Sword of Rome (46 page)

‘… and money. But before you live, you have to be prepared to die.’

‘I don’t want to die for some rich bastard who’s sitting back in Brixellum drinking wine and screwing somebody else’s woman.’

‘Neither do I.’ This time Valerius joined in the laughter and he felt himself warming to these men.

He gestured to Florus to raise the eagle and the former marine flourished the standard high, turning the gilt pole so that every man could see the spread wings, gaping beak and fierce, glinting eyes. ‘
This
is what you’re fighting for. This piece of brass covered in gold. But it’s not just brass and gold. It’s an eagle. It is
your
eagle and it contains the spirit of
your
legion.’ The laughter died away and the murmurs of dissent faded. Every man’s eye was on the eagle and the only sound was the metallic crunch of hundreds of marching sandals. Valerius allowed his voice to grow in strength, remembering a speech Suetonius Paulinus had made more than eight years earlier on a slope that soon after was slick with blood. ‘You’re not just a mob now. You’re not just a rabble of ex-slaves trained to kill each other. You are the Tenth cohort
of the Legio I Adiutrix. You don’t fight for a man. You don’t even fight for an Emperor. You fight and die for this, and you fight and die for each other. Forget everything that’s gone before. You are part of a legion now, and some time tomorrow or the day after you will meet other legions. Good legions. Veteran legions. Who will do their best to kill you.’ A murmur ran through the listening men and he thought he’d gone too far, but, from somewhere, he found a moment of inspiration. ‘And while they’re doing their best to kill you, you’ll be killing them, because you’re better than them. Those legions will have an eagle and if you take away a legion’s eagle, you take away its soul. You take away its courage. If you take its eagle, it means you’ve won.’ He sensed them rising to him, the heat of battle joy swelling inside them. ‘So tomorrow or the next day you will bring me an eagle, and together we will present it to Emperor Marcus Salvius Otho Augustus, and I promise you that Marcus Salvius Otho Augustus will not just give you your freedom, and your money, he will give you land, so much land that you will live like kings for the rest of your lives.’ The message was passed along the lines of marching men and they roared their approval. He had another message, the message he had intended to send, but now that message stuck in his throat as he heard the chant. ‘
Valerius! Valerius! Valerius!
’ He found Marcus grinning at him and a smile split Juva’s dark face. ‘Sing, you bastards,’ he somehow found his voice, ‘and pick your feet up, because tomorrow we will fight and tomorrow we will win and tomorrow the Emperor will have his eagle.’

Juva’s deep, resonant tones roared out the first verse of the pornographic marching song that had driven the legions of Rome from the snow-capped mountains of west Britannia to the deserts of Africa from the super-heated sands of Syria to the cool blue seas off Lusitania. The March of Marius.

There was a mule, he was no fool,

He had a girl in every fort,

Another one in every port.

In Allifae she was not shy …

They didn’t know the words, and in truth it was not Homer, but they joined in with a will and Valerius felt them surging behind him, their legs automatically taking the rhythm of the song. Up ahead he knew the men of the First Adiutrix would have heard it too and would push on harder still. He grinned, because this was what he lived for. Hardship, yes. But comradeship, too. These men would stand together and die together, and that was all he needed. And, perhaps, they just might bring the Emperor his eagle.

Away in the mist another man listened to the song with a semblance of a smile on his pale features. He did not smile because of the song, but because of the name that had preceded it. Something primeval gripped the very centre of Claudius Victor’s being. If the gods of battle were kind, his brother would have his revenge. He wrapped the wolfskin cloak tighter around him and led his patrol back towards Cremona.

The rhythm of the march dulled a man’s senses, but Valerius was so attuned to the distinctive sounds that formed an army’s heartbeat that he came instantly alert as a troop of Pannonian cavalry galloped up to rein in opposite the army’s commanders. His racing mind took in the agitation of the Pannonian commander and the moment of confusion and consternation as Titianus, Paulinus, Proculus and Celsus digested the information they had been given.

