by James Mace
The following day, 14 April, Emperor Otho departed for Brixellum, taking with him a large force of praetorians and other troops to act as his personal guard. This may have seemed unwise, as it was depriving the main army of some much-needed troops. However, given Brixellum’s proximity to Bedriacum, Otho needed sufficient protection should a rogue force of Vitellians manage to bypass the battle altogether.
While the emperor was confident his soldiers would fight with the same degree of devotion and extreme valor they displayed at Placentia, seeing him depart the camp, heading away from the direction of battle, disheartened many of the men.
“Our emperor should be at the front!” men protested despondently.
“Why does he abandon us?” was another constant complaint.
Something adding to their consternation, was that even more troops had to be detached and left behind at Bedriacum, under the command of the injured General Gallus. It was unknown if the war would be decided in a single action or not, and Bedriacum was the main supply depot and staging ground for the legions coming from the east. So, while it was a matter of absolute military practicality to make certain their strongpoint was secured, it did not sit well with the soldiers going into battle or their friends now relegated to guard duty.
Despite the grumblings among the rankers and the indecisive nature of the army’s now-senior leaders, the Othonian force began its march around midmorning. Progress was slow. The soldiers walked at a leisurely step, rather than the quick cadence expected on a campaign whose intent was to close with the enemy as soon as possible. The only actions this day were feints and a few minor skirmishes between each army’s cavalry scouts. By early evening, the Othonians had barely advanced a mile past Ad Castores, a distance which Paulinus and his division covered in just over three hours a few days prior. Just after dusk, a messenger arrived with a letter to Titianus from Emperor Otho.
“The emperor has strongly berated us for our faintheartedness in engaging with the enemy,” the commander-in-chief told his assembled officers that night. “He implores us to show greater aggression and tenacity.”
“Tomorrow we’ll get the chance,” Celsus remarked. “Cremona is maybe ten miles from here, and the Vitellian camp even closer. If we advance after breakfast, we can reach them by midmorning.”
“The Vitellians made no attempt to engage us today,” Proculus countered. “What’s to say tomorrow will be any different?”
“Yes,” Titianus concurred. “I think tomorrow we should advance around Cremona to the north. About seven miles west of the city the Padus and Addua Rivers converge. We’ll camp there, give our men a day of rest, and then engage the enemy in battle.”
Paulinus and Celsus were both completely baffled by this plan.
Paulinus decided he had to speak up. “You do realize that by taking this route, in an arc around Cremona, we’ll be marching within a couple of miles of the enemy camp.”
“What of it?” Titianus asked. “The Vitellians showed no interest in playing the game today, why would tomorrow be any different?”
“Because,” Paulinus retorted, his anger slowly getting the better of him. “If the enemy were to march within a few miles of us, strung out in a column with baggage carts, pack animals, merchant wagons, and camp whores thrown in, would you not take the opportunity to smash the shit out of him, since he has essentially exposed his neck to you? Perhaps you would let them simply march past us, but our enemy is neither as inexperienced nor as incompetent as you are.”
The outburst was ill-timed, and Titianus’ face turned red at being so gravely insulted in front of all the legates and senior officers.
Proculus intervened. “General Paulinus, need you be reminded, yet again, that you are not in command of this army? The decisions here are no longer yours to make. You will follow your orders from the commander-in-chief just like the rest of us.” When there were no more words of protest or outbursts by legates who shared Paulinus’ assessment of the situation, Titianus dismissed the officers back to their units. As he stepped out into the torch-lit camp, Paulinus was approached by Legate Benignus.
“Frustrating, I know,” the commander of First Adiutrix said. “It’s bad enough that I have an inexperienced legion with only one battle to its credit. Now we are saddled with incompetents at the very top.”
“I’m done with this,” Paulinus said, with a sigh of resignation. “I have stood by Otho since he ripped Galba from the throne. He called upon Celsus and I because he needed our experience. We won the first battle for him, and now he casts us aside, simply because his brother and the praetorian prefect are more popular with the rankers. Those two fucking idiots will lead this army to disaster.”
