by James Mace
“Let all who come to the Forum this night witness the demise of the Flavians,” he ordered, as he dropped the head into the pooling blood next to the body. “Throw him into the Tiber.”
Primus was determined to avoid a nighttime assault on Rome, but he needed to probe the city’s defenses. The Via Flaminia led towards the Milvian Bridge along the northern bank of the Tiber, and the Flavian general knew this would see heavy fighting. The terrain was wide open, making it a likely place for the Vitellians to concentrate their forces. He sent two hundred horsemen under Commander Arrius to scout to the west towards the Field of Mars. General Cerealis was dispatched with two entire regiments along the Via Salaria, to the northeast of the city.
Walled farmhouses dotted the landscape which was muddy and slippery for men and horse alike. The fields were deserted, the gates leading to the houses barred.
“No one here to welcome us,” a trooper remarked nervously.
“Keep your eyes open,” Cerealis said. “They may not be holed up in these country houses, but you can bet the Vitellians will be waiting to greet us once we reach the Colline Gate.”
Quintus Cerealis was a seasoned military leader. He’d served under Suetonius Paulinus in Britannia as commanding legate of Sabinus’ former Legion, Ninth Hispania. Most recently he led Legio V, Macedonia during Vespasian’s campaigns in Judea. The Jewish War had taught him many hard lessons about dealing with wily enemies who liked to utilize the ambush.
The Colline Gate was rather notorious. It was the place where unchaste Vestal Virgins were buried alive. It was also here that Cerealis and his men finally found the Vitellians. A cluster of townhouses lined the road where it turned towards the main city, and from behind the nearest buildings the Flavians heard the shrill sound of a whistle being frantically blown. Horsemen closed ranks, lances lowered as they anticipated meeting their enemy in a head-on engagement. Instead, they saw a lone horseman wearing a red tunic and crimson riding cloak. The whistle protruded from his teeth. With each blow his horse broke into a short sprint.
“Pull back, sir!” the man shouted as Cerealis drew his spatha.
“Who in the bleeding fuck are you?” the general shouted at the man.
“Gaius Valerian, sir,” the man said quickly. “I was sent by General Primus to spy on the Vitellians. You must withdraw, immediately. The enemy was on my heels, thousands of them. They will surround you if you proceed further.”
Shouts from behind the buildings seemed to verify the man’s frantic words. A small number of cavalry were seen galloping off to their left through the sodden farm fields. But it was the swarm of infantrymen to their immediate front that concerned Cerealis. They were led by at least an entire cohort of praetorians who marched quickly in battle formation, their javelins ready to unleash. Massed numbers of Vitellius’ militia accompanied them. More lightly armed and equipped than either guardsman or cavalry trooper, their numbers alone threatened to overwhelm the Flavian horsemen.
“Fall back!” Cerealis shouted, wheeling his horse about.
His cornicen sounded the order to withdraw. Hundreds of troopers fanned out in either direction as they sought to escape Vitellius’ mob. The confined space of the narrow roads and the boggy fields prohibited their ability to mass their numbers and charge.
The Vitellians chased the horsemen all the way to the outskirts of the country farms. Their cavalry briefly clashed with the Flavians on the far right. Each side lost several dead and wounded, yet the Vitellians shouted in triumph as if they had won a great victory. Between Lucius Vitellius’ suppression of the south and Flavius Sabinus’ defeat atop Capitoline Hill and subsequent execution, it was easy for the emperor’s supporters to dismiss the fact that nearly forty thousand Flavian soldiers were preparing to assault the Eternal City. It was the unfortunate death of Emperor Vespasian’s elder brother that Valerian addressed to Cerealis, once they were clear of any immediate danger.
“Sabinus is dead?” the general asked, his voice filled with dismay and horror.
“I watched those praetorian bastards execute him,” Valerian confirmed. “I was only just now able to escape the city. Much of the oblivious public continues in the drunken revelry of Saturnalia, while those most fanatical in their devotion to Vitellius have taken up arms.”
