by James Mace
“Attack the camp!” General Aquila shouted, as he rode beside one of his center cohorts. “Do not give them the chance to regroup!”
It was Legio XIII, along with Legio III, Legio VIII, and about half of Legio VII, Gemina who assailed the Vitellian Army’s vast encampment. Seventh Claudia and Eighth Augusta had bypassed the fortifications, along with most of the reserve auxilia cohorts, in order to pursue the two legions fleeing for Cremona.
“Get those men back here!” Primus ordered. “We take the camp first, and then Cremona will be ours.”
The sounds of trumpets, coupled with the berating of centurions and commanding legates, and within thirty minutes the pursuit to Cremona had ceased. The entire Flavian Army was now regrouping outside the Vitellian camp.
“Sir, we’ve captured a large number of enemy siege engines.” A tribune rode up and reported excitedly. “They were in a column along the road, waiting to be brought forward.”
“And now we will turn them on their masters,” the commander-in-chief asserted. He summoned his legates and senior centurions, who rode with him to assess the strength of the enemy camp.
“Standard legion defenses,” General Lupus observed. “Entrenchments, earthen ramparts topped with palisade stakes. They even built up wooden guard towers on the entrances, topped with scorpions.”
“Launching a hasty assault on that could be disastrous,” Chief Tribune Messalla of Seventh Claudia stated. “Especially given our army’s state of exhaustion. None of them have slept in over a day, and they have already expended themselves beyond what most men are capable of.”
“And what would you have us do?” Aquila asked indignantly. “Should we cede the field, retreat to Bedriacum, and hand back our victory to the enemy?”
“Look, general, I know your men from the Thirteenth are more anxious for retribution than any,” Messalla countered, “but they will have no vengeance if they are all lying dead in those entrenchments.”
“Enough,” Primus interrupted, keeping his voice calm but firm. In truth, he knew both men were correct. They had won a victory of sorts, even though they had no idea as to why the enemy had fled from the field. To order his army to retire to Bedriacum could incite a mutiny. Plus, it would mean everything they’d fought to achieve thus far had been in vain. The shouts of profanity and insults being hurled by the men of Legio XIII towards the Vitellian camp accentuated this point.
“I have ordered our siege and logistics trains brought forward,” the commander-in-chief continued. “However, it will take the better part of a day for them to arrive. Even after they do, we simply do not have the manpower necessary to lay siege to both the enemy camp and the city. We have little choice but to attack.” He walked towards the camp about a hundred meters, folded his arms across his chest, and decided on his plan of assault. “Their fortifications are very large. We cannot attack all four sides at once. We’ll blockade the western gate with our cavalry and auxiliary infantry cohorts in order to prevent them from escaping to Cremona. Third Gallica and Seventh Gemina will attack the south. Seventh Claudia and Eighth Augusta will be our center and assault the eastern ramparts.”
“That leaves my lads to attack the north,” Aquila observed.
“The two cohorts from Fifth and Fifteenth Legions will support you,” Primus remarked. “Arrius will take most of the cavalry to form a screen line to the west, lest those bloody cowards decide to venture out from Cremona.”
“Sir, my horses need water and forage,” the cavalry corps commander spoke up.
“Detach two regiments at a time,” Primus replied. “There is plenty of grass for them near the banks of the river.”
Arrius saluted and left to oversee his task. The commanding general then said to the assembled legates, “Exhort your men this day. Remind them victory is not yet achieved, not until we smash the Vitellian camp and compel the garrison of Cremona to capitulate. Stir up their competitive spirit as they engage the fortifications with the captured siege weapons. The enemy may have fled the field, but this Second Battle of Bedriacum and Cremona is anything but decided.”
Gaius felt as if his entire cohort had been forgotten. The trumpets had sounded the general advance, yet the Fifth Cohort of Legio X had not been given any additional instructions.
“We’ll fall in behind the Seventh Gemina,” Centurion Galeo ordered. “I’ll try to find General Primus and see where he wants us.”
