Gods & Emperors (Legionary 5)

by Gordon Doherty

  Indus pointed to the banners erected either side of the gate. ‘Ah, the ruby bull,’ he said in the tone of a veteran. ‘You know what they used to call the man who led this legion?’

  Durio combed through his memories as they entered, seeing the few centuries of legionaries hard at work bolstering the fort, training and some of them digging a well and a cistern. Then it came to him: ‘The Iron Tribunus of the XI Claudia.’

  Indus nodded all-knowingly and a little smugly too. ‘Tall and gaunt. Voice like a bear, eyes like ice. When we were waiting for the wagon, I spoke to one of the men who once served under him. When you saw the ruby cloak and the black plume – you’d get your head down, get to work and just hope he wouldn’t pick on you!’ he chuckled. ‘At least we don’t have to worry about him,’ he added with a shrug.

  Durio paid little attention to his new friend, his gaze switching instead between the contubernium in the process of erecting wooden barrack blocks, and the one-eyed, wild-haired officer barking at them like a maddened dog. ‘Bloody idiot. Hold that beam steady or I’ll nail your balls to the century’s banner!’

  ‘You heard Centurion Libo,’ another agreed – a lantern-jawed, sturdy type, walking with a limp and aided by a cane. ‘I don’t want to spend my evening sewing up your torn ball sack.’ This one turned to the incoming line of recruits and his face brightened. ‘Ah, fresh victims,’ he grinned, offering a mock bow. ‘Rectus, the legion’s medicus,’ he said, tapping his scarred leg, ‘no more fighting for me. Let’s hope it’s a while before you have to visit my tent, eh?’

  Durio gulped, and saw Indus’ throat bulge too.

  ‘Now head over to the west side of the fort – you’ll be serving with Centurion Trupo or Centurion Cornix,’ Rectus waved them on. ‘They’ll be back from patrol soon.’

  ‘Wish you’d stayed in Rhodes blinding sheep?’ Durio muttered through a dry mouth to Indus.

  ‘Eh? Ha, no chance,’ he said with an equally croaky voice.

  When the recruits came to a row of tents and a parade ground, one of the equites leading them raised a hand. ‘Halt!’ With a series of bumps, trodden-on heels and croaking curses, Durio, Indus and the rest of the recruits stuttered to a standstill. The other horseman rode over to the fort’s western wall and called up to the wooden walkway. ‘The new recruits have arrived, Tribunus.’

  Durio frowned, seeing that there was just one man up there on the parapet, back turned, gazing west pensively, hands clasped behind his back. An officer. A tall, lean officer, wearing a ruby cloak and a plumed intercisa helm. A black plume. His dry throat turned to sand as he thought of the legendary Iron Tribunus.

  Indus squinted. ‘How can it be?’ he whispered as a breeze picked up, ruffling the silent officer’s plume.

  ‘A land of shades,’ Durio replied through dry lips.

  Suddenly, a hand slapped on their shoulders. ‘Right, just a dozen of you, eh?’ a voice said.

  The dozen swung to see a blonde-haired soldier with keen green eyes and a devilish smile. His rounded, boyish features were masked under a touch of stubble which part-disguised a burn on his neck. Durio noted that he wore just a dusty mail shirt over a tunic and boots that had very recently been marched in. A legionary, just as he was about to become, he guessed.

  ‘Aye, twelve of us,’ Indus butted in, chest puffed out. ‘I’m thinking you’ll want to put me in charge of sling practice. Best slinger in all of-’

  A raised hand from the blonde soldier cut him off. ‘Spare me the horseshit. I know every line,’ he said, the impish smile growing. He pointed to the southern end of the fort where it abutted the mountainside. A group of slingers were engaged in a practice session here, their shot clacking off the granite slope which had targets painted upon it. ‘Centurion Herenus is a Cretan and a bloody good leader of the slingers. If you’re lucky I’ll let you serve as a target butt tomorrow.’

  Every one of the twelve apart from Indus sniggered at this. Indus, however, bridled. ‘You? And who are you to order me about like-’

  ‘That’s Primus Pilus Sura your speaking to, recruit,’ a stony voice boomed over the heads of the dozen, freezing Indus mid-sentence. All swung back to the fort’s western wall. The tall officer up there had turned to gaze down upon them. Durio was transfixed by the sight of him. His hawk-like, dark and scarred features were steelier than a blade and his presence stilled the breath in their lungs. For a moment, there was just the sound of the officer’s ruby cloak rippling in the breeze.

