Nero's Heirs (19 page)

Then came the news that Caecina's assault on Placentia, which the Vitellianists considered of the first importance, had been repulsed after a desperate struggle, in the course of which the beautiful amphitheatre beyond the city walls was set on fire and utterly destroyed. The ardour of our troops within the city was however such that Caecina despaired of taking it and so raised the siege. And then, as we moved to concentrate our forces near Cremona, we learned that one of Otho's most able lieutenants Martius Macer had won a victory to the north of the city.

It seemed therefore as if success attended our arms everywhere, and I began to be anxious lest the Vitellianists should soon see the hopelessness of their position, and either surrender or withdraw beyond the Alps, and that I might therefore be denied the chance to add lustre to my family name in battle.

Yet, it was at this moment that Fortune first frowned on our cause. Having scattered the enemy, Martius Macer prudently checked the pursuit, for fear that the enemy might be strengthened by reinforcements, which spies had warned him they were bringing up. I say 'prudently', for by every law of war, his action was indeed prudent. And yet its consequence was evil. For there were those in our army who immediately described this act of prudence as a display of cowardice, while others said that it showed Martius Macer to be less than wholly committed to the cause, and even a traitor who had deliberately refrained from destroying the main army of the enemy. This was ridiculous, but good sense is an early casualty of any war.

The soldiers were disturbed. They did not know whom they could trust. They were uncertain whether the generals who gambled with their lives were determined on victory, or whether some at least were already preparing to defect to the enemy. Such was the evil consequence of the rumours circulated by his personal rivals concerning Martius Macer's conduct. So harsh things were said of the other generals, Annius Gallus, Suetonius Paullinus and Marius Celsus. The officers of the Guard who were guilty - or most guilty - of the murder of Galba, however that might have been prompted by the old man's arrogance and folly, were chief amongst those who now employed the wildest of language. They alone, in their own minds, were fully committed to Otho's victory, and, in their disordered state, were ready to accuse others of treason. In so doing they undermined the cause, the success of which offered them their only hope of security and future prosperity.

Otho could not fail to be affected by the mood of suspicion that surrounded him. Without good reason, he fell into distrust of some of his most able commanders. I cannot blame him altogether for this; the rumours of treason had thrown him into a state of perpetual alarm. He sat for hours in his tent, sipping the wine that failed to intoxicate him, but which nevertheless numbed his critical faculties. Time and again, I heard him bewail his unhappy lot. 'If you ever dream of wearing the purple, dear boy,' he said to me, with many heavy sighs, and on the verge of tears, 'wake from that dream. It is a crown of thorns, not of laurel, that presses on my brow.' Yet in public he strove, not always in vain, to appear cheerful.

There was a consequence of the dissension and the rumours still more damaging to his cause than their effect on his state of mind. That is not the best way of putting it, for the consequence was provoked by the distrust and dismay that clouded his judgement. Believing that if so many men spoke ill of his generals he could not know whom to trust, he resolved to hand over the management of affairs, and indeed the whole conduct of the campaign, to his brother Titianus, a man with neither experience of victory nor the capacity to inspire the soldiers with confidence. Of all Otho's mistakes, this was the most serious. Soldiers who trust their commanders will fight bravely, to the death, even when the cause is failing. Those who neither trust nor respect them will lose the battle in their hearts, even when the disposition of the forces may yet be in their favour. For the truth, Tacitus, is that morale is the determining factor in war; perhaps you have heard your father-in-law Agricola say so.

Yet on the ground things still appeared to go well. Caecina, perhaps because he was unnerved by the failure to take Placentia and his discomfiture in other lesser actions, perhaps because Valens was now bringing his untested army up and Caecina feared that he would gain the glory of the campaign, now made a rash attempt to regain the credit he had lost with his troops and with his imperial candidate, Vitellius.

