by R. W. Peake
That night, the mood was subdued, to put it mildly. The anxiety of those men who had gone into this area before fed the same in those of us who had not, but whereas most of the time, the veterans who have gone through some experience are usually merciless in their teasing of those who have not, such was not the case that night. We talked; I should say they talked, and I and those like me listened as they did their best to describe the lay of the land in terms that would be useful to us.
"None of the hills are all that high." Caecina was the one who was talking, and the fact that he did not have a glimmer of a smile, nor did he make any jokes whatsoever, was probably more instructive than his description. "But they're all so fucking steep that when a man climbs the slope and stands erect, he can almost reach straight out and touch it!"
I thought this was probably an exaggeration, then a glance over at Bestia and a couple other men who I knew had been here before seemed to deny that as they nodded somberly.
"But it's how thick the trees and underbrush are that makes it so fucking dangerous," he went on, and I noticed that he was unconsciously rubbing his milky eye, and it gave me a hint how, or at least, where he had lost that eye. "And these cunni are experts in moving around those hills."
"But I thought this wasn't Colapiani land," Domitius spoke up. "So they won't know it as well as the…" His face screwed up for a moment as he tried to remember which tribe claimed this area. "…Latobici, right? That's whose land this is?"
"It's Rome's land." Bestia' voice was harsh. "That's why we're here! To remind these savages that this is part of Rome now."
Despite seeing the heads of most of my comrades bobbing up and down, I could not refrain from pointing out, "That's certainly true…written on a scroll," I said. "But it's pretty clear that at least Draxo doesn't see it that way."
The mention of the man who was seen as the unprovoked cause of our sitting in this spot naturally evoked a round of cursing, both of the verbal kind and those made with a gesture or spitting on the ground. Without thinking, I felt my eyes move over to Caecina, who was standing just behind the ring of seated men across from me. As I mentioned before, while we live together in a hut, on the march, we are split into two groups, so that in appearance, we are just a normal section. But the tents for each section are aligned directly across the Century street from each other, and although we each have our own fire, usually men gravitate from one to another, or in the case that night, were either seated or standing around one fire as we talked; this night, it just happened to be the fire of my part of the section. If he felt my eyes on him, he studiously avoided my gaze. Domitius was in his usual spot next to me, and I saw him turn his head to glance at me, and I briefly regretted telling him all that had happened the day I had been with Urso and the Optio Cossus in the Second, who, I suddenly remembered, was also dead in the ambush. But before my mind could go in a direction that ultimately would lead to nothing but trouble, I stopped myself, thinking how unlikely it would be that Urso was behind the deaths of at least two men who were part of his muscle. That, I thought, would require a level of control and planning that just did not seem possible, even for a man as clever and resourceful as Urso.
"I don't care how Draxo sees it," Bestia countered my statement, at least once the uproar had died back down. "We're the ones who decide things like that, not some barbarian cunnus."
"But why are they so hard to find?"
This came from one of the men from the other tent who was standing behind me; I am not sure, but I believe it was Geta, the newest addition to Caecina's group.
"Because of the caves," I spoke up, again without thinking. "They're all over the place, in the rock. I think it's because it's travertine."
"And how by Cerberus' balls do you know that?" Dentulus scoffed. "You weren't with us the last time we came up here!"
"Remember who he is," Caecina cut in. "He grew up here, and his father was up here too."
"Oh, that's right." Dentulus looked away from my direction. "I forgot."
"But, how big are the caves?" Geta asked. "I mean, I heard from one of the clerks in the Praetorium that there's ten thousand of those bastards in there!"
This caused an eruption of noise as men either added their own piece of information, argued about the validity of some unnamed clerk, or offered their opinion about the entire business, all at once. Finally, Caecina got us settled down, but it took him bellowing at us to be quiet.
"The Colapiani couldn't field ten thousand men if they pulled babes from the tit and put a tiny sword in their hand," he scoffed. "If they have five, that would be stretching it." He shook his head adamantly. "There's no ten thousand men waiting for us."
There was a moment of silence, and then I heard my voice, even as a part of me cringed.
"That's true," I agreed, but before anyone could interject, I pointed out, "But where we're at is right at the place where Colapiani, Latobici, and Varciani territory runs into each other. And I don't think it's likely that the Colapiani are using this place without the knowledge of the other two tribes. And if they know about it, I think it's possible that at least one of them has thrown in with Draxo. Especially," I did not particularly like adding this last thought, but I felt like the men around me should at least know why I thought this way, "now that they've probably heard that Draxo hit us at The Quarry and got away."
For just a moment, there was total silence, then suddenly, men began talking again, but this time to whoever was closest to them. Which meant that Domitius turned to glare at me.
"Thanks, Titus," he said bitterly. "That just made my night."
Not long afterward, we retired to our respective tents to get what rest we could. I lay there trying to straighten out the fingers of my left hand, but I was never successful before I fell asleep.
