Onslaught_The Centurions II, page 7
‘Centurion Aquillius.’
The hulking officer turned to face Lupercus and saluted.
‘Legatus.’
Flaccus stepped into the middle of the room and coughed loudly, all eyes turning to him as he put a finger on the smooth wooden surface of the map table and jabbed it down for emphasis.
‘There will be no recriminations. There will be no posturing. There will be no backbiting. All we’re going to do here, gentlemen, is establish the facts of what happened at the battle by the Rhenus, now that Centurion Aquillius has made his way back to us. Centurion?’
He gestured to Aquillius, who stepped forward a pace and began to recite the briefing he’d had several days to prepare.
‘Legatus Augusti. In accordance with your orders to destroy the Batavian uprising, or failing that, not to jeopardise my own force while I awaited the arrival of the legions, I deployed my cohorts in a defensive formation close to the river Rhenus, with fifteen of the fleet’s ships anchored behind me to provide artillery support. I placed the Frisian cohort, men whom I judged to be the weakest men in the army both numerically and morally after their loses to the Cananefates, in the centre of my line, with the Tungrians to their left and the Ubians to their right to make sure they didn’t succumb to the urge to pull away to either side when the battle began. I placed Prefect Labeo’s horsemen slightly behind my left flank, facing the Batavian cavalry formed by their men of the Bodyguard who were dismissed from the emperor’s service last year, with the aim of preventing them from attacking my line’s left flank. And I ordered the fleet to anchor behind us on either side, ready to use their bolt artillery to strike at the advancing Batavi forces. I determined not to attack the enemy, as I did not consider my force capable of sustaining that sort of pressure, and so we waited for the enemy to come to us. Which they did.’
‘In what strength, Centurion?’
Aquillius turned to Marius, his answer crisp and professional.
‘On their right were the Bodyguard cavalry. Five hundred men, highly motivated and with a score to settle with Rome. They looked like first-class troops to me, all veterans, and I considered that to be their main threat. In their centre were the men of the Cananefates. A ragbag of tribesmen, untrained for the most part, undisciplined but full of their recent victories in burning out the border forts. I deemed that they would come forward eagerly but without any particular formation, and that their threat would be only be critical in the event of a disintegration of our own line.’
Marius nodded. It was a central tenet of Roman military doctrine that well-disciplined men in a strong defensive formation were unbeatable by the same number of tribal warriors, a belief only strengthened by recent experience in Britannia.
‘And on their left were their militia. One thousand men, more or less, and from the way they moved once the attack began I’d say they’ve been well trained, probably by the men of the Bodyguard. They looked a bit raw, but I suspected that they would perform well enough in battle, so I told my bolt thrower crews to focus their shooting on them, to thin out their line and give them something to think about as they came at us.’
Flaccus nodded his understanding.
‘I see. That all sounds very well thought through, Centurion, and much as Prefect Labeo described it.’ Aquillius shot the Batavi officer a hard stare, which Labeo completely ignored. ‘So what went wrong?’
‘What went wrong, Legatus Augusti? Everything that could go wrong. It was a complete disaster. One moment I was contemplating tactics, as the Batavi came forward to fight, the next I was unhorsed, and in the middle of a rout. There are no kinder words to describe it.’
‘But how?’
‘How did such a strong position fail? Treachery. Treachery on all sides. The naval crews mutinied, took their officers prisoner and turned their scorpions on the rear of my Ubian cohort. Thirty bolt throwers shooting into the rear of a formed infantry cohort, and at a range so close they couldn’t have missed if they’d wanted to. The Ubians were broken with their third volley, and that was before the Batavian militia reached them and started fighting. The Tungrians …’
He paused, shaking his head at the memory.
‘The Tungrians looked solid enough, until the Batavian leader stood up in his saddle, pulled his cloak aside and showed them something on his chest, something that looked like a handprint. He shouted something at them – “Who will avenge him?”’
Aquillius stared at Labeo for a moment.
‘And what was that supposed to mean?’
The Batavi shook his head.
‘I have no idea, Centurion. But what I do know is that Kivilaz was ambushed on the road back to Batavorum after he’d been freed from this fortress by the emperor, back when Vitellius was still getting used to the feeling of having his backside on the throne, and knew he needed to keep the Batavi neutral if he were to strip the legions from the German frontier for his attempt to deal with Otho. It seems that someone in this fortress bribed the Tungrians to deal with both Kivilaz and the men sent to take him home, one of them a respected elder of my tribe with a record of service in Britannia that would shame any man in this room. I didn’t ever hear how he managed it, but by some means or other my compatriot not only talked them out of killing him but gave them a reason to revolt in support of his cause. Whoever it was that commissioned that attempt at murder did the empire no favours that day, in my opinion.’
He looked across the room at Marius, who returned the gaze in stony silence. Aquillius shrugged.
‘Whatever it meant, the effect was immediate. The Tungrians turned to face the Frisians and tore into them, while their officers disarmed their own prefect and led him away. And just as this was all happening my horse was shot from beneath me by a pair of bolt throwers. By the time I was back on my feet my command was in pieces, and it was all I could do to escape.’