  ‘And that there,’ Sura said gently behind Durio and Indus, ‘is Tribunus Pavo.’

  The pair saw how the tribunus eyed each of them in turn, his cold expression unflinching. Durio wondered if this man and the few others in the fort had fought at and survived Adrianople. How many stories lay behind those scars and those deep, dark eyes? Then the tribunus’ gaze came to and rested upon him. Durio gulped once more, praying the officer’s gaze would move on. But the steely glare pinned him for what felt like an eternity. Then, for a moment, he thought he saw the most unexpected of things: the merest hint of a smile almost playing on those taut lips. Almost.

  ‘Now get into line!’ Sura bawled, sending the fear of the gods through him.

  The End

  Author’s Note

  The clash of the Romans and the Goths near Adrianople in 378 CE surely qualifies as one of history’s most pivotal battles: one that permanently lodged the Goths within the Roman Empire as an independent force. The battle saw the utter destruction of two thirds of the Eastern Empire’s military manpower. Two master-generals of the cavalry and infantry, two great officers of the palace and thirty-five tribunes were found among the slain. Sixteen legions were never reformed after that bloody day.

  Since the outset of the Legionary series, I’ve always known that Pavo, Gallus and the men of the XI Claudia were destined to be there on the battlefield. Some historians (notably Simon MacDowall) claim that neither the Claudia nor any limitanei legion were likely to have been present at the battle. I suspect however that, while Emperor Valens’ crack Praesental Army would have served as the ‘core’ of his forces, the remainder of the Thracian Field Army (the scraps of the limitanei and comitatenses legions who had survived Ad Salices and the fall of the Haemus Mountain Passes) would surely have been employed in a supporting role of some sort.

  The two great forces met around noon on 9th August 378 AD at some as yet unidentified site roughly a morning’s march north or northwest of Adrianople. All we know of the location is that the Gothic horde – minus the Greuthingi cavalry – got there first and arranged their many wagons in a huge defensive laager or circle (more likely a series of smaller, adjacent circles) on an advantageous area of high ground (which I have chosen to represent as a broad, low ridge – equatable with the topography immediately south of modern Muratcali). It also seems that this gave them control of the scant local water sources – vital given the reportedly extreme summer that year. There is much debate as to the exact whereabouts of the battle that I won’t go into here; but for those who are interested, I travelled to Adrianople & Thracia (aka modern Edirne and northwestern Turkey) earlier this year (2015) to see if I could identify a favourite from the mooted sites (including Muratcali). You can browse through photos and discussion of this at my blog:

  www.gordondoherty.co.uk/writeblog/thebattleofadrianople.

  Anyway, when Emperor Valens and his legions drew close to this ridge around midday, they must have been confronted with an intimidating sight: the horde, shimmering, waiting up there. Size estimates of the opposing forces’ vary, some arguing that each side fielded around fifteen thousand men, others claim it was more like sixty thousand warriors each. Most agree, however, that when the Romans ascended the slope to stand just paces from the Goths at the brow of their ridge, the Romans would have enjoyed a numerical balance, or even a slight advantage. But even at that point, battle was not a certainty.

  With the opposing lines poised, just waiting for the order to attack, there were final a
nd fraught attempts at conciliation between Fritigern and Valens – and this outcome would have been hugely desirable to both leaders. As envoys went back and forth between the lines, the legions stood in the baking heat in full armour while the Goths enjoyed the shade of their wagons and water from barrels within the laager. Some of the Goths even took to lighting the grass near the ridge to let hot smoke billow downhill and into the faces of their enemy, increasing their discomfort (my take on this as a ‘smokescreen’ is based on Peter Donnelly’s suggestion). For some two hours the attempts at negotiation continued until the rash and reckless Bacurius of the Scutarii, an Iberian officer positioned on the Roman right, took matters into his own hands. He and his cavalry seemingly breached Valens’ orders not to engage and sprang forward to attack the Gothic left. This shattered the last hopes of treaty and an all-out clash ensued. Both sides struggled for supremacy for some time in the baking heat. The Roman historian, Ammianus Marcellinus, describes it as thus:

  Then the two lines of battle dashed against each other, like the beaks (or rams) of ships, and thrusting with all their might, were tossed to and fro, like the waves of the sea.

