By Terikel Grayhair



“Halt, you!” boomed a voice from the darkness. The moon was not yet up though the sun was down, creating ominous shadows where light refused to play. The blonde rider knew men were out here, for shadows did not shout. The moving torchlights out in the fields and about the town he skirted were also a clue he was not alone. And now this.

Again.

He duly halted his horse while his sky-colored eyes tried to pierce the depths to see how many were accosting him this time. He could make out a few, but there were probably more. Infantry rarely travel so far away from their base without being in large numbers. If they were a century on patrol, that would give the odds of eighty to his one. Those were long odds, even for a man on horseback.

“Well, what have we here?” called the voice again. Though the volume was lower, the horseman could tell that the owner of the voice was getting closer. He eased his hand down until it rested on the hilt of his sword. Thankfully, the reins of his horse had been in his left when the voice called. Now the voice was very nearby, enough owner of the voice to identify the rider. “A German. Now what does a German do alone on the Via Postumia at night?”

“He tries to avoid drunken legionaries,” the horseman replied in Latin better than that spoken to him. “Call your centurion, legionary. I wish to speak with him.”

There was a dead silence as the words sank in. Then a gruffer voice called out to him, “Who wishes to see him, stranger?”

Here the rider had to be careful. If these were Flavian troops, giving his rank and unit would be equal to a death sentence. The men of Titus Flavius Vespasian would surely not want to let a dispatch rider though to the enemy. If they were Vitellian, it may or may not result in death- Vitellius was well-known for getting the favor of his legionaries by relaxing the strict discipline which made Romans the conquerors of the world. If he lied like he did the last three times he was accosted by soldiers, it may or may not work. He tired of lying. He had been on the road for so long he could not add up the days any more. But it would not matter. He had his hand on his sword hilt, spurs on his boots, a fresh horse under him, and enough experience to stay in the saddle of a spooked horse.

“Tell him Marcus Rutilius, tribunus laticlavius, late of the II Legion Vorena wishes to pass unmolested.”

“I have never heard of that outfit,” Gruffy replied. “I think we have us a deserter, going to join Vespasian’s boys. Get him!”

Rutilius spurred his horse deep in its hindquarters. Startled by the sudden, sharp pain, the horse lurched forward and was flat-out galloping a second later. Three legionaries, including Gruffy, were either too slow or too stupid to get out of the way of the panicked beast. They were sent sprawling, and Rutilius was through them and away before any others had the brains to reach for a pilum.

I hate this part of my duties, Rutilius thought as he slowed his horse once a ways away from the fools behind him. The dangers of riding at night, he thought grimly. Ever since he had heard legions loyal to Vespasian had entered Italia, and having been twice pressed into service by legions loyal to Vitellius, he had taken to riding at night to avoid both mobs. It did not matter to him who sat on the throne in Rome- all that mattered to him was that the person doing so heard his plea to spare the Cananefate Rome’s retribution for them defending themselves. He had been carrying messages from one governor to another ever since he made that promise in Castra Vetera eons ago, each one bringing him closer and closer to the Eternal City where he can satisfy his honor by fulfilling his sacred vow.

This was the third time in as many days he had run into night-time patrols. The first he put down to bandits or deserters. This last time, however, was no band of deserters. These were men preparing for battle. That meant he was close to where the legions of Vitellius would battle those of Vespasian to end this upheaval. And that meant he was close to Aulus Caecina Alienus, recipient of the messages the governor at Genua gave to him.

That thought in mind, he left the good Roman road and started off cross-country towards the highest point he could see. From there, once day came, he would be able to figure out where he was and where he was going. And then, finally, discharge this burden of duty so he can complete his mission of honor.

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

As dawn broke, Rutilius had a good view of the valley below from his hilltop vantage. The Via Postumia wound west to east across the valley before turning forking south towards Bedriacum and north towards Aquileia. Just outside Cremona he could see the castra built by the legionaries of Vitellius, while far to the east he could see a small dust cloud rising from the road and its shoulders- too small to be an army, but too wide to be just travelers. He pegged them as scouts for Vespasian, which meant the Flaviani were close. There would be a battle here tomorrow, he thought, as he mounted his horse. He would have to be quick to get to the castra and be gone before the battle started. Though a warrior in heart and soul, this was not his battle and not his destiny. He had more important things to do than decide who would rule Rome. He had his honor.

He led his horse dismounted, since the steep hillside would kill both of them should he attempt this madness mounted and fall. The Via Postumia was not far away- just down and through a briar patch which had helped to shred the Cananefate cloak he still wore. But now at least he could see, and avoid the thorny bastards. A few minutes alter he was in the fields below, mounted and racing for the good Roman road towards Cremona.

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

“State your business, German,” called a gruff voice from the camp’s gate tower. Rutilius cursed lowly as he realized he should have shed his German cloak. Still, it had protected him from being pressed into every cohort short a man since Genua, and wearing it had given him a feeling of home. Now it was time to return to Roman garb, and Roman ways. He doubted the guard of the castra would try to prevent his business here.

