By Terikel Grayhair
The two horsemen exchanged few words as they rode south together on the shaded road towards Massilia. The shadows of the trees lining the stone road were long and dark, though the sun had yet to pass overhead. There was no love lost between the two, for one was a Batavian courier whose people were on the verge of rebellion against the oppression of Rome and the other was born into a noble family of that same city.
To the Batavian, it had been a year that started out poorly and improved dramatically. Nero had tortured and executed a Batavian prince, then committed suicide when Galba led his forces on Rome. Galba then dismissed the Batavian Guard and exiled another prince before dying. Otho, his successor, died versus Vitellius, who then demanded the Batavians send even more troops to the Empire. Then a Roman governor decides to make himself wealthy at German expense and sent four legions to enslave a piss-poor tribe of farmers and fishermen.
Then the tide turned. The Cananefate destroyed the legions and the greedy governor, then swept all Roman presence from their lands. In doing so, they had Batavian help, which brought Batavia into open revolt. The Romans, smarting from this defeat, decided to attack Batavia to restore their pride and honor. They will get thoroughly trounced for their troubles, the rider decided, if the alliance with the Cananefate and Frisians holds. Then Batavia would be in open war, and the Romans had nothing with which to fight them. Yes, this was a good year to be a Batavian.
To the Roman, this year started out dismally and kept going straight down the road to disaster. An insane emperor was toppled and forced to suicide, his usurper murdered before settling in, then his successor was a political animal with no idea of ruling Rome other than having it serve him. This of course caused a second general to rebel and make himself emperor in the greatest battle between Roman forces since Actium. And a third general is making his way west from Judea with his forces to claim the Imperial Title for himself. Add to that the disasters on the frontier, and Rome was heading to hell at express speed.
With the armies marching hither and yon and slaughter each other, civil order descended into fearful wariness. Brigands popped up everywhere in this cauldron of chaos. Thus the two riders, otherwise foes, rode together these past seven days in an unwilling and mistrustful alliance- until the tents of eight cohorts of auxilia cavalry flying Batavian standards appeared around the bend.
“Fare thee well, Marcus Rutilius,” the Batavian said. “Here is where we part ways.”
“I shall miss having your sword at my side, Oscar Son of Rolf,” Rutilius replied. “I cannot wish you success as some might take that as treason, but I can and do wish you a safe and peaceful journey.”
Oscar Rolfson laughed at the remark. “Well put, Roman,” he chuckled. “For if my journey is peaceful, there will be no Roman blood spilled. And I wish you a successful journey.”
Rutilius chuckled himself. “As well you would, Batavian, for if my journey is successful our peoples may enjoy peace together once the swords are again sheathed.”
Rutilius spurred his horse onward. He had a long road to Rome, while Oscar Rolfson had only to identify the commander of the Batavian detachment and give his a scroll. Unlike their tribesmen north in Batavia, these auxiliaries still served the Eagles of Rome. The message Oscar brought might change that.
Rutilius wanted to be far away if that happened.
* * * * * *
“Warriors, our tribe is in revolt against Rome,” the commander announced to his officers. He was a tall man, wide of shoulder and blond of hair as befits a Germanic warchief, with eyes the color of a cloudy sky. “We warriors have given sacred oaths to serve the Eagles, and such oaths are not lightly broken. Therefore we are in a dilemma. We serve Rome, yet our brethren will die upon Roman swords. The Eagles dare not trust us now that our tribe is about to be at war, though we have given them fair and honorable service in crushing the insurrection of Vindex in Gaul this past summer. Blood oaths mean nothing to these men, though they mean the difference between Valhalla and Nifelheim to us.”
His words were greeted with silence.
“So, I will have from you an answer. Do we return home and fight for our people, or do we travel to Rome and fight for Vitellius, to whom we are pledged? I will have a decision on this matter. Those whose loyalties lie with Vitellius, move to my right. Those whose loyalties lie with our people, move to my left.”
“Honor commits us to Vitellius, Steinar,” called Bertrand the Handsome, commander of the second Batavian cohort. “Though our hearts commit us to Batavia. You are asking us to decide between our oaths to the gods and our love of our people. But there is a third option you should mention. If Vitellius breaks his oaths to us, then our oaths to him are annulled. Thus, you should ask of us do we wish to serve Vitellius to whom we are oath-bound, Batavia at the risk of eternal damnation, or get Vitellius to break his oath to us and thus free us to fight for Batavia.”
“How would we get Vitellius to break his oath?” asked Alfred Longbeard, commander of the third cohort. “He asks us to come to Rome because he needs us. Why then would he cast us aside”
“He has promised us double pay to march to Rome and fight for him,” Dieter Straightback, commander of the eighth cohort informed. “No pay, no play. We ask him for the coins he promised. If he refuses, he has broken his word, and thus annulled our oaths. Then we are free.”
Steinar Strongarm bobbed his head in agreement. “We shall let Vitellius decide. Dieter, send a courier ahead to Lugdunum. We shall demand our donative, as is our right. If the paymaster refuses, then all bonds are broken. If he pays, we fight for Vitellius as honor demands. Are all here in agreement?”
The other commanders nodded. It was agreed. Bertrand thought the choice of Lugdunum to the south instead of the nearer Alesia a wise choice. The governor of Alesia was a Roman who had lots of taxes streaming in and knew the situation in the north- he would pay. The ruler of Lugdunum, however, was reputed to be a tight-fisted miser with no sympathies to any but his own wallet. Choosing Lugdunum from which to demand the donative was the same as demanding the donative not be paid. Bertrand smiled. There was no doubt where the loyalties of Steinar Strongarm lay.
* * * * * *
Titus Cassius held the fate of the northern empire in his guarded vaults, and did not know it or even care. He received the Batavian envoy in his praetorium in Lugdunum, heard their ridiculous demand for double pay, read the scroll from Vitellius offering the Batavians the donative, and laughed.
“Get out, barbarian,” he commanded. “This scrap of papyrus isn’t worth spit outside of Rome. If you want the money promised in this note, you have to get it from the quaestor in Rome. I’ll give no silver to filthy savages, no matter who authorizes it. Now, out!”
Dieter Straightback stood as rigid as his name during the tirade. It was clear now that Rome despised them and cared not to honor their promises to men not born in stone houses. Such was the way of nature- rolling stones crush trees. But when the stone rests, and the tree’s roots form around it, the tree can break the stone apart.
Rome has stood still since the days of Augustus, and in the Dark Forests the trees are growing stronger. This haughty nobleman with the humped nose ought to remember that.
* * * * * *
“The lackeys of Vitellius have refused our honorable demands,” Steinar announced loudly. “They have broken their promise to us. Our oaths are now annulled. Now I ask of you men what I asked before now that honor is no longer an issue. Those favoring returning to our homeland and fighting for Batavia, pass to my right. Those in favor of service to a spiteful lord who refuses to honor his promises, pass to my left. I will see a division now.”
It was no surprise that the entire warhost passed in single file to his right.
“The warriors have spoken in council,” he declared, “and the will of the many will prevail. Mount up, men of Batavia, for this night we ride home!”
* * * * * *
As Dieter Straightback was reporting the quaestor’s remarks to Steinar, another rider was hastening to Moguntiacum with the same information. Riding alone, he fell prey to the brigands and former rebel soldiers plaguing the area and was badly wounded in escaping. He came to a farmstead, whose lord was once a legionary under Tiberius but retired by the time Nero took the throne. This farmer took in the wounded messenger and bound his wounds. A the following day, when the messenger recovered enough to tell of his dispatch pouch for Moguntiacum, the warrior-turned farmer had his son deliver the pouch and tell of the fate of Cassius’s messenger.
Thus it was several days after the fateful decision on the Massilia Road was taken that any Roman authorities learned of it.
* * * * * *
“Mars and Mithra!” cursed Marcus Hordeonis Flaccus as he limped painfully between his desk and map repeatedly. “Four days! That idiot in Lugdunum threw the Batavians out of his office four days ago. Now those traitors could be anywhere.”
In four days, Batavian cavalry can move very far indeed. He had already ordered squads of horsemen to scout the roads and trails leading north, and others to watch the roads leading south in case the Batavians were slower than expected. Still, it was a gamble. Batavians can swim rivers, move cross-country, or follow woodland tracks home through the many forests. Their last sighting had been a few weeks ago when they passed Moguntiacum heading for Rome, and that was before the northern border erupted into rebellion. Now they could be anywhere, doing anything. Maybe even becoming the brigands haunting the roads.
And he had nothing with which to fight them, should it come to swords’ points. Half of his IV Legion Macedonia had gone to Bedriacum with Vitellius, and the recruits sent to replace them were either gray-haired, crippled, pardoned criminals, or too young to shave. The same story applied to Dillius Vocula’s XXII Legion here in Moguntiacum, Herennius Gallus’ I Germanica in Bonna, and the XVIth Gallica north of them at Novaesium. His auxiliaries were either Belgian, German, or Gallic- and he had no reason to trust any of them after the report of Rutilius concerning the actions of those auxiliaries up north. Marcus Aquillius could attest to that, if Tungrian axes had not cut his cohorts to shreds.
“Centurion!” he called. “Assemble the army council. We have much to discuss.”
* * * * * *
Tribunus laticlavius Decius Paullus was just about to lead the officers of the IV and XXII legions into the praetorium when a horseman rode up the main street at full gallop. This blatant disregard for safety, not to mention rudeness, drew the attention of every man there. Especially when the horseman reared his mount to a halt in front of the building and dismounted before the beast had even touched down.
“Someone is in a hurry,” he joked to Caius Dillius Vocula, legate of the XXII legion, as the disheveled rider sprinted inside.
Vocula nodded. “I know that man, Decius. He was posted along with a decury of Pannonian cavalry along the road to Lugdunum. I think he just found the missing Batavians.”
Vocula was not alone in that assumption. As the men entered the command hall, they first heard then saw the rider reporting to Flaccus. The commander was not happy with the news.
Flaccus bid the men gather around his wall map. With his dagger, he pointed out Moguntiacum, then shifted to point north.
“Here, men, is the problem we face. I shall not mince words, for it is neither my style nor yours to banter about when disaster strikes. The Batavians are in rebellion, which you all know. We expected it, and made plans accordingly. What we did not expect was the Cananefate, further west, destroying the legions we had ready to strike Batavia. Their successes in those battles deprived us of two Roman legions and twenty cohorts of auxilia organized as legions- which was to be our hammer versus the Batavi should they revolt. Their successes also encouraged the Batavians, who did indeed revolt. I sent Quintus Munius Lupercus with the Vth Legion Alaudae and Lucius Favonius with the XVth Primigenia legion to deal with them by burning Batavodurum. The courier with my orders should be there shortly.”
Flaccus sat down on his curule chair and sank into the hard ivory frame. The action reminded all present that though this was a broken-down old warhorse, it was one who had once been consul of Rome. He was exhausted, but forced himself to continue the briefing.
