Marching With Caesar-Avenging Varus Part I

by R. W. Peake

  “Propraetor.” Gaesorix saluted, and Pullus was suddenly reminded of how much the Batavian’s Latin had improved over the years, while Germanicus returned it, saying genially, “Prefect, now that you’re here, we can begin.”

  Turning to Munacius, Germanicus began with the Sextus Pilus Prior. “What is your report, Pilus Prior? According to the numbers that have been given to me, you and your Cohorts must have been somewhat busy.”

  Pullus instantly discerned that Munacius had not only been informed by either Macer or one of their counterparts of the casualty figures in the camp, he understood the meaning, because his tone was sober as he informed Germanicus, “Actually, no, sir. We only put paid to a bit more than a hundred of the bastards who came our direction.”

  Germanicus’ expression became concerned, but it was only that as he turned to Gaesorix.

  “And what about your men, Batavius? Did your troopers catch the rest?”

  “No, Propraetor,” Gaesorix replied, shaking his head, but he was no less certain in his manner. “Barely fifty of them got past Munacius and the other Cohorts. Although,” he added quickly, “I still have the bulk of my men out there searching.”

  This was sufficient to turn what had been a concern into something more, as Germanicus asked what Pullus was certain he thought was a rhetorical question, “How could so many Cherusci warriors have gotten away?” Before anyone could respond, he added, “Especially given how we caught them by surprise?”

  Pullus was watching silently, although his attention was not on Germanicus but on the Tertius Pilus Prior, who, to Pullus’ eyes, was doing his best to make himself unobtrusive and was clearly unaware that he was under scrutiny. It was what Pullus saw in Maluginensis’ expression that confirmed, to him anyway, that his suspicions were correct.

  Even so, he did not really intend to broach the subject in the manner in which he did, suddenly interjecting, “Maybe Pilus Prior Maluginensis might know something about that.”

  Although the initial reaction of everyone involved was to look in surprise at Pullus, it was not more than a heartbeat later that their collective attention was turned on the Tertius Pilus Prior.

  Blood rushed to Maluginensis’ face, but he did not hesitate to respond, “And why would I know anything more than anyone else, eh, Pullus?”

  “Yes, Pullus,” Sacrovir’ tone was cold, but Pullus noticed that the Primus Pilus’ eyes were on the other Pilus Prior as he asked, “What makes you think that Maluginensis might know more than the rest of us?”

  Rather than answer directly, Pullus pointed in a northerly direction as he said, “Because of the way this camp is laid out, Primus Pilus. If you were one of the Cherusci who wanted to get away, how would you do it?”

  Pullus saw that Sacrovir instantly grasped Pullus’ meaning, which he confirmed when the Primus Pilus replied slowly, “I would head in the direction where I could get into cover as quickly as possible. Which,” now he turned to pin Maluginensis with a hard stare, “is the northern side of this camp.”

  As quickly as the blood had rushed to Maluginensis’ face, it vanished as Pullus saw him go pale, swallowing several times before he protested, “That doesn’t mean anything, Primus Pilus! Yes, there’s a lot less open ground, but I can assure you that my boys were very thorough…”

  For the first time, Germanicus spoke, and just the sound of his voice stilled Maluginensis’ tongue; Pullus experienced a sense of deep satisfaction at the coldness in the Propraetor’s voice as he said, “Pilus Prior Maluginensis, know this. I intend to get to the bottom of this, but,” now, he turned to the others, “right now is not the time. But trust me, I will find out the truth and do what must be done.” Returning to the larger problem, he continued, “Right now, we need to get on the march, as quickly as possible.” The glance he gave at the sun was an expressive one, and he was not alone in his concern, but now there was nothing more to be said, other than, “Primus Pilus, I’ll leave it up to you to determine the order of march. We need to get back to pick up our gear and put as many miles between us and here as we can.”

  “What about those people who aren’t part of Segestes’ family or one of those we’re taking?” Clepsina asked, which was understandable given two of his Centuries were surrounding them not far away from where the Romans were gathered.

