By Terikel Grayhair





"You, Montanus! Come here!"

Alpinius Montanus lifted his weary gaze from the shovel in his hand up to the voice calling him. He recognized the tribune calling him and cursed. Lucius Catallus Strabo could be a real prick when he wanted.

"Move it, Montanus!" Catallus repeated. "The generalis wants to speak with you. These other bastards can finish digging the grave."

Montanus handed his shovel to a fellow prisoner and climbed adroitly out of the ditch where the Flavian dead of the Battle of Bedriacum a few days before were going to be burned and interred. It still hurt that his own legions lost that battle due to a fluke, and even worse that the victors were not allowing them to bury their own dead.

Catallus led the prisoner through the gates of the fortress in which Montanus had been captured to where Marcus Antonius Primus was still reveling in his victory over the Vitellian legions three days ago. A brief knock, and Montanus was shoved rudely into the office of the commander.

Marcus Antonius was a large man, but nowhere near as large or as brutish-looking as his namesake ancestor. His dark, wavy hair was a direct contrast to the straight blonde locks of the prisoner, just as his prim and clean uniform was to the dirt-stained tunic of the prisoner. Still, he greeted Montanus standing as an equal.

"You are Alpinius Montanus?" he enquired in a flat voice, still hoarse from the battle.

"So your kind call me, generalis," the prisoner replied, laughing inside at the name the Romans gave him when he joined the legions fourteen years ago. Alfred Son of Hrolvath from the Southern Hills was the name his own kind called him, but the centurion accepting him into the legion renamed him after the mountains between Rome and his German homeland. Thus Alfred became Alpinius, and was cognomated Montanus.

"You were a tribune in the XXI Legio Rapax, were you not?"

"No, generalis, I was a tribune in the V Legio Alaudae, commanding the VI cohort," he replied honestly. "I was a Lark, sir, not a Predator."

"And do you now accept Titus Flavius Vespasianus as the Emperor of Rome, to whom you should pledge your loyalty?"

"I swore an oath to Aulus Vitellius when Galba died, lord. We barbarians may be looked down upon by you haughty Romans, but we do not break our oaths as easily as do you. I am still sworn to Vitellius, until such a time as he breaks that oath."

Antonius smirked at that reply. Soon enough, my dear barbarian, you shall be free of that oath. Soon enough. In the mean time, I need to keep more Vitellian troops from doing to me what I did to them here.

"As honor means much among you, I would require your word of honor that you will perform a mission for me that is vital to Rome. You will be paroled, which means you will be freed but may not take up arms against me or Vespasian again, and in exchange for this, must perform a small task for me. Do you so agree?"

"It depends on the mission, generalis," Alfred replied. He knew about paroles and their conditions, but was not yet ready to desert his imprisoned companions.

"I have some letters that need to be taken north," Primus replied, pointing to a pouch. "I would like you to take them there for me, if I can have your word you will do so."

"Why me?"

Antonius smiled. "Several reasons, Montanus. One, you are a Vitellian tribune. You saw the battle here, and will be able to report it in words the commanders in Germania can understand. Two, you are known to your colleagues- credibility and veracity are thus established. And three, you are a Treveri. You know the country, and are thus able to perform this mission quickly and correctly."

"You have good reasons," Montanus agreed. "What will happen to my men if I agree to this task for you?"

"Rome needs soldiers, especially after this great carnage," Primus said adamantly. "The Dacians and Moesians are both in motion, and the legions that guarded those borders are now here, readying to march on Rome. I will leave my cavalry to guard them, until Mucianus arrives. Most likely he will reform your men into new legions and send them to the Dacian and Moesian borders, where they will be able to serve Rome as they swore to do, and be able to stay out of trouble."

"So, they are to be paroled as well?" Montanus asked.

"Conditional upon your acceptance, of course. Otherwise I will ask Mucianus to disband them and sell them as slaves to the Parthians- we cannot leave trained legionaries unsworn to start rebellion later, you know."

"Bastard," Montanus whispered. He thought long and hard over his chances, and those of his men. Defeated as he knew he would be, he looked to Primus. "Okay, generalis, you have a courier. I so swear."

Primus handed him the pouch. "This goes to Marcus Hordeonius Flaccus in Moguntiacum, and a second pouch which is being made ready by my clerks will be going to Gaius Julius Civilis. I wish you to deliver both to the addressees. Dismissed, tribune."

Alfred Hrolvath's Son popped to attention and saluted. He then turned sharply and exited the principia to gather his horses and supplies while the clerks finished the transcriptions. Then he would be off to the north, beyond the Alps for which he was named, and towards home.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Alps in late October were not friendly, even to a man named after them. Alpinius Montanus held to the road through Raetia, holding as direct a course to Moguntiacum as possible. There were times the road turned, or ceased to exist, but Montanus was a barbarian born in the wild with a natural sense of direction. Through snowdrifts from the early snowfalls, through the rocky cliffs, through the treacherous slopes where thin earth would slide off its rocky perch, to cast the those unlucky enough to tread upon them off their feet, or worse. He kept his pace through it all, freeing his horse if it could not cross the path he chose, or killing the beast if he needed food. By the next Roman station he would acquire another- the signet Primus had given him has already proven that.

The Alps gradually declined from rocky slopes and high valleys to high rolling hills and low valleys. Alpinius smiled, seeing his homeland again. He was through the mountains now, and heading home.

The gates of Moguntiacum were a welcome sight. His was on his seventh horse now, having released two, eaten one, and exchanged four exhausted ones at various way stations. This one knew the post, for which he was grateful, and let the horse have his head when nearby. The horse had walked through the night while its rider dozed in the saddle. By daylight, when he woke, he saw the gates through tired eyes.

He reported to the praetorium, and was duly admitted into the chamber of Marcus Flaccus.

"It is true, then," the aging, troubled governor said as he looked over the letters from Primus.

"Yes, lord. I was there. We fought all day, pushing them back from Cremona toward Bedriacum. Then they and their reinforcements chased us back to Cremona, where our reinforcing legions joined us in chasing them back towards Bedriacum. We fought all night, and in the morning, we broke. Our reinforcements had marched thirty miles and went directly into battle, the Flavian only ten. They were tired, we were exhausted. When the sun rose, we broke. End of story."

"And there is nothing between Rome and Cremona that can stop them?"" Flaccus asked.

"Not that I know of," Montanus affirmed. "There are still legions enroute from Britannia and Hispana, but those are marching overland. Italia itself is devoid of troops, except Aulus's new praetorians."

Flaccus then demanded to hear of the battle in full detail, which Montanus related in dry, flat tones. He had relived the battle many times over the last few weeks and knew intimately every mistake that had been made. Primus had made many, the Vitellians more. Especially in command- Caecina was a good general, but he spent the battle in fetters within Cremona- and Fabullus, his replacement, got himself killed early on. No legate rose to the occasion, or was accepted by his peers. Thus the legions of Primus, working as one, destroyed the legions of Vitellius who outnumbered them.

Finished, Montanus asked for leave to deliver the second set of letters to Civilis.

"Primus wrote to Civilis?" Flaccus gasped in shock. He recovered, and demanded to see the letters. Montanus at first refused, his barbarian honor concerning personal articles overriding Roman discipline, but curiosity and discipline won out in the end. He handed Flaccus the letters.

"Jupiter's Splitting Head birthing Athena!" Flaccus exclaimed as he read. "We never stood a chance... I had no idea the conspiracy ran this deep... Mars and Juno!""

At last he finished, and put down the scrolls. Montanus placed them back into the dispatch pouch. "By your leave, generalis, I will be off to Batavodurum with first light."

"You will be off to Gelduba at first light," Flaccus corrected. "I want you to repeat your history of the battle and its outcome to legate Caius Dillius Vocula, the commander at Gelduba. After that, you may continue on to find Civilis to deliver those treasonous letters. Dismissed."

"Aye, lord," Montanus acknowledged. He strode to the door, then stopped and turned. "Is there a transient barracks I may use?"

"My adjutant will take you there," Flaccus said. "It is currently occupied by a few units of Vascon cavalry that just arrived, but you and they should get along well. You are both barbarians, and you outrank them by a fair bit, tribune."

Montanus saluted again and departed.

What an ass, he thought as the adjutant led him to the barracks. Now wonder the auxiliaries from this area have deserted so often, he thought, with attitudes like that prevalent among the commanders.

* * * * * * * * * *

Montanus departed the following morning, well after first light. When he first rose and readied his horse, he saw the entire garrison of the IV Macedonica and its many auxiliaries in full parade array, with Flaccus addressing them from a podium. His curiosity piqued, he dawdled in order to learn more, then realized he could not leave anyway- the gate guards had locked the gates and were most likely in the ranks. Cursing yet relieved, he moved closer to the parade ground to hear what Flaccus had to say.



It wasn't pretty, or even nice. Old, obese Flaccus was standing before the men of the IV Macedonica, telling them of the defeat of the legions at Bedriacum and what that meant to them, specifically that they were now isolated from the rest of the empire and very soon, Vitellius would no longer be emperor. Raetia had sworn to Vespasian, as had the East, Others to the west would do the same, especially when news of Bedriacum reach them. By failing to swear, they would become pariahs, non-Romans, and worse- renegades loyal to a dying or even dead man.