  And it might have been a bloody but indecisive clash, had the Greuthingi cavalry not arrived unexpectedly and suddenly. As Marcellinus describes it:

  …the cavalry of the Goths returned with Alatheus and Saphrax, and with them a battalion of Alani; these descending from the mountains like a thunderbolt, spread confusion and slaughter among all whom in their rapid charge they came across.

  The huge influx of cavalry reinforcements turned the battle irrevocably. They smashed into a flank of the engaged Roman line (as suggested by Ian Hughes, I have depicted this as the right flank), routing Bacurius and his Scutarii before pouring round the rear of the Roman infantry centre to envelop the imperial army. Soon, the Roman cavalry on the left were routed too and the legions were left to face a thick noose of Goths alone:

  The foot-soldiers thus stood unprotected, and their companies were so crowded together that hardly anyone could pull out his sword or draw back his arm. Because of clouds of dust the heavens could no longer be seen, and echoed with frightful cries. Hence the arrows whirling death from every side always found their mark with fatal effect, since they could not be seen beforehand nor guarded against.

  Nearing dusk, the Army of the Eastern Roman Empire broke. Tattered remnants of ancient legions fled, bloodied and hunted down by pursuing Goths as they went. Valens tried to call upon his meagre Batavian reserve but they – either though loss of nerve or some disgruntlement, possibly in regard to the emperor’s Arian beliefs – ignored his call and fled, Victor, Richomeres and Saturninus going with them. So, the Emperor of the East was left in the midst of it all with just Sebastianus (shortened to ‘Bastianus’ in my tale to save confusion with the similarly-named Saturninus) and Traianus plus a few loyal, bloodied and well-depleted units. It seems they guarded him fiercely – Sebastianus and Traianus died in their duty – until he was struck by an arrow. Some say Valens’ body was lost in the last bout of butchery that ended the battle, others claim he was taken to a nearby farmhouse by a handful of loyal soldiers and it was in there he died when the building was set alight. However, legend has it that one Goth who witnessed the blaze swore that he saw someone escape the flames…

  There are a few misconceptions about the Battle of Adrianople. The battle itself certainly did not end the Roman Empire, but it did set in motion a chain of events that would see the rise of Alaric and his Visigoths and, in time, the Ostrogoths. These two peoples would go on to play a huge part in toppling the Western Roman Empire. But that is another story...

  Also, some say the battle marked the end of the era of infantry dominance on the battlefield, but this is an exaggeration. Yes, this was the last time Rome's legions resembled anything like those of better times, but the forces that met outside Adrianople were primarily composed of infantry. From the late 4th century onwards, cavalry certainly grew ‘heavier’ but still infantry dominated armies, numerically at least, with an infantry:cavalry ratio of 3:1 or 4:1 commonplace well into late Byzantine times.

  Some attribute the Roman defeat to ‘poor military intelligence’, blaming the imperial scouts who reported to Valens that the Greuthingi cavalry were not present with Fritigern’s horde, part-convincing the emperor to march from his camp at Adrianople and face the Goths. Even my primary source, Ammianus Marcellinus, describes the failure to locate the Greuthingi as an inexplicable mistake. This was an era when Roman intelligence was, generally, first class, with networks of scouts constantly keeping their emperor abreast of enemy movements. So the sudden, unexpected arrival of the Greuthingi was either an uncharacteristic and unfortunate slip or (as I have portrayed it with Dexion and his dark cadre seeking to undermine Valens’ efforts) a deftly-executed deception.

  Valens, like any vanquished emperor, rarely enjoys a warm critique. To be fair, Romans had many reasons to reject him, even before the defeat at Adrianople. Many sneered at his Pannonian roots: the region was thought to be a breeding ground for dim-witted boors. Also, he was the first emperor in several generations to come from outwith the long-established Neo-Flavian (Constantinian) line. Critically, as an Arian Christian, he shunned the Nicene Creed followed by many of his Christian subjects, instigating ‘persecutions’ (so when he fell at Adrianople it must have seemed like a message from God in support of the Nicenes). Some sources claim he lacked presence and was afraid of public speaking. Others even interpreted the tsunami of 365 AD as a sign of his unsuitability for the throne. These things might seem petty or subjective, but there was a definite dark side to Valens; he could be cold and ruthless in his pursuits, as his genocide of the Maratocupreni attests. Also, his dealings in the first Gothic struggle in the 360s against Athanaric's armies led to a protracted war and accusations of poor decision-making.

