Marching With Caesar-Avenging Varus Part I

by R. W. Peake

  Finally, Pullus stopped, obviously drained, while Volusenus continued to wait for more; when none was forthcoming, he asked, cautiously, “Pilus Prior? What does that have to do with…that other thing?”

  For the first time, Pullus looked away from the flames, and Volusenus knew that, while his Pilus Prior was looking at him, he did not see him; whether that was because the glow had marred his vision or the memories were blinding him to the present, Volusenus had no idea.

  “I learned that night,” Pullus said calmly, “that I had been fooling myself about who controlled the beast. And that, by trying to control it, there were…other things inside me that came out, and those I couldn’t control.”

  Volusenus was uncertain what Pullus meant, and he asked as much.

  “When I killed that dwarf when I was ten,” Pullus replied, “I felt badly about it afterward. All the other times this took over, once it was over, I felt…something.” He shook his head. “I can’t say it was remorse, exactly, but I was aware that I had done something that I shouldn’t be proud of. But, with Caecina and Mela, once I let that other thing take over, I not only knew what I was doing when I did it, I…enjoyed it.” He stopped again, and Volusenus remained silent, sensing this was not the time to speak up or make a noise, and finally, Pullus continued, but now his voice had gone hoarse. “May the gods forgive me, Gnaeus, but I truly enjoyed that I was inflicting such pain on men who were my comrades.”

  Now Volusenus could not stop himself from interjecting, “But, after what they did, I don’t blame you, and I don’t think anyone would!”

  The smile Pullus gave Volusenus reminded the younger man of times when his mother had offered the same when she indulged one of his childish fantasies, yet somehow, he knew that it was not meant to be mocking.

  “I appreciate your faith in our fellow Romans,” Pullus answered, “but I don’t share it. No,” he turned his gaze back to the fire, “I think that even now, all these years later, I’d be tried and executed, and the best thing I could hope for would be what we did to the mutineers last year and just have my head chopped off. And,” he sighed, “maybe that’s what I deserve.”

  Now Volusenus was truly alarmed, to the point that, without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Pullus’ arm, his left forearm, right on the scar tissue that had long before turned white. However, while Pullus’ normal reaction was to yank his arm away because, even now, if someone gripped hard, the scar tissue was still tender enough to cause him pain, this time, he made no attempt to do so, only looking down at Volusenus’ hand.

  “Why are you talking like this, Pilus Prior?” Volusenus’ voice clearly conveyed his concern. “You’re worrying me!”

  For some reason, this seemed to startle Pullus, and while it was done awkwardly, by a man who was clearly unaccustomed to such gestures, the older man reached over and patted Volusenus’ hand, assuring him, “Don’t worry about me, Gnaeus. I’m just talking, and trust me, I don’t have any desire to have my head chopped off.” He paused, then said soberly, “I suppose I just wanted to warn you not to make the same mistake I did. Don’t,” he warned, “think you’re ever in control of whatever this thing is that we share, Gnaeus. If it comes to you, know that it’s like my grandfather said, it’s because the gods have given you this gift for moments when you or your men are in grave danger. And like any such gift, it comes with a heavy price, but more importantly, you should never abuse it like I did. Now,” he stood up, holding the armor in his right hand, which Volusenus took as the signal that their time was over, “I have to go walk the lines, and I suggest you do the same. I don’t think Arminius is going to catch up with us tomorrow, but he might.”

  With that sobering reminder, Volusenus was about to salute, then thought better of it, sensing that this was not the time for it. Instead, he gave Pullus a nod, which he returned, and the Pilus Prior stood, watching Volusenus walking away, wondering if his son had truly absorbed what Pullus had tried to tell him.

  When the march resumed the next morning, it was with an air of tension that was palpable for every man in the Legion, and it was shared by Segestes’ Cherusci. As their men broke down their rudimentary camp, Pullus and his Centurions stood together, alternating their attention between their Centuries and watching the men of the Sixth Cohort, who had drawn the duty of guarding and escorting their charges off to relieve themselves and supervising their morning meal.

