Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  “Inform General Caecina that he needs to get the rest of the army up here now, otherwise this battle will be lost!” As the trooper sped away, his horse’s hooves clattering on the paving stones, the decurion could only hope his commanding general had had the foresight to dispatch more than one cohort of reinforcements. A twelve-mile trek for fully armored legionaries, even if only carrying shields and weapons, would take at least three hours or more. And even then, they still had to have the energy left in them to fight. As he watched his trooper speed away, he caught a glimpse of what he thought to be another column of legionaries. Across the flat terrain, they appeared to be at least three miles away. The decurion prayed it was more than just another single cohort!

  The dispatch rider had halted briefly to let the reinforcements, a lone cohort from Fourth Macedonia, know the battle was going ill for them, and they needed to get to the front as soon as possible. He kept his horse at a canter, only spurring to full gallop when he was about a mile from the Vitellian camp. It had taken him just under an hour to reach Cremona, and he saw what appeared to be another cohort making ready to depart. The rest of the camp was in a frenzy. Legionaries were shouting obscenities at their officers, demanding to know why the entire army was not being sent forward.

  “General Caecina!” the rider shouted, interrupting the legate in an argument with several of his centurions.

  “Yes, what is it?” he snapped.

  “The ambush has failed, sir. The auxiliaries are now engaged in an open battle with the enemy, and they urgently call for reinforcements.”

  “And what the fuck do you think those bands of legionaries were that you passed on the road? Sightseers?”

  The rider did not know Caecina had been informed and sent one cohort, then half an hour later a second.

  Exasperated, Caecina turned to his subordinate officers. “What in the bloody piss is wrong with you? Don’t you see? Without Valens’ division—which I need not remind you is twice the size of ours—we do not have the numbers to engage Otho in open battle!” The entire tragedy, like that of the failed assault on Placentia, was ultimately Caecina’s fault. As commanding general, he could delegate authority, but not responsibility. Yet he was subtly attempting to deflect criticism from himself and place the blame on Valens, who he implied was leaving them in the lurch. His deployment of only piecemeal elements of his army was done deliberately. They were only to provide support long enough for the auxiliaries to withdraw. Caecina rightly feared that, should he fight a pitched battle against Paulinus and lose, the entire campaign could readily collapse.

  The last cohort of support legionaries from Cremona had just arrived on the field when the entire Vitellian front collapsed. Legionaries fought a delaying action for as long as possible, while the utterly exhausted and beaten auxiliaries fled towards their distant camp. It had been a bloody and frustrating day. This was especially for the final cohort, who realized they must fight a retreating battle while withdrawing all the way back along the twelve miles of road they had just travelled.

  For Paulinus and his army, there were feelings of elation and triumph. They shouted and cheered, waving their bloody weapons in the direction of their fleeing adversaries. Twice they had engaged the armies of Vitellius, and twice they had soundly beaten them.

  “Sir, the enemy has retreated all along our front,” Legate Aquila said, riding up to him. His face was flushed, and he was out of breath. His spatha was drawn and streaked with blood.

  “Should we make ready to pursue in force?” Benignus asked. “My lads have bloodied their blades, and they are ready to finish the enemy once and for all.”

  “The rest of the Vitellian army is encamped at Cremona, twelve miles from here,” Paulinus noted. “We traveled light this day, and we lack provisions. We’ve already marched thirteen miles. We risk much if we march another twelve and have to fight a second battle against an enemy who will likely have us outnumbered, and who will be fresh. No, my friends, we cannot take such a risk this day. Let us return to Bedriacum and celebrate our triumph. Once the rest of the Balkan legions arrive, there will be plenty of time to finish these bastards.”

  It was not the response that legates, nor their legionaries, wished to hear. However, given their overwhelming sense of elation at having soundly thrashed the enemy, few complained. The men of Legio I, Adiutrix were especially heartened by their first baptism of bloodshed.

