by James Mace
“They have friends coming, sir,” Centurion Liberius said, riding up next to his commander.
Lucius, momentarily dazed, shook his head as he tried to get his vision to clear. He then saw several hundred Flavian cavalrymen racing towards the fray. “Sound the recall!” he shouted to his cornicen.
As the loud blasts sounded from the horn, the troopers from the Siliana Regiment veered off in two directions, rapidly breaking contact with their adversaries. A couple of men were not quick enough to spur their horses into the gallop and were stabbed from behind by enemy lancers.
“Damn it,” Lucius said, looking back.
A small group of his wounded cavalrymen were dragged away by Flavian soldiers.
“It was inevitable,” Liberius remarked. “Don’t worry, sir, as soon as we’ve won this battle we’ll get our lads back.”
Lucius had never intended for this to be a decisive engagement. Instead, he wished to harry the Flavians and prevent them from attempting to flank the Vitellian Army. He understood that every clash, no matter how brief, would likely result in casualties for both sides.
“What the fuck are our gods-damned legions doing?” the tribune snapped, nodding to their left where thousands of infantrymen stood in columns. “They could have smashed the Flavians while they were on the march. Instead they’re just sitting on their asses, allowing the enemy to establish their battlefront. Reform the regiment. Counter any attacks their cavalry may send against us. Otherwise, hold this position.”
Without waiting for confirmation, Lucius kicked his horse into a fast gallop and made his way to the rear of the massed column of Vitellian legionaries. There he found a group of legates arguing amongst themselves.
“You only think you deserve command because Fabius Valens is your bloody cousin!” one of the generals stated.
“It’s not that the commanding general is my cousin,” Manlius retorted. “I have experience against this very army we now face. I know how to beat them.”
“He makes a valid point,” Claudius Zeno of Legio XXII concurred. “No one could have foreseen Caecina’s treason nor Valens’ poorly timed stomach illness.”
Two of the other legates protested his logic as Lucius rode up and shook his head in dismay. “Beg your pardon, sirs,” he spoke up loudly. “But if we don’t get our legions into battle formation now, your arguments over succession of command will mean nothing. The Flavian legions have deployed not two miles from here. I have already clashed twice with their cavalry.”
From their position, the bickering legates could not see the approaching enemy legions. Their anger at each other turned to alarm.
“Form the legions for battle, now ,” Manlius snarled at his fellow legates. “We can debate this later. For now, the First Italica will deploy on the right, all legions on our left. Move!”
There were no further arguments. The legates and their staff officers quickly rode back to their respective units.
General Manlius gave a nod of appreciation to Lucius. “Thank you, tribune,” he said. “Your arrival could not have come at a better time.”
“Just doing my duty, sir,” Lucius replied. “The Flavians have concentrated the largest number of their cavalry on our left. There is a hilltop to our right front that appears to be where they are anchoring their lines.”
“Very good,” Manlius acknowledged. “We’ll disperse most of our cavalry on the left accordingly. I want your regiment to pull back into a reserve. You will be my eyes and ears on the right. If you see a chance to exploit a weakness, take it, but do not be careless with your lives.”
“Sir!” Lucius gave a sharp salute and rode back to find Centurion Liberius and the rest of his regiment. In his peripheral vision, he saw thousands of legionaries deploying from column into battle ranks. Despite their lost opportunities and petty squabbles among the senior officers, Lucius returned to his men feeling supremely confident that the battle would be won.
There was a long moment of rapt anticipation as the two armies made ready to do battle. The evening sun shone in the faces of the Flavian legions and they prayed for nightfall. Inexplicably, the Vitellians did not take advantage of his.
“What in Hades are they waiting for?” Primus asked Master Centurion Vitruvius.
“Very strange, sir,” Vitruvius replied. “It’s as if they are allowing us to deploy our legions before they attack.”
“That or they’ve finally un-fucked themselves, once they saw our forces ready for them.” Primus then nodded towards their immediate front, where a single legion advanced on them. “Is that legion intent fighting its own battle?”
“Hard to tell from here, but I think that’s First Italica,” the master centurion observed, his eyes squinting in the last bright light of the falling sun. He shook his head as he watched the massed columns of Vitellian legionaries deploying for battle.
“Something troubling you?” Primus asked, noting Vitruvius’ pained expression. “Not scared of our enemy, I hope.”
“It’s not that. Something’s been bothering me, sir. Somewhere in that mass of men and metal are cohorts from the Twentieth Valeria Victrix…my father’s legion. He died forty years ago, and his mates are either old men or dead. Still, I wonder what he would say if he knew his son drew his blade against his legion.”
“I think he would say that he expects you to do your duty…both you and them,” Primus surmised. “You should be glad you’re not facing your father. Some lads are not so fortunate.”
“It’s true,” Vitruvius said, with a sad smile. “Three quarters of all imperial legions have at least one vexilation cohort on this field today. Though both sides will pray to Fortuna, Victoria, Mars, and Bellona, I suspect the gods will defer from granting favor to either us or the Vitellians. We can only do our duty.”
