Sword of Rome

XLVI

The rhythm of the march dulled a man’s senses, but Valerius was so attuned to the distinctive sounds that formed an army’s heartbeat that he came instantly alert as a troop of Pannonian cavalry galloped up to rein in opposite the army’s commanders. His racing mind took in the agitation of the Pannonian commander and the moment of confusion and consternation as Titianus, Paulinus, Proculus and Celsus digested the information they had been given.

‘We should be ready to move,’ he warned Benignus. The legionary commander shot him a nervous glance and called up his cornicen, the signaller who would relay his commands to the ten cohorts of the First Adiutrix. The cohort commanders all had their orders, but Valerius wondered how they would react. Paulinus had said the First was a young legion and he was right. For all the drill they had performed in the last three months, they couldn’t hope to deploy as quickly as a veteran formation. A clarion call rang out from the command group and was taken up by the legionary trumpeters. His blood quickened, because like every man in the miles-long column he knew it meant the enemy was in sight. Valerius had witnessed the smooth transformation of a legion from column of march into battle formation a hundred times, but it never ceased to awe him. Thousands of men moving as if they were controlled by a single hand in precise, perfectly choreographed movements. With a sinking heart he saw this was going to be different.

‘Mars’ arse,’ Serpentius muttered. ‘I hope the bastards aren’t in a hurry for a fight.’

The Via Postumia, with its hardened, well-drained surface, had provided the legions with good marching, but it was a narrow causeway constricted by deep ditches on either side of the raised surface. It meant the two full legions, their baggage and heavy weapons, and the Praetorian cohorts who would make up the centre of the Othonian line, were strung out over at least five miles of road. Thirteenth Gemina, leading the column, was a veteran legion, with a long history. A Thirteenth had crossed the Rubicon with Divine Caesar and helped raise him to the purple. Now the Thirteenth, and its reinforcing cohorts from the Fourteenth, had to disperse into attack formation over the ditch and into the fields on the north side of the causeway. As the road ahead cleared, theoretically, the First Adiutrix would move forward and deploy to the left and align with the Thirteenth’s formations, allowing the Praetorians to advance to fill the centre and create an unbroken line. But the fields on the north side of the road were choked with trees and bushes strung with vines, and deep ditches had been cut to drain the swampy land. The four cohorts who would make up the front rank hacked their way through the vines to take up their positions and the legion’s engineers sweated and cursed to cut some kind of space that would allow the onagri and scorpiones to provide support against the enemy. Behind them the six cohorts who would form the second and third ranks struggled to hold position in the maze of vegetation. A further three cohorts attempted to get off the road into a supporting position, but only added to the chaos and confusion. Officers roared orders and standard-bearers screamed out the name of their units, trying desperately to unify their commands. Meanwhile the road ahead of Valerius was jammed with men trying to join their centuries and cohorts, a bustling mass of bobbing iron helmets and frantically waving unit standards. Beacons of red indicated where the scarlet-plumed centurions battled to regain order, but it still looked more like a bread riot than a military operation. He could see that it might be an hour and more before Aquila, the Thirteenth’s legate, could bring any sort of cohesion to his ranks.

‘We have to move now,’ Valerius urged. ‘The enemy must be close and if they have any sense they’ll stay out of that jungle, take us on the flank and slaughter us.’

Benignus looked towards Paulinus’s standard, desperately seeking some kind of signal, but the four commanders of Otho’s army were too busy arguing to notice.

‘Now,’ Valerius’s voice was a vicious snarl that brought startled looks from the junior tribunes surrounding the legionary commander. Benignus’s chin came up at the suggestion of insubordination, but when he saw the certainty in his deputy commander’s eyes he realized what he must do.

‘Sound deploy,’ he ordered the cornicen.

Valerius thanked the gods that Otho had opted to deploy First Adiutrix on the left of the line. It was the natural position for a less experienced formation, and whether through accident or design the legion would fight its battle on open ground with a clear view of the enemy. The men spilled over the side of the roadway and through the ditch, automatically moving into centuries and cohorts and marching towards the positions marked by the engineers who had galloped ahead. Valerius abandoned his horse to a groom and ran to join his gladiators, with Serpentius always at his right side. Marcus and the rest of the centurions tried valiantly to emulate the other cohort formations, but compared to the marine legionaries they were little more than a shambling mass. Benignus had accepted Valerius’s advice that the gladiator cohort should occupy the centre position in the second rank. That way, they would have a regular cohort on either flank and others to their rear to steady them if things began to go badly.

Serpentius gave a hoot as he watched his former comrades attempt to copy the legionaries, but Valerius was impressed by the unflinching way they made for their position and by the determination on the gaunt faces. ‘They may not march very well, but they seem steady enough,’ he ventured.

