Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Historical Notes

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Marching With Caesar – Revolt of the Legions

  By R.W. Peake

  Also by R.W Peake

  Marching With Caesar® – Birth of the 10th

  Marching With Caesar – Conquest of Gaul

  Marching With Caesar – Civil War

  Marching With Caesar – Antony and Cleopatra, Parts I & II

  Marching With Caesar – Rise of Augustus

  Marching With Caesar – Last Campaign

  Marching With Caesar – Rebellion

  Marching With Caesar – A New Era

  Marching With Caesar – Pax Romana

  Marching With Caesar – Fraternitas

  Marching With Caesar – Vengeance

  Marching With Caesar – Rise of Germanicus

  Caesar Triumphant

  Caesar Ascending – Invasion of Parthia

  Caesar Ascending – Conquest of Parthia

  Critical praise for the Marching with Caesar series:

  Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony

  “Peake has become a master of depicting Roman military life and action, and in this latest novel he proves adept at evoking the subtleties of his characters, often with an understated humour and surprising pathos. Very highly recommended.”

  Marching With Caesar-Civil War

  "Fans of the author will be delighted that Peake’s writing has gone from strength to strength in this, the second volume...Peake manages to portray Pullus and all his fellow soldiers with a marvelous feeling of reality quite apart from the star historical name... There’s history here, and character, and action enough for three novels, and all of it can be enjoyed even if readers haven’t seen the first volume yet. Very highly recommended."

  ~The Historical Novel Society

  “The hinge of history pivoted on the career of Julius Caesar, as Rome’s Republic became an Empire, but the muscle to swing that gateway came from soldiers like Titus Pullus. What an amazing story from a student now become the master of historical fiction at its best.”

  ~Professor Frank Holt, University of Houston

  Marching With Caesar – Revolt of the Legions by R.W. Peake

  Copyright © 2018 by R.W. Peake

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Art by Marina Shipova

  Cover Artwork Copyright © 2018 R. W. Peake

  All Rights Reserved

  For Gregarius Titus

  The Newest Legionary of the Peake Legion

  Historical Notes

  Although there are certainly ancient sources that spend a fair amount of time on the tumultuous events that began with the Varus disaster, when it comes to providing a level of detail that would satisfy someone like myself, the record is frustratingly vague, particularly about locations. Therefore, there is a certain level of supposition in Marching With Caesar®-Revolt of the Legions that is over and above what is normally in my work. And, for that, I ask the readers’ indulgence, and I will explain where I am making somewhat educated guesses.

  That supposition begins when, in the immediate aftermath of the Varus disaster, Tiberius arrives from Pannonia with several Cohorts, which in the book I identify as the 13th and 15th Legions, simply because they have been part of the Army of Pannonia in my previous books, and we do know that Tiberius had just finished putting down the Batonian Revolt.

  What has proven even more difficult, at least for me, and to a level where I feel confident, is the placement of the Legions after the Varus disaster, especially the 2nd and 14th Legions, which were sent to the Rhine after the loss of the three Legions. Since I have seen sources claim the 2nd in particular being located in both Mogontiacum and Vetera, and the 2nd and 14th appear to be the two Legions that did not participate in the revolt of 14 CE, I decided to place them in Vetera, for a number of reasons. For those readers who are of the school that have these two Legions in Mogontiacum, I beg your indulgence in this matter, and recognize that placing them in Vetera may be in error. However, since they do not figure prominently in either the real event, or in my story, hopefully this will not prove to be ruinous to the enjoyment of the tale.

  Another supposition on my part, but one I feel a bit more confident in making, is in my characterization of the quality of the men salted into the ranks of the Legions by Augustus, in the emergency dilectus conducted in Rome immediately after the Varus disaster. Both Tacitus and Dio make comments that would lead one to believe that these men were the dregs of Rome, if only because there had already been a draft of able-bodied men a couple years earlier, as a result of the Batonian Revolt. What I could not find anywhere from the available ancient sources is any information about the fate of these men, at least as far as how long they were expected to serve. Given the level of hysteria that infected Roman citizens, even in the city itself, it makes sense to me that Augustus would have attempted to figuratively kill two birds with one stone; send reinforcements to the Legions on the Rhine, and remove a troublesome element from the streets of Rome. However, Augustus’ decision-making in the last years of his life was not the best; naming Varus as Legate is one glaring example, and I am of the opinion that his handling of the aftermath serves as another. Whether or not Percennius was a man of this second dilectus is unknown, but for the purposes of this story, I have made him one of them.

