by Miller, Ian
"I don't know what you think about Little Boots," Vespasian frowned, "but I can tell you most Romans applauded his demise. Why didn't you think it was time for Rome to get someone vaguely competent?"
Interesting, Gaius thought. From what he had heard, Roman citizens were genuinely hurt by his assassination; it was the rich and privileged who disliked Little Boots. Further, those who hated Little Boots did so because of the actions of Vespasian and his ilk. "I think you'll find Claudius is very competent," Gaius replied.
"Everyone says he's a fool."
"Livia publicly ridiculed him," Gaius countered. "Derision seemed preferable to Claudius than poison, exile, or whatever."
"You've met him?"
"Yes, and corresponded with him."
"You think Claudius is competent?"
"Yes."
"That's good enough for me," Vespasian shrugged, and said, as he got up to leave, "I'll see you at sundown."
* * *
Gaius had decided that he should try to be conciliatory, and in any case there seemed to be little point in arguing about general manoeuvring signals. Accordingly, he had permitted Vespasian to specify a number of general signals and their meaning, until suddenly Vespasian looked up at him.
"You're not saying much?"
"What you've said is quite standard," Gaius shrugged.
"They tell me you've had quite a bit of battle experience," Vespasian said. "You must have something to add."
"Apart from Lussonia," Gaius replied, "my experience has been in the desert. Rivers, forests, swamps, none of them seemed much of a problem in Syria."
"So there's nothing you wish to add?" Vespasian asked.
"I notice so far you've kept clear of cavalry signals," Gaius noted.
"I've never used them much in forests," Vespasian admitted.
"Neither have I," Gaius nodded, "but I intend to use cavalry." He decided not to comment on the fact that Vespasian had seemingly not had much use of cavalry anywhere because he had little combat experience.
"Fair enough," Vespasian nodded. "Since this can't all be one-way traffic, tell me about the unusual cavalry manoeuvres you've been using, and the signals you're using."
"You've seen them?"
"I'm impressed," Vespasian nodded. "I've seen what your men are up to."
"If you think your cavalry are up to this," Gaius started . . .
"None of that!" Vespasian snorted. "They may well not be up to it today, but they'll be masters of it by embarkation."
So Gaius outlined the manoeuvres the twentieth cavalry were required to know better than the backs of their hands.
"One other thing I've watched," Vespasian added, after Gaius had finished, and had opened more wine. "You're manoeuvring cohort groups, separately. Why?"
"I know the dictum of concentrating maximum force at the weakest point," Gaius said, "but the enemy tends to concentrate his forces in the same place, which leads to a general battering. My idea is to force him to extend his lines, or to be outflanked."
"Interesting strategy," Vespasian nodded, "as long as they don't concentrate and pick you off, bit by bit."
"Let 'em try," Gaius shrugged. "Then they fight in one place, and the twentieth has been practicing responses for every contingency I can think of."
"You can't think of everything," Vespasian continued his frown.
"Don't have to," Gaius shrugged. "The opposition, never having seen this before, won't have time to be too innovative."
"You seem confident."
"I intend to win," Gaius said simply.
"And no problems?"
"The key's not to let the bits get out of touch with each other," Gaius replied, "and for them to know what to do if they do. The Roman soldier can move and fight faster than Celts can, because even if, man for man, the Celt is as brave as the Roman, in thousands they're nowhere nearly as well organized, as disciplined, and their leaders won't know how to deal with a highly mobile enemy."
"A disciple of Julius, eh?" Vespasian grinned.
"Alexander wasn't exactly static either," Gaius shrugged.
"Then we'll have to see who's the fastest. A wager, eh?"
"What?
"Second phase we go west. I'll bet I get to the west coast before you do."
"You're on," Gaius shrugged, "for a small bet."
"You think you'll lose?" Vespasian challenged.
"The bet's for pride only," Gaius replied. "If something goes wrong, neither of us wants to even think they might be risking one soldier's life for our silly bet."