  “We’re going to leave them here,” Germanicus answered, holding up a hand to forestall the protest that he could see was about to be made by several of the Pili Priores, finishing, “for the cavalry to dispose of when they arrive.”

  This, Pullus observed wryly, shut their mouths very quickly, and there was no more comment made on the subject, none of them happy about slaughtering civilians but each of them knowing that, if the situation was reversed, Arminius would show no mercy either. This was how warfare went, after all. As was customary in such situations, it was Sacrovir who offered the salute on behalf of the others, then they moved towards their Cohorts, but when Pullus caught Maluginensis giving him a hate-filled glare, he returned it in full measure, although no words passed between them. Pullus expected Sacrovir to say something before he left, but the Primus Pilus was too absorbed with what came next, for which Pullus was thankful. On his return to the Cohort, Pullus noticed that, right next to the mutilated corpse of the slain Cherusci were three more bodies, all of them face down, the dirt around their throats a darker color, but the sight barely registered.

  That it was midday already was not lost on anyone, regardless of rank, so neither Pullus nor the other Pili Priores had to urge their Cohorts to hurry as they fell into their assigned spots in the column. Gaesorix had returned to his cavalry, where part of them would serve as rearguard while the other portion continued scouring the area for the escaped warriors. Pullus’ Cohort would be marching directly behind the wagons, and Volusenus was not alone in believing this was some sort of punishment on the part of Sacrovir, even if Pullus refused to address the matter. It was the Pilus Prior’s appearance that disturbed Volusenus the most, and even after Pullus brushed his questions off, for a reason he could not really articulate, at least until later when he thought about it, he felt compelled to follow Pullus until the Pilus Prior was safely out of earshot before he confronted Pullus.

  “What really happened, Pilus Prior?” Volusenus spoke softly, acutely aware of the intense scrutiny of the men of the Fifth Century who were nearest to the pair. Before Pullus could reply, he added, “And please don’t give me that cac about being knocked down into a pile of guts, because you know I don’t believe it, and I’m pretty certain none of the others do either.”

  Even as he had said it, Pullus was aware of how unlikely and, frankly, how lame the words sounded when he answered Volusenus the first time with the other Centurions and Optios present, but it had been the best he could think of in the moment.

  Now, when he opened his mouth to offer something else, he found he could not think of anything, so he at last shrugged and asked bluntly, “What do you think happened, Gnaeus?”

  It was not what he asked as much as the way he asked it that gave Volusenus his answer; his initial reaction was to curse himself for his curiosity, but he also realized that he had at least suspected he knew the answer.

  “I think,” he finally managed, still keeping his voice low, “the same thing that happened to me in the forest that day, that’s what.”

  Pullus smiled, but it was a grim one, and he tacitly agreed, “Given what you told me about what happened, it certainly sounds similar.” His tone changed abruptly, becoming the Pilus Prior once again as he said, “Now go attend to your Century. I’m not going to let the Fourth be the last Cohort to be ready to leave this fucking place.”

  Volusenus understood that any further discussion of the matter was closed, at least for the moment, so he rendered a salute and went trotting back to the Sixth, but in some ways, he was more troubled than he had been before when it was just a nagging suspicion that whatever had happened to Pullus was the same kind of…fit he had suffered during th
at first, short campaign five years earlier. Thankfully, the requirements of a Centurion making sure that his men were ready to march quickly sent these troubling thoughts to the back of his mind, and he busied himself in making sure that the two men who had suffered wounds had their close comrade next to them, one of the few times Centurions shuffled the order of their formations. The cornu to assemble sounded just as Volusenus was satisfied with his dispositions, but unfortunately, Pullus’ desire for the Fourth not to lag in forming up was quashed because of the Second Century, whose men had been the last to return to their spot from wherever they had been, presumably looting the rest of the tents and performing one last search of the bodies that would be left where they fell. Of all the times, Volusenus thought, for Vespillo to act like a fucking idiot, and he watched Pullus as he approached the Pilus Posterior, wondering how quickly he could cross the ground separating them, certain that Licinius, who was the nearest Centurion, would be loath to try and stop his Pilus Prior from beating Vespillo to death. Fortunately, Pullus seemed content to point his finger in Vespillo’s face before whirling about to stalk away, and Volusenus made no attempt to hide his sigh of relief, which Macerinus did not miss.

