by R. W. Peake
Falling in beside Volusenus, Pullus grinned at him, having to speak more loudly than normal to be heard over the cheering. “You know that the reason the men are so happy is because we’re leaving their wives alone.”
Volusenus laughed, happy to see that Pullus was in a good mood, and he answered in kind, “Then shouldn’t the women be crying?”
“Ha! That’s a good point,” Pullus agreed, and the two fell silent, mainly because of the difficulty in being heard over the shouts from the crowd.
As their part of the column approached the ragged end of the crowd, several boys were skipping along with them, most of them hovering around one part of the column, which caused Pullus to comment, just loudly enough to be heard by Volusenus, “I used to do that whenever my father marched away.” His expression turned somber as the memory of those days assailed him, and he continued, “We always pretended we weren’t worried that this would be the last time we’d see them, but then once they were gone, we’d all go running off to find a place to cry.” As if aware of his words, Pullus glanced over at Volusenus with a seriousness that was clearly feigned, “Not me, I mean. I didn’t. But all the other children did.”
“Of course not,” Volusenus agreed, adopting the same tone as Pullus, one where both parties know that this conversation was just a game. “I doubt you’ve ever cried in your life.”
“That’s right,” Pullus agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Never a tear.”
They reached the last of the spectators; not coincidentally, this segment of the crowd seemed composed of mostly females, and these women did appear more upset than those who had been scattered throughout the crowd behind them.
Some of them were openly weeping, except that they were doing it in such an overblown manner that the two men exchanged a knowing grin and eye roll, and Volusenus commented dryly, “At least someone is sorry to see us go.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” Pullus agreed with a laugh. “Do you have any idea how much money is marching past them?”
As if in answer to this, one of the women shouted in a manner that drew the attention and eyes of the marching Legionaries, whereupon she pulled up the hem of her robe to expose her naked lower body, calling out, “Remember Aphrodite, boys! I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back!”
Instantly, this created what might be described as a bidding war, as the other women, all of whom were employed by one of the dozen brothels that catered to the Legions, began exposing themselves while describing their particular skills, something that was greatly appreciated by the men. Not surprisingly, things became more raucous with every step of the Fourth marching by, but then they were past the last of the whores who were eliciting the same reaction from the Fifth Cohort.
“Clepsina’s not going to appreciate that.” Pullus laughed. “He likes a tidy march.” Then he clapped Volusenus on the shoulder. “Now I have to get back to my boys and make sure they didn’t snatch one of those whores to bring with us.”
Moving at a brisk trot, Pullus made his way back to the front, leaving Volusenus and his men, all of whom were still wearing broad grins and arguing about which of the women had made the best impression. Volusenus was not truly seasoned yet, but he had participated in enough such moments to know that, before long, the monotony of a march would set in, and the men would begin the normal routine, consisting of swapping stories, renewing debates that, invariably, revolved around gladiators, chariot racing, or women; anything to make the miles pass more quickly under the hobnailed soles of their caligae. What mattered now was that Germanicus and the army were on the move.
Germanicus’ first objective was not to destroy, but to rebuild. Specifically, he sent his scouts out to locate the remnants of a camp that had been built by his father Drusus, back in the year of the Consulships of Quintus Aelius Tubero and Paullus Fabius Maximus, erected on the summit of Mount Taunus, which to any of the men like Pullus who had campaigned in Pannonia or Raetia, was a grossly exaggerated appellation.
“This isn’t a mountain, it’s a hill,” Pullus had grumbled to Macer as they were walking to the praetorium the night of their arrival.
“I don’t think we named it that,” Macer interjected mildly, mostly because he knew it would annoy his giant friend. “That’s what the Germans call it.”
“And what do fucking Germans know?” Pullus retorted, only partially serious, knowing very well what Macer was trying to do.
Switching topics but not the aim behind it, Macer asked Pullus with a straight face, “So what did Germanicus tell you is happening next?”
Rather than take the bait, Pullus said irritably, “I know what you’re trying to do, Marcus. You really need to find some other way to get under my skin.”
“Why?” Macer laughed. “This works perfectly well.” He turned serious, and while it was essentially the same question, he phrased it, “So what do you think Germanicus is going to have us do next?”
When put that way, Pullus did not react, and he thought a moment before answering, “We know that he wants to go after the Chatti next. So my guess is that he’ll march us in the direction of Mattium.”
“Mattium?” Macer frowned, trying to place the spot on the map in his mind, but Pullus supplied it. “Yes, it’s about ninety miles from here, a bit to the northeast.”
“Isn’t it near a river?”
“The Adrana (Eder),” Pullus confirmed, “and it’s actually right on the river. At least, that’s what Gaesorix told me. Besides,” he added, with a grin that came from his happiness about being able to finally repay Marcus Macer in kind, “I can’t believe you don’t know about Mattium.”
“Why should I?” Macer asked, and Pullus could see he truly did not make the connection.
However, Pullus answered with a single word, a name actually.
“Odoacer,” he said, and he was rewarded with the sudden widening of Macer’s eyes, his friend actually taking a slight, staggering step backward.
