[Gaius Valerius Verrens 05] - Enemy of Rome Read online

  Serpentius stepped back and nodded approvingly. ‘You’ll do.’

  ‘I specified full uniform.’ Marcus Antonius Primus looked up from the document he had been studying as Valerius entered. All the other senior legionary commanders were already assembled. Aquila, legate of the Thirteenth Gemina, sniffed disapprovingly when he recognized the newcomer. Valerius nodded to Vipstanus Messalla, the only other military tribune to attend, a scarred veteran who had fought his way up through the ranks to become temporary commander of the famous Seventh Claudia Pia Fidelis. Messalla met his look with a sardonic half-smile that didn’t bode well for the rest of the proceedings. A hollow-cheeked man at the far side of the table where Primus was seated nodded a greeting.

  ‘Numisius Lupus, Eighth Augusta,’ Primus grudgingly introduced his fellow commander. ‘And this is Aurelius Fulvus, Third Gallica.’ Fulvus needed no introduction. An old comrade, he had been one of Corbulo’s commanders and Valerius remembered him as a steady, intelligent soldier steeped, like his men, in the traditions of the East. ‘Arrius Varus, who commands our cavalry.’ All the men apart from Messalla and Varus wore the scarlet cloaks that signified their general’s rank. Those of Varus and Messalla were white and Valerius’s should have been the same.

  ‘I apologize, sir,’ he said. ‘If I’d realized I needed a cloak I would have had my servant steal one in time for the meeting.’

  Messalla and Fulvus laughed. Primus’s nostrils flared at the insubordination, but he waved Valerius to a chair at the far end of the table, picked up a pointer and turned to a map pinned to a frame beside him. ‘When we are ready, gentlemen. Vespasian’s spies report that the enemy legions have begun to gather, but they will take time to concentrate. At the moment only two legions and a few detachments occupy the Padus valley, which we are agreed must be the first step on our way to Rome. Two legions, and we can muster four at the moment and five within a few days.’ He noted the look of concern that crossed Messalla’s face. ‘I am aware our leader has urged caution, tribune, but the Emperor is not here and cannot judge our situation. This is an opportunity that may not occur again. If we attack now, take Aquileia,’ he pointed to a black dot at the head of the Mare Adriaticum, ‘and open up the road to Cremona, we will be in a position to strike a decisive blow in this campaign while the enemy is still preparing for it. We—’

  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.

  ‘Then you may be of some use after all,’ Primus sniffed. ‘Varus is enthusiastic, but inexperienced for a command of this size. You will accompany him to assess the enemy’s capabilities, and probe beyond Aquileia to discover if the country is clear. Varus will remain in nominal command, but I give you leave to act at your own discretion.’ He smiled for the first time since Valerius had met him, but it was a shark’s smile. ‘Who knows, perhaps you will get yourself killed and give me peace of mind.’

  He turned back to the map and Valerius knew he was dismissed, but he delayed as he heard the legate talking softly to himself. ‘Valens or Caecina, which will it be?’

  ‘You should hope it’s Caecina,’ Valerius dared answer the question he hadn’t been asked.

  Primus didn’t turn round. ‘And if it is Caecina, what will he do?’

  Valerius remembered the countless dead and the desperate, ultimately futile attacks on the walls of Placentia. ‘Whatever it is, right or wrong, the only certainty is that it will be what you least expect.’

  VI

  Valerius swatted at the black flies that swarmed around his head and heard Serpentius laugh at the futility of the gesture. It had been like this for the last five days: endless mountain trails hemmed in by scree-scattered slope and sweaty airless forest, and always accompanied by the maddening, relentless buzz of a million insects. But rank had its compensations and at least they’d been in the van of the column and spared the choking dust that coated the eight regiments of Varus’s cavalry who followed. In the lead rode the Syrian archers of the First Augusta Ituraeorum: small, black-bearded men on light, sure-footed ponies, their green tunics and iron helmets now a uniform toneless brown. Behind them came two one-thousand-strong wings of wild, long-haired mounted spearmen from Germania of a type Valerius knew only too well from his adventures on the Rhenus a year earlier. Units from Hispania, Thrace and Gaul made up the rest. A strong force, but vulnerable until they were free of the mountain passes.

  Valerius and Serpentius travelled with Varus’s headquarters staff and the Roman quickly discovered he’d misjudged the young auxiliary commander’s character. Varus might have been nervous when faced with four legionary generals, but in the field he proved the opposite: arrogant and opinionated, with seldom a good word to say about anyone but himself. He knew his business, though, sending out scouts ahead and on the flanking hillsides, with the column on constant alert and weapons always to hand. The reason for his professionalism became clear when Varus told the older man that he’d served with Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo in Armenia for three years.