  “Did you hear what the Pilus Prior did, Centurion?”

  Volusenus had no desire to have this discussion, and he was offered a reprieve when the cornu command to march over to the spot behind the wagons was given by Poplicola, but it turned out to be temporary, although Macerinus did wait until the march officially began, with Germanicus leading the way. There had been a slight delay because he had ordered men to fire the remaining tents, shelters, and wagons, leaving behind what would be a smoking ruin and nothing but corpses for Arminius to find.

  Volusenus was just beginning to think that Macerinus had let it drop when he repeated his question, prompting Volusenus to turn and give him a glare, although his tone was even as he replied, “I can only imagine what the rankers have come up with.”

  Macerinus flushed slightly, but he insisted, “No, Centurion, this is straight from someone who saw it happen.” He named the Sergeant of the section that had confronted the returning Cherusci, although Volusenus had no way of knowing this, and Macerinus continued, “He said that the Pilus Prior went…mad.” When Volusenus did not reply, the Signifer mistakenly assumed that he had been misunderstood, “When I say mad, I don’t mean he got angry.” He gave a barking laugh. “Gods know I’ve seen the Pilus Prior get angry enough. This,” he shook his head, “was different. My friend says he lost his head or something, like he was touched by a…numen.”

  This finally prompted Volusenus to respond, but it was only to turn and look down at Macerinus with a cold expression as he warned, “I hope you know better than to spread that around, Macerinus. That would make me…mad.”

  It only took one glance by Macerinus to tell him that the giant Centurion was serious, but he felt compelled to protest, “Centurion, I don’t have to! It’s already all over the Cohort!”

  Volusenus bit off a curse, yet he also knew Macerinus was telling the truth; one of his first lessons he had learned was how rapidly such tales spread through not just a Cohort, but an entire Legion, and he was experienced enough to know that, after the first rest break, news of what Pullus had done would be common knowledge. However, while Volusenus was not overly concerned that Pullus would get into any real trouble, he also knew that, as the story was passed from one Century to the next, it would become more lurid, so that by the time the Primus Pilus was made aware of it, he could scarcely imagine what Sacrovir would be hearing, and he was reminded of how quickly his own clash with the ranker in the 15th had transformed. They fell silent, the dominant sound becoming the rattling and creaking of the wagons directly ahead of them, although the Sixth’s spot in the column put them too far away to hear the occupants who were alternately talking and weeping, leaving Volusenus alone with his thoughts, which were not solely about Pullus. Once he had led his men deep enough in the camp to either cut down or send the Cherusci fleeing in another direction, he had slipped away to return to the first tent he had entered, but while he was not surprised to see that it was empty, he was worried about what might have happened to the woman and her two children. Not, he assured himself, because he cared about their fate; no, he was concerned by the possibility that they had managed to somehow slip away and were even now heading east. They probably, he thought, got caught by the men of the Fifth, or even the Second, and had been in that huddle of people they left behind. His musings were cut off when they arrived at their staging area, stopping only long enough to collect their packs and mules, with the Ninth and Tenth Cohorts falling in at the rear of the column. They did allow the Cherusci civilians out of the wagons to relieve themselves, under careful guard, and this was when Volusenus noticed something, which he mentioned to the other Centurions when they gathered together as their men grabbed their belongings.

  “There sure seem to be a lot of pregnant women.” He pointed at a pair of them, escorted by a ranker from the Fifth Century, who had been given the task of keeping an eye on Segestes’ extended family.

