Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  Without hesitation, he clasped my forearm and repeated the words, and I took heart that there was no tremor in his grasp, although his palm was a bit sweaty. Saying nothing more, I turned and went trotting back towards my Century.

  Much to Germanicus’ satisfaction, especially given Sacrovir’s doubts, and I suspect with some relief, the German cavalry behaved in precisely the manner he had predicted. The first riders our men had spotted were the advance riders, a half-dozen men leading the way, and they had been the ones who, just when the first rays of sun poked over the horizon, spotted movement to their right, or to the east, away from the river. Our vantage point, such as it was, meant that we could not see past the bulk of the Cohorts to our left, though even if they had been out of the way, the trees of the forest in which we were hidden would have obscured what took place. All that mattered were the results, which began when the German scouts galloped back to the main body of cavalry, and shortly thereafter, the whole bunch of them went galloping east, in pursuit of the Batavians. By the time the dust had settled, the German warriors following behind were plainly visible, moving in their shambling, disorganized manner that always reminded me of a wave of dirty brownish-green water. Once the Germans were within a mile of the outer edge of the forest, of their own volition, the men had risen to their feet and begun performing their own small rituals and exhibiting the mannerisms of men about to go into battle. For some, it is fidgeting excessively, shifting from one foot to another; for others, they actually go completely still as their minds go to some place, and for me, it was my habit that I developed even before I was under the standard, in an attempt to emulate my Avus by making those slow, tiny circles with the tip of my gladius, which I held loosely in my hand as I watched the Germans coming. Germanicus, on foot, made one more pass behind our lines, reminding us to watch and wait for his command.

  “If they stay close to the river as they’ve been doing, it will be the First and Second who will spring the first part of the trap,” he told Macer, “and your Cohort will have to move quickly in order to get lined up correctly to hit them from the flank.”

  Like any good, or wise, Centurion, Macer simply assured our Legate that he could count on us and not point out this had to be at least the fourth time Germanicus had given these instructions. Then, he was gone, moving at a trot as he hurried to essentially repeat himself to the other Cohorts, or at least as many as he could safely reach and still have time to return to his spot behind the First. Frankly, I was somewhat concerned that, even with the screening underbrush, since the eye, especially a trained one, is attracted to movement, by his own actions, our general would prematurely alert the Germans. And, for a span of perhaps a hundred heartbeats, it appeared as if they might have been warned, because less than a half-mile from the edge of the forest, the mass of warriors suddenly stopped. Fortunately, as we watched, we could see that they were gazing east, which I assumed was due to whatever Gaesorix and his men were doing to the German cavalry. Knowing that the Batavians and Sugambri held no love for each other, I was certain that Gaesorix would ensure that however many of the German cavalry were Sugambri would identify our cavalry as the hated Batavians, which could only help our cause. Before anything could be done, without any overt signal that I could see, the warband resumed their approach, and now that they were closer, we could see they were moving at almost a trot, clearly understanding that the dawning sun was their enemy if they wanted to reach the town early in the coming day. This served our purposes perfectly, not only because it was the best sign our presence had not been detected, but it is difficult to be vigilant when moving so quickly. There was no need to admonish the men to be quiet, as their entire attention was watching, not without some difficulty because of the undergrowth, the advancing Germans, and it was becoming clear that they would run into the area of the First Cohort, to our right, although they were still too far away to tell precisely where along the line it would be. Looking over in the direction of the Pilus Prior, who was not willing to risk a shout, he made a gesture with his hand that mimicked a swinging door or gate, and I saw Vespillo, whose Century was between mine and the First Century, nod, while I raised my hand in acknowledgement.

  Turning slightly, I spoke in a low conversational tone, warning the first section, “Be ready to move. It looks like they’re going to run right into the First, so we’re going to have to move quickly to hit them from the flank. Pass the word back, but,” I warned, “keep your voices down.”

