by James Mace
“That all depends on the pretender’s masters,” Primus said candidly. “Caecina betrayed Vitellius. Since my soldiers despise traitors, regardless of which side they originally fought for, I sent him to Alexandria. Let Vespasian deal with him. Valens has not been seen and has likely fled Italia to try and scrounge up allies. My scouts report some cavalry and a few auxilia cohorts are holding just north of Ariminum. Narnia is the most likely place for them to make a stand.”
“I’d recommend dealing with the forces at Ariminum first,” Bassus advised. “Besides, the Via Flaminia, while following the coast and being a less direct route to Rome, is actually much faster than trying to take the straight passes over the mountains towards Florentia. We will have to pass through Narnia in either case, so I agree that is probably where the enemy will meet us next.”
It was now early evening, and the commander-in-chief ordered food and drinks for all of his officers. Krsto remained with his men until they could establish their camp for the night, then joined his imperial allies. He ate in silence and spoke very little. Primus was uncertain if he was standoffish or simply not fluent in Latin and had trouble discerning what the Romans were saying.
“Your cousin commands the Ravenna fleet,” Primus remarked to Bassus. “I wish I had known sooner that he had declared for Vespasian. We could have sailed around Italia, taken the capital via Ostia, and avoided Vitellius’ army altogether.”
“There is something else,” the legate remarked. “A substantial number of the mariners, especially the younger men, are hoping to achieve promotion into the legions. Despite the terrible atrocities committed against First Adiutrix by the tyrant, Galba, there is still much talk among the Ravenna fleet about raising another legion.”
“Unfortunately, I do not have the authority to do that,” Primus replied. “And even if I did, I have experienced first-hand the arduous task of trying to train and equip five thousand brand new legionaries.” He paused for a moment, a grin crossing his face as he had an epiphany. “I have an idea; one that will benefit everyone from the legions, to the fleet, to our new allies, the Scordisci.”
The days following the death of Junius Blaesus were met with outrage from members of the senate, as well as the plebeian assembly. Even the two weeks of games could not completely distract the people from the fact that one of the most respected statesmen in Rome had been slain by poison. Far from declaring it an unfortunate accident or trying to distance himself from it, Vitellius took full responsibility for Blaesus’ death.
“Junius Blaesus posed a substantial and immediate threat to our great emperor,” Lucius explained to an angry senate. “It was crucial that he be brought to justice swiftly and decisively.”
“If he was such an imminent threat, why was he not arrested and placed on trial?” an irate Senator Nerva retorted. “What kind of justice is it, when a man can be poisoned at one of the emperor’s own banquets? Are we to all fear for our safety whenever Vitellius asks us to dine with him?”
“Blaesus’ death was a special case, I assure you,” Lucius replied, trying to quell the angry retorts that echoed from various senators and friends of the deceased financier. “The war has, unfortunately, caused us to take some extraordinary measures in order to protect the emperor’s person. I assure you, once the crisis has ended all normalcy and decorum will return to the senate and the empire at large. And in his mercy, Emperor Vitellius has decreed that only half of Blaesus’ fortune and assets will be seized by the state. His widow and children will still receive a substantial portion of his rather massive fortune.”
This perceived sense of clemency was meant to placate the unruly members of the senate. It only made Vitellius and his brother appear guilty of murder. If Blaesus were indeed a traitor and a threat, why spare his family at all? However, Vitellius was emperor and, therefore, immune to prosecution. There was little actual recourse Blaesus’ friends could take. And as Lucius had acted on his brother’s orders, there were no repercussions that he could face either. It was much the same as when men like Guardsman Tiberius Statius acted as assassins on the emperor’s behalf. So, while many of his colleagues were outraged at his poisoning, there was nothing more to be done. However, if Vitellius thought Blaesus’ death would subdue any attempts at insurrection, he was clearly mistaken. The emperor had traded one perceived enemy, who had in reality given him no reason to think of him as a threat at all, for a number of former allies who now secretly hoped for a Flavian victory.
