Marching With Caesar-Avenging Varus Part I

by R. W. Peake

  “Couldn’t wait to get off the farm, eh?” Volusenus asked in a jocular manner, but Macerinus did not smile or show any amusement, however slight, saying flatly, “Something like that.”

  By this time, they had reached the spot where one of the Batavians was sitting his horse, pointing first at the Cohort Signifer and Pullus, then indicated the spot where Germanicus had positioned the trooper, prompting the First of the Fourth to move to that spot. All along a line about two-thirds of the way across the clearing, Gaesorix’s Batavians served to maneuver the Legion into the position Germanicus wanted, while the Legate went galloping back towards the trailing elements of the quadratum. The movement of the Legions into position was quick, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that time was their enemy, as the sun sank closer to the tops of the trees along the western edge of the clearing. Since their Legion had been the first to arrive, Sacrovir had given the men permission to sit in formation while they waited, and before Volusenus could have reached a count of fifty, the rankers were either eating, reclining on the ground with their packs as pillows, or engaged in a game of dice. During such moments, it was a habit for the Centurions and Optios to gather together, and while they often sat on the ground in a circle, this time, they remained standing.

  “I wonder where the cattle are?” Structus asked, and Volusenus was quick to relay what Macerinus had told him.

  “How do you know that?” Pullus looked over at him, clearly surprised, but while Volusenus’ first impulse was to make something up that would allow him to take credit for it, he surprised himself by admitting, “Macerinus told me. He worked for his father, who raised cattle, before he joined the Legion.”

  Pullus grunted at this, but Vespillo said laughingly, “Gods, what would the Legions do if every farm boy wanted to stay on the farm?”

  There was some chuckling at this, each of the officers knowing to one degree or another this was nothing more than the truth.

  “That’s why I joined up,” Pullus’ new Optio Titus Fabricius offered, and Volusenus looked over in time to see his grimace as he added, “I fucking hated it.”

  “What did you hate about it?” Pullus asked, looking to Volusenus like he was surprised at this revelation.

  “Everything,” Fabricius answered so quickly that, once more, it elicited laughter. “But mostly, it was the fucking work. Things always need to be repaired, new ditches have to be dug, old ones have to be repaired. Seems like I spent most of my day bent over, doing something that a fucking slave should be doing, but my family was too poor to afford one.” Shrugging, he finished, “I just thought anything would be better than that, so I joined the Legions.”

  “And,” Pullus asked dryly, “how did that work out?”

  It was the expression on Fabricius’ face that caused the other men to erupt in laughter, which of course attracted the attention of the men seated nearby, but Fabricius managed to be heard as he answered, “How do you think it worked out? My first day as a tiro when they had us making a marching camp, I knew then I had fucked myself.”

  Not surprisingly, this just caused the others to laugh harder, until most of them were wiping the tears away. The conversation shifted away from the subject of life on the farm, by Vespillo who said sourly, “I bet that Germanicus is going to have us wait until morning now.”

  In response, Volusenus glanced up to see that the bottom edge of the sun was now obscured by the top of the trees. Turning away, he moved a short distance away from the others so that he could look in both directions, trying to gauge whether the 5th and 15th were close to being in position. The wagons and mules of the baggage train had been halted a short distance from the southern edge of the clearing, and it was from them that Volusenus got an idea about what awaited them.

  Walking back to the group, he told them, “They’re unhitching the wagons and unloading the section mules.”

  “That means we’re going to be here for a while,” Pullus commented, but before he could say anything else, the cornu sounded the call for the Pili Priores. As he began to trot towards the First Cohort, he called over his shoulder, “Either way, we’ll know shortly.”

  Vespillo had been correct, and in alignment with his character, he wasted no time in crowing about it to the others.

  “I told you, didn’t I?” If he said this once, Volusenus was certain he had uttered it at least a dozen more times. “I told you we’d be spending the night here!”

  “Yes, Numerius,” Cornutus replied patiently; he was the closest to what Vespillo could call a friend among the Centurions, although Volusenus felt certain that it was less out of loyalty and more out of sympathy that the Pilus Posterior was still upset at being passed over for the second time and was not shy about making this known. “You’re right, as usual.”