  Also, Titus reflects his creator’s thoughts in the level of coordination that he believes is behind the uprising of both the Rhine and Pannonian Legions. While it is in the realm of possibility that these twin mutinies occurred spontaneously, at the same time, several hundred miles apart, and it was merely a coincidence, triggered by the death of the Princeps, I am of the school that does not believe in coincidences, especially when it concerns such momentous events. Which, of course, means that Titus does not believe in them, either.

  My use of the town of Gelduba is based on its importance as a trading center, and because it was a fordable spot across the Rhine, which is presumably why in the First Century CE the Romans built a fort at that location, which is now modern-day Krefeld-Gellep, Germany. A bit more than twenty miles to the west was another important trading post, Blariacum, which was on the left bank of the Meuse River, and is now Blerick, Venlo, Netherlands, which I also use in the story.

  Finally, when Titus returns to his childhood home of Arelate and observes the Julian aqueduct, this is the modern Barbegal, which features one of the best preserved Roman mills of the ancient world.

  Chapter One

  “Uncle Titus! Have you heard?”

  The fact that Alex burst into my office told me that something either important or momentous had occurred; that he addressed me by my given name was another indication of his agitation, if only because he had learned the hard way that I did not tolerate the use of familial titles when we were functioning in our respective official capacities. I was in my private quarters, behind the outer room that serves as the Century office, seated at my desk, preferring the privacy as I struggled with the arcane but never-ending requirements that are now part and parcel of a Centurion in the Legions co
mmanded by the Princeps.

  Despite sensing this was, indeed, something important, I was irritated at the interruption because I had been in the process of adding up sums, which I do not have a great affinity for, so I snapped, “Obviously not! I’ve been sitting here for the last watch, trying to get these totals to come out right!”

  Although it was not my intent, this served to distract Alex, his brow furrowing as he came to stand behind me and peer down at the wax tablet.

  Suddenly, his finger thrust down as he pointed at a figure in one column and said, “Here’s the problem. You didn’t carry over the figure from the first column.”

  Honestly, I remember this moment not just because of what I was about to learn, but at the sudden, unexpected memory of another time, when I had been younger than Alex, and his father Diocles standing where his son now stood, correcting another Pullus, his family serving mine for more years than I could remember. Then, following on the heels of that was yet another memory, when a much younger Alex had shown up in my quarters when I had been Optio, bearing the news that my brother had been killed, although I suspect that it was because of his demeanor, which was informative in itself.

  Ignoring how he seemed to shimmer a bit in my vision, instead, I replied gruffly, “Ah. Yes. You’re right. Now,” I changed the subject, “what has you barging in here and forgetting everything you’ve learned?”

  I cannot deny that I was pleased that my words made him flush, but that thought was almost instantly swept away when he said excitedly, “There was an ambush of Legate Varus!”

  “Ambush?” Naturally, this caught my attention, but when he said nothing else, I demanded, “And? What happened?”

  Suddenly, my nephew looked, if not confused, then uncertain, but I understood why when he answered, “His entire command was wiped out.” He paused, then added quietly, “To a man.”

  I heard a gasp, which I assume was mine, but honestly, I was physically dizzy, so I have no idea whether it was me or Alex reacting from my clear distress, and so disturbing was the news that I temporarily forgot which Legions had been under the command of Varus, and I asked Alex about their identity.

  “The 17th, 18th, and 19th,” he replied.

  Then, for a long moment, there was nothing said as we stared at each other, both of us trying to absorb the larger implications.

  Finally, I asked him in a voice that sounded as if I had only recently recovered my ability to speak so that it sounded to my ears like a rusty hinge, “How do you know this?”

  “One of Gaesorix’s men came in when I was at the Praetorium,” he answered without hesitation.

  If he said anything else, I did not hear it, grabbing my vitus and hurrying past him and out the door. My hope that we could learn more about this before the rankers did lasted the time it took me to reach the end of my Cohort street, when I ran into a small knot of Legionaries, who immediately tried to appear as if they were not talking in hushed tones that I could nevertheless hear were tinged with alarm. I thought about stopping and remonstrating with them for spreading rumors, then decided against it until I knew more. Walking into the Praetorium, I instantly saw that, if anything, the news was every bit as dire as what Alex had heard, made evident just by the way the place was akin to a beehive that has been knocked over. Clerks were literally running across the room, one of them with a wax tablet, another carrying a scroll, while others conferred with each other, and despite them speaking in whispers or hushed tones, so many of them were talking that if one wanted to be heard, they would have had to raise their voice well above a conversational level. The door that led to the Legate’s office was closed, and I was not surprised to see it that way; once my initial scan of the room did not find Crescens, I assumed my Primus Pilus was closeted with the Legate, who at that time was none other than Lucius Arruntius, who had been Gaius Atticus’ defender at his Tribunal. Scanning the room, I saw small groups of men attired as I was, almost all of them holding a vitus, and it did not surprise me to see that men naturally congregated towards those others with whom they served in the same Cohort. This made finding Macer, Vespillo and Cornutus easier, and I approached them first, joining my fellow Centurions.