  Manius Caninas was the most veteran man of the First Section, but more importantly, he was the first ranker in the first file, and as I instructed, he relayed my orders, first to his section, then turning and telling the second man of his file, while I resumed watching the Germans, who were now about two hundred paces away. I was certain that they were close enough, and the sun was almost completely over the horizon at this point that they could see deeply enough into the forest to spot us, yet the four warriors, who I assumed were the leaders of the warband, were still moving quickly, their men just behind them carrying the normal motley collection of weapons and shields. When they were perhaps a hundred paces away, with all eyes on them, one of the leading Germans suddenly slowed, and I could see that he was staring straight ahead. This was the last moment of relative calm before our surprise.

  As with most such moments, one has to piece things together afterward, both from one’s own recollections and from others; this time was no exception. The German who was clearly the first to spot something ahead of his warband stopped so abruptly, and the men behind him were moving so quickly, that the German warrior immediately behind him either did not see him do so or could not react in time because he slammed into his leader from behind, sending the man sprawling. The entire bunch was close enough that his shout of alarm came as a thin cry across the intervening distance, but while this elicited a reaction from his comrades, the man disappeared from sight as the following warriors could not arrest their momentum, so I have no idea if he ever got back to his feet or not or if he was trampled by his comrades. This created a disruption in the center of the mass of oncoming warriors, who, now that they were within a hundred paces of the forest, we could see were spread out to a width that covered all of the First and Second Cohort, so that the Germans on either side of this collision and the resulting confusion continued on for another few paces before anyone else in the larger body spotted our crouching figures in the brush. Within a span of perhaps two or at most three heartbeats, hundreds of Germans’ voices shouted the alarm, causing the entire bunch to come to a chaotic, stumbling halt, with the Germans nearest our position and those closest to the river less than fifty paces away from the edge of the forest, while, because of the delay caused by the stumble of the warrior who had raised the first warning, the center was still perhaps seventy paces away.

  “First Cohort! Advance!”

  Somehow, I heard the command even over the shouting of the Germans, and the excited talk from my Century, followed immediately by the same command by the Secundus Pilus Prior, which prompted me to look over to Macer, waiting for his own command. He was staring to his right, although the men of the Second partially obscured his view of Germanicus, who I assumed had given the first command, but while he was holding his gladius aloft, he did not move it.

  “Come on,” I muttered, “let’s go!”

  It is moments such as this where the lack of discipline and a clear command structure hinders barbarian tribes, not that I am complaining, since it enabled both Cohorts who were directly across from the warband to march the couple dozen paces forward to place them in javelin range, while the Germans were still milling about in confusion.

  “Ready javelins!”

  “Fourth Cohort!” Macer bellowed. “Advance!”

  “Release!”

  “March!”

  This was when I realized that Macer was not tardy; he was using the chaos he knew would be coming from a volley of javelins to our advantage. The response was automatic, our start almost as s
mooth as if we were in the forum, although there was some difficulty in concentrating since the horrendous racket of javelins slamming into shields and bodies was almost in perfect unison with our first step forward, which made it difficult to hear Macer’s next command.

  “At the double quick!”

  “Ready javelins!”

  “March!”

  “Release!”

  I saw the second volley streaking through the sky out of the corner of my eye, while we burst out of the underbrush a heartbeat after it impacted.

  “Fourth Cohort! Right Wheel! March!”

  Then, from the area of the First and Second, “Porro!”

  Honestly, I do not think if we rehearsed this maneuver a hundred times we would have ever gotten the timing as perfect as we did that day; afterward, the rankers were quick to ascribe this as further proof of how Germanicus was the gods’ favorite. Even as the First and Second Cohorts, having exhausted their supply of javelins, went to the run to close the final distance before slamming into the now thoroughly disorganized, reeling Germans, the Fourth Cohort was wheeling just as Germanicus had demanded, swinging to slam into the right flank of the warband.

  “Prepare javelins!” I shouted the command even before the notes of Macer’s cornu command had finished. As I did so, I realized that if we hurled both javelins, we would be well behind the Second Century to our right, and even more so with the First, so I bellowed the order to release, then almost immediately, I filled my lungs to slightly alter the normal sequence of commands.