  But, as Ian Hughes argues, it doesn’t take much digging to uncover the bright side of Valens’ C.V.: he won the war of succession over the supposedly more educated and shrewd Procopius, he ultimately won the first Gothic War, and he politically outmanoeuvred Shapur II on the Persian front. His religious persecutions, when inspected closely, do not stand up to scrutiny. Early in his reign, Valens did remove non-secular figures from their posts – but they were both Arian and Nicene, and he did so only to quell unrest in provinces where the presence of either creed was troublesome. Indeed, to call his actions 'persecutions' seems entirely unfair, especially when you juxtapose them against the bloody and terrible acts of Galerius and Diocletian at the start of the 4th century. In the months prior to the Battle of Adrianople, Valens also displayed sound judgement and – it could be argued – compassion as witnessed when he reduced the tax burden and shelved his Arian agenda to reduce his people’s troubles.

  In any case, it was the crushing defeat at Adrianople which guaranteed history would view Valens with a jaundiced eye. Why, then, did he choose to march from the safety of his moated, well-guarded camp outside the city’s northern walls to face Fritigern instead of waiting for Gratian’s arrival and reinforcements? Popular opinion suggests it was his jealousy of Gratian that triggered this ‘rash’ decision. The grounds are there to draw such a conclusion, but it is all too simplistic to label it as an act of jealousy alone. N.J. Austin argues that the decision to march to battle was sound: Valens had no reason to doubt his scouts’ reports that the Gothic horde was detached from its cavalry and eminently defeatable. More, Noel Lenski points out that Gratian was ‘dilatory’ in coming east, and still some way off the region of Adrianople when Valens made his choice to march. Peter Donnelly adds that to remain in his camp at Adrianople would mean ceding to the Goths the vital waystation at Nike and, with it, the road back to Constantinople.

  With respect to Valens’ nephew, Gratian, I admit to employing a devious dose of speculation as to his motivations and his nature in general. On the face of it, he was a pious young man in a difficult situation, surrounded by potential usurpers. But he was certainly no
angel. He had a track record of dealing with threats to his station ruthlessly – as the beheading of Count Theodosius the Elder and his blunt domination of the pagan senate in Rome attest. Was his march east deliberately languid? It could be argued that his insistence on crushing the already well-beaten Lentienses was unnecessary, and subsequent stops along the route to Thracia avoidable. It is almost certain that he and Valens shared a degree of rivalry, with each eager to be seen as the senior emperor. Were Valens to fall against the Goths, then that struggle would be resolved in his favour.

  Ironically, the battle itself might never have occurred had it not been for the tireless endeavours of Sebastianus (my ‘Bastianus’). The western general proved adept and well ahead of his time in teaching a small, heterogeneous task force drawn from Valens’ army how to fight in what we would call a ‘guerrilla’ campaign. He led just a few thousand lightly equipped legionaries and missile infantry in a series of hit-and-run raids and ambuscades against the widely-distributed warbands who were effectively occupying every corner of Thracia outwith the Roman-held cities. The night raid on the Gothic camp at the Hebrus River is attested as one of his most telling successes, and possibly the one that forced Fritigern to reunite his dispersed horde, paving the road to the decisive pitched battle on the fields of Adrianople.

  Regarding dates, I have massaged the timescales of Gratian’s march east and the goings-on in Thracia somewhat to allow for a flowing and interleaved narrative. For example, it is likely that Gratian’s clash with the Lentienses happened earlier in the year than July – probably February.

  Concerning Valens’ encounter with the flayed corpse: Marcellinus does not state explicitly where this occurred, though it was likely to have happened in Thracia as opposed to Antioch.

  Apropos the Goths: I described Fritigern and his Council of Reiks discussing their heritage, labelling themselves as the ‘Bold Ones' or in Gothic, the 'Balthi', and referring to their past in lands known as Scandza and Thule. This comes from Jordanes’ Getica (written in the 6th century AD for an Ostrogothic king), which Peter Heather has in recent times examined and questioned in terms of its historical accuracy. I agree with Heather’s theory that the Balthi and Amal Gothic dynasties were almost certainly not ‘ancient’ as Jordanes described them.