The Long Road to Castra Vetera

By Terikel Grayhair



Late September was a beautiful time of year, thought Gnaeus Numisius Rufus as he gazed across the Rhein. The leaves were changing from verdant life to the fiery colors of dying- callow yellow, blood red, then rotten brown- colors his men may assume if the rebellious Batavians have their way. What a morbid thought. He moved his gaze from Nature’s beauty back to its ugliness- the massed ranks of fur and hide-covered Germans coating the far bank of the river like a plague.

“The Batavian cavalry is exercising again,” said a voice behind him. He turned, and greeted the senior legionary legate in the castrum, Quintus Munius Lupercus, the man responsible for his promotion to legate of the XVth legion by virtue of having the preceding XV commander ambushed by Batavians near Batavodurum a few weeks ago.

Numisius turned away from the Rhein and back onto the open fields on his side of the river. Lupercus was correct. As he usually was. The eight cohorts of veteran Batavian cavalry- a month ago loyal Roman Auxiliaries!- were out in front of the Batavian army performing their battle drills for the pleasure of the masses of German warriors on this side of the Rhein.

“It’s a good thing we had the men clear those fields,” he commented, pointing to where the cavalry was racing. “Had we not, then we would not be able to watch the Batavians ready themselves to kill us.”

“Don’t be so cynical, Numisius,” Lupercus chided. “Had we not had the men clear those fields and the cottages nearby, those flea-bitten savages could have snuck right up to and then over our walls at night and killed us all. Instead, they impotently play at scaring us with their numbers. Relax, my friend, we are safe for the time being, until help comes.”

“I see the heads of our riders adorning those horsetail standards,” Numisius said as he pointed to a group of standards and eagles marking the Batavian commander’s position. “And our supply boat came back with a German crew. Now the river is covered in German boats. I don’t see help coming any time soon. We should have spent more time foraging instead of clearing. We are quite low on supplies.”

“Caesar’s men ate bricks made of tubers, by Mars!” Lupercus sneered. “And they did that out of love for Caesar. Our men will do the same- by necessity- for love of life it comes to that.” He turned away from the Germanic warhost and sullenly surveyed his castrum from the tower. It was a solidly-built fortress, splendidly constructed in the times of Augustus, with stone walls and solid towers spaced regularly, precisely along the walls and on each corner.

“It was a nice reply our centurions gave that bastard when he asked us to swear to Vespasian, though,” Numisius mused. “ ‘We do not follow the advice of traitors or enemies. Vitellius is our emperor, to him we have given our fealty and swords to the last breath. Then let not a Batavian refugee affect to decide the destinies of true Romans, let him instead rather await the merited penalty for his guilt’....Ha ha, good one, Lucius Nobilus! You don’t really suppose Civilis had his army swear to Vespasian like he said, do you?”

“After that debacle with Vindex and Galba,” Lupercus said, “It would be a wise move on his part.”

Vindex had led a Gallic revolt against Nero, in order to support the march of Galba from Spain on Rome. The army of Germania Inferior, the closest Roman forces to Vindex, knew only that he was in revolt and crushed him like loyal sons of Rome. Nero took his own life as Galba approached, sealing the victory of Galba over Nero. Then Galba took the purple, and turned out to be a far worse emperor than his deranged predecessor. He dismissed the Batavian Guard- causing this rebellion- and treated the Army of the Rhein as traitors for crushing Vindex. Should Vespasian win the coming battle and the Army of the Rhein crushed one of the new Emperor’s allies, it would be Galba all over again. Yes, it was a very shrewd move of Gaius Julius Civilis to swear his Batavian alliance to the cause of Vespasian.

Abruptly the Batavian battle drills turned into a full assault. Just like that, with no warning. One minute the warriors were crowding in to get a closer look at the cavalry formations, the next they were assaulting the walls with ladders they had concealed in their masses.

"To the walls!" Lupercus bellowed suddenly and loudly. "Get up here now, you bastards, or its all of our asses!"

Below, men sprang from their tents and duties and scurried for the walls. The first of them were reaching the ramparts just as the ladders thudded against the ramparts. Eager German hands hauled blood-thirsty German warriors higher, and the few Romans already on guard tried valiantly to shove the ladders away. Not a few Romans were caught by those German hands and hauled bodily from the wall to be thrown to death below, but more were coming, and snatching up forked poles as they came.



The Germans had a foothold, and as more warriors pressed in, that foothold began to expand. Rufus drew his gladius and summoned a group of legionaries to follow him, but Lupercus grabbed his cloak and yanked him back into the tower.

"Your job is to direct those guys to kill, moron!" he hissed viciously. "They kill; you direct the killing." He turned back to the confused legionaries and shouted "Move it, legionaries! Go kill those bastards!"

The legionaries, receiving an order they could understand, charged the German foothold. Other followed. The ladder heads became the scene of gruesome carnage as the legionaries piled on, fighting side by side with their tiny gladii striking here and there, a German dropping gutted with each strike.

"Runner! Get those lazy Syrians off of the back wall and form them up in the parade ground," Lupercus ordered. "Have them pour arrows onto the Germans from there. Aim for the bastards on the wall first, of course. Move!" He turned to Numisius with a smile. "See? That is how a legate kills. With words, not deeds."



Numisius nodded. It was a wise way. Not a particularly brave way, but wise. He looked about and saw a unit of auxiliary javelineers hanging around with nothing at which to throw their slender projectiles. Seeing a patch of Germans appear on a section of wall to the rear of the defending cohort, he ordered them to engage the Germans. The javelineers reacted to the order at once, and the shower of javelins swept the Germans from the wall, as well as gathering the attention of the centurion- who promptly ordered a decury to peel off and push the ladders off the wall. The forked poles grabbed the top rungs and pushed the ladder from the wall, toppling it onto the teeming Germans below and killing not a few of them. The javelineers mounted the wall, and began pelting those below with their deadly shafts.

"Runner!" he called, satisfied. "Have those archers over there provide arcing fire over the walls. No aim necessary- the Germans are so thick they cannot miss! Have another cohort mount the walls there, giving flanking fire onto the German below. Move!"

The runner dashed off, and within minutes arrows began arcing over the walls to fall into the Germans below. Another few minutes and a second cohort of archers was climbing up to pour deadly shafts into the mass below.

****************************************
"We are dying uselessly here, Hundalf!" cried a Bructeri chieftain as men fell about him. Those walls, those blasted high walls, were proving more difficult than anticipated. Death from above was raining down upon them, and they were dying like poisoned flies here below. "We must cease and retreat!"

Hundalf would have answered, had not an arrow sprouted from his left eye. As he toppled, the Bructeri knew the lives of his men were upon him now, and would serve no purpose casting them away here. The walls were lost; those Germans who had reached them were dead. The only thing staying here would do was ensure their deaths.

"Fall back!" he ordered. "The Valkyries do not pick up fools or idiots, and only a fool would remain here. Fall back, by Thor!"

Around him, others came to the same realization. Germans began peeling off, first a trickle, then a flood. Soon the surviving warriors, who had crossed the fields of death through a hail of arrows twice, were safely out of range. They left huge heaps of dead warriors behind, but had their lives and a burning desire to avenge their cousins and brethren.

Though each and every one of them knew that that day of vengeance would not be today. They had lost too many men for that.


****************************************

“That was fun,” Lupercus commented as his centurions restored order and the men performed their after-action clean-up drills. “That is the first defeat that bastard has experienced in this war. I hope he chokes on it!”

Numisius was by far more relieved at the end of the siege than his senior colleague. “Arrius made it.”

Lupercus whipped around sharply. “What?”

Numisius chuckled. “When they attacked, Civilis came closer, and brought his trophies with him. I recognized the heads of our riders decorating them- the head of Publius Arrius was not among them. That means the word got out. Flaccus will rescue us.”

Lupercus snarled, “Don’t count on it. Hordeonis Flaccus is a long way from here, with two legions in worse shape than ours. The I Germanica in Bonna is shattered, and the Batavians and their allies control the land for dozens of leagues around us. If Flaccus comes, he will have to fight his way here every step of the way.”

“Killjoy,” Numisius whispered as he began climbing down from the wall. He had better things to do than listen to piss-prattle. He had a legion to reorganize and lead.

****************************************

“Do you see now the wisdom in learning the Roman art of war before attacking?” Gaius Julius Civilis- Seval in the Germanic mouths- said to the defeated chieftains gathered around him. “They fought well, and as one. We did not. Thus they won. That is what I want for us to be able to do. Therefore we drill, so as not to lose brave men unnecessarily.”

Around him the chieftains nodded. They had prodded Seval with innuendoes of cowardice and other slights before the battle, while extolling the virtues of their brave warriors. Seval knew it was not bravery that won battles, but discipline. He had let them use their bravery against Roman discipline and shoved the lesson down their throats. The survivors were even now still collecting the dead.

They would listen, now.

“Good,” Seval said. “Now we starve them out like I said to do in the first place. And whilst we wait for them to eat up their grain, we train like I ordered. I don’t want mountains of German dead the next time we face them. I want mountains of Roman dead. Discipline and training is how we achieve that, therefore we train. Got it?”

The chieftains nodded again. Seval had proven his ways were strong, the chieftains had proven their ways led only to the deaths of many, and the seeress Veleda still had visions of Germanic victory. It was enough for them. They would obey.

****************************************



Publius Arrius had a sore butt and not a few wounds that were still bleeding after two weeks in the saddle. He had killed two horses in getting to Moguntiacum, but both times luck was with him and the beasts died in sight of the next Roman station. The short runs from the dead horse to the stations actually helped him by restoring circulation to his legs, though as a cavalryman born and bred, using two legs instead of four was as unnatural as eating soup with a fork.