  “Which one is Arminius’ wife?” Licinius asked, when it was the turn of the pregnant women to go off into the bushes that would provide them with a modicum of privacy, although they would be watched carefully.

  Pullus watched as they walked, with varying degrees of difficulty, the women in the later stages performing what he thought of as more of a waddle than a walk, but he was careful not to point at her, saying only, “The one in the green, with the red hair.”

  This elicited a low whistle from Cornutus, while Structus said, softly enough that it did not attract undue attention, “Pregnant or not, that’s a tasty bit right there.”

  “That’s just going to make Arminius even more determined to catch up with us,” Cornutus said glumly, but while Pullus gave him an annoyed look, he did not comment, which Volusenus took as a tacit admission by their Pilus Prior that, as bleak as it was, Cornutus was speaking the truth.

  The day’s march began shortly after this, and it was initially a quiet one, but inevitably, as the miles passed under feet and wheels, the tensions eased to the point where, while it was not exactly the same, the buzzing sound of men talking to their comrades around them soon filled the air. For Volusenus and the other Centurions, it was a decidedly odd feeling as they tried to avoid doing the same thing their men were doing every few hundred paces, glancing over their shoulder, looking for any sign of pursuit. Germanicus had ordered Gaesorix to split his cavalry force in half, with one half leading the way in the highly unlikely event that, somehow, either the Germans whose lands they had moved through on the way to Segestes’ rescue had managed to assemble in the two previous days or, more unlikely, Arminius had not only caught up but, with his own cavalry had maneuvered around them to set up an ambush. The rearguard portion of the cavalry was lagging even farther behind the column than normal, the intention being that it would give more warning if Arminius did arrive, with the Batavians assigned to this duty expected to fight a delaying action long enough to enable the Legion to form up in a defensive position.

  As a further precaution, Germanicus had deemed it prudent to take a different return route, but while it was understandable and the normal thing to do, there was a tradeoff, one of which his officers were acutely aware. The route Germanicus selected swung slightly south from the original line of march, but more than anything, it was the terrain that the Propraetor was thinking of in the event that Arminius did come after them. While he did not share it with any of his officers, Germanicus was of the same mind as his Quartus Pilus Prior, that Arminius not only was likely to come after them, but it was a virtual certainty that he would catch up with them. Not only were the Germans more mobile in general, even their infantry, they were on ground that suited them, with the thick forests that screened but did not impede their movement to the extent it did to the Legions. To help mitigate this, Germanicus had elected to make what, on a map, would look like a longer, looping march that even a novice would see added several miles to their return, and he knew that it was a risk in doing so, but it was slightly more open, and most importantly, was more undulating. If the gods favored the Romans, Germanicus’ hope was that when Gaesorix’s scouts came to alert them that Arminius was closing to the point that some sort of action was imminent, they would be able to take advantage of their superior ability in the defense, bolstered by being atop a hill. More specifically, the route they were taking had one section where the track lay between the shoulders of two such hills, and at the eastern end of that section, the slope on both sides was too steep for men to get above them, while the width of the low point between the two was such tha
t a Cohort in a double line of Centuries could block that gap. It was a last resort; Germanicus had no desire to sacrifice an entire Cohort, but he was acutely aware that, as valuable as Segestes was because of his status as Friend and Ally of Rome, the true prize lay in his pregnant daughter, who, he had been informed by Segestes, was named Thusnelda. Indeed, it could be argued that even she was not as valuable as the life she carried inside her, because it was their firstborn, and if it was a son, it would likely become Arminius’ heir. His final move to even the odds and prepare for the worst was in sending Gaetulicus ahead to Ubiorum, bringing orders to rouse at least one other Legion to cross the Rhenus to come to their aid. According to the information his scouts had given him, and his memory of the area through which they were marching and where it was located in relation to the safety of the river, Germanicus estimated that they would be reaching the eastern bank in two days, perhaps even by the end of the day tomorrow, if all went well and there were no delays.