“So I saw,” Cerealis grumbled. “I am afraid this Saturnalia, rather than being a week of celebration, will end in a bloodshed.”
Despite having given the order that Sabinus should die, Vitellius was horrified when he saw the praetorian prefect, blood dripping from his blade.
“I wish it had not ended this way,” the emperor said, his voice full of sorrow.
“Too late to waver in your resolve, Caesar ,” Varus countered nastily. “You wanted the Flavians to pay for their treachery, and now they have. The fact that I slew Sabinus with my own blade has sealed my fate. Either we win this or we die.”
“It is not just Sabinus’ treachery I lament,” Vitellius said, shaking his head. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes. “But that our own soldiers burned Rome’s most sacred temple to the ground. Do not pretend otherwise. Atticus may have confessed so I would spare his life, but his eyes told me the truth.”
“We did not burn Rome’s most sacred temple deliberately,” the prefect protested. “We set fire to the porticos of a nearby shrine so that we could get in. And it’s a shame the lads did not help themselves to a bit of plunder, for all within is now a pile of ash.”
“Caesar!” a messenger said, rushing into the room. “Your brother, Lucius, sends his regards. He has suppressed the Campania rebels and taken the city of Tarracina. He awaits your further instructions.”
“You see?” Varus remarked. “The capital is ours once more and the southern rebellion crushed. Now is not the time for indecisiveness. We must make our final stand here!”
“Time,” Vitellius said. “Time is what I need, yet do not have. I must convene the senate at once. There must be a way to end this without further bloodshed.”
There was a great deal of commotion as Cerealis rode hurriedly into the Flavian Army’s encampment. All had seen the columns of smoke and fire coming from Capitoline Hill, yet none knew what it was that burned. Knowing word would spread quickly once his troopers started talking among their mates and other soldiers, Cerealis rushed to Antonius Primus’ principia.
“The Temple of Jupiter burns,” he reported, as soon as he walked into the tent.
Primus stood talking with General Bassus and Master Centurion Vitruvius. “Damn them,” the commander-in-chief swore. He nodded to his spy. “Glad to see you made it out of there, Valerian. What other news do you have?”
“The noble Sabinus is dead, and the emperor’s son, Domitian, is missing,” Valerian reported reluctantly.
“Vile bastards,” Bassus snarled. “Vitellius has just signed his own death sentence.”
“My cavalry only just managed to escape,” Cerealis added. “It appears that both citizen and slave alike have been armed in order to resist us.”
“Fools,” Primus said, shaking his head in dismay. “Those idiotic bastards don’t realize that it’s all over. And Bassus, you are correct. Vitellius has to know that with Sabinus dead, his own life is now forfeit.”
Primus sent out messengers to have all legion and regimental commanders join him over supper. There they would finalize their plans for the attack on Rome. They were soon joined by Suetonius Paulinus, who implored the Flavian commander-in-chief to allow him to ride into battle with them. Primus gladly accepted, and though he had no legions to offer him command of, he welcomed the old general to fight by his side.
It was during this meeting that one of the envoys from the senate arrived. Three groups had been sent, one to each of the Flavian camps. Two of these had been very poorly treated, with a lictor from the entourage killed by soldiers from Eighth Augusta. The senators in question only escaped upon personal intervention from General Cerealis. This particular group, who approached the Flavian commander-i
n-chief, were led by Consul Simplex and accompanied by a dozen Vestal Virgins who often acted as intermediaries during times of crisis.
“Our envoys have been treated with cruelty even mindless barbarians would find unthinkable,” the consul protested.
“Unless you have come to offer Vitellius’ unconditional surrender, then you are wasting my time,” Primus replied brusquely. He sneered at the consul and added, “But then, Vitellius has already forfeited his right to surrender by murdering the noble Flavius Sabinus.”
“General, please ,” one of the Vestals said, stepping next to Simplex. “Vitellius implores you to consider a one-day cessation of hostilities so a peaceful solution may be found.”