‘We should be ready to move,’ he warned Benignus. The legionary commander shot him a nervous glance and called up his
cornicen
, the signaller who would relay his commands to the ten cohorts of the First Adiutrix. The cohort commanders all had their orders, but Valerius wondered how they would react. Paulinus had said the First was a young legion and he was right. For all the drill they had performed in the last three months, they couldn’t hope to deploy as quickly as a veteran formation. A clarion call rang out from the command group and was taken up by the legionary trumpeters. His blood quickened, because like every man in the miles-long column he knew it meant the enemy was in sight. Valerius had witnessed the smooth transformation of a legion from column of march into battle formation a hundred times, but it never ceased to awe him. Thousands of men moving as if they were controlled by a single hand in precise,
perfectly choreographed movements. With a sinking heart he saw this was going to be different.

‘Mars’ arse,’ Serpentius muttered. ‘I hope the bastards aren’t in a hurry for a fight.’

The Via Postumia, with its hardened, well-drained surface, had provided the legions with good marching, but it was a narrow causeway constricted by deep ditches on either side of the raised surface. It meant the two full legions, their baggage and heavy weapons, and the Praetorian cohorts who would make up the centre of the Othonian line, were strung out over at least five miles of road. Thirteenth Gemina, leading the column, was a veteran legion, with a long history. A Thirteenth had crossed the Rubicon with Divine Caesar and helped raise him to the purple. Now the Thirteenth, and its reinforcing cohorts from the Fourteenth, had to disperse into attack formation over the ditch and into the fields on the north side of the causeway. As the road ahead cleared, theoretically, the First Adiutrix would move forward and deploy to the left and align with the Thirteenth’s formations, allowing the Praetorians to advance to fill the centre and create an unbroken line. But the fields on the north side of the road were choked with trees and bushes strung with vines, and deep ditches had been cut to drain the swampy land. The four cohorts who would make up the front rank hacked their way through the vines to take up their positions and the legion’s engineers sweated and cursed to cut some kind of space that would allow the
onagri
and
scorpiones
to provide support against the enemy. Behind them the six cohorts who would form the second and third ranks struggled to hold position in the maze of vegetation. A further three cohorts attempted to get off the road into a supporting position, but only added to the chaos and confusion. Officers roared orders and standard-bearers screamed out the name of their units, trying desperately to unify their commands. Meanwhile the road ahead of Valerius was jammed with men trying to join their centuries and cohorts, a bustling mass of bobbing iron helmets and frantically waving unit standards. Beacons of red indicated where the scarlet-plumed centurions battled to regain order, but it still looked more like a bread riot than a military operation. He could see that it might be an
hour and more before Aquila, the Thirteenth’s legate, could bring any sort of cohesion to his ranks.

‘We have to move now,’ Valerius urged. ‘The enemy must be close and if they have any sense they’ll stay out of that jungle, take us on the flank and slaughter us.’

Benignus looked towards Paulinus’s standard, desperately seeking some kind of signal, but the four commanders of Otho’s army were too busy arguing to notice.

‘Now,’ Valerius’s voice was a vicious snarl that brought startled looks from the junior tribunes surrounding the legionary commander. Benignus’s chin came up at the suggestion of insubordination, but when he saw the certainty in his deputy commander’s eyes he realized what he must do.

‘Sound deploy,’ he ordered the
cornicen
.

Valerius thanked the gods that Otho had opted to deploy First Adiutrix on the left of the line. It was the natural position for a less experienced formation, and whether through accident or design the legion would fight its battle on open ground with a clear view of the enemy. The men spilled over the side of the roadway and through the ditch, automatically moving into centuries and cohorts and marching towards the positions marked by the engineers who had galloped ahead. Valerius abandoned his horse to a groom and ran to join his gladiators, with Serpentius always at his right side. Marcus and the rest of the centurions tried valiantly to emulate the other cohort formations, but compared to the marine legionaries they were little more than a shambling mass. Benignus had accepted Valerius’s advice that the gladiator cohort should occupy the centre position in the second rank. That way, they would have a regular cohort on either flank and others to their rear to steady them if things began to go badly.