The Batavian and German cavalry that had chased him to the death of his first horse didn’t help any. He managed to outrun most of them, and thanks to the Numidians with whom he had served three years, his javelins took out a few more. And the trusty spatha, a cavalryman’s sword like the gladius but longer, took care of the last two. He winced as he lifted the dispatch bag he carried. The wounds on his arm from that battle tore open again, bringing pain and memories back. He hoped he was on time.

“Who goes there?” called the gate guard.

Arrius cursed. “Publius Arrius, decurion of the Vth Alaudae Cavalry Auxilia. Open the bloody gates!”

“It is the middle of the night, decurion,” the sentry replied. “And the Germans are not exactly friendly these days. We are not allowed to open the gates until sun up.”

“Exactly the reason you should let me in, moron,” Arrius cursed. “I have vital news for the commander. If I get killed out here waiting for sunrise, he’ll never know and you will have to explain to him yourself how you personally lost the entire province of Germania Inferior to the Germans!”

“I’ll get my centurion,” the sentry replied after a long, awkward silence.

Arrius breathed a sigh of relief. He’ll have to go through the entire ordeal again with the centurion, but centurions tend to be hoary veterans who know when to break the rules and when not to. This was definitely a time to break rules. Two legions, and therefore the province, depended on it.

The centurion was no fool, and cracked the gates open enough to admit the tired and bleeding messenger. More, he escorted him to the quarters of Marcus Hordeonis Flaccus, and had the attending slave wake the governor. Then he lounged against the wall to see if he was to be released to return to the guardhouse or if his career was over. It all depended on the news the decurion claimed to be carrying.

Marcus Flaccus hobbled into the atrium where the men were waiting. He was clad in his night robes, with his fading hair pulled forward over the bald patch in the middle. His gout was acting up again, putting him in a bad mood and causing the hobble. But he was once consul, and now by grace of Galba the governor of Germania Inferior, so he had to put up with interruptions of his sleep if it was warranted. Only a catastrophe of epic proportions could warrant being so rudely awakened at such an ungodly hour. It was time to find out if it was so. “Report, decurion,” he ordered.

“The Vth Alaudae and the XV Primigenia attacked Batavodurum as you ordered, lord,” Arrius reported. “We were trounced, and badly. Lupercus sacrificed the Ubian auxilia to buy time for his legionaries to retreat. Had it not been for that, Castra Vetera would now be in the hands of the Batavians. As it is, five thousand of us are now besieged within a castrum built to hold twelve thousand. Ten of our best cavalrymen, me included, were sent to you with word of our predicament. Only I made it through.”

Flaccus sat forward abruptly. “Five thousand remain? And are now besieged at Vetera?”

“Aye, lord,” Arrius replied. “We lost seven thousand, including most of the XVth. Civilis suckered us and did it well. He chopped the XVth apart and would have done the same to the Alaudae had not Lupercus ordered the Ubians forward and we Romans back. It was a long footrace, but we won. Now we are besieged, and unless I am wrong, the eight cohorts of Batavian auxilia cavalry I passed on the road here have joined the siege- on their side, not ours.”

Flaccus turned to the centurion, who was no longer lounging against the wall. The news had hit him as well- he had many friends among the Vth and XVth.

“Centurion, rouse Caius Dillius Vocula, the two tribuni laticlavii, and the primi pili at once and bring them here. Then wake the prefects of the legions and have them make ready the baggage trains and whatever naval vessels we have. I want to leave at first light, full field gear and rations for twenty days.”

The centurion saluted with his fist over his heart and left quickly. There would be blood to pay, and if his twenty years of service had anything to say about it, it would be German blood. And that of the fat old fool who let things get so out of hand that good Roman legionaries died on Batavian lances while the governor sat on his ass.

****************************************

“Damn them!” cursed Caius Dillius Vocula, commander of the XXII legion. “They besiege our men in Vetera, knowing we can do nothing about it.”

Flaccus sat forward in his chair. “We can do something about it. We march to Vetera and relieve them.”

Vocula shook his weary head. “We refused to deploy to stop eight cohorts of Batavian auxiliaries because our legions are not fit to fight. Yet now, a fortnight later, you are thinking to order us to march two legions all the way to Vetera and battle them there plus a much bigger Batavian army?”

“When the auxilia passed us here, we had a choice- fight or let them go,” Flaccus reminded them. “All here agreed we were not capable of stopping them without massive losses among our own. This time, we have no choice. We must relieve Vetera, and as soon as possible. We cannot afford to lose those legions whom are counting on us, nor can we let the Batavians get any stronger- which they are doing every time they defeat our forces. German tribes are flocking to Civilis. It must stop, now!”

“I agree,” Vocula replied. “We must do something. But the sacrifice of two untrained and undisciplined legions to save the remnants of two others does not make military sense.”

“No, it does not,” Flaccus agreed. “So we train and instill discipline on the march. We must relieve Vetera. If we do not, and sit here doing nothing, we will lose all of Germania to the Germans and break the faith the legions have in their commanders, causing the loss of the entire empire. It is an unwritten rule, dear Caius, that soldiers do leave their fellows stranded.”

“There are rumors that you let Vorenus and his legions in Traiectum die,” answered the primus pilus of the XXII. “They say you are a partisan of Vespasian, and have allowed this Batavian revolt here to grow to tie up Vitellian troops needed in Italia. They say you let the Batavian cavalry ride past in order to guarantee the success of the revolt.”

“That is a crock of feces and you know it, Spurius Pollo,” Flaccus retorted harshly. “When we first heard the rumblings of revolt among them, Vitellius and I allowed Titus Vorenus to raise two legions of private auxilia. And further, I sent Marcus Aquillius and three cohorts of the VIII Augusta to Traiectum to bolster Vorenus. The intent was to let the revolt simmer and when it erupted, we catch the Batavians between the two legions of Vetera and the four legions of Vorenus and crush them like dung beetles under our caligulae. But Vorenus screwed that up by trying to enslave the Cananefate for personal gain and got himself, his legions, and Aquillius killed by piss-poor farmers and fishermen, leaving Batavia in revolt and Lupercus with no support. We let the Batavian cohorts pass because we were in no condition to stop them.”

He steadied a rare hard glare upon the senior centurion. “And as to whose partisan I am, I would remind you that Galba ordered Aulus Vitellius and me here to replace your beloved Lucius Verginius Rufus, whom he felt was too loyal to Mad Nero. Aulus Vitellius left me the supreme command of this province when he went to Rome after Galba’s murder. I owe more to him than to Vespasian, but my loyalties belong only to Rome and always have. Vitellius is master of Rome, thus I serve him. As do you.”

“You had a good idea about training on the way north,” Vocula said, returning to the problem at hand. “It will take at least a month to get there, and we can instill discipline on the march. In the evening after our camps are built, we train swordsmanship. And when we get closer to Vetera, we ravage those tribes and villages who are supporting Civilis, to show them the errors of their ways.”

Pollo turned away at the hard glare. Damn it, the fat old bastard was right. Again. And so was Legatus Vocula. Now was the time to save Roman lives, not bicker over who supports who in the upcoming struggle for Rome.

The officers left the praetorium to find a gathered mass of centurions and legionaries outside, torches in hand. From the size and armor of the crowd, there must be every centurion from both legions and a good many of the troops as well. And they were very angry.

“What is this?!” demanded Flaccus when he saw the assembled crowd. “Why are you not making ready to depart?”

“We want you to explain this,” said a centurion from the IV Macedonica. He came forward with a scroll in his hand. “It is from Vespasian, addressed to his dear friend, and thanks him- you- for helping him by tying down Vitellian reinforcements here so they cannot be used against him.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Flaccus retorted indignantly. “I have had no communcations at all with Titus Flavius Vespasianus since he left for Judea several years ago.”

“We think otherwise, generalis,” another centurion said, coming forward. “We think you let those barbarians escape our wrath so that they could make the barbarian revolt in the north that much stronger, and force Vitellius to send precious troops here, and not us there.”

“I let the barbarians pass because we were in no shape to take them on,” Flaccus replied. “And told the same to Herrennius Gallus in Bonna. He decided to fight anyway, and was heavily defeated while inflicting no harm on the Batavians. That could have been you out there dead, instead of in here bordering on mutiny.”

“Nice excuse,” said the first centurion, shaking the scroll. “We know it was cowardice on your part which left Gallus and the Ist on their own. And now we have proof you are involved with Vespasianus.”

“Let me see that,” Flaccus demanded, reaching for the scroll. The centurion pulled away, but Vocula stepped forward and grasped both the man and the scroll in his massive hands. Flaccus snatched the scroll and opened it while his slave brought forth a torch.

It was indeed written by Vespasian, and addressed to his ‘dear friend.’ No names were mentioned, but he did thank the recipient for creating such a wonderful reason for tying up forces that could otherwise hinder his march on Italia.

“Who had this, and from where did he get it?” demanded Flaccus.

“So you do not deny the truth in the letter, eh, fat-ass?” called a trooper from the mob.

“Lictors, ten lashes for that man,” Flaccus ordered. “Assemble the troops. I will address them at first light and discuss this matter with them. Now move, men! I want the legions ready to hear my address and then move by sun up!”

The men grumbled, but as soldiers, they returned to their bunks and readied themselves for battle, be it versus Batavian or Flaccus.

****************************************

“Oh Jupiter,” Vocula swore as he read the note in the privacy of Flaccus’s chambers. “No wonder the men are so upset.”