“My lady, the pretender has already had his chance for a peaceful solution,” Primus retorted, though in a softer tone than he’d used with Consul Simplex. “The terms of his surrender and abdication were negotiated with none other than Sabinus, whose headless corpse has most likely been flung into the Tiber.” He then turned his attention to the consul and his delegation. “If you want to know what my terms are for a peaceful solution, you don’t need to wait a day. The senate will immediately recognize Titus Flavius Vespasian as rightful Emperor of Rome and will bring me the head of the pretender, Aulus Vitellius. It is either that or I unleash this army on the gates of Rome. Good night, senators.”
Primus stood and ordered that the delegation of senators and Vestals be granted safe passage from the camp. He then finalized the plans with his senior officers before retiring for the night. Expecting sleep would be impossible to come by, the Flavian general was surprised when he slept more soundly than he had since before Second Bedriacum. Perhaps he had accepted what the fates had handed him and made peace with his decision. With the death of Flavius Sabinus, all responsibility for the attack on Rome now fell to Aulus Vitellius, rather than Marcus Antonius Primus.
Chapter XXXII: Saturnalia Bloodbath
Nine Miles North of Rome
20 December 69 A.D.
***
Dawn came, with a cold breeze blowing up the valley from the River Tiber. The Flavian Army ate a hearty breakfast, all knowing this day would be savage and exhausting. Every last auxiliary trooper and legionary was anxious for battle. Few had any sort of fear of the Vitellian Army, especially not after what they had already been through. The issue was already decided for many, and those who fell this day would simply be the ones who fate frowned upon and offered up as a token sacrifice to the offended gods.
As planned before, General Primus divided his army into three divisions. Lucilius Bassus and Legio XI, Claudia, would lead the main attack from the north towards the Milvian Bridge. Theirs was by far the largest force with the bulk of the auxiliary infantry and Arrius’ wing of nearly two thousand cavalry in support. General Lupus and Eighth Augusta would attack from the west near the Field of Mars with half of Cerealis’ cavalry. Primus himself would lead the assault from the northeast, along with Legio VII, Gemina, the Judean legionary cohorts, and the remainder of Cerealis’ cavalry.
“We have given that vile bastard every chance to end this peacefully,” Primus announced to his accompanying staff officers. “With the death of Sabinus and refusal to honor his promise to abdicate, he has left us with no choice. Let it be known that whatever happens today, the suffering of the people falls on his head, not ours.” He turned to his cornicen. “Sound the attack. To all legions, assault…assault…assault! ”
Three blasts sounded ominously from the cornicens at Primus’ main camp. These were echoed by identical replies from the horn blowers from each division. With shouted orders from legates, forty thousand imperial soldiers commenced the march on their capital. Lupus and Bassus’ divisions would follow the Via Flaminia until approximately three miles from the Milvian Bridge. Lupus’ soldiers would split off to the west. Primus and his forces followed the Via Salaria, which would take them into Rome from the northeast.
It was nine miles from the Flavian camp to the gates of Rome, and though the soldiers set a quick pace, they knew it would be at least two, possibly three hours before they engaged the enemy. Optio Gaius Artorius and the men of the Fifth Cohort of Legio X were assigned to the division under Primus’ direct command that would attack along the Via Salaria; the same route taken by General Cerealis the day prior. Seventh Gemina Legion would lead the attack with the attached cohorts from Judea acting as flank support. A thousand cavalry from Cerealis’ wing would accompany them, as well.
“Quite the homecoming, sir,” Legionary Decius said, as Gaius walked beside the column of soldiers. “We may as well capture a few spoils while we’re at it.”
“Just be sure you defeat the Vitellians first,” the optio emphasized. Though every officer from General Primus down to the decani had stressed to their men that they were not to pillage the people of the imperial capital, they knew it was a futile order. All they could hope for was that their soldiers did not become so consumed by plunder they failed to complete their mission of deposing Vitellius.