Chapter XXIV: Poison Tears
Along the Via Aemilia, Northwest of Ariminum
8 November 69 A.D.
***
Antonius Primus’ compromise with his disgruntled legates soon turned to his advantage, as he led his restructured division southeast towards Ariminum. He did not have the authority to raise a new legion; what he was able to do was take volunteers from the Ravenna fleet and use them to fill the vacancies within his legions. As for replacing the near two thousand mariners who wished to become legionaries, Primus’ newest allies, the Scordisci, gave him a fresh stock of manpower. Service in the Imperial Navy was a viable path to Roman citizenship, so there was no shortage of willing volunteers who would lay down their spears and take up the oar and the mast.
The division Primus led towards Ariminum was still quite large. The other legates had thought he would only advance with six or so legionary cohorts, roughly ten thousand auxilia infantry, and about two thousand cavalry. Instead, the arrival of Annius Bassus had given him an entire fresh legion who would act as the apex of his taskforce. And despite a third of their men volunteering to join the Ravenna fleet, the Scordisci still had four thousand spearmen marching under the Flavian banner. Primus had taken all three of the vexilation cohorts from Judea, as well as two cohorts from each of his legions, and a single cohort from each of the defeated former Vitellian Legions. Even with most of his legions and about half his auxiliaries remaining in Northern Italia, Antonius Primus still marched south with a formidable force of nearly twenty-five thousand men.
The other Flavian legates, therefore, decided it was best if they traveled with the commander-in-chief. However, as the crux of their legions remained up north, they were relegated to serving as little more than staff officers for General Primus. The one exception was Legate Grypus, who Primus left in command of the bulk of their forces in the Padus region.
As the commander-in-chief explained, “I need someone in overall command of the army. And whatever our initial differences, it would be unfair for me to strip you of any meaningful command by having you accompany me south without your legion.”
“I understand,” Grypus replied, surprised by Primus’ almost amicable demeanor.
“You will also have two thousand new recruits from the fleet within the next two to three weeks,” the commanding general continued. “Ensure they are distributed where most needed amongst our depleted ranks. Make certain the army stays busy, but leave the actual training to the centurions and options.”
“We won’t be sitting idle,” Grypus assured him.
Primus gave a lopsided grin with his next remark. “And when Mucianus finally shows up, feel free to tell him where we’ve gone, and what an insufferable shit you thought I was.”
Grypus gave a snort. He wondered if the commander-in-chief was simply ridding himself of one he viewed as a troublemaker. It mattered not. Despite their cordial meeting, there was little love lost between the two. Grypus knew he would be far happier serving under Mucianus’ command. He was therefore content to wait three weeks for a general to arrive who was not so bloody reckless.
The continued journey south was extremely arduous and painful for Optio Gaius Artorius. He had refused to stay with the wounded at Bedriacum. He could still ride a horse and was able to perform most of his duties, with the exception of actual fighting, so Nicanor had allowed his second-in-command to remain with the century. It served as a source of motivation for their tired and battered legionaries, seeing their optio still marching with them.
His smashed arm was slung across his chest. Getting into and out of his armor each day was the worst, and it took a pair of legionaries to help him ease his arm between the shoulder and torso plates of his segmentata each time. His left leg was stiff, and he had to be careful how he moved, lest he tear the wound open.
“I still cannot believe either of us were left standing after that,” Legionary Decius said one morning, as he helped his optio into his armor. Once the torso ties were bound, he slung Gaius’ arm across his chest. “I thank the gods we still find ourselves among the living.”
“The gods had nothing to do with it,” the ever skeptical optio replied.
“Well, if we had fallen, at least we would have found ourselves in the fields of Elysium.”