“Now the Batavian cohorts we recently dispatched to support Vitellius in Rome have gone rogue. They demanded the money that Vitellius did indeed promise them, but they demanded it of Titus Cassius in Lugdunum. Lugdunum, as you all know, was the hotseat of the revolt this past summer, brutally crushed by Batavian cavalry for the most part. Cassius and the court of Lugdunum have no love for barbarians of any sort, much less Batavians who destroyed his mentor Vindex, so he refused. The fool! Not only did he spit on Vitellius’ word to these men, he broke the oaths that bound them to us. Now these eight cohorts of veteran cavalry are marching home to Batavia, and are just west of us as we speak. This rider confirmed that.
“So what I need to know from you is: are we ready to take them, if they offer battle? They are but eight cohorts, yet we cannot meet them in battle and leave the border here open- Vitellius ordered us to maintain at least six cohorts in this castra at all times. So I need to know the status of our forces to decide our best plan of action.”
Decius Paullus stood forth. “Lord, our IV Macedonia has sixty men in every century, not counting non-combatants. That is twenty below standard. Most of those we do have are either bullies, old men, or recruits so raw their gladii still have the scratches of their first sharpening upon them. Vitellius took our best to Bedriacum when he made himself emperor.”
Caius Vocula strode forth next. He was an impressive man, solidly built with a broad face. His presence radiated power, which all- including Flaccus- felt. “My XXII legion is in the same straits, if not worse. Aulus Vitellius took six of my ten cohorts, and replaced them with four cohorts of Sicilian civilians who had no more than ten day’s training among the lot of them. I spread them about so that they would be steadied and trained by veterans, but neither they nor the veterans were happy with that. Still, it was better than having four cohorts of unblooded civilians in a single mass upon our flank, or worse, in our center.”
Flaccus nodded. Vocula was a seasoned commander, which was why he was second in command here in Moguntiacum.
“So I gather from these reports,” Flaccus summarized, “that if the Batavians do come north, we have less than twelve cohorts available with which to stop them. And those cohorts would be at least half-filled with raw recruits, versus veteran cavalry. I think that would be a waste of precious manpower and a sure recipe for another Roman disaster.”
Paullus looked at his fellow officers and nodded. “That sums it up quite nicely, lord. If the Batavi do come this way and offer battle, we should remain in our castra and fight them from here. Our fortifications give us a huge advantage over cavalry, and we dare not meet them in open battle until our recruits are better trained."
Vocula nodded his support, and the other officers quickly echoed the sentiment. Flaccus himself nodded and passed the order. "If the Batavians come, we remain in our post. So be it. Dismissed."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Moguntiacum is a few miles ahead, Steinar," Dieter reported as he halted his horse by his commander. "It is strangely quiet there. Neither Hans nor Jurg saw any Romani at all."
Steinar was still for a moment, deep in thought. No activity near a major Romani castra, their civitas of this province, meant only one of two things. The Romani were preparing an ambush of his men, or they were hiding behind their walls. There were two full legions there less than a fortnight ago, though if there was war that could change before the sun could cross the sky.
"Flaccus is no coward, nor a fool," he decided. "He also has no love of Vitellius. This rebellion of our tribe plays into the hands of Vespasianus and against Vitellius, so he would not want it ended too quickly. Methinks he does hide behind his walls."
Dieter shrugged his shoulders. "I will have Alfred's men search our line of travel for signs of Roman presence, just to be sure. If you give my men a few hours to tend to the mounts and rest, we will scout the castra for you. By nightfall you will know everything."
"Rest for two hours," Steinar commanded. "then catch up. I will lead my own cohort to scout the castra. Send Alfred's men up our route and have the rest follow him in case he needs them. If all is clear, we will gallop past this castra and bolt for home."
Home, Dieter though with a smile. The thought warmed him. Nine long years he had fought for the Romans, rising through the ranks in battle after battle until he commanded his own cohort. Only Steinar had served longer, which was why Steinar led this march and not he. Dieter thought over the decisions Steinar made and agreed whole-heartedly that Steinar was the one to lead this warhost home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Far different thoughts were rolling around in Roman heads. Far from agreeing with the wise decision of Flaccus to remain in camp while the Batavians marched past, the men of the IV Macedonia and XXII Legions grumbled about being confined to the castra while enemies of Rome marched unhindered by.
"The old fool lets our enemies get stronger," cursed Manius Curtius as he tossed a pair of dice in his tent. "He weakens our beloved Vitellius, strengthens that barbarian Civilis, and treats us as if we were children."
"Bloody fool," agreed Publius Marius, another legionary and his tentmate. He leaned forward and lowered his voice so that it would not carry far past the dice, "I heard the old bugger served with Vespasian, and fancies the man a better emperor than old Aulus. Can you figure that? Aulus, who gave us a huge donative, extra time off, and lightened our load, versus Vespasian? Who the hell is that guy, and what has he ever done for us? No, my salt is on old Aulus. And Flaccus, that old fart, is against him."
"Why else would he let those barbarians ride past without so much as a shadow?" chimed in a third legionary. "Something ain't right, and that something is our commander."
The grumbling, though low and whispered, did not go unheard. Nor unnoticed, for it was not alone in the tent of Manius Curtius there was discontent. Others repeated the same sentiments, and louder- loud enough to reach the ears of a centurion or two who thought the same way. Soon the complaints reached the ears of a tribune, who hurried in to the legionary praetorium.
That evening there was a second command council.
"The Batavians marched passed without so much as a wave of a lance," Paullus commented, "yet the soldiers bemoan the fact that we let them go by without so much as hurling a single pilum."
"We had little choice, Decius," Flaccus reminded him. "Our forces cannot hope to do well in battle against them. Though they are disregarding orders to go to Rome, they are still Roman auxiliaries and cannot be attacked by Roman forces without due cause, which their peaceful passage did not give."
"It was not foolish to let them go unhindered," Vocula agreed. "We could do little else. Oh, we could have offered battle. And if we got trounced and trampled by those lances- which is the most likely outcome given our men and readiness- then Rome loses two more legions and probably the entire province. No, Paullus, the men were wrong. Marcus Hordeonis Flaccus gave then the only viable order he could. But now, with the Batavi between us and Bonna, we can do something."
Flaccus smiled. At last, someone has seen his plan. He gestured for Vocula to continue, who moved to the map.
"Here are we, with twelve cohorts available for battle," he began. "Up here in Bonna, Herrennius Gallus has his I Legion Germanica and plenty of good, solid Ubian auxilia. Trustworthy, reliable Ubians, not Batavians or Tungrians. Spear-armed auxilia at that. Between him in Bonna and us here in Moguntiacum, ride those eight Batavian cohorts. We have Gallus hold them there- by reason of insubordination he would be authorized- and we come up from behind. Two legions together can crush them like beetles, should they decide on battle."
Flaccus rose. "Exactly my thoughts. We can do little against them alone, but with the Ist Germanica in front and twelve of our cohorts behind, we will have them in a vice. And a reasonable chance at victory, which we did not have earlier."
The mumbling among the officers died away as one by one the wisdom of the plan became apparent. After a few minutes, all heads were nodding.
“Good,” Flaccus confirmed. “Caius Dillius,” he said to Vocula, “you and I shall draw up the orders. Decius and Flavianus,” he said addressing the two tribuni laticlavii, “you two shall prepare the legions for battle. The primi pili of both legions shall stay behind to help us select the best cohorts for this action; the rest of you may go. Dismissed.”
The final plan was different than proposed, but still relatively simple. The timing, however, had to be good for it to work. Vocula would march with eight cohorts, trailing the Batavians and staying out of sight. Flaccus would board four more cohorts onto the few remaining ships he had and sail downriver to where the road came nearest to the riverbank. There he would come ashore and assume a hasty defense, complete with whatever fortifications they could throw up in the course of the evening. Gallus would hurry out of Bonna with his legion and those wonderful, dependable Ubians and remain just out of sight to the north. If the Batavians attacked the roadblock, all Flaccus and his four cohorts had to do was hold out long enough for the other cohorts to spring the trap. It was risky for the road blockers, but that was why Flaccus himself would lead those four cohorts personally.
Satisfied with their planning, the orders were drawn up and sent out.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
German river gods had no love for Romans, and Father Rhenus was no exception. Ever since Gaius Julius Caesar built the first bridge across that mighty water and speared his innards with the poles to support the crossing, Rhenus has disliked Rome and done whatever he could to sabotage Roman plans. Though Flaccus had personally not harmed the god of the river, he was Roman and thus Father Rhenus did what he could to destroy the Roman plans.
He was helped in this endeavor by Lady Summer, who had her clouds fly high and swiftly over the mountains to the south, thus departing before they could unload their burdens of water in those high peaks. This lack of rainfall hurt Father Rhenus, for he lost much strength. He was willing to accept this pain, however, for it meant his waters were lower than normal- almost a trickle by comparison- thus making it easier for the warriors of the Dark Forests to cross over in their tiny boats. And in having such low waters, Father Rhenus was far below the banks upon which Marcus Flaccus had wished to deposit his cohorts. This in turn meant that the location he wished to defend was no longer near the water, but far inland- with plenty of room on either side for Batavian cavalry to maneuver about and crush the tiny force.
Frustrated by the low level of the Rhein, Flaccus cursed heavily and heartily to all Roman gods. There was not a single place between here and Bonna where he could set up a viable ambuscade, and three of his boats were stuck on unseen siltbanks in the river. So with grave regret and thirty percent of his forces stranded, he ordered one of the ten boats- the least laden and thus shallowest bottomed one- on to Bonna with word to cancel the operation. The rest of his tiny fleet was to drag free the stranded boats and return to base. With any luck, a rider could catch up to Caius Dillius with the change of plans.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"That coward!" roared Aulus Herrennius Gallus. His legion had been marching since before sunrise. Now, as the sun set, he was deployed in battle array but concealed from view, overlooking the patch of dirt that Flaccus was to occupy. He watched the flotilla approach since the late afternoon, gyrate upon the Rhein for about an hour, then depart with only a single boat continuing the journey. Then that boat sails right past his waiting legion without so much as a hail and farewell to leave his fifteen cohorts to face the Batavian alone. True, he outnumbered them, but it was also true that the quality of the Batavians offset the numerical advantage his wracked legion had.
Gallus now had to make a difficult choice. There were three options as he saw it, none of them any good.
He could stand and fight if it came to that. He would lose a lot of men and victory was uncertain, but at least the Batavians will have paid in blood for their passage. Or he could return to his base, and maybe make it inside before the Batavians arrived. If they attacked before he was inside, both he and his men would be slaughtered- of that there was no doubt, given the low quality of his soldiers.
Or lastly, he could leave his castra unguarded and bring up the six cohorts he had garrisoning it and strengthen his forces. However, that would leave Bonna unguarded and with the Rhein so low, the Batavians could easily ford the river as they were famed for doing and thus simply pass him by, which would negate the entire decision.
Gallus decided to let his army decide. No matter which alternative he chose, men would die. If the men themselves chose that path, they would do their dying bitterly and take many barbarians with them. That offered the others the best chance of survival.
