by R. W. Peake
Marching With Caesar – Avenging Varus, Part I
By R.W. Peake
Also by R.W Peake
Marching With Caesar® – Birth of the 10th
Marching With Caesar – Conquest of Gaul
Marching With Caesar – Civil War
Marching With Caesar – Antony and Cleopatra, Parts I & II
Marching With Caesar – Rise of Augustus
Marching With Caesar – Last Campaign
Marching With Caesar – Rebellion
Marching With Caesar – A New Era
Marching With Caesar – Pax Romana
Marching With Caesar – Fraternitas
Marching With Caesar – Vengeance
Marching With Caesar – Rise of Germanicus
Marching With Caesar – Revolt of the Legions
Caesar Triumphant
Caesar Ascending – Invasion of Parthia
Caesar Ascending – Conquest of Parthia
Caesar Ascending – India
Critical praise for the Marching With Caesar series:
Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony
“Peake has become a master of depicting Roman military life and action, and in this latest novel he proves adept at evoking the subtleties of his characters, often with an understated humour and surprising pathos. Very highly recommended.”
Marching With Caesar-Civil War
"Fans of the author will be delighted that Peake’s writing has gone from strength to strength in this, the second volume...Peake manages to portray Pullus and all his fellow soldiers with a marvelous feeling of reality quite apart from the star historical name... There’s history here, and character, and action enough for three novels, and all of it can be enjoyed even if readers haven’t seen the first volume yet. Very highly recommended."
~The Historical Novel Society
“The hinge of history pivoted on the career of Julius Caesar, as Rome’s Republic became an Empire, but the muscle to swing that gateway came from soldiers like Titus Pullus. What an amazing story from a student now become the master of historical fiction at its best.”
~Professor Frank Holt, University of Houston
Marching With Caesar – Avenging Varus Part 1 by R.W. Peake
Copyright © 2019 by R.W. Peake
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Artwork Copyright © 2019 R. W. Peake
All Rights Reserved
For Brianna
My Only Child
And
Still My Lodestone
On Her Birthday
March 23, 1979
Still The Best Day Of My Life
Foreword
Of all of the books I have written, the reaction I got from the last in the Marching With Caesar® series, Revolt of the Legions, has probably been the strongest, which included a review that began with “You bastard.”
Which, being honest, I understand, and when I wrote what became the Epilogue, I did not do it lightly, so I wasn’t offended. Frankly, I have been flattered by the response to the death of Titus Porcinianus Pullus, because it indicates that you, my faithful readers, have become as attached as I am to him; in fact, in some ways, I developed a deeper affection for Titus Pomponius Pullus’ namesake than for Titus the Elder. (Although, I have no plans to tattoo Titus II’s likeness on my chest as I did with Titus I.) I suppose part of it is based in an appreciation for what it’s like to try and follow in the footsteps of a legend, and the crushing pressure someone must feel when they share not only a name, but the same attributes that contributed to that success.
When I originally started telling the story of Titus the Younger, I had every intention of having the grandson match the exploits of Titus the Elder, but as I learned more about the early Imperial period, I also realized how difficult repeating an ascent through the ranks would have been. The first Titus was born into an age where, because of the upheaval of not one but two civil wars, the social fabric of Roman society was rent in such a way that men of exceptional ability but low birth could climb not just the ranks of Rome’s Legions, but the Roman class system itself. His adopted grandson faced a very different set of circumstances, where the man who would become the first, and one of the greatest Imperators of Rome, held a tight and complete control over the Roman military, where promotions to the highest rank of the Legions were based less in competence and more in political reliability.
Within that reality, Titus the Younger was hamstrung, and as his story developed, I at least attempted to portray how that would have impacted his outlook and I tried to have his character communicate first the recognition of this reality, then the ensuing frustration, before ending with the acceptance that he will never match, let alone eclipse the exploits of the man who he idolized, and who was as much of a force in shaping who he is as his father, Gaius Porcinianus Pullus. Just as Titus the Elder was able to take advantage of the opportunities afforded him by the events of the time in which he lived, his grandson is similarly constrained by the same thing; in that sense, both of them are victims of their circumstances.
Which brings us to the proverbial elephant in the room, and the cause for the “You bastard,” and “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?” responses I have gotten about the sudden demise of Titus the Younger.