  “I counted fifteen,” Cornutus said, but it was Pullus who, thankfully, had at least thoroughly cleaned his face and arms, was able to enlighten them.

  “Fourteen of them don’t matter, but there’s one who does,” he spoke in a low tone, and as he usually did, turned so his back was to the men. “One of them is Segestes’ daughter.”

  At first, this did not register as being anything momentous, while Licinius shrugged and asked offhandedly, “So? Why does that make her special?”

  Pullus’ expression did not change, at least overtly, but Volusenus saw the small quirk at the corner of his mouth.

  “Oh, I suppose she’s special because Segestes’ daughter is Arminius’ wife.” There was a shocked silence, but it only lasted a heartbeat before they were all talking at once, causing Pullus to hiss, “Shut your mouths!” They fell silent immediately, and Pullus lowered his voice even more, whispering, “We do not want the boys to know that we have his wife.”

  “Why?” Structus asked with a frown, but despite Volusenus feeling certain he knew the answer, he remained silent, and his guess was confirmed when Pullus answered, “Because we have men who lost friends and relatives who marched with Varus and have never forgotten. What do you think they’d do if they knew Arminius’ wife, his pregnant wife was here just a few paces away?”

  This served its purpose, as Volusenus saw in the expressions of the others that they understood that Pullus was speaking the truth, and while it had nothing to do with any squeamishness on their part about murdering a pregnant woman—the gods knew there were several lying in the churned mud of the German camp—none of them wanted it to be one of the men from their Century who took their vengeance. Pullus, having made his point, dismissed them to return to their men, and then they were moving again, but very quickly, a gloomy silence descended on the column, with men glancing up at the sun as it sank lower and lower. There did not need to be any chatter for Volusenus, or every other man wearing a transverse crest or white stripe for that matter, to know what was the cause for their concern. Every mile they put under their caligae was good, but they were marching at a slower pace—not dramatically so—yet it was enough for men to know that they were not moving with the kind of rapidity they had achieved on their way there. The smoke from the burning camp was still hanging in the air behind them, although it had noticeably thinned, and every man knew that if it was visible to them, it was going to be visible to others. This, however, was not why the men were worried, which Volusenus quickly learned after the march resumed, except this time, it was not Macerinus who informed him of the latest development.

  Ambustus, who normally marched just behind Volusenus and Macerinus, sped up so that he could fall in between the Signifer and his Centurion to inform Volusenus, in barely more than a whisper, “Have you heard what happened with the Third Cohort, Centurion?”

  “No,” Volusenus admitted, shooting
Ambustus a sidelong glance, though not with any suspicion. The Cornicen was normally quite close-mouthed and not prone to the kind of gossiping that filled so many watches of the men in the ranks, so Volusenus knew that this was potentially important, but when Ambustus said nothing immediately, Volusenus demanded, “Well? What happened?”

  Taking a quick glance over his shoulder, the Cornicen was obviously unhappy with what he saw, because, before he said anything, he jerked his head off to the side of the column, and both Volusenus and Macerinus, who did wait for Volusenus to nod his head in silent permission, veered away from the rest of the Century. Despite the potential importance of whatever Ambustus was about to impart, Volusenus had to grin at the expressions of dismay from the men on the outer file that they would be unable to overhear something interesting.

  Ambustus began with a question. “Centurion, did you notice how we didn’t have to kill that many of those Cherusci bastards before they broke and ran?”

  “Yes,” Volusenus replied, then shrugged as he added, “But I’m sure that the Second or Third took care of them, and any of them who managed to somehow get past got caught by the Sixth and the rest of them.” He thought to add, “And the First as well, although any of them who headed in their direction would have been running away from wherever Arminius is.”

  “The Second did,” Ambustus seemingly agreed, “and I talked to a friend in the First. They only had to handle about two hundred men who surrounded the wagons and tried to defend them.” He paused, then said quietly, “But I also talked to a friend in the Fourth of the Third. He said that Maluginensis fucked things up badly, because he had the Cohort aligned in double Centuries.”