“Roman armies have often been led by such ignorant twats,” Benignus observed. “Sometimes they lead us to disaster, and sometimes they get lucky. Of course, that is almost as bad, since they are the ones who cover themselves with glory and are lauded by all as military geniuses. We can only do our part and try not to allow their incompetence to lose us this war.”
“I know that,” Paulinus replied. “At least you have your legion to command, inexperienced as it may be. As for me, I have no command. My experience has been given the same value as those Pannonian whores our lads are busy stuffing their cocks into this night. I am nothing more than an observer in this affair.”
“Well, think of it as having the best seats at the arena,” Benignus said, with a grin.
Paulinus laughed.
It was a hateful dilemma. Yet, in the end, General Suetonius Paulinus knew there was little else he could do. The emperor had made his appointments as to who the senior commanders were and, like the rest of the army, he could now only follow his orders. He slept little that night, all the while praying to whichever gods may be listening that his trepidations proved wrong.
“But what use is it, praying to Roman gods, when it is fellow Romans we wish them to strike down?”
Chapter XXXVIII: First Battle of Bedriacum
Near Cremona, Northern Italia
15 April 69 A.D.
Legionaries in battle
(Photo © Cezary Wyszynski)
General Caecina ordered Twenty-First Rapax to begin work on a pontoon bridge to cross the River Padus, under the pretext of giving the army a viable crossing with which to raid Brixellum. In reality, it was little more than a ploy. It drew the attention of the enemy gladiators under Macer, who were now supported by two praetorian cohorts from Placentia. And, as legionaries continued their work lashing boats together and laying planks across, the alarm was sounded at the main Vitellian camp, sending them rushing back to their legion.
“Has Otho completely lost his mind?” Caecina asked.
He and Valens had ridden forward to see for themselves the baffling sight their scouts reported. Both generals shook their heads when they saw the entire enemy army, approximately thirty thousand men total, stretched out in a haphazard column, complete with all of their baggage and camp followers.
“Looks like they are out on a camping trip rather than marching to battle,” Valens noted incredulously. “They do know we’re here, correct?”
“If not, perhaps we should form a welcoming committee for them,” Caecina suggested menacingly.
Within minutes of their return to camp, trumpet blasts sounded calling the men to arms. Legionaries helped each other into their segmented plate armor, while decani inspected their soldiers. Centurions and options sought out orders from their commanding officers. In another part of the massive camp, cavalrymen saddled their horses, while donning their own armor and weapons. Meanwhile, the two commanding generals called a hasty meeting of their legates and regimental commanders.
“We’ve sent a runner to bring up the Predator Legion from the Padus,” a legionary reported, before being dismissed.
“They’re already south, by the river on our extreme right,” Caecina noted. “They may as well take the right wing of the attack.”
“Fine,” Valens replied.
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br /> The flat, open ground south of the road was ideally suited for legionary combat. And, though Caecina was essentially giving the best assignment to one of his own legions, Valens was not petty enough to argue the point, especially since the Twenty-First was already there. The terrain to the north near the center of their lines was full of vine-covered trees and rough, rocky ground.
“First Italica and Fifth Alaudae are both fresh and at full strength,” Valens continued. “They will anchor the center and center-left. Fourth Macedonia will take the center-right. We’ll place the Batavian auxiliaries on the right between the Fourth and Twenty-First.”
“The northern ground is extremely rough,” noted Valens cousin, Legate Manlius Valens of Legio I, Italica.
“Then you’d best move out as soon as your men are ready,” Caecina told him.
Having no further orders awaiting him, the legate saluted, donned his helmet, and made his way quickly towards his legion’s section of the camp.
“We’ll keep the rest of the army in reserve,” Caecina added, “first Germanica Legion in the center and auxiliary infantry cohorts on either side.”
“Agreed,” Valens replied. “We’ll use our front rank to draw the enemy in and fix them in place. By holding at least half our men in reserve we can dispatch them as needed, thereby giving us the advantage in terms of mobility and dictating the pace of battle.”