  “What have you heard, Pullus?” Macer asked me in a low tone, but when I told him I had only heard what turned out to be the same news he had, although I did not know why, he seemed disappointed.

  “So,” he muttered, “all we know is that it’s bad.”

  “Bad?” Vespillo raised an eyebrow. “If three Legions were wiped out, I’d say that’s more than bad!”

  “If,” Macer countered calmly, “that’s the case. But, you know how these things are. How often do they turn out to be as bad as you first hear?”

  “True,” Vespillo granted, then added, “But this just feels…different.”

  While Macer did not reply verbally, I saw by his expression that he essentially agreed with Vespillo. And, if I had been asked, I would have concurred with that assessment. Additionally, perhaps I can be excused for thinking that, of all the men standing there at this moment, I had by far the most experience in dealing with rumors and gossip, stretching back to my earliest days as a child of the Legions, acting as a de facto spy for my father, who had once held the same post as Marcus Macer, albeit it in the 8th Legion. We were just debating whether to return to our area when the door to the Legate’s office opened, and our Primus Pilus strode out, but while I knew it was him, it was a version I had never seen before. Quintus Valerius Crescens was now the third Primus Pilus under which I had served, and like Publius Canidius, or Urso, and Gaius Sempronius Atticus, who was now the Camp Prefect of the Army of Pannonia, he was a hard man, seemingly made of iron, even now at his advanced age of around fifty. The man who staggered out into the large room of the Praetorium looked as if he had aged ten years, his normally swarthy, weathered complexion now ashen. In that instant, Macer and I exchanged a glance, sharing our understanding that our worst fears were confirmed.

  Crescens stood there for a moment, and I noticed that the entire large room, now full with perhaps fifty men, had fallen as quiet as I am sure that it ever had before, which turned out to be a good thing because his voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper when he said, “We need to summon the Legion to the forum. I’ll have the call sounded.” For the first time, he actually seemed to look around him, and it was with some surprise that he saw how many of his Centurions were already present. “Right, well then.” The effort he made to regain his composure was, in some ways, more troubling than his initial appearance, if only because it was clear it required a massive effort. “Centurions,” finally, he sounded somewhat like himself, “assemble your men.”

  Then, without saying anything else, he abruptly turned about and reentered Arruntius’ office. Just before he closed the door, I caught a glimpse of the Legate, who, at least in his demeanor and pallor, could have been Crescens’ twin. We filed out, but I do not even remember having any kind of conversation.

  About a sixth part of a watch later, the 1st Legion was assembled in the forum, while the men attached to the Praetorium had dragged out the small, wooden rostra that was designed to be broken down into smaller pieces, an innovation that had arrived with the Praetor, who, we had learned less than a full watch before, was now dead. What we were still unsure about was the fate of three Legions, the six Cohorts of auxiliaries, and the three alae of cavalry that had been stationed out of the recently enlarged encampment at Vetera. The reason for our uncertainty was based in something that, in these heartbeats of time before we learned what had occurred with Varus, we all would have insisted was an incontrovertible truth; there was no force in the known world that could not only defeat, but wipe out three Roman Legions. However, we were about to learn very, very differently.

  Both Arruntius and Crescens emerged from the Praetorium, their faces suitably grim as they strode towards the rostra, and one sign of the difference in the air was how, without being told, the men of the Legion instantly stopped their mutt
ered conversations, drawing themselves to intente without any order being given. The only moment of, if not levity, then confusion came when the Legate and Crescens reached the rostra, whereupon it became clear that they had not actually discussed who would make the announcement. As we stood there, there was a whispered exchange, and judging from appearances, Arruntius used his rank to be the man who stepped up onto the rostra. If my eyes were any judge, however, the instant that he did so, he regretted it, and the haughty patrician that I had first met in Rome was nowhere to be seen in this man.

  He stood for a moment, surveying the Legion, before he began speaking. “The reason you have been summoned is because I must convey to you, the men of the 1st Legion, some truly grievous news.”

  When he paused for a moment, I cursed, silently of course, recognizing that this was an example of how men of his status felt a pressing need to be considered orators on a level commensurate with Cicero, thereby forcing us to stand there as he dramatically scanned the Legion, with one arm extended in the orator’s pose, before he resumed speaking.