“Jupiter has nothing to do with this,” Flaccus cursed. “Vespasian is doing it. True, I think my old colleague would make a better emperor than Aulus Vitellius. And it is also true that some of the officers who feel the same may have encouraged Civilis to stage an uprising. I knew about it, of course, but thought it was merely idle prattle. But when the centurions began hauling in old men to the levy in order to allow the new soldiers to buy back their freedom for a steep price- or called in underage Batavian boys to the muster in order to satisfy their sexual lusts- I knew they had gone too far. I ordered it stopped. But it was already too late. Pile that onto the events in Rome- Galba dismissing the Batavian Guard, Verginius arresting two Batavian princes and sending them to Mad Nero who executed one of them- and then Vitellius takes half the army. I tried to stop it, Caius, and when I knew it could not be stopped, I did what I could to crush them. Vorenus had four legions, by the gods! A consular army, off the books. Lupercus had two legions and enough Gallic and Ubian auxilia to field another two. Eight legions, plus Treveri cavalry. That should have been more than enough to crush the Batavi, no matter how many of them flock to the standards of Civilis. Yet they failed, and died, and now we are in the feces and Vespasian is egging them on!”

“So this letter really is not addressed to you?” Vocula asked directly.

“I think it is to Civilis, personally,” Flaccus assured him. “I have done nothing to instigate this revolt, and much to prevent or crush it. Mars, man! It does not serve either Rome, Vitellius, or Vespasian to lose the entire province and our only solid, defensible border against the Germans! It does serve Vespasian to stir up trouble in Vitellius’s garden, but I don’t think either one of them realizes what dangerous waters we are in.”

"And if you tell the troops what you have told me now, they will hear only what they want and disregard the rest," Vocula summarized. "They will hear that you prefer Vespasian, and knew of the rebellion. They will not hear what you have done to prevent it, or crush it, or anything else.

"I know," Flaccus said with a biting curse. "Yet I cannot lie to them, either. I really do not know how to salvage this mess without resorting to Crassian or Labienian methods."

"I agree, lord," Vocula said, rising. "Decimating the legions when we need every trained man we can get, or torturing a few to get the others in line would not work. I will go and see to my legion. I wish you success. The sun rises in two hours."

"I know, I know," Flaccus moaned as he went over the scroll again.

****************************************

"Sons of Rome," Flaccus called as the sun made a blood-red crescent on the horizon, "I beseech you to listen to reason. All of our outposts and auxilia west of Vetera have been destroyed or driven out, and Vetera itself held by the ravaged remnants of the Vth Alaudae and the XVth Primigenia. It is our duty to rescue our fellow Romans, and to keep this province Roman, for the good of Rome.

"To this end, I am commanding the XXII Legion north to relieve the besieged Romans at Vetera. Caius Dillius Vocula shall lead the XXIInd north to Bonna, where the remnants of the I Germanica will join him. I say remnants for I ordered Herrenius Gallus to withdraw before the Batavian cohorts as he was- like we were- in no shape to stop them should it come to swords. He refused to obey, and got soundly trounced.

"From Bonna, the new army will continue under Vocula to Novaesium and join forces with the XVIth Gallica. That army, three legions strong and supported by whatever trustworthy auxilia we can drum up, will relieve our besieged comrades at Vetera.

"I myself will travel to Bonna to personally reprimand Herrenius Gallus for disregarding orders and uselessly causing the destruction of his legion. I leave Decius Paullus here in Moguntiacum with the following orders: take command of the IV Macedonica and guard this post with your lives. I have reported our situation to Rome and asked for help and troops. I have also sent letters to every governor in Gaul asking for more troops. When that help comes, it will need a base. Moguntiacum is that base. Thus for Rome, for the Empire, and for your fellow warriors, hold this post at all costs!"

Flaccus turned to pick up the scroll that started this wretched mess. He opened it and handed it to a signifer legendary for his powerful voice.

"I have been brought this scroll by an assembly of officers and men this very evening. The signifer shall now read it out to all, and I will explain its meaning. Signifer, commence!"

"My dear friend," the signifer bellowed. "Your efforts on my behalf are well-received. I know you have sacrificed much, but the aid you are giving me is not in vain. I promise you, my friend, you shall be richly rewarded. It is signed T. Flavius Vespasianus"

The last part was drowned in an uproar of angry shouts from the assembled legions. It took the buglers blaring and centurions clubbing down soldiers with their staves to restore order. Though Flaccus was thoroughly disliked by those who served under the beloved Lucius Verginius Rufus whom he replaced, he was once consul of Rome and this was still a Roman army.

"I do not know how this letter came into this camp," he acknowledged honestly. "But I do know that it is not addressed to me. I have sacrificed nothing, and given no aid to anyone but our own legates and legions. I think it refers to Civilis, the Batavian leader. He has sacrificed his claims to Roman friendship, and had made much effort to disrupt the very heartland of Vitellian support. He may be richly rewarded as referred to, but I am fifty-five and have already served as consul. What rich reward is left for me? Command of an army? I have it already! Provincial governor? I am already one! Consul of Rome? Been there, done that. Denarii? I am a senator- denarii flows like the Rhein from my lands in Italia. I gain nothing, and there is nothing for me with which to be rewarded. But Civilis... Civilis sacrifices much, and he has much to gain. He can be rewarded with wealth he does not have, and treaties to replace those he broke, and his kingship recognized in Rome as legitimate.

"Thus I dismiss this letter as an attempt to undermine Roman rule in this province and in this army," Flaccus concluded. "I am in a lenient mood as your anger and indignation at this letter was righteously Roman- had that letter been addressed to me. But it was not. Thus the man who brought it into this camp is already in irons for incitement to mutiny, and will be transferred from the XXII to the IV Macedonica. He is not to remain here, but rather shall be sent to Aulus Vitellius himself in Rome to explain how he came into possession of this scroll. The rest of you shall perform your duties as the loyal Roman legionaries you are."

With that, Marcus Hordeonis Flaccus descended the podium and departed, leaving his legates to carry out the orders he gave. As he walked toward the praetorium, he could not cast the ominous idea out of his head that it was going to be a long, long march to Castra Vetera.



Bonna lay a good five day march away, if one had good roads, fair weather, and disciplined troops. The autumn rains that soured the air were light and not heavy, and the troops- thanks to Vitellius- lacked discipline, and the roads were beaten dirt tracks which soon turned to mud. Everyone from Vocula on down was wet, cold, and miserable by the time night fell. The pioneers frantically fought the mud to erect the camp, into which the legion settled for the night. But Vocula had no intention on letting the wet and tired men rest- it was time for drilling and swords work. The pioneers moaned as they dug even more pits into which they placed posts, and the men groaned as they hacked and hacked into those posts with weighted arms and dulled swords. Then it was sharpening the swords and readying for the next day’s march.

The cycle repeated itself for every night for three nights. On the fourth, fifth, and sixth nights the post-drills were replaced with fencing and sparring, to the relief of the pioneers who were exhausted from fighting the soft mud. Caius Vocula and his officers shared in these drills, to the detriment of those they faced and the delight of those who witnessed the bouts. Finally, during the course of the seventh day, the welcome and lovely walls of Bonna hove into view.

The only good thing about the rains was that it would swell the Rhein to something approaching normal levels again, once the water made it down the hills and slopes of the watershed into the rivers, but that could take weeks. Thus Marcus Flaccus found travel upon the river quite slow and was often stuck, and in leaving three days after Vocula- once he squared away the defense of Moguntiacum for Paullus, arranged for rations to be sent north, and gathered up what new recruits and troops there were to be had- he managed to arrive by boat almost simultaneous with the XXII Legion.

The state of affairs in Bonna shocked all of them. The castra itself was untouched by war, but the emptiness of the post was emphasized by the piles of armor and weapons the legion's survivors had gathered after the Batavian cohorts had passed. Where ten thousand soldiers of Rome had dwelled, walked a mere four thousand- and many of those were Ubian auxiliaries who had recently arrived from Colonia Aggripensis. And those four thousand were very angry with the man they blamed for this situation.

The men of the XXII felt keenly the loss of so many of their comrades from the I Germanica. This was the legion that would march north to battle at their side, a legion that was now a third of its normal strength. As they heard what befell the legionaries from the survivors, their old hatred and anger at Flaccus rose again and trebled. Flaccus had abandoned the legion in the open! It was as simple as that. That allowed them to be crushed and trampled by the Batavian cavalry.

As the story spread, more and more legionaries became first angry, then enraged. Flaccus had abandoned the legion in the open! He had ordered them out to where they could be slaughtered, setting them up nicely for the Batavians to mow down. If this was not proof that Flaccus was in cahoots with the Batavi, nothing was!

The rage gathered intensity and spread, culminating in a rush of angry men on the praetorium where Flaccus was making his headquarters. But Caius Vocula was no fool, nor was Flaccus. Both had noticed the mood of the camp and taken measures to counter any foolishness. As the angry legionaries rushed to the praetorium, they were met by two cohorts of fresh recruits in full armor with training swords in their hands. The third cohort Flaccus had brought with him, likewise armed, ran from the sidestreets to form a barrier in the rear of the mob. And lining the rooftops about the praetorium, Gallic archers appeared with bows at the ready.

The sight of armed men facing them slowed the angry legionaries, who were unarmed for the most part. They slowed more, then stopped, unsure of the situation. Then Marcus Flaccus came out onto the baclony of the praetorium with legate Herrennius Gallus at his side and ordered silence. Faced by armed men, the weaponless legionaries felt a rush of anger that was quickly quenched when the training sword armed recruits began clubbing down those who refused to obey the commands. The din ebbed and died, and Flaccus called forth again the signifer with the legendary lung power.