The only chance to come back into the fold of Roman graces was to swear to Vespasian- then and only then would men, money, and supplies flow from the Roman lands to this cut-off and isolated province. He spared no feelings- telling it bluntly and directly as was his style.

The men listening to the words did so under duress. Every man-jack among them wanted to abandon gods-forsaken Germania and rush to Italia to aid their beloved Vitellius. Yet they knew that if they did so, the men of the V Alaudae and the XV Primigenia would be slaughtered, and no Roman soldier abandoned a comrade. Torn between the two, and under strong pressure from their tribunes, the men grumbled but took the oath of allegiance. Many a centurion knew their men held silent when it came to speaking the hated name of the coming emperor- or deliberately slurred the name so that it was unrecognizable, but the centurions felt the same way and said nothing.

The Gallic auxiliaries on the parade ground remained silent during the oath. When it was over, their tribunes headed to Flaccus while the men themselves returned to their barracks. Montanus wondered what that was about, and found out after he found the gatekeeper and managed to finally get on his way. The Gallic auxies, it seemed, had a beef over Vespasian. They had signed on to fight for Vitellius, and as long as he was governor or emperor, it as fine. Now that he was dead or dying, and a new Roman warlord taking over, they wanted no more. Their oath expired with Vitellius, thus they were going home. Flaccus had no choice but to let the Gauls march out, taking their personal gear with them but leaving Rome's property behind.

* * * * * * * * * *

Alpinius Montanus discarded his ridiculous name upon reaching the walls of Batavodurum. The civitas was tucked in well upon a tongue of land reaching into the river, something that made its defense quite easy. No Roman soldier would make it easily inside those walls, nor have any chance of reaching the new king. A Treveri warrior, however, would have a fair chance. Thus when the warriors at the gate asked his name and business, he replied truthfully in the Germanic tongue, “Alfred, Son of Hrolvath of the Southern Hills, carrying messages for Seval.”

The warriors glanced him over, but saw exactly what his thick accent described- a Treveri warrior, mounted upon a Treveri horse, wearing Treveri clothes, and carrying a pouch from which the ends of scrolls could be seen poking out. As the Treveri were bouncing back and forth in their loyalties- first to Rome, then to the Batavians, then to Rome again, the warriors were still hesitant to allow him in. Then one told the other that maybe they were back on our side and this rider was here to announce that fact, to which the other laughed, and Montanus was allowed in.

Alfred was escorted to the kings’ hall, were his weapons were taken from him before allowing him to enter the chambers. He understood this to be a bit of cowardice on the part of Seval, but knew it was merely prudence- Seval had been kicking Roman butt severely hard these last six months. What a foe cannot attain with a sword, he can acquire through a dagger.

Seval was a sight to see. Always one-eyed since a British spear ripped into his face taking his eye and leaving a handsome scar down the side of his face, he used to be a handsome man with blonde hair cropped close in the Roman manner. He was also customarily beardless so the enemy could not pull his head down by it to more easily crush the noble skull to which it was attached. The man greeting him now was sporting a wild red bush atop his head, with a beard to match. Gaius Julius Civilis had indeed taken the role of barbarian king to extremes.

“I see you have totally abandoned Roman ways, lord,” Montanus began. “That does not bode well for my mission.”

“You dress as a Treveri, but speak like a Roman, while I fight like a Roman and dress like a German. Methinks we both play reversed roles in two worlds.”

“I am Alfred, Son of Hrolvath of the Southern Hills. I come to you as a messenger from Marcus Antonius Primus, who defeated the forces of Vitellius upon the battlefield at Bedriacum. ”

“And what would the great Antonius want with the likes of me? Better yet, what would I want with the likes of Antonius?””

“What does that matter to me?” Alfred replied hotly. “I swore only to bring you his letters. What you do with them is up to you.” With that, he threw the pouch to the feet of the Batavian king and marched out.

Seval motioned to one of his warriors, who opened the pouch and brought forth the scrolls. One by one he handed them to his king, who opened them and read them. After he had read all three, he cursed loudly.

“Fetch me the witch,” he ordered. “And make sure that Treveri does not leave the civitas. I would have him carry my response back to his lily-livered lordling.”

The warrior nodded, and went forth to carry out the orders. Seval looked over the letters again, reading and re-reading them, while trying to decide on the perfect reply. This turn of events was expected, but the reality of it was not. His old friend and colleague, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, was about to become emperor.

When Montanus was again led back into the king’s chamber, he saw something new. Veleda. Not a man born among the tribes did not know the Bructeri seeress by either sight or name. She had been instrumental in resolving many conflicts between the varying tribes, and her powers were well-known to all. Seeing her purring like a kitten beside the red-headed chieftain, Montanus knew immediately how the upstart Batavian had won so many victories in so short a time.

Seval opened the conference. “I wanted to tell you this, Alfred. I served Rome loyally for twenty-five years, expanding her borders and serving her emperors. And my reward? My brother Claudius was tortured by Nero and executed by Galba. I myself was thrown into chains and forced to endure unbearable tortures, whilst the Army of the Rhein demanded my death. I escaped death, and fought back, destroying many who would see me murdered like a common criminal. I wish now freedom from Rome. If I win, we get it. If I should lose, we are no worse off than we were before the troubles started.

“This I would tell you, but I cannot. For the Seeress has foreseen the result of you bringing that message to your Primus. Veleda?”

The seeress turned from the Batavian lord to their guest. “Should you bring this message to the Flavians verbatim, they would not understand the actions driving these words. They would not understand how far Rome has oppressed us, and to what ends they are forcing us. They would send many, many legions to this land, slay all who oppose them, and destroy forever the Batavians, the Cananefate, the Frisians, the Treveri, the Bructeri, the Tencteri, the Tungrians, the Chauci, the Chatti, and every other tribe which has risen against their oppression.

“I have foreseen this, and what shall occur if you bring forth the message in milder words. For the response of Rome shall be limited. Flaccus will die before the spring comes, and his lackey Vocula as well. I have seen Gaius Julius Civilis- our beloved Seval- romping through the charred ruins of Castra Vetera. I have seen the Treveri raising a great city in their lands, capital of a land larger than all of Gaul, and lasting thousands of years. And I have foreseen German princes ruling in Rome, climaxing our victory over these Sandal-Wearers. So we beg of you, Alpinius Montanus, do relay to your lords our feelings, but mildly.”

Alfred thought deeply over what the seeress predicted. The Treveri ruling a land larger than all of Gaul, for thousands of years. Rome would be but a pittance, for the Bructeri was never wrong. His loyalty to Rome was strong, but he also had a loyalty to his people. If Germans ruled in Rome, then the Treveri must rule in Germania.

“I shall relay your feelings mildly, my lord,” he said at last, blood winning out over discipline. “What will you have me say, verbatim?”

Seval smiled cruelly. “Return to your erstwhile masters, Alfred. Tell them my feelings, and that I shall reply to their gentle requests to lay down my arms shortly, and in my own way.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Civilis replied to the Romans four days after Montanus departed the civitas, and he did it in his own unique way that left no possibility for confusion or misinterpretation. He sent his cousin Julius Maximus, his nephew Claudius Victor, and fifteen thousand warriors against the Roman encampment at Gelduba.


Julius caught Vocula at what could have been a bad time. He was out of the castra, drilling two of his legions in coordinating with their auxiliaries, when the scouts first brought word of the German presence. There was not enough time left for the two legions with him to make it into the safety of the castra, so Vocula issued the only orders he could.

"Deploy as we just practiced," he commanded. "Our training aids will be along shortly to provide the practical portion of this training."

The legates and tribunes gathered around him laughed nervously at their commander's reaction to the horrifying news that an army of wild Germanic warriors twice their strength was descending upon them.

"XVI Gallica and I Germanica are to deploy in line of cohorts, the Germanica on the right, "he continued. "Aulus, send a courier to the XXII Primigenia. Have them leave the castra and make best time here. Tell Gaius Flavianus to take every man-jack he has with him, and take up station to our rear as reserve. I think we are going to need him."

Aulus Herennius Gallus nodded, and moved his I Germanica to its new position. He, like Vocula, was a seasoned commander. That did not stop the eight cohorts of renegade Batavian auxilia from practically destroying his legion a few months before, but since then his performance has risen- as had that of his rebuilt legion. The I Germanica would be ready.

To his left stood the XVI Gallica, under Publius Caecilius. Caecilius came from a long line of military men, but none of that really showed in his handling of his legion. But the XVI had conquered Gaul, earning its name years ago. They should do well, though, with Vocula commanding.

Vocula turned next to his auxilia tribunes. "Lucius Ignatius, take your cavalry to the right flank. Gnaeus Ulpius, your cavalry goes to the left. Both of you are to defend our flanks from that excellent Batavian cavalry. Do not, repeat, NOT, leave our flanks to go chasing those bastards if they do not wish to engage. Understood?"

Both tribunes nodded, saluted, and returned to their units. As the cavalry began moving into position, Caius Vocula turned to the Nervii.

"You men were once the ruling tribe of Germania Inferior," he reminded them, "but now that title has passed to the Batavi. If you wish to regain that honor, fight today and fight well. Put your forces behind our cavalry, ready to use those bloody spears of yours to impale the vaunted Batavi horses- I do not care about their riders- kill those bloody horses and the cavalry becomes immobile! When they break and stream away, do not, repeat NOT, leave your posts upon our flanks! The XXII will be behind you, ready to assist in case of trouble. So stay put, stay alive, and we will destroy this army of savages and return you to your rightful place as lead tribe of the province."