“I have dispatches for the consul,” he replied in his native Latin. “And will be returning shortly to exit, so be ready.”

"He is indisposed, and not taking visitors right now, barbarian," laughed the guard.

"Open the port, moron," Rutilius cursed. "If you cannot tell by the Latin I am speaking that I am a Roman tribune in disguise then you have no business guarding the consul's gates. Or better yet," he added, removing the dispatch pouch from his horse and preparing to heave it and its precious contents over the wall, "you do it - and answer the consul's questions yourself."

The laughter of the guard stopped his actions even as it infuriated him.

“The consul is in the town, tribune,” the guard laughed. “Under arrest. Any dispatches you have can be accepted by our new commander, Fabius Fabullus.”

Fabius Fabullus, Rutilius cursed. You have to be joking.

“Legate Fabullus took command when we arrested that traitor Caecina,” the guard continued. He signalled his men to open the gate, satisfied now that Rutilius was indeed a dispatch rider. The gate opened, but Rutilius stood firm, shaking his head in wonder.

“How in Hades Seven Realms does a consul commit treason?” he wondered aloud. “The consul is by definition the authority in Rome!”

“Not this one,” the guard replied, unsmiling. “He is the junior consul, the senior being Fabius Valens. Both were appointed by the emperor Vitellius, and this one tried to get us to go over to Flavius Vespasianus, like he did Bessus and the Ravenna Fleet. But we are more loyal than those blasted oarsmen, so we locked him up and elected Fabullus of the Vth to lead us until Valens gets here.”

“So to whom do I deliver the dispatches for the consul? Fabius Fabullus or Fabius Valens?”

“Valens left Rome heading here, so your only choice is Fabullus,” the guard replied. “Now get in here or get gone. I am not leaving that gate open too long with Flavian spies running around!”

Rutilius didn’t need to be told twice. He entered the fort, turned to the right, and deposited his mount at the stables beside the gate. This being a typical Roman encampment built to plan, he knew exactly where everything was laid out, even though he had never been here. The stables were found in short order, and he decided belatedly to change from his German garb to that more befitting an officer of Rome. Properly dressed in lorica and tunic, he snatched up the dispatch bag and proceeded up the main street to the praetorium, where he was duly admitted into the chambers of Aulus Caecina Alienus, consul of Rome by decree of Vitellius, now occupied by Marcus Fabius Fabullus.

Fabullus was far from his name. He had not the dark, thick hair of the Fabii, nor the lithe body one would expect of someone cognomated Fabullus. In fact, the legate was so undistinguished that Rutilius at first thought him the legate’s body slave until he shouted.

“Well, what the hell do you want?” Fabius barked. “I have much to do and little time in which to do it. Spit it out, man, or get out!”

Taken aback by the harshness of the man’s tone, Rutilius simply handed him the dispatch pouch. From the man’s clothing- undergarments and a plain grey tunic, he could tell that the legate was indeed busy- but not with preparing for battle. He wondered aloud if he knew there were Flavian scouts approaching.

“What?” Fabius roared. “Those bastards are in Verona, setting up shop until Mucianus brings up Vespasian’s Eastern legions. They shouldn’t be in the vicinity until later, when our own legions from Spain and Britain get here! You must be mistaken.”

“I was on the rise south of Cremona, legate,” Rutilious replied evenly, despite the rising disgust he had for this man. “I saw dustclouds on the eastern horizon heading this way- too small for a legion, too large for a caravan. My guess would be Flavian cavalry.”

The legate started throwing on his leathern undershirt, to be followed by his lorica. “My guess, my guess. Be certain, man! Take a few cohorts of infantry and the Aeduan cavalry and go find out.”

Rutilius snapped to attention and saluted. For all his distaste at the legate’s late rising, this man was proving he at least knew what a good commander should do.

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

Marcus Arrius Varus was having a great time. He was the senior centurion of Marcus Antonius Primus, who commanded the legions occupying Verona. While the other officers had sat around contemplating waiting on Mucianus and his slow-moving legions, both Primus and Varus advocated striking now, while the Vitellian legions were soft from sleeping indoors and their main force of six legions far away in Hostilia. This was the time to strike, not in a week or longer when Mucianus finally got his men here. Primus knew it, Varus knew it, but the other commanders did not. So Primus made a wonderful speech, the others were impressed, and before anyone could think it through Marcus Arrius Varus was leading a mixed force of infantry and cavalry against the Vitellian positions between Bedriacum and Cremona.

Leading, by the gods! Not following, not supporting, but leading. And winning! The Vitellian lines crumbled before his onslaught, reeled from the impact of his cavalry, and he surged forward to run down the fleeing bastards who preferred that hedonistic lard-ass on the Throne of Caesar over the righteous and Republican Titus Vespasianus.