Flaccus had not said a word since he ordered the silence. And even now, with the men properly cowed and quiet, he refused to speak. He merely handed scroll after scroll to the signifer, who read them aloud to the assembled men. The first fifty or so were requests, all dating from the last six months and several signed by Vitellius himself, addressed to every governor and commander within five hundred miles to please send any available troops and supplies to Moguntiacum. The next thirty were also requests for auxiliary troops and supplies, all to tribal leaders within two hundred miles with the blatant exception of the Batavians and the tribes neighboring them. And the last one was the dispatch the tenor Sextus carried to Herrennius Gallus that night in the woods, ordering the I Germanica to return to base and do not, repeat NOT, engage the Batavians.

During it all, the legionaries were quiet. The occasional loudmouth or wise-ass was immediately pummeled down by the armed cohorts if he was nearby, or by his own fellows who stared up at those impressively accurate-looking archers. And at least twice, the archers fired into the crowd to silence some fool, who immediately dropped to the ground while the iron ball-headed arrow rebounded from his skull into the air before falling beside the fool to lay as still as he. But this last scroll was the straw that broke the ass's back. One legionary, a hoary veteran of forty-five summers, jumped forward.

"You ordered us out into the open, you bastard," he screamed as he dodged the pummeling cohorts and iron head-knockers. "Then you abandoned us, ordering us to just let enemies of Rome walk by and hope they do not attack! Traitor! Coward! We should string you up by your hind legs, you dog!"

Now Flaccus spoke, pointing at the man and saying "Clap him in irons. Tribunal in Colonia Agrippensi, three days hence. Until then, barley and water." Then he stepped away from the edge of the balcony and had the signifer repeat the last two scrolls- the one with the orders to move out in conjunction with a three-pronged assault on the Batavians, and the recall while the Batavians were still far enough away and still willing to proceed peacefully. Then he pointed to Gallus, who stepped forward.

"Generalis Hordeonis Flaccus ordered us back in time," Gallus admitted bitterly. "The defeat was my fault- I allowed my legion to decide our course of action instead of obeying orders. I shall not make that mistake again."

With that, Flaccus raised his arm and dropped it. He turned from the quiet mass and went inside, leaving silence in his wake. The armed cohorts followed his signal and departed, leaving the formerly-angry and now shamed legionaries to return to their barracks and tents.

****************************************

It was a dreary three day march to Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippensi, but it passed uneventfully. The same fencing drills of the previous three days were repeated, and Vocula added maneuvering drills as well, which he personally oversaw.

During the course of the march, Flaccus stayed in Bonna and oversaw the transport and acquisition of the rations his army would need. The rains had eased the navigation of the Rhein somewhat, but it had still not risen to anywhere near normal levels. On the other hand, auxiliaries and centuries were pouring in from all over Gaul, and Flaccus was funneling them to Colonia Agrippensi. By the time the two legions reached their goal, the I Germanica would be receiving another twenty centuries of legionaries and thirty of auxilia.

Flaccus himself, riddled by gout in this foul and clammy weather, rode a transport to Colonia Agrippensi. He was greeted coolly by the legate of the XVI Gallica who was visiting from Novaesium, and coldly by the men. That chill extended to freezing when they heard his orders to join with Vocula and Gallus. Then the emotions ran white-hot when the tribunal for the loudmouth from Bonna was erected.

In full view of the assembled legions, Flaccus conducted his tribunal. He wanted to show the legions that Roman discipline still held, even this far from the Eternal City. Heckling your superior officer was one thing, inciting others to mutiny or threatening physical violence was another and carried a stiff penalty.

The offending legionary should have been subdued after three days of heavy marching while wearing leg irons and being fed only barley bread and putrid water. But to the astonishment of all present, including Flaccus himself, the chained man approached the tribunal with his head held high to face his accuser.

“Who are you to judge me, old man?” he cursed. “I am a loyal legionary, devoted to Aulus Vitellius. To him I give my sword, my fealty, and my life. I refuse to serve a nobody nobleman who slept his way to command, then used that command to undermine our great emperor- especially one who actively commits treason in the shadows of the night, where his complicity in conspiracy against our lord goes unseen. We cannot fight against what we cannot see, and you have kept your treachery well and good in the shadows. But we know. You cannot kill the truth, nor beat it out of us with birch rods. You are directly involved with none other than your old friends Vespasian and Civilis in a grand conspiracy against our beloved Vitellius. May you rot in hell!”

Flaccus sat stunned by the vehemence in the tirade, but the attending legionaries were not. They were enraged. Ranks broke apart as men surged forward to rescue their champion, who said only what many of them felt.

Caius Vocula strode onto the tribunal, with full control over himself and radiating strength with every step. His presence silenced the men, whose anger at Flaccus was undiminished but whose respect for Caius Dillius Vocula had grown over the days of the march. He had eaten with them, marched with them, fought with them, and bested them. He was worthy, while Flaccus merely rode in comfort on a boat or was borne about on a litter. He was no leader, but Vocula was.

Vocula turned to the prisoner, whose hopes of escape diminished with the ebbing of calls for his release. In a stern and powerful voice, Vocula condemned the chained man to death, based on the evidence the poor fool had just given in front of ten thousand witnesses. As the man was being led away to be beheaded, a new cry came from the legions.

Vocula! Vocula! We want Vocula! Let Vocula lead us, and we will invade Hell and rape Proserpina for him! Give Vocula command!

Flaccus waved his hands for silence, but was ignored. Sighing, he turned to Vocula. Caius understood the gesture, and raised his arms for silence. The legions quieted. In the silence that followed, Flaccus hobbled over to Vocula and turned to the legions.

“Caius Dillius, the legions have spoken,” he said. “They want you as their commander. Will you accept the supreme command over this expedition to relieve Castra Vetera?”

Vocula thought about refusing, for it was not his right to accept. Flaccus was the governor, Vitellius had left Flaccus in charge. The preparations for crushing the Batavians had all been correct and all the ideas of Flaccus, though the men chosen to carry out the orders had been inept to the extreme. The logistics and arranging of rations and troops had also been handled by Flaccus, while Vocula himself had simply been a warrior. And warriors follow orders.

Then he saw the defiant look on the face of Flaccus, and heard the words mumbled so low they would not leave the tribunal. “Take it, damn it,” Flaccus cursed. “You lead them, for they will not follow me unless I decimate them- which is not in Rome’s best interest right now. Besides, I have gubernatorial duties to attend to, plus all your logistics to work out. This is a godsend, Caius. Take the bloody job!”

Vocula turned to the legions, his legions. “I accept the supreme command of this expedition,” he called out in a strong, loud voice. An eruption of cheers from the XXII Legion drowned out the cheers of the reconstituting I Germanica, but both together were deafening. Flaccus used the celebrations as cover to return to the praetorium. He would return to Bonna to ensure Vocula had all he needed to complete the rescue of the V Alaudae and the XVth Primigenia besieged in Castra Vetera.

****************************************

The logistics needed desperate attention, which was another reason why the administrator Flaccus was more than willing to deliver command of the army to the warrior Vocula. As Vitellius was gearing up for war against Vespasian, food, troops, and above all money were all in short supply. He was eternally grateful to Titus Cassius in Lugdunum who graciously parted with two whole cohorts, though the salaries for the men were not so freely given. If they were to fight for Flaccus, they would have to be paid by Flaccus, according to Cassius. Decimus Pulcher granted him a third cohort, but this one came with its own supplies.

Lack of supplies was one thing, transporting the supplies was another. Usually, campaigns along the Rhein were supplied by fleets of boats, but the loss of a fleet to Civilis early in the revolt was still hampering the logistics. Add to that the low level of the river and its effects on navigation, and you have a disaster in the making. So at the time when the number of mouths needing to be fed increased, there is a decrease in the means of transporting the food and other supplies needed by the army. Vocula was a good field commander, but an awful logistician. Flaccus, on the other hand, was a mediocre warrior due to his gout, but a wonderful planner and logistician. To him, the will of the legions was a godsend. His efforts in Bonna will enable Vocula’s army to be sustained, and that meant victory.

****************************************

“The men are looking well,” commented Publius Caecilius, commander of the XVI Gallica as he rode beside Vocula. The rains had abated, leaving a gray blanket across the sky, and the cohorts marched on towards Novaesium at a steady pace.

“They should, since they got a good night’s sleep indoors,” Vocula replied. “And they got their wish- Flaccus is no longer commanding them.”

“I do not understand why the men hate him so,” Caecilius said. “I have read the reports and dispatches, as have you. He seems to be making the right decisions, and except for having appallingly bad luck in his subordinates- present company excepted, of course- his plans would have worked.”

“He soldiered with Vespasian in Britannia,” Vocula replied dourly. “And came here with Vitellius. Old Aulus spent a lot of time ingratiating himself with the troops by being nice, while Flaccus was tasked with being the bad guy to keep the troops in line. When Vitellius went to Rome and left Flaccus in charge, all the men knew was that hard-ass Flaccus with his gout was now their commander. And he was trying to re-instill the discipline Vitellius eased, without resorting to the effective but harsh measures used by Crassus or Pompeius. And he has not the charisma of Caesar or Antonius. Of course they hate him. But I like him. The man is a great administrator and a fine commander, if a bit soft for my tastes.”

Vocula lifted his eyes towards the heavens. “No more rain. Good. The men can work on drilling tonight.”

Caecilius shook his head in amazement. “Is drilling and fencing all you care about? There are upwards of twenty thousand Germans besieging Vetera. Should you not be more concerned with them?”

“Vetera is still far from here,” Vocula replied easily, then turned bitter. “And if your legion is in the same shape as my XXII and the I Germanica, you should be more concerned with turning them into proper Roman soldiers than with how many the enemy numbers. Gaius Marius proved a hundred seventy years ago that well-trained Roman soldiers can beat hordes of brave Germans many times their number. We haven’t had decently trained soldiers since the days of Tiberius. I aim to change that. You should, too. Against twenty thousand Germans, our lives depend on it.”