The two Nervii tribunes grinned at the encouragement, and vowed to both Mars and Wotan that it shall be so. Vocula dismissed them, and turned to gaze out over the battlefield. It was flat, for the most part, and heavily wooded along the edges of the massive meadow. That could cause problems with his archers and pilum-throwing infantry, but not if he deployed far enough away from the woodline to force the Germans into the open. A slight rise favored his lines, and would slow the attacking forces enough that his men might get off the second volley before impact. Satisfied that he had done all he cold, he settled back to watch the deployment of his legions and make any corrections necessary to present a tight and deadly front to his foes.

* * * * * * * * * *

Julius Maximus reined his horse in when Steinar Strongarm approached him. Both were tall, blonde, and strong- noblemen from the ruling house of Batavia. Julius was an experienced infantry commander- having served as a commander of Batavian infantry auxilia in Britannia for ten years. Steinar was a cavalryman, long and rangy, and had served for twelve years. And as cousins, they knew each other well, and had that mutual respect so necessary for commanders.

"What do you have for us, cousin?" Maximus inquired. By his side, his nephew Claudius Victor fidgeted nervously- this was going to be his first battle in command of a major formation- he would command the Batavian left. Not bad for a twenty-four year old.

"The Romani were not in their little civitas as we thought," Steinar reported. "They were out drilling, again. Some of the scouts spotted ours, and now they are moving into battle array. You shall have your battle, Julius."

"Do we have all three legions in the open? Can we really be so lucky?" Claudius asked in wonder.



Steinar shook his shaggy head. "Two legions are deploying for battle, horseborne and Nervii spearmen to the flanks. We saw runners heading east to the fort- expect the third legion to come at the double."

"Then they shall be tired when they arrive," Maximus laughed with a nod. "Seval was right- these fools are not the same as those which conquered Gaul. Let us destroy them now, and Gaul will be ours."

"How will that happen?" Claudius asked suddenly. "Destroying these armored cockroaches will free our land, surely, but Gaul?"

"You were so busy sharpening your sword, nephew, that you did not notice," Maximus admonished, though with pride. "There are men in Gaul- noble men- who are as fed up with Roman oppression as are we. Should we win here, the roaches in Vetera will be forced to surrender. When that happens, there will be no living roach in all of Batavia- we will be free of the Roman yoke. Should we succeed, others will follow. Envoys are already speaking with Seval as we ready for battle here, seeking his support and guidance."

"Seval has grand ambitions," Steinar affirmed.

"Deploy for battle, Steinar," Maximus decided. "We shall wait until the third legion arrives, then pounce."

"The Batavian Crescent?" Claudius asked in wonder. "I would love to see that in action!"

Maximus shook his shaggy head. "The enemy is spread too long for the Crescent, boy. We will be doing this the old-fashioned way- break their flanks while our warriors in the center close, chase those fools from the field of battle, and return to fall upon the rear of the engaged center."

"Not a good plan, Max," Steinar said. "That third legion, the one coming. It will require attention, as its presence will prevent the hammer from falling as you envision."

"Your suggestion, cousin?""

Steinar smiled broadly. "We let young Claudius here see a modified Crescent. We break the flanks as you said, but instead of chasing them from the field, crush them in towards each other like the Crescent does. Your footborne will be the center of the Crescent, our horseborne the wings. We catch that third legion in the press, rendering it useless, and poof! No more Romans."

Maximus thought it over. It was risky, but what battle is not? Steinar presented a good plan, one that would account for every Roman unit on the battlefield, and destroy it. No matter what the Romans did, the Crescent would close upon them like jaws, chewing them up and spitting out the broken shells.

"Flawlessly planned, Steinar," Maximus agreed. "Let's do it."

* * * * * * * * * *

The Batavians entered the meadow in perfect order, supporting their reputation as the premier cavalry of the Empire. Their infantry, however, was a ragged line of spearmen and axe-wielding warriors, but neither Steinar nor Maximus expected Roman orderliness and discipline from men born in the free wilderness beyond Father Rhein. Their numbers and ferocity would match any strength the Romani derived from their ordered ranks- ranks that would be broken soon enough.

Steinar noticed at once the intelligent deployment of the spear-wielding Nervii behind the Roman cavalry. This Vocula was no idiot. He noticed the eagle of the I Germanica on the Roman right and knew immediately why- Old Aulus Gallus was probably still smarting from the whopping the Batavian cavalry gave him at Bonna. There, the Batavian Crescent had practically destroyed his legion. He had probably warned Vocula about it, thus the anti-cavalry spearmen on the wings. Well, there are more ways than one to perform the Crescent, as Gallus ought to know- he tried the same thing at Bonna.

On the opposite flank, Dieter Straightback noticed the same deployment and reached the same conclusions as Steinar. Like the man he had served for nine years, he knew what to do to tear the flanks apart.

* * * * * * * * * *

"How long until the XXII is here?" Vocula asked his messenger. He was watching the deployment of the Germans, his critical eye noting the ragged, shabby infantry line opposing his own tidy ranks. The cavalry caught his gaze and held it- magnificent horsemen in text-book perfect formation, each piece of armor and equipment perfectly in its place upon each and every one. It would almost be a shame and a waste to destroy such wonderful cavalry, but since his survival depended on it, kill them he would.

"Titus Munius Flavianus reports he will be in position with the hour, generalis," the courier reported.

Vocula cursed. Fifteen thousand Germans were out there, against two pitiful legions. He had severely underestimated the German presence, and would now pay for that. Rome would pay as well, for with death here, she would have only two legions bottled up in Vetera and a single legion in Moguntiacum as her only presence in the entire province.

But the Germans did not attack. They stood in the winter's day sun, content within their furs, while the Romans facing them froze in their tunics and leggings. The Romans dared not withdraw, and dared not attack. They were fixed into position by the very presence of the enemy, and were forced to do what every army hates- to wait.

* * * * * * * * * *

A rider approached Dieter. The former tribunus militum noted the direction the rider was approaching from- the Roman lines- but that his dress was more in keeping with a tribesman than the enemy. The Tencteri cloak he wore proudly announced his origins, so the Batavian let the man enter his ranks.

"The third legion comes, chief," the rider reported. "It is arriving in columns of cohorts, and taking up position behind their war-chieftain."

"Tell Maximus, then ride to the southern flank and inform Steinar," Dieter ordered. Within minutes the entire Germanic warhost would be surging forward, finally.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Here they come!" a centurion shouted, alerting his freezing men to the oncoming horde. "Get ready, you apes. Pilum at the ready!""

Behind the center of the Roman line, Vocula was sweating despite the freezing weather. How long until Titus Munius had his legion here now? Would they arrive just in time to be slaughtered, or would they witness the death of two legions before succumbing themselves? He prayed to Jupiter and Mars and Mithras that his boys of the XXII would avoid both fates.

As if in answer to his prayers, bugles from the XXII blared, announcing their presence upon the field of battle. Vocula, usually a pillar of strength and confidence, breathed a sigh of intense relief as he turned and saw the cohorts of his beloved XXII beginning their deployments.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Oh look, cousin!" Claudius Victor called to Maximus in an amused voice. "Now your victory will be complete! The third band of roaches have finally come to join their brethren in the fire."

Maximus watched the XXII take the field and noted their deployment. Forming a second line behind the front was a wise move that would give his plans some twists, but both Dieter and Steinar were experienced commanders and would know how to adjust. The addition of the third legion would make the battle last longer, but not alter its outcome. He gave them a few more minutes to deploy before raising his ram's horn to his lips and blowing the signal for attack.

* * * * * * * * * *



The German line surged forward in an uneven wave, then righted itself fifty paces from the Romans, who were waiting with pila in hand and cowering behind those over-large shields of theirs.

On the flanks, Steinar and Dieter staggered their formations in response to the arrival of the third legion and the presence of those damned Nervii behind the Roman horseborne. As the Germanic infantry caught up to them to reform the line, they paused just long enough to cause the Romans to hesitate then launched the Batavian Crescent.

Dieter's leading squadron of cavalry charged forward, lances lowered, and smashed into the waiting Roman formation, which realized the danger too late. Surprised by the speed of the Batavian attack, they fell back in distress to the waiting spearmen. The Batavi followed, then upon seeing the spearmen, whirled about in helpless confusion.

This was what the Nervii expected. Howling their warcry at their coming victory, they charged forward through the broken ranks of Roman cavalry- which disrupted their own precise formation- and into the panicked and confused Batavian horsemen.

But the Batavians were no longer there. Their feigned surprise and confusion evaporated with the commitment of the Nervii spearmen and they withdrew back toward their own side of the field.

The Roman cavalry, seeing the withdrawal of the famed Batavian horsemen, regained their courage and gave chase to finish what the Nervii began.

The Nervii and the Roman cavalry chased Dieter's leading squadron beyond the ranks of the infantry and died there. Strung out and in poor order due to the horses and spearmen competing with one another to kill the Batavians, neither saw the other two squardons of Batavian cavalry circle around. The first they remembered of their presence was when Batavian lances ripped into their flanks and rear in a deafening charge of steel-shod horses across frozen earth.

On the southern flank, Steinar was doing the same- smashing the cavalry to anger them, feigning confusion to draw out the spearmen, hopeless mixing the formations to impede their ability to fight, then leading both to where none can help them and killing them there.