While the day started normally, the bucina sounding the call that signaled the start of the day, it became apparent very quickly that something was happening in the Praetorium. One of the advantages of being in the First of the First is that those of us in its ranks have a closer view of the Primus Pilus, and access to information more quickly than in other Cohorts. Even the difference between how swiftly I heard about new developments in the First compared to the Fourth was significant, despite the fact that the Fourth is traditionally one of the first line Cohorts. Consequently, Tiburtinus let us know in very sparse terms – the details we added ourselves – what was taking place as the sun continued to rise in the sky.
"There seems to be a…difference of opinion about the best way to proceed," was how Tiburtinus put it, his mouth a grim line that was instructive in itself.
"Paullus?" Caecina asked.
Tiburtinus shrugged, but gave Caecina the answer in a look.
"Pluto's cock," someone raged. "I thought the Legate put a muzzle on his yapping dog!"
The fact that the man who said this did so loudly enough for Tiburtinus to hear, yet the Optio chose to ignore it, is an example of the ways in which the men in command of a Century can let their rankers know that, not only is their characterization accurate, but that the hearts of a Centurion or Optio are still marching with their comrades. It was a valuable lesson, and while I had first learned this from reading my Avus' account, not only did my father add to it, seeing it in action firsthand in this moment was important. Now we were paralyzed as, presumably anyway, Urso fought Paullus' conviction that just by virtue of his birth, he was more qualified to decide the appropriate next step. Consequently, the first full watch of the day passed before we were summoned to the forum to find Urso and the Tribunes waiting. I say the Tribunes, but it was not the full complement of them; conspicuously absent was Paullus, meaning that it was Claudius who stood next to Urso.
"He's probably sulking," was Avitus' guess, but somehow, I did not think that was the case, and I said as much.
"More like he's tied up in the Praetorium," I commented, and I was pleased to hear a ripple of snickers around me.
As was his habit, our Primus Pilus did not
waste time on the formalities.
"We march today, but not in full Legion order," he began.
Although this was expected by most of us, it still caused a wave of anxiety through the ranks, and looking across to the far side of where Urso was standing, even from a distance I could see the men of the higher Cohorts were not taking this well. It is impossible for me to say with any real accuracy but my suspicion is that the veterans marching in those Cohorts had not helped matters any, if the manner in which my more experienced comrades were acting in the First was a guide. As Urso continued, he gave the specific dispositions, except that what was unusual, at least judging from the reaction of those around me, was how he divided his forces. Rather than the more customary manner of dividing his Cohorts in the same way as we lined up for battle, Urso demonstrated his shrewdness and the understanding of a Primus Pilus who was intimately familiar with his Legion. The composition of the only grouping that really concerned us of course was the First and, as normal, the Second was included with us. However, the Second was still severely understrength because the casualties they suffered at The Quarry had yet to either return from the hospital or be replaced. We were better off, but our ranks were still thinned; Philo was gone, of course, but only Glabrio had sufficiently recovered to march, although he still had a noticeable limp, and the other sections were about the same. Therefore, Urso selected the Sixth Cohort, but in a surprise, no other Cohort would be marching with us. The Third was the leading Cohort of their detachment, composed of the Fifth, Eighth, and Tenth Cohorts, while the Fourth was joined by the Seventh and Ninth. In this way, Urso had done what he could to closely balance each group in numbers if not fighting quality, but I could not smother the feeling of concern at my former comrades in the Fourth being teamed with two Cohorts that did not have as much experience. Specifically, I was concerned that the Ninth was with them; they were the worst Cohort in the Legion by far, their Pilus Prior still the same man who had purchased his posting and who had allowed his Cohort to stand idly by the year before when our column was attacked by Marcomanni. Consequently, Asinius, Tuditanus, Galens, Corvinus, Metellus, Tuditanus, and Figulus were just a few of the faces that flashed through my mind as I offered up a silent prayer for them.