Caecilius nodded. No wonder the army wanted Vocula as their commander.

He did, too.

****************************************

Caecilius rejoined his legion at Novaesium, and left Gallus to see to the supplies Flaccus sent while he had the men bedded down for the night. Vocula himself went to see to the recruits Flaccus had sent by river. The XVI Gallica was initially shocked to see how few veteran legionaries remained in the I Germanica, but understood now why so many Gallic recruits had been arriving by boat. It was Colonia Agrippensi all over again, but with no Flaccus present upon which to vent their anger, the troops sullenly went about their routines and let their anger stew.

That night Vocula called the legates and tribuni in to explain the next phase. The new recruits would be broken up and dispersed among the veterans. This was to happen across all three legions. Gallus was to distribute the grain and other rations coming in so that the legions had a ten-day supply with them and the rest was to be packed so as to facilitate its transport by river to Gelduba. He was then to acquire the supplies necessary to built a castra for three legions and arrange its transport to Gelduba. Caecilius, the legate most familiar with this region, was to command the legionary cavalry of all three legions and find a place near Gelduba to erect the camp. Once these tasks were done, the army would march. In the mean time, the soldiers will be trained and retrained in camp construction and field fortifications.

“Why all this?” Gallus asked pointedly. “Why not just march up and drive the bastards away? Three legions can do it easily.”

“Three good legions of proper legionaries if well-led might do it,” Vocula retorted sharply. “But three legions filled with the crap of society or recruits so new that that they barely know how to hold a gladius won’t. We cannot afford another Teutoburg Forest here, not now. No, the proper way to beat this horde is to have good legions, with a solid base camp, and draw the enemy to us. At Gelduba- thirty miles from Vetera, we will be nearby and have a good camp. If we are lucky, we can catch the Germans between ourselves and the legions at Vetera and annihilate them. If we are as unlucky as Flaccus, we have the space and time necessary to train our soldiers properly. The Cugerni who live in the area have sided with Civilis- we practice battle drills and blood our swords upon them first. When we are done, we will have veteran legionaries, weakened Civilis, and be ready for the final showdown.”

Gallus and Caecilius both nodded in agreement. Vocula made sense, and his plan would put Civilis in a quandary- defend the Cugerni sworn to him and thus raise the siege of Vetera, or ignore the Cugerni cries for help and thereby lose an ally but retain the siege. Either way, Civilis loses. It was decided and agreed. They would camp at Gelduba.

****************************************

By late October, the legions were ready. The castra at Novaesium was to be left in the hands of auxilia- four cohorts of Ubian spearmen and two vexillationes of Illyrian velites. The XVI Gallica would lead the way, followed closely by the I Germanica, with the XXII bringing up the rear. This gave Vocula the flexibility to use his prime combat unit as he saw fit. If the XVI Gallica ran into trouble, the I Germanica would react and deploy, giving Vocula the chance evaluate the situation and deploy his legion where it would be most successful.

The plans were well-made and flawlessly executed. Hardly a German was seen on the march, and the boats brought the supplies and equipment on time, on target. Within a single day, a new castra had sprung to life in the grassland near Gelduba. And within a week, Civilis would know about it.

****************************************

"Those bastards!" cursed King Seval as he heard the reports from the Cugerni. The Romans were conducting a very savage slash-and-burn operation amongst his allies there, operating with impunity from their new base at Gelduba. And the only way he saw to stop them was to move his army there, thus raising the siege of the Vetera. This was specifically against the advice of Veleda, the Bructeri seeress who happened to be visiting at the very moment this disaster was dropped in his lap. Blast!

The very savagery of the Roman campaign was counter-effective, for the Cugerni were a defeated people already. They were the remnants of a Sugambri faction from the Dark Forests that had lost a struggle for power. They had favored ties with Rome, while another faction opposed all ties to the Eagles. Battles were fought, and the losing Sugambri fled to Roman lands and were settled between Vetera and Gelduba and given the name of Cugerni. They provided wonderful auxilia, until Roman oppression proved their victors correct and the Cugerni leaders tried to right that wrong by joining Civilis. Damned if they do and damned if they don't, the Cugerni were facing a lose-lose situation and the only one who could help them was the one-eyed king of the Batavians.

"This new warlord among them, this Vocula," cried the Cugerni. “He leads his warriors against our villages and slays all who oppose him. Our villages he reduces to rubble, and our crops are plowed under in the fields.”

"It shall not remain so for long," foresaw Veleda. She was revered throughout the Lowlands for her many and accurate predictions. She leaned closer to the Batavian king and whispered to him, "I have seen German victory here, before the next coming of the summer rains. There shall be no living Romans north of Moguntiacum."

"Nor any living Cugerni," added the Cugerni envoy bitterly. "Those three legions of walking dead men are destroying my people!"

Civilis dismissed the Cugerni drivel as the whinings of a loser, yet focused on the vital military details that he fished out of the stew of despair. Vocula was leading the forces. He had three full legions where before he had three half-legions. There was a new castra at Gelduba. And the Romans were terrifying his allies with raids from this post.

Why?

What was Flaccus doing? Why was Vocula in command? And why had Vocula, who marched his men from Moguntiacum to Gelduba ostensibly to relieve besieged Vetera, suddenly stopped to destroy the weak Cugerni? This would require much thought. Flaccus he could read like an open book- why he did this, why he did that. But this Vocula was more of an enigma.

"I see your dilemma, lord," Veleda soothed. She suddenly shook, and threw her hands across her eyes. A dreadful scene erupted in her mind- a man in silvered Roman armor lay dead in the snow, his hands empty but a gladius through his breast. A soft moan escaped her, then her slender hands returned to her side and she gazed evenly into the one eye of her king. "Hold to your course, and you shall prevail. You now have many more warriors in thy warhost than before- send some of these to besiege this Vocula in his new fortress. I see him dead just outside his own tent, with his own sword in his heart. There is snow on the ground, and Batavian standards just beyond the walls. Thus when winter goes, this problem will go with it."



Seval lifted his eyes from the Cugerni envoy and the Bructeri witch to gaze across the plain to where his wonderful cavalry was drilling the new recruits in battle drills. What a lovely sight... Then it hit him. Vocula was training, much like he himself had done with the Roman cohorts upon the Rhein in the late summer. Since he was blooding his men, it meant he does not have an army of veterans despite the insignia, but rather a mass of new recruits. Thus Vocula, while being a pain in the royal arse, was impotent to relieve the siege any time soon. That made his decision easier.

"The Romani have three legions in your lands, Arnulf Stonekill," he said, addressing the Cugerni envoy. "We have another two bottled up here. If we release these two, they will join their fellows and you will have five legions terrorizing you. If we do nothing, those three will destroy your people- which is also an unwelcome outcome. So we must do something, but raising the siege here before the Romani have surrendered is not an option or it leads to the first outcome.

“So what we do is this, Arnulf,” he said with an evil grin. “We direct our allies and brother warriors to ravage the Ubii and the Treveri. These peoples deserve slaughtering, for even though we Germani have risen and taken to arms for our freedom from Roman oppression, those two peoples remain steadfast and loyal to Rome. They are willing to slay their own kinsmen for Romans, and for that they shall pay.”

“I fail to see how that helps us,” Arnulf replied, though with less somberness than before.

Veleda laughed as she saw where the one-eyed king was going. “It helps you in that the Ubii and the Treveri are south of you. Further south is Moguntiacum- the main Roman burg in the entire area. All Romans have one thing in common- they must have supplies of weapons, food, and materials."

"Exactly," Seval confirmed. "If this Vocula is here in your lands, and we cut the roads and blockade the river south of him, it will force him to move south in order to replenish his supplies, and thus leave your lands. If he stays, he starves just as the warriors inside Vetera are doing. Either way, we shall win. In the meantime, do as the Cananefate did when the Romans invaded them in the high summer- fade back before them. Give them nothing to steal, nothing to eat, and nobody to fight. Let them have the land for the time being, for soon enough all of it shall be ours again.”

“You speak wisdom, lord,” Arnulf conceded. “We shall obey, and may Donar bless you with victory as Woden has with wisdom.”

Seval nodded piously as he dismissed the Cugerni envoy. Yes, Stonekill, soon all of Germania shall be free of Romans. Veleda has foreseen it, and I shall bring it about within my lifetime. So it was foreseen, so it shall be.

****************************************

The advice of Seval and Veleda was implemented, and had immediate effects. Vocula, who led the raiding/blooding parties, now had to move further and further from the camp in order to find victims. This meant his marches often lasted overnight, and then two nights, and then three. He could easily march his three legions directly to Vetera and battle Civilis for possession, but he knew that was a battle he would lose. His men were now much better than when they had left Moguntiacum, but they were far from ready enough to fight the Batavian warhost and win- especially now that the Batavians were strengthened by the eight veteran cohorts who had so easily demolished the I Germanica.

Gallus, left to command the camp, also noticed the change in tactics. The raids by transrhenae Germans left the Ubians reeling, and the Treveri were smashed so badly that they were alternating between screaming for Roman aid and suing the Batavians for peace. The raids became so bad that overland supply caravans- bringing needed supplies and escorted by men to fill the ranks- had to be stopped. The Batavians controlled the river, so nothing coming up from Colonia or Moguntiacum was getting through, except for those sneaking past the blockade by sailing at night. The last caravan entering the fort also brought horrendous news to the Army of the Rhein- troops loyal to Vespasian had invaded Italia. Their beloved Aulus Vitellius was now under siege, just as their brethren in Vetera were.