“Die, you apes!” he roared, swinging his gladius to rid it of blood as he charged another fleeing Vitellian. “Die for Rome! Die for me!”

Huh? What is this? He reared his horse to a stop and took a look around. The Vitellians were no longer fleeing. In fact, some were coming at him- in ranks, and at the run. Behind him, still caught in the press of those Vitellians through whom he had charged, were the rest of his troops. They had broken through and shattered the first rank of troops, but this second rank was about to sandwich him and his men. Cacat!

“Fall back!” Varus ordered. “For the love of Mars, fall back! Back to Bedriacum!” He whipped his horse about to follow his own commands, yet the world seemed to totter and spin away from him as he heard a massive ringing in his ears. He grabbed a hold of his horse’s neck, clinging to it, while a second francisca whizzed by where his head had so recently been. He had had enough. He followed his own orders and broke for the camp at Bedriacum.

“Legionaries!” Rutilius cried as he drew forth his third and last francisca. “Attack that cavalry before they break loose! Cavalry, follow me!”

What followed happened too quickly for the Flavians to understand. One minute they were chasing fleeing Vitellians across the field in an orgy of bloodletting, the next they were pinned helpless in the morass of fighting men while fresh cavalry came from their unshielded flank and charged home. Few if any heard the last command of Arrius, but after a few minutes of that cauldron of death, all followed it. The Flavians broke and ran, and now it was the turn of the Vitellians to chase them across the field- which they did with relish.

“Form ranks!” Rutilius cried, “Halt and form ranks, you stupid bastards!”

None heard him- or pretended not to hear him if they did. Even the bugler refused to blow the signals, being too busy carving the backs of fleeing Flavians. The men were feeling the rush of victory, and in doing so forgot the one thing Rutilius was trying to remind them- these were not Germanic warriors fleeing victorious Roman arms, these were Roman legionaries fleeing to their comrades. Just as the Flavians had become disorganized in their successful attack, so to were the Vitellians falling into the same trap. The only way to avoid annihilation should fresh Flavian formations arrive was to be ready for them. Thus his command. Which was ignored.

“I did my bit,” Rutilius mumbled to himself. To hell with trying to command men who had lost all sense of discipline. The few men who did remain formed up into a single maniple. Rutilius ordered the back to the camp.

“Belay that,” ordered Fabullus when he heard the order. He and fresh cohorts met Rutilius and his maniple halfway back to camp. More were enroute. “We have the Flavians on the run. Now we press this home and be done with it.”

“There is at most a legion here,” Rutilius reminded him, “whereas the Flavians have that much and maybe another around here somewhere. Only a fool rushes in with a disorganized legion against unknown foes.”

“Where did you learn that drivel?” Fabullus scoffed. “Hound the enemy into the ground when you have the chance- learned on battlefields all over the world!”

“I learned it in Germania,” Rutilius retorted, ”where we recently lost six legions to idiots charging into situations with too little men and not enough reconnaissance! And the rest of your Vth is besieged in Vetera, under the command of that moron Lupercus.”

“Bah!” was all the comment Fabullus had to offer. Whether or not he knew of the disasters befalling the rest of his home legion back in Germania Inferior did not matter- he was a warhound scenting blood and he was holding a sword.

Rutilius took that to be his dismissal and returned to the fort. Knowing what would happen, he took the precaution of changing back into his German garb before heading south. This bloody fool had not given him any dispatches to carry, thus he was relieved of all duties and could do as he pleased. And it pleased him to head for Rome.

Two miles later, he cursed and pulled his horse off the road. There was a battle shaping up, and with headstrong fools like Primus and Fabullus running things, this was going to be a showdown. To the victor went Italia, and with it Rome. Thus it would make sense for him to wait out the battle and honor his pledge to the victor, be it Vespasian or Vitellius. So he sought out his hilltop refuge and settled in to watch the developments.

His hilltop had a surprisingly good, clear view of the area between the camp at Cremona and where his former command was now running the Flavians down. As he watched, the fresh cohorts Fabullus brought met the tail-end of the Flavian retreat and began slaughtering it. He began to doubt the wisdom of reforming and think that maybe Fabullus had the right of it in this situation. Hunting down one’s foes did prevent them for reforming and coming back. Still, with a second Flavian legion in the area, having your own legion spread across the length and breadth of the valley was not smart.

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

Arrius, being the only cavalryman still on his horse with his wits about him, made it back towards the encampment at Bedriacum rather quickly. But he did not reach Bedriacum. Three miles outside of the encampment he met the Flavian army in battle array, with a gap in the forces where his own men may take up station. His racing in like that told everyone there was trouble, but only when he reported to Marcus Antonius Primus himself did that trouble become a problem.