Gallus called his officers together and explained the grave choices. Afterwards, he called for a division amongst them. Those favoring standing and fighting were to remain in front of him. Those favoring withdrawal to the castra form to his left, and those favoring bringing up the garrison to his right. The centurions and tribunes stood silently, looking to their comrades, with questioning looks upon their faces. Then, before the centurions could move, the sound of a galloping horse broke the silence.
"That was bloody fast!" Gallus cursed, ripping his gladius free of its scabbard and slinging his shield onto his arm with the speed of a veteran legionary. His men were not far behind him, repeating his actions and forming up upon their commander. "The Batavi should not be here before morning!"
One centurion lowered his sword and cursed, as he realized that the rider was approaching from Bonna, not Moguntiacum. This could not be a Batavian. It had to be a courier from the castra. Around him, others also lowered their weapons.
The rider slowed his horse as he took in the line of armed men blocking his path in the moonlight, then stopped as he recognized the outlines of Roman helmets and scuta in the torchlight. "Legatus Herrennius Gallus?" he called. "I bear orders from Hordeonis Flaccus."
"I am Gallus," the legate replied. "Come forth, Sextus," he added, once he recognized the shrill tenor of the rider's voice. Such a voice can only come from one whose balls had been removed at a young age, and Sextus Pollus had been gravely injured as a tot- an injury resulting in his becoming a eunuch or dying. His father chose the former, giving the I Germanica Legionary Choir its star tenor and Gallus a courier whom he can recognize in darkness.
Sextus approached, still wary of those centurions who still held their swords. As he entered the radius of torchlight, those swords lowered. He strode quickly to his commander.
"Legate, Flaccus orders us back to garrison, at the double. There has been a change of plans."
"We saw that upon the river this afternoon," Gallus replied callously. "The old bastard and his little fleet floundered out there for about an hour, before heading home. The coward."
"I do not know the reasons, lord. I just carry the orders, like I do for you when you wish orders distributed."
Gallus laughed. "Okay, Sextus, well said." He turned to the centurions and tribunes. "This changes nothing. These orders were issued when the Batavi were far away. By now they could be mere miles away, waiting for us to march away so they could destroy us as easily as Arminius did Varus. I will not let that old fool on his little boat decide for us that fate. That is for us to do. I will have my division, and I will have it now."
The centurions did not hesitate at all, given those words. They stood firmly where they were, or if on the flank, moved to the center to indicate their favor in staying for battle. The tribunes, however, moved to the legate’s left. Their orders were to withdraw, thus they must.
“The will of the legion is clear. We stand fast,” Gallus announced. “This is good ground, and the trees in which we stand shall help break up any cavalry charges. If the Batavians offer battle, we will kill them here.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“There are Romans in the woods ahead, Steinar,” Alfred Longbeard of the third cohort reported in the pre-dawn hours. “Our scouts saw their fires in the night. Over a legion’s worth. Do we attack, or march around?”
“Attacking them in the night will all but guarantee their defeat,” Dieter Straightback admitted. “But we are not marching to kill Romans. We are going home to our families, our friends, our lands. If the Romans try to stop us, we will fight. If they let us go, we go in peace.”
“We depart in peace, or we depart with them in pieces,” Steinar Strongarm affirmed. “It is as simple as that. Let your men get some rest, Alfred. There may be a battle tomorrow, but it will not be we who initiate it.”
“By your command,” Alfred acknowledged. His men would need the rest if there was to be blood shed in the morning, if for no other reason than to ensure most of the blood spilled would not be their own.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Romans woke that morning stiff and cramped from sleeping in their armor. The dew that covered both their armor, weapons, and the ground about them did not help any. Men rose, forcing cramped muscles to move, and roused their comrades. Within minutes, the entire I Legio Germanica was awake and ready for battle.
The sentries and skirmishers, however, were already awake and alert. The pre-dawn shift began when Ursus Major’s position said it was halfway between midnight and dawn. Tired and half-asleep from their rude awakening by the centurion commanding the shift, they were not at their best. Nor did the rising fog help any. The centurions duly posted one man in four further out into the fog, with strict orders to keep their ears open.
With the rising of the sun came the soft sounds of hoofprints in the moist dirt, accompanied by the occasion creak of leather. Not a single man in the I Legion Germanica could misinterpret those sounds- horsemen approaching! The listeners posted out in the fog came hurrying back with the news. Centurions whispered orders and directed their legionaries into position while on the flanks of the legion, Ubian warchiefs did the same to their warriors. All was done as quietly as possible, lest the element of surprise was lost.
Evidently not quietly enough, for the approaching steps ceased.
“Ave, I Legio Germanica!” cried a husky voice in Latin. Two riders could be seen through the dissipating mist. Their forms looked Roman, but none could mistake that gutteral accent. “We come as delegates from the Batavian cohorts. We come to parley!”
Aulus Herrennius Gallus strode forward ten paces. In the fog he could make out two forms, though more could still be hidden in the mists. “I had never thought you to be a traitor, Steinar,” he called back, recognizing the voice. “Yet now you bear arms against Rome.”
“We have no quarrel with you, Aulus Herrennius, nor with the I Germanica, by whose side we have so often fought. Nor with any Roman. We weary of protracted and fruitless service. We have fought for eighteen months straight now, Aulus, and for whom? For Nero, who spit upon us? For Galba, who insulted us? For Otho, who ignored us? Or for Vitellius, who levied yet more of us while refusing to part with the coins he promised us? We long for our homes, Aulus, and rest. And by the gods we shall have it!”
“Come any further north, and you shall find your rest in your graves, Steinar,” Gallus retorted. “For you defy Rome by leaving her standards to fight for her enemies.”
“If we had wanted to slay Romans, we could easily have done so this past evening while your men lay asleep in their armor,” Steinar replied. “But we did not, nor do we fight for men who promise us coins then refuse to pay. He broke the oath, not we! But enough of how we got here, it is enough that you know that if none oppose us, our march home will be peaceful. If opposed, we shall make our way with the sword and lance, but to home we are going.”
Aulus thought hard about what Steinar just said. If Vitellius had indeed reneged on his promise to the barbarians, he stripped himself of honor in their eyes. To them, that is the same as dismissal, making them free men to come and go as they please, no longer soldiers of Rome.
But Aulus was not alone in hearing the Batavian’s words from the mists. Behind him, his men also heard, and began telling others what transpired. A low rumble came from the legion, promising blood and gore.
“You can’t possibly be contemplating letting them go, legate?” a legionary called, grumpy from the fitful sleep his armor granted him. Others echoed the call, enough so that Gallus could judge the mood of the legion. The legion wanted blood, and blood it shall have.
“Batavian!” he shouted, waving a few men forward. “You defy Rome! And we who serve her may not let that pass.”
“As you wish, Gallus,” Steinar shouted. “We are going home. Through you and over you if we must, and you say we must. So be it!”
A few light auxiliaries rushed forward at the legate’s gesture to cut down this pompous barbarian with thrown javelins, but in rushing forward, they found only the mists. Steinar and his comrade had retreated. Aulus ordered the legion to stand ready to repel assault. And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ten hours later, the Batavians began to grow restless as they watched the Romans from the far woodline. Unlike those men who stood with pila ready and heavy shields upon their arms, the Batavians lounged about in the leaves or slept within the copse and had only a few alert and keeping eyes on the Roman legion a mile away.
“How long do we let them stand like that?” Alfred asked, jerking a thumb over toward the I Germanica. His own men were as well-rested as any in the eight cohorts, but they had been sacked out comfortably in the shade all afternoon.
“Maybe they will go home this evening, thinking we rode around them?” ventured a decurion. Steinar shook his head.
“They will not leave,” he said grimly. “Nor can we wait for days. Flaccus may come with a second legion, and that would spell our doom.” He rose, and gestured for his officers to do the same. “No, my comrades, we strike within the hour. See to your horses, your arms, and your men. When the shadows of our trees is almost upon those trees there, then the sun is directly in their eyes. That is when we ride out of the sun. To death, or Glory, or both, but to Batavia we ride!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aulus Herrennius Gallus was content to wait. He had his legion deployed in depth in the tree line, with the each wing reinforced by a cohort of Ubian spearmen. He stretched another cohort out along his front to aid the legionaries in repelling horse. His legionary cohorts were six abreast in ranks five deep, with a second line of four cohorts thirty paces to their rear. The two cohorts of Ubian velites he put in between the lines. If any Batavian was foolish enough to charge this position, the trees would slow them and the spears would stop them so the swords could kill them. It was a perfect set up.
The legionaries did not think so. They had slept poorly in the night, and standing at the ready while the sun melted away the dew and then baked them in their armor- despite the partial shade- did nothing to relieve the tension of coming battle. They wanted a fight, and they wanted it now.
“Legate, how much longer shall we stand here uselessly?” a tribune asked. “The men are restless, and think you a coward. The Batavians are right there, lounging in the shade, while our forces have the sun in our faces and are anxious for battle.”
“We do outnumber them by a fair bit,” another tribune added. “If they will not come to us, let us bring battle to them. They defy Rome, and we defy Rome by allowing it.”
Aulus cursed as the calls for battle rose among the men. Damn Vitellius for doing away with corporal punishment while ingratiating himself with the legions! Now the bastards have lost all sense of discipline, and are actually thinking mob rule works. It does, but only because one man cannot stop a legion. He will die, and then the legion will do what it wants anyway. He had no choice. There was a better chance for all to live if he led them.
“Pass the word,” he said resignedly, “Since the Batavians will not come to use, we go to them. Keep your positions relative to each other, and begin marching forward. Officers- dismount. The Batavi will be less likely to kill you if they cannot find you.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“This is perfect,” whispered Bertrand the Handsome to himself as he watched the I Germanica leave the woodline. “Lars! Inform Steinar that the Romans are coming out into the open.”
The rest of the Second Cohort mounted their horses and formed up on their commander.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Batavians!” Steinar called. “You know the drill. I want cohorts abreast in a single line. Dieter Straightback commands the right, Bertrand the left. I command the center. When we get close, it will be just as with Vindex.”
The cohort commanders smiled in anticipation as they maneuvered their units into the ordered formation. They wondered if Aulus Gallus had ever figured a counter to the Batavaian Crescent, or even if he recognized it happening to him. It will be a grand battle either way, with Batavia or Valhalla at the other end.
“We ride!” shouted Steinar Strongarm, and the eight renegade Batavian cohorts marched out into the sun, for death or glory or both.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dieter moved his own and the flanking two cohort furthers to the right, creating a gap between his three cohorts and the rest of the army. On the left, Bertrand did the same. This left Steinar’s First and Gregor’s Seventh cohorts alone in the center.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gallus smiled as he watched the Batavians deploy. This was why he weighted his wings, he thought cruelly, The Batavian Crescent. His grin turned wolfish. Within a few hours there will be no more renegades in Germania Inferior.
Then his grin soured as he realized the crescent was not directly ahead as he had thought, but coming askew. He ordered his legion to wheel half-right and anchor the wings between the woodline they had just left and the small copse between the armies.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The wheeling of the legion did not go as planned. Too many recruits and bullies, combined with a lack of discipline after Vitellius’s reforms, drained strength from the power of the legion. The cohorts became separated as each tried to obey the order, and in that separation came disorder, lethal to Roman armies ever since Tarquinius Superbus ruled the Eternal City.