Once the flanks were broken, the Batavian cavalry withdrew to reform. Minutes later, they were back, a titanic thunder of pounding hooves and glimmering lances, shattering all who opposed them.

* * * * * * * * * *

"I ordered those idiots specifically NOT to leave our flanks," Vocula cursed as he watched the brave but stupid men of the cavalry die. Worse, they took the spearmen with them, who were also specifically ordered to remain in place. The warning of Gallus should have been better heeded- he had faced the exact same situation at Bonna.

Now it was being done to him, albeit on a larger scale. And like Gallus, he realized quickly the outcome of the flank battles. He realized one thing Gallus did not- his second line was much farther back than that of Gallus had been. They would not be caught in the coming crush, and that gave him tactical flexibility.

"Order Flavianus to peel off four cohorts and pin those cavalry in the south before they make too much of a mess of our line," he commanded. "Take the rest north and see if we can do to them what they intend to do to us- turn their flanks in upon each other!""

His reserves committed, he no longer had any valuable decisions to make, nor units with which to implement them if he had. That freed him of command responsibility for the moment, allowing him to demonstrate to both legionary and heathen the art of the warrior. He led his couriers toward the northern flank, where he would hold this demonstration.


* * * * * * * * * *

The legionaries of the I Germanica and the XVI Gallica were tiring fast of this inaction. Some few were involved in the battle so far, those on the flanks. The rest stood ready to repel the attack of the Batavian infantry, which steadfastly refused to come into pilum range. The patience of the legionaries was rapidly being depleted.

"Cohort!" roared a centurion, whose breaking point had been reached. "Those cowards refuse to come and play. Let us take the game to them. Ready! Forward... March!"

The III cohort of the I Germanica stepped forward, the action repeated by the cohorts on its flanks. The line of Romans surged forward, and in doing so, brought the Batavi into range. Missiles flew, men went down, and their places refilled by others. Enraged at the Batavian infantry's refusal to move, the Romans threw a second volley, then charged.

"Get back in line, you morons!" Vocula shouted as he saw the impromptu attack. "You will get us all killed!"

But the legionaries had had enough. Their cavalry was dead, the Nervii spearmen dead or broken- all while they stood helplessly in the freezing cold and watched as if disinterested spectators. But they were interested, and wanted to avenge their comrades. Thus Vocula shouted to the trees, for there was no way the men of the legions were the intended recipients of those foolish commands.

* * * * * * * * * *

"This is working out beautifully," Maximus gloated as he watched Steinar and Dieter fall back away from the reinforcing XXII. Within moments they would swing around and force them into the same cauldron their brothers now bathed in.

The Roman surge was an unexpected bonus. He knew they would be foiled by the halt of the Germans, and fret. But never in his wildest imaginings did he think they would be so stupid as to voluntarily throw themselves into the cauldron.

Donar, but this was a beautiful sight!


* * * * * * * * * *

"Like we planned!" shouted Claudius Victor from the center of the Batavian infantry. His shield had been hit by a Roman pilum early on. The five pounds of broken and bent spear hanging from it made the thing awkward, forcing him to discard the useless thing. He scooped up another from a Bructeri who had been caught napping and taken the pilum through the chest. "Now! Fall back!"

The Batavian center fell back, while the infantry on the flanks held fast. The cavalry on the flanks disengaged, and were reforming. Within minutes this farce would end with three legions dead. He could barely wait.

His men followed him, and a footborne Batavian Crescent was formed, with the Romans willfully throwing themselves into the forming pocket.

Then Steinar and Dieter returned to the battle, slamming the door on the surging Romans. The I Germanica had bad visions of deja vu, while the surprise and despair of the XVI Gallica at this turn of events was immeasurable.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dieter's first clue that this battle wasn't quite over yet was a flying pilum ringing off of his helmet. He whirled about, and saw several cohorts of Roman infantry outside the giant pocket, charging toward him. Worse, in the front ranks was a giant of a Roman with a red cape and gold-chased armor, leading the charge.

* * * * * * * * * *

Caius Vocula led the cohorts of his XXII into Dieter's cavalry and carved a bloody swath. He sought out the Germanic chieftain, but missing him, settled on any cavalryman he could find. He emptied saddle after saddle of lance-wielding Batavians, until they got smart and threw down their unwieldy spears and drew forth spathas.

Dieter watched his command begin to fall in droves, and realized the futility of remaining. This was an infantry brawl, after all. So sounding his ram's horn, he called the retreat in the north.

* * * * * * * * * *

Steinar ran into other troubles in the south. Joyfully slaughtering the close-packed Romans of the XVI Gallica, he got no hint of problems until a sharp pain exploded in his back, severing his spine. As he fell, he saw the bloody head of a slender javelin erupting from his chest, its point leaf-shaped and not of Roman manufacture. Nor German. Perplexed, he died.

He did not die alone. Around him many others of his cohort fell, pierced by the slender shafts. These were followed by a thundering charge of Roman cavalry into their disorganized ranks, shattering them beyond repair. With Steinar and most of his decurions dead, the leading cohort of Batavian cavalry evacuated the area to recoup and reform.

* * * * * * * * * *

Vocula saw the charge of two squadrons of Roman cavalry into the southern flank, followed by a rousing charge of infantry into the flank. As he had no cavalry left after the opening moves, the presence of those squadrons and that infantry meant only one thing.

"Flaccus and the IV Macedonica come!" he roared in sheer joy. "Look, lads! Your brethren come to rescue us! The IV legion, by the gods! Victory will be ours!"

His cry was taken up by others, and the Romans found again their courage and discipline. Cries of joy, while smiting and being smote, threw the laughing Germanic line into confusion.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Why had nobody warned me of this?" wailed Maximus as he watched the attacking Roman infantry and cavalry savage Steinar's formations. "Where had that legion been, all this time?"

He knew what he had to do. His men were perfectly deployed to crush three legions of armored roaches into porridge; he was totally out of position to tackle a fourth outside the pocket. Steinar was dead or dying, no matter, he was gone. If he wanted to avoid losing another family member in young Claudius, or the entire army, he had only one choice.

He lifted his horn to his lips and blew three long blasts. He waited to a count of ten, then repeated.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Retreat?" wondered Claudius, hearing the tones. "We are doing so well!"

Yet the lessons Seval had taught him were not wasted. The commander decides; the subordinates obey. Trust your commanders. Failure to do so will get you killed. The lesson beaten into him the last four months in besieging Castra Vetera to the north, he obeyed.

"Fall back."


* * * * * * * * * *

The Germans exited the battlefield in good order, taking many Roman standards with them. The Roman infantry, depleted by the battle, did not give chase, even had Vocula ordered it, which he expressly did not. The IV Macedonica would be better fitted to pursue anyway, and every veteran knew it. Thus the tattered remnants of the I Germanica and XVI Gallica remained in place and began patching up their wounded while their commanders went to thank Flaccus and the IV for finally getting off its wide ass and into the war.

* * * * * * * * * *

Vocula was laughing by the time Gallus reached him. Caecilius would not make it to the ad-hoc command council, as a German axe had taken half his head off. Nor would Titus Flavianus arrive, for much the same reason, except that in his case it was sword. But the primi pili of both legions did come, and when they saw their rescuers, they began laughing as well.

Gallus stared down the gentle rise at the IV Macedonica, which was not the IV Macedonica at all. In fact, their saviors numbered considerably less than a quarter legion. And they were not even Roman. They were auxilia.

"Aulus, meet tribunus Pietrus," he uttered between laughs. "Pietrus, the great Aulus Herrennius Gallus."

Pietrus drew himself up. He was a dark man, swarthy like a Roman, but with a most unRoman moustache. He saluted the legate, then enquired as to why all the laughter.

"Tribunus," Vocula said, coming to grips with himself at last. "You and your two squadrons of cavalry and one single cohort of infantry just drove off an army of fifteen thousand blood-mad Germans who had three entire Roman legions trapped. Outnumbered over seven to one, you attacked. And drove them from the field. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would never believe it. Three cohorts of auxilia, driving off a Germanic army. It's hilarious."

Gallus guffawed, then stared at Pietrus. "I don't recognize you," he said at last, taking in the decorations, patterns, and way of the auxilia tribune.

"I am from Hispaña," Pietrus informed. "Commander of ze Seexth Vascon Meexed Auxilia. I was sent to Gelduba by Marcus Flaccus. On my way zere, I heard ze sounds of battle and came to see what makes all ze noise. Had we investigated a leetle furzer, generalis, we might have seen ze true size of ze foe and decided to obey our orders and go on to Gelduba," he joked. "But luckily for you we deed not, and we Vascon do like to fight. So we joined ze party and attacked. Ze rest you know."

"I am very grateful you did join the party, Pietrus," Vocula confirmed. "Had you been a Roman, you would have just won a corona graminea for your actions. Since you are auxilia, the best I can do is authorize you and your men a golden torc and a set of phalerae. And of course a red battle streamer for your insignia."

The Vascon commander smiled broadly. "We care not for ze coronas and ze preetty metal, we Vascon. But ze preetty red battle streamer, si, generalis, it will look wery nice on ze inseegnia."