He posted some of his veterans - auxiliaries as we later learned -concealed in the woods that overhang the road twelve miles from Cremona, at a place called Castors. Then he sent forward a cloud of cavalry, with orders to provoke a battle and then withdraw to lure our men into the trap he had laid for them. It was a pretty scheme, but dangerous in the circumstances of a civil war
in
which spies and deserters abound. No doubt, had he been engaged against a foreign enemy, his plan would have met with success. But in a civil war there are always many men whose commitment is wavering; they have friends and relations in the opposing army, and so there is habitually a communication between the armies of a sort which is not found in foreign wars. So his scheme was betrayed, or revealed to us.

Titianus was, fortunately, some miles in the rear, and neither Paullinus nor Celsus felt the need, or desire, to consult him. As it happened I was then in the front line, having been sent forward with a message from the Emperor. I was therefore in a position to observe the disposition of our troops and to admire the assurance with which this was made.

Paullinus commanded the infantry, Celsus the cavalry. The veterans of the 13th legion, men who had fought with Corbulo in Armenia before that greatest of generals was discharged, disgraced and destroyed by Nero on account of his jealousy of any other man's virtue and success, were drawn up to the left of the road. The raised causeway through the marshes was held by three cohorts of Praetorians, in deep columns, while the right was occupied by the 1st legion and a few hundred cavalry. Several troops of cavalry were sent forward, and more cavalry held in the rear. I myself, with the general's permission, sent my horse to the camp-lines and stood by Paullinus.

Paullinus was a general of the old stamp. His first care was to throw up defence works, so that he could secure himself against defeat before venturing in search of victory. So the first part of the battle was fought some distance ahead of us, and I know of its course only from hearsay.

The Vitellianist cavalry having provoked battle then withdrew. But Celsus, aware of the ambush, checked the advance. This caused some alarm, especially when a handful of Illyrian cavalry galloped back to our lines, calling out that all was lost. They would have inspired a panic, had Paullinus not quickly intervened, and ordered his men to stand their ground. Baffled, the Illyrians wheeled about, and for some time galloped to and fro in front of our line, neither seeing a way to safety nor daring to try to force the barrier we presented to them, forbidding their flight.

Meanwhile, the Vitellianists, believing that the battle was in their favour, surged from their concealed position to give battle to Celsus. He gradually withdrew, making an orderly retreat, the most difficult manoeuvre in war, especially for cavalry. But he moved too slowly, and so found himself surrounded. It was at this moment that Paullinus gave us the order to advance. I did so myself at the head of a cohort of the Praetorians, whose officer had been wounded by a stray javelin.

I have been
in
so many battles since this first one that I have learned to distrust all accounts of conflict. There is no narrative of a battle, rather a phantasmagoria of discordant impressions: the look of surprise on a dead man's face, the glint of a horse's hoof raised above you, the grunts of men thrusting with swords, sounds strangely like those emitted in love-making, the sudden face-twisting fear as a man struggles to free his weapon from the body of a fallen man which, holding it fast, renders the killer for the moment defenceless.

Most of all, though, it is the smells which linger vilely in your nostrils for days after a battle: the stink of fear, of sweat, blood and ordure, for terror can cause a man to defecate, and shit to rush down the wavering legs of even the victors. The idea of war has its beauty, but there is nothing pretty about battle.

As the infantry came together we thrust and slashed and pushed. Close combat gives you strength, adds also to fear, since there is no escape unless the hindmost ranks give way to panic and turn to flee. Then you find your back naked.

That morning the close fight lasted only a short time which, nevertheless, was endless. I had no notion we were winning, for at first we seemed to be pushed backwards, and I stumbled twice, thrice, over fallen comrades. Then I felt a weight behind us, a great press of men and, without warning, the soldier with whom I had crossed swords, each hacking at the other's shield, glanced over his shoulder. His mouth opened in a wordless cry and he took two steps backward, then, before I could launch myself at him, turned tail and ran. And I saw that the whole line of the enemy was in flight.