"That's fair comment," Vespasian nodded in agreement. "How about some more of that wine?"
Gaius poured. The wine was starting to have a beneficial effect. In the course of time, the two might eventually become friends, but Gaius was only to well aware that Vespasian was suspicious of Gaius' connection with Claudius, and he still felt his brother should command a legion.
* * *
Aulus Plautius called his commanders together for a briefing at a village some distance from the embarkation point. The invasion procedure would be simple, and was imposed as much as anything by the availability of port space. Three legions would have to set off separately, as three legions could not embark from one port on one day. Since congestion would be even worse at the other end, the three legions would land at separate sites. They would depart in order of their number, thus the Augusta would lead, followed by the Gemina Martia, and finally the Valeria.
The Gemina Martia would land at Rutupiae, at the northern end of Cantiaci territory. The sea would protect the right flank. The Augusta would land at Lemanae, and would have tribes expected to be friendly on its left flank, and because these tribes were expected to be friendly, the Augusta would consolidate the alliance, and thus secure the left flank for the invasion force. The Valeria would land at Dubrae, which was roughly midway between the other two ports. The legions would secure defensive positions, then the Augusta would consolidate the southern flank and thus secure the left flank for the invasion, while the Gemina Martia would advance westward until it could wheel north and cross the river Thames. The Valeria would march westwards and wheel northwards to support the Gemina Martia, unless the Augusta got into unexpected difficulties. Gaius smiled to himself. Vespasian would hardly admit he was having unexpected difficulties, unless something was going to be very very wrong with this invasion.
Following the securing of a defensive position there, the Gemina Martia and the Valeria, supported by the Hispana, would advance into the lands of the Catuvellauni and under command of the Princeps himself, advance to Camulodunum. That gave five initial objectives: secure fortified bases, keep tribes on the left flank appeased, cross the river upstream of and then cross the Thames, take Camulodunum, then fortify and secure this initial territory. A second phase advance would then commence in early spring of the following year.
On the left flank, in the land of the Atrebates, Vespasian was to use Verica's influence in order to set up Cogidumnus as a client king. Accordingly, while part of the Augusta might be used against the Catuvellauni, top priority must be given to securing the Atrebates as allies. By the same token, the Cantiaci and the Regnenses were at present allies, and the invasion was to proceed through their territory. It was imperative that such allies must be treated with respect. All supplies acquired must be paid for, and full discipline must be imposed on the troops. Any behaviour likely to encourage revolt amongst the friendly Britons would be dealt with ruthlessly. Were there any questions? Were there any problems?
There were no problems. Not yet.
* * *
The day of embarkation arrived. Since only the Augusta was to depart this day, the other legions kept away, and Gaius elected to stay further away although he asked his tribunes to watch proceedings. The Augusta was due to board and the troops formed up in order. However, when Vespasian gave the order to embark, they refused to move. Centurions yelled, they applied the cane, but the troops refused to move, and the scene became more ugly.
Rather reluctantly, Vespasian could sense that they were on the verge of mutiny, so he backed off trying to force the embarkation and demanded to know why they refused to move. The answer was simple. Britain was at the edge of the world, they could be swept off, and furthermore, the correct omens had not been read. Without the blessing of the Gods, the crossing was doomed, so they were staying put. Plautius and Vespasian harangued the troops, but they stood unmoved. The Gods had not blessed the expedition with propitious omens. If they missed Britain, if they were swept away . . .
Plautius was not prepared to order a decimation, which he felt could engender an outright mutiny. The alternative was to appeal to the Princeps. Plautius drafted up a letter to Claudius.