“Pluto’s cock,” Macer gasped. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“If you think that I’m reminding you of the first man you ever killed under the standard, when you had to save your Optio because he got himself caught in between that bastard’s warriors and our Century back when Tiberius had us relocate the Chatti, then yes,” Pullus replied genially.
This clearly shook Macer, but he frowned as he thought about it more, and he said, “But how do you know this Mattium has any relation to Odoacer? And,” he added, “what is the relation to Odoacer?”
“Because when we moved them,” Pullus explained, “he had the remnants of Odoacer’s band along with a couple of others combined, and settled them there. It’s become their capital now.”
“How do you know this?” Macer asked, curiously.
Despite his teasing, Pullus did not feel it necessary to rub it in, and he admitted, “I honestly had forgotten all about that bastard and his brother Vergorix, but it was Gaesorix who reminded me about it back in Januarius, I think.”
The mention of the Batavian Decurion who, next to Macer, was Pullus’ closest friend, prompted Macer to ask, “I haven’t seen him about lately. Any idea where he is?”
“My guess is that he’s up around Mattium,” Pullus confirmed Macer’s suspicion. “Keeping an eye on them.”
They had reached the praetorium by this point, ending their conversation, where they quickly learned what lay in store for themselves and their men. To the relief of Sacrovir and the 1st, they learned they would not be the Legion left behind with Lucius Apronius, Germanicus’ second in command, who the Legate ordered to perform the necessary but boring task of constructing roads and bridges, further enhancing the network that was another ingredient of the formula for Roman conquest, giving the 16th Legion the task. The Roman cause was aided by the fact that, quite unusually, the spring rains had not fallen, which was a factor in Germanicus’ decision to cut his strength by a quarter to achieve this crucial mission while the opportunity present
ed itself. The rest of the army, just as Pullus had predicted, would be marching northeast although, while their ultimate objective was what was, in effect, the tribal capital of the Chatti in Mattium, their progress would be slow enough to allow the army to ravage the lands belonging to the tribe. The one blessing, at least from the perspective of the men in the ranks, was that they would not be using the same method that they had used against the Marsi that, despite being effective, had proven to be extremely wearing on every man who participated, from Gregarius to Centurion, as they tried to maintain an unbroken line of Centuries miles in length. Instead, they marched in the cumbersome but more manageable agmentum quadratum, with part of the 1st in the least desired position at the bottom of the square on the first day, not only depriving them of the chance to have the first choice of any valuables left behind by the Chatti fleeing before them, but placing them behind the mass of animals that comprised the baggage train as well. For Volusenus and his fellow Centurions, most of that day was comprised of reminding the men that the onerous duty of marching at the rear only lasted a day, then they would have the opportunity to prey upon any villages they came across, which did not stop the men from complaining at all.
Consequently, that first day was uneventful for the 1st; by the time they reached the lone huts or small collection of them that passed for a village, they were all smoldering ruins, the bodies of those Chatti who for whatever reason had been too slow or too stubborn to flee lying in the dirt, already growing stiff in death. Since the days were still relatively short, they made just a bit more than a dozen miles, and in the mark of the savvy Legate, as a reward for the drudgery of marching at the rear, Germanicus gave the 1st the easy duty of standing guard while the other two Legions constructed the camp. This set the pattern for this part of the march, but it was not until the third day that the Chatti chose to strike back, launching an ambush against the portion of the 5th Alaudae who formed part of the right arm of the quadratum, using the advantage of a low hill to help build momentum for their attack. As it happened, the Fourth of the 1st was also on that side, and Pullus did not hesitate to respond, ordering his Cornicen to relay the order to move his Cohort into a line that ran perpendicular to their line of march. Moving at a run, Volusenus led his Century outward from the larger formation, followed by Structus and his Fifth, yet despite moving quickly, by the time they moved into position, with the intention of slamming into the left flank of the Chatti attack, as was their habit, the Germans had melted back into the thick vegetation of the forest. They did leave behind a dozen dead and twice as many wounded, all of whom were quickly dispatched, but while Pullus and his Centurions were disappointed, it was not because of their response, and Pullus was, while not lavish, quick to praise the men for their quick obedience.
“Next time, we’ll be able to get behind those cunni and cut them off,” he had said loudly as they returned to their spots to pick up their packs and resume the march, “or we’ll be the first ones into one of those fucking villages, and then we’ll get the biggest cut!”
As he had known it would, the men lustily cheered at the idea of stripping dead men of their valuables, but matters quickly returned to normal, the march resumed, and soon the temporary excitement had been replaced by the monotony again.