Gaius sighed and gave a tired smile. It was the same thing every day from Decius. He was a simple man. And like most legionaries, he was illiterate, uneducated, and highly superstitious. Soldiering was all he knew or would likely ever know. Still, he was fiercely loyal. He had demonstrated his bravery numerous times throughout the Judean campaign, as well as his latest selfless actions while saving the Seventh Legion from the Vitellian Army’s relentless bombardment.
In truth, the optio was rather fond of the legionary. They were roughly the same age. Yet because of their respective upbringings, Gaius tended to view Decius like a younger brother. He resolved that once the fighting was over, he would talk with Signifier Aurelian and see if he would teach the legionary to read and write. Gaius had heard of his grandfather doing something similar with his soldiers; taking those with the brightest minds and leadership potential and hiring a tutor to help them better themselves.
“We should arrive at Ariminum by midday,” Centurion Nicanor briefed his principle officers and decani, as their soldiers ate a hasty breakfast and broke down their camp.
“Any sighting of Vitellius’ remaining forces?” Tesserarius Julius asked. “Or have they run all the way to Rome?”
“No word, yet,” the centurion replied. “My guess is, if they haven’t retreated all the way to Rome, they’ll likely attempt to make a stand at Narnia.”
“That region is very mountainous,” Gaius observed. “But even then, we’ve defeated their legions. What could possess them to think they have a chance against us?”
“Narnia is a natural stronghold,” Nicanor answered. “The terrain is extremely rugged, and the city walls are built atop jagged stretches of rock. Getting siege engines within range is a hazardous task at best.”
“Which we don’t have a lot of anyway, sir,” a decanus added. “Just the lot the lads from Eleventh Claudia brought with them.”
“I know Narnia well,” Julius remarked. “I spent a few summers there with my uncle when I was a boy. One could defend it easily with just a handful of trained soldiers. A direct assault would be extremely costly.”
“Let us hope they come to their senses before we have to sack yet another Roman city,” Nicanor stated.
Their meeting was interrupted by Centurion Galeo riding up quickly on his horse. A potential siege of Narnia was quickly forgotten by the more immediate threat.
“The cavalry are in contact,” the cohort commander said.
“How far?” Nicanor asked.
“About six miles from here. That they are not holed up in the city, means they likely did not find many welcoming friends there.”
“We’ll be ready to march within thirty minutes, sir,” Nicanor asserted.
“Alright, but I wouldn’t get too excited,” Galeo replied. “From what I’ve heard, it’s only a few infantry cohorts. Besides, the Eleventh Claudia is anxious to redeem themselves. Primus is letting them have first crack at the enemy.”
It was Arrius Varus and the cavalry vanguard that made first contact with the Vitellians since Cremona. There was at least one regiment of cavalry and three cohorts of auxilia infantry lurking behind established earthworks, about five miles from the city.
“They’re just sitting here, out in the open,” the cavalry commander observed. His corps alone had the enemy outnumbered. He wondered how exactly they intended to hold off the entire Flavian Army with just a few feet of earthworks and palisade stakes.
“I’m surprised we found them this far from the city,” one of his centurions replied. “You would think they’d be waiting for us there, from a position of strength.”
“Ariminum has few defenses,” Arrius said. “Since they most likely know about our victory, as well as Ravenna’s defection, the Vitellians may find few friends there.”
They soon heard the sound of hobnailed sandals marching in a rapid cadence along the road, with a cornicen’s horn announcing the approach of Legio XI.
“Commander Arrius!” Legate Bassus said, riding up to the men.
“Sir,” Arrius acknowledged. “I’m sending three regiments to take care of their cavalry. The rest of my corps will surround the camp and prevent them from fleeing to Ariminum.”
“Don’t tell me these poor dumb bastards intend to fight,” the legate scoffed. He then shrugged. “At least it will give my lads a chance to bloody their blades a bit.”
Arrius turned to his assembling regimental commanders, ordering them to envelop the camp while dispersing the enemy horsemen. Meanwhile, the Eleventh Claudia Legion rapidly deployed from its large column into vast battle lines. Two to three cohorts were dispatched to each of the four sides of the camp. Inexplicably, the enemy’s auxilia infantrymen were manning the earthen ramparts, shields and spear at the ready.