The Ubians on the left ended up with one Roman cohort too far ahead of the rest of the army. Dieter needed no prompting and promptly attacked it with two of his cohorts. The Ubians, seeing horsemen barreling down on them, quickly dropped to one knee and grounded their spearbutts, lowering the points to create a hedge against the charging horse. But the Batavians whipped around just out of javelin range and began to retreat.
Joyfully the Ubians rose in order to follow, and were immediately trampled down by the third cohort, which had circled through the dust raised by the retreating units and hit the Ubians in the flank. One second they were victorious Ubians of the Roman army; the next they were broken and fleeing men trampled under unshod hooves.
The legionaries moved in to rescue their Ubian auxiliaries from this treacherous attack. In doing so they opened their own ranks to Dieter's returning cavalry. The impact was titanic, with legionaries cast through the air to land upon the heads and shields of their comrades behind. Within minutes the Roman flank was streaming away, broken beyond any chance of repair with Batavian cavalry chasing them down.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A similar event occurred on Bertrand’s flank. Drawn out and teased by feints, the Ubians there broke formation to pursue what they thought were retreating horse. Within seconds Bertrand’s cohort plowed into their flank, and the other cohorts piled on. Ubians streamed from the field, away from those awful, plunging horsemen and death on horseback.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aulus cursed vividly as he took in the simultaneous destruction of his powerful anti-cavalry wings. There was little he could do or say as the Batavian crescent enveloped his flanks and crushed them in toward the center.
“Shades of Cannae!” he shouted. “Center! Fall back and hold the line. Flanks! Face outward! Where the hell is my second line? Attack now, or we are all doomed!”
The second line of four cohorts that Gallus had wisely deployed were no longer thirty paces to the rear. In the excitement of wheeling to face the incoming Batavian charge, they had moved forward in order to pelt the Germans with pila to support the front line. They found themselves now within the same pocket as the front line, being pressed inward by the caving flanks.
Just like at the famous battle in Italia, the Roman infantry found themselves pressed into a pocket by the attacking foe until there was no more room to adequately swing a sword or stab a foe. Helpless in the crush, Romans died choking on dust, crushed against their comrades, and were stabbed and pounded by men with the room to use their weapons.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aulus Herrennius Gallus managed to escape the death of his men, but barely. He led his bodyguards on a breakout to the rear once he realized the battle was lost. Damned Vitellian legionaries, he thought, if only they had kept their initial position! As he cursed and fought, Fate allowed him to see a gap between two of the Batavian cohorts. That was all he needed. Silently and masked with dust, he and forty men broke for that gap and made it past the victorious Batavians and into the woods with nobody the wiser.
As his bodyguards continued on, he turned to see if any others had made it out of that awful cauldron. He saw only plunging cavalry, seven cohorts surrounding his men with the eighth preparing for a charge. When that one charged in, another fell back to prepare its charge.
Aulus had seen enough. The Batavians were victorious, their tactics and discipline superior. He shook his bloody head and followed his fleeing bodyguards down the long road back to Bonna.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“We lost less than one in eight, Steinar,” Dieter reported once the sun had set. “Including Bertrand. Less than two hundred of the enemy escaped, judging by the tracks. Most of them were the Ubians we broke in the opening minutes. The I Legion Germanica is no more. A wonderful victory!”
Steinar scowled. “They were hurt badly, but not destroyed. Only seven of the twelve cohorts we fought this day were Roman. That means at least three cohorts cower behind the walls of Bonna. Given Roman procedures, they will be reinforced and refilled with units from other legions. Within a season there will be a full-strength legion where today only a handful soldiers breathe, while our dead will not be replaced until we set foot on Batavian soil.”
Dieter nodded. The somberness of Steinar in this moment of victory was contagious. “Let us hope this battle was the last until then.”
Steinar could not agree more. The futility of the Roman deaths was not lost on either man. Had the Romans stood aside and let them pass, they would still be alive. He had lost more than Bertrand and a few cavalrymen this day, he had lost a legion of former comrades, men at whose side he had fought for many years.
This was not a victory worth celebrating.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The remaining miles to Batavodurum were peaceful. Steinar wisely skirted the home of the XVI Gallica at Novaesium, and the Ubians in Gelduba were wise enough to keep their warriors within their walls. And at Castra Vetera, no Roman had any intention of leaving those stone walls to venture out against Batavian cavalry, but Steinar gave them a wide berth anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Hail, Steinar Strongarm!” called Gaius Julius Civilis to his kinsman. He moved away from the Marsi chieftains and out towards the approaching cohorts. “Welcome home.”
Steinar looked about with narrowed grey eyes. As he neared the civitas of his homeland, he had heard of the Roman attack, its repulsion, and the great feast given afterward. He expected to find piles of armor, heaps of swords, and mountains of dead men waiting to be burned. He expected to see burned scarring on the walls of the civitas, with mourning women wandering about searching the dead for their loved ones, and weary men scurrying about repairing damage or gathering wreckage for the pyres. He expected devastation and death.
He did not expect to find Frisians, Bructeri, Marsi, and Tencteri warriors mingling sociably with Batavians with horns of ale in their hands, nor the civitas as pristine as it was when he left it nine years ago. And he most certainly did not expect to find his kinsman proclaimed King. He had marched home from Lugdunum, abandoning Rome and Vitellius to whom he was sworn, because he thought he and his men were needed to protect or avenge his people. Did Civilis need more men? No, he had every tribe in the area serving him and more from the far side of the Rhein. Did Batavia need protecting? No. Did it need avenging? From what?
“Your messenger said the Romans were attacking, and that there would be at least four legions in their army,” Steinar said sharply, taking in the relaxed atmosphere of the civitas. “He said we were needed home to defend our lands, yet we see no need for us here. Where we expected war, we find festivity.”
Civilis smiled, his missing eye and scarred cheek giving him an evil cast. Then he chuckled. “When I had asked Oscar to find you, there were six legions here set to pounce upon us. You were needed, and desperately. But who had thought the Cananefate would destroy four of them in open battle, or help us send the dogs of two more from Castra Vetera running home with their tails between their legs? Much has happened since Oscar departed, Steinar my kinsman, and by the gods, it has all been good.”
“The I Legion Germanica will not be troubling you any time soon,” Steinar added. “They tried to block us south of Bonna. Very few of them made it back to their stone house. But Flaccus has been sending dispatches and requests for troops to anyone and everyone. Many of these messengers passed us, and being riders of our blood, they told us much.”
“Bah, that old fool can ask for thousands of men. It does not matter, for he shall receive none. There is war in Rome; the Empire is in turmoil. Nero is dead by his own hand. Galba is dead by the hand of Otho. Otho died by his own hand as well. Vitellius was maintaining his power by force of arms, and now Vespasian seeks the Eagle Throne. He has much support, that old friend of mine, but so does Vitellius. An immense clash is on the way, Steinar, and nobody anywhere will spare a man for Flaccus when that same man could fight for Vitellius or Vespasian.”
“And when the war in Rome ends, kinsman?” Steinar enquired. “Wars always end, one way or the other. The Romans will never let the defeat of six legions go unpunished. Do you not remember what they did to the Iceni in Britannia? They will come here and do far worse to us.”
“They murdered my brother, Steinar, and your cousin,” Civilis retorted. “They tortured him first, and you know how cruel Roman torturers can be. Vitellius sent his tax-collectors amongst us to levy another eight cohorts. Those men fight now for Batavia, but what will we become if they had gone to Rome? And another eight cohorts after that? We will have none left to protect ourselves, or to father the next generation. They would have levied us out of existence. No, kinsman, we fight now for our survival- they forced us to it.”
Steinar thought over the levies and the effect his own levy had had upon the tribe. Two thousand had left for Rome that summer, and the civitas had been damned near depleted. Another two thousand left when the snows came. A few years later another four thousand were called to the levy. If Vitellius had called two levies within a year, and called for two more the following year, there would be no more Batavians to fill the levy. Their tribe would cease to exist except as soldiers for a foreign power. Civilis was right, damn it all, Vitellius was levying them out of existence.
Civilis saw the anger evaporate from his kinsman’s face and smiled. Now the man was open to reason, and Civilis was nothing if not reasonable.
“What you say is true, Steinar,” he admitted. “The Romans will never let a defeat of this magnitude go unpunished. That is why we are forced to seek allies- Batavia has not enough men to counter the Empire. But with the Frisians- our kinsman Claudius Labeo is among them now drumming up support- and the Chauci and the other tribes uniting while Rome disunites, we have a chance at victory. The Bructeri seeress Veleda has already foreseen our victory. We must now simply realize it.”
The name of the witch sent a shudder through Steinar’s soul. “You will need Gallic as well as German support to win,” he said, shaking off the shudder. “If for no other reason than to push the Empire that much further from Batavia.”
“The Gauls have no reason to love us,” Civilis pointed out. “Not after you crushed Vindex and his Gallic uprising last summer.”
“Last summer Mad Nero was running the Empire into the ground,” Steinar countered. “This year three emperors have done the same and a fourth is on the way. The Gauls may not love us, but they hate the Romans. They will join, if you can find a way to make up for our battles last year.”
“We have several thousand auxiliary prisoners,” Civilis remembered. “Niall of the Cananefate destroyed their warhost at Arenacum a few days ago. Most of them are Gauls, I believe.”
“Then let them return home with their weapons and honor intact,” Steinar advised. “We slaughtered their men who served Rome last summer; this summer we free their men from serving Rome. Letting them return to Gaul unhindered would go a long way to winning other Gallic hearts.”
The idea struck Civilis cross-wise, as he was thinking of enlisting them in his own armies, or using them as slaves as was only proper to allow more Batavian men to fight. But Steinar was always wise in these matters, and this was no exception. And Veleda had foreseen Gaul breaking away from Rome. Was this a step along that path?
“I will release those officers of Gallic origin to return to their homes,” he allowed. “With their arms and armor. The rank and file shall be allowed to either return home with no weapons, or to serve honorably in our warhost- their choice.”
Steinar nodded. That was fair. Fairer than he had thought his cousin capable of being. He looked to the south, down the miles and miles he had traveled in this last week, and towards the miles he had left to travel before this road of war led to peace. It would not be easy, but with Roman arms killing Roman men, it might be possible to throw off the yoke of Roman overlordship and become free men once again.
It was possible.
But not likely.
To be continued....
Other chapters in this series:
1-They Come
2-Vengeance at Traiectum
3-Betrayal on the Border
4-Batavia Rises
5-Homeward Bound
6-The Long Road to Castra Vetera
7- Sunrise at Bedriacum
8-And yet, I was once our emperor
9-Midwinter Misery and Madness
10-Prophecies Fulfilled
11- The Little War
12-The Broken Bridge
|||||||||||||||| A transplanted Viking, born a millennium too late. |||||||||||||||||
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Somewhere over the EXCO Rainbow
Master Skald, Order of the Silver Quill, Guild of the Skalds
Champion of the Sepia Joust- Joust I, II, IV, VI, VII, VIII
The two horsemen exchanged few words as they rode south together on the shaded road towards Massilia. The shadows of the trees lining the stone road were long and dark, though the sun had yet to pass overhead. There was no love lost between the two, for one was a Batavian courier whose people were on the verge of rebellion against the oppression of Rome and the other was born into a noble family of that same city.