I have been blessed in the sense that the stories I tell are interesting to you, my readers, and I have received enough correspondence, both personally and in the form of reviews, to know that one of the aspects of my books that readers appreciate is my attention to detail, and most importantly, my attempt to be as faithful to the historical record as I can. And, around about Rise of Germanicus, I began to realize something; the odds of three successive generations of men who fought under the standards of the Legions of Rome living to a ripe old age are on par with those that my Yellow Lab and namesake of the Prefect, Titus, will restrain himself from gobbling up the piece of ham I accidentally drop on the floor. In short, it ain’t happening, because it’s just not in the realm of possibility. Just like that piece of ham, Titus the Younger was destined for an early demise…even if I didn’t know it when I began.
However, that doesn’t mean that the story of this family ends; in fact, this story, Avenging Varus Part I, introduces the next generation of the Pullus family, and almost as importantly, the children of Diocles. Oh, and in the process, young Gnaeus Pullus will be part of Rome’s revenge against Arminius that has been more than five years in the making, which means that there are quite a few challenges facing this young Roman who thought he was the son of a nondescript and comfortably prosperous Equestrian, but is instead the son of a man who, at least with the Legions on the Rhenus and in Pannonia, is a legend. And, more importantly, thanks to the exploits of his real father, he has attracted the attention of Germanicus…and of those Romans who view Germanicus as a rival and threat.
As always, thanks to Beth Lynne for her stalwart work in saving me from myself, and for her immediately “getting” what I am trying to do here with this story. Astute observers will notice that the style of this cover is different than the previous fourteen of the MWC series, and that’s thanks to the efforts and brilliance of Laura Prevost. Hopefully, you’re as thrilled as I am with the results.
Finally, and as always, I want to thank you, the readers who keep me going, and most importantly for my aspirations to never have to fill out another job application, have spread the word about Titus Pullus.
Semper Fidelis,
R.W. Peake
Historical Notes
As I did in the preceding Revolt of the Legions, I leaned most heavily on Tacitus, along with Dio, albeit not to the same extent as Tacitus. And, as I did with Revolt, I found Lindsay Powell’s Germanicus-The Magnificent Life and Mysterious Death of Rome’s Most Popular General, published by Pen & Sword Military in 2013, to be very helpful and informative. However, as I have in the past, I have taken the license that comes from being an author of historical fiction, not to alter events as much as take advantage of the gaps in the historical record.
One thing I discovered as I delved more deeply into this era of Early Empire, there were a lot of moving parts involved in Rome’s attempt to avenge the Varus Disaster, and there’s a corresponding lack of detail, specifically where it involves the kind of information that someone like me who is writing about one Legion in particular would find useful. Still, it also gives me an opportunity to put Titus, Gnaeus, and their 1st Legion into the action, since the identities of which Legions went with which Legate, whether it was Aulus Caecina Severus, Lucius Stertinius, or Germanicus, particularly for the first part of the campaign, is unknown.
Therefore, I place the 1st with Germanicus during the first phase of the campaign of 15 A.D., when the objective was to subdue the Chatti, while four other Legions marched with Caecina, whose task was to effectively pin the Cherusci in place and keep them from coming to the aid of the Chatti, one of the tribes of Arminius’ confederation.
The second example is with the raid to rescue Segestes, where the historical record mentions it but does not go into any detail, particularly as to the composition of the force Germanicus led to rescue the Friend and Ally of Rome who had been the only German to try and warn Varus of Arminius’ coming treachery. Since we don’t know who Germanicus led on this foray, I used the latitude afforded a writer of fiction to insert the 1st into that part of the story.
Also, when points of departure for the Legions are unknown, or unclear, I have placed them in one of the outposts that make sense from a narrative perspective, so some readers may take exception to the idea that the 1st departed from Mogontiacum, for example, when it would make more sense for them to depart from Vetera. Hopefully, if that’s the case, those readers will forgive me.
However, when the identity of the Legions is known; for example, the 1st, 5th, 20th, and 21st, when they are ambushed by the coalition of the Bructeri, Tubantes, and Usipetes tribes during the abbreviated winter campaign of 14 A.D., I follow the historical record.
When it comes to weaponry, the manuballista makes its appearance during the spring campaign of 15 A.D., and is based on the model found at Xanten, the modern name for Vetera, and my description of its accuracy, or lack thereof, is based strictly on my own supposition.
Finally, as I always do, I try to be as meticulous about placing the action in the correct locations, and I always “walk the ground” through Google Earth to get an idea of what it might have looked like. Unfortunately, aside from the actual site of the Varus disaster, many of the locations, such as Tiberius’ Rampart at the headwaters of the Aliso, are supposition for the most part. Otherwise, I haven’t moved anything or altered the terrain for the purposes of the story. Also, long-time readers know that when I mention a river, I always will place the modern name in parentheses during my first mention of it, then I use the ancient name the rest of the time. Some readers might notice this isn’t the case with the Werra River, and the reason is that it’s one of the few rivers whose name hasn’t changed from the 1st Century A.D.