Cohorts quickly divided their centuries into initial assault troops, as well as those who would support with javelin volleys. The auxiliaries had no missile weapons of their own and could do little to harry the Flavian legionaries, as they advanced quickly and with much discipline towards the ramparts. Long rows of siege ladders were dropped across the large trench that surrounded the camp. Before the Vitellians could dislodge any of them, they were met with waves of pila, flung in volleys over the earthworks in a rain of death. Men screamed in pain as they were struck down. Others brought their shields up in a desperate attempt to save themselves. Still others fled from the ramparts and into the camp itself. A stalwart number of brave souls managed to find their courage, however, and they reformed to face the coming onslaught. Flavian centurions blew their whistles, signaling the attack. Legionaries, their gladii drawn, scrambled across the ladders, throwing themselves against the wall of Vitellian spears. A few were knocked off the ladders and into the six-foot trench; however, the Flavian numbers coupled with the simultaneous assault, proved too much for the auxiliary troopers. Within minutes it was over.
A hundred Vitellian soldiers had paid for their defiance with their lives, with about three times as many wounded. And for their efforts, the Eleventh Claudia had lost twenty dead and roughly sixty wounded. Most of these were suffered during the brief moments of exposure as they climbed over the siege ladders. The surviving Vitellian auxiliaries were disarmed and taken prisoner. Within an hour of Arrius Varus first making contact, the enemy were routed and the road to Ariminum secured.
The Flavian Army remained encamped just outside the city. Soldiers were notorious for being rough with the civilian populace during the best of times, and Primus wanted to avoid any of the shameful incidents that had transpired at Cremona. Word of that city’s destruction had reached Ariminum and the people were terrified at the prospect of being subjected to similar ignominy. It was those fears Primus immediately sought to allay. Merchants and prostitutes were therefore encouraged to ply their trade with the Flavian soldiers. Centurions and their subordinate officers threatened their men with the severest of punishments should they abuse the good citizens. Stalls and tents soon surrounded the large encampment. The celebratory atmosphere did much to allay the fears of citizen and senior officer alike.
On the morning following the establishment at Ariminum, General Primus, his legates, and various auxilia commanders, made their way into the city. A contingent of legionary cavalry acco
mpanied them as they rode along the coastal road that stretched across the short rise, scarcely a quarter mile from the sandy beaches. Down below, hundreds of imperial soldiers were seen splashing about in the surf, as they enjoyed their respite from the relentless campaign.
The aquilifer from every legion, along with standard bearers from each auxilia regiment, were part of the commander-in-chief’s large procession. Marching behind them all was Centurion Nicanor and his century of legionaries. Galeo had earlier explained to General Primus that Optio Gaius Artorius’ slain brother had been governor of Ariminum. Because of this, Primus took Gaius and his century as his personal guard into the city.
Porcius, the governor who stepped into the position after Lucius Artorius assumed command of his regiment, awaited the contingent from the triumphant Flavian Army. His wife stood by his side along with the entire city council. The cavalry continued on while Primus and his officers halted at the base of the palace steps.
“Century…halt!” Nicanor shouted.
His legionaries took one extra step, then halted with an audible clap of their hobnailed sandals upon the paving stones.
Gaius, who rode at the back of the entire formation, strained to see the faces of Porcius’ entourage. On the far right, he saw who he assumed he was looking for. She was the only woman present besides the governor’s wife. Gaius reckoned she had to be his sister-in-law. She was as pretty as he remembered his brother telling him, in that rarest of letters he’d received from Lucius. In fact, that letter was the last time Gaius had heard directly from his brother up until their unfortunate encounter on the battlefield. Laura, for he knew it was her, simply stared ahead, a sad smile upon her face. It tore Gaius up inside. He presumed she did not know about her husband’s fate.