To the Batavian, it had been a year that started out poorly and improved dramatically. Nero had tortured and executed a Batavian prince, then committed suicide when Galba led his forces on Rome. Galba then dismissed the Batavian Guard and exiled another prince before dying. Otho, his successor, died versus Vitellius, who then demanded the Batavians send even more troops to the Empire. Then a Roman governor decides to make himself wealthy at German expense and sent four legions to enslave a piss-poor tribe of farmers and fishermen.
Then the tide turned. The Cananefate destroyed the legions and the greedy governor, then swept all Roman presence from their lands. In doing so, they had Batavian help, which brought Batavia into open revolt. The Romans, smarting from this defeat, decided to attack Batavia to restore their pride and honor. They will get thoroughly trounced for their troubles, the rider decided, if the alliance with the Cananefate and Frisians holds. Then Batavia would be in open war, and the Romans had nothing with which to fight them. Yes, this was a good year to be a Batavian.
To the Roman, this year started out dismally and kept going straight down the road to disaster. An insane emperor was toppled and forced to suicide, his usurper murdered before settling in, then his successor was a political animal with no idea of ruling Rome other than having it serve him. This of course caused a second general to rebel and make himself emperor in the greatest battle between Roman forces since Actium. And a third general is making his way west from Judea with his forces to claim the Imperial Title for himself. Add to that the disasters on the frontier, and Rome was heading to hell at express speed.
With the armies marching hither and yon and slaughter each other, civil order descended into fearful wariness. Brigands popped up everywhere in this cauldron of chaos. Thus the two riders, otherwise foes, rode together these past seven days in an unwilling and mistrustful alliance- until the tents of eight cohorts of auxilia cavalry flying Batavian standards appeared around the bend.
“Fare thee well, Marcus Rutilius,” the Batavian said. “Here is where we part ways.”
“I shall miss having your sword at my side, Oscar Son of Rolf,” Rutilius replied. “I cannot wish you success as some might take that as treason, but I can and do wish you a safe and peaceful journey.”
Oscar Rolfson laughed at the remark. “Well put, Roman,” he chuckled. “For if my journey is peaceful, there will be no Roman blood spilled. And I wish you a successful journey.”
Rutilius chuckled himself. “As well you would, Batavian, for if my journey is successful our peoples may enjoy peace together once the swords are again sheathed.”
Rutilius spurred his horse onward. He had a long road to Rome, while Oscar Rolfson had only to identify the commander of the Batavian detachment and give his a scroll. Unlike their tribesmen north in Batavia, these auxiliaries still served the Eagles of Rome. The message Oscar brought might change that.
Rutilius wanted to be far away if that happened.
* * * * * *
“Warriors, our tribe is in revolt against Rome,” the commander announced to his officers. He was a tall man, wide of shoulder and blond of hair as befits a Germanic warchief, with eyes the color of a cloudy sky. “We warriors have given sacred oaths to serve the Eagles, and such oaths are not lightly broken. Therefore we are in a dilemma. We serve Rome, yet our brethren will die upon Roman swords. The Eagles dare not trust us now that our tribe is about to be at war, though we have given them fair and honorable service in crushing the insurrection of Vindex in Gaul this past summer. Blood oaths mean nothing to these men, though they mean the difference between Valhalla and Nifelheim to us.”
His words were greeted with silence.
“So, I will have from you an answer. Do we return home and fight for our people, or do we travel to Rome and fight for Vitellius, to whom we are pledged? I will have a decision on this matter. Those whose loyalties lie with Vitellius, move to my right. Those whose loyalties lie with our people, move to my left.”
“Honor commits us to Vitellius, Steinar,” called Bertrand the Handsome, commander of the second Batavian cohort. “Though our hearts commit us to Batavia. You are asking us to decide between our oaths to the gods and our love of our people. But there is a third option you should mention. If Vitellius breaks his oaths to us, then our oaths to him are annulled. Thus, you should ask of us do we wish to serve Vitellius to whom we are oath-bound, Batavia at the risk of eternal damnation, or get Vitellius to break his oath to us and thus free us to fight for Batavia.”
“How would we get Vitellius to break his oath?” asked Alfred Longbeard, commander of the third cohort. “He asks us to come to Rome because he needs us. Why then would he cast us aside”
“He has promised us double pay to march to Rome and fight for him,” Dieter Straightback, commander of the eighth cohort informed. “No pay, no play. We ask him for the coins he promised. If he refuses, he has broken his word, and thus annulled our oaths. Then we are free.”
Steinar Strongarm bobbed his head in agreement. “We shall let Vitellius decide. Dieter, send a courier ahead to Lugdunum. We shall demand our donative, as is our right. If the paymaster refuses, then all bonds are broken. If he pays, we fight for Vitellius as honor demands. Are all here in agreement?”
The other commanders nodded. It was agreed. Bertrand thought the choice of Lugdunum to the south instead of the nearer Alesia a wise choice. The governor of Alesia was a Roman who had lots of taxes streaming in and knew the situation in the north- he would pay. The ruler of Lugdunum, however, was reputed to be a tight-fisted miser with no sympathies to any but his own wallet. Choosing Lugdunum from which to demand the donative was the same as demanding the donative not be paid. Bertrand smiled. There was no doubt where the loyalties of Steinar Strongarm lay.
* * * * * *
Titus Cassius held the fate of the northern empire in his guarded vaults, and did not know it or even care. He received the Batavian envoy in his praetorium in Lugdunum, heard their ridiculous demand for double pay, read the scroll from Vitellius offering the Batavians the donative, and laughed.
“Get out, barbarian,” he commanded. “This scrap of papyrus isn’t worth spit outside of Rome. If you want the money promised in this note, you have to get it from the quaestor in Rome. I’ll give no silver to filthy savages, no matter who authorizes it. Now, out!”
Dieter Straightback stood as rigid as his name during the tirade. It was clear now that Rome despised them and cared not to honor their promises to men not born in stone houses. Such was the way of nature- rolling stones crush trees. But when the stone rests, and the tree’s roots form around it, the tree can break the stone apart.
Rome has stood still since the days of Augustus, and in the Dark Forests the trees are growing stronger. This haughty nobleman with the humped nose ought to remember that.
* * * * * *
“The lackeys of Vitellius have refused our honorable demands,” Steinar announced loudly. “They have broken their promise to us. Our oaths are now annulled. Now I ask of you men what I asked before now that honor is no longer an issue. Those favoring returning to our homeland and fighting for Batavia, pass to my right. Those in favor of service to a spiteful lord who refuses to honor his promises, pass to my left. I will see a division now.”
It was no surprise that the entire warhost passed in single file to his right.
“The warriors have spoken in council,” he declared, “and the will of the many will prevail. Mount up, men of Batavia, for this night we ride home!”
* * * * * *
As Dieter Straightback was reporting the quaestor’s remarks to Steinar, another rider was hastening to Moguntiacum with the same information. Riding alone, he fell prey to the brigands and former rebel soldiers plaguing the area and was badly wounded in escaping. He came to a farmstead, whose lord was once a legionary under Tiberius but retired by the time Nero took the throne. This farmer took in the wounded messenger and bound his wounds. A the following day, when the messenger recovered enough to tell of his dispatch pouch for Moguntiacum, the warrior-turned farmer had his son deliver the pouch and tell of the fate of Cassius’s messenger.
Thus it was several days after the fateful decision on the Massilia Road was taken that any Roman authorities learned of it.
* * * * * *
“Mars and Mithra!” cursed Marcus Hordeonis Flaccus as he limped painfully between his desk and map repeatedly. “Four days! That idiot in Lugdunum threw the Batavians out of his office four days ago. Now those traitors could be anywhere.”
In four days, Batavian cavalry can move very far indeed. He had already ordered squads of horsemen to scout the roads and trails leading north, and others to watch the roads leading south in case the Batavians were slower than expected. Still, it was a gamble. Batavians can swim rivers, move cross-country, or follow woodland tracks home through the many forests. Their last sighting had been a few weeks ago when they passed Moguntiacum heading for Rome, and that was before the northern border erupted into rebellion. Now they could be anywhere, doing anything. Maybe even becoming the brigands haunting the roads.
And he had nothing with which to fight them, should it come to swords’ points. Half of his IV Legion Macedonia had gone to Bedriacum with Vitellius, and the recruits sent to replace them were either gray-haired, crippled, pardoned criminals, or too young to shave. The same story applied to Dillius Vocula’s XXII Legion here in Moguntiacum, Herennius Gallus’ I Germanica in Bonna, and the XVIth Gallica north of them at Novaesium. His auxiliaries were either Belgian, German, or Gallic- and he had no reason to trust any of them after the report of Rutilius concerning the actions of those auxiliaries up north. Marcus Aquillius could attest to that, if Tungrian axes had not cut his cohorts to shreds.
“Centurion!” he called. “Assemble the army council. We have much to discuss.”
* * * * * *
Tribunus laticlavius Decius Paullus was just about to lead the officers of the IV and XXII legions into the praetorium when a horseman rode up the main street at full gallop. This blatant disregard for safety, not to mention rudeness, drew the attention of every man there. Especially when the horseman reared his mount to a halt in front of the building and dismounted before the beast had even touched down.
“Someone is in a hurry,” he joked to Caius Dillius Vocula, legate of the XXII legion, as the disheveled rider sprinted inside.
Vocula nodded. “I know that man, Decius. He was posted along with a decury of Pannonian cavalry along the road to Lugdunum. I think he just found the missing Batavians.”
Vocula was not alone in that assumption. As the men entered the command hall, they first heard then saw the rider reporting to Flaccus. The commander was not happy with the news.
Flaccus bid the men gather around his wall map. With his dagger, he pointed out Moguntiacum, then shifted to point north.
“Here, men, is the problem we face. I shall not mince words, for it is neither my style nor yours to banter about when disaster strikes. The Batavians are in rebellion, which you all know. We expected it, and made plans accordingly. What we did not expect was the Cananefate, further west, destroying the legions we had ready to strike Batavia. Their successes in those battles deprived us of two Roman legions and twenty cohorts of auxilia organized as legions- which was to be our hammer versus the Batavi should they revolt. Their successes also encouraged the Batavians, who did indeed revolt. I sent Quintus Munius Lupercus with the Vth Legion Alaudae and Lucius Favonius with the XVth Primigenia legion to deal with them by burning Batavodurum. The courier with my orders should be there shortly.”
Flaccus sat down on his curule chair and sank into the hard ivory frame. The action reminded all present that though this was a broken-down old warhorse, it was one who had once been consul of Rome. He was exhausted, but forced himself to continue the briefing.