At first, all Gaius heard was that the troops had refused to embark, and the invasion had been called off for the day. He shook his head in despair, because the refusal to obey orders was bad for discipline unless a suitable example was made of those who refused, so he sent Matius to the staff headquarters to find out what had happened. When he heard what Plautius had done, he was furious. Dealing with the refusal to obey orders was the commander's responsibility, in part Vespasian's, but with Plautius present, it was the commanding General's job. This would never have happened under the first Julius Caesar. In one sense the troops would never have dared, because Caesar would undoubtedly order a decimation, but in another sense, the situation would never arise because the troops would follow Caesar anywhere, and Caesar would be in the first boat. Therein lay the problem. The troops had tremendous loyalty to Caesar because they owed everything they had to him and he won them victory after victory. They hardly knew Plautius, but they knew he had never had a significant victory. His first instinct was to go and confront Plautius, but after a little thought, he decided against it. The damage was now done. The problem was how to repair it.
It was two days later that Gaius finally had an idea, and he drafted a second message that he had sent to Claudius. Word of this got back to Plautius, who immediately requested Gaius' presence.
"And what, exactly, did you have to say?" Plautius asked angrily.
"A suggestion as to how to get the troops to board," Gaius replied. "From Claudius' point of view, this invasion has to proceed, or he is dead."
"Why did you go behind my back?"
"I didn't think about it until your request had gone," Gaius said coldly. "Worse, there's no guarantee Claudius will prevail, so it's imperative the troops don't have time to work out a reason to say no, which means no staff officers knowing." Here was a direct challenge. Plautius would inevitably discuss the issue with his staff officers, and from then on, information would leak.
Plautius was less than happy, but he realized that if it came to a choice between him and his Legate, it was not clear what the outcome would be. As Gaius was about to leave, the same thought struck him, so he turned back towards Plautius, and said, "I apologize if you think I was going behind your back. I was not. You have my full support, and I have told that to Claudius." This was not exactly true, but it seemed the right thing to say.
"Well, thank you," Plautius said in a voice laden with sarcasm.
"The problem is," Gaius continued, "that having brought Claudius into this, it is imperative that the men board. If you wish, sir, I shall persuade the twentieth to board and lead the invasion."
"That will not be necessary," Plautius scowled.
In retrospect, Gaius conceded, that had not gone well. But why should he have to worry about the feelings of those who had failed to carry out the Princeps' orders? The short answer was, he did not need to, as long as he had Claudius' support, so he should focus on the real problem: how to get the men to board?
* * *
"The second seems too afraid to set sail," Gaius addressed a century from the eighth cohort of his legion, a century particularly rich in younger and inexperienced soldiers, and he was addressing them without the presence of a Centurion or any NCOs, "but I'm sure that when it is time for the twentieth to sail, there will be no problems, will there?"
"No sir," came the unenthusiastic response. Sailing last had its advantages, but the sailing order was hardly immutable.
"I offered to have the twentieth lead," Gaius continued, "but Vespasian thinks his legion is made of better stuff."
That generated some growls.
"If we have to go first," Gaius said firmly, "I expect you men to board. I shall be on the first ship, and I promise you, I have no intention of falling off the edge of the world."
"You mightn't intend to . . ." one started.
"That," Gaius said calmly, "is because there's no edge of the world."
"There has to be! Everything has an end," one of the soldiers said.
"Want a bet? How many denarii?" Gaius challenged.
"Just because I'm out of money doesn't mean . . ."
"You can pay with a week's fatigues. Want to bet?"
There was a dull silence. The man knew he would be on fatigues right then. The only question was, doing what for how long.
"Here," Gaius said, throwing a small leaden ball made for the sling. "Since you're so sure everything has an end, show me where the surface of the ball ends."
There were a few laughs at the man's discomfort.
"The great Aristotle," Gaius said as a challenge, "proved that the world is a ball, rounder than that, so I promise, there's no edge."
There were murmurs. People had heard of Aristotle, but none of the men knew or cared what he had written. Still, his reputation was such that . . .
"Julius Caesar's troops gave no problem," Gaius continued. "I trust you men are not less than Caesar's."
There was no response.
"I would hope there's no less discipline than with Caesar's men," Gaius continued coldly.
