We passed by Galba on the way. He ignored us and continued yelling for updates on the right flank. We saw a messenger on horseback ride towards the right to determine the situation and appraise Galba upon his return. Reaching Caligula, I noticed the left flank was completely silent, and all I could see were rebel Praetorians of in the distance, patiently waiting just out of pila range. Vincent and Santino were there too, standing eagerly near the emperor’s side. Vincent nodded in greeting while Santino clapped me on the shoulder.
“What happened over here?” I asked them.
“We focused our fire on the urban cohorts,” Vincent reported. “There were fewer of them than the vigiles, and we probably killed two thirds of their men ourselves. By the time they charged, we switched fire to the vigiles on our side of the field. They were slaughtered with just one volley of pila from our Praetorians.”
What a waste. Fifteen hundred men dead in a matter of minutes. What made matters worse was that we were the ones doing most of the killing. Why didn’t it affect me the way I knew it should?
“Anybody else not really care that we’re slaughtering people on a Hitlerian scale today?” I asked the squad.
Everyone’s look shifted towards the ground. They seemed ashamed that they too were unphased by the killing, and that they didn’t know why.
“Want to know why?” Santino asked.
I looked at him, wondering if he really had any answers.
“By all means, enlighten us,” I told him.
“It’s because of that fucking thing,” he said pointing towards Claudius as he rode atop his great stead, glowing blue orb in hand.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out, Jacob. It’s what got us here and you said it’s what drove Caligula insane before, and now its affect has reached every single person on this battlefield. It’s clearly touched us, because we don’t care that we’re killing these people. We’re losing our minds!” He yelled for dramatic effect. “If you ask me, the quicker we end this battle the better.”
I looked at him and opened my mouth to speak, but quickly shut it. I couldn’t believe how much sense that made, considering how usually dimwitted he was.
“Clearly it’s affected you,” Bordeaux said. “That actually made sense.” He shook his head, trying to rationalize Santino’s analysis. “Doesn’t it?”
“I guess it does,” Vincent said, “It doesn’t matter. We’re committed.”
I was still trying to wrap my head around Santino’s epiphany when Galba came riding up to Caligula.
The emperor noticed his general’s approach, and turned his horse to meet him near where we stood. “How goes the battle, Legate?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” he updated. “The auxilia are completely tied up and cannot disengage. I’ve already sent my cavalry to support them for fear that the sheer weight of that militia will come crashing down on my legion. As for them, we’ve taken some losses, not many, but more than we hoped. These bastards have somehow found the will to fight.” He looked to his right, at the enemy Praetorians, practically all that was left of Claudius’ army. “I don’t think we can hold them. They’re fresh and very experienced. If we can’t get the support of the auxilia, we may falter here.”
“What will you have me do, general?”
It was nice to see Caligula conceding control to a more experienced military man, instead of trying to micromanage. The man had definitely matured.
“Hold here on the left at any cost. The only advantage we have is that Claudius has his best troops aligned against you, and if you can hold out long enough, maybe we can punch through and swing around to engulf them.”
“We’ll hold, Legate. You have my word.”
“Yours is one of the few I trust, Caesar. May Mars guide you this day,” Galba said, turning his horse to return to his men.
“And you, Servius,” Caligula said to the retreating man’s back. He turned to face Vincent. “The empire needs you. Do not worry about me. Just do whatever you can to cause as much confusion as possible. The Praetorians won’t be used to your kind of presence on the battlefield.” He paused and looked out over the chaos. “When you see the sign, come to my aid.”
“What sign, Caesar?”
“You’ll know it when you see it,” and with that, he rode back to his own advisors, already issuing commands and words of encouragement.
“Well?” Vincent asked, getting our attention. “You heard the man. Spread out. Pick your fights, and stay out of the way of the professionals.”
I saluted, a growingly superfluous gesture these days, and reached out for Helena’s arm, pulling her in the general direction of the XV Primigenia ’s 1st cohort. A short run later, we found it right where we left it, in the exact center of the legion’s formation, its eagle prominently displayed high above. We took positions near to the legion’s aquilifer, who held the eagle, perhaps the most important position in the entire army. He was unarmed, but he was a veteran, probably taken from another legion’s pool of experienced soldiers to hold this new legion’s eagle. He had to be brave because he could not run. To run would be the single most detrimental thing that could happen to a legion.
He wouldn’t run. They never have.
In front of him stood another signifier, and behind both of them was an imaginifer, another standard bearer who carried the face of the emperor, a reminder of who the legion was fighting for. In front of all three was Centurion Maximus Nisus.
“Any predictions?” I asked him.
The man’s expression remained neutral. “I try not to think about the outcome of a battle before it truly gets underway. There are too many unknowns.”
I nodded. I could relate to that.
“But,” he continued, “I do believe Galba will call for a shift in our formation in a few seconds. Claudius is taking advantage of his numbers. Their lines extend well past ours, so Galba will call for our formation to spread out. It will open up gaps in our lines. If I were you,” he paused, looking around as though giving us any suggestions would be a betrayal to his skeptical general, “I would look for these gaps and do what you do there. If you have any more of those, what do you call them? Grenades? Use them there.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Centurion. May the gods smile on you today.” I wasn’t tuning into a pagan, but it was what he would want to hear.
“And with you,” he replied, professional to the core. He turned back to the lines to continue his study of the enemy’s formation. They were finishing their last maneuver, just out of spear range. I looked to the right, trying to determine how the auxilia were doing, but all I could see was a jumble of men and horses. Only twenty minutes had passed since the vigiles had started their suicide rush, and I knew the battle could continue for hours before it showed any signs of waning.
I looked over at Helena, a reassuring quip on my tongue, but was distracted by a messenger riding up to Nisus’ position. As the seer had predicted, Galba’s orders were to expand the grid formation. He also ordered the third cohort to split into three maniples, and spread out along the rear. They would be crucial in securing weak spots in our lines.
Interestingly, the tactic was eerily similar to the one that, again, Caesar had used at Pharsalus. Like Galba, he’d used a nontraditional formation of four lines, instead of three, and used part of his army to work specifically to counter cavalry, as Galba was using part of his to hold the right. Hopefully, Claudius wasn’t seeing the similarities.
As the messenger rode off, Nisus issued his command briefly and efficiently, and I quickly found myself moving in step with the cohort. Putting maybe thirty yards between the corners of each cohort, I was only slightly embarrassed when everyone else stopped moving, but I’d kept going. Some of the men laughed at me, and even Helena joined in the fun, having stopped on her mark.