“Now the Batavian cohorts we recently dispatched to support Vitellius in Rome have gone rogue. They demanded the money that Vitellius did indeed promise them, but they demanded it of Titus Cassius in Lugdunum. Lugdunum, as you all know, was the hotseat of the revolt this past summer, brutally crushed by Batavian cavalry for the most part. Cassius and the court of Lugdunum have no love for barbarians of any sort, much less Batavians who destroyed his mentor Vindex, so he refused. The fool! Not only did he spit on Vitellius’ word to these men, he broke the oaths that bound them to us. Now these eight cohorts of veteran cavalry are marching home to Batavia, and are just west of us as we speak. This rider confirmed that.
“So what I need to know from you is: are we ready to take them, if they offer battle? They are but eight cohorts, yet we cannot meet them in battle and leave the border here open- Vitellius ordered us to maintain at least six cohorts in this castra at all times. So I need to know the status of our forces to decide our best plan of action.”
Decius Paullus stood forth. “Lord, our IV Macedonia has sixty men in every century, not counting non-combatants. That is twenty below standard. Most of those we do have are either bullies, old men, or recruits so raw their gladii still have the scratches of their first sharpening upon them. Vitellius took our best to Bedriacum when he made himself emperor.”
Caius Vocula strode forth next. He was an impressive man, solidly built with a broad face. His presence radiated power, which all- including Flaccus- felt. “My XXII legion is in the same straits, if not worse. Aulus Vitellius took six of my ten cohorts, and replaced them with four cohorts of Sicilian civilians who had no more than ten day’s training among the lot of them. I spread them about so that they would be steadied and trained by veterans, but neither they nor the veterans were happy with that. Still, it was better than having four cohorts of unblooded civilians in a single mass upon our flank, or worse, in our center.”
Flaccus nodded. Vocula was a seasoned commander, which was why he was second in command here in Moguntiacum.
“So I gather from these reports,” Flaccus summarized, “that if the Batavians do come north, we have less than twelve cohorts available with which to stop them. And those cohorts would be at least half-filled with raw recruits, versus veteran cavalry. I think that would be a waste of precious manpower and a sure recipe for another Roman disaster.”
Paullus looked at his fellow officers and nodded. “That sums it up quite nicely, lord. If the Batavi do come this way and offer battle, we should remain in our castra and fight them from here. Our fortifications give us a huge advantage over cavalry, and we dare not meet them in open battle until our recruits are better trained."
Vocula nodded his support, and the other officers quickly echoed the sentiment. Flaccus himself nodded and passed the order. "If the Batavians come, we remain in our post. So be it. Dismissed."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Moguntiacum is a few miles ahead, Steinar," Dieter reported as he halted his horse by his commander. "It is strangely quiet there. Neither Hans nor Jurg saw any Romani at all."
Steinar was still for a moment, deep in thought. No activity near a major Romani castra, their civitas of this province, meant only one of two things. The Romani were preparing an ambush of his men, or they were hiding behind their walls. There were two full legions there less than a fortnight ago, though if there was war that could change before the sun could cross the sky.
"Flaccus is no coward, nor a fool," he decided. "He also has no love of Vitellius. This rebellion of our tribe plays into the hands of Vespasianus and against Vitellius, so he would not want it ended too quickly. Methinks he does hide behind his walls."
Dieter shrugged his shoulders. "I will have Alfred's men search our line of travel for signs of Roman presence, just to be sure. If you give my men a few hours to tend to the mounts and rest, we will scout the castra for you. By nightfall you will know everything."
"Rest for two hours," Steinar commanded. "then catch up. I will lead my own cohort to scout the castra. Send Alfred's men up our route and have the rest follow him in case he needs them. If all is clear, we will gallop past this castra and bolt for home."
Home, Dieter though with a smile. The thought warmed him. Nine long years he had fought for the Romans, rising through the ranks in battle after battle until he commanded his own cohort. Only Steinar had served longer, which was why Steinar led this march and not he. Dieter thought over the decisions Steinar made and agreed whole-heartedly that Steinar was the one to lead this warhost home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Far different thoughts were rolling around in Roman heads. Far from agreeing with the wise decision of Flaccus to remain in camp while the Batavians marched past, the men of the IV Macedonia and XXII Legions grumbled about being confined to the castra while enemies of Rome marched unhindered by.
"The old fool lets our enemies get stronger," cursed Manius Curtius as he tossed a pair of dice in his tent. "He weakens our beloved Vitellius, strengthens that barbarian Civilis, and treats us as if we were children."
"Bloody fool," agreed Publius Marius, another legionary and his tentmate. He leaned forward and lowered his voice so that it would not carry far past the dice, "I heard the old bugger served with Vespasian, and fancies the man a better emperor than old Aulus. Can you figure that? Aulus, who gave us a huge donative, extra time off, and lightened our load, versus Vespasian? Who the hell is that guy, and what has he ever done for us? No, my salt is on old Aulus. And Flaccus, that old fart, is against him."
"Why else would he let those barbarians ride past without so much as a shadow?" chimed in a third legionary. "Something ain't right, and that something is our commander."
The grumbling, though low and whispered, did not go unheard. Nor unnoticed, for it was not alone in the tent of Manius Curtius there was discontent. Others repeated the same sentiments, and louder- loud enough to reach the ears of a centurion or two who thought the same way. Soon the complaints reached the ears of a tribune, who hurried in to the legionary praetorium.
That evening there was a second command council.
"The Batavians marched passed without so much as a wave of a lance," Paullus commented, "yet the soldiers bemoan the fact that we let them go by without so much as hurling a single pilum."
"We had little choice, Decius," Flaccus reminded him. "Our forces cannot hope to do well in battle against them. Though they are disregarding orders to go to Rome, they are still Roman auxiliaries and cannot be attacked by Roman forces without due cause, which their peaceful passage did not give."
"It was not foolish to let them go unhindered," Vocula agreed. "We could do little else. Oh, we could have offered battle. And if we got trounced and trampled by those lances- which is the most likely outcome given our men and readiness- then Rome loses two more legions and probably the entire province. No, Paullus, the men were wrong. Marcus Hordeonis Flaccus gave then the only viable order he could. But now, with the Batavi between us and Bonna, we can do something."
Flaccus smiled. At last, someone has seen his plan. He gestured for Vocula to continue, who moved to the map.
"Here are we, with twelve cohorts available for battle," he began. "Up here in Bonna, Herrennius Gallus has his I Legion Germanica and plenty of good, solid Ubian auxilia. Trustworthy, reliable Ubians, not Batavians or Tungrians. Spear-armed auxilia at that. Between him in Bonna and us here in Moguntiacum, ride those eight Batavian cohorts. We have Gallus hold them there- by reason of insubordination he would be authorized- and we come up from behind. Two legions together can crush them like beetles, should they decide on battle."
Flaccus rose. "Exactly my thoughts. We can do little against them alone, but with the Ist Germanica in front and twelve of our cohorts behind, we will have them in a vice. And a reasonable chance at victory, which we did not have earlier."
The mumbling among the officers died away as one by one the wisdom of the plan became apparent. After a few minutes, all heads were nodding.
“Good,” Flaccus confirmed. “Caius Dillius,” he said to Vocula, “you and I shall draw up the orders. Decius and Flavianus,” he said addressing the two tribuni laticlavii, “you two shall prepare the legions for battle. The primi pili of both legions shall stay behind to help us select the best cohorts for this action; the rest of you may go. Dismissed.”
The final plan was different than proposed, but still relatively simple. The timing, however, had to be good for it to work. Vocula would march with eight cohorts, trailing the Batavians and staying out of sight. Flaccus would board four more cohorts onto the few remaining ships he had and sail downriver to where the road came nearest to the riverbank. There he would come ashore and assume a hasty defense, complete with whatever fortifications they could throw up in the course of the evening. Gallus would hurry out of Bonna with his legion and those wonderful, dependable Ubians and remain just out of sight to the north. If the Batavians attacked the roadblock, all Flaccus and his four cohorts had to do was hold out long enough for the other cohorts to spring the trap. It was risky for the road blockers, but that was why Flaccus himself would lead those four cohorts personally.
Satisfied with their planning, the orders were drawn up and sent out.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
German river gods had no love for Romans, and Father Rhenus was no exception. Ever since Gaius Julius Caesar built the first bridge across that mighty water and speared his innards with the poles to support the crossing, Rhenus has disliked Rome and done whatever he could to sabotage Roman plans. Though Flaccus had personally not harmed the god of the river, he was Roman and thus Father Rhenus did what he could to destroy the Roman plans.
He was helped in this endeavor by Lady Summer, who had her clouds fly high and swiftly over the mountains to the south, thus departing before they could unload their burdens of water in those high peaks. This lack of rainfall hurt Father Rhenus, for he lost much strength. He was willing to accept this pain, however, for it meant his waters were lower than normal- almost a trickle by comparison- thus making it easier for the warriors of the Dark Forests to cross over in their tiny boats. And in having such low waters, Father Rhenus was far below the banks upon which Marcus Flaccus had wished to deposit his cohorts. This in turn meant that the location he wished to defend was no longer near the water, but far inland- with plenty of room on either side for Batavian cavalry to maneuver about and crush the tiny force.
Frustrated by the low level of the Rhein, Flaccus cursed heavily and heartily to all Roman gods. There was not a single place between here and Bonna where he could set up a viable ambuscade, and three of his boats were stuck on unseen siltbanks in the river. So with grave regret and thirty percent of his forces stranded, he ordered one of the ten boats- the least laden and thus shallowest bottomed one- on to Bonna with word to cancel the operation. The rest of his tiny fleet was to drag free the stranded boats and return to base. With any luck, a rider could catch up to Caius Dillius with the change of plans.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"That coward!" roared Aulus Herrennius Gallus. His legion had been marching since before sunrise. Now, as the sun set, he was deployed in battle array but concealed from view, overlooking the patch of dirt that Flaccus was to occupy. He watched the flotilla approach since the late afternoon, gyrate upon the Rhein for about an hour, then depart with only a single boat continuing the journey. Then that boat sails right past his waiting legion without so much as a hail and farewell to leave his fifteen cohorts to face the Batavian alone. True, he outnumbered them, but it was also true that the quality of the Batavians offset the numerical advantage his wracked legion had.
Gallus now had to make a difficult choice. There were three options as he saw it, none of them any good.
He could stand and fight if it came to that. He would lose a lot of men and victory was uncertain, but at least the Batavians will have paid in blood for their passage. Or he could return to his base, and maybe make it inside before the Batavians arrived. If they attacked before he was inside, both he and his men would be slaughtered- of that there was no doubt, given the low quality of his soldiers.
Or lastly, he could leave his castra unguarded and bring up the six cohorts he had garrisoning it and strengthen his forces. However, that would leave Bonna unguarded and with the Rhein so low, the Batavians could easily ford the river as they were famed for doing and thus simply pass him by, which would negate the entire decision.
Gallus decided to let his army decide. No matter which alternative he chose, men would die. If the men themselves chose that path, they would do their dying bitterly and take many barbarians with them. That offered the others the best chance of survival.