“And I will need you on the ground,” Primus said, looking towards the center of the Seventh Gemina where the First Cohort stood ready. “This will be the first action for most of our lads, and they need to know we stand ready to die with them.”
“As long as I stand so will they,” the master centurion asserted, while dismounting his horse. “And should we fall, then they will fight ever harder to avenge us.”
Vitruvius retrieved his shield and drew his gladius. The sun had set behind the mountains, casting its red glow upon the battlefield. Cohorts from both sides were rushing towards their places on the lines, which began at the base of the hill south of the road, extending more than a mile north. Two Vitellian Legions, First Italica and Fourth Macedonia, advanced on Primus’ own Seventh and Thirteenth Gemina Legions. They would begin the battle, with the remaining legions and auxilia regiments soon joining the fray.
“Javelins ready!” The order was shouted by centurions from each army, as the Vitellians continued their advance. The rhythmic cadence of their footsteps echoed along the lines. As the pilum was one of the few weapons that could puncture segmentata plate, while rendering shields useless, Primus had devised a strategy for the Seventh Gemina, which he hoped would be employed by his other legions.
Instead of increasing their intervals to allow room to throw the long javelins, the men of Seventh Gemina maintained close order, even as the Italica Legion advanced to within fifty meters of their lines.
“Steady, lads,” Master Centurion Vitruvius said, as he shifted his weight back and forth on his feet.
“Front rank…throw!” the enemy centurions shouted. The Italica front rank sprinted another twenty meters before unleashing a storm of heavy pila, yet the Gemina legionaries still held theirs.
“Testudo!” Vitruvius and the other cohort commanders called out.
Salvos of the heavy javelins rained down upon them, burrowing deep into the wall of shields that encompassed each mass of legionaries. Subsequent volleys followed. The long shafts smashed through shields. Hapless legionaries cried out as they were stabbed in the face, arms, and other exposed areas.
A long blast was sounded from the cornicen ordering the front cohorts to w
ithdraw. The Gemina legionaries rose up with scores of men either killed or injured from the storm of enemy missiles. Despite the savaging they’d taken within the initial seconds of their very first engagement, the men kept their composure. Primus had told his soldiers repeatedly that they would suffer casualties in the initial pila salvo, and that all they could do was minimize the losses. Wounded men tried to drag themselves away. Their rattled, yet unscathed companions sprinted away, dragging their shields, with numerous pila hanging off them.
The Vitellians, thinking the inexperienced Legio VII had already broken, drew their gladii with a shout and charged. A subsequent long note from the cornicen ordered the reserve cohorts from Seventh Gemina to attack. These men unleashed their own volleys as their companions raced between the files of their cohorts, where they reformed into a new reserve force. The Italica legionaries dropped behind their shields as the storm of javelins fell on them. By opening their ranks to allow room to throw, they were unable to form overhead cover and were more greatly exposed to the return volley from the Flavians. A significant number of legionaries in the first two ranks were cut down, their shrieks of pain the first of many that would echo through the long night to come.
“Gladius…draw!”
The men of Seventh Gemina felt their blood boil as they gave a loud shout of rage. They had bloodied their foes and now looked to press the advantage. However, the Italica legionaries were all highly experienced veterans, who had fought against Otho’s legions a few months prior. They had known to expect a return volley of javelins, even though they did not anticipate the method with which Primus’ soldiers would unleash. They quickly executed a series of passages-of-lines, relieving their savaged front ranks. Within moments the shield walls of both legions came together in a series of loud clashes, grunts, battle cries, profane shouts, and the smashing of shield, blade, and armor.
“Alright lads!” Master Centurion Vitruvius shouted, at the back of the formation. He set his shield down. Three pila protruded from the splintered wood. He had a deep gash running along his left arm that he attempted to ignore. “Cut these damned things from your shields, and perhaps we can send a few back to those bastards!”
“Think of it as an early Saturnalia present!” another centurion stated, bringing a series of laughs and biting rebukes towards their enemies.
With its square shaped head, the only way to extract a pilum from a shield was to cut it out. This left gaping holes and gashes in their shields, yet many of the men viewed these as a sign of honor. They had survived their first bloody clash with the enemy and were still standing.
General Primus rode along the length of the Seventh Gemina, whose frontage extended almost fifteen hundred feet from end to end. Whistle blows and audible commands ordered individual centuries to execute their passage-of-lines. Each side attempted to keep fresh soldiers in the fight, and the initial flurry of the first few minutes soon gave way to a grinding slog. Soldiers punched away with their shields, seeking openings to strike with their gladii.
The Vitellians of First Italica had a number of advantages, foremost being their superior training and experience. They were also, nearly to a man, wearing segmented plate armor. Only a third of the Seventh Gemina could say the same. The rest wore the lighter, yet less protective hamata chain mail, which a gladius could readily puncture if thrust hard enough. Despite these glaring disadvantages, the Flavians’ newest imperial soldiers were earning right to be called legionaries. They stalwartly refused to budge against the onslaught from First Italica.
“Ride to each of our legions on the right,” Primus ordered three of his staff tribunes. “I need to know their status and what they’re up against. Ride back to me every half hour or whenever there’s a change in the tactical situation. If our lines break, I need to know about it. If their lines collapse, I want our reserve auxilia cohorts to exploit the gap.”