  Paulinus ordered his men to make camp for the night, so they could properly dispose of and honor their dead. Riders were sent back to Bedriacum requesting wagons with food and water, which in turn would be used to cart back their numerous wounded. The Vitellian casualties were left where they fell, not out of any particular sense of malice, though there was little pity to be felt amongst the victorious Othonian forces. It was simply a matter of not having enough resources to care for both sides. And though Paulinus made a prudent decision in not pursuing the Vitellians, had he known about the near mutiny that had taken place in the enemy camp this day, he may well have ordered his men to give chase and exploit this glaring weakness. In the coming weeks, he would have plenty of time to ponder whether or not he made the right decision.

  Chapter XXXVII: The Emperor’s War Council

  Cremona, Northern Italia

  13 April 69 A.D.

  Emperor Otho

  Valens’ division marched into Cremona scarcely a week after Caecina’s defeat at Ad Castores. Upon their arrival at August Taurinorum just east of the Alpes, they received word about the calamity in Maritime Alpes that had seen Julius Classicus’ taskforce brutally defeated one day, yet achieving an improbable and decisive victory a week later. Deciding Classicus’ force was no longer combat effective, the division commander elected to leave his forces in Maritime Alpes, to keep the remaining Othonians from causing havoc in Vitellian territory.

  The pair of defeats suffered by Caecina had filled his rival with mixed feelings. Of course, Valens took a certain amount of personal pleasure in seeing his colleague humiliated, by what amounted to a handful of praetorians and raw recruits with little battle experience between them. Still, it cost the Vitellians many veteran soldiers with morale amongst the survivors plummeting. It further incensed Valens that his own legion, First Germanica, had been the sacrificial beast to suffer most from Caecina’s folly.

  Much to Valens’ incomprehension, it was he, and not the incompetent Caecina, who the men blamed for the disasters. His own army, which had been approximately a hundred miles away when they received word about Ad Castores, cursed their commanding general for holding them back. In response, and of their own volition, they conducted a series of forced marches in excess of thirty miles per day. Now that the entire Vitellian army was massed together at Cremona, the rivals knew they had to put their differences aside, at least for the time being.

  “You pompous, fucking idiot,” Valens scoffed, as he entered Caecina’s principia at Cremona. “How many thousands did you lose with nothing to show for it?”

  “Go stuff your cock in a eunuch, you dirty twat,” Caecina retorted. “Had you not advanced through Gaul at the pace and enthusiasm of an old blind man trying to masturbate, you might have made yourself useful in this war.”

  The two men glared at each other.

  Valens chuckled and sighed with a sense of relief. “I think we’ve both had our rather...articulate feelings for each other pent up for some time,” he observed. “Now that we’ve made our ‘respect’ for one another clear, I think we can set aside our animosity until we have slaughtered Otho and crowned Vitellius emperor.”

  “Agreed,” Caecina nodded. “Whether we admit it to those peasants in the ranks or not, Otho has some of the best generals in the entire imperial army. The wisest thing he has done is give overall command of his armed forces to Suetonius Paulinus and Marius Celsus. And I’m not just blindly singing their praises, because they bloodied my division. You know well the reputations of both men.”

  As they contemplated their next move in the i
ncreasingly violent game that was unfolding, neither of them realized their chief enemy, Otho, was personally giving them a substantial advantage in the next phase of the war.

  Titianus and Licinius Proculus had arrived at Brixellum and accompanied the emperor to Bedriacum. The army was still relishing its pair of victories over Vitellius’ generals, and their morale was buoyed by the arrival of the remainder of Legio XIII and the lead elements of Paulinus’ former soldiers from Legio XIV. But the general who defeated Boudicca, arguably saved the province of Britannia and, most recently, soundly defeated Vitellius, faced the bitter reality that an inexperienced parade-field praetorian was now replacing him. And though Celsus hid his feelings better, he was angered at being supplanted by the emperor’s brother, who also assumed overall command as commander-in-chief of the imperial forces.