“Yes, sir,” his centurions responded.
Nicanor relayed the order to his century before walking over to Gaius. “How’s the arm?” he asked.
“Completely numb,” the optio replied in a low voice. “I suppose that’s a good thing for now. I’m a little freaked out that I can’t even feel my right hand.”
“You might have that baldric strapped too tight,” Nicanor remarked. He loosened the buckle, causing Gaius to gasp.
“That did it,” he tried to say, while stifling a groan.
“Fifth cohort on me!” Galeo shouted, his gladius raised high.
A number of enemy corpses were strewn along the far side of the hill. Although, they had done their best to extract any wounded from the field, there were still a significant number who groaned in pain, while trying to crawl away from the numerous legionaries who bounded over them. As Gaius reached the bottom, using his staff to help balance, he took a brief moment to gaze at the scene of death off to their right.
The Vitellians, in their panic, had abandoned their wounded from the last few assaults. Many of these men were in terrible shape. To their credit, a number of injured soldiers from the Flavian casualty collection point, at least the ones still able to walk, were doing what they could to aid them. Lack of medical supplies was making this extremely difficult, and all anyone could do was rip up tunics to use as bandages. Despite the hellish struggle that continued to play out between the two armies, for the wounded, every man fallen was once more a brother Roman and friend.
The cohort gradually caught up to the rest of the pursuing army, and the large Vitellian camp soon came into view. Soldiers from Seventh Claudia had captured a large portion of the enemy siege train and were distributing the wagons to each assault division.
“Three heavy siege ballistae, ten onagers, and twenty-two scorpions,” a centurion said to the commander-in-chief.
“Excellent,” Primus acknowledged. “Once all engines are in place, I want the ammunition wagons dismantled to build siege ladders and assault planks to get us over the ramparts.”
“Look out!” a voice behind them shouted.
Primus turned just in time to see a large catapult stone slam into the earth near where the Third Gallica was forming its cohorts.
“Damn it all, keep your men back!” he shouted to Legate Aponius.
A salvo of shot from onagers and ballistae from within the camp flew in the direction of the Flavian troops.
Primus spoke to Vitruvius and Messalla. “It would seem our adversaries still have some fight left in them. Keep all assault troops out of range until it is time to attack.”
“Sir, their engines are behind their ramparts,” Vitruvius observed. “Ours will be exposed.”
“That can’t be helped. I’m not interested in dueling with their heavy weapons, but creating breaches for our men, as well as smashing their guard towers on the gates.”
It would take some time to wheel the large wagons around the vast perimeter of the Vitellian camp, at the same time deploying the entire army to their designated assault points. Thirteenth Gemina had the furthest to march, as did the blockade force on the western edge of the encampment. Crews were quickly designated for the engines on the southern flank. As they wheeled the heavy machines forward, they were subjected to a barrage from enemy ramparts. One onager took a shot on the front left wheel, which spilt down the center. The metal band snapped from the impact.
“Fuck!” a crewman shouted in alarm.
“We’ll hold the scorpions in reserve until we’re ready to assault, sir,” Master Centurion
Vitruvius said. “They can’t do much good right now. Their crews will only get chopped to pieces if we deploy them.”
“Very well,” Primus concurred. “We only have six or seven for each flank anyway.”
The sound of a cornicen’s horn sounding the assault in the distance warned the commanding general. He looked towards the north and could still see the wagons with siege engines making their way around the perimeter. “Damn it all, who in the fuck ordered the attack already?”
Chapter XVIII: Fortunes of War
Cremona
25 October 69 A.D.
***
The first assaults had gone very badly for General Primus’ army. Legate Lupus was, under most circumstances, a sound leader and tactician. On this morning, however, he seemed to have lost control of most of his legion. His soldiers had discovered a number of discarded siege ladders on some of the captured Vitellian logistics wagons. Most were numb in both mind and body following the harrowing ordeals of the past day and night. Even the centurions and principle officers were in a state of stupor. The only focus of the men of Legio VIII was final destruction of the Vitellian Army. Two cohorts had grabbed a dozen or more ladders and, of their own volition, assailed the eastern ramparts. Knowing he could not risk losing over eight hundred men this way, General Aquila ordered the entire legion to attack.