  While he did not articulate as much to Sacrovir or the Tribune before he had been sent on his errand, Germanicus did harbor a pleasant dream that Arminius’ arrival would be timed so that he could only watch helplessly as the 1st crossed the pontoon bridge with their prize. First, however, they had to get to that point, and while he was confident that he had done everything he could to mitigate the risks, Germanicus knew that only time would tell if it was enough. Not that any of his men could see that quandary in his demeanor as, in keeping with his habit, he went riding up and down the column at regular intervals, stopping to ride alongside first one Century, then another, engaging in playful banter of the type that he knew his men enjoyed: rough, coarse, and almost always concerning some sort of debauchery. The one thing he did not address when one of the men would shout a question about it was the subject that he knew was foremost in their minds, just as it was in his. Consequently, the name “Arminius” never passed his lips during these forays among the men; the closest he came was when, for the second and what would turn out to be the penultimate time, he slowed to walk his horse alongside his Quartus Pilus Prior to have what passed for a casual conversation.

  “So, Pullus,” since this was his second conversation, he did not feel the need to speak loudly enough for most of Pullus’ Century to hear, “what do you think?”

  Hearing the tone of the question caused Pullus to glance up at Germanicus, searching the Propraetor’s face and realizing instantly that this was not a random question.

  “I think,” Pullus answered as quietly, “we’re going to have an interesting day ahead.”

  This caused Germanicus to look sharply at the Centurion, and he asked cautiously, “You mean tomorrow, yes? It’s not likely that there’s going to be any…excitement today. At least,” he added, “according to Batavius’ reports.”

  Pullus considered, but while he trusted Gaesorix implicitly, he had also learned to trust his gut, which was telling him something else entirely.

  “Have they found him yet?”

  Germanicus did not need any more than that, and he answered immediately, “No, they haven’t. But that could be good news. For all we know, he may be trying to head us off by taking the route we took to get to their camp.”

  This, Pullus was aware, was a possibility; even for an experienced tracker, when a large group of men and animals traversed a stretch of ground, it became so churned up that it was extremely difficult to determine the direction of travel. Not impossible, but difficult, yet this was not why Pullus felt that Germanicus’ optimism was not as warranted as it might seem; however, if he had been asked by his general, neither could Pullus offer anything substantial for this feeling he had; he just knew it was there.

  “That,” Pullus offered, “is true.” Then he shrugged, and for the first time, he looked up at Germanicus and gave him a grin, saying, “But let him come, and we’ll fix the cunnus, sir. We’ll make him sorry he tried.”

  This prompted a return smile from Germanicus, and this time, he did raise his voice as he said, “As long as you’re with me, Pullus, I wouldn’t fear Cerberus, because I know you’d cut his balls off!” He turned and shouted to the men, all of whom were now grinning, “Isn’t that right, boys? As long as we have the Pilus Prior with us, we’re all safe as babes!”

  As he intended, and hoped, the men of both the First and the first part of the Second Centuries, marching directly behind them, roared their agreement, while Pullus glowered up at Germanicus, his embarrassment made evident by the flush to his already darkened features, which the Propraetor returned with a grin that was completely unrepentant. With a laugh, he kicked his horse and went at the canter back up the column, leaving Pullus behind, muttering under his breath. Gemellus wisely remained silent, nor did he even glance over at his Centurion except out of the corner of his eye, but he was every bit as amused as Germanicus had been, because he also knew Pullus well enough to know that, despite his embarrassment, the Pilus Prior was pleased by Germanicus’ flattery. As the shouts faded away and the normal chatter resumed, the Signifer saw the corner of Pullus’ mouth lift as he fought to keep the grin from his face.

  “Go ahead, Gemellus,” Pullus finally said, though he kept his gaze straight ahead. “Have your laugh.”

  “I understand and will obey, Centurion,” Gemellus answered, but as he hoped, this elicited a laugh from Pullus instead, and the Signifer was pleased with himself seeing that he had amused his Pilus Prior.