  Like the other Centurions, Volusenus sent Krateros to his mule to retrieve his sagum and the loaf of bread, hard cheeses, and piece of pork he would consume for his evening meal. Even in a relatively informal situation such as this, there was order and a hierarchy present; the Centurions separated themselves from the men of the ranks, while the Optios did the same a few feet away, both sets of officers dropping to the ground on their respective sagum, sitting in a circle as they ate their meal. While talking had been allowed by Germanicus, he had given strict orders that it was at a conversational tone; despite being about three miles away from Mattium, he still did not want to risk discovery. Recognizing that the horses of the cavalry needed to be rested as much as the men, Germanicus ordered two Cohorts of his auxiliaries to move beyond the clearing on the Mattium side to relieve Gaesorix and the other Decurions’ men. They returned at dusk, leading their animals to where the wagons that carried the grain for their animals were located. It would be left to the auxiliaries to remain vigilant through the part of the night that the army was immobile; Germanicus had ordered that they would begin their movement at the beginning of the midnight watch, which should give them enough time to move into position. As far as the attack itself, it was a straightforward affair; a line of Cohorts belonging to the three Legions would fall on the hopefully sleeping town just as soon as it was light enough to see. There was an element of risk involved, because Germanicus had authorized the use of torches for the first part of their movement, just long enough to ensure they had their bearings and were heading in the right direction.

  Starting the day before, Germanicus had altered the angle of his march slightly, moving more east than north, sacrificing the chance to reach Mattium sooner for the ability to make this final approach from the direct south. The town was located on the southern bank of the river, and his scouts who had laid eyes on it reported that, rather than grow outward from the riverbank, the town had expanded alongside it, making it wider than it was deep. One question that would not be answered with any certainty until the army arrived was whether the line of Cohorts was long enough, since he had only kept the 1st in its configuration of six Cohorts, while the 5th and 15th had the more traditional four on either side. That, the Legate understood, was something he would only learn in the brief time they would have when the town was within sight, but first, they had to manage to move directly north without being detected. The torches would help, at least at first, but his belief that once the men were properly oriented, they would continue on their original line of march was based more in hope than anything else. Nevertheless, when the watch candle indicated it was time, a line of men carrying torches moved forward, spaced just far apart from each other that they could see whether they were aligned with their comrades, followed by the army, the leading edge fifty paces behind them. Reaching the auxiliaries who, as they had been ordered, were standing in a long line, motionless and silent, only then were they relieved and sent to the rear, now to guard the baggage train. Volusenus was slightly surprised to hear some of his men muttering their thanks and other words of encouragement to the auxiliaries as they moved in between the gaps between files.

  He asked Macerinus, who explained, “After Varus, that
winter was tough on all of us. And we were sent to Novaesium in case Arminius and his bunch came across the river.”

  Macerinus stopped then, giving the impression that he was certain Volusenus knew the rest, but the Centurion quickly realized why, reminding the Signifer, “I wasn’t there, Macerinus.”

  “Ah, that’s right.” Volusenus did not need light to hear the embarrassed note in Macerinus’ voice. “Sorry, sir. I forgot. Anyway,” he continued, “we got to see firsthand how Rome treats these boys. I know they’re not citizens, but I’ve seen dogs treated better. And,” suddenly, Macerinus’ voice changed, reflecting what sounded to Volusenus was mild amazement, “they still do their duties. So,” he finished, “they may not be Legionaries, but they’re still tough bastards.”

  “All I care about is that they didn’t let any Chatti slip past and get to Mattium,” Volusenus said, and Macerinus offered a soft but fervent agreement.

  The Legions kept fifty paces between themselves and the flickering lights of the torches, moving at a slow but steady pace. Germanicus had given the men the option of discarding their sagum and leaving it behind with their packs, which Volusenus had done, mainly because Pullus had done so, which every officer but Vespillo copied, and now he was seriously regretting it. Their pace was just not fast enough to create enough heat for him to stay warm, but then it began raining. Not hard, just a steady drizzle that was not strong enough to douse the torches, and before too much longer, the only reason he could not hear his teeth chattering was because the din created by the two-thirds of his Century who had eschewed their cloaks doing the same thing was overwhelming. To Volusenus, it seemed as their progress was excruciatingly slow, measured in feet and not paces, but at least it was steady. The first indication that they were actually moving in on their objective came when, with no overt signal given that Volusenus could discern, the men carrying the torches extinguished them in a ripple across the front of the long Roman line. Because of the cloud cover that was supplying the light rain, the light from the half-moon and stars were completely obscured, creating a darkness that unsettled Volusenus, although he heard the murmurs from his men that told him he was far from alone.