The Vitellians had far more fight left in them than the Flavians realized. The assault proved haphazard, with men sprinting towards the ramparts and gate without so much as forming a shield wall. While speed had negated any attempts by the Vitellians to utilize their siege ballistae and catapults, they put their scorpions to deadly use. Ladder bearers were especially vulnerable. Several were shot down by heavy bolts that punctured their armor or burst through exposed necks and lower abdomens. A duo of volleys from enemy archers were unleashed as the legion approached the earthworks. The armor and helmets worn by legionaries were impervious to arrows; however, since they had not formed either testudo or shield wall, a few were felled by arrows to the face, neck, and legs.
Archers quickly withdrew from the ramparts as the ladders were dropped across the entrenchments and onto the earthworks. The rows of palisade stakes actually helped keep the ladders in place, as they were wedged between the rungs. It was still hazardous to try and cross over. Vitellian legionaries and auxilia troopers were kicking and shaking the ladders, trying to throw the Flavian soldiers off. Most did cross safely, but they could only get a few men across at a time, and waiting for them were the massed battle ranks of enemy soldiers.
The Vitellians seemed to have recovered from their earlier panic. That or they accepted that they had little choice now but to try and hold the ramparts against the Flavian onslaught. They were still unaware that Mucianus had not actually arrived on the field. They were facing the same army they had brawled with over the past twelve hours. They rushed forward to the row of palisade stakes, thereby forcing the Flavians to try and fight from their ladders. Men were smashed in the faces with the edges and bosses from Vitellian shields, and sent falling into the six-foot ditch below.
While the attack on the ramparts was floundering, the soldiers of the Thirteenth were having marginally better luck attacking the northern gate and its wooden towers. The base of these was not very large. One carried a scorpion. The other housed an onager. One of the crewmen took a gladius underneath his armor into the guts, and he fell screaming to the hard ground below. Hundreds of legionaries had formed into a long column along the narrow path that led into the fort. If their assault troops could get over the gatehouse they could throw open the gates, allowing the entire legion to spill into the camp.
Disaster struck just when it looked as if the Flavians would take both towers. The defenders on the right, along with the scorpion crew, had been either killed or driven off. On the left tower, the decanus leading a squad of Vitellians knew he had to take a desperate gamble.
“Push the onager over the side!” he shouted. The sergeant and six legionaries got behind the heavy engine and began to shove with all of their strength. One of his men took a gladius to the neck for his efforts, yet they proved successful. With a snapping of timbers, the large siege engine broke one of the support poles of the ladder before falling with a loud, sickening crash onto the heads of the clustered soldiers below. At least ten men were crushed outright. Many others were badly injured as the onager shattered among their closely packed ranks.
The morale of the Flavians broke and a retreat ensued. With much greater order and discipline than they had attacked with, the soldiers of Legio XIII withdrew, keeping their shields close for protection. This repulse, followed by the jeers from the Vitellian defenders, only incensed them further.
General Aquila finally managed to regain control of his errant legion. “Focus all bombardment on the gatehouse,” he ordered his onager crews, who were quickly unloading the engines from their wagons. “We’ll hold in place until the gates are smashed.”
“Idiots!” Primus snapped, as a staff tribune from the Eighth Legion informed him of the legion’s repulse.
“General Aquila has ordered our men to wait until the gates are broken before attacking again,” another messenger quickly explained.
“At least he’s doing something right,” the commander-in-chief grumbled. Aquila was an officer who Primus respected greatly, and to see him lose control over his legion in such an embarrassing manner was infuriating.
Off to his left, his four onagers and single siege ballista were commencing their bombardment of the enemy defenses. They were met with a punishing counter-fire from the Vitellian artillery. Several men were struck down in ghastly fashion by heavy shot.