Table of Contents
Foreword
Historical Notes
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Prologue
“Is it true?”
Giulia Livinius Volusenus stood, having risen from her favorite couch, frozen in place, staring at her son Gnaeus, who, without any advance warning whatsoever, had somehow managed to obtain leave from his posting in Ubiorum, or so she assumed, to come to Mogontiacum where she now lived. Despite her shock at his sudden appearance in the villa that she had purchased, and the abrupt and seemingly elliptical manner in which he was addressing her, somehow, Giulia knew exactly what her son was asking.
Nevertheless, she did not reply, looking up at him with an outward calm she did not feel, which prompted him to repeat, this time more distinctly, “Is. It. True?”
There was a long silence, while mother and son regarded each other, the latter with an expression on his face that she had never seen before and could not readily identify.
“Yes,” Giulia finally replied, hearing the quaver in her voice, but she was far more concerned with her son’s reaction to her confirmation; the gods knew as well as she did that Gnaeus had a volcanic temper, something that she knew he got from his father, his real father.
However, his reaction not only surprised her, she found it quite worrisome, because he suddenly staggered to the nearest couch and collapsed so heavily onto it, she could hear the wood cracking, although it bore his considerable weight. For the rest of her days, Giulia Livinius Volusenus would remember the stricken expression on her son’s face as he regarded her with a look of such sadness that, before he uttered the words, although she did not know exactly how Gnaeus had learned the truth, she understood why.
“He’s…” she began, then could not form the words, but there had always been a bond between mother and son that meant he knew her question.
“Yes, Mother.” She could tell he was trying to imbue his words with a cold anger, but she heard the pain there. “Titus Pullus is dead.”
Despite being certain this was the case, Giulia could not keep the sob from bursting from her, and, like Gnaeus, she dropped back onto the couch, where she buried her face in her hands, leaning her elbows on her knees as she began to weep. She was unable to see it, but her son’s rigid expression underwent a similar transformation, his own eyes filling with tears, both at the sight of his mother’s grief and for the sense of a loss that he could never have described, mainly because he barely understood it himself. Nevertheless, he did not rise from his seat to go to Giulia’s side to comfort her; there was still a healthy dose of anger in the swirling emotions he was feeling in the moment, and he did not trust himself to contain his temper. How could she have lied to him all these years, he wondered, as he stared at her heaving shoulders. She had not shown this much grief when Quintus Claudius Volusenus, the man he had been told all of his life was his father, had died unexpectedly, and it was this display of raw pain on her part that unsettled him, although that was not all of it. No, what had shaken him to his core, even before he had arrived in Mogontiacum with the 1st Legion and decided to confront his mother before the Legion left as part of the army under the command of Aulus Caecina Severus, was the recognition that, when the truth had been revealed to him in the form of the letter then the will of Titus Porcinianus Pullus, somewhere deep inside him, he had been fairly certain that Pullus was his real father for some time. Giulia would have been shocked to know that, as angry as Gnaeus was with her, a fair proportion of that rage was aimed at himself for being too cowardly to confront Pullus with his suspicions, which he knew now had been with him almost from the first moment he had met the Quartus Princeps Prior, although he had become the Quartus Pilus Prior at the time of his death. And, along with the anger was a massive sense of guilt, because Pullus had sacrificed himself to save Gnaeus’ life during the recently conducted surprise raid to rescue Segestes that had temporarily interrupted the campaign against Arminius and his confederation of German tribes to finally avenge the Varus disaster. What would have surprised Volusenus a great deal, at least until he gave it some thought, was that in this moment, the mix of emotio
ns he was experiencing mirrored those his mother was dealing with, just a matter of a few feet away. Slowly, her sobs subsided, and so did Gnaeus’ anger, until she finally lifted her face from her hands, her eyes red and already puffy, her cheeks wet with her tears.
Regarding her son for a span of heartbeats, she finally said, in a voice made hoarse by grief, “I suppose we have a lot to talk about.”
This was such a massive understatement that, to his horror, Gnaeus’ first reaction was to burst out in laughter, but it was the kind that just as quickly transformed itself into tears, and then it was his turn to begin sobbing as his mother had, mimicking her posture to bury his face in his hands. In his case, it was to hide his shame at what he thought of as a display of weakness; Roman men, especially Roman Centurions, were not supposed to show this side of themselves, even in front of their mothers. Regardless of this, when he felt her gentle touch on his shoulder, without any thought about how it would appear to the servants, he buried his head in her breast, pouring out his grief for all that he had lost, before he ever had a chance to fully understand what it meant that Titus Pullus was his father.