“We were ambushed,” Varus panted. “We drove their outposts back pretty easily- too easily. They broke and fled, and we killed many of them. Got strung out in the process... Then reinforcements came out of nowhere and pulverized us, Marcus. My command should be streaming in soon. What’s left of them.... damned few.”

Cacat! Primus cursed to himself. First we lose that skirmish to these bastards outside of Verona, and now our vanguard gets ambushed. This was not going well. Maybe we should have waited for Gaius Licinius Mucianus and his legions after all.

His men felt the impact of the news just as the first of the surviving Pannonian cavalry came into sight. Following them were the fleetest of the infantry, shedding their shields and casting off helmets. That was a universal sign of defeat, and the panic spread. The charging cohorts of Fabullus’s Vth Alaudae behind them, slaughtering the stragglers, did nothing to aid in their desire to be here. Before Antonius Primus could register the sight, his men were deserting their ranks and heading back towards Verona and safety.

There goes my glorious victory, he thought for a second. Then his anger rose, and his pride. His army started to melt away in panic, and that left a most distasteful flavor in his mouth. Enough!, he thought. We can still win this!

He charged his mount upon the road, blocking the exit of many of his soldiers. Some, in their panic, merely went around him, others tried to push his horse out of the way. The panic was spreading, and none wanted to listen to his words of reason. They were Galba’s VII Legio Gemina, raised by the emperor himself while a praetor in Hispania. They had won under Galba, then been defeated in April upon these very plains for supporting Otho by the very forces opposing them. There was death here for the men of Galba’s VII, and the men knew it.

Antonius’ anger turned to fury as he realized history was repeating itself. He reacted as a true Antonius. His spear transfixed a fleeing signifer, the man collapsing on the causeway and his standard falling against the commander. Primus hefted the standard up and faced it toward the incoming Vitellians, standing under it like a rock. The VII may flee from here, but this cohort’s standard is going nowhere.

The sight of their commander holding the insignia shamed many, and showed them the depths of their panic and cowardice. They knew only too well the result of that- Vitellius would win, and they and their families would be slain to avoid further crises. This is the second time they fought against him- there would be no clemency. Slowly, then rapidly, the men of Galba's VII Gemina resumed their ranks.

Fabullus came through the broken ranks of the Flavians quite easily, then saw the Galbiani standing firm. He glanced left and right, noting his own formations. He had two cohorts on his left, and five on the right, though both were strung out from chasing the Flaviani. The words of that upstart German tribune came back to him, but so did his own. Hound a fleeing foe! And thus he ordered his bugler to signal the charge.

The Vth responded to the call with eagerness. They threw themselves against the Galbiani and tore large holes in their ranks. But their attacks were uncoordinated and the Galbiani were fighting for life as well as an emperor. The VIIth withstood the pressure long enough for Primus to bring the Pannonian cavalry down upon these wild and witless attackers.

Fabullus found himself in a jam rather quickly. The fresh Flavians were fighting hard, and the cavalry, led by his opponent, was massacring entire cohorts with each lethal charge. A thrown pilum entered his chest as he fought to regain control, and he fell from his horse to the mud below, thinking how right that German tribune was.

The fall of Fabullus was not immediately felt, as no soldier this day was obeying any commands anyway. This was a blood feud, and there would be no mercy or discipline until the enemy was shattered. It was simply a matter of time until one side or the other caved in.

The locale favored the defenders heavily, and the attackers were already fatigued from the long march from Cremona. Thus the Vth began to buckle as its attacks were repulsed, and when Vipstanus Messala brought up Moesian auxiliaries onto their flanks, they broke.

Again the advice of Marcus Rutilius was ignored, for the law of the blood feud still prevailed. The victorious Galbiani, supported by the stout Moesians, chased the surviving Alaudae back across the broad valley towards Cremona.

But Fabullus had not been a total fool. Before he set out with the Vth, he gave orders to the XXI Rapax and I Italica legions to place themselves upon the Via Postumia in case storming the Flavian encampment at Bedriacum was necessary. These orders provided the Vth with some refuge, for as the Flavians chased, they found the Rapax and Italica ready to receive them.


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

“What a total fustercluck,” Rutilius thought as he munched an apple and watched the battle. It was getting close to dark, and the cohorts had been running back and forth between the fourth milestone from Cremona and the fifth from Bedricaum since an hour before noon. “No command and control, no plan of battle, no discipline. Fabullus was a fool to string his forces out by a long charge against routing fools, and now the other guy is doing the same.”

With that thought in his head, he watched to see if the XXI Rapax and I Italica were also led by fools.

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

They were. The commanders of the two legions had been bickering amongst themselves all afternoon over who was to command the two legions. Neither would give the other seniority, and neither would allow another to give him orders. Thus the two legions, though deployed for battle, were not a single army but two small ones.