Riled and made anxious by these news, the men were tense. While Vocula was out with the XXII and the XVI trying to find Cugerni to punish, one of the centurions noticed a grain boat stuck in the shallows just south of the camp, on the other side of the shriven Rhein. A group of Germans were wrestling against the river and the mud to free it and bring it safely to their bank. As he watched, the wind gently blew its standards out, revealing Roman colors. In a flash, he ordered his century to the ready and informed his cohort commander, who did the same. A Roman cohort soon left the camp heading toward the boat, armed for battle and carrying ropes with which they would recapture the grounded vessel and bring it to their camp.

“Ho, boys, what have we here?” asked Steinvald, the Tencteri chieftain of the group called. “The roaches have left their nest, and are heading this way!”

“Let us greet them as we greet all roaches- by crushing their hardened shells!” answered his men. Steinvald agreed, and ordered the ropes dropped and arms to be taken up. This command was greeted with loud cheers, and the Tencteri formed a ragged line to welcome the Romans to Germania.

By the time Publius Voronus and his cohort began crossing the Rhein, more Tencteri had come to join Steinvald, attracted by the cheering. Soon the forces were about even. Herrennius Gallus, watching the unfolding battle from the ramparts of the camp, felt as did Vocula about the abilities of his men. He therefore ordered two more cohorts to form up and go aid in the rescue of the grain boat. Then three more, just to make sure.

****************************************

Publius Voronus had his cohort in battle order, and crossed the shallows upriver of the Germans. His movements were noted by the Tencteri, who also noted the two cohorts coming up behind him. Their movements in response to this let Voronus know there was something behind him, so he turned and looked, then turned back towards the Germans with a smile on his face.

“Men, neither we nor the Germans will come to this battle alone,” he shouted. “Though the Germans breed like flies in these woods, and gather to the coming stench of death, we have two more cohorts behind us. By the blood of Mars, three cohorts will teach these fools a lesson in warfare the few survivors will never forget!”

The men cheered his speech, and the pace quickened. Blood shall soon stain the Rhein red, and that shall be German blood pouring into the German river, as befits this awful place. The Tencteri thought the same about the Romans and their blood in the river, and their warcries echoed through the forested banks.

The Romans formed up in cohorts abreast, then closed in on the Tencteri. The Tencteri drew up in a spearwall facing them, as more and more men flooded to the sounds of battle. Those two spearbands would withstand the Roman assault, and the others would pile on and surround them. So was it fated, but so was it not to be.



The Romans began hurling their pilum in preparation for the assault when a swarm of locusts descended upon them. The locusts were not insects, though, but the feathered shafts of a hunting party attracted by the shouting. Their arrows sought gaps in the Roman loricae, or made one if the power and impact was enough. Men fell, but others lived and hurled.

The following three cohorts caught up to the main force and added their strength to the battle. The spearwall began to come apart, but a warband of axemen came from the woods upon the Roman flank and began felling them like so much timber. Likewise, armored warriors from the Tencteri encampment came running and piled onto the Romans from the other flank. Then a rumble disturbed the chorus of dying men. The Tencteri cavalry crashed into the breaking flank, completing its destruction.



The Tencteri had the upper hand now and pressed hard. The cohorts, reeling from the impact of the mounted assault and the axes into their flank, began to crumble. First one, then another, then a flood of Romans cast aside their heavy scuta and bolted for the river with the Tencteri in swift pursuit.

Not many made it to the river, and fewer made it across as Tencteri shafts rained down upon them, but enough made it across to prevent the complete annihilation of the force. And to add insult to injury, the victorious Germans now equipped with horses and Roman rope managed to haul the grain boat off its lodgment and drag it to their bank where they plundered it royally.

****************************************

The remnants of the skirmish-turned-battle streamed back into the fort, leaving the precious grain and many of their wounded to the tender mercies of the victorious Tencteri. As they ran for their lives, their rage at being defeated yet again gained strength. The Germans were not too strong- hell, they died easily enough when pierced by a gladius! Nor were there too many of them. No, this was a result of Gallus feeding cohorts into the battle piecemeal. Gallus screwed us. Gallus, who served Flaccus. Flaccus!

The defeated cohorts began screaming for the blood of Flaccus, who had once again caused a Roman defeat to German arms, weakening Vitellius and strengthening Vespasian. Knowing Flaccus was in Moguntiacum, the raging cohorts turned on the legate of Flaccus- Herrennius Gallus.

“Stand fast!” he ordered, but the rioting legionaries disregarded a traitor’s command. Gallus was no Flaccus to face down disgruntled and angry legionaries- Flaccus had the foresight to face his mob with armed men to his front and archers on the rooftops. Gallus was alone before the praetorium. The men seized him and dragged him to the guardhouse, where others had made ready fetters for their scheming commander.

An hour later, the legionaries had decided not to murder their legate. The tribunes, banding together, managed to persuade the men that such an act would only lead to the sorrow of their beloved Vitellius, who would have no choice but to inflict decimation on his favorite legion and disband the others to serve out their terms of service in the mines of Greece. No, they argued, ripping Gallus limb from limb was not the answer.

The centurions agreed, knowing what decimation meant. The legion would be divided into groups of ten men. One in each ten would be selected by lot. He would then have his head beaten in by the other nine of his group. Vitellius would have no choice- the punishment would have to be inflicted on the I Germanica, lest legions elsewhere did the same. If that happened, then the entire army would become no more than a mob and the empire would disintegrate.

So the centurions decided to put Gallus on trial for treason. If found guilty, Gallus could then be legally executed with the legion avoiding all shame or blame. The angry legionaries found this acceptable. A trial it would be.

All night, Herrennius Gallus listened to the hammering of planks together for his tribunal. How could it come to this? Roman soldiers, putting their own commander on trial for treason. For doing what? For trying to secure a boatload of grain? For seeing that the enemy was growing stronger, and thus sending out reinforcements? This was treason? What an awful state of affairs this has become!

By dawn, the hammering ceased. Gallus was rudely dragged from the tent housing him by the owners of that tent, and carried bodily to the waiting tribunal. Along the way he passed through rank upon rank of his legionaries, searching every face for signs of regret or empathy. There was none. He saw only his death salving their wounded honor, for that was what this whole farce had become. They lost a battle. It was not their fault; it was his. He was to blame. So by murdering the blame, they remove the stain of defeat. Honor restored. He had seen it before and had no doubt that it would happen again.

Upon the tribunal were gathered the senior surviving centurions of the I Germanica, standing in a group and noticeably unarmed- not even the knobby cudgels they carried as a badge of rank were present. They were not a happy bunch, and it was evident they were only going through the motions of a trial because the legionaries demanded it of them. The men wanted a scapegoat and he was the chosen one. Flanking the disarmed centurions were two pairs of armed legionaries- the true power behind this unprecedented foolishness. And across from them were whips, tongs, and braziers with hot irons warming up.

Gallus knew then that telling the truth would only get him tortured, then killed. The men wanted a lie to salve their honor. So he resolved himself to lie to them to salve that wounded pride. And lie he did, when questioned directly.

“Of course you men were not to blame for yesterday’s debacle,” he pleaded. “You were simply following my orders. And I, in issuing them, were following orders as well.”

“Explain,” demanded the signifer of the VII cohort from before the jury of centurions.

“I was ordered to bring my legion north but go no further than Gelduba, where we are,” he said, telling the truth. Then he lied shamelessly by continuing, “Flaccus ordered us to stop within striking distance of Vetera, and let the Batavians besiege us as well. He ensured that we would be cut off, and that the Batavians would do nothing more than pin us in place. I opposed him, of course, but was told blatantly to obey or the siege would become real- killing us is not part of the original plan, but that could change were I to refuse.”

“And what is this plan?” the signifer-turned-prosecutor demanded. Finally, what the men thought they knew as true was finally coming out. It mattered not that the legate was talking nonsense and making no military sense whatsoever; it was enough that the legions heard what they wanted to hear so this farce could play out and things go back to normal.

“We are to be pinned here so that Flaccus would have to rescue us, of course!” he shouted. “The entire Army of the Rhein, the homeland of support for Vitellius, was to be besieged and taken out of play so that Vespasian could defeat him and claim the throne. Civilis and Flaccus have been planning and coordinating this for months now. They want Vespasian on the throne, and mean to do anything to get him there. Even if it means sacrificing the entire province and all in it!”

The signifer thought that last part was overdoing it- no Roman governor in his right mind would sacrifice his province for anything or anyone- but the men seemed to take it as if it came from the mouth of Jupiter Optimus himself. Gallus was but a dupe of Flaccus, forced to fight stupidly so that Vespasian could more easily eviscerate the support of dear old Aulus!

While the men fumed and screamed at this admission of the guilt of Flaccus- which all knew already, nobody was watching the gates. Thus nobody saw Vocula and the other two legions approach and enter the stronghold. Nor could they do anything about it.

Vocula deployed his legions to surround the I Germanica and moved into their midst. With leonine strides he parted the massed legionaries and ascended the tribunal. The shocked legionaries stood rock still, knowing Vocula well. If they did anything untoward from this moment onward, they would suffer the fate promised by the centurions- decimation. Vocula would not hesitate to order it, either.

“Strike the fetters from that man,” he ordered, pointing to Gallus. Lowly, he whispered to the confined legate, “You idiot,” before turning to address the legionaries.

“Never, EVER have I been so embarrassed to be a Roman soldier as I am this moment,” he bellowed. “ Never, EVER have Roman legionaries been so stupid as to be led to mutiny by something so silly as believing their own commanders seek their doom. It matters NOT to us here whose arse rests on the throne, be his name Vitellius or Vespasian, or Lucius Pucius! The emperor is there- not here! He is safe in Rome- we are surrounded by hostile warriors who seek our blood. We must band together, not fall apart! All that should matter to us is that Rome rules supreme- and that cannot and will not happen as long as Roman legionaries are putting their commanders on trial whenever they feel like it! Imbeciles!”

