Enemy of Rome

V

Valerius woke to the distinctive bustle of a legion preparing for the march: the sound of centurions roaring at heavy-handed recruits as they struggled with the stakes that had protected the camp overnight, the flap of leather tents being dismantled in a light breeze, the clatter of cooking pots and spears piled for transport on the cohort’s mules. He had seen the signs over the past few days. Instead of the customary exercises with gladius and scutum the men had been allowed to sit outside their tents sharpening their short swords, mending uniforms, polishing their armour and replacing the iron hobnails in caligae. A legionary’s footwear was as important as his sword. He had to be able to march twenty miles a day and fight a battle at the end of it. A single nail out of place could leave the century a fighting man short, and they would need every man when they met Vitellius’s legions.

Serpentius appeared in the doorway of the tent. ‘It’s happening,’ the Spaniard confirmed with a shark’s smile of anticipation. ‘You’ve been called to a conference in the principia tent at the second hour.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Valerius grumbled. He reached for the small leather bottle that was always within reach of his bedding and oiled the mottled purple stump of his right arm before slipping over it the cowhide socket that held his wooden fist. Serpentius watched as, with teeth and fingers made nimble from habit, he tightened and knotted the leather bindings that fixed it in place.

The former gladiator shrugged. ‘I didn’t reckon a few more minutes would make much difference. Full dress uniform.’ He hefted the scuffed leather tribune’s breastplate Primus had grudgingly provided and waited while Valerius drew his tunic over his head and belted it in place. Serpentius helped the younger man strap on the armour, then the belt with its apron of studded straps that was designed to protect his groin and upper legs. Over Valerius’s left shoulder he draped the leather sling that would hold the decorated metal scabbard on his right hip, the sword ready to be cross-drawn. Only then did he slip into place the gladius he had spent an hour sharpening while the other man was asleep. Satisfied, he helped the one-handed Roman with the straps of his studded leather boots and finally handed him the polished iron helmet that had also belonged to the breastplate’s previous owner, an over-enthusiastic young officer who had died on the end of a Dacian spear.

Serpentius stepped back and nodded approvingly. ‘You’ll do.’

‘I specified full uniform.’ Marcus Antonius Primus looked up from the document he had been studying as Valerius entered. All the other senior legionary commanders were already assembled. Aquila, legate of the Thirteenth Gemina, sniffed disapprovingly when he recognized the newcomer. Valerius nodded to Vipstanus Messalla, the only other military tribune to attend, a scarred veteran who had fought his way up through the ranks to become temporary commander of the famous Seventh Claudia Pia Fidelis. Messalla met his look with a sardonic half-smile that didn’t bode well for the rest of the proceedings. A hollow-cheeked man at the far side of the table where Primus was seated nodded a greeting.

‘Numisius Lupus, Eighth Augusta,’ Primus grudgingly introduced his fellow commander. ‘And this is Aurelius Fulvus, Third Gallica.’ Fulvus needed no introduction. An old comrade, he had been one of Corbulo’s commanders and Valerius remembered him as a steady, intelligent soldier steeped, like his men, in the traditions of the East. ‘Arrius Varus, who commands our cavalry.’ All the men apart from Messalla and Varus wore the scarlet cloaks that signified their general’s rank. Those of Varus and Messalla were white and Valerius’s should have been the same.

‘I apologize, sir,’ he said. ‘If I’d realized I needed a cloak I would have had my servant steal one in time for the meeting.’

Messalla and Fulvus laughed. Primus’s nostrils flared at the insubordination, but he waved Valerius to a chair at the far end of the table, picked up a pointer and turned to a map pinned to a frame beside him. ‘When we are ready, gentlemen. Vespasian’s spies report that the enemy legions have begun to gather, but they will take time to concentrate. At the moment only two legions and a few detachments occupy the Padus valley, which we are agreed must be the first step on our way to Rome. Two legions, and we can muster four at the moment and five within a few days.’ He noted the look of concern that crossed Messalla’s face. ‘I am aware our leader has urged caution, tribune, but the Emperor is not here and cannot judge our situation. This is an opportunity that may not occur again. If we attack now, take Aquileia,’ he pointed to a black dot at the head of the Mare Adriaticum, ‘and open up the road to Cremona, we will be in a position to strike a decisive blow in this campaign while the enemy is still preparing for it. We-’

Valerius cleared his throat and every eye turned to him. Primus’s face, already red from the sun, turned a more dangerous shade. ‘You have something to add, tribune?’