Into this mess came the fleeing Vth, minus Fabullus and a good many others. They thought they had reached refuge, but the ranks of the XXI and the I did not open to receive them. Maybe the Flavians on their heels had something to do with it, maybe not. A true Roman would have advanced in formation upon the strung-out foes, providing the fleeing forces the haven they needed to reorganize while at the same time sending the enemy running. But neither commander would allow the other to make a move without his own consent, so the two legions simply stood and watched the Flaviani murder their fellow legionaries.

The Flaviani crashed into the waiting ranks of the two Vitellian legions and came to an abrupt stop. The fighting was furious up and down the line, with the exultant Flaviani thinking they had the upper hand despite the losses they had suffered and the fact that these two legions outnumbered them by a good margin. Such mental strength gave them the willpower to continue the unequal struggle, and the stupidity of the Vitellian commanders in forcing their men to stand fast and repel the onslaught- instead of maneuvering to crush it- allowed the onslaught to continue.

Vipstanus Messala, the tribune who had brought up the Moesians auxiliaries that saved the Galbiani, came again to the rescue. His Moesians, a mix of auxilia infantry and cavalry, shattered the VI cohort of the Italica with a magnificent charge. Other Flavians followed, widening the breach. The remnants of the VI cohort streamed to the rear, seeking the safety of Cremona. Other cohorts soon followed, and the Rapax as well, retiring in good order.

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

“That guy will probably get all the credit for the victory,” Rutilius thought as he watched the Moesians charge. He saw what Primus did not, but the Vitellian commanders probably did. Coming up behind the Moesians and the Pannonian legions was the rest of the Flavian army. Rutilius could count four Eagles marching- another four legions were coming. The stubborn legates commanding the XXI Rapax and I Italica probably knew it, and in retiring now, they could reach their encampment at Cremona before the four fresh Flavian legions came into battle. Smart. And the Moesian commander’s timing was guaranteed to get him credit for sending the Vitellians in retreat.

He shifted his gaze to the west and north, his eyes drawn by a glint in the failing sunlight. There, to the west, a mass of men moving towards Cremona. They were still miles away, but they were coming, and fast. Rutilius thought there could be five or six legions in a column that size, but the distance was too great to be sure. One thing was sure, there were a hell of a lot of Vitellian reinforcements heading this way.

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

Primus was having problems again. His men had advanced to within sight of Cremona, with the last of the Vitellian cohorts passing into the encampment and the town beyond as he watched. Four legions had joined his VII Galbiani and VII Claudia, bringing his total up to six legions against the defending three. These four were fresh, while the three Vitellian legions were tired from running and whipped curs to boot. The men sensed victory, and if they took the town by storm, they would be entitled to any booty looted. If they waited until the sun rose and the beaten Vitellians ask for quarter, any booty would then be the property of the officers. Thus the men, having fought all day, saw a massive pay-off and wanted to storm the town.

“Form ranks!” he ordered, to no avail. The men continued to prepare for the assault. “Gods damn it, men, you have won a brilliant victory today! Do not throw it away by being stupid now!”

Men began to put down the swords whose hilts were being used as hammers for the making of ladders. As Antonius continued, more and more stopped their preparations to hear what their beloved general had to say. It must be important, or the noble Antonius would not be pleading with them in the midst of readying an assault.

“You men have fought brilliantly this day, and more than deserve whatever rewards await us within those walls,” he cried. “But there is a reason that you men are legionaries and others are generals. Legionaries live to fight and kill, and you men did that today magnificently! But generals are required to think as well as fight, and now you must let my thoughts rule your actions.”

The men grumbled, but let the general speak.

“What will happen is plain for all to see- we shall indeed take this town. But think, men- at what price? Night falls, and by the time you have readied whatever equipment you need from the wreckage around us, it will be dark. You will be climbing hostile walls at night, boldly done!, and entering the tight confines of Cremona, which no man here knows. You will become lost in that maze, easy kills for Vitellian pila or ambushes to Vitellian gladii.”

He looked about his men thoughtfully. “Do any of you have spades, or axes, or any other equipment needed to storm a town? No, otherwise you would be making your ladders with hammers, instead of smashing the nails in with your sword hilts. How many blades have become dull from chopping, for lack of axes? Dull blades do not penetrate Roman armor, and though our foe serves Aulus Vitellius, they are still Roman legionaries, armored in Roman loricas just as yourself. How shall you dig if we need to pitch our camp here in sight of theirs, with no shovels?

“Thus I beseech you, as a general who devoutly cares for his men, do not attack this night! Wait until the morning, when our supply trains come with the onagers and proper equipment for building rams and mantlets. Let us rid Rome of Vitellius and his men, without losing too many of ours to make the victory sweet. Let us wait until the morning.”

“Nice speech, generalis,” called a legionary from Moesia. “But the enemy is reeling still from that smack we gave him here upon the fields. By tomorrow they will have recovered, while tonight they still shiver in their stockings thinking of us. Better to take them now, when we have the chance!”