The Spaniard frowned and it took him a moment to find the words he sought. ‘They are gladiators,’ he said simply. ‘Death is no stranger to them. They face it, or live with its presence, every day. A lonely death at that, in front of and for the pleasure of thousands of strangers.’ His face went hard and Valerius knew he was remembering every time he had entered the ring. Pride swelled in the Roman’s chest that he could call this man a friend. Serpentius stared out over the ranks of glittering helmets as he continued. ‘It seems to me that for them — for us who have fought — the opportunity to die with other men in support of a cause …’ he shook his head at this unlikely sentimentality, ‘no matter the worthiness of the cause, is a privilege. They have always had the right to die with a sword in their hand, but here they will have the chance to die with a sword in their hand and a friend by their side.’

The formation First Adiutrix took up was the same the Thirteenth was attempting to achieve with so much effort and cursing on the far side of the road. A front rank of four cohorts, followed by two staggered ranks of three cohorts each, a total of just over five thousand men, give or take the sick and the stragglers. Little groups of engineers struggled in the gaps between, siting the legion’s artillery and cursing the damp ground that would affect their aim after a few shots. Whatever crops had been in these fields were long since trampled flat, but Valerius, raised on an estate, gave the name winter barley to the crushed green shoots. Another troop of Pannonians trotted past on the left and Benignus had one of his junior tribunes hail them, hoping for some intelligence on the enemy’s movements. A bearded decurion carrying a bloodied spear heard the shout and rode up to salute the legate and Valerius strode across to hear what was said.

Benignus nodded gravely to the cavalryman. ‘You have been in some action already, I see?’

The Pannonian grinned. ‘Their cavalry thought a couple of squadrons would be easy meat, but we taught them differently. They would have been running yet if their infantry hadn’t turned them back.’

‘So you’ve seen the main force?’ the tribune blurted.

Valerius saw the decurion’s face turn grave. ‘You’ll be seeing them soon enough.’ He pointed the bloody spear west. ‘They are advancing slowly, because their left flank is obstructed by the vines and ditches on the far side of the roadway, but they’re coming. At least three full legions as far as I could tell, and swarms of auxiliary infantry and cavalry …’

‘What about their right flank?’ Benignus grunted in annoyance, and the junior tribune who’d posed the question in a voice frayed with nerves blushed under his glare.

‘Judging by the fat boars on their shields, you’ll soon have the honour of fighting the Twenty-first Rapax. Their ranks are a little thinner after Placentia, but from what my lads tell me it looks as if they’ve been brought up to strength by a cohort or two of the Twenty-second. Caecina’s put most of his cavalry on the flat ground to his right, but you won’t have to worry about them because we’ll keep them busy for you.’ A glint in his eye said he was looking forward to the contest. ‘As for the rest,’ he shrugged, ‘First Italica is in the centre and advancing up the line of the road. Who’s among the trees is anybody’s guess, but we know Fifth Alaudae and First Germanica were with Valens when he reached Augusta Taurinorum.’

Valerius listened with growing dismay to the account of the enemy’s dispositions. They would be facing four legions and elements of a fifth with two legions, the exhausted advance guard of another, and a few Praetorian cohorts. And one of those legions had never fought a battle. He could still hear the roars of the centurions on the far side of the road attempting to bring order to the confusion among the vines. Paulinus had been right. Given time, the engineers could have turned this terrain into a killing ground, but by marching into the enemy’s arms the legions of Otho had committed themselves to a fight on the worst possible ground. The only consolation was that the nature of the landscape would hamper Vitellians and Othonians alike. On the roadway, the Praetorians would be outnumbered, but the narrow front would tend to negate the First Italica’s advantage. He realized with increasing clarity that the battle would be won or lost on the plain where First Adiutrix stood.

A messenger arrived from the command group ordering the legion to advance, keeping station with the Praetorians on the raised roadway to their right.

‘Why should we advance if they’re already coming to us?’ Benignus complained. ‘If we fight here, at least the Thirteenth will have a little time to clear some space to see the enemy.’

‘Titianus is frightened Valens and Caecina might decide to run away,’ Valerius ventured. ‘His brother ordered him to bring them to battle and he’s doing what he’s told.’

‘If he had any sense he’d be more scared of the enemy than he is of his brother,’ the legate snapped. ‘Very well, order the advance and make sure the lead centurions know to keep station with the standards of the Thirteenth. We will form line when the enemy is at six hundred paces.’