  “Oh, go piss on your boots,” Pullus grumbled as Gemellus, Poplicola, and the men who had heard the exchange roared with laughter.

  When they stopped at midday, the normal rest time was cut in half, but when it was announced this was the case, the protest from the men was muted, which the officers took as the most potent sign that the rankers were every bit as concerned about their pursuer as they were. Pullus and the other Centurions remained standing, while Pullus munched on a piece of bread left over from the evening meal the night before as the other Centurions circulated through their Centuries, checking on their men, particularly the few wounded from the assault on the camp. There had been one death in the Cohort, from Cornutus’ Century, and his body was strapped to one of the mules; the Third Cohort, on the other hand, was a different story, having eight dead and twenty wounded, which required a significant amount of reshuffling of the few supplies that had been carried with the Legion. Two of the wounded were serious enough that they had to be slung between two mules in a makeshift litter, which also required lightening the load of the two animals. While nothing had been said by Sacrovir to that effect, it was accepted by the other officers that this was why the Third had been chosen to march drag that day, and as Pullus waited for the other Centurions to return to him, he thought about this, realizing that this was part of the reason he felt so disquieted. Like every veteran, over the years, Pullus had reached a conclusion that, in any given situation, all of the things that could go wrong usually did, so the best one could hope for was that every one of those things had at least been anticipated, and that they did not happen all at once, or closely enough together to create a catastrophe. Any further rumination on this subject was cut off when Volusenus and Structus walked up together.

  “Well?” Pullus asked. “What’s the mood?”

  Volusenus looked at Structus, who spoke first, saying with a shrug, “They’re just ready to get this over with, Pilus Prior. They know that tomorrow will be the day Arminius catches up with us, and then,” Structus’ expression turned grim, “we’re going to have to fight that bastard.”

  “He’s just a man, Structus,” Pullus interjected mildly, yet even as he did so, he knew that, to the men of the Legions, Arminius was much more than just another barbarian warrior.

  One of the unforeseen consequences of the delay in bringing Arminius to a decisive battle was that, over the intervening almost six years, the Cherusci had taken on an almost mythical reputation, his supposed prowess growing year by year, and at this moment, the men of not just Pullus’ Cohort but the entire 1st Le
gion were grappling with the prospect of facing the man himself, and not just under normal circumstances. Although it was inevitable, the men learning that one of the Cherusci they were escorting was Segestes’ daughter, and more importantly, Arminius’ wife, had concerned not just Pullus, but every Centurion enormously. In one small but important way, the fact that none of the rankers had been able to identify which of the women was Arminius’ wife was the only reason that none of the officers were overly worried that one of them would take matters into their own hand to exact vengeance for a friend or relative who had perished with Varus.

  Volusenus waited for Structus to finish, then he agreed, “That’s the same with my boys. I think if they could speed up time and get to tomorrow, they’d do it.”

  Pullus listened, then opened his mouth to offer his own warning, but before he could speak, Licinius and Cornutus arrived, so he heard their reports instead. Before Licinius was finished, the commander of the Second Century walked up, and while Pullus normally would have chastised Vespillo for being tardy, this time, he said nothing, mainly because it was Optio Saloninus who, while it had not been done officially, was now acting commander of the Second Century and was making the Second’s report. Pullus had not taken the action lightly, but Vespillo’s behavior the day before had proven too much for him to ignore. While Vespillo certainly did not appreciate it, Pullus had done him a favor, both because he had informed Vespillo in private and he had not gone to Sacrovir, who would have been required to enter this in the Legion diary. And, as any experienced Centurion knew, even if Vespillo had been acquitted by the mandatory Tribunal, which had been codified into the regulations as a requirement by Divus Augustus, the fact that it had reached that point at all would serve as the effective end of a man’s career. This was why Vespillo had been sullenly cooperative, choosing to make himself as scarce as possible, and avoiding the other Centurions of the Cohort. In fact, he had spent the night before elsewhere— Pullus suspected that he had chosen to bed down with one of his closest friends, the Tertius Pilus Prior—but Pullus did not really care.