Douglas Jackson - Enemy of Rome

Valerius cleared his throat and every eye turned to him. Primus’s face, already red from the sun, turned a more dangerous shade. ‘You have something to add, tribune?’

‘A question, sir, if I may be permitted?’

The legate threw his pointer on the table. ‘Very well, and then you will no doubt give us the benefit of your knowledge, and perhaps the Emperor’s too?’ He surveyed the occupants of the tent and two of the men at the table laughed dutifully, but the lack of response from Fulvus, Messalla and Lupus told Valerius that Primus’s command wasn’t entirely united. That gave him encouragement to continue. He got to his feet.

‘I only seek the identity of the two legions and the identity and size of the detachments.’ He saw Primus’s eyes narrow and sought to explain. ‘As you know, I have encountered several of Vitellius’s legions in the recent past. General Aquila,’ he bowed to the Thirteenth’s commander, who exchanged a puzzled look with Primus, ‘and I met them at Bedriacum and I am sure he would agree that, although they were victorious, they did not leave the battlefield undamaged. The Twenty-first suffered heavy casualties before Valens sent in his reserves …’

‘Aye,’ Aquila interrupted. ‘And we made the Fifth Alaudae bleed for every inch of ground in that bastard maze of jungle on the north of the road.’

Valerius bowed again, acknowledging the general’s support. He turned back to Primus. ‘So the identity of the legions would give us a truer indication of the opposition facing us and help decide where and when to meet them.’

The interior of the tent went threateningly still. ‘Do you question my right to make that decision?’ Primus demanded.

‘No, sir, but …’

‘Perhaps you wish to add mutiny to your recent accomplishments? How many death sentences does it take to kill a man? Would you care to find out?’

Valerius bowed and resumed his seat, satisfied he had planted the seed and that whatever risk it had involved had been worthwhile. Aurelius Fulvus confirmed it.

‘Nevertheless, I for one would be glad of the information. Better to know whether you are facing a bloodied and understrength Fifth Alaudae,’ he bowed to Aquila, ‘or a First Germanica fresh from their Rhenus stamping grounds and eager to emulate the success of their comrades against Otho.’

Primus gave a grunt of frustration. ‘Very well. Varus?’

Varus, an intense young man with a long, doleful face and a horse soldier’s stocky build, licked his lips, patently in awe of the other men in the tent. ‘Our sources indicate the two legions at Cremona are indeed Fifth Alaudae and Twenty-first Rapax, that they have only recently returned to the camp outside the city and that they contain a substantial number of replacements.’

‘Does that satisfy you?’ Primus glared at the men around the table, but Varus carried on as if he hadn’t heard his commander.

‘In addition, elements of the Second and Twentieth legions, newly arrived from Britannia, are also billeted at Cremona, plus a detachment from the Ninth legion, which is currently garrisoning the city of Placentia.’

‘And the strength of these elements?’ Fulvus persisted.

‘Each detachment is not less than three thousand men, general.’

Thank you,’ the Third Gallica’s commander said. ‘So the equivalent of three full legions at Cremona, not two. You fought in Britannia, Verrens? What was your assessment of the units stationed there?’

Valerius glanced at Primus, and the army commander gave a reluctant nod.

‘Well-trained, hard fighters, toughened by campaigning in difficult terrain against an enemy who never gives up,’ he said. ‘But they haven’t fought a major battle since Suetonius Paulinus defeated the rebel queen Boudicca nine years ago. The Ninth had morale problems then, and if they’ve put them to guarding Placentia the situation may not have improved.’

Fulvus thanked him. Primus gave another grunt and returned to his map.

‘So our enemy is split. An advance guard of two battered legions and three detachments in the north. Four others, or the major elements of them, currently making their way to the Padus, but still probably more than a week away.’ He met the gaze of each of the generals in turn. ‘A week.’

‘As you say, the Emperor urged caution,’ Lupus said warily. ‘How long will it take Licinius Mucianus to reach us with his Syrian legions?’

It was a question designed to delay and give time to consider, because everyone knew the answer was at least a month.

‘We have one chance.’ Primus’s voice grew in strength. ‘One chance to smash Vitellius and present Titus Flavius Vespasian with the keys to Rome. A chance to make our names ring down through history, gentlemen. How many generals are given that opportunity?’

‘Mainly dead ones.’

Primus greeted Messalla’s interruption with a tight smile that said it was the last time he would be so forgiving. No matter what was said at this conference he had already made up his mind. Had made it up, Valerius reckoned, even before he’d marched the Seventh from Carnuntum to link up with Aquila. Now he outlined the detail of his plan.

‘The town of Aquileia is the key that unlocks the door to Venetia, and if we take Venetia we have the gateway to the entire Padus valley in our hands.’ He turned to his cavalry commander. ‘Varus, you and your barbarians will test the enemy’s strength and dispositions, and if possible clear him from our route. In the meantime, Thirteenth Gallica and Seventh Galbiana will take the van under the direct command of General Aquila and march on Aquileia at their best pace. Seventh Claudia and Third Gallica will follow, with Eighth Augusta acting as rearguard. I have already given the auxiliary cohorts their instructions. They will protect our right flank and secure the Alpine passes against any potential incursions from Noricum and Raetia. Are there any questions?’

‘Supplies?’ Fulvus asked.

‘Another reason for acting with haste. We have sufficient rations for a week or ten days; when they are gone we will do what armies do. Live off the land.’ They all knew what that meant. Starving peasants and grieving mothers. Farmers — Roman farmers — butchered trying to protect their stocks against the foraging troops. Primus shrugged. ‘We are as well to go short on the march as stay here and go hungry.’

‘And when we take Aquileia?’ The question came from Messalla, who wore the resigned look of a man forced to choose between sharing a cage with a lion or a tiger. He had staked his future on Titus Flavius Vespasian and he wasn’t certain whether the Emperor would approve of this impulsive advance. Success might take the edge off his displeasure, or it might not. Failure …?

But Primus had no thought of failure. ‘We will advance on Patavium and the rest of Venetia. But that is for the future. We will talk again and make a decision based on the dispositions of the enemy. Thank you, gentlemen. Verrens?’ Valerius hung back as the other men filed out to brief their officers and draft their orders for the advance. ‘Fulvus tells me you were with Corbulo’s cavalry.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Valerius said warily. He’d commanded ten thousand horse soldiers on campaign in Armenia, a force that played a crucial role in saving the Eastern Empire, defeated the Parthian King of Kings and ultimately sealed Corbulo’s fate. While a single legion and a few auxiliary cohorts had held the Parthian Invincibles at the Cepha gap he’d led the cavalry on a night march through the mountains into the enemy rear. He remembered screams in the dark as men and horses took a single fatal step that hurled them into the void. The intoxicating relief of a bright new dawn. And the final terrible charge over grass the colour of gold that was soon stained with blood. Yet it was a battle with no heroes and no glory, because Nero had ordered it erased from the records.