  “Drop your second, boys!” A fraction of a heartbeat later, “Porro!”

  If there was a mistake in this part of the battle, it was one of omission; neither Germanicus, nor the Primus Pilus, or even Macer in regard to the Fourth Cohort had accounted for the difficulty in ensuring that a Cohort executing a wheel maneuver such as this had to account for the longer distance needed to be covered the farther down the line one went. This is something that even a Centurion commanding a single Century needs to remember; the men at the far end of the formation have farther to go. In this case, when it is a Cohort, especially in a single line of Centuries, it meant that Volusenus had to move his Century at close to a sprint in order to coordinate an attack so that every Century was hitting their foes at the same time, something that at that point in time, he was too inexperienced to realize, particularly in the heat of his first battle. What it meant in practical terms was a sort of rippling effect, where the First Century slammed into the Germans immediately behind the front ranks of the warband who were now under assault by the First and Second Cohorts, followed perhaps three or four heartbeats later by the Second Century. Honestly, I have no idea how much time elapsed before we went slamming into what I could see was a ragged, uneven line of Germans who had turned to their right, although it appeared to be only three or four men deep, but I suspect that it was about the same amount of time. I assume the Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Centuries were similarly ragged, but I was already busy, picking out a warrior with bright red hair and a bushy beard that was so strikingly a different color, being a dark, chestnut brown, that in a random corner of my mind, I was certain that either hair or beard was dyed, and I actually wondered why a man would do such a thing. Fortunately, this did not distract me as I suddenly chopped my headlong charge by shortening my stride, hoping that this warrior, who was armed with a spear and shield, would mistime the thrust he had drawn his arm back to make. Unfortunately, he was too experienced to fall for this maneuver, even giving me a smile, noticeable for the missing front teeth. To my left, Caninas slammed into what I saw out of the corner of my eye was a beardless youth, also armed with a spear and shield, but unlike his older comrade, he lacked a chainmail vest. Trusting the veteran, I launched my first real attack, coming in from a high second position, which he blocked easily enough, but as I expected, he immediately countered with a thrust of his spear. I did not have a shield, holding my vitus instead, except that even as I was executing my thrust, I was dropping the vitus to free my left hand, so that when I leaned to the right to avoid his spear, the point shooting past me, before he could recover it, I grabbed the shaft. Counting on the strength in my hands that came from performing the exercises of my Avus, thrusting my splayed fingers into a bucket of sand, then closing them into a fist, consequently, while I felt him putting his weight into repeatedly yanking the spear, it did not budge in my hand while barely moving my arm, although I felt a twinge of pain from my old wound on my outer forearm. After a few tugs on his part, I mimicked his action, adding to it twisting my hips and torso, and the combined force of this maneuver, my weight, and strength was such that, since he refused to let go, I pulled him towards me, causing him to lurch a step that was violent enough that it caused him to react involuntarily, moving his shield arm out from his body in an instinctive reaction in order to keep his balance. This, of course, was exactly what I wanted, and just that quickly, the point of my gladius punched into his eye, perhaps an inch above his shield, and he suddenly relinquished his grasp on the spear as he dropped to his knees. Using my knee, I knocked him out of my way to get at the German who had been immediately behind my first kill.

