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which we like to pretend never happens, the wonderful II (my own legion as well as Vespasian’s) failed to show up at the battlefield. The legions which did face the Iceni were lucky to survive. That was why any member of the II needed to avoid the XIV Gemina, honorific titles and all.
    Canidius went on: “In the recent wars, the Fourteenth’s Batavian auxiliaries featured crucially. They had been separated from their parent legion and summoned to Germany under Vitellius. The Fourteenth themselves were devoted first to Nero—since after the Boudiccan Revolt he had called them his best legion—and then supported Otho. Otho brought them to Italy. This placed the legion and its native cohorts on opposing sides, and at the first battle of Bedriacum…” Canidius tailed off unhappily.
    He was intending to fudge the issue, so I barged in: “Whether the Fourteenth Gemina actually took part at Bedriacum is a moot point. Rather than admit they had been beaten in battle, they claimed they had not been there!”
    Vespasian grumbled under his breath. He must think they were simply covering up.
    Canidius rushed on again. “After Otho’s suicide, the legion and its auxiliaries were reunited by Vitellius. There was some rivalry,” the archive clerk said, with quaint discretion. He had no real grasp of what the Emperor required.
    â€œYou’re leaving out the picturesque details!” I interrupted. “Be frank! The Fourteenth’s subsequent history involved squabbling and public scuffles with their Batavians, during which they burned down Augusta Taurinorum…” This episode at Turin placed the main question mark over their discipline.
    Wary of handling a sensitive issue, Canidius raced to finish. “Vitellius ordered the Fourteenth itself back to Britain, attaching the eight Batavian cohorts to his personal train until he redeployed them in Germany.” More politics. Canidius was looking unhappy again.
    â€œIn Germany, the Batavian cohorts promptly attached themselves to Civilis. It gave the rebellion a tremendous boost.” I was still angry about it. “Since Civilis is their chief, the Batavians’ defection should have been foreseen!”
    â€œEnough, Falco,” rasped Vespasian, refusing to criticise another Emperor—even the one he had deposed.
    He nodded encouragement to Canidius, who squeezed out: “The Fourteenth returned from Britain again to assist Petilius Cerialis. They now occupy Moguntiacum.” He finished his tale with relief.
    â€œOnly the Upper German forts survived,” Vespasian told me crisply, “so Moguntiacum is at present policing both parts of the territory.” Clearly while the fort where they were stationed had such a vital role, he needed to feel absolute confidence in the XIV. “My priority is to tighten up discipline and dissipate old sympathies.”
    â€œWhat happens to the troops who swore allegiance to the Gallic federation?” I asked curiously. “Which were they, Canidius?”
    â€œThe First Germanica from Bonna, the Fifteenth Primigenia from Vetera, and the Sixteenth Gallica from Novaesium—plus the Fourth Macedonia from…” He had forgotten; it was his first sign of humanity.
    â€œMoguntiacum,” said the Emperor. It emphasised why he wanted loyal legions there now.
    â€œThank you, Caesar. When Petilius Cerialis received the culprits,” the clerk informed me, “his words to the mutineers were…” Canidius for the first time referred to a note tablet in order to thrill us with the exact historical detail: “‘ Now the soldiers who revolted are once more soldiers of their country. From this day you are enlisted in the service and bound by your oath to the Senate and People of Rome. The Emperor has forgotten all that has happened, and your commander will remember nothing! ’”
    I tried not to sound too shocked at this enlightenment.