When they neared Mattium, it was the First through Sixth Cohort who were marching as the leading edge of the quadratum. Volusenus was aware that it was nearby, but he did not know precisely how far away they were when, from up ahead, a column of cavalry emerged from the thicker part of the forest. Leading the dozen troopers at a trot was the Decurion who was known as Batavius, but who Pullus always referred to as Gaesorix. Volusenus knew him, not that well, although he had been Pullus’ guest on at least two occasions where Gaesorix was there to share the meal, and he had immediately seen the easy rapport and genuine regard the two held for each other, which had ignited a small but identifiable jab of envy, though he had no idea why he felt that way. Now, as the Batavian and his men drew closer, Volusenus could see the grim set to the man’s jaw, and instead of heading to Pullus, which Volusenus had observed he often did when returning to the army, he made directly for where Sacrovir and the Legion eagle were located at the far right of the line of Cohorts. A few heartbeats later, the Legion Cornicen sounded the call to halt, followed quickly by the call for Pili Priores, while Gaesorix went at the canter back to the middle of the quadratum, where Germanicus was located, ahead of the baggage train, as horn calls rippled down both sides of the quadratum, necessary to bring such a huge force to a halt. Ordering his men to ground their packs and giving them permission to lean on their shields as long as they faced front and remained alert, Volusenus wandered over to Structus, engaging in desultory conversation that neither man would remember a watch later. It did not take all that long before they saw the Pili Priores trotting back in their direction, with Macer stopping at his Second first, then Maluginensis reaching his Third, while Pullus, Clepsina, and the Sextus Pilus Prior, Lucius Strabo continued on. Volusenus and Structus were already moving in the opposite direction, reaching the Cohort standard just as Pullus did, while he took a moment to catch his breath, something that, to Volusenus, Vespillo seemed about to make some sort of comment about, judging by the expression the Pilus Posterior wore. Moving slightly, Volusenus placed himself in Vespillo’s range of vision, and as he hoped, the Pilus Posterior glanced over in an unconscious response to the movement; more importantly, Volusenus caught his eye, and while he did not mouth anything, or even shake his head, the look on his face was sufficient to cause his mouth to snap shut, which confirmed to Volusenus that it was going to be some biting comment.
Pullus, completely unaware of this, had caught his breath enough to tell them, “We’re about four miles from Mattium. Gaesorix says that while they have a lot of sentries standing around, the wall is only high enough to keep the animals in, so we won’t need ladders.”
“Did he say whether or not they know we’re so close?” Vespillo asked.
“No,” Pullus shook his head, “but he said he doesn’t think so, judging from the way they’re acting. And,” he added, “he’s got a screen of men stretched across our line of march looking for any Germans that might warn them.”
Volusenus could see just by Vespillo’s expression that he was not satisfied with this, but this time, he did not have to send a silent warning, Vespillo muttering, “I suppose that’s the best we can hope for.”
Their conversation was cut short by the sound of hooves, and they all turned in the direction of the noise to see that Germanicus was approaching, leading his staff, with Gaesorix next to him.
“Make room!” Pullus bellowed, seeing their general approaching and anticipating he wanted to move beyond the line of the quadratum, the men scrambling to make a hole as directed.
Drawing rein once he was at a spot where he could be seen by the entirety of the front line, he began speaking, loudly enough to be heard by a substantial proportion of the men. “The town that is the seat of the Chatti king is a short distance ahead, about four miles away. I will lead you,” he turned and pointed to where the trees resumed in a thicker cluster in the direction of the town, “another mile closer, where there is another clearing that Batavius assures me is large enough for the entire army. You will ground your packs there, and you will wait as the 5th and the 15th array themselves on either side of you. Then,” his voice went even higher in pitch, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his voice as Germanicus finished, “we will begin to avenge Varus and his Legions!”
The cheer that followed was so resounding that it caused Volusenus to wince, both because of the noise but the fear that, somehow, it would travel to the north over the intervening distance between them and the Germans. With the initial instructions given, Germanicus kicked his horse into a trot, presumably heading for the spot that Gaesorix or one of his men had discovered.
“All right, boys, you heard him. Make ready!” Volusenus called out, needlessly. He saw with a mixtu
re of chagrin and pride that his men were already picking up their packs and preparing to move.
Within a matter of heartbeats, the entire front rank was prepared, and the march resumed, with each Century once more sending a section ahead to chop down and clear a path through the underbrush. Somewhat unusually, Germanicus had not sent the contingent of men who acted as pioneers, felling smaller trees to enable the army to move without having to weave a path around every single sapling, deciding that the ragged cohesion that came from neatly ordered ranks being forced to split apart as they negotiated a path forward was worth it for the higher pace. Not long after the resumption, Volusenus saw the designated spot ahead, then they entered what he instantly determined was not a natural opening, but an area that the Chatti had cleared for, he assumed, grazing animals, although there was no sign of them.
“Where are the cattle?” Volusenus wondered, worried that this was a sign that the Chatti had been forewarned enough to remove the livestock.
It was Macerinus who provided the answer. “This ground has been overgrazed, Centurion. It doesn’t look like this place is going to be used this season.”
Volusenus glanced over in surprise at his Signifer, asking curiously, “How do you know that, Macerinus?”
The Signifer did not look over at Volusenus, and the edges of the wolf headdress made it impossible for the Centurion to see his face, but when he spoke, his tone communicated that Macerinus was only willing to offer the bare bones of it as he explained, “My father raised cattle mostly. We lived near Lugdunum, and he sold them to the Gauls who lived all around there. I worked for him until I joined the Legions. So,” he used his head to indicate the surrounding ground, “that’s how I know this is overgrazed.”