There was even less response. Caesar was known not to have been particularly forgiving, and word had started to spread about their new Legate. Stories were making the rounds that he had ordered many crucifixions without any particular authorization before he became a Legate. Also, irrespective of the stories, discipline in the twentieth had been very much more ruthlessly imposed since he had arrived.
"What I was thinking," Gaius continued slowly, "is that a local boat is going over to pick up some friendly Celts tomorrow and I think the Gallic sailors would be grateful for some men to protect them. I want some volunteers." He paused, then added, "Volunteers will get an extra cask of wine, they will immediately become immunes, and they will get a favour from me when they request it. If nobody volunteers, this century is all cleaning stables, and one in ten will wish they were cleaning stables."
A chill ran through the men. The implication was clear.
"I volunteer, sir," one man stepped forward, "if you can help me."
"You want?" Gaius asked impassively. This was the risk of his strategy.
"My brother has a farm near Ravenna, but there is a rich neighbour trying to . . ."
Gaius stared. Even this long after Gracchus . . . "Give me the details and I think you'll find your farm is secure," Gaius said coldly. "I give you my word as a Claudian." He would write to Claudius; if the success of Claudius' invasion depended on stopping some rich landowner extorting the poorer family of a soldier, on a good day the rich landowner could expect to join the poor.
There were more volunteers. A Legate who would go out of his way to help one of his men with problems back home was worth supporting.
"Good," Gaius nodded. "Now, one more thing. Don't tell the other legions you're going, and even more importantly, don't tell them it's safe after you get back."
The men nodded, and grinned. It was always good to show up the others.
It was later that day that Gaius met a distraught Vespasian.
"You seem quite satisfied with yourself," Vespasian growled. "Almost as if you don't wish to embark!"
"Actually," Gaius said flatly, "as long as we eventually embark, the current situation is remarkably fortunate." He had to restrain his sense of satisfaction.
"Oh?" Vespasian queried in an icy tone. "Why is sitting on your arse here fortunate?"
"Imagine the Britons?" Gaius smiled. "What will they be thinking?"
"They'll be laughing their heads off at the mighty Roman army, scared shitless by a channel of water," Vespasian growled bitterly. "Trouble is, they might be right."
"They'll probably think we'll end up collecting seashells, like we did a few years ago," Gaius added.
"So why's that so encouraging?"
"Because the Celts are not professional soldiers," Gaius reminded Vespasian. "The next thing they'll do is think of their crops. If we can delay sailing until harvest starts, most of their troops'll have gone home to bring in the harvest. That'll make things easier when we get there," Gaius nodded.
"So, the young Claudius doesn't want to fight?" Vespasian laughed.
"I want to win," Gaius responded coldly. "If the opposition want to be absent, so much the better. The object is to conquer Britain, and I have no particular desire to spill unnecessary blood."
"Neither do I," Vespasian agreed, although Gaius considered him to be not altogether convincing. As he departed he slapped Gaius on the shoulder, a gesture that annoyed Gaius for a moment. Vespasian was trying to be friendly, but not a friend. Vespasian had his own agenda and would go out of is way to see that agenda got done. But then, Gaius had to admit, both of them wanted this invasion to go well. While they had a common goal, they had to work together, and suddenly Gaius realized that he too had been overly aloof.
It might be a natural Claudian attribute, but not one that worked well right then. He had to do something about it, at least as far as Vespasian went.
* * *
Gaius could barely restrain grinning as a rather wistful Timothy took his seat. He had spent weeks down at the beach, studying the tides, and he had quite a compilation of data.
"Well?" Gaius asked softly, although he was beginning to be sure of the answer.
"You were correct," Timothy said, "although I don't understand what all this means. I fixed a marked post in the estuary as you said, and recorded the times as well as I could. The tides come at more or less opposite times, and the day to day difference for the same tide is about half an hour at new moon, and a bit over an hour at half moon. The intervening high tide is about half-way between the time difference, plus twelve hours, and the day and night high tide is very close to the same height. It seems to depend a little bit on the wind too. I don't know why you wanted to know this, but . . ."