  Upon his arrival at Bedriacum, the emperor summoned all of his senior officers for a council of war. As the assembled generals, legates, chief tribunes, master centurions, and auxiliary tribunes gathered in the large hall the emperor had procured, Otho made an immediate mistake. A council of war, especially one called by the emperor, was simply a way of gathering all of his senior officers in one place so he could give them their orders and send them off to destroy the enemy. At least, that was how it had been done since Julius Caesar’s time. Unfortunately for Otho, he had no military experience at all, and he lacked Caesar’s militaristic charisma; that which compelled men to follow his orders without question. The last thing an imperial council of war was supposed to turn into was a debate. Titianus, who had no more quantifiable experience than his brother, opened the council as if he were leading a seminar or lecture forum.

  “My fellow Romans and brothers-in-arms,” he said, standing with his arms opened wide. “On behalf of the emperor, and as your commander-in-chief, I welcome you all to Bedriacum. We stand on the brink of history. The pretender’s army has already suffered a series of defeats, thanks to the competent leadership of our subordinate generals.”

  That Titianus could so carelessly phrase a compliment and an insult in the very same sentence turned a few heads. Celsus said nothing, but drank his wine in gulps. Paulinus’ face turned red with anger, gritting his teeth, and clenching his fists. Some of those nearest him thought he might stand up and punch Titianus in the face.

  “The purpose of this council,” the commander-in-chief continued, “is to determine whether we should give battle immediately to the Vitellians or wait for reinforcements. It is my opinion that the enemy has already suffered a substantial blow to both their manpower, as well as their morale. If we press forward, we can end this war within the next few days. Far better that we bring peace to Rome immediately, rather than wait months for the rest of the imperial army to come to our aid.”

  Unsurprisingly, it was Paulinus who spoke up. His face was still red, yet his voice surprisingly calm. “If we attack now, we will most certainly end the war within a few days. However, we very much run the risk of being the vanquished rather than the victors.”

  “General Paulinus,” Proculus spoke up. “We understand your dismay at having been relieved of overall command, however...”

  “I could give a bucket of piss over who has command!” Paulinus snapped. “This is not some political popularity contest where the winner gets a seat at the emperor’s head table. We are playing the most dangerous game ever devised by man. Many Roman lives are at stake!” He then stood and addressed Otho directly. “Caesar, allow me to make my case, and then you can render your decision. After all, yours is the foremost life we now hold in our hands.”

  The emperor was rather taken aback by this remark. He sat upright in his chair and waved his hand. “Proceed.”

  “Thank you, sire. I make this argument against attacking the enemy based on three main points. Firstly, now that General Valens has arrived with his division at Cremona, Vitellius has brought up all of the troops he has. There are no more reinforcements coming to support him. Conversely, we have many thousands we can call upon, the whole empire if we wish. Even as we speak, three more legions are marching from the Balkans to support us. Their numbers alone will give us more than enough strength to send our enemy scurrying back to Germania bloodied and obedient.”

  He paused for a moment and took a drink of wine. His first point was by far the most compelling, though his next was of near equal importance.

  “My second point; the Vitellians have committed a grievous error when it comes to large-scale warfare. They have neglected their supply and logistics lines. Those damned fools, Caecina and Valens, have created havoc, plundering and leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Already they are suffering from a lack of rations and supplies, whereas our logistics lines are sound. We have the support of the senate and people, who keep us well fed and equipped. My third point ties into this and deals with the advent of summer, which comes very early to this region. Most of Vitellius’ army comes from Germania, and they are used to cooler, far more temperate climates. Give us a month, and they will be falling over from the heat, emaciated by starvation, and badly outnumbered by the combined elements of our army and the Balkan reinforcements.”

  Paulinus saw Proculus and Titianus rolling their eyes and sighing in boredom. Even Otho, who the general hoped would show enough wisdom to listen to his experienced commanders, seemed to have already made up his mind.