“General!” another voice cried, this one a mounted man. “We have just circled the town! Vitellius has reinforcements. Six legions, about an hour away!”

“Who are you to spoil our fun?” asked the legionary with the hoary voice.

“I am Quintus Metellus, commander of the X Moesian cavalry,” the rider replied. “General! I saw them with my own eyes. Six legions at least, with the eagle of the IV Macedonica in the lead.”

“The IV Macedonica?” Primus muttered. “That was in Hostilia this morning, according to the scouts. Thirty miles away!”

“They are here now, general,” Metellus replied. “I saw them myself. And they are not alone!”

Metellus was of a freedman’s family, but he had served with Primus for six years now and was an able cavalryman. And he was not prone to exaggeration like many cavalrymen were. If he saw six eagles, there were six legions coming down that road.

“Men, listen up and listen well,” Primus ordered. “ We move back toward Bedriacum, now. I want the XIII Gemina on the road, facing here, just past the crossroad. Our Suevian auxilia will screen for us, and let us know if those legions coming out of Hostilia will continue the attack into the night. I want the VIII Augusta to flank them on the right, and my ancestor’s beloved III Legion on their right. To the left of the XIII, I want the cohorts of my VII Galbiani, flanked by the VII Claudia. Moesians! You shall cover the VII Claudia’s flanks. And when those useless Praetorians Vitellius fired get their worthless asses here from Bedriacum, I want them on the far right. Now move it, men! If we know they are there, they damned well know we are here.”

The Flaviani did not need to be told twice. They formed up quickly and like the professional soldiers they were, began moving sharply to their assigned places. Some cohorts got mixed up in the darkness, but most made it to their assigned positions in relatively good order.

Behind them, the Vitellian legions were passing through Cremona and deploying once they passed the fortified camp, where the remnants of the day’s battles flowed out to join them. There was no general commanding, for Caecina was still in fetters in the Cremona jail and no legate had risen to fill his shoes. Thus the Vitellian legions deployed haphazardly and with no real idea about who should be where. As it turned out, the standards of the XV straddled the Via Postumia, with the remnants of the Vth to their right. Flanking the V Alaudae was the IV Macedonica in the posting of honor. To the left of the XV were three strong vexillations from the II Augusta, XX Valeria Victrix and IX legions. The XVI legion took their flank, with the XXII Primigenia on the far left. Had there been an actual commander directing the legions, he might have held the three vexillations in reserve to crush the Flavians once and for all wherever someone broke through, but there was no commander and all cohorts fell simply into line with no thought or plan.

The Suevii fell back an hour before midnight.

“They come,” Sido reported to Primus. “Six Eagles, and a cluster of fools to the north of center with no Eagle. They are formed for battle in a long line, and are sweeping this way.”

Primus nodded at the report. Though it came from a German ally who was no Roman soldier, it was a proper report- short, complete, and direct. He dismissed the German to rejoin his countrymen, and sent another runner off for those blasted ex-Praetorians. He no longer wanted them on the right- that was an honor they did not yet deserve. No, he wanted a reserve in case the longer Vitellian line curved around his. Foolish of Caecina to hold no reserve, he thought. Yet a boon for me.




Just as the Praetorians started moving, the Vitellian legions slammed into Primus’s line. The complete and utter darkness of the battlefield favored neither side, but since the Flavians were on the defensive, it actually favored them. The XV tangled with the XIII, but since neither side could see very well, the trailing cohorts of the XX Valeria could not find the seam between the XIII and the VIII Augusta, which meant they piled head-on into the VIIIth along with the other rump-legions. In the south, Vitellius’s IV Macedonica impacted on the shields of the VII Claudia, but the auxilia on the VII Claudia’s flank could not see to attack the flank of the IV Macedonica. And in the north, the I Italica and XXII Primigenia legions hit the III, driving it back, but could not see enough to exploit the situation.

Through the moving mass of men fell rocks and bolts as the artillery of the legions shot at sound. This, while somewhat effective, simply added to the confusion of battle and drove the men mad with frustration and battle frenzy. Men killed and died, and in the darkness it was almost impossible to tell who was killing who, and who was dying from which hand.

It was Chaos.

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

Riding at night had its advantages. Though he was exhausted by the night-long ride the day before and the battle during the morning, the internal clock of Marcus Rutilius roused him from his slumber. He heard the muted distinctive chorus of swords on shields and steel of steel, and that was enough to bring him fully awake. He searched in the blackness for his water sack, found it, and took a sip. The he fished an apple out of his ration pack and munched it while trying to figure out what was going on down there.

He knew one thing for certain- he was not the only man that night who had no idea what was happening. He was willing to bet the forty denarii left in his purse that not a single man in the valley knew any better. It was a bet he would have won, had there been any takers.