“Sir, what about our left?” one of the men asked, pointing towards the hill. “If the Vitellians have a sizeable reserve, they could bring them around and behind us.”
“I’ve got that sorted already,” Primus replied. “Now move!”
The three tribunes saluted and rode away towards the long line of Flavian Legions. The sun set, but even with a bright full moon, there was no way for Primus to keep eyes on his entire battle front. The commander-in-chief therefore had to remain mobile. He stayed fairly close to Seventh Gemina, not just because it was his own legion, but because they were the least trained and experienced of the entire army. He knew that as long as they held, the Flavian legions would not waver.
As he trotted his horse up the road to where the vexilation cohort from Legio X advanced, General Antonius Primus was filled with a sense of calm acceptance. The months of political and strategic maneuver were over. As the battle raged in a cacophony of bloodlust and rage, Primus hoped the Seventh Claudia was not too far behind this approaching cohort. The Vitellians had a sizeable reserve, and if they suspected his left flank was weak and exposed, they could easily exploit it.
The Second Battle of Bedriacum
Chapter XIV: Night of the Kin Slayers
An Optio (second from the right) leading a legionary assault
(Photo © Cezary Wyszynski)
The sun had set behind the hills to the west by the time the Fifth Cohort of Legio X linked up with General Primus and the rest of the army. The faint red glow that still lingered cast an otherworldly feel upon battlefield. Officers were shouting orders to their respective cohorts, as legionaries and auxilia infantrymen sprinted towards their positions on the line.
It baffled Gaius that either side would wish to fight a battle at night, yet that is exactly what was rapidly unfolding. The Fifth Cohort had been at the very back of the column and was only now arriving on the battlefield. It seemed both armies were rushing their forces piecemeal into the fray. To their direct front, at least two of their legions were engaged in battle. Others were positioning themselves on the far right. A long row of dead legionaries could already be seen behind the Seventh and Thirteenth Gemina Legions. Men in the reserve cohorts attempted to get as many of the far more numerous wounded to the medics who were establishing a hasty casualty collection point.
Centurion Pilus Prior Galeo marched at the head of his cohort in a column ten soldiers wide. It was the end of a long trek that had begun midafternoon. And though he and his men were already worn from their journey, they knew their bloody toils had only just begun.
“Centurion!” The pilus prior looked to see it was General Primus himself who was calling to him.
“Sir!” he responded, coming to attention.
“You see that hill to the left of our front?” Primus asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to move your asses over there and take the high ground. Seventh Gemina is on your right, with the rest of the army to the right of them. Seventh Claudia should be arriving on the field at any moment. Once they do, they will hold the ground to the left of the hilltop where a drainage ditch acts as a natural obstacle. But until they do, you are the flank. Do not let those bastards get behind us!”
“Very good, sir, we’ll hold the high ground.” Galeo turned to his men. “Fifth Cohort, at the double-time…march!”
Antonius Primus rode back to the rest of his army. He saw his own Seventh Gemina was still holding in place. Master Centurion Vitruvius walked the line, making certain every cohort refused to yield a shred of ground to their Vitellian foes. With Primus commanding the entire army, Vitruvius was tasked with coordinating Seventh Gemina. A series of barked orders and trumpet blasts led his reserve cohorts back into the brawl. Those who engaged the Vitellians in melee at the start pulled back and reformed once more into a reserve.
To the right of them, straddling the road itself, was General Aquila and Thirteenth Gemina. These men in particular were anxious to exact retribution against the Vitellians across the half mile of open ground. To the right of them, north of the road, were Legates Lupus and Aponius with
the Eighth Augusta and Third Gallica Legions, respectively. Primus had placed a single regiment of cavalry to screen the right flank, supported by the two remaining cohorts from the Judean army. That his ready reserve consisted of just seven auxilia infantry cohorts made him uneasy.
Thus far his legions had held their own against the relentless Vitellian force. Barring any unforeseen changes to the enemy’s tactics, it now came down to which side broke first. Primus knew the long day was turning into an endless night.
The Flavians still had no knowledge about the collapse in leadership within the senior ranks of the Vitellians. Had he been aware of their inability to coordinate en mass, Primus may very well have used his cavalry and reserve infantry to harry and confuse the enemy flanks.
But it was not just the Flavians who were blinded by the larger tactical situation. General Manlius, who had haphazardly assumed command, was constrained by having to lead First Italica. Had Caecina not turned traitor, there was a very real chance he would have noted Primus’ weakness and sent most of his reserve cohorts, whose total strength equaled two legions, at the hill on the Flavian left. It was Tribune Lucius Artorius, whose regiment was scouting to the right of the Vitellian line, who noticed the end of the glinting wall of shields, just prior to the base of the hill.
He spurred his horse back to where General Manlius was overseeing the emplacement of onagers and ballistae. A brief lull had come over the battle, as First Italica had withdrawn a quarter mile back, along with the rest of the army.
“Those bastards have beaten back our initial assaults,” the legate stated, his voice betraying both anger and reluctant respect for their foes. “It is time we let our artillery speak to them.”