  “How are we going to keep heading in the right direction?”

  Macerinus’ voice gave Volusenus a small start, not realizing how close his Signifer was, and while it was a valid question, he felt compelled to reply, “By not changing direction, that’s how.” He paused, trying to peer straight ahead in the darkness, looking for anything that might indicate they were close to the Chatti town. “As long as we don’t turn at all, we should be fine.”

  That they were in close proximity came when, from their right, they heard the sounds of a trotting horse, followed by the sound of a voice, pitched too low for Volusenus to make out any words. He found out soon enough when, out of the gloom, he spied a figure on horseback.

  “No talking from now on. We’re less than a mile away from the first of the fields that are on this side of the town.”

  Because he was only a darker shape against the gloom, Germanicus’ voice had a disembodied quality to it, but Volusenus recognized it; however, before he could respond, the Legate had moved on to the next Century, and he heard him repeat the same thing before moving on. Standing there, wet and shivering, the men waited as Germanicus relayed his instructions, signaled by the sound of his horse’s hooves, moving at the same brisk trot as the Legate returned, heading for his spot at the far right with Sacrovir and the First Cohort. Suddenly, Volusenus wondered how they would know to resume the march since Germanicus had forbidden any talking, which he was certain meant that the use of the cornu was forbidden as well. He got his answer when Structus’ Century to his right began moving, not with any kind of unison, but it served the purpose to get Volusenus and Macerinus to follow suit, and he could hear that his men were just a step behind. In a manner similar to the rippling effect of the torches being extinguished, the three Legions raggedly resumed their advance, moving as silently as possible for a large body of armed and armored men. Suddenly, Volusenus became acutely aware of every clinking sound produced by metal striking metal, the occasional sharp rap as a man shifted his grip on the spare javelin that he held behind his shield and it struck the metal rim, and the creaking of leather harnesses that, just moments before, he had barely heard. And, inevitably, as the men were forced to weave their way through the forest, someone would bump into a tree, creating even more noise, but to Volusenus’ horror, he did it himself, not just once but twice, the last time actually stumbling over an exposed root that caused him to carom directly into the trunk of the tree to which it belonged. Fortunately, he caught himself before letting out the curse that came to his lips, except that to his ears, the explosive gasp that he knew came from his lungs was almost as bad. With every step, these sounds were magnified in Volusenus’ imagination as his ears began picking up the same kinds of noise from the Fifth Century to his right.

  By the time they had covered perhaps three furlongs by his count, Volusenus was certain that the chances of reaching Mattium unobserved were nonexistent, and he had to restrain himself from even whispering a warning to his men to expect an attack. He was unaware exactly when it happened, but Volusenus slowly realized that the scene in front of him was no longer just a wall of black, shapeless and indistinct. Now he could make out the individual trunks of trees, though it took a bit longer for him to determine that it was because of what lay beyond, the first of the open fields that surrounded Mattium on its southern side. Again, without any overt signal, in the same manner that they had begun their advance, the First of the 1st, where Germanicus was located, came to a halt, followed by the Second, then Third, on down the line. By the time the entire line had stopped, the last Cohort on the left was more than a hundred paces ahead of where the First had halted on the right, and there was a moment of confusion as each Centurion in between, barred from giving any verbal orders and not receiving any, decided whether or not to move forward to align themselves with the left end, or drop back to draw even with the right. Finally, Germanicus was forced to ride down the line, his fury obvious despite his whispering, making it clear he expected the Centuries to align with the right end of the line. This did not take very long, but it was enough for Volusenus to notice that the trees on the northern edge of the forest were growing even more distinct; dawn was approaching, and this knowledge caused his heart to leap in his chest. When he glanced over at Macerinus, the Signifer’s face was visible, his expression one that Volusenus imagined was similar to his own. Now that the movement had stopped, it was completely silent, to the point where he could hear the water dripping from the newly budding leaves of the trees above them, with a barely audible hissing sound underlying this. With some surprise, he also realized he was no longer cold and, judging from what he saw with his Century, the prospect of what was coming had warmed them up as well.