Caius Vocula was delighted at the unexpected victory, and just as distraught at the price of it. His Legio XXII had come out of the battle relatively intact- losing one in ten. But then again, they had obeyed orders. The I Germanica and the XVI Gallica, however, had lost over half their men in their self-made fiasco. Serves them right, he thought brutally. Had they held their ranks until the cohorts from the XXII could have relieved the pressure on the flanks, they might have lost far fewer men.

The Batavians lost fewer men, five thousand to the Roman eight thousand, but the majority of the Roman losses were those useless Nervii auxilia and the worthless cavalry who so botched the opening moves. And of the legionaries, the vast majority of those who died were recruits handed a sword and told to move out- with less than two months' training. Rome can afford their loss.

Then he looked over the Batavian dead. Many were of the priceless, magnificent horsemen, including their leader, a twelve year veteran. The majority of the infantry that had died were originally Roman auxilia, trained and disciplined as any legionary. He smiled. Civilis could not afford their loss.

Nor were any of the dead wearing Cananefate or Frisian cloaks. Come to think of it, he had seen a few Frisian cloaks among the serried ranks of Germani, but not a single Cananefate, who had destroyed four legions this past summer with relative ease, then drove the V Alaudae and the XV Primigenia back into their hole at Vetera. No Cananefate warhost had been reported since. And that gave him a ray of hope.

The best of the Batavi were dead or missing. The worst of the Romans were dead.

He had a chance.

"Orderly!" he shouted. "Have the legions redistribute men and cohorts to fill three legions of six cohorts each. We march to Vetera in the morning!"

* * * * * * * * * *

"They come."

Those words, spoken by many a Germanic scout to his lord since sandals first began treading upon German soil, had the same effect upon Civilis as they did upon Niall of the Cananefate a half-year ago. But much had happened in that half-year, and Rome's power has waned drastically while his own had waxed mightily.

Civilis moved out of his tent and into the brisk December air. He shifted his gaze to the west, where the castra of Vetera defied his might. Two broken Roman legions cowered inside, defiant within their walls. Now three more come to relieve them by breaking the siege. Five Roman legions, shadows of their former might. And he had the better part of sixteen thousand fresh and vital warriors, with more coming every day.

His red-dyed hair blew into his eyes, causing him to blink. Soon enough, ugly hair, he thought. Soon enough you will get out of my eyes and off my head. I have sworn not to cut you until I dance in Vetera's mighty ruins, and that shall be shortly. All I have to do is cut apart these three legions, and the two penned inside will lose their nerve and surrender. Soon.

"Deploy to intercept," he ordered. "Use the Frisians as the reserve. Transrhenae Germans nearest the fort where their ferocity and size will make the best impression, and our own infantry to their right."

The scout turned courier nodded and rode off, leaving his king an island of solitude among the bustling encampment where men scurried to don their armor and gather their weaponry. For today was the day. Victory or Valhalla- or both!

* * * * * * * * * *

"Pietrus, you are my reserve," Vocula said as he surveyed the battlefield. "I doubt we can fool those fellows into thinking you are the IV Macedonica again, but you can still intimidate them with your foreign ways and loud bugles. Lucius," he said, directing his words to his new tribunus laticlavius, "you will lead the XXII to take up station behind the I Germanica. I want the XVI Gallica on the left of the Ist. When the front-line legions engage, you bolt for the gates and clear the way. Got it?"

Lucius Pollanius Silanus nodded. He was to carve a path to the fort so the battered legions inside could escape to join their ranks, or the remnants of the relief force could enter and become trapped as well. He sincerely hoped for the former.

So did Aulus Gallus. His legion had been trashed in several battles now, severely tarnishing his reputation as a commander. He longed for his uncomfortable bench in the Senate, where he could spend all day listening to old fools blather about things beyond their ken, then jump in and set them right. He wanted to be in Rome, where it was warm, even in the winter. The Germani can have this freezing cold mudpie for all he cared. The sooner this mission was over, the sooner all of them can retire to Moguntiacum, and from there, seek new postings to warmer climes.

"Aulus, your I Germanica and the XVI Gallica will be arranged in the old-fashioned checkerboard, do you hear? I want to maximize the amount of Germani caught and crushed within our ranks. You will be commanding both legions."

Gallus, so crudely ripped from his reverie, nodded once. Checkerboard, aye. Then Vocula's last sentence penetrated his reverie. Command of two legions! He would be a generalis, if even for a single battle.

"Do you theenk that was wise, generalis?" Pietrus asked as Gallus ran off to his legions. "That legatus, he ees a beet not right een ze head, no?"

Vocula grinned. "He is an ass and an ape in one," he agreed. "But for this battle, that is exactly what I need leading those other apes."



Gallus stood in the front line, between the two Aquilifers. There was no doubt in any legionaries mind this day- there would be blood, and the general was willing to shed his along with them. This battle would see them victorious.

The Germans thought the same. Today they would be victorious. The fluke of Gelduba was forgotten as they took in the pitifully few Romans facing them. They were going to slaughter these men in front of their comrades, and then it will be the turn of the roaches behind the walls.

A ram's horn sounded, and its echoes blended with those of other horns on the flanks. The order was given- harvest blood! The Germans surged forward to do just that.

"Make ready!" came the command from a hundred centurions' throats. A moment later, they cried in unison, "Let fly!"



A swarm of pila took flight, finding homes in the breasts and shields of countless Germans. Those men went down in heaps, but the fur-clad tide hardly stopped. A second volley had the same effect, and then it was gladius against broadsword in the most basic of struggles.

The veterans of Gelduba, led by the surviving Batavian Roman-trained infantry, held their line well and killed a Roman for every man they lost. The lines of the XVI Gallica began to buckle under the pressure. Here and there, an entire century went under the Batavian tide, only to be recovered by the counter-surge of the century behind them. The fighting was hard, and the Batavians disciplined enough to stay out of the mouse-traps Vocula had ordered.

To their left, the Transrhenae Germani lacked the discipline and paid for it in the lives of many. They swarmed over the cohorts, sweeping onto the flanks of the exposed cohorts, exposing their own flanks in turn to other Romans and falling in droves to the pila and gladii . Again and again the mousetraps closed on hordes of Germans, chopping them into dogmeat, before reforming for the next batch. They were killing many, but losing many also. And whereas the Germans had an endless flow of warriors wishing only to kill or be killed, the men of the I Germanica had a finite supply of men and were rapidly using them up.

Lucius Pollanius waited until the Germani were fully engaged with the two bait legions ahead before making his move. And when he did move, it was with the speed of Caesar. The Germani could barely register the influx of fresh warriors before their throats were opened and their guts pierced.

* * * * * * * * * *

Civilis saw the eagle of the XXII begin to move, and discerned at once where it was going. It would not get far. He ordered Inigo and his Frisians to intercept the XXII and make it pay for entering the battle.

* * * * * * * * * *

"This is perfect!" Quintus Munius Lupercus cried as he watched the I Germanica bend against the German tide from the relative safety of the castra walls. The commander of Castra Vetera, penned up and besieged since September, watched in joy as the Germans flanking the I Germanica ran headlong onto the swords of the XXII Primigenia and stopped as if dashed against a cliff. Then he saw the Frisians move around the flank and begin to fall upon the flank of the XXII.

"Rufus!" he cried to the other legate below, who was standing behind the gates of the castra with cohorts formed for battle. "The Germani are totally ignoring us! Sally forth now, angle a bit left, and you will catch them in a gigantic Roman vise!" He turned his attention to the Syrian archers lining his walls. "You, monkeys! Let not an arrow loose until I so order- I want Numisius Rufus to get as close as possible before unleashing your missiles."

Numisius Rufus opened the gates and charged forth. The sight greeting him was impressive- the legate of the I Germanica must have balls of solid brass to stand there and let wave after wave of fur-clad warrior assault his lines. But in doing so, the man was creating a wonderful opportunity for the XV Primigenia and V Alaudae to sally forth and indeed crush them like grapes.

The charge of the Romani from the fortress was a surprise that exploded in the minds of the Germans suddenly caught in a Roman pocket and destroyed all reason. These men were no disciplined troops who would fight on, trusting their fellows to rescue them in the Roman manner. These were men to whom the open sky and free forest were life. Trapped and crushed in on each other, they panicked. The sudden swarm of lethal arrows that began raining down upon them did not help any.

They broke.

Panic ensued. In droves and hordes, the Germans fled, leaving the Batavians alone against the Romans. Claudius Victor saw the rout forming, and tried to halt it. He was cut down by a fleeing Chauci warrior for his trouble. Maximus, witnessing the rout on the left, detailed a small group to pick up Claudius while he organized the retreat. Within minutes, the Batavians were joining the Germani in streaming from the field.

* * * * * * * * * *

"You took your sweet time getting here, Caius," Lupercus said while offering his hand to the victorious general. "We've been penned up since taking a frightful beating outside Batavodurum in September."

"I came as soon as I could," Vocula replied, taking the proffered hand. "We have had serious troubles. The Ubians have been thoroughly trounced, and the Treveri have gone over to the Batavians again. And Vitellius has been defeated. Your commander Fabius Fabullus is dead."

"Good riddance," Lupercus sneered. "The man was an ass."

Vocula was a bit repulsed by the man's reaction, but put it down to cabin-fever from having spent the better part of four months cooped up inside his castra surrounded by blood-mad, fur-clad savages screaming for his blood.