‘You ran, Centurion?’
The big man turned to face Legatus Augusti Flaccus with a dour nod.
‘I ran, Legatus. It was either that or be captured or killed, and useless to Rome in either case. I killed two men who got in my way and escaped on a stolen horse. And then early the next morning I went back, in that period before dawn when most men are at their least effective.’
‘You went back? Why in the name of all the gods would you risk such a thing?’
The centurion smiled bleakly at his superior.
‘Because I wanted a prisoner to interrogate, Legatus Augusti. Because I wanted to prove to myself that I am still a warrior. Because I needed to vent my rage upon them. I waited until the camp was asleep, all bar the few men still sitting up and talking, picked a tent party who had set their fire too far from their comrades, and sent them to meet their ancestors.’
Marius shook his head in disbelief.
‘You killed a whole tent party of men?’
Aquillius shrugged, his expression unchanged.
‘There were only five of them left, and one of them had already made the mistake of going out into the darkness to defecate, which meant he practically walked onto my blade. I killed three more and took the last one away with me, before their loss was discovered. Although they were so lacking in sentry discipline that there were still no sounds of any pursuit by the time I was done with him.’
‘You killed him too?’
The big man smiled, his eyes hard with pride.
‘No, I told him my name and let him live. Let them fear at least one Roman.’
Flaccus nodded, his expression expectant.
‘Which is all very inspiring, Centurion, but given that you had the nerve to attempt such an exploit and succeed, perhaps you could share with us what it was that you learned from your prisoner that we can use to our advantage in the next stage of this campaign?’
Aquillius bowed his head slightly.
‘Of course, Legatus Augusti. It seems that all three of the auxiliary cohorts under my previous command have decided to change sides, and have made common cause with the Batavians. Their prefects and any loyalist centurions have been offered their freedom, on the condition that they go home and take no further part in the war. Which leaves them understrength from their battle losses, and underled from the loss of those officers unwilling to join with the Batavians, but still with the best part of three cohorts to swell this man Civilis’s army. You plan to attack them, Legatus Augusti?’
Flaccus nodded, pointing to the map.
‘The Fifth and Fifteenth Legions will advance into Batavian territory from the south and east, and look to trap the rebel forces with the river at their back. We need to crush these scum before the disaffected tribes of the eastern bank flock to them in numbers too great for us to defeat.’
Aquillius turned to Munius Lupercus.
‘And you, Legatus, you will command this attack?’
The veteran officer nodded.
‘I will lead the nine cohorts that remain of my two legions, plus our loyal auxiliary cohorts and Claudius Labeo’s cavalry, over the river with the intention of bringing Civilis to battle. We march tomorrow, at dawn.’
The centurion pursed his lips.
‘My advice, from my recent experience, would be to leave the auxiliaries behind.’ His lip curled as he stared at Labeo. ‘And these Batavian horsemen. Their loyalties can only be viewed as suspect. March fast and strike hard, taking the war into the Batavian homeland with sword and fire, and force them to come to you on a field of your own choosing, but operate unencumbered by tribal soldiers who may well either sink their swords into your backs or simply run at the first sign of battle.’
Labeo’s face darkened, and he raised a hand in protest only to be cut off by Flaccus’s imperious gesture for silence.
‘This matter has already been decided, Centurion. The maximum possible strength will be used to punish this uprising, and every prefect of the auxiliary cohorts who will march with the legions has personally assured me of their absolute loyalty, as have their First Spears.’
‘And him?’ Aquillius pointed at the Batavi prefect. ‘What about the man who led his cavalry away from the fight unscathed?’
Flaccus looked at the outraged Labeo, raising a pacifying hand.
‘Prefect Labeo did what was sensible and reasonable under the circumstances. As, I might further observe, did you, Centurion. So we’ll hear no more of this, and instead concentrate on beating this rebellious tribe back into their proper place within the empire?’
Aquillius dipped his head in acquiescence.
‘Yes, Legatus Augusti. We will do what is ordered and at every command we will be ready.’
‘Good. Besides, we’re going to need every experienced officer, including yourself, Centurion. And since it seems that the Fifteenth Legion has only this morning lost its first spear under somewhat farcical circumstances, you would appear to be a very timely and ready-made replacement. You can discuss the formalities with Legatus Lupercus, but as far as I’m concerned, we can let that be an end to such concerns and allow you to focus on ensuring that your new command is ready for war. Dismissed.’
2
Germania Superior, August AD 69
‘A good day’s march, don’t you think, Prefect?’
Scar looked at the young officer standing beside him, and then back down the valley where his eight Batavi cohorts’ long snaking column was marching into their overnight camp, his face creased into a quizzical smile.
‘I’m not sure the people of this province would be quite as pleased as you with the circumstance, Tribune Verus. This is the third time they’ve had a legion-sized force march through their land in the last year, and the first time it wasn’t just us, but the Twenty-first Rapax on their way south. You heard what they inflicted on the people of the Helveti tribe, I presume?’
Verus nodded with a serious expression.
‘I did. But when one trains a pack of war dogs I suppose one must expect the occasional innocent to get bitten?’
