be in the center holding the road itself. You’ll have to advance in column, as the passable terrain is far too narrow for you to form battle lines.”

  General Celsus then added, “Our remaining two regiments of cavalry will fall in on me, in reserve. I’ll take the praetorian horsemen and one regiment of auxilia lancers. The flanking cavalry units will converge on us, as needed. We will be a mobile force whose mission will be harassing the enemy and fixing them in place, until our infantry can make its way out of the broken terrain.”

  “Any questions?” Paulinus asked.

  After dealing with a few logistical and administrative issues, he dismissed his commanders with orders to have their men ready to march one hour before dawn. As they were coming from the east, the rising sun would be at their backs and in their enemies’ faces. Ad Castores lay approximately halfway between Bedriacum and Cremona, which meant Paulinus’ army had to cover thirteen miles before midday if they wished to use the sun to their advantage.

  Otho’s army had dealt with a bevy discipline problems in recent weeks. Now, unbeknownst to him, Caecina was dealing with the same issues that had plagued Otho’s generals since the outset of the campaign. Granted, his were on a much smaller scale, as his soldiers knew him well and had no reason to question his loyalty to Vitellius.

  Caecina’s auxiliary infantry and cavalry had departed the night before the proposed ambush. They had twelve miles to cover, bivouacking near the proposed site of the ambush around midnight. The Vitellian legionaries from First Germanica, Fourth Macedonia, and Twenty-First Rapax were incensed when they discovered that only auxiliaries would be taking part in the ambush. And as the sun rose in the east, many who were finishing their breakfast expressed their displeasure most vocally.

  “Have one cohort from each legion placed in ready reserve,” the general told the Twenty-First’s legate, as well as Master Centurion Bulla, whom he had temporarily attached to First Germanica.

  “It was we who bled at Placentia!” a legionary insolently shouted at his general, as Caecina attempted to meet with his senior commanders near the east gate. “Now you deny us our chance at revenge!”

  Other soldiers were forcefully expressing their dismay at being left behind. Caecina ignored them for the moment. It irritated him, though. He had held the legions back to give them a chance to recuperate from the beating they’d taken at Placentia. His attempts at granting his men a reprieve were now being met with blatant insubordination that was embarrassing to the general and unbecoming of imperial soldiers.

  As his subordinate leaders dispersed to carry out his orders, Caecina quietly cursed himself for not being a stricter disciplinarian. Since taking command of Legio IV, Macedonia, he had been more embroiled with political intrigue and his acquisition of greater power and wealth, than commanding the legion. And, to his detriment, he was more concerned with his personal popularity amongst the soldiery than whether they would obediently follow orders. Fortunately for Caecina, his veteran centurions managed to partially restore order with a few lashes from their vine sticks and a plethora of shouted profanities. He found himself doubly wishing Master Centurion Aetius had not gone missing, for the primus pilus of First Germanica had little patience for such insubordinate nonsense. What’s more, Caecina had no knowledge as to whether Aetius had been killed or was a prisoner of war.

  A company of fifty or so light auxiliary skirmishers were lurking within a large crag that looked as if the gods had ripped open the terrain, like a nasty scar. These were mainly light-footed Ligurians. Like their kinsmen in Maritime Alpes, they wore either a crude hardened leather cuirass or a modified shirt of hamata chain mail, shortened and devoid of shoulder protection. Speed and agility were their greatest assets. Their mission was to harass the enemy rather than close and fight with him. Most carried short bows or bundles of throwing spears.

  Their position was on the north side of the road, looking east into the rising sun. Another company was positioned on the south side at a large rock outcropping. Despite the glare of the sun, they were still able to see the Othonian force advancing on them about half a mile distant. Thousands of feet marched in
step on the wide, paved road. The leading skirmisher grinned sinisterly, keeping low, while shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

  A single trumpet blast sounded in the distance, and the enemy force suddenly halted. This was hardly surprising, as they could likely see the broken ground to their front. The Vitellian soldiers were certain, after a few minutes of chatter and observation, the Othonians would continue on their way. Another trumpet blast sounded. But instead of the column continuing its march, cohorts suddenly fanned out in either direction forming a massive battle front.

  “What are they doing?” a skirmisher asked, in bewilderment.