“Sir!” a voice shouted behind him.
Primus turned to see Optio Gaius Artorius from Legio X. The officer’s right arm, which was strapped to his side, was deeply scoured and a hideous shade of purple and black.
“What is it, optio?”
“Your onagers are shooting too high. They haven’t even hit the damn gatehouse yet.”
“Are you an expert on siege engines?” the general asked, his voice strained.
“I haven’t touched a catapult in years, but yes.”
“Sir, Optio Artorius is the one who ended the Siege of Tigranocerta,” Centurion Nicanor spoke up. “He’s the one who flung the head of an enemy general right on top of their war council.”
“That was you?” Primus said, bemused. “Alright, you’re in charge of the siege engines on this side. I want those fucking towers brought down and the gatehouse smashed!”
“Yes, sir!”
With his sword arm useless, Gaius was glad to put some of his long-dormant skills to use. As heavy shot from enemy weapons sailed over their heads and kicked up clods of dirt nearby, he took a deep breath and maintained his composure. The mind-numbing, bleary-eyed fatigue of the past day and a half left the designated crews indifferent to the onslaught of Vitellian catapults. Few even took notice as a draught oxen was smashed to pieces in a spray of blood, bone, and gore.
“You’re aiming too high,” Gaius said calmly, to the nearest onager crew. “Back it off three clicks.”
“Yes, sir,” the legionary said. The crewmen were simply those who first volunteered. They were not necessarily skilled at siege warfare.
Gaius turned to the struggling ballista crew. “Get me six men who know how to work that damned thing!” he shouted. “The rest of you will act as ammunition haulers. And keep those wagons out of range!” His last emphasis was on the poor animal that had been smashed apart, its mate bellowing in fear.
“Here, unlatch the damn thing!” a decanus called out, rushing over.
The terrorized beast was cut loose, lest it drag off the wagon full of smooth stone shot for the ballista. The optio turned his attention back to the first onager as it fired again. This time the large stone sailed at the proper elevation, but veered in an arc to the right, slamming into the earthworks.
“The basket is bent and the throwing arm warped,
” Gaius observed. “Reload!”
The men did as he ordered. Two on each side pulled back on the poles of the large sprockets, while two more hefted a large stone into the basket.
“Adjust left.” Gaius knelt behind the catapult as the crew shifted it over the hard-packed dirt until it looked like the throwing arm was aiming a few feet to the left of the left-hand tower. “That should do it…fire!”
The entire crew waited with bated breath as the stone flew in a high arc. At first it looked as if it would sail too far left. Then it gradually veered to the right, smashing with a loud, splintering crash into one of the main support poles of the tower. This elicited a loud cheer from both crewmen and on-looking legionary alike.
“Reload!” Gaius walked over to the next onager, giving them a similar series of directions as he helped them sight on the gatehouse. He quickly did the same with the third and fourth, ordering the ballista to concentrate on the gate itself.
The Vitellian defenders, clearly alarmed by this sudden change in the accuracy of their adversaries’ heavy weapons, became more frantic in their attempts to put the catapults out of commission. Onager and ballista shot flew quicker yet more erratically towards them.
“Steady lads,” Gaius said. He maintained his bearing, even though he thought he might shit himself if any of those large boulders landed any closer.
With a loud crack, the gate folded down the center as a ballista shot broke the cross brace on the other side. Seconds later a pair of onager stones slammed into the left tower, splintering timber and bringing the entire thing crashing down. The scorpion atop spilled into the trench. A pair of hapless soldiers who’d remained atop were flung from the falling defenses. Legionaries gave a loud battle cry, raising their weapons high. Gaius grinned in satisfaction at the result of their labors. He neither saw the large stone that flew right at them, nor did he hear the crashing of the onager being smashed apart. All he was aware of was the stabbing pain in his left thigh as he was knocked to the ground, landing hard on his injured arm.