Gaius was walking better, and it felt good to stretch his legs on this morning. His arm, however, was still all but useless, and he kept it in a sling. He carried his optio’s staff over his left shoulder, constantly reminding himself that it was not for him to take part in the actual fighting this day. With no shield, any trained soldier could outmatch him and easily pierce the vulnerable places that were unprotected by his armor.
“One more day,” he said quietly. “If I survive this day, then I think I shall have survived the war.”
As the central column neared the city, General Bassus ordered the Eleventh Legion into attack formation. Five cohorts deployed into the front battle line, four ranks each. The legion’s remaining five cohorts formed a reserve. Legionaries accounted for less than a third of the total force, as each of his flanks was protected by ten cohorts of auxilia infantry, supported by several companies of archers. There was a sizeable gap between the Eleventh Claudia and its supporting auxiliaries. Bassus wanted to be able to send his cavalry between them as needed. The legate rode in the center behind his lead cohorts, accompanied by his staff tribunes. Krsto, the war chief who had brought six thousand spearmen in support of Vespasian, rode beside him. Though many of his men were now mariners in the Imperial Navy, those who remained proudly marched in support of their allies.
“Now my men earn their place as Romans,” Krsto said confidently.
“They will get their chance soon enough,” Bassus asserted. He was concerned that their friends from the Danube might become uncontrollable once unleashed. But there were two thousand of them at most. A paltry number compared to the size of his division.
The plane leading towards the Milvian Bridge was extremely large and flat with only a few outcroppings of trees dotting the landscape. The sun rose higher in the east, just over the left shoulders of the advancing Flavians. There was little doubt the alarm had been sounded, for all who stood anywhere within the Seven Hills of Rome could clearly see the massive force bearing down on the city.
A mile from the city, they saw the gleaming weapons of their foes. Bassus’ division alone significantly outnumbered Vitellius’ praetorians. Most of their adversaries were from the People’s Army that had been raised just weeks before. Less than half wore any sort of armor, mostly chain mail shirts with no added shoulder protection, or else square brass plates similar to those worn by hastati during the Republican era. Approximately the same number of people carried crude shields. Others had taken those that had belonged to the urban cohorts. In addition to the officially designated People’s Army were a number of Vitellian loyalists who had formed their own militias, and armed themselves with whatever they could find. And just like at Cremona, a substantial number of women fought beside them.
“Poor misguided fools,” the legion’s chief tribune said, as he rode over to his commanding legate. His face twisted in a malicious grin.
“It looks like their praetorians are in the center,” Bassus noted. “We’ll attack th
em head-on with the legion, enveloping them with our cavalry. The auxilia infantry can disperse the mob.”
A single blast came from the cornicen, ordering the entire division to advance at the quick-step. Legionaries shouldered their javelins, as did the opposing praetorians across the way. For the men of Legio XI, this was their first real battle against fellow Romans, as they had been late arriving and missed the Battle of Bedriacum; the brief skirmish outside of Ariminium notwithstanding. They were now able to see clearly the grim faces of the guardsmen determined to deny them entry into the Eternal City.
“At the double-time…march!” The order came from the legion’s master centurion, and was echoed by cohort commanders up and down the line. Their next maneuvers had been drilled constantly since the Vitellian capitulation at Narnia. When they were within thirty feet of the enemy, centurions shouted the orders for their men to unleash their javelins by ranks. Salvos flew in a high arc at the praetorians, who in turn loosed their own volleys. Both sides immediately dropped behind their shields into testudo formations. Men cried out as the heavy javelins pierced through hands, forearms, and other exposed flesh. Some were not quick enough to get down behind their shields and were struck down as the weight of the pila punctured through their armor.
A cornicen’s blast sounded. The soldiers in the reserve cohorts immediately broke into a sprint, rushing past the gaps between each of the frontline cohorts. They outnumbered the praetorians comfortably and were able to launch their subsequent javelin waves, while their enemies’ missiles were already expended. The cohorts that led the Eleventh Claudia now became the reserve. Soldiers took the time to cut the enemy javelins from their shields, while others helped their wounded to the rear. The dead were left for the time being.
