Marching With Caesar-Avenging Varus Part I

by R. W. Peake

  He stopped then, and there was a silence, but then Macer raised his hand to ask quietly, “When you say ‘us,’ who exactly do you mean, Primus Pilus?”

  Sacrovir smiled, but it held no humor, and he answered, “I mean the 1st Legion, Macer.”

  He said nothing more, but it took a few heartbeats for the other Centurions present to understand what this meant, that silence suddenly shattered when the nine other men seemingly began talking at once.

  It was Clepsina, the Quintus Pilus Prior, whose voice managed to override the others as he exclaimed, “Has Germanicus gone mad? We’re going to march on the Cherusci all by ourselves?”

  Sacrovir opened his mouth to answer, but the other Pili Priores, with one exception, were still trying to make themselves heard over their counterparts, and finally, he was forced to bellow, “Tacete!” Thankfully for Sacrovir’s temper, the other Centurions joined Pullus who, after his initial outburst, had fallen silent, mainly because he thought he might have an idea what their Legate had in mind. Their obedience did not stop Sacrovir from glaring at them for another couple of heartbeats before he resumed, and while he sounded calm, his Pili Priores knew when he was making an effort, and this was one of those times. “Yes, we are going to be marching alone. However,” he held up a hand, “Germanicus has no intention of leading us into battle against the Cherusci.” While this mollified the Centurions somewhat, as they listened to Sacrovir relay what Germanicus had in mind, none of them looked relieved in the slightest. The Primus Pilus finished talking by asking, “Questions?”

  He was clearly not surprised when several hands shot up, although he was obviously irritated, but instead of pointing to one of his Centurions with their hands in the air, he indicated Pullus, who did not notice immediately because he was staring at the floor thoughtfully.

  “Pullus,” Sacrovir finally called his name, causing him to look up with some embarrassment, “I asked you, what do you think?”

  Suddenly and acutely aware that nine sets of eyes were on him, Pullus answered somewhat uncomfortably, “What do I think, Primus Pilus?” Realizing that Sacrovir would know he was stalling, he continued before the Primus Pilus could say as much, so he hurried on, “We did something similar to this with the Legio Germanicus, moving fast and light, so the Legate knows what he’s asking of us.” Now he did pause, thinking for a moment before he asked Sacrovir, “Am I correct in assuming that we’ll be marching in light order, Primus Pilus?”

  Sacrovir’s face gave nothing away, but he was secretly grateful to Pullus for the deft manner in which he moved away from the list of all the reasons the other Centurions would have to object, answering quickly, “You’re correct, Pullus. No heavy baggage, no artillery, no wagons. We’re going to be marching with section mules only, along with an extra two mules per Century to carry the extra rations we’ll need.”

  “But where are we marching to?” Maluginensis asked. “You didn’t mention that.”

  “That’s because we don’t know exactly,” Sacrovir admitted, but he held up a hand to preempt the protests he knew were coming. “Arminius has been moving around a lot, and he’s made sure that Segestes and all of Segestes’ family are with him when he moves. According to Segimundus, he’s actually moving to the western edge of Cherusci territory because he’s either getting ready to make some sort of move against us somewhere along the Rhenus, or more likely is expecting us to move against him and he wants to pick the ground.”

  “Well, that narrows it down.”

  Pullus was fairly certain that Clepsina had not intended to say this as loudly as he had, and despite the tension in the room, it elicited laughter from his counterparts; even Sacrovir chuckled, though it was fleeting, and his sober expression quickly returned.

  “Nobody is saying this will be easy,” Sacrovir admitted. “But we should feel honored that Germanicus has chosen the 1st to be the Legion to do this, because it’s of the utmost importance to the Imperator, not just to Germanicus.” He paused, scanning the faces of his most senior Centurions, and he finished sternly, “And I expect you to make sure your boys know that, from top to bottom. Now,” he stood up, signaling the end of the meeting, “go start making preparations. As I said, light order; packs, full sets of tools, carrying five days instead of three days of rations. I expect the Legion to be ready to march by first light tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow!”

