No More Learning

Consequently no trouble had been taken in choosing
the site or erecting defences: the strength of the troops had always
seemed sufficient.

The Batavians and the Germans from across the Rhine[302] now formed up
tribe by tribe--the separation was designed to show their individual
prowess--and opened fire from a distance. Finding that most of their
missiles fell harmlessly on to the turrets and pinnacles of the walls,
and that they were being wounded by stones hurled from above, they
charged with a wild shout and surged up to the rampart, some using
scaling-ladders, others climbing over their comrades who had formed a
'tortoise'. But no sooner had some of them begun to scale the wall,
than they were hurled down by the besieged, who thrust at them with
sword and shield, and buried under a shower of stakes and javelins.
The Germans are always impetuous at the beginning of an action and
over-confident when they are winning; and on this occasion their greed
for plunder even steeled them to face difficulties. They actually
attempted to use siege-engines, with which they were quite unfamiliar.
But though they had no skill themselves, some of the deserters and
prisoners showed them how to build a sort of bridge or platform of
timber, on to which they fitted wheels and rolled it forward. Thus
some of them stood on this platform and fought as though from a mound,
while others, concealed inside, tried to undermine the walls. However,
stones hurled from catapults soon destroyed this rude engine. Then
they began to get ready hurdles and mantlets, but the besieged shot
blazing spears on to them from engines, and even attacked the
assailants themselves with fire-darts. At last they gave up all hope
of an assault and resolved to try a waiting policy, being well aware
that the camp contained only a few days' provisions and a large number
of non-combatants. They hoped that famine would breed treason, and
counted, besides, on the wavering loyalty of the slaves and the usual
hazards of war to aid them.

Meanwhile, Flaccus,[303] who had received news of the siege of 24
Vetera, dispatched a party to recruit auxiliaries in Gaul, and gave
Dillius Vocula, in command of the Twenty-second, a force of picked
soldiers from his two legions. [304] Vocula was to hurry by forced
marches along the bank of the Rhine, while Flaccus himself was to
approach by water, since he was in bad health and unpopular with his
men. Indeed, they grumbled openly that he had let the Batavian cohorts
get away from Mainz, had connived at Civilis' schemes, and invited the
Germans to join the alliance.
Vespasian, they said, owed his rise more
to Flaccus than to all the assistance of Antonius Primus or of
Mucianus, for overt hatred and hostility can be openly crushed, but
treachery and deceit cannot be detected, much less parried. While
Civilis took the field himself and arranged his own fighting line,
Hordeonius lay on a couch in his bedroom and gave whatever orders
best suited the enemy's convenience. Why should all these companies
of brave soldiers be commanded by one miserable old invalid? Let them
rather kill the traitor and free their brave hearts and good hopes
from the incubus of such an evil omen. Having worked on each other's
feelings by these complaints, they were still further incensed by the
arrival of a letter from Vespasian. As this could not be concealed,
Flaccus read it before a meeting of the soldiers, and the messengers
who brought it were sent to Vitellius in chains.

With feelings thus appeased the army marched on to Bonn, the 25
head-quarters of the First legion. There the men were still more
indignant with Flaccus, on whom they laid the blame of their recent
defeat. [305] It was by his orders, they argued, that they had taken
the field against the Batavians on the understanding that the legions
from Mainz were in pursuit. But no reinforcements had arrived and his
treachery was responsible for their losses. The facts, moreover, were
unknown to the other armies, nor was any report sent to their emperor,
although this treacherous outbreak could have been nipped in the bud
by the combined aid of all the provinces. In answer Flaccus read out
to the army copies of all the letters which he had sent from time to
time all over Gaul and Britain and Spain to ask for assistance, and
introduced the disastrous practice of having all letters delivered to
the standard-bearers of the legions, who read them to the soldiers
before the general had seen them. He then gave orders that one of the
mutineers should be put in irons, more by way of vindicating his
authority than because one man was especially to blame. Leaving Bonn,
the army moved on to Cologne, where they were joined by large numbers
of Gallic auxiliaries, who at first zealously supported the Roman
cause: later, when the Germans prospered, most of the tribes took arms
against us, actuated by hopes of liberty and an ambition to establish
an empire of their own when once they had shaken off the yoke.

Meanwhile the army's indignation steadily increased. The imprisonment
of a single soldier was not enough to terrify them, and, indeed, the
prisoner actually accused the general of complicity in crime, alleging
that he himself had carried messages between Flaccus and Civilis.