‘A question, sir, if I may be permitted?’

The legate threw his pointer on the table. ‘Very well, and then you will no doubt give us the benefit of your knowledge, and perhaps the Emperor’s too?’ He surveyed the occupants of the tent and two of the men at the table laughed dutifully, but the lack of response from Fulvus, Messalla and Lupus told Valerius that Primus’s command wasn’t entirely united. That gave him encouragement to continue. He got to his feet.

‘I only seek the identity of the two legions and the identity and size of the detachments.’ He saw Primus’s eyes narrow and sought to explain. ‘As you know, I have encountered several of Vitellius’s legions in the recent past. General Aquila,’ he bowed to the Thirteenth’s commander, who exchanged a puzzled look with Primus, ‘and I met them at Bedriacum and I am sure he would agree that, although they were victorious, they did not leave the battlefield undamaged. The Twenty-first suffered heavy casualties before Valens sent in his reserves …’

‘Aye,’ Aquila interrupted. ‘And we made the Fifth Alaudae bleed for every inch of ground in that bastard maze of jungle on the north of the road.’

Valerius bowed again, acknowledging the general’s support. He turned back to Primus. ‘So the identity of the legions would give us a truer indication of the opposition facing us and help decide where and when to meet them.’

The interior of the tent went threateningly still. ‘Do you question my right to make that decision?’ Primus demanded.

‘No, sir, but …’

‘Perhaps you wish to add mutiny to your recent accomplishments? How many death sentences does it take to kill a man? Would you care to find out?’

Valerius bowed and resumed his seat, satisfied he had planted the seed and that whatever risk it had involved had been worthwhile. Aurelius Fulvus confirmed it.

‘Nevertheless, I for one would be glad of the information. Better to know whether you are facing a bloodied and understrength Fifth Alaudae,’ he bowed to Aquila, ‘or a First Germanica fresh from their Rhenus stamping grounds and eager to emulate the success of their comrades against Otho.’

Primus gave a grunt of frustration. ‘Very well. Varus?’

Varus, an intense young man with a long, doleful face and a horse soldier’s stocky build, licked his lips, patently in awe of the other men in the tent. ‘Our sources indicate the two legions at Cremona are indeed Fifth Alaudae and Twenty-first Rapax, that they have only recently returned to the camp outside the city and that they contain a substantial number of replacements.’

‘Does that satisfy you?’ Primus glared at the men around the table, but Varus carried on as if he hadn’t heard his commander.

‘In addition, elements of the Second and Twentieth legions, newly arrived from Britannia, are also billeted at Cremona, plus a detachment from the Ninth legion, which is currently garrisoning the city of Placentia.’

‘And the strength of these elements?’ Fulvus persisted.

‘Each detachment is not less than three thousand men, general.’

Thank you,’ the Third Gallica’s commander said. ‘So the equivalent of three full legions at Cremona, not two. You fought in Britannia, Verrens? What was your assessment of the units stationed there?’

Valerius glanced at Primus, and the army commander gave a reluctant nod.

‘Well-trained, hard fighters, toughened by campaigning in difficult terrain against an enemy who never gives up,’ he said. ‘But they haven’t fought a major battle since Suetonius Paulinus defeated the rebel queen Boudicca nine years ago. The Ninth had morale problems then, and if they’ve put them to guarding Placentia the situation may not have improved.’

Fulvus thanked him. Primus gave another grunt and returned to his map.

‘So our enemy is split. An advance guard of two battered legions and three detachments in the north. Four others, or the major elements of them, currently making their way to the Padus, but still probably more than a week away.’ He met the gaze of each of the generals in turn. ‘A week.’