Gallus called his officers together and explained the grave choices. Afterwards, he called for a division amongst them. Those favoring standing and fighting were to remain in front of him. Those favoring withdrawal to the castra form to his left, and those favoring bringing up the garrison to his right. The centurions and tribunes stood silently, looking to their comrades, with questioning looks upon their faces. Then, before the centurions could move, the sound of a galloping horse broke the silence.
"That was bloody fast!" Gallus cursed, ripping his gladius free of its scabbard and slinging his shield onto his arm with the speed of a veteran legionary. His men were not far behind him, repeating his actions and forming up upon their commander. "The Batavi should not be here before morning!"
One centurion lowered his sword and cursed, as he realized that the rider was approaching from Bonna, not Moguntiacum. This could not be a Batavian. It had to be a courier from the castra. Around him, others also lowered their weapons.
The rider slowed his horse as he took in the line of armed men blocking his path in the moonlight, then stopped as he recognized the outlines of Roman helmets and scuta in the torchlight. "Legatus Herrennius Gallus?" he called. "I bear orders from Hordeonis Flaccus."
"I am Gallus," the legate replied. "Come forth, Sextus," he added, once he recognized the shrill tenor of the rider's voice. Such a voice can only come from one whose balls had been removed at a young age, and Sextus Pollus had been gravely injured as a tot- an injury resulting in his becoming a eunuch or dying. His father chose the former, giving the I Germanica Legionary Choir its star tenor and Gallus a courier whom he can recognize in darkness.
Sextus approached, still wary of those centurions who still held their swords. As he entered the radius of torchlight, those swords lowered. He strode quickly to his commander.
"Legate, Flaccus orders us back to garrison, at the double. There has been a change of plans."
"We saw that upon the river this afternoon," Gallus replied callously. "The old bastard and his little fleet floundered out there for about an hour, before heading home. The coward."
"I do not know the reasons, lord. I just carry the orders, like I do for you when you wish orders distributed."
Gallus laughed. "Okay, Sextus, well said." He turned to the centurions and tribunes. "This changes nothing. These orders were issued when the Batavi were far away. By now they could be mere miles away, waiting for us to march away so they could destroy us as easily as Arminius did Varus. I will not let that old fool on his little boat decide for us that fate. That is for us to do. I will have my division, and I will have it now."
The centurions did not hesitate at all, given those words. They stood firmly where they were, or if on the flank, moved to the center to indicate their favor in staying for battle. The tribunes, however, moved to the legate’s left. Their orders were to withdraw, thus they must.
“The will of the legion is clear. We stand fast,” Gallus announced. “This is good ground, and the trees in which we stand shall help break up any cavalry charges. If the Batavians offer battle, we will kill them here.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“There are Romans in the woods ahead, Steinar,” Alfred Longbeard of the third cohort reported in the pre-dawn hours. “Our scouts saw their fires in the night. Over a legion’s worth. Do we attack, or march around?”
“Attacking them in the night will all but guarantee their defeat,” Dieter Straightback admitted. “But we are not marching to kill Romans. We are going home to our families, our friends, our lands. If the Romans try to stop us, we will fight. If they let us go, we go in peace.”
“We depart in peace, or we depart with them in pieces,” Steinar Strongarm affirmed. “It is as simple as that. Let your men get some rest, Alfred. There may be a battle tomorrow, but it will not be we who initiate it.”
“By your command,” Alfred acknowledged. His men would need the rest if there was to be blood shed in the morning, if for no other reason than to ensure most of the blood spilled would not be their own.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Romans woke that morning stiff and cramped from sleeping in their armor. The dew that covered both their armor, weapons, and the ground about them did not help any. Men rose, forcing cramped muscles to move, and roused their comrades. Within minutes, the entire I Legio Germanica was awake and ready for battle.
The sentries and skirmishers, however, were already awake and alert. The pre-dawn shift began when Ursus Major’s position said it was halfway between midnight and dawn. Tired and half-asleep from their rude awakening by the centurion commanding the shift, they were not at their best. Nor did the rising fog help any. The centurions duly posted one man in four further out into the fog, with strict orders to keep their ears open.
With the rising of the sun came the soft sounds of hoofprints in the moist dirt, accompanied by the occasion creak of leather. Not a single man in the I Legion Germanica could misinterpret those sounds- horsemen approaching! The listeners posted out in the fog came hurrying back with the news. Centurions whispered orders and directed their legionaries into position while on the flanks of the legion, Ubian warchiefs did the same to their warriors. All was done as quietly as possible, lest the element of surprise was lost.
Evidently not quietly enough, for the approaching steps ceased.
“Ave, I Legio Germanica!” cried a husky voice in Latin. Two riders could be seen through the dissipating mist. Their forms looked Roman, but none could mistake that gutteral accent. “We come as delegates from the Batavian cohorts. We come to parley!”
Aulus Herrennius Gallus strode forward ten paces. In the fog he could make out two forms, though more could still be hidden in the mists. “I had never thought you to be a traitor, Steinar,” he called back, recognizing the voice. “Yet now you bear arms against Rome.”
“We have no quarrel with you, Aulus Herrennius, nor with the I Germanica, by whose side we have so often fought. Nor with any Roman. We weary of protracted and fruitless service. We have fought for eighteen months straight now, Aulus, and for whom? For Nero, who spit upon us? For Galba, who insulted us? For Otho, who ignored us? Or for Vitellius, who levied yet more of us while refusing to part with the coins he promised us? We long for our homes, Aulus, and rest. And by the gods we shall have it!”
“Come any further north, and you shall find your rest in your graves, Steinar,” Gallus retorted. “For you defy Rome by leaving her standards to fight for her enemies.”
“If we had wanted to slay Romans, we could easily have done so this past evening while your men lay asleep in their armor,” Steinar replied. “But we did not, nor do we fight for men who promise us coins then refuse to pay. He broke the oath, not we! But enough of how we got here, it is enough that you know that if none oppose us, our march home will be peaceful. If opposed, we shall make our way with the sword and lance, but to home we are going.”
Aulus thought hard about what Steinar just said. If Vitellius had indeed reneged on his promise to the barbarians, he stripped himself of honor in their eyes. To them, that is the same as dismissal, making them free men to come and go as they please, no longer soldiers of Rome.
But Aulus was not alone in hearing the Batavian’s words from the mists. Behind him, his men also heard, and began telling others what transpired. A low rumble came from the legion, promising blood and gore.
“You can’t possibly be contemplating letting them go, legate?” a legionary called, grumpy from the fitful sleep his armor granted him. Others echoed the call, enough so that Gallus could judge the mood of the legion. The legion wanted blood, and blood it shall have.
“Batavian!” he shouted, waving a few men forward. “You defy Rome! And we who serve her may not let that pass.”
“As you wish, Gallus,” Steinar shouted. “We are going home. Through you and over you if we must, and you say we must. So be it!”
A few light auxiliaries rushed forward at the legate’s gesture to cut down this pompous barbarian with thrown javelins, but in rushing forward, they found only the mists. Steinar and his comrade had retreated. Aulus ordered the legion to stand ready to repel assault. And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ten hours later, the Batavians began to grow restless as they watched the Romans from the far woodline. Unlike those men who stood with pila ready and heavy shields upon their arms, the Batavians lounged about in the leaves or slept within the copse and had only a few alert and keeping eyes on the Roman legion a mile away.
“How long do we let them stand like that?” Alfred asked, jerking a thumb over toward the I Germanica. His own men were as well-rested as any in the eight cohorts, but they had been sacked out comfortably in the shade all afternoon.
“Maybe they will go home this evening, thinking we rode around them?” ventured a decurion. Steinar shook his head.
“They will not leave,” he said grimly. “Nor can we wait for days. Flaccus may come with a second legion, and that would spell our doom.” He rose, and gestured for his officers to do the same. “No, my comrades, we strike within the hour. See to your horses, your arms, and your men. When the shadows of our trees is almost upon those trees there, then the sun is directly in their eyes. That is when we ride out of the sun. To death, or Glory, or both, but to Batavia we ride!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aulus Herrennius Gallus was content to wait. He had his legion deployed in depth in the tree line, with the each wing reinforced by a cohort of Ubian spearmen. He stretched another cohort out along his front to aid the legionaries in repelling horse. His legionary cohorts were six abreast in ranks five deep, with a second line of four cohorts thirty paces to their rear. The two cohorts of Ubian velites he put in between the lines. If any Batavian was foolish enough to charge this position, the trees would slow them and the spears would stop them so the swords could kill them. It was a perfect set up.
The legionaries did not think so. They had slept poorly in the night, and standing at the ready while the sun melted away the dew and then baked them in their armor- despite the partial shade- did nothing to relieve the tension of coming battle. They wanted a fight, and they wanted it now.
“Legate, how much longer shall we stand here uselessly?” a tribune asked. “The men are restless, and think you a coward. The Batavians are right there, lounging in the shade, while our forces have the sun in our faces and are anxious for battle.”
“We do outnumber them by a fair bit,” another tribune added. “If they will not come to us, let us bring battle to them. They defy Rome, and we defy Rome by allowing it.”
Aulus cursed as the calls for battle rose among the men. Damn Vitellius for doing away with corporal punishment while ingratiating himself with the legions! Now the bastards have lost all sense of discipline, and are actually thinking mob rule works. It does, but only because one man cannot stop a legion. He will die, and then the legion will do what it wants anyway. He had no choice. There was a better chance for all to live if he led them.
“Pass the word,” he said resignedly, “Since the Batavians will not come to use, we go to them. Keep your positions relative to each other, and begin marching forward. Officers- dismount. The Batavi will be less likely to kill you if they cannot find you.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“This is perfect,” whispered Bertrand the Handsome to himself as he watched the I Germanica leave the woodline. “Lars! Inform Steinar that the Romans are coming out into the open.”
The rest of the Second Cohort mounted their horses and formed up on their commander.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Batavians!” Steinar called. “You know the drill. I want cohorts abreast in a single line. Dieter Straightback commands the right, Bertrand the left. I command the center. When we get close, it will be just as with Vindex.”
The cohort commanders smiled in anticipation as they maneuvered their units into the ordered formation. They wondered if Aulus Gallus had ever figured a counter to the Batavaian Crescent, or even if he recognized it happening to him. It will be a grand battle either way, with Batavia or Valhalla at the other end.
“We ride!” shouted Steinar Strongarm, and the eight renegade Batavian cohorts marched out into the sun, for death or glory or both.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dieter moved his own and the flanking two cohort furthers to the right, creating a gap between his three cohorts and the rest of the army. On the left, Bertrand did the same. This left Steinar’s First and Gregor’s Seventh cohorts alone in the center.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gallus smiled as he watched the Batavians deploy. This was why he weighted his wings, he thought cruelly, The Batavian Crescent. His grin turned wolfish. Within a few hours there will be no more renegades in Germania Inferior.