Caecina turned to their cavalry corps commander. “Take half your men and ride in support of First Italica. They have the furthest distance to march over the roughest ground. The rest keep in reserve near the flanks.”
The officer saluted and left to disseminate the instructions. The rest of the commanders soon had their orders and departed to their units, where soldiers were in final preparations for battle.
As he and Valens were helped into their armor by servants, Caecina could not help but appreciate that, when not trying to undermine and ruin each other politically, he and Valens actually worked very well together. It was a pity that greed and selfish ambition had wrecked any hope of a genuine friendship, and their rivalry would likely commence once again after Otho was defeated.
“Oh, come now, General Paulinus,” Licinius Proculus said, as the two rode together near the lead elements of their division. “You mustn’t hate me for having put you in your place in front of the emperor. You understand, perhaps better than anyone, the need to obediently follow orders. The emperor knew I was more popular with the troops, so he gave me your command.”
“War is not a popularity contest,” Paulinus retorted. “But I will concede your point on the need to follow orders.”
“You don’t hate me then?” Proculus asked, in what the general felt was an absurd question.
“Hate?” Paulinus replied, shaking his head. “No, you’re not worth the effort.”
Proculus gave a forced chuckle in a weak attempt to deflect the insult.
The army was now scattered. Some elements of the column, namely the merchant wagons and supply carts, on the Via Postumia itself. Other units had veered off north and south of the road, forming their own loose columns. And though the praetorian prefect was oblivious to it, Paulinus knew well the embittered demeanor of the soldiers in the ranks. Those same men who questioned his and Celsus’ loyalties only a week before were now lamenting their own impudence. Within a day of assuming command, it had become clear to even the lowest legionary or auxiliary trooper that Titianus and Proculus were utterly clueless when it came to leading armies into battle. This seemed to be emphasized when a staff tribune rode over to them at a fast canter.
“Sir, the enemy has been spotted!” the man said quickly. “General Titianus summons you at once!”
Proculus looked at Paulinus, confused at the directive. Paulinus shrugged. They found their commander-in-chief approximately a quarter mile from a long grove of trees, whose vines created additional snares and obstacles. Cohorts of auxiliary infantry were waiting impatiently for orders, as they could see the enemy units beyond the far tree line.
“What are your orders?” Proculus asked hopefully.
Titianus’ face was pale and sweaty, his eyes wide with confusion.
“The enemy is here,” he said, in utter surprise. “Damn it all, but the enemy is here!”
“Yes,” Proculus said, trying to calm the commander-in-chief. “There appears to be a legion formed up on the left.”
“And Celsus ran off with his cavalry,” Titianus grumbled, ignoring his second. “Said something about finding the enemy flank.”
“At least one senior officer still has some sense,” Paulinus said quietly, his expression betraying his smug amusement.
“What should I do?” Titianus asked him frantically. “Damn it, Paulinus, what should I do?”
“I am not in command, as both of you have so bluntly reminded me,” the general replied. “So you tell me what we should do.” He paused.
Titianus glared at him with an expression of betrayal.
Paulinus tipped his head over his shoulder. “It appears General Benignus has taken the initiative, in the absence of orders.”
Proculus and Titianus were aghast as they saw, in the distance, Legio I, Adiutrix formed up into battle lines and advancing towards the enemy.
“Fuck this shit!” The generals heard an auxilia trooper shout. “Come on lads, let’s take the fight to the enemy ourselves!”
This was met with affirmative shouts and soon even the section leaders and centurions were echoing the call to battle. In a wave of populist upheaval, the entire Othonian auxiliary force began its haphazard advance through the woods. Far off to their right, the Thirteenth Legion and four cohorts from Legio XIV took this to mean the general advance had been ordered. Cornicens’ horns sounded and orders were shouted by centurions to make ready to attack.
Given the varying nature of the terrain, the battle looked to be devolving into three separate engagements. Legio I, Adiutrix, was advancing across open terrain towards what appeared to be a single enemy legion. In the center, the whole of their auxiliaries had taken it upon themselves to assault through the woods and find the Vitellians. And on the right, up a long slope of ground, the terrain was open yet broken up with numerous crags and deep ditches. It was here the remaining legionary forces were now advancing, with General Celsus and the entire cavalry force somewhere off to their right front.