‘As you say, the Emperor urged caution,’ Lupus said warily. ‘How long will it take Licinius Mucianus to reach us with his Syrian legions?’

It was a question designed to delay and give time to consider, because everyone knew the answer was at least a month.

‘We have one chance.’ Primus’s voice grew in strength. ‘One chance to smash Vitellius and present Titus Flavius Vespasian with the keys to Rome. A chance to make our names ring down through history, gentlemen. How many generals are given that opportunity?’

‘Mainly dead ones.’

Primus greeted Messalla’s interruption with a tight smile that said it was the last time he would be so forgiving. No matter what was said at this conference he had already made up his mind. Had made it up, Valerius reckoned, even before he’d marched the Seventh from Carnuntum to link up with Aquila. Now he outlined the detail of his plan.

‘The town of Aquileia is the key that unlocks the door to Venetia, and if we take Venetia we have the gateway to the entire Padus valley in our hands.’ He turned to his cavalry commander. ‘Varus, you and your barbarians will test the enemy’s strength and dispositions, and if possible clear him from our route. In the meantime, Thirteenth Gallica and Seventh Galbiana will take the van under the direct command of General Aquila and march on Aquileia at their best pace. Seventh Claudia and Third Gallica will follow, with Eighth Augusta acting as rearguard. I have already given the auxiliary cohorts their instructions. They will protect our right flank and secure the Alpine passes against any potential incursions from Noricum and Raetia. Are there any questions?’

‘Supplies?’ Fulvus asked.

‘Another reason for acting with haste. We have sufficient rations for a week or ten days; when they are gone we will do what armies do. Live off the land.’ They all knew what that meant. Starving peasants and grieving mothers. Farmers — Roman farmers — butchered trying to protect their stocks against the foraging troops. Primus shrugged. ‘We are as well to go short on the march as stay here and go hungry.’

‘And when we take Aquileia?’ The question came from Messalla, who wore the resigned look of a man forced to choose between sharing a cage with a lion or a tiger. He had staked his future on Titus Flavius Vespasian and he wasn’t certain whether the Emperor would approve of this impulsive advance. Success might take the edge off his displeasure, or it might not. Failure …?

But Primus had no thought of failure. ‘We will advance on Patavium and the rest of Venetia. But that is for the future. We will talk again and make a decision based on the dispositions of the enemy. Thank you, gentlemen. Verrens?’ Valerius hung back as the other men filed out to brief their officers and draft their orders for the advance. ‘Fulvus tells me you were with Corbulo’s cavalry.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Valerius said warily. He’d commanded ten thousand horse soldiers on campaign in Armenia, a force that played a crucial role in saving the Eastern Empire, defeated the Parthian King of Kings and ultimately sealed Corbulo’s fate. While a single legion and a few auxiliary cohorts had held the Parthian Invincibles at the Cepha gap he’d led the cavalry on a night march through the mountains into the enemy rear. He remembered screams in the dark as men and horses took a single fatal step that hurled them into the void. The intoxicating relief of a bright new dawn. And the final terrible charge over grass the colour of gold that was soon stained with blood. Yet it was a battle with no heroes and no glory, because Nero had ordered it erased from the records.

‘Then you may be of some use after all,’ Primus sniffed. ‘Varus is enthusiastic, but inexperienced for a command of this size. You will accompany him to assess the enemy’s capabilities, and probe beyond Aquileia to discover if the country is clear. Varus will remain in nominal command, but I give you leave to act at your own discretion.’ He smiled for the first time since Valerius had met him, but it was a shark’s smile. ‘Who knows, perhaps you will get yourself killed and give me peace of mind.’

He turned back to the map and Valerius knew he was dismissed, but he delayed as he heard the legate talking softly to himself. ‘Valens or Caecina, which will it be?’

‘You should hope it’s Caecina,’ Valerius dared answer the question he hadn’t been asked.

Primus didn’t turn round. ‘And if it is Caecina, what will he do?’

Valerius remembered the countless dead and the desperate, ultimately futile attacks on the walls of Placentia. ‘Whatever it is, right or wrong, the only certainty is that it will be what you least expect.’