  Paulinus decided to make one final plea. “And if you will not allow us to wait until a more pragmatic time to attack the enemy,” he said, “then at least wait until the main body of Fourteenth Gemina Martia Victrix arrives. They have four cohorts already in camp with the remainder not more than a week’s march behind.” It was a stretch of the truth in regards to how far away the main body of Legio XIV was. They were much further back, at least two weeks’ march, with Seventh Gemina and Eleventh Claudia. Still, Paulinus hoped Emperor Otho would show some sense of reason and wait for additional troops to arrive. Paulinus’ guts twisted, his instincts warned him that to do otherwise was to invite disaster.

  “If it pleases the emperor and the commander-in-chief,” Celsus spoke up, “I second General Paulinus’ suggestions, on all counts. I have here a letter from General Gallus who, regrettably, cannot be here, due to recuperating from a nasty horse-riding accident. He, too, cautions patience and a more measured, overwhelming show of force.”

  “And my recommendation still stands,” Titianus said, without even waiting for anyone else to speak up.

  “And I second the commander-in-chief,” Licinius Proculus added.

  Titianus turned to his brother. “Sire, this is a council of war where decisive leadership decisions are needed, not some philosophical debate forum.”

  “I agree,” Otho replied. “General Paulinus, we thank you for your many years of loyal service and applaud your many victories for Rome, including your most recent over the pretender. However, there is a time when decisive action is needed, and that time is now. Need I also remind you, you are only second-in-command of your division which now falls under Prefect Proculus? General Celsus, you will act as second to Titianus. And while your collective advice is always appreciated, I must emphasize to both of you that your mission is to follow the orders of your commanding officers and help them achieve final victory over the pretender.”

  “Thank you, Caesar,” Titianus said, with a short bow.

  Paulinus, utterly dejected, bowed and returned to his seat.

  “Sire, there is one other matter which must be decided before the campaign can commence,” Licinius Proculus said, standing and taking center floor. “And that is the very practical matter of what your direct role will be in the coming battle.”

  “Your soldiers understand your desire to personally lead them into battle,” Titianus added quickly, before the emperor could answer. “Your courage is an inspiration to every legionary under the eagles. However, we do run the very real risk of what will happen to the imperial house, should we win the battle but lose our emperor.”

 
“It is true, sire,” Proculus concurred. “You are unmarried, childless, and have no successor named. Titianus may be your brother, but we are not a hereditary monarchy like the corrupt kingdoms of the east. A valid successor to the imperial throne can only be ratified once we have defeated the pretender and sent him and his minions to Hades. For the time being, we must protect our emperor at all costs.”

  “Very well,” Otho said. “I will withdraw to Brixellum and pray that Mars, Bellona, and Victoria grant my armies victory.” He seemed both disappointed and partially relieved. Clearly, he wished to set a proper example for his soldiers, who were to fight and die in his name. However, as he had no military experience at all, he feared he lacked the martial virtues necessary to inspire soldiers in battle. He seemed both disappointed, as well as partially relieved. Clearly he wished to set a proper example to his soldiers, who were to fight and die in his name. However, as he had no military experience, he feared he lacked the martial virtues necessary to inspire soldiers in battle.

  “Very good, Caesar,” Titianus replied. “Brixellum is but fifteen miles from the front. We can call upon your leadership if need be. And, of course, there is an entire entourage from the senate who can keep you abreast of the happenings within the rest of the empire. Jupiter knows we will have much work to do, once the pretender is finished.”

  Though Paulinus and Celsus both felt strongly that Otho was making another bad decision, they decided silence was the most sensible course of action they could take. Each man secretly prayed they were wrong, but both understood that neither Proculus nor Titianus would listen to them at this point. In fact, they felt they were only kept on as nominal advisors in order to shoulder the blame should the worst happen.