  “Primus Pilus, that’s not enough time!”

  “That means our boys are going to be working all night!”

  Sacrovir listened for a moment, but for some reason, he did not appear perturbed, or in danger of losing his temper, which puzzled Pullus slightly.

  Finally, when the protesting Centurions paused for breath, he asked mildly, “Are you done?” One by one, they informed Sacrovir that indeed they were through offering their complaints. Pointing to the door, Sacrovir said, “That’s time you just wasted that could have been spent carrying out your orders.”

  Pullus and Macer exchanged an amused glance; the Secundus Pilus Prior had chosen to remain silent like Pullus, but as they were filing out, Sacrovir called Pullus’ name, which was why Pullus had chosen to bring up the rear, certain this would happen.

  “I’ll catch up,” he told Macer quietly, then turned around and came back to the chairs in front of Sacrovir’s desk, while the Primus Pilus had dropped back into his own chair.

  The Primus Pilus waved at him to sit, and as soon as Macer shut the door behind him, Sacrovir began by asking, “Well, Pullus, what do you think? Is Germanicus doing the right thing?” This was so startling, and unusual, that Pullus’ jaw dropped as he stared at Sacrovir, which seemed to alert the Primus Pilus to the implications of how his words could be construed, and he hastily amended, “What I meant to say is, do you think Germanicus is capable of moving as quickly as we need to?”

  That, Pullus thought dismally, isn’t much better than the first question, but he also understood it was a valid concern.

  Fortunately, he did not feel he was playing Sacrovir falsely as he assured him, “Absolutely, Primus Pilus. Remember, he cut his teeth during the Batonian Revolt. We fought rebels who were in their own territory, and we had to move quickly if we wanted to catch up with those cunni. He knows what he’s about, not just in a general sense when leading the entire army, but for something like this as well.”

  Sacrovir listened, and when Pullus was finished, he nodded his head thoughtfully.

  “That makes sense,” he allowed. He stood again, smiling thinly at Pullus. “I apologize for delaying you, Pullus. As your fellow Pili Priores made it clear, you all have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. Which,” Sacrovir moved from behind the desk, “includes my own Cohort.”

  The pair left the private office, and Pullus was reminded of how, while as Pilus Prior he had to worry about six Centuries, including his own, the post of Primus Pilus was exactly ten times more difficult. As he exited out onto the street while Sacrovir went striding over to the First Cohort area and he headed for the Fourth, his thoughts were less about what needed to be done and more about why he had ever coveted the post of Primus Pilus.

  Chapter Six

  “No, you’re staying behind, and that’s the end of it.”

  Pullus’ tone was not unkind, but Alex knew his uncle was serious, yet he still felt compelled to argue the decision, pointing out, “I’m not just a clerk, Uncle Titus! I’ve been trained as a medicus!”

  “No, you’ve been trained as a stretcher bearer, and you’ve picked some things about patching us up along the way,” Pullus countered, unmoved despite his nephew’s passion.

  The pair were standing in Pullus’ private quarters, and Alex had been haranguing him for what seemed like a full watch, arguing about Pullus’ decision to leave him behind.

  Seeing that Pullus was not budging, Alex said accusingly, “You don’t think I’d be able to keep up!”

  This surprised Pullus somewhat, and he assured Alex, “That has nothing to do with it, I swear on t
he black stone. In fact,” he hoped the chuckle he gave did not sound forced, “I’d make a fair wager that you could march me into the dirt. But,” he shook his head, “that doesn’t change anything.” Suddenly, he was struck by an inspiration, and he explained, “Look, Alex. What Germanicus is trying to do is what a thief who sneaks into the house does. He’s trying to get us in and out without alerting those bastards.”

  Alex, however, was as unmoved as his uncle, snorting in disgust, “There’s no way that that’s going to happen. Maybe,” he allowed, “you can manage to get near wherever Arminius is and has Segestes, but there’s no way that you’ll be able to snatch him and his family, then get back out without having to fight.”