“If you need me, I’ll be observing over there,” Paulinus said, looking toward the end of the tree line, approximately a third of a mile away. From there he could watch the battles between the auxiliaries, as well as the First Adiutrix Legion.
Titianus said nothing, but watched in horror as he lost all control of his army. He was surrounded by staff officers and tribunes, mostly from the Praetorian Guard. Unfortunately, they were just as inexperienced as he was. None of them knew what they should do. Licinius Proculus quietly wheeled his horse about and followed Paulinus. He reckoned if disaster struck, the old general would know how to survive whatever happened.
Legate Benignus had been just as aware of Titianus’ incompetence as Paulinus. Because of this, he took the initiative once the enemy was seen advancing on their column. There had been a complete absence of orders, so he really could not be faulted for his actions. By ordering his legion to advance, he had set in motion the entire army’s assault upon the Vitellian lines.
His legionaries were eager, yet they retained their discipline, marching in step while maintaining their formation and battle lines. As the distance quickly closed, the legate recognized the standards of Legio XXI, Rapax. The Predator Legion was well known to him, as he had served beside them many years before, when he was a young chief tribune with Legio V, Alaudae. Little did Benignus know, the Twenty-First had already spilled much blood battling his two cohorts at Placentia. The Rapax legionaries recognized the standards of the First Adiutrix, and it caused their blood to boil.
“Steady lads,” Benignus said, riding directly behind his center cohort. With the legion advancing into
a head-to-head clash with another legion, there was little for the general to do now except calm his men’s fears.
He had rehearsed the battle plan with his centurions a couple of days prior. In a move that was likely to be replicated by their enemies, they would unleash their javelins, fall into a testudo to receive the pending storm of pila from the Vitellians, and then withdraw their front two ranks to the rear of the formation. Many of these men would have their shields rendered useless by the deeply penetrating pila and would have to try and scrounge a shield before they were rotated back into the front line.
“Javelins ready!”
Benignus did not know if the order had come from his centurions or those across the short stretch of field. With subsequent orders, legionaries gave a great cry and unleashed their salvos of javelins at each other. As predicted, both sides dropped down behind their shields in an attempt to minimize casualties. The long metal shafts of the heavy pila would burst through shields, catching the less fortunate soldiers in their unprotected arms or face. Even segmentata plate armor could not fully protect against a heavy javelin flung at close range. And, there were a few who failed to raise their shields in time and were gravely injured or killed by the missile storm.
As the First Adiutrix cohorts pulled their first two ranks back, the men of the Predator Legion did something completely unexpected. Despite losing many of their shields in the javelin storm, their officers sounded the charge, a wall of soldiers crashing into their less experienced adversaries. The rapid attack allowed the Rapax legionaries to penetrate deep into the Adiutrix ranks, causing havoc amongst the jumbled masses. Men struck away at each other with both shield and gladius. Shield-less Vitellian soldiers soon withdrew in orderly fashion. Their frenzied assault had been an attempt to crack the Othonian lines, yet still they held.
Both sides took a very brief moment to assess each other before commencing once more in the clash of shields. Then with a series of centurions’ whistle blows, and shouts of rage, they two legions smashed into each other with fury. The handful of soldiers who’d been badly injured in the javelin volleys now found themselves trapped beneath the trampling feet, as both sides hammered away with shield boss and gladius. And while even the youngest of the Rapax legionaries had far more training and combat experience than their foes, neither side had ever been involved in an actual battle against fellow Romans, the attack on Placentia notwithstanding. What they lacked in experience, the Adiutrix legionaries were more than making up for in courage and brutal tenacity. Shield bosses crashed together, with men seeking the few vulnerable places on an armored legionary to inflict death or serious injury with their blades. With the segmented plate armor impervious to most melee weapons, the exposed face, neck, underarm, and lower abdomen became the primary target for dueling combatants.