Then his grin soured as he realized the crescent was not directly ahead as he had thought, but coming askew. He ordered his legion to wheel half-right and anchor the wings between the woodline they had just left and the small copse between the armies.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The wheeling of the legion did not go as planned. Too many recruits and bullies, combined with a lack of discipline after Vitellius’s reforms, drained strength from the power of the legion. The cohorts became separated as each tried to obey the order, and in that separation came disorder, lethal to Roman armies ever since Tarquinius Superbus ruled the Eternal City.
The Ubians on the left ended up with one Roman cohort too far ahead of the rest of the army. Dieter needed no prompting and promptly attacked it with two of his cohorts. The Ubians, seeing horsemen barreling down on them, quickly dropped to one knee and grounded their spearbutts, lowering the points to create a hedge against the charging horse. But the Batavians whipped around just out of javelin range and began to retreat.
Joyfully the Ubians rose in order to follow, and were immediately trampled down by the third cohort, which had circled through the dust raised by the retreating units and hit the Ubians in the flank. One second they were victorious Ubians of the Roman army; the next they were broken and fleeing men trampled under unshod hooves.
The legionaries moved in to rescue their Ubian auxiliaries from this treacherous attack. In doing so they opened their own ranks to Dieter's returning cavalry. The impact was titanic, with legionaries cast through the air to land upon the heads and shields of their comrades behind. Within minutes the Roman flank was streaming away, broken beyond any chance of repair with Batavian cavalry chasing them down.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A similar event occurred on Bertrand’s flank. Drawn out and teased by feints, the Ubians there broke formation to pursue what they thought were retreating horse. Within seconds Bertrand’s cohort plowed into their flank, and the other cohorts piled on. Ubians streamed from the field, away from those awful, plunging horsemen and death on horseback.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aulus cursed vividly as he took in the simultaneous destruction of his powerful anti-cavalry wings. There was little he could do or say as the Batavian crescent enveloped his flanks and crushed them in toward the center.
“Shades of Cannae!” he shouted. “Center! Fall back and hold the line. Flanks! Face outward! Where the hell is my second line? Attack now, or we are all doomed!”
The second line of four cohorts that Gallus had wisely deployed were no longer thirty paces to the rear. In the excitement of wheeling to face the incoming Batavian charge, they had moved forward in order to pelt the Germans with pila to support the front line. They found themselves now within the same pocket as the front line, being pressed inward by the caving flanks.
Just like at the famous battle in Italia, the Roman infantry found themselves pressed into a pocket by the attacking foe until there was no more room to adequately swing a sword or stab a foe. Helpless in the crush, Romans died choking on dust, crushed against their comrades, and were stabbed and pounded by men with the room to use their weapons.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aulus Herrennius Gallus managed to escape the death of his men, but barely. He led his bodyguards on a breakout to the rear once he realized the battle was lost. Damned Vitellian legionaries, he thought, if only they had kept their initial position! As he cursed and fought, Fate allowed him to see a gap between two of the Batavian cohorts. That was all he needed. Silently and masked with dust, he and forty men broke for that gap and made it past the victorious Batavians and into the woods with nobody the wiser.
As his bodyguards continued on, he turned to see if any others had made it out of that awful cauldron. He saw only plunging cavalry, seven cohorts surrounding his men with the eighth preparing for a charge. When that one charged in, another fell back to prepare its charge.
Aulus had seen enough. The Batavians were victorious, their tactics and discipline superior. He shook his bloody head and followed his fleeing bodyguards down the long road back to Bonna.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“We lost less than one in eight, Steinar,” Dieter reported once the sun had set. “Including Bertrand. Less than two hundred of the enemy escaped, judging by the tracks. Most of them were the Ubians we broke in the opening minutes. The I Legion Germanica is no more. A wonderful victory!”
Steinar scowled. “They were hurt badly, but not destroyed. Only seven of the twelve cohorts we fought this day were Roman. That means at least three cohorts cower behind the walls of Bonna. Given Roman procedures, they will be reinforced and refilled with units from other legions. Within a season there will be a full-strength legion where today only a handful soldiers breathe, while our dead will not be replaced until we set foot on Batavian soil.”
Dieter nodded. The somberness of Steinar in this moment of victory was contagious. “Let us hope this battle was the last until then.”
Steinar could not agree more. The futility of the Roman deaths was not lost on either man. Had the Romans stood aside and let them pass, they would still be alive. He had lost more than Bertrand and a few cavalrymen this day, he had lost a legion of former comrades, men at whose side he had fought for many years.
This was not a victory worth celebrating.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The remaining miles to Batavodurum were peaceful. Steinar wisely skirted the home of the XVI Gallica at Novaesium, and the Ubians in Gelduba were wise enough to keep their warriors within their walls. And at Castra Vetera, no Roman had any intention of leaving those stone walls to venture out against Batavian cavalry, but Steinar gave them a wide berth anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Hail, Steinar Strongarm!” called Gaius Julius Civilis to his kinsman. He moved away from the Marsi chieftains and out towards the approaching cohorts. “Welcome home.”
Steinar looked about with narrowed grey eyes. As he neared the civitas of his homeland, he had heard of the Roman attack, its repulsion, and the great feast given afterward. He expected to find piles of armor, heaps of swords, and mountains of dead men waiting to be burned. He expected to see burned scarring on the walls of the civitas, with mourning women wandering about searching the dead for their loved ones, and weary men scurrying about repairing damage or gathering wreckage for the pyres. He expected devastation and death.
He did not expect to find Frisians, Bructeri, Marsi, and Tencteri warriors mingling sociably with Batavians with horns of ale in their hands, nor the civitas as pristine as it was when he left it nine years ago. And he most certainly did not expect to find his kinsman proclaimed King. He had marched home from Lugdunum, abandoning Rome and Vitellius to whom he was sworn, because he thought he and his men were needed to protect or avenge his people. Did Civilis need more men? No, he had every tribe in the area serving him and more from the far side of the Rhein. Did Batavia need protecting? No. Did it need avenging? From what?
“Your messenger said the Romans were attacking, and that there would be at least four legions in their army,” Steinar said sharply, taking in the relaxed atmosphere of the civitas. “He said we were needed home to defend our lands, yet we see no need for us here. Where we expected war, we find festivity.”
Civilis smiled, his missing eye and scarred cheek giving him an evil cast. Then he chuckled. “When I had asked Oscar to find you, there were six legions here set to pounce upon us. You were needed, and desperately. But who had thought the Cananefate would destroy four of them in open battle, or help us send the dogs of two more from Castra Vetera running home with their tails between their legs? Much has happened since Oscar departed, Steinar my kinsman, and by the gods, it has all been good.”
“The I Legion Germanica will not be troubling you any time soon,” Steinar added. “They tried to block us south of Bonna. Very few of them made it back to their stone house. But Flaccus has been sending dispatches and requests for troops to anyone and everyone. Many of these messengers passed us, and being riders of our blood, they told us much.”
“Bah, that old fool can ask for thousands of men. It does not matter, for he shall receive none. There is war in Rome; the Empire is in turmoil. Nero is dead by his own hand. Galba is dead by the hand of Otho. Otho died by his own hand as well. Vitellius was maintaining his power by force of arms, and now Vespasian seeks the Eagle Throne. He has much support, that old friend of mine, but so does Vitellius. An immense clash is on the way, Steinar, and nobody anywhere will spare a man for Flaccus when that same man could fight for Vitellius or Vespasian.”
“And when the war in Rome ends, kinsman?” Steinar enquired. “Wars always end, one way or the other. The Romans will never let the defeat of six legions go unpunished. Do you not remember what they did to the Iceni in Britannia? They will come here and do far worse to us.”
“They murdered my brother, Steinar, and your cousin,” Civilis retorted. “They tortured him first, and you know how cruel Roman torturers can be. Vitellius sent his tax-collectors amongst us to levy another eight cohorts. Those men fight now for Batavia, but what will we become if they had gone to Rome? And another eight cohorts after that? We will have none left to protect ourselves, or to father the next generation. They would have levied us out of existence. No, kinsman, we fight now for our survival- they forced us to it.”
Steinar thought over the levies and the effect his own levy had had upon the tribe. Two thousand had left for Rome that summer, and the civitas had been damned near depleted. Another two thousand left when the snows came. A few years later another four thousand were called to the levy. If Vitellius had called two levies within a year, and called for two more the following year, there would be no more Batavians to fill the levy. Their tribe would cease to exist except as soldiers for a foreign power. Civilis was right, damn it all, Vitellius was levying them out of existence.
Civilis saw the anger evaporate from his kinsman’s face and smiled. Now the man was open to reason, and Civilis was nothing if not reasonable.
“What you say is true, Steinar,” he admitted. “The Romans will never let a defeat of this magnitude go unpunished. That is why we are forced to seek allies- Batavia has not enough men to counter the Empire. But with the Frisians- our kinsman Claudius Labeo is among them now drumming up support- and the Chauci and the other tribes uniting while Rome disunites, we have a chance at victory. The Bructeri seeress Veleda has already foreseen our victory. We must now simply realize it.”
The name of the witch sent a shudder through Steinar’s soul. “You will need Gallic as well as German support to win,” he said, shaking off the shudder. “If for no other reason than to push the Empire that much further from Batavia.”
“The Gauls have no reason to love us,” Civilis pointed out. “Not after you crushed Vindex and his Gallic uprising last summer.”
“Last summer Mad Nero was running the Empire into the ground,” Steinar countered. “This year three emperors have done the same and a fourth is on the way. The Gauls may not love us, but they hate the Romans. They will join, if you can find a way to make up for our battles last year.”
“We have several thousand auxiliary prisoners,” Civilis remembered. “Niall of the Cananefate destroyed their warhost at Arenacum a few days ago. Most of them are Gauls, I believe.”
“Then let them return home with their weapons and honor intact,” Steinar advised. “We slaughtered their men who served Rome last summer; this summer we free their men from serving Rome. Letting them return to Gaul unhindered would go a long way to winning other Gallic hearts.”
The idea struck Civilis cross-wise, as he was thinking of enlisting them in his own armies, or using them as slaves as was only proper to allow more Batavian men to fight. But Steinar was always wise in these matters, and this was no exception. And Veleda had foreseen Gaul breaking away from Rome. Was this a step along that path?
“I will release those officers of Gallic origin to return to their homes,” he allowed. “With their arms and armor. The rank and file shall be allowed to either return home with no weapons, or to serve honorably in our warhost- their choice.”
Steinar nodded. That was fair. Fairer than he had thought his cousin capable of being. He looked to the south, down the miles and miles he had traveled in this last week, and towards the miles he had left to travel before this road of war led to peace. It would not be easy, but with Roman arms killing Roman men, it might be possible to throw off the yoke of Roman overlordship and become free men once again.
It was possible.
But not likely.
To be continued....
Other chapters in this series:
1-
2-
3-
4-
5-
6-
7-
8-
9-
10-
11-
12-
|||||||||||||||| A transplanted Viking, born a millennium too late. |||||||||||||||||
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Somewhere over the EXCO Rainbow
Master Skald, Order of the Silver Quill, Guild of the Skalds
Champion of the Sepia Joust- Joust I, II, IV, VI, VII, VIII
[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 11-01-2008 @ 08:30 AM).]