  As usual, the noise was at its peak, both from the tremendous collisions of men slamming into each other, shield to shield, and from the snarling bellows of hatred, fear and rage that are inevitable when men are a matter of no more than three feet from each other, separated only by what is ultimately a thin layer of wood. In a span of perhaps a dozen normal heartbeats of time, my Century had cut its way a few paces into the flank of the warband, roughly equal with the Second Century, who were a matter of three or four paces to my right. Now that we had established ourselves, it was time for me to step back and assume my role not as a Legionary, but as Centurion, and I put the bone whistle in my mouth, watching down the front rank to time my call for the relief. We were pressing the Germans from two sides, but there was another barrier on the side opposite from our Cohort in the form of the river, and it was not long before the Germans recognized that their plan to attack Blariacum, and presumably cross the Mosa into the heart of the fat, soft lands to the west, full of prosperous farms and small settlements ripe for plunder, was ruined. Consequently, we sensed more than saw the shifting movement of the Germans deeper in their formation as they began to retreat to the south, back towards the shelter of the forest from which they had emerged. The Third and Fifth Cohorts had, or so I presumed, marched from their spot out into the open area by this point, and I wondered if their Pili Priores had essentially maneuvered their Cohorts to mimic our own movement and just extended the line running parallel to the river, or if they had possessed the presence of mind to place themselves athwart the German line of retreat. This, naturally, was something about which I, or anyone other than Germanicus could not do anything about, so I concentrated my attention on what was before us. I was pleased to see that, to this point, we had only suffered three casualties, although one of them appeared to be, if not mortal, then serious, given how he was unable to help himself as his comrades grabbed his inert form to drag him back, slowly, through the formation to the rear, where Alex and the medici were waiting. Because the man’s face was turned the other way, I could not see who it was, but more importantly, I knew who it was not; Pusio was still in his spot, and his rank had yet to go into the rotation, so perhaps I blew my whistle a bit too quickly. Although this prompted some startled glances, neither did any man complain, but I was more concerned with how rapidly the resistance was melting away, as the Germans not immediately in front of us were abandoning their comrades who were engaged with us, the First, and the Second. Essentially, the Germans who were not running lost the security that comes from knowing one’s comrades are at your back, as the barbarian formation, such as it was, became hollowed out until there were no more than two men behind the warrior who was currently engaged. Fairly quickly, I realized that any opportunity to rid myself of Pusio would have to wait for another day, causing me to snarl a string of curses in frus
tration, which Gemellus misinterpreted.

  “They’re running away too fast for us to finish them, eh, Princeps Prior?”

  He shouted this over the noise, which startled me since I had been unaware that I had expressed my anger aloud.

  “Right,” I mumbled, or something to that effect, but before my Signifer could reply in any way, the collective nerve of those last men who had remained stalwart suddenly collapsed, and with a simultaneity that would not have done shame to a Legion, turned about and began fleeing after their already departed comrades, although none of us heard any kind of shouted command.

  It was inevitable that the Germans who were the first to be cut down were the men who had been engaged, their flight hampered by the bodies around their feet; I was able to dispatch two such warriors with quick thrusts to the back as, without thinking, I began pursuing the enemy. Seeing me do so, my Century naturally followed my lead, although we were not alone, with the Second Century doing the same to our right, the Third to our left delayed only a matter of heartbeats. A pursuit of a fleeing enemy is never as straightforward as I have just described it, at least in the sense that my Century was with me as I tried to kill as many of the Germans in the easiest manner possible, from behind. While it is true that most of my Century followed, there are always men, in every Century, in every Cohort, in every Legion who will take advantage of the confusion and disorganization to stop and loot the bodies of the men they or their comrades have just slain rather than follow their comrades in a pursuit. And, of those men in my Century, Pusio was one of them, but thanks to Structus, while I was unable to permanently remove him, it did not mean he escaped unscathed, as my Optio, in his spot at the rear of the formation, saw the handful of men who stopped, and like a good Optio, he knew who his Centurion was most concerned about. I was ignorant of this show of initiative by Structus until later, when Pusio went limping past me, one eye swollen shut and a bruise already forming along the side of his face that just happened to look the exact width of a turfcutter handle. While Structus was doing this, some of my men and I had managed to dispatch perhaps a half-dozen Germans, a couple of whom, sensing they were about to be caught, chose to at least turn and die from a wound to their front, like a true warrior should. Very quickly, any semblance of cohesion was gone, as the Centuries from all three Cohorts became hopelessly intermingled, which was what prompted Germanicus to order the recall, stopping the pursuit, and it was at this moment we learned that the Third and Fifth Cohort had, in fact, not positioned themselves in a blocking position, albeit for a good reason, which we learned fairly quickly.