  Pullus did not argue this because he knew Alex was correct, but that did not change his decision, and he had to endure Alex spinning angrily about, throwing the door open, then slamming it as hard as he could on the way out, although Pullus still winced at the sharp noise. Sighing, he returned to what he had been doing, packing his personal baggage, which was proving to be more difficult than normal. Pullus had decided that he was going to set the example by paring down what he brought along with him, but what was causing him trouble was something that he knew he had no business bringing with him. To an uninformed observer, it was a large wooden box with a hinged lid and a hasp through which a lock could secure the contents, the kind of sturdy container that most men put their hard cash in, along with important documents like a will. This box contained documents, certainly, but none of the more than a dozen tightly wrapped scrolls, each of them carefully wrapped in cloth to further protect the parchment, were wills. Although, Pullus considered, as he stared down at the box, as a legacy went, this box was far more important than any number of bags of coins, while at the same time, he realized he could not bring them with him. And, what deeply puzzled Pullus, this was the first time he had ever had the urge to do so; every other campaign he had marched on ever since he had come into possession of these scrolls, they had been left behind, locked away in the secure storeroom for his Cohort. He could not even articulate why it seemed so important to him, but nevertheless, he finally made his decision with a great deal of reluctance, but then, when he was about to call to Alex to come take the box, he decided against it. Returning to the more mundane but necessary items he would be carrying, Pullus rummaged through the pack one last time before dropping it on the floor next to his cot. Picking up his vitus, he left his private office to find Alex sitting at his desk, although he refused to look up at his uncle. Pullus considered taking the time to try and soothe what he understood were Alex’s hurt feelings, and for which he did not blame the younger man. Ever since Pullus had brought him to the Rhenus and the 1st at his mother Birgit’s request, a bond had developed between the pair, one that was no less inconsequential because Alex’ role was not as a brother in arms, and technically, was one of servant to Pullus’ master. But just as his grandfather’s relationship with Alex’s father, their connection was more familial in nature, and Pullus understood that Alex’s irritation was based in his loyalty and affection. Deciding that he would let Alex cool off, Pullus left his quarters, almost immediately bellowing at the sight of one of the men of his Cohort walking somewhere. As Sacrovir had said, there was much to do and not much time in which to do it.

  Just as their Primus Pilus had promised, the 1st Legion was ready in time, and in the predawn, Pullus was busy wolfing down the meal prepared by Demetrios, who, unlike Alex, was not in the least bit put out at being left behind. As far as Alex was concerned, he had performed his tasks in a sullen silence, which Pullus was putting up with, although he felt his impatience growing as his nephew moved about his quarters, stuffing the last-moment items that Pullus had decided to take into the pack. Befitting his rank, the pack of a Pilus Prior was much larger than that of a Gregarius, and slightly larger than that of a line Centurion. It was actually divided into two compartments, with a section of leather that attached the two, thereby enabling it to be slung over the back of a mule on those occasions where it was not loaded into a wagon. Once Pullus deemed that he had only what he needed, Alex was forced to redistribute some items, which was also done in silence, and it took an effort on Pullus’ part not to snap at his nephew. He was naturally uncomfortable with silences, but when it was with someone to whom he was close, and it was for something that Pullus felt was unreasonable, his instinctive response was to lash out, something he knew of which Alex was acutely aware. Somehow, he managed to refrain, not wanting to mar the moment with harsh words, and in fact, when it was time for him to leave his quarters, when Alex made to heft the pack, he took it from him, gently.

  “That’s all right,” Pullus said quietly. “I know you’re angry with me, so I’ll carry it.”

  Alex did look sheepish, but he did not say anything, instead holding the pack out, although even with two hands, it took some effort, and Pullus thought he saw the flicker of a grin when, with a practiced ease, his uncle took it from him as if it weighed no more than a shield. He did follow Pullus into the outer office, but then, still without a word, he moved and sat down behind his desk. Shaking his head, Pullus walked to the outer door and opened it, the cooler night air washing the stale, stuffy air out of the office.

  Just before he stepped outside, Pullus turned and, with a grin, said to Alex, “You know, if I end up dead, you’re going to feel like cac.”