The Batavi prefect shook his head.
‘I wouldn’t have expected quite the degree of license that the Twenty-first seem to have been allowed. Indeed, they seemed to be beyond the control of even their own officers at times, killing, robbing and looting at will, and on the basis of a fairly thin pretext which was largely of their own invention.’
Verus looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
‘It almost sounds as if you disapproved of the command decisions made by Legatus Augusti Caecina during his triumphant march south to victory? You do know the man can do no wrong in the eyes of our new emperor?’
Scar smiled mirthlessly.
‘Disapprove? Of Legatus Augusti Caecina?’ He drew the moment out, looking around the hills on either side. ‘It’s not my place to grant him approval, Tribune, or to disapprove of him for that matter. But were I to be asked whether I found the Legatus to be easily swayed, and with no real loyalty to any man, I might well be placed in a difficult position. The Twenty-first seemed to conduct themselves in whatever way seemed right to them, without reference to any of the Legatus Augusti Caecina’s command decisions. You’ll be aware that the legatus augusti was Galba’s man, before that old fool dismissed the German bodyguard who were the only thing between him and the praetorians who were supposed to be his protectors, and heaped shame on our people while at the same time condemning himself to a very public and humiliating death at their hands?’ He laughed sardonically. ‘If ever there was a pack of hungry dogs it was the Praetorians. But we broke them at Cremona, after we’d recaptured the Twenty-first’s lost eagle for them, despite Legatus Augustus Caecina’s attempts to keep us out of the battle.’
‘And in achieving both of those feats you made my sponsor Alfenius Varus’s reputation in the space of an afternoon, since he was at least nominally in command of your cohorts. Not to mention gaining the eternal gratitude of the emperor.’
Scar laughed curtly.
‘Our friend the new praetorian prefect was more than single-minded enough to make his own reputation without the Batavi’s help. And if the emperor’s grateful to us …’ he smiled wryly at the Roman, ‘I look forward to some sign of it. He promised us a donative after the battle, but we’re yet to see anything more that the initial handful of silver that everyone who fought was given. And that wasn’t all he vowed to do for us, while the joy of his victory was still fresh, but had he sworn an oath on those promises there’d be a disappointed god somewhere in the pantheon.’
Verus frowned, but any further comment was forestalled by the growing thunder of hoofs, as a century-sized squadron of cavalry cantered up the road’s wide grass verge, riding swiftly along the long column marching into the camp.
‘Those horsemen look like your Batavians, but …’
Scar stared at them in puzzlement, momentarily perplexed at such an unexpected arrival, then broke into a beaming smile at the sight of the newcomers’ leader as he leapt down from his saddle and strode towards the two men.
‘Bairaz! Brother!’
He hurried to meet the other man, both of them throwing themselves into an embrace of genuine affection. Holding the rider out at arm’s length, Scar looked him up and down.
‘By Hercules you’ve changed! The last time I saw you, you were little better than a snot-nosed child, and now here you are with a beard worth shaving and wearing a sword like you have some idea what it’s for!’
His sibling grinned back at him.
‘And there you are, brother, looking like a proper prefect of the cohorts …’ He paused before delivering the telling follow-up. ‘Fat, old, and as ugly as only a man who’s past the date at which he should be in the grave could be!’
They stared at each other for a moment and then burst into laughter, embracing again. Scar turned away and addressed the tribune.
‘This, Tribune Verus, is my brother Bairaz. He left us for Rome five years ago, to serve among the emperor’s bodyguard, and I haven’t seen him in all those years. And now here he is, no doubt bearing news from home.’ He looked back at his brother, who nodded. ‘Will you forgive me then, Tribune, if I am a little preoccupied this evening?’
Verus waved a gracious hand.
‘Far be it from me to get in the way of such a reunion. I’ll take my dinner in my tent tonight, thank you, Prefect, and wish you a pleasant evening.’
He turned away and walked through the gradually growing city of tents towards the spot where his slaves would be erecting his own shelter, leaving the two men looking at each other. Scar looked pointedly at the men of Bairaz’s squadron.
‘Never, in all the time that I’ve served with the cohorts, have I ever seen a messenger from home at the head of a full century of horsemen. A few good men to scare away the bandits, that makes sense … but eighty of you?’
Bairaz looked at his brother for a moment before replying, his tone suddenly sombre.
‘This news would be better shared somewhere a little less public.’
Scar led him away to the command tent in silence, dismissing his scribe and closing the flaps with an instruction to the men standing guard to rejoin their tent parties. Pouring a cup of wine, he offered it to his brother and waved a hand to a chair, taking a seat himself and drinking the wine with an expression of satisfaction.
‘It’s not as if we’re likely to come under attack with the best part of a legion’s strength of the most feared soldiers in the empire around us, and I suspect your news would be best heard by my ears alone, until I’ve had time to digest whatever it is you’ve been sent to tell me. So go on then, tell me.’
Bairaz took a seat, placing his helmet and sword on Scar’s desk and draining the cup.
‘That’s good. Your taste in wine seems to have improved since the last time we drank together.’