Then the moon rose. It came out of the east, and being a full moon, spilled blessed light over the blackened field. Suddenly men could see, and the sounds of battle changed. No longer were dim curses rising from the valley as men tripped and fell over dying comrades, no longer were boulders falling harmlessly among the vines and fields. Now men grunted as their swords slammed home, and shrieked in pain when boulders flattened them.

It was a whole new battle, and Rutilius had a grand seat. He watched in awe as the massive onager of the XVI Gallica smashed down whole ranks of the Vespasian’s XIII, and those boulders that missed flattened men from Galba’s VII Gemini. The scorpions of the III had a field day against the legionaries of the I Italica, driving those that survived the barrages back into the Vitellian lines.

Rutilius noticed something about the gunnery that made him blink twice as the engines of the Vitellians slowly but surely fell silent. The moon’s light was behind the Flavians, illuminating their targets as if upon a practice range. The shadows the Flavian guns, however, were long, very long as the moon was not yet high above the horizon. That made the guns appear to be very large indeed, and he watched rock after rock fly from the Vitellian lines to land smack in the middle of those shadows, harming nothing. The Flavians, with their practice-range targets, were hitting their marks with telling effects. Soon the Vitellian artillery was all damaged or its crews killed by the counter-battery fire to which they could neither defend nor even see.



Though they were losing the artillery duel, the Vitellians had the advantage of numbers and they soon began to tell. Galba’s VII, Antonius Primus’s own unit, was taking a heavy beating. One cohort broke, then another, and soon it was a flood of men streaming away. A dangerous breach developed in the Flavian ranks.

Rutilius ate a second apple while he wondered what the Flavian commander would do about it.

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

“Sir! Our men are breaking!” cried a tribune of the VII Legion. “The V Alaudae got reinforced by the XXI Rapax and they are breaking through!”

“Cacat!” cursed Primus, and looked about for a miracle. He found it in the ex-Praetorians he had been wise enough to hold back. He called their commanding Prefect over and pointed to the gaping hole forming in his legion. “Get your men there, and quickly!” he ordered.

The prefect nodded and rode off at the double. Within minutes, the ex-Praetorians were filling the gap, closing the front and killing those Alaudae who were foolish enough to allow themselves to be cut off and punishing the XXI Rapax hard.

The immediate problem was solved, but the Vitellian pressure was felt all up and down the Flavian line. Primus knew he had to encourage his men, or he would not have an army by morning. All Mucianus would find was unburied corpses of twelve legions, and have to fight this battle over again with his Eastern legions against the veteran army Vitellius was bringing out of Britannia.

Primus gathered his bodyguards and rode forward to the Pannonian legions, starting with the XIII. Entering the battle, he hewed mightily at the legionaries of the XV, asking the men of the XIII why they were fighting so poorly.

“You men supported Vespasian, and attacked these Vitellian fools with words,” he cried between swings, “yet dare you attack them with swords? Fight, you bastards, and show me you are more than bullies and braggarts. Show me you are men of your word, and fight like the demons you are!”

The men listened to the general as he fought, and his words shamed them. They had been loud in their mockery of Vitellius and his legions, yet now was the time for deeds, not words. Properly chastised, the legion rose above itself and began to push back the Vitellian assault.

Good, Primus thought, and repeated the demonstration and oration by the VIII Augusta, with the same results. Then he came to the III, the legion of his ancestor. Here he exhorted his ancestral legion to fight bravely and not falter, reminding them of their many victories under his ancestor, Marcus Antonius the Triumvir, lieutenant to the Great Caesar himself. He reminded them of their history- victory over the Parthians under the Triumvir, over the Armenians under Corbulo, and recently their victories over the Sarmatians.

The men of the III were not shamed as the Pannonian legions were. Instead, they were proud. They were Antonius’s own, and most had spent their entire career in the East. Now it was their turn to show the German armies who was the more elite unit. As one, they surged forward.

A runner came upon Primus. Panting heavily, he reported the ex-Praetorians were falling back after having surged forward against the XXI Rapax. They had suffered heavily, and were near the breaking point.

Primus cursed, and raced to the crumbling line of ex-bodyguards.

"Clowns!" he shouted. "Unless we are victorious, you are all dead. Who would have you, men who had been fired by Vitellius? There are no other emperors for you to serve- and having lifted arms against him, he is sure to slaughter you all. Do not worry about disgrace- you have exhausted that already. Defeat for you here is death. But there is something you can do, you worthless apes! Your colors and arms are there, in the hands of veterans from the German armies. Go take them back!”

Angered and insulted, the ex-Praetorians rose to the challenge. Gone were thoughts of flight and escape, for now it was clear to them- victory or death. Primus had the right of it- there would be no clemency for them. That made everything simple.

Despite the exhortations of Primus, the battle was still teetering in favor of the Vitellians. There were simply more of them, and numbers made a difference.

Until the sun came above the horizon.

The legionaries of the III, having spent most of their careers in Syria, had picked up the local customs and adapted them to their legion. One of these now played a crucial role in the battle.