  “I have no idea,” the section leader replied, shaking his head.

  It was inconceivable that the Othonians had discovered their plan. Why, then, had they suddenly reformed their entire force into battle formation?

  Hundreds of legionaries and auxiliary infantry grounded their helmets, shields, and javelins while taking up their pickaxes and other digging tools. Dead trees were being dragged over from the woods on either side. Piles of dirt were being tossed into the muddiest sections of the bog. It was slow work, but General Paulinus was determined to not cross his infantry until they had a crude causeway to pass over.

  “How long until you can cross with the infantry?” Celsus asked, riding up next to him.

  “A couple of hours, probably,” Paulinus answered. “We have no idea just how large Caecina’s army is, and it would be unwise for us to cross over this terrible quagmire and break up our formations.”

  “Alright,” his fellow general replied. “With your permission, I’ll take all four cavalry regiments towards a crossing off to the extreme left. It’s passable enough for horsemen, with little in the way of places for the enemy to ambush us. We’ll see if we can’t stir them up a little bit!”

  Paulinus gave an affirmative nod and began to ride down the line of infantrymen who were providing over-watch for their laboring companions. Only the praetorians stood fast, as their advance would be along the road itself. The boggy and broken ground extended a quarter mile to their front. With the speed and efficiency of the world’s most professional armed force, they made surprisingly quick progress filling in the ground with earth and fallen logs.

  The Othonian front extended almost three quarters of a mile in each direction north and south of the road. Approximately another quarter mile south, past the left end of the line, General Celsus and his cavalry contingent found a stretch of dry ground along a short ridge which took them around the boggy terrain obstructing their infantry’s advance.

  “Over there,” a trooper said, pointing with his lance. “You can see the glint off their helmets.”

  Celsus squinted his eyes and was able to see what appeared to be a row of helmets, barely visible behind a long defilade a few hundred feet distant. Though he wished to create chaos amongst the enemy, he still had to exercise a fair amount of caution. Like Paulinus, he had no way of knowing how large a force Caecina had hidden amongst the broken terrain and copses of trees. It could be just a few cohorts or it could be his entire army, with reinforcements from Valens’ division.

  “Take your men off to our left. Make sure there are no Vitellian bastards waiting to hit us in the flank,” the general ordered the praetorian cavalry commander, a tribune named Antiochus.

  “Yes, sir,” the officer replied. He then raised his spatha up high. “Praetorians, on me!”

  Celsus took his remaining regiments, numbering fifteen hundred horsemen total, and advanced in a line of three regimental wedge formations. From the air, the appearance would have looked like the teeth of a saw or wild beast. They advanced at a canter, eyes constantly straining to see where their foes were hidden. Celsus had little doubt there was already a sense of panic among the enemy ambushers. They had to know their plan was discovered, and that their flank was being turned by a sizeable force of Othonian cavalry.

  “There they are,” the general said, spying what appeared to be a large number of skirmishers and at least two centuries of auxiliary infantry. “Sound the charge!”

  Panic gripped the Vitellian skirmishers. There was no longer any doubt their plans were known to the enemy. The proposed ambush had completely failed. While the Othonian infantry were still building their wide pathway across the bog, the skirmishers had a more immediate threat to face.

  “Company, up!” the section leader shouted, not waiting for orders from his senior officers.

  They were in no way equipped to contend with cavalry, and after a haphazard volley of arrows and throwing darts, they scattered and ran towards the nearby cohort of auxilia infantry.

  Othonian lancers gave a loud cry as they spurred their horses into a sprint, smashing into the now panicked Vitellian light troops. As infantry emerged from behind their defilade, a second regiment crashed into them with fury. Spatha and lance cut down numerous infantrymen and skirmishers, as they desperately tried to restore order. Knowing they had no chance of outrunning the horsemen, their only means of survival was to close ranks with shields together and spears brandished towards their adversaries. Fear gripped the Vitellians, as many of their companions were either trampled or slaughtered by spear and sword. Still, the survivors maintained their discipline, and soon formed into battle lines, spears facing the enemy.

  General Celsus jerked hard on the reins, pulling away from the wall of enemy spears. Several of his troopers were not quick enough, and were either thrown from their mounts or both they and their horses were stabbed repeatedly by the wall of infantrymen.