  ‘A fine general and a man with a reputation for discipline.’ Valerius decided it was wiser not to reveal that he had led Corbulo’s cavalry.

  ‘I thought he was rather overrated as a commander,’ Varus shrugged. ‘Look at his record. Twelve years in the East and thousands of casualties and what did he have to show for it? Tiridates still on his throne in Artaxata, albeit with his wings clipped and his beard singed, and his brother with a mighty army at his disposal that still remains a threat to Syria and Judaea.’

  ‘I thought his first campaign in Armenia had been hailed as a strategic triumph?’

  Varus looked back irritably as the sound of a trumpet blared out over the rhythmic thud of hooves and clatter of metal equipment, urging a lagging squadron to close up. He rapped out an order to an aide before turning back to his companion. ‘Oh, I’m not saying he wasn’t a competent general.’ A short laugh signalled the opposite. ‘But sieges were more in his line than great battles. He was no Caesar, you see. Much too cautious. Not a man to take an opportunity in both hands, like our General Primus.’

  Valerius had listened to the impugning of his late commander’s reputation and record without reacting, but this fulsome praise for a man who had never witnessed a battle, never mind fought one, made him blink. He changed the subject, pointing to the flank guards on top of a nearby hill. ‘It is wise to prepare for trouble, but do you think we will meet the enemy this far east?’

  Varus shrugged. ‘Not regular troops, but Vitellius’s agents have been active among the local natives. The tribes of Pannonia are more or less civilized,’ he said dismissively. ‘They might steal a few horses or rob a single supply wagon, but normally they’d never risk attacking a column of this strength. Our greatest threat is from the Marcomanni and the Quadi, who may sniff an opportunity and decide to cross the river.’ Valerius knew the Marcomanni were a tribe who ruled the endless pasturelands north of Noricum and the Danuvius, but he’d never heard of the Quadi. ‘Their Sarmatian cousins,’ the auxiliary explained. ‘Newly arrived from the East and one of the reasons they need to expand their territory. I doubt it will happen, though. The Roxolani tried it in Moesia six months ago. Nine thousand warriors crossed the river, but the Third and the Eighth made sure not a single one got back. Word of that kind of defeat spreads.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Yes, we’re in good company with the Third and the Eighth. They know how to fight.’

  ‘They know how to fight barbarians,’ Valerius pointed out. ‘But do they know how to fight another legion?’

  Varus frowned as if the thought had never occurred to him.

  They broke free of the mountains next morning and reached the outskirts of Aquileia as the heat of the day reached its peak. Beyond the city the sapphire blue waters of the lagoons of the Mare Adriaticum had never appeared so welcoming, after a week sweating in the hills. Varus sent two regiments of his Syrian horse archers in a wide arc on the landward side to block any escape and advanced his remaining cavalry over the surrounding fields. As they approached, Valerius saw it was an extensive, thriving place filled with rich buildings, marble temples and terracotta-roofed tenements that shimmered in the afternoon heat. By the time Varus reached the scatter of houses on the outskirts a delegation of elders and merchants was already waiting behind a figure carrying the green branch that signalled his wish to discuss terms.

  ‘Tribune, will you join me?’ Varus slid f
rom his horse, and Valerius did likewise, beating the dust from his clothes as they walked along the gravel road towards the group. ‘What do you think?’ Varus said quietly.

  ‘If they wanted trouble, we’d already know about it.’

  As they reached the group, the man with the green branch stepped forward and bowed, while the others stood back fidgeting nervously and trying not to look threatening.

  ‘Marcus Annidius Ponticus, decurion of Aquileia’s council of leading citizens, and local magistrate, greets you and welcomes you.’ The magistrate’s toga hung on his narrow frame like a tent and he must have been eighty, with a wrinkled child’s face and a shining dome of a head. His voice was strong enough, with the power of a man accustomed to speaking in public, but it held a brittle edge of fear. ‘We have food and drink, and can provide entertainment for your men before … before they continue on their mission. If you wish to water your horses we have a fine stream on the far side of town, with a lush meadow for grazing close by.’

  Varus stepped forward and knocked the branch from the decurion’s hand, eliciting a gasp from the men behind and a frown of distaste from Valerius. ‘I am Arrius Varus, prefect of cavalry, and I claim Aquileia for Titus Flavius Vespasian, rightful Emperor of Rome. Does any man here dispute that right?’ His words sent a stir of unease through the gathering and Ponticus darted a desperate glance back towards the others. ‘Do you deny me, old man?’ Varus filled his voice with the promise of bloody swords and rampaging licentious soldiery. ‘You will surrender this city or I will burn it to the ground and slaughter every living thing in it.’