"We shall pitch a camp here near yours, where we can support each other should the Germans return," he decided. "We have some stores in our castra at Gelduba, but the main supplies are still in Novaesium. I'll have them brought up shortly."

"You had better make that shortly now," Lupercus replied. "We have been digging grass out of the cracks of the parade ground for a week now. Our horses went to the stewpots a month ago. And our hard-tack and grain were gone back in late October."

"We heard you had five thousand in a fortress built to hold twelve," Vocula retorted. "You could not have eaten up everything so quickly!"

"We were poorly stocked before we got besieged," replied a blood-coated officer joining them. "Numisius Rufus, legate, XV Primigenia. The Batavians closed the river before our winter supplies could arrive, or if they did arrive, they were captured. Either way, we are out of food."

“We have food enough for today,” Vocula said, pointing to the dead. “Each of us came into this battle with a three day supply in our packs, which we stashed just beyond the forest’s edge. The dead would not mind you eating from their rations, as they do not need them anymore. Tomorrow, we send for a full resupply. I doubt the Germani will hang around here now.”

Lupercus looked over the field littered with dead. There were many Romans dead, but far more Germans lay blood-drenched upon the frozen ground. “There was one nice thing about being cooped up in that pile of rock,” he said, motioning toward the castra. “Three times those bastards assaulted, and each time they had to clean up the mess! Bah! Pollo!” he shouted to a waiting centurion, “get your men organized and burn these louse-ridden savages before they infest us all!”

* * * * * * * * * *
“How could we have lost?” wailed Gaius Julius Civilis in his civitas thirty five miles away. Nine thousand dead, versus three depleted legions and that horde of walking skeletons from inside the castra. He pulled his dyed hair in frustration, moaning to his gathered advisors. “Nine thousand dead, not counting the wounded!”

“The healers say your nephew will survive, though he will speak hoarsely for the rest of his life,” Maximus announced, trying to lessen the pain of defeat.

“Oh great,” Civilis moaned. “At least the battle wasn’t a total loss. Maybe those Gallic envoys would come back at such wonderful news.”

“Sarcasm suits you poorly, Seval,” Veleda retorted. “And I fail to see the point in this meaningless wailing. Sure, your forces met defeat upon the field of battle. But that defeat will ensure your ultimate victory!”

“I don’t follow you, witch,” Seval -Civilis- replied. The workings of the mind of the witch confused even him sometimes.

“You lack my vision, king of the Batavi,” she replied in an even voice. “I have foreseen your loss, but kept my mouth closed for if I told you the result of this battle, you would do everything in your power to avoid defeat. But it is in defeat here that you will gain your greatest victory, and I could not allow you to jeopardize that.”

“You speak in riddles, witch.”

“I shall explain it to you in tiny words then,” she answered, bored and tired. “This Vocula wins here, yes? And he and whatever men he has left join up with those of the castra. Now, this castra has been under siege and blockade for almost four moons now, and Vocula on the road for two days. How much food do they have?”

“I have no idea.”

“I do- a bird told me. They have only what Vocula has with him. Vocula thinks he will get supplies in Vetera, which we know is empty. They must eat, thus they will send trains of wagons back to empty Gelduba and then on to Novaesium. You will let them. And when those heavily-laden wagons begin moving north again, you sweep down with your forces and take it away. You thrive, they starve. This forces Vocula to do one of two things, each of which is a victory for you. He either abandons the fortress here to move to his food, giving you Vetera and the victory. Or he stays where he is, by Vetera, and all five legions starve. Again, you win. But I alone know what he will do.”

The logic of the witch was not lost on the chieftains. She was true-speaking, and each of them cursed themselves for not seeing it themselves.

“Tell me, seeress. Tell me which of these options Vocula will take.”

Veleda smiled broadly. “He will do neither! He will take his legions south to rescue the food, leaving a much smaller force within the castra to guard it. And in splitting his strength thus, he will open a door of opportunity for a bold and strong warlord to drive every living Roman out of Germania!”

* * * * * * * * * *

Veleda was indeed correct, and the proof came a day later when Batavian scouts reported riders and wagons heading along the road south. Seval was eager to avenge his insulting defeats, and promptly took the best of what he had south through the forest, studiously ignoring the road. The Batavians, being woodsmen, were soon encamped just north of Novaesium while inside that Roman town handlers and porters struggled to fill the wagons with grain and other foodstuffs.

And when the wagons left Novaesium, he let them travel for a full day before he pounced. It was not a perfect ambush, and some of the horsemen escorting the convoy managed to escape the trap while the infantry drew the wagons about and forted up for the duration until someone could come rescue them.

* * * * * * * * * *

Veleda was again correct when scouts reported Vocula packing up after receiving some galloping horsemen. The legions of the expeditionary force, now reinforced with a thousand hand-picked men from Vetera, moved south to intercept the Batavians and regain their precious grain wagons.

Civilis jumped for joy as he ordered his remaining troops to besiege the few Romans remaining at Vetera. Vocula was now in a trap- he had no help coming from the north, and the only option he had was to move south and away from Vetera. To make matters sweeter, after Vocula passed Gelduba, Civilis took that castra as well and burned it to the ground.

And the Gallic envoys returned to Batavodurum.

* * * * * * * * * *

Caius Dillius Vocula was in a foul mood. He had finally succeeded in relieving the siege of Vetera with a resounding victory, and a week later he was fleeing like a whipped cur heading away from his prize without as much as a spearman chasing him. The Kalends of December saw him victorious and successful; two days before the Nones he was retreating to the south, defeated by the awful Lord Hunger.

Now word reached him of what happened at Vetera- it was besieged again. Failure, utter failure- the price of victory. It was a bitter pill.

He continued his march south, the loss of his base at Gelduba a mournful, spiteful blow. Along the way he passed where the drovers had been slaughtered and his supplies pilfered. The burned-out wagons were mute testimony to the efficiency of the Batavian strategy.

At last, his tired and hungry- and above all depleted- army reached Novaesium. More bads news awaited him there, as well as a restful respite from the constant campaigning. Flaccus has arrived, bringing with him replacements and the IV Macedonica.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Bad luck," Marcus Hordeonius Flaccus said by way of greeting his field commander. The governor motioned to a couch, which Caius Vocula gratefully occupied. "Bad luck all around."

"I was there, Marcus," Vocula said with disgust. "I shook the hand of Lupercus. We had relieved Vetera, and now we are many legionaries less and he is again under siege."

"Times are hard all around, Caius," Flaccus said in soothing tones. "I brought the IV Macedonica here because I knew you would need at least one intact legion, and there are no more reinforcements or replacements coming. Plus marching with a full legion was the only way I could ensure what few supplies we have would indeed get to you- the Batavians have regained complete control over the river, and the Treveri are now fully on side of Civilis."

"I heard Vitellius was defeated at Bedriacum," Vocula replied. "So there will be no help from Rome, will there?"

"Antonius Primus took Rome and sacked it. Vitellius is dead, and Mucianus is now acting consul. Vespasian is on his way to Rome now to be fully invested with the title and powers of emperor. His mind is on the troubles in Judea, while Mucianus thinks of the empty castra on the Danubian border where rumors say the Dacians and Moesians are becoming active again. None of those care for Germania, or even think this place important."

"Fools," Vocula cursed. "You should have seen it, Marcus. Fifteen thousand fur-clad fools, fighting in the Roman manner for the most part. We beat them at Gelduba, thanks to the Vascon auxilia you sent, and kicked the crap out of another fifteen thousand at Vetera, some of whom fought like us. That's thirty thousand. They breed like flies, Marcus!"

"I know," Flaccus reminded him. "The Rhein is the only good defensible border north of the Alps. Should we lose it, countless hordes of those flea-bitten monsters from the other side would pour into our lands like a flood, and we have no Marius or Sulla with which to stop them with like last time. History will repeat itself, only this time the Germans coming in will know our way of fighting. We won't win another Aquae Sextiae or Vercellae."

"And those morons ruling Rome don't care..."

"They cared enough to send us some supplies," Flaccus replied cheerily, before continuing somberly. "But manpower is depleted. There simply aren't enough soldiers. Vitellius halved the Army of the Rhein to make himself emperor at Bedriacum, destroying Otho's forces. Then Civilis wrecks the remaining five legions here and destroyed countless auxilia. We have three legions fighting in Judea, and Mucianus emptied the Danubian border to destroy the legions of Vitellius at Bedriacum, for which he paid dearly. Never has Roman military strength been so low."

A low commotion began outside, distracting both men. The door flew open, and a centurion entered.

"Legates, you might want to see this personally," he advised.

The two men rose and followed the centurion. There was a crowd forming around a wagon that just came in from the south. A maniple of legionaries in full armor were guarding it against a growing crowd of their comrades. Both groups parted to allow the legates in, where the centurion showed them the back of the wagon.

There were twenty sacks inside the wagon, grain sacks that looked half full. Flaccus pulled one closer and was amazed at its weight. He opened the sack, gawked, and showed the contents to Vocula.



"Denarii," he whispered. "Vulcan and Mercury! There must be twenty talents here!"

"And a scroll, lord," the centurion completed. He handed over the unopened scroll to the governor, who broke it open and read its contents. He smiled sinisterly, then called the tribunes and legates forward. While they came, he climbed atop the wagon. Stiffly and with little grace, at least he made it up under his own power. Not bad for a gout-ridden, broken old warhorse.