  “Action left!” Celsus shouted, pointing with his spatha. He knew that speed was critical for his troopers. They needed to maintain the momentum lest the Vitellians regain the upper hand.

  Their ambush thwarted, mobs of Vitellian soldiers were appearing from various tree groves, rock formations, crags, and other hiding places. Their officers were shouting frantic orders as their men rushed towards their standards. The Othonian cavalry had little choice but to allow them to reform. They lacked the numbers to crack the rapidly forming lines and overwhelm the infantry cohorts. Instead, Celsus and his regimental commanders ordered their men to hunt down enemy skirmishers who were completely unequipped to face them.

  “Sir, the enemy is reforming just behind that ridgeline!” a centurion shouted, riding up from the praetorian cavalry. “Tribune Antiochus got shot in the arm by an archer. He’s still able to ride, but he’s tore up pretty badly.”

  “Take command of the regiment,” Celsus ordered. “How many Vitellians would you say are behind that slope?”

  “At least five thousand, all auxiliaries. More are converging as we speak.”

  “Damn it,” the general muttered. He quickly made his decision. “We don’t have the numbers to deal with the enemy, but we can keep them in place and prevent them from hindering our infantry’s crossing. Reform the regiments!”

  Just across the boggy terrain, Paulinus watched as his cavalry force continued to harry and skirmish with the advancing force of Vitellian infantry. His soldiers were working as quickly as they could to make the ground passable, while still maintaining their battle lines. Finally, after nearly two hours of toil, the last fallen logs were tossed into place and the sinking bog was now fordable, though the ground was extremely uneven.

  “Sound the advance,” Paulinus ordered the cornicen.

  The horn blasts were echoed by cornicens in his legionary contingents with audible orders shouted by officers, as the laboring soldiers retrieved their weapons and fell in at the backs of their respective cohorts. The distance that had taken two hours to create a passable way over, took the praetorian, legionary, and auxilia cohorts perhaps five minutes to cross.

  To their front, Celsus’ cavalry was being hard pressed by the enemy auxiliary cohorts now reinforced with some of their own cavalry. In the distance, a cohort of legionaries was spotted marching down the road towards the fray. As the two forces began to converge on each other, Paulinus rode quickly towards Benignus, whose
First Adiutrix was just to the right of the praetorian cohorts.

  “The Vitellians are reinforcing with legionaries,” the commanding general said, pointing down the road. “But they seem to be bringing up only one cohort at a time.”

  “Once we drive in their auxiliaries, we’ll rout them readily enough,” the legate remarked.

  “Javelins ready!” centurions shouted, down the line.

  The Vitellian auxiliaries were in a state of confusion. Their proposed ambush had failed, and now they were being forced to do exactly what General Caecina did not want; fight a pitched battle against the Othonians. It was also becoming readily apparent to the Vitellians that they were badly outnumbered. The enemy battle line extended much wider than theirs and was just as many ranks deep. Storms of javelins rained down upon them from the Othonian legionary and praetorian cohorts, killing and maiming scores of men. As legionaries drew their gladii, Othonian auxiliaries on the wings began to envelop the flanks of the Vitellian force.

  Not half a mile up the road, the single legionary cohort from Twenty-First Rapax was being harried by the Othonian cavalry. The centurion pilus prior in command of the cohort ordered his men into a hollow square, three ranks deep. This enabled them to face out in every direction, while keeping the swarming lancers and mounted praetorians at bay. However, it also slowed their advance to a crawl, with three quarters of their legionaries now having to walk either sideways or backwards. They had marched twelve miles already, and with the ongoing battle clearly in their view they were now confined to having to advance at a very slow half-step. Meanwhile, their auxiliary infantry were being staggered by the onslaught of Othonian legionaries.

  “Where the fuck is the rest of our army?” an exasperated legionary swore.

  “We have nearly three entire legions sitting on their asses at Cremona!” one of his mates spat.

  As their own cavalry consisted of only two companies numbering less than two hundred total troopers, these were able to do little, but attempt to relieve some of the pressure on the legionary cohort by drawing away a handful of enemy lancers. One of their decurions sent a rider back to Cremona.