With the dispositions made, Urso informed us of our task for at least that day, although given the late start, we were not optimistic that we would accomplish much. Our goal was to precisely locate Draxo's band, along with whoever had joined with them. The 13th had approached from the north from Poetovio, and were arrayed in a line of Cohorts arranged on an east/west axis. However, although we had initially thought the 15th was too far south, deeper in Colapiani territory, we learned that even as Urso was giving us our orders, they were marching north and were expected by nightfall. They would position themselves along the western border of this area, while we blocked the southern escape route. Only to the east was there a possible avenue for Draxo to evade us. Directly east were the Varciani, and what anyone who lived in Pannonia for a significant length of time knew was that, if we flushed the Colapiani from this area and they headed into Varciani territory, it was highly likely that Draxo would be unable to keep his unruly warriors from falling on any small Varciani settlement as they skulked back to their own lands. At least, according to our sources in the Praetorium, this was what the Legate was counting on happening. Of course, if our fears that the Varciani and Colapiani had actually joined forces were realized, then we had a whole other set of problems. First, however, we had to find them, which was not a given, considering the fact that this area extended more than twenty-five miles from east to west and about fifteen miles north to south. Contained within were heavily forested hills, and even from where we were standing in the camp forum, I could see them looming just a mile to the north. Urso's final orders were for every Cohort to leave one Century behind in this camp, the idea being that we would be returning to camp at the end of the day. If all went according to plan, we would have located either the enemy themselves, or a sufficient sign of them to indicate exactly where they were in the maze of ravines, draws, and pocket valleys. Keeping in mind what I had learned from Galens about our supply situation being so desperate, I believe that it is not a leap of imagination to assume that, in the Legate's mind, this would be a simple operation; one day to find them, the next day to wipe them out. I cannot speak for my comrades, yet despite my relative inexperience, I had tasted enough of battle and campaigning to view this with some hearty skepticism. Just from the facial expressions of my comrades, they were of a like mind. Nevertheless, we were dismissed to prepare to march out of camp in a sixth part of a watch, meaning that we had to hurry.
It was immediately after we marched out that we learned the specifics of where each column was marching. We also found out we would be accompanied by three Tribunes, and it probably does not take much guesswork to determine who it was. Urso was clearly unhappy about it, yet somewhat to my surprise, as I watched the quiet but intense argument between our Primus Pilus and the fine young men, I saw it was in fact Claudius who took the lead, making gestures that, although they were no less emphatic than I had seen from Paullus, somehow, did not seem to be aimed at Urso. Instead, he pointed to the other Tribune while completely ignoring Paullus, who sat his horse a few paces away from the others, clearly sulking. I had at least learned the name of the second Tribune; Marcus Sempronius Libo, although he went by Sempronius, and who seemed content to let Claudius do the talking. Finally, Urso threw up his hands in a gesture that indicated he surrendered. As far as the rest of us, we were marching without packs, shields unlashed and uncovered, carrying only our javelins and canteens. However, we also were told to carry our sagum, which we rolled up and slung around our necks. Like the rest of my comrades, this was also where I squirreled away several chunks of bread, a hunk of salt pork, and one small, hard cheese. To save space and weight, only a couple of us carried our fireboxes with us as well, although I knew we all hoped we would have no need for any of it. Tiburtinus made his inspection of each of us, checking that we were all properly equipped and prepared.
While Urso trotted off to confer with the commanders of the other two contingents, Tiburtinus stood next to Flaccus and me, chatting quietly.
"It's just a fucking shame that we killed Draxo's son at the ambush." Tiburtinus shook his head. "Because we might have been able to stop all of this cac from happening."
This confused me; it was the first mention I had heard about a son of the rebelling chieftain, so I asked idly, "When did that happen? I don't remember it."
I sensed Flaccus suddenly shifting his weight next to me, then he and Tiburtinus exchanged a glance.
"It was when you were trying to reach the Primus Pilus," Flaccus provided the answer, but he still kept shifting from one foot to the other, which I found irritating.
Since it was Tiburtinus who had brought it up, I suppose that led me to assume he had more knowledge of it, but when I asked him if he had seen it, he shook his head.
"It happened on the far side from where I was at," was all he said, which further deepened my confusion.
"You mean, it was on our side of the fight?"
When Tiburtinus nodded I looked to Flaccus, except he seemed intent on looking everywhere but at me, and I believe this was the first it dawned on me.
"What," I asked slowly, "did he look like?"
"He was young," Flaccus answered, but I was not satisfied.
"So I gathered, being Draxo's son." I could not keep the frustration I was beginning to feel from creeping into my voice. "What else?"
Flaccus shrugged, saying he did not really recall, but Tiburtinus apparently did not feel I should be kept in the dark.
"He had good quality armor and clothes like you'd expect," he said, but then he added quietly, "His choice of weapon was…unusual."
My heart sank, the memory of a man just a bit older than I was, carrying an axe with an especially long handle coming to my mind. Then I remembered the moment just before I killed
him; he had begged for mercy, and was saying something about his father when I plunged my sword into his mouth. Suddenly, my body did not seem strong enough to wear my armor, and I felt dizzy, closing my eyes.
"This," I did not recognize my voice, "is my fault."
"That's not true, Pullus." Flaccus put his free hand on my good arm, causing me to look at him as he shook his head. "You did your job! You had no way of knowing that was Draxo's son," he finished forcefully.
"Only because I didn't let him finish what he was trying to tell me," I shot back, the bitterness of the words twisting my mouth. "But I was…" I stopped, neither knowing how to describe these fits of mine, nor wanting to acknowledge aloud that I experienced them at all.
"You were doing what you were trained to do." Tiburtinus essentially repeated Flaccus' words, his tone no less adamant. "Besides, there's no way of knowing that Draxo would have agreed to stop the uprising in exchange for his son."