"Men of the Army of the Rhein," he announced, reading aloud from the scroll. "Rome thanks you for all you have suffered in her service. Your emperor thanks you as well. And as a token of his gratitude, he has given you these sacks of denarii to be divided among you." He rolled up the scroll and pointed to the tribunes. "You men have the task of counting the coins and dividing it equally among the soldiers in the standard manner of booty."

"Mars and Jupiter bless Aulus Vitellius!" shouted one legionary in joy. His cry was echoed by another, and another.

"Your emperor is now Titus Flavius Vespasianus," Flaccus reminded them coldly. "Vitellius may have sent this money, but Vespasian allowed it to be delivered."

He turned back to the tribunes. "Have the shares ready for distribution by the Kalends of January, three weeks hence. We will inaugurate the New Year together with the inauguration of Vespasian, and celebrate both with this donative."

"Aulus wanted us to have this money now!" cried an optio. "Divide it now, before Vespasian decides to take it from us like he took our Aulus!"

Others heard that remark, and began echoing it. Soon a deafening chorus was chanting in unison, "Divide our donative now! Divide our donative now!"

Flaccus motioned for silence, got it, then nodded. "We shall begin the division now, Men of Rome. But we must first count- how many of you there are, how much per share, and then the shares for the auxilia and officers. It cannot possibly be done now. But we shall begin at once. With luck, it will be in your hands by the Saturnalia, six days hence."

There was grumbling and shouts of anger, but as the wiser soldiers realized the truth in his words and spread that wisdom to the hot-heads, the shouts died down. The last gift of Aulus Vitellius would indeed reach its intended recipients.

* * * * * * * * * *

The 17th of December was the date of the Saturnalia, one of the high holidays of the Roman world. Originally a celebration of the dedication of the Temple of Saturn, the holiday grew over time to be much, much more. A day of celebration became a week, though Caesar Augustus tried to cut it to three days and his later successor Caligula to five. Neither succeeded.

The Roman celebration was a time of reversals, which fit with the recent military reverses Rome's army had suffered. As a time of reversal, slaves and masters often changed roles, the masters serving their slaves. All went about with the freedman's Cap of Liberty upon their heads, and all public business was closed for the duration. It was also a time of relaxation, of giving, and of making merry.

In that spirit, Flaccus himself presided over the distribution of the donative. He handed a sack to each soldier as they filed by, thanking him for his service. He also reminded each soldier that though he was given this sack by Vitellius, he was allowed to receive it by Vespasian.

Each soldier took the sack, heard the words, and walked off to enjoy his unexpected bonus. Most used it to buy wine and beer from the locals, or sent their tribunes and centurions off to bring back those goods in the spirit of the holiday. This turned out to be a fatal mistake, for at a time when the soldiers were drunk, the men who kept them in line were out scrounging the countryside. Thus it came to be that the despised and hated governor was alone in the fort at Novaesium, with many thousand drunken legionaries in his presence, also alone.

Marcus Hordeonius Flaccus was asleep by two hours before midnight. For him it had been an exhausting day- he had personally distributed twenty talents of denarii to his men. By midnight he was sound asleep. By one hour after midnight he was dead.

During the evening while Flaccus served his slaves a banquet before resting his gout-ridden legs, the legionaries had gathered into clots of men to celebrate their boon. As more and more wine passed into their system, some began to complain about the words Flaccus spoke, as if taking credit for the gift away from Sweet Old Aulus and sharing it with that murderous bastard Vespasian. Their moods turned ugly, then uglier. And with no centurions to kick that crap out of their heads, the crap swelled. More and more legionaries found themselves swigging their gourds of wine before the governor's house. Then they were in the governor's house. Then they were in his bedroom.

Flaccus came awake when rough hands literally ripped him out of his bed. He shouted for help, but his slaves ignored him, as this was the Saturnalia- he served them, not they him. Not that the slaves could do much except die themselves, for the legionaries were indeed in a foul mood. Flaccus was pushed rudely out the door into the waiting hands of more legionaries. The stripped his bedclothes off, laughing at his pot-belly and sagging chest, and forced him to stand at attention while two burly legionaries held him firmly. Then each legionary filed by, thanking him for the money, and punching him firmly in that sagging belly. By the time the second cohort filed by, Flaccus was unconscious and by the end of the fourth, the massive internal bleeding he had suffered brought death. Still, he was held up as more legionaries paid their 'respects' until at last the men holding him tired and noticed their prisoner was no longer breathing and threw his body to the ground.

"Cacat," one of them whispered. "He's dead."

"Vocula will flog the lot of us for this," mumbled another. "Remember the twenty-seven?"

"He can't flog us if he's dead," a third pointed out.

That set the mood for the others. As one, they set out for the command tent of Caius Dillius Vocula, the man they all feared and respected, to do to him before he could to them.

A shadow slipped away fro the ugly mob and ran to the command tent. It slipped inside, daring not to light the lantern, and gently shook the sleeping commander from his well-deserved rest.

"Wake, generalis," the shadow called. "Wake now, or forever sleep."

Vocula came awake instantly, reaching for his gladius.

"Zat weel not help you," Pietrus whispered. "Put zees on." The Vascon tribunus threw the general a slave's tunic and cap. "Hurry. Ze drunken bastards have already keelled Fat Flaccus and are coming for you. Hurry!"

Vocula hurried. He was dressed as a slave, as befitted the Saturnalia, and escorted by Pietrus unrecognized through the drunken mob to the tents of the Vascon. From there, he escaped the camp in the company of a squadron of Vascon auxilia.

"Flaccus is dead?" he asked, when well away from the camp. He could hear the noise from the camp- always rowdy during the Saturnalia, even more so now. A riot was beginning, it seems.

"I watched zem beat zat old man to death weeth my own eyes," Pietrus affirmed. "And when one a zem say he scared a you reaction, ze ozzers say we must keel you too, or you keel alla zem."

"They are right," Vocula confirmed. "Murdering your commanding officer in wartime is high treason- perduellio. It is punished by flogging, followed by beheading. And they know I would do it, too. They saw it here, a few months ago when they rioted."

"Bad theengs happen in zis awful place, I theenk."

"Me too. Come, let these bastards rot. I am going to Moguntiacum."

* * * * * * * * * *

Vocula escaped his death at Novaesium, twice. The first was from the drunken legionaries fearing rightly his wrath and Roman justice. The second was in his decision to head for the privincial capital. For the next day, while the legionaries recovered from the hangovers of the night before and were working on making new ones, some of the centurions out scrounging up wine and beer and food for their men returned. They had seen Batavians riding in formation, and heard tales among the villages of Batavian infantry creeping up.

A detail of sober horsemen was put together to investigate. They came back in that evening.

"The rumors are true," Publius Arrius, the decurion in command, reported. "We saw dozens of campfires in the meadows to the north, and hundreds in the woods to the west." He glanced about nervously. "Where the hell is your commander?"

"Flaccus kicked off last night," one legionary shamelessly replied. "And Legatus Vocula is probably out gathering food for tonight's Second Saturnalia feast."

"Are there any other legates in camp?" Arrius demanded to know.

There were mumbles, then grumbles, then finally a centurion arrived to answer his question. No, there were not. The only remaining legates in the Army of the Rhein were Decius Paullus commanding Moguntiacum, Caius Vocula who was missing, and Aulus Gallus, who was in the village stuffing his personal sausage into some Treveri noblewoman who fled the uprising.

Arrius looked about and saw no other officer, tribune or centurion, who looked in any condition to command this disorderly and drunken mob of an army. He sighed.

"You," he commanded, pointing to the man who told of Gallus, "fetch legate Gallus. You, you, and you," he ordered, pointing to other centurions, "Gather up some men and bring in anyone outside our walls. The Batavians are coming, and will kill any of us they find outside. The rest of you, begin forting up. Bring in what supplies are outside, and begin readying this camp for a siege. We have maybe a day before they are here."

The men reluctantly began to obey. The imminent danger Arrius foresaw was unthinkable for them. They were in Novaesium, far from Batavia and the Batavians. And they were drunk. And lazy. And the weight of the deed they committed during the night had yet to fully settle upon them.

A few were sober, and saw the danger. These forced the others to move, but they were far in the minority. They worked throughout the day, half-heartedly, and by nightfall, not a single soldier had seen a single German. Thus when the day ended, so did their fear of German assault. The wine and beer that had been brought in was consumed, and the Saturnalia continued in its merry way.

Arrius cancelled the Saturnalia for his command, much to their dismay. Instead, he ordered them to make ready for departure- when night leaves, so do they. There was much grumbling, but Arrius was not the kind to put his men's desires above their safety. Nor was he one to trifle with. The men grumbled, wishing him the fate of Flaccus, but packed their goods and rations. In the morning the tent would come down, and the troop ready to move.

Gallus staggered in during the night, singing loudly and passing his wineskin to any who would take. He was a man who understood the Saturnalia, and was damned proud of it. So were the soldiers, who laughed at the sober horsemen and drank their share as well.

* * * * * * * * * *

"I really do not see the wisdom of this festival of theirs," Claudius Victor whispered to his cousin. He could not speak any more, or at least for a while. A Chauci sword had seen to that, but he could still whisper.

"What festival?" Maximus asked. He knew much of the Romans, but their holidays escaped him.

"The locals say they have been buying all of the wine and beer in the district," Claudius continued. "Something to do with this Saturnalia. A gigantic, topsy-turvy party."