He strode to the unarmed centurions. “You men! Get your weapons and return here. You will go through the ranks of the I Germanica, file by file, and bring forth those ringleaders of this mutiny. I will have them tried here on this wonderful tribunal you had built, and those guilty will be executed here in front of the men they so foolishly led to mutiny.”

He turned back to the men. “We will all die if we allow mobs to rule our legions. The power of the legion is discipline. I will have that. As of now, and for the next fortnight, you will eat only barley, drink only water, and perform all the shit tasks your noncombatants and slaves now perform. Any who do not comply will be stripped of citizenship, flogged, and then crucified.”

The centurions returned during this tirade, armed and ready to perform the disgraceful task of identifying the men who led the legion to mutiny. They went through the ranks as ordered, hesitating briefly at each man, and occasionally yanking one out of the ranks by his neck. These men were collected by legionaries of the XXII and hurried to the tribunal, where legionaries from the XVIth bound their hands behind their backs. Soon there were twenty seven men bound and huddled on one side of the tribunal.

Vocula did not hesitate in his duty. He accused the men, had a tribune assigned to defend them, and another assigned to prosecute. Both tribunes were from the I Germanica, and both performed their tasks quickly and efficiently. Witnesses were called, evidence was given, and the men were duly found guilty. The speed of the trial astounded the men of all three legions. Vocula wanted it that way- justice must be swift to be effective, and the effectiveness of what was coming next would not be lost in the mists of memory once the sun set. This would be set in stone.

The twenty seven guilty men were led one by one to the front of the tribunal, where they were stripped to the waist. The Aquilifer of the legion then proceeded to put thirty lashes on the back of each one before the punished were forced to kneel for their beheading. One by one, twenty seven heads fell to the muddy ground while their bodies twitched upon the tribunal before being pushed aside to let the next man take his place. When it was over, there was not a man in the I Germanica who would ever want to witness such an act again.

Discipline returned.

****************************************

That evening, Vocula called Gallus into his praetorium. The legate of the I Germanica knew it was coming, and knew he earned the rebuke he was about to receive. Thus when Vocula greeted him with a glass of watered wine and an invitation to sit, he was pleasantly surprised.

“We must put this behind us, and now,” Vocula said after a sip of his wine. “I do not hold you to blame for the legion’s revolt- no one man can stop a legion that has blood on its mind. I do hold you accountable for lying to save your own skin, but that is personal and not professional. Water under the bridge.”

“But what I want to discuss with you is the state of this camp,” he continued. “Our supplies are running low now that the overland caravans have stopped coming and the Batavi control the river. Our slash-and-burn campaign against the Cugerni did not help our current situation either. Though there are no armed bands within miles of us, we destroyed the crops that might sustain us. My fault, actually, I thought the men would be ready and moving to Vetera far sooner than they actually are.”

Gallus was visibly relieved that Vocula had let his role in the mutiny slide so easily. He sipped his wine, and concentrated on what the commander was pondering. Supplies. And Vetera. Vetera was built to hold twelve thousand men, and only five thousand occupied it. There were thus supplies in Vetera. It was time to march.

Vocula saw the thoughts parade across the mind of Gallus and nodded. “Yes, Aulus, it is time to march. Tomorrow we bring the legions together and announce our orders. I am thinking of marching closer to Vetera in the morning, then pitching a fortified camp five miles from our goal. The day after tomorrow, we march the last five miles and destroy the Batavi like Lupercus should have done in September.”

Gallus agreed. “One of the problems we have had with discipline and such is that the men are getting bored with the same routines. A healthy march and finally a real battle will do wonders to cure them.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Vocula concurred. “Thus the final push begins tomorrow.”


****************************************

As Vocula was preparing to attack the Batavians at Vetera, Civilis was tiring of hearing the Germans complain. Like the legionaries thirty miles to the south, the Germans were tiring of siege warfare and constant drilling. And like those legionaries, they were contemplating taking manners into their own hands. But Civilis was not Gallus, and he had no compulsions against sacrificing those he led. So as Vocula, Gallus, and Caecilius discussed their plans, Civilis and his chieftains discussed their own.

“Veleda says this fortress will fall, and thus it must,” Seval stated as if it were fact. “The Romani are but a day’s good march south of here, and word has it that they are almost as good now as the legions were before Nero fell on his sword. We must therefore take this fortress, or destroy the warhost at Gelduba. We cannot let the two join.”

“I agree,” Steinar Strongarm, commander of the Batavian cavalry replied. “Three legions we could probably handle- five would annihilate us.”

“Bah,” retorted Waldtor Hornhelm, a Chatti chieftain who recently joined Civilis with five thousand Chatti warriors in tow. “They are weaklings who die if a real man spits upon them. Pay them no mind, Seval, and let us finally storm this pile of stone and make it our own!”

“Steinar and Seval have the right of it,” Karl the Hairy of the Marsi added. “We cannot let those legions join these two. But Waldtor has also a point- our men are ready and willing to fight now. Will they be so bold when they are facing five legions? I say we use these wonderful Roman toys your men built and fulfill Veleda’s prophecy.”

He was referring to the siege towers the Batavians had constructed over the last four weeks. Ever since the debacle of the first assault, the Germani had been training and drilling- and building siege towers in the Roman style. No longer shall men be shot from the ladders, riddled with pila or arrows. No, they shall employ Roman engines and use Roman tactics. The men were ready, and getting bored with sitting still starving out the Romans.

Seval knew he had to assault, even though his army was far from ready. Like the Romans in Gelduba, his supply situation was critical. They had raided the Treveri and almost destroyed the Ubii, taking all both tribes had. The tribes joining him- the Tungrians, the Bructeri, and the Chauci, were sending grain and meat as well as warriors, but the warriors streaming across the Rhein were bringing only themselves and their weapons- burdening his otherwise adequate logistical network. An assault might take the fortress and relieve the problem by liberating the food stores of the Romans, but it would definitely solve his problem by reducing the amount of mouths to be fed. Thus it was already decided. They would assault at first light.


****************************************

The quiet of the breaking day was shattered by the low rumbling and grunting bellows of the men pushing the great towers forward. Waldtor of the Chatti was commanding this assault, and he wanted his assault to be victorious. So he spared nothing and nobody in his drive to getting atop those stone walls, which meant he spared nobody from pushing those bloody towers.



To the flanks of the towers were men carrying ladders. Waldtor’s goal was clear- get as many men onto those walls as possible in the shortest amount of time- a German flood. The defenders would not make it easy, but with any luck his German flood would wash them away and the castra would be his. Veleda had foreseen this place falling, and now he had the command. It would fall!

****************************************

"Alarm!" shouted the Roman sentry", ringing the alarm bell while he shouted. "The Germans are coming- and with siege towers! Alarm! Alarm!"

The words of his message were lost in the loud ringing, but the message itself was clear as the bell's tones. Men scrambled out of their tents, most partly-armored, and ran to the walls where their weapons were stored while they finished dressing enroute. Once at their station, pila and shields were pulled from the stacks along the wall and the men were ready to repel assault.

Waldtor envisioned the Roman reaction well- the alarm would be given, the men hurrying from their tents, manning the walls, and dressing there. But he did not and could not imagine the speed shown by the men who were fighting for their very lives- nor the forethought of Lupercus who had placed most hand-held weapons and items along the wall. Before the great towers were even halfway to the walls, those walls were fully manned by fully equipped legionaries, and the firepots of the archers were lit. Within minutes of the towers coming into range, they were catching fiery missiles upon their wooden sides and front.

****************************************

"Is this the best they could do, with all that Roman training Civilis gave them?" scoffed Lupercus as he watched the huge towers rolling forward. Unlike Numisius beside him who shivered as the terrible engines approached, Lupercus felt neither fear nor threatened. He was simply amused. "Oh Relax, Gnaeus," he chided. "Those fools know we have fire and archers. Yet they do not cover the faces of their towers with either wet furs or with green wood. Instead, they use timbers of their native pine to build with, for its ease of shaping. Did they forget that pine burns wonderfully? Watch and learn, my dear colleague!""

Numisius Rufus watched the assault with wonder, and fear. Those axes and swords were thirsting for his blood, and he felt that thirst from the safety of the tower where the legates watched the unfolding assault.

"Civilis must be a monumental fool to assault again," he mused to cover his fear. "Even with such numbers and the towers, he must have something about which we do not know in order to try again so soon and so openly."

"You were a tribune before, my dear Gnaeus," Lupercus admonished. "But you are a legate now. Think like one."

"I do not understand, Quintus," he admitted. "The German assault, while brave, is stupid in the face of our fire and position. Surely any Roman knows this, and any Roman-trained barbarian ought to know it as well. Yet Civilis forgot, and thus his men die. Or he has sappers tunneling under our walls which we have yet to discover..."

"The water table under this fortress is quite high, Gnaeus," Lupercus reminded him. "That negates tunneling- they flood. No, in this case, it is what you see is what you get. But there is a reason why he is attacking now, and you know it even if you do not realize it." As he said this, he pulled his morning bread from his sack and took a bite.

Realization dawned upon Gnaeus Numisius Rufus as he watched his commander eat. Food! The Batavians were not a numerous people in the best of times, and much of their lands are not suitable for farming. Thus they had not much food, and with their warhost swelled by Germans from across the Rhein, they must be close to starving. Civilis was not expecting success, he was culling his warhost- at Roman expense.