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

What the hell are they doing? Rutilius thought as he watched the far Flavian flank suddenly turn from their foes, presenting their backs to them. Are they bowing out of the fight? Is it now lights out for the Flavians, just as light comes?



Then he saw them waving, and a tremendous cheer issued from them.

Rutilius quickly scanned the east. The sun, just coming over the horizon, made it difficult to see, even from his height. There could be movement there, or just his eyes playing tricks on him. But the men of the III saw something, and they were greeting it. He immediately thought of Mucianus and his legions, coming to the rescue just when the Flavian cause seemed doomed to die upon Vitellian gladii.

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

Rutilius was not the only one to have that thought. The legionaries of the I Italica were just as confused as he was when their opponents suddenly turned about and cheered. Each of them knew the situation and why this battle had to be resolved that night- which was why so many of them had fought and died in the darkness. Primus had to be removed from the order of battle before the legions of Mucianus could come and settle the battle. Now it appeared that Mucianus had done a forced-march as they themselves had from Hostilia. Tired from a long day’s march and a longer night battle, the men of the I Italica had no more strength to fight fresh legions.

Each of them knew it, and each of them did the only thing they could. They fled, back toward the fortified camp outside Cremona.

As the I Italica peeled away, the XVI Gallica learned why and came to the same decision. Then the rump-legions, then the gallant XV, and the Larks of the V. The IV Macedonica held the field the longest, but under ever-increasing pressure, they too turned and fled the field.

The stunned Flavians, so close to breaking themselves, wondered about this strange turn of events. Until Marcus Antonius Primus started laughing.

”Bless the sun!” he cried, ”And bless the III Cyrenaica for serving under that hot sun for so many years! Men of Flavius Vespasianus, the Vitellians were defeated by the sun! The III greeted the sun as is their custom, and the cowardly fools they faced ran! Chase them, you apes, and do not let them reform. This victory is ours, thanks to the Sun!”

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

The victorious Flavians chased the fleeing Vitellians all the way back to Cremona, stepping over the bodies of friend and foe alike in their orgy of victory.

As he passed the scene of the heaviest fighting between the VII Galbiani and the V, Alaudae, Primus noticed a Galbianus digging a grave, the body of a legionary from the XXI Rapax beside him.

”What the hell are you doing, legionary?” he bellowed. ”There is time enough to bury these fools later. Get back to your unit now, son, and help us rid the world of these madmen!”

The crying legionary looked up at his general, tears rolling down his face. ”This man you call a fool and a madman, sir, is my father, Julius Mansuetus who was recruited by Nero to serve in the XXI Rapax- the Predators. Galba recruited me to his VII legion, and I went willingly for Galba was a good general. This night, lord, you pitted our VII Galbiani against the V Alaudae, supported by the XXI Rapax. In the darkness, I slew many men, my own father among them. I did not recognize him until I was withdrawing my gladius from his chest, nor he me until his life began to ebb. So if you don’t mind sir, I am going to do my familial duty to my father, and to hell with the men who forced me to kill him.”

Primus looked down at the young legionary and cursed silently. He nodded. ”Son, you are excused from further duty. When you have finished the rites for your father, and only then, rejoin your unit.”

The legionary saluted, and resumed digging between bouts of tears. Primus echoed those tears- what a frikking war this is when sons and fathers must face each other over drawn steel. Damn it all, and damn this civil war!

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

The rest of the battle was anti-climactic. Rutilius watched as the victorious Flavians surrounded the fortified camp and began to prepare the assault. The artillery was brought up, but the walls of the fortress were built to hold artillery of its own, and those mighty engines had a further reach than their ground-bound counterparts. So it was to be a storm, and a storm it was.

While Rutilius watched the aftermath, he also scoured the eastern horizon. The sun was higher now, and allowed him a good, long view of the battlefield. Men were spread out all over the valley, and in large mounds where the fighting was fiercest. None were moving, and the silence of it was devastating. So many brave men fell that a cat could walk from one side of the valley to another, stepping on naught but dead men. And in the east, there was no sign of the legions of Mucianus.

In the west, however, something did catch his eye. A portion of the camp wall was down, and the Vitellians were marching out unarmed. The camp had fallen. But beyond it, Cremona burned. Cremona, a colony seeded almost three hundred years ago in the consulship of Tiberius Sempronius and Cornelius Scipio, was paying the price for siding with Vitellius.

Damn all civil war, thought Rutilius as he clad himself in his German garb once again. It was no longer safe to be a tribune in the service of Vitellius, if the fate of Cremona was any token. It was seeded in a time when Hannibal threatened Italia, and burned in a time when Roman slew Roman over whose arse was to sit in the Imperial Throne.

Worse, he now had no idea to whom he should deliver his pledge of honor concerning the Cananefate.

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 @ 08:32 AM).]