"Ha!" Maximus laughed. "That I have heard about." He stood up, addressing the council. "Is there any of us here who have not heard of the Roman Saturnalia? Or the orgies they throw?"

"Saturnalia?" Civilis asked, raising his head from his cups. "I know it well. Why do you ask?"

"Enlighten us, dear king of ours," Maximus entreated jovially. "Young Claudius here asks for the wisdom of this festival. He knows it not. He wants to know why the Romans feel the need to drink the district dry of wine and beer."

The Saturnalia! Civilis cursed, and jumped up. He had forgotten the date! Counting days mean little to the men of the wild, and thus the date slipped his mind. But he should have remembered the Saturnalia. The perfect time to strike, to fulfill Veleda's prophecy!

"To arms!" he commanded. "Put down your cups and rouse your men. It is the Saturnalia, you fools. Every Roman is out drinking and making merry- nobody on guard, nobody sober enough to lift a sword. Today they party- tonight they die!"

The chieftains bounced out of their chairs at the sudden revelation. The Romans were vulnerable, very vulnerable, and this was their chance at freedom. As one, they moved away from the council fire and roused their men. Tonight they would strike a blow for freedom and victory.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Cacat," whispered Arrius as he watched from the opposite woodline the Germans rouse themselves. At first he thought it a game, a German Saturnalia, until they began struggling into their armor and saddling their horses. Then he knew.

He displaced back deeper into the woods and mounted his horse. He spurred the beast into top speed, and refused to let the animal rest until he was far, far from the German warhost. He rejoined the majority of his troop minutes later. As he dispatched a pair of riders to take the news to Gallus, the rest of his troop pulled in, rendering the same reports. The Germans were coming, and will strike tonight.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Hogwash and cow crap," Aulus Gallus slurred. "The Germans are far away, freezing in the midwinter cold. They wouldn't dare attack us."

"They are a four-hour march away, generalis," the rider repeated. "Heading this way. And they would dare attack us, you drunken lout, precisely because most of us are drunk and therefore useless. Civilis knows us and our ways, general. He is using them against us now."

That got his attention. Though his mind was still clouded with alcohol, the pleasant buzz was suddenly gone. "Tell the men to make ready for a siege."

"You need to get out, sir," the rider insisted. "There are no legions around to rescue you if you let yourself be besieged. Get out, and move to Moguntiacum."

Never argue with a drunken person, the cavalryman recalled. The best he could do was to get out himself, before it was too late. And report this fact to his decurion.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Germans moved toward the fort with torches in hand, to light their way. The torchlight was seen by the few sentries Gallus did post, whose wine-befuddled brains interpreted the glowing, bouncing balls of light as other than hand-held torches.

"Alarm!" they shouted, one after another along the western wall. "Alarm! Ghosts and ghouls approach, their way lit by fairies and elves! Alarm!"

Down below, men laughed. A few challenged the words with deeds- climbing up to see for themselves. The majority, however, challenged the words with laughter and revelry. It was the Saturnalia, after all. Everyone is a prankster.

Those who climbed into the towers changed their minds. They did see what appeared to be misshapen lumps of humankind moving beneath flitting fairies burning brightly, but they also saw the glint of steel and knew at once the danger.

"Germans!" they cried. "The Germans are attacking! Man your battle stations!"

The legionaries who had killed Flaccus, hunted Vocula, and drank with Gallus had no intention of fighting the Germans in their condition. They scattered back to their tents, scooped up what they could, and fled out the east gate. When that avenue became jammed with jostling men trying to flee, others opened the south gate and ran from there.

Gallus ran with them, as did every man-jack in the fort. By the time the Germans reached the walls, the fort at Novaesium was deserted.

Civilis could not have had an easier victory.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Your victory was most astonishing, lord," the chief Gallic envoy complimented. "Never have we seen a camp taken so easily, with so little loss. Your brilliance forced them to flee without throwing a single javelin. And the wealth your men are bringing out of the fort, well, with that wealth you can do much."

"I am moving on to besiege their main civitas tomorrow," Civilis replied. "By midwinter's night, it will be mine. No unfettered legions remain in my domain. My question to you, Lord Briarix, is what will the Gauls do when Germania is free?"

"Gaul will be joining you," Briarix announced. "With your victory this night, you have proven that Rome can be beaten and stay beaten. You indeed left no legions intact in your entire kingdom- a feat many said was impossible. We had our doubts about you at Vetera a fortnight ago, but this lightning campaign of yours has erased those doubts."

"A Gallo-German alliance would throw the Romans into fits of terror," Civilis replied.

"With you as the Gallo-Germanic king, no doubt. That is for the future to decide, lord. For the time being, Gaius Julius Sabinus wishes to lead Gaul himself. Consider him and the Gauls your allies, from this day on."

* * * * * * * * * *

The scattered bands of legionaries found their wits rather quickly in the freezing night. Cold has a tendency to do that. Most had their personal weapons but few had thought to bring their scuta. Fewer still thought to flee with anything to eat. Most fled with only their precious donative from their dear Vitellius. Out in the cold, with no shelter, no armor, and fewer rations, they stumbled about in total confusion with no idea about where to go or what to do. It was only by the slightest of miracles that they survived at all- had Civilis known their condition, he would have slain them all and delivered on his promise. But Civilis was distracted by the wealth of arms and food he captured in Novaesium, and that allowed the men of the IV Macedonica and the other legions to repent their stupidity while they blundered about in the frigid wilderness. Not a few despaired of this condition and wished for Voucla to come back and save them.

Luckily for them, a few officers did retain their wits, and more importantly, their mounts. Their prayers for reprieve were answered as Arrius and Pietrus rode all night long, searching out bands of freezing men and bringing them together in a makeshift camp.

Vocula commanded the camp mercilessly, and made each man repent the events of the day before. He put them to work to improve their situation. Spears were made of eating knives and branches, arrows from sharpened sticks. Journeys were made into the local villages to scavenge what could be of use, and steal what they could not get. When the majority of the legions were again reformed, and most armed with some type of weapon, he marched them out of danger towards the capital, where they could be refitted as true legionaries.

* * * * * * * * * *

Civilis beat them to Moguntiacum, though not with his full army. That mighty host was feasting and celebrating their victory in the fort at Novaesium, turning the Roman Saturnalia into a German celebration. The season of reversals, now reversed by nation. Yet he had taken enough men with him to deal with the few auxilia left in the Roman capital- six thousand ought to be enough. He laid siege to the city and its castra and paraded his captured trophies and insignia before the walls. He lacked the eagles, for although the drunken legionaries had fled like rats from a sinking ship, the Aquilifers of the legions took their Eagles with them, but he had taken many, many manipular and cohortal insignia. These were proudly displayed in testament to Germanic triumph.

Civilis was wrong. Six thousand warriors were not enough, no matter how intimidating and how many Roman standards he captured. Decius Paullus had strict orders from Flaccus to hold at all costs, and that was what he was going to do. Civilis had the bloodied and wrecked body of Flaccus displayed before his warhost, but that had no effect. Flaccus had ordered them to hold; hold they shall.

Stumped, Civilis had his men begin preparing for an assault. That red hair of his was driving him nuts; he wanted to fulfill his promise and cut that crap off his head once and for all!

* * * * * * * * * *

He would have to wait a long time.

His scouts came back with news of a Roman army on the move. Four Eagles, at least, coming towards Moguntiacum from the south.

Civilis cursed. Four legions! That was about twenty thousand men- over triple his number. And they were legionaries, while most of his force was untamed Germani from across the Rhein. It would be a slaughter, not a battle. They wouldn't go north immediately- they would want to reconnoiter the area first and get familiar. That gave him some time to deal with his upstart cousin in the west, train these wild warriors into true soldiers, and prepare a wonderful reception to send these Romans to their brethren in Hel.

So with reluctance born of experience, he ordered his men to break camp and return to the main army at Novaesium.

The siege of Moguntiacum was raised.

* * * * * * * * * *

Caius Dilius Vocula led his legions into the defiant castra and had his tribunes go about refitting and rearming the men. Among his first orders were the emptying of all amphorae of wine and every keg of beer directly into the Rhein. The message was clear to all- the Saturnalia was definitely over for this year.


So ended the season of midwinter madness and misery- in a miserable joke upon all involved. Civilis had wrongly assumed the legions were fresh legions coming up from Rome, when in fact they were the reformed remnants of the scattered survivors from Novaesium who had circled around. Gaius Julius Civilis and his army of six thousand bellicose and fierce Germans were driven from the walls of Moguntiacum by a rag-tag army of ten thousand unarmed and unarmored Romans shivering in their underwear.

This Saturnalia was truly a season of reversals. Vetera was relieved, then the triumphant army sent scurrying south. The victorious Batavians could have taken the Roman provincial capital, but left it alone. Flaccus disbursed twenty talents of denarii to his troops, who murdered him for it.

Thank the gods this season was over. Caius Vocula never wanted to see another like it.

And he wouldn't.


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


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

Authors Note-

Most of the events in this story actually occurred, according to Tacitus, Suetonius, Cassius Dio, and several other sources, including the murder of Flaccus, the attempt on Vocula, the abandonment of the fort at Novaesium, and the raising of the second siege of Moguntiacum.

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 11-01-2008 @ 08:36 AM).]