  He had meant it flippantly, and in fact it was not the first time he and Alex had joked about his possible demise, but Alex’s reaction was unlike any of those previous times, going so pale that Pullus thought he might faint, and he leapt to his feet.

  “Uncle Titus,” Alex’s voice sounded as if an invisible spirit was choking him, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to act so…I mean, like…”

  “A child?” Pullus supplied for him, but while the grin stayed in place, Alex knew his uncle was being serious, and despite how bitter it tasted, he answered readily enough, “Yes, like that. It’s just that…” He paused, trying to think of how to say what he wanted but not have to endure the mockery of Demetrios, who was sitting at his own desk making no attempt to pretend to be doing anything else but avidly watching. Finally, he shrugged and said simply, “I always feel better if I’m there with you because we’re family.”

  Pullus had to fight the sudden lump that threatened to choke off his words, although it was the stinging of his eyes that he worried about the most.

  “I…know, Alex,” he finally managed. Then, before Alex could respond, he said gruffly, “Just don’t let the place go to cac while we’re gone. And,” he added, although this time, he was serious, “make sure none of those thieving bastards in the other Legions come poking around here trying to find something to steal.”

  “We won’t,” Alex promised, but it was to Pullus’ back, his uncle slipping out into the darkness.

  Just as Pullus had promised Sacrovir, Germanicus proved perfectly capable of setting a cracking pace, although the Primus Pilus was not particularly appreciative when Pullus chose to remind him of this at their first rest stop. The initial leg of their journey was by following the Rhenus downstream, but on the opposite bank, using a road that, while not Romanized, was still well-maintained for this side of the river. Word had filtered down through the ranks that the 1st would be met by the bulk of the cavalry, who were busy keeping an eye on Arminius and his warband. This was, unsurprisingly, considered a positive development by the men of the 1st; the Cherusci were not renowned for their cavalry but having their own force of horsemen put the minds of those in the ranks who had developed a fear and loathing of mounted troops at ease, over and above the natural antipathy infantry held for cavalry, an aversion that was returned in full measure, even when the two were on the same side. For Pullus, it was even more pleasant, because it had been some time since he had seen his friend Gaesorix, mainly because he had risen to the rank of Praefectus Alae, the commander of all cavalry attached to the Army of the Rhenus. It was when Pullus heard his friend’s name
mentioned that he realized that he had not yet had the chance to congratulate Gaesorix on his achievement, and as he usually did whenever he thought of the Batavian, he grinned as he recalled how their friendship had formed. To say that Pullus would have considered it unlikely in the extreme that any kind of friendship would form the day he met the Turma of Batavian cavalry who were supposed to escort him back to Siscia was an understatement. Gaesorix had questioned Pullus’ horsemanship, something that, under normal circumstances, the Batavian could have been excused for, given Pullus’ status as a Legionary. Of course, Gaesorix had been unaware that Pullus had begun riding Ocelus after his Avus died and willed him the huge gray horse, something that Pullus was determined to show Gaesorix within moments of mounting the horse he had rented for the journey. Not every part of that memory was pleasant, however; Pullus had long before reconciled himself to the bitter truth that he had essentially goaded Gaesorix and the men under his command into riding into an ambush, mainly because Pullus’ pride had been hurt. Men had died because of that, and Pullus would not have faulted any of the Batavians if they had never forgiven him, although he was aware that his leading a rescue party for two troopers captured during the ambush by the Varciani had helped salvage his reputation with them. One of the Batavians Pullus helped rescue, Cassicos, who Pullus considered one of the toughest men he had ever met because he not only survived being partially flayed, he had continued to ride and fight for Rome, had been promoted to Decurion when Gaesorix was moved up. The knowledge that the Legion was being screened by men like these two, who he trusted not just with his own life, but those of his entire Cohort, did more to ease Pullus’ mind than any other factor on what was, by any definition, a risky endeavor. The Legion made camp next to the Rhenus the first night; the next morning, after covering five miles at the same rapid pace, they reached another road that terminated with the one they were on, turning east on it.