Lupercus saw the reason illuminate his colleague and smiled. "Yes, food. We have it, and they don't. In a proper siege, you blockade the foe. Then you either starve him out or thirst him out by cutting into his water supply. Our water comes from wells, and he cannot drain our source by tunneling in below since the water table is so high. So he must starve us. Our situation is bad, but his is now worse. Thus he attacks. For him, a win-win solution- he either kills us and eases his supply problem with our meager stores, or he cuts excess mouths and thus eases his problem that way."

As Lupercus was pointing out the finer art of siegecraft to his junior colleague, the archers and their magical mix of fiery liquid managed to get the first tower aflame. It burned fiercely as its half-dried sap exploded into fiery plumes of dragons' breath, covering the entire structure in flame.



The lesson continued as the legionary artillery got the range and bearings of the second tower. They had to work fast or the tower would be obscured by the castra walls, yet these were men who knew that life depended on speed. And luck. Fortuna smiled upon them, and the second tower collapsed into a pile of rubble, burying half of the crew with it.

The destruction of the towers sent up a loud cheer among the Romans, who exulted in repelling yet another Batavian assault. As they cheered and clapped each other in the back in celebration, the ladders who had been carried unseen through the chaos of the battlefield rose against the walls of Vetera.

****************************************
Lucius Ophelius was euphoric. The second tower had been heading his way before transforming with a crash into a heap of timber. Forty Germani were trapped under the wreckage, becoming target practice for the Syrian archers of the auxilia. His euphoria of victory transformed in seconds to agony as his sword arm fell away from his body in an explosion of agonizing pain. His arteries severed, blood rushed from his head and poor Lucius passed out then died.

Ragnar Runar's Son followed up his killing of Ophelius by swinging his axe a second time, killing a second Roman. This one screamed as he collapsed, drawing the attention of the other legionaries from the fallen towers to the ramparts. As the Romans saw the Germans clambering up the ramparts, panic returned.

****************************************
"We have multiple breaches of the rampart," a tribune reported to Lupercus. "Do we release the reaction centuries to deal with them?"

Lupercus looked over the battlefield, and over the ramparts where the Germans had established footholds in at least three places. He saw the distance between the wall-fighters and those now running through a rain of Syrian arrows to join them, with a climb up a makeshift ladder as only obstacle. That made his decision easy.

"No, tribune," Lupercus ordered. "The men on the wall can handle them easily enough. Have the II Syria and IV Gallic Archer auxilia bring their fire to bear on those savages upon the walls there. Target that big ox with the axe first, then shift fire to the unarmored warriors behind him."

Lupercus turned to a courier. "Legionary, tell our wonderful artillery to cease pounding our own men with their awful aiming. Tell them I order them to either cease fire, or use hay bales as projectiles. If another one of my legionaries dies to their inaccuracy, I will crucify the lot of them after this battle. Now move!"

He turned back to Numisius Rufus. "Now, as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, the Germani are a brave lot, but lack formal education in the ways of assault. So relax, we are quite safe for the moment."

****************************************
Lupercus knew from the very beginning what Civilis knew, but Waldtor was just finding out. As the Chatti chieftain led his best warriors onto the walls, he realized the extent of the Roman defenses. Arrows raked his men from the opposing walls, and the catwalk was only wide enough for three men to fight side-by-side- if they fought in the Roman scutum-and-gladius manner. A German, needing far more space to effectively wield his massive sword or axe, was constantly facing either crushing from his fellows, or fighting one against three. This lack of space brought death to many Chatti, including Waldtor, who fell from the wall with an arrow lodged through his neck.



His warriors, though brave, did not long survive him. With his fall, the assault dribbled off until at last there were only a few men scampering across the field trying to avoid Roman arrows as they fled.

****************************************

As the Batavian army was assaulting the walls of Vetera, Vocula’s men in Gelduba were gathering their belongings and packing their field gear. Today would be a long march through hostile territory- something each of them had done often enough these past weeks- and pitch a fortified camp at the end. Again, routine. But this time the camp was to be closer to the besieged V Alaudae and XV Primigenia in Vetera. This was new.

Vocula ascended the still-bloody tribunal to address the waiting legions. He began with the current situation- cut off by land by the raiding Germans, and cut off by river due to the Batavian fleet patrolling the rising river. The burning of Cugerni farmlands reduced their ability to forage grain, and the overall supply situation was low. They could not remain in Gelduba for another week, even with the I Germanica limited to barley and water.

Then he explained Vetera, besieged and undermanned. And full of supplies to sustain two full legions for six months, and garrisoned by less than five thousand. Survival of the expeditionary force depending on getting those supplies, thus they were to march to Vetera- to relieve the Vth and XVth, and ensure their own survival. And he told them another truth- they were not totally prepared for this battle, but he had confidence in them and that if they obeyed orders, they chance that would be victorious was much greater now than two weeks before.

The legions cheered at this unexpected praise from a man they both feared and respected. Vocula drank in the adulation, and lifted his eyes from the masses below to the heavens above. In doing so, his eyes passed the walls, where a sentry was frantically waving and pointing to the river.

“Legions!” he ordered. “Man the walls! Prepare to repel assault!”

Vocula left the tribunal with men scurrying for the ramparts while he himself joined them, moving to where the waving sentry was pointing. He saw upon arrival what the sentry was trying to relay through the heady cheering. There were boats upon the river, Roman boats, and flying Roman standards. Following the warboats were a half-dozen cargo boats riding low in the water, a sure sign they were heavily laden. Vocula recognized the insignia of a cohort of the IV Macedonica upon the prow of one of them and knew. Somehow, somewhere, Marcus Flaccus had acquired another Roman fleet and with it, driven the Batavians downriver.

Visibly relieved, he called off the alarm and had the men return to the parade ground until further notice. He wanted to be damned sure those vessels were indeed laden with supplies before he had the men unpack and put their tents back up.

They were. Vocula now had his supplies, dispelling one of the reasons for his hasty march. The other reasons for his march were dispelled when he heard what the flotilla commander had to say. He hastily ordered the men to unpack, cancelling his order of an hour ago. There would be no march, not until they were totally ready for combat. Then he retired to the praetorium with Gallus and Caecilius in tow to hear in detail what news the flotilla commander brought.

“Ave, Decius Paullus!” Vocula called in greeting, as the Second-in-Command of the IV Macedonica came into his atrium. “This is an unexpected delight! What do you have in your boats?”

Paullus greeted Vocula warmly, and turned to face all three legates. “We brought enough grain and dried victuals to sustain your legions for another month. More will follow. The rains finally came to Moguntiacum and as you can see, the river has risen enough to navigate again. Flaccus had us build the boats as soon as the Treveri went over to the Batavians, and -.”

“What?!?” the three legates exclaimed in unison.

Paullus shook his head in wonder. Of course! The three legions had been cut off for almost a month, and had no idea what was happening elsewhere. It fell to him to give them a situation report over the last month.

“You knew that the river, being so low, made it nigh onto impossible to navigate,” he reminded them. “So Flaccus sent supplies to you overland, guarded by new recruits and men for your legions. He also had the IV Macedonica begin constructing a new fleet, claiming the autumn rains would come and refill the river, thus we would need a fleet to push the Batavians out of our stretch and back into their own- as well as carry supplies over water to you.

“You see, Civilis had given orders that the Treveri and the Ubii be punished for siding with us in this struggle. The Ubii have been hit so hard that they are pulling everything they have in to around Colonia Agrippensi, while several of their outlying villages like Marcodurum have been slaughtered to a man. The Treveri were hit just as hard, and have been reported pleading to Civilis for peace. The warbands pillaging these allies of ours have also cut the roads- so we could not continue the caravans, especially when it came out that the Treveri would have their peace with Civilis if they joined him, which they did.

“Luckily for you, the IV Macedonica Praefectora as we now call ourselves, built a wonderful fleet and the rains came. We fought the Batavi just north of Colonia and drove them off. So, here are your supplies,” he finished with a smile. Then he turned somber. “But I do not know what you are going to do with them.”

“Why is that?” asked Gallus.

Paullus drew in a deep breath. “There has been a battle, near Bedriacum. Legions supporting Titus Flavius Vespasian, commanded by Marcus Antonius Primus defeated Vitellius’s forces. The Flaviani are pouring into Italia, and Vitellius has bugger-all to stop them with. By the Kalends of December, it is expected that Vespasian will take Rome itself and make himself emperor.”

“Cacat,” whispered Gallus and Caecilius in tandem.

“Echo that,” Vocula added. “With Vitellius on the run and Vespasian victorious, that makes our march against Civilis a double-edged sword.”

“How so?” asked Paullus. “Civilis defies Rome.”

Now it was the turn of Vocula to inform Paullus of recent events. “Civilis had his army swear to Vespasian. If the Army of the Rhein destroys yet another ally to a victorious usurper, we will be destroyed ourselves. Remember Galba’s reaction to our destruction of his partisan Vindex? He restricted our legions to their surrounding areas and replaced Lucius Verginius Rufus- our commander- with Vitellius. Vespasian is far more vindictive and cruel than old Galba could ever be. If we destroy his old friend and ally, we could very well be disbanded- or massacred, for no emperor could fully trust armed men who opposed his rise. Twice.”

“Then I take it we shall leave Civilis be?” Caecilius mused.

Vocula nodded. “For the time being. Send word to Civilis, informing him of Vespasian’s victory. If he is a true supporter of our coming emperor, he will move off and raise the siege of our brethren at Vetera.”

“And if he does not?” Gallus asked.

“Then we await orders, and continue training. It is still a long, long road to Vetera, and we will have to fight every pace of the way. I will have our men become proper Roman legionaries, if we ever expect to be victorious- or earn the grace of Vespasian.”

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

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 11-01-2008 @ 08:33 AM).]