Valerius saluted and ran off with the other tribunes to pass on the orders and join his gladiators. When the trumpet sounded its command they shuffled forward, keeping station on the cohorts ahead and to their flanks, the centurions using their vine sticks to straighten the ranks. It was painfully slow because they could only move as fast as the men of the Thirteenth forcing their way through the trees and the vines, cursing as they fell into hidden ditches. A murmur ran through the leading cohorts and the centurions barked their commands for silence. Valerius strained his eyes and he saw the reason for the noise. On the far horizon, perhaps two miles distant, polished metal glinted in the bright spring sun and he imagined he could see a dark shadow spreading across the fields. An image came to him of blood spilling across a marble floor and he swallowed hard and thrust it from his mind. But he couldn’t prevent his heart from beating faster or stop the flame that lit deep in his belly and flared to fill his chest. Part of it was fear, because no man could march into battle without feeling fear. Its smell filled the air like the earthy scent from some noxious flower. What mattered was how a soldier used that fear. Every man had courage, but experience had taught Valerius that courage was not infinite and no man could predict when the supply would run out. He had seen scarred veterans who moments earlier had been boasting how many enemy would die on their swords collapse quivering with fright before a battle. The phalerae and awards for valour that weighed them down meant nothing then. All around him men hitched their armour into more comfortable positions, or checked their grip on sword and shield. They had cursed the big, cumbersome shields on the march, but they didn’t curse them now, because in a few minutes those three layers of ash or oak could be the difference between life and death.

As he strode over the dark earth he shouted instructions. ‘I don’t want to hear a sound when you see the enemy. A Roman legionary does not waste his breath with threats and taunts. He does his talking with his sword.’ He allowed a hint of savagery to infuse his voice. ‘But when you charge I want to hear you scream like the beasts of Hades, because a good scream keeps a man’s courage up and turns his enemy’s blood to vinegar. Wait for my order before you throw your pilum, I know you’re not spearmen, so I’ll leave it until we’re close, but not so close that you don’t have time to draw your sword, or whatever exotic killing implement you arena scum prefer. Stay together and keep your discipline. That shield will protect you as long as you stay in line, but get isolated and you’ll be holding off one man and too busy to notice his mate until he starts carving your kidneys.’

He looked over his shoulder to where Juva marched beside his standard-bearer in front of the right-hand cohort of the third rank. The Nubian’s pilum looked small in his big fist and his face was a mask of menacing concentration. He felt Valerius’s eyes on him and turned and met the Roman’s waved salute with a broad grin. Beyond him, the tight-packed cohorts of the Praetorian Guard held to the line of the road, and far off on the right flank the standards of the Thirteenth rocked and stuttered as their bearers forced their way through the vegetation.

A centurion’s bark cut through the silence. ‘Stay in line, you bastards, you’ll get there soon enough.’ Valerius noticed that now the enemy was closer the gladiators strained against the enforced leisurely pace like dogs on a leash. And not just the gladiators. The marine legion marched with the pent-up energy of men determined to prove themselves worthy of the eagle they followed. By now, in the space between the leading cohorts, he could see the individual formations that made up the enemy legion and identify the colours that marked them as the Twenty-first Rapax. A shiver ran through him at the sight. They looked impressive. No, they looked invincible.

Yet this was one of the legions Spurinna had sent from Placentia with their tail between their legs. The question was how it would react to that defeat. Valerius was again burdened by a sense of unease at facing Roman soldiers on Roman soil. Spurinna had told him Twenty-first Rapax had been raised and recruited in the Padus valley. Some of the men he faced behind the big shields would have been born here, perhaps even ploughed these very fields. He shrugged off a melancholy he could ill afford and felt an icy calm settle on him. Well, they would die here and their own earth would provide them with a permanent resting place. Perhaps he would die with them. After all, he was a soldier, and that’s what soldiers did. No matter how good you were, there was always the chance that someone was faster or better. As he had told Juva, a battle was very different from a siege and he had never fought Roman soldiers in battle before. He remembered a recurring dream that had haunted him in the years following his return from Britannia. He would be fighting for his life when his legs suddenly felt as if they were encased in mud and his sword weighed ten times more than normal. He’d feel Boudicca’s warriors chopping him to pieces and wake screaming. These legionaries he would fight today were the veterans of the Rhenus legions. They carried the same arms and equipment as the First Adiutrix, but they were battle-tested and had years more training. Perhaps among them was a man who was faster, or better, or had Fortuna on his side.

Well, Valerius Verrens had Serpentius on his side. He looked to his right and took comfort from the former gladiator’s presence. The Spaniard had found a set of auxiliary armour from somewhere, but he preferred not to fight in a helmet because he said it restricted his vision. The hatchet face read his thoughts and twisted into a smile. ‘Would you rather die in your bed?’

Valerius grinned back, but whatever he had been going to say was lost in the clamour of horns.

‘Form line!’