  Germanicus moved back to roughly in the center of the line, placing him to Volusenus’ left, but now he was clearly visible, sitting motionless and facing his men for a long moment before turning his mount. Drawing his gladius, but still remaining silent, he held it aloft, then very slowly lowered it so that it was pointing north, towards the cleared area. This time, when the army stepped off, while it was not forum perfect, it was close to it, the line only wavering when men had to maneuver around the trees. When he was about a hundred paces from the clearing, Germanicus drew his horse up and turned it away from the clearing, raising his gladius again, except this time, he thrust it upward in a deliberate movement that was the signal to halt. Despite himself, Volusenus winced at the inevitable sound created when thousands of hobnailed soles crashed together, the men of the Legions reacting automatically, and again Volusenus was certain there would be some shout, or a horn, some kind of alarm raised. And, it seemed to him that Germanicus had been expecting as much because he had wheeled the horse to stare intently ahead, out beyond the edge of the forest. Only after a dozen heartbeats passed did Germanicus dismount,
and off to his left, Volusenus saw a figure detach from the line and go at a trot towards the Legate, and he recognized the man as one of the Tribunes on Germanicus’ staff. While the man led the animal back towards the advancing line, Germanicus thrust his gladius into the ground so that he could tie the chin thongs of his helmet, which reminded Volusenus to do the same, feeling somewhat sheepish about it, although behind him, he heard the rustling of most of his men doing the same.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Volusenus saw something move and he turned to see that, not only could he see Structus, standing just in front of his Century as he was doing, he saw and understood the gesture the other Centurion was making, acknowledging it with a wave before turning and, pointing to the shield of the man in the first file of the front rank, pantomimed taking the leather cover off the shield. Watching only long enough to ensure his men were doing this, he waved to the next Centurion; in this case, it was the Quintus Pilus Prior, Clepsina, essentially repeating the series of gestures Structus had made. Since Germanicus was the only man in a position to see all of this, Volusenus kept his eyes on the Legate, waiting for the indication that this final preparation had been completed, and a few moments later, he got his answer when Germanicus, having turned to look to his right to the far end of the line, gave a slight nod. Turning back towards the clearing, he raised his blade again, and repeated the silent command to begin moving, his men still obeying without a word being uttered, at least any that Volusenus could hear. As they marched the last hundred paces, Volusenus glanced over to his right, both to check his alignment and to get a glimpse of his Pilus Prior, which was made easy because, like himself, he was a head taller than their counterparts in between. It was light enough to see Pullus’ face when he turned and seemed to return his gaze, but he was too far away for Volusenus to read any expression in the older Centurion’s features. He was suddenly struck by what he thought of as an odd but undeniable sense of comfort, knowing that Pullus was leading the Cohort, a somewhat surprising realization because he had always thought highly of Macer. It was, he thought, like I told Mama; he brings something extra to the Cohort now, something that, in this moment, makes me feel as if we’re all going to be all right. So intent was he on watching Pullus that it was Macerinus who was forced to hiss at him, which caused Volusenus to turn and see that once more Germanicus had stopped, just a matter of a couple of paces inside the forest. Fortunately, his Century, along with all the other men had been paying attention, and they came to a halt again, while Volusenus took the two steps backward that he had gained as a result of not paying attention. Back in his spot, it was now light enough to see that there was a heavy, low-hanging fog that partially obscured what lay beyond, although it was not enough to hide the line of rooftops, about four hundred paces away and across what he could see were fields for crops. As he, along with the rest of the army, stood and watched, he spotted the first curls of smoke rising in the air above some of the thatched roof, escaping into the sky through the hole in the center of each house, the customary method Germans used. Volusenus knew one reason Romans considered Germans barbarians and savages was because they either did not possess the skills to create a stone chimney or they had no desire to do so, and frankly, it was a view that he shared.