We pursued them with cries for some half a mile, and then the trumpet sounded and a grey-haired veteran seized my shoulder, checked my attempt to free myself, and said, 'That's enough, young sir. That's the recall. Run on and you'll find yourself alone. And that'll be the death of you.'

Later, there was fierce criticism of Paullinus for halting the pursuit so abruptly. Men said that if he had not done so, we would have achieved a complete victory, that Caecina and his whole army might have been destroyed. The critics may have been right. There is no doubt that a general panic had spread through their ranks. I myself had heard many cries such as 'It's every man for himself.' But Paullinus justified his caution. He said that he did not believe that the whole army of the enemy had been engaged, and that their commanders might throw reinforcements forward, who, attacking our men after they had lost order in the pursuit, might reverse the decision of the day.
In
short, he asserted that it was enough to have inflicted so much damage on the enemy and that it would have been folly to risk throwing away the advantage we had won. No doubt there was much wisdom in what he said, and events might indeed have turned out as he feared. Yet his policy dismayed the army. They thought they had had a chance to settle the campaign in one afternoon, that the opportunity had been lost, that the enemy had been only bruised and would soon recover. So, instead of celebrating a noble victory, men talked more readily of what had been thrown away. Their mood was such that you might even have supposed we had lost the battle.

Nor was that all. Paullinus, though he had master-minded the victory, and shown such skill in the disposition of his troops, and such control over their movements, yet lost credit
on
account of his decision to halt the pursuit. Those who had already been putting it about that
he
was less than completely committed to Otho were confirmed
in
their suspicion. Some even went so far as to say that his halting of the pursuit was an act of treachery.

For a few days the war was suspended. This allowed the enemy time to repair the damage done. More significantly, it permitted the union of Caecina's army with that of Valens. Though our intelligence assured us that the two generals were now bitter rivals, each fearing that the other would become the chief man in the army, and indeed the State, when Vitellius was victorious (for nobody regarded the so-called Emperor himself or thought him anything more than a figurehead), yet the coming together of the enemy made it necessary for Otho to call a council to discuss strategy.

The question,' he said, fingering a piece of material merely to keep his hands occupied, and perhaps to prevent anyone from observing their tremor, which was occasioned not by fear, but by some nervous complaint that I had observed to afflict him in moments of excitement, 'the question is whether we should seek battle or wage a defensive campaign and so draw out the war longer, in the hope of exhausting the enemy.'

He invited Paullinus, as the senior commander - in years, that is -and as the victor of the most recent battle to give his opinion first.

Paullinus spoke with an old-fashioned formality. His conduct in the recent battle had won my respect, however I might think the prudence which had caused him to halt the pursuit to be ill-timed; and I was therefore displeased to observe that his manner of speaking gave rise to some amusement. In particular, the two ephebes who were customarily in attendance on Titianus, and who were assumed to be his catamites, though they were at the council in the capacity of secretaries, giggled and nudged each other, and smirked and pulled faces in imitation, as they thought, of Paullinus' grave manner. During the course of his speech I sidled round the room, and, coming up behind the two little beauties, jabbed each hard in the ribs with my knuckled fist; they yelped, and fell silent, rubbing themselves where I had struck.

Vitellius,' Paullinus said, 'has now assembled his entire army. He can hope for no further reinforcements. Nor has he any strength in his rear, for Gaul is restive (as I hear) and he can strip no more troops from the Rhine frontier lest the Germans break through. He can get no reinforcements from Britain either, unless prepared to abandon that rich province to the barbarism of its northern wilderness. There are few troops left in Spain. Narbonnese Gaul has been reduced by the action of our fleet. Italy, north of Padua, is confined by the Alps. It cannot be supplied from the sea where we still have mastery; and, lastly, his army has already stripped the towns, villages and farms of the last grain. He can get no more corn, and without supplies an army cannot be kept together. Then the German auxiliaries, who are among his finest fighting men, will suffer, should we drag the war out till the summer, from the heat of our climate to which they are unaccustomed.'