Serpentius gave a hoot as he watched his former comrades attempt to copy the legionaries, but Valerius was impressed by the unflinching way they made for their position and by the determination on the gaunt faces. ‘They may not march very well, but they seem steady enough,’ he ventured.

The Spaniard frowned and it took him a moment to find the words
he sought. ‘They are gladiators,’ he said simply. ‘Death is no stranger to them. They face it, or live with its presence, every day. A lonely death at that, in front of and for the pleasure of thousands of strangers.’ His face went hard and Valerius knew he was remembering every time he had entered the ring. Pride swelled in the Roman’s chest that he could call this man a friend. Serpentius stared out over the ranks of glittering helmets as he continued. ‘It seems to me that for them – for us who have fought – the opportunity to die with other men in support of a cause …’ he shook his head at this unlikely sentimentality, ‘no matter the worthiness of the cause, is a privilege. They have always had the right to die with a sword in their hand, but here they will have the chance to die with a sword in their hand and a friend by their side.’

The formation First Adiutrix took up was the same the Thirteenth was attempting to achieve with so much effort and cursing on the far side of the road. A front rank of four cohorts, followed by two staggered ranks of three cohorts each, a total of just over five thousand men, give or take the sick and the stragglers. Little groups of engineers struggled in the gaps between, siting the legion’s artillery and cursing the damp ground that would affect their aim after a few shots. Whatever crops had been in these fields were long since trampled flat, but Valerius, raised on an estate, gave the name winter barley to the crushed green shoots. Another troop of Pannonians trotted past on the left and Benignus had one of his junior tribunes hail them, hoping for some intelligence on the enemy’s movements. A bearded decurion carrying a bloodied spear heard the shout and rode up to salute the legate and Valerius strode across to hear what was said.

Benignus nodded gravely to the cavalryman. ‘You have been in some action already, I see?’

The Pannonian grinned. ‘Their cavalry thought a couple of squadrons would be easy meat, but we taught them differently. They would have been running yet if their infantry hadn’t turned them back.’

‘So you’ve seen the main force?’ the tribune blurted.

Valerius saw the decurion
’s
face turn grave. ‘
You’ll
be seeing them soon enough.’ He pointed the bloody spear west. ‘They are advancing slowly, because their left flank is obstructed by the vines and ditches on
the far side of the roadway, but they’re coming. At least three full legions as far as I could tell, and swarms of auxiliary infantry and cavalry …’

‘What about their right flank?’ Benignus grunted in annoyance, and the junior tribune who’d posed the question in a voice frayed with nerves blushed under his glare.

‘Judging by the fat boars on their shields, you’ll soon have the honour of fighting the Twenty-first Rapax. Their ranks are a little thinner after Placentia, but from what my lads tell me it looks as if they’ve been brought up to strength by a cohort or two of the Twenty-second. Caecina’s put most of his cavalry on the flat ground to his right, but you won’t have to worry about them because we’ll keep them busy for you.’ A glint in his eye said he was looking forward to the contest. ‘As for the rest,’ he shrugged, ‘First Italica is in the centre and advancing up the line of the road. Who’s among the trees is anybody’s guess, but we know Fifth Alaudae and First Germanica were with Valens when he reached Augusta Taurinorum.’

Valerius listened with growing dismay to the account of the enemy’s dispositions. They would be facing four legions and elements of a fifth with two legions, the exhausted advance guard of another, and a few Praetorian cohorts. And one of those legions had never fought a battle. He could still hear the roars of the centurions on the far side of the road attempting to bring order to the confusion among the vines. Paulinus had been right. Given time, the engineers could have turned this terrain into a killing ground, but by marching into the enemy’s arms the legions of Otho had committed themselves to a fight on the worst possible ground. The only consolation was that the nature of the landscape would hamper Vitellians and Othonians alike. On the roadway, the Praetorians would be outnumbered, but the narrow front would tend to negate the First Italica’s advantage. He realized with increasing clarity that the battle would be won or lost on the plain where First Adiutrix stood.