Northern Hispania: The Pyrenees

Two centuries from a cohort stood in the Pyrenees Mountains. The men sat around, and were very relaxed. Some mounted cavalry stood at the front and rear of the group camp. Smoke was clearing from the evening fires, as the Spanish sun rose above the place. The air was icy and clear, and Legate Romulus Fortunus Julianus marveled as he watched the steam from his breath form with each exhale.

The image of the heavily armored Legate breathing out in great “Whoooshes” was quite the sight, and a few dozen legionnaires had gathered to watch the curious image. The men had been in the place for two days, and had only sighted several traders moving through the area. This was the stereotypical period of military boredom.

Periods of inactivity were interrupted by the occasional passer-by. As each small caravan ambled along, the legionnaires laughed as the traders greeted the Roman forces with looks of fear and shock. Every time, however, Fortunus jogged over to the traders, introduced himself, and explained Rome’s presence in the area. The traders would often spend several minutes with the soldiers, as they received protective instructions in case of the possible event of an attack from mysterious raiders. Fortunus made it known that Rome was there to protect mild-mannered traders and civilians, and the bandits were a threat to everyone’s security. In the event that a caravan was attacked, Fortunus requested that a member of every trading party (should death not be met) inform local township leaders of the occurrence, where it happened, when, and in what direction the bandits had come from and left for.

Quinus Vitellius had sent his Consular legions into Central and Southern Hispania. The legions had begun massive sweeps of the territories, extinguishing any threats or suspect camps that they came upon. Simultaneously, the ever-energetic Quaestor Publius Veno had been jumping from town to town, and had begun establishing local “defense” forces that would report to local magistracies. So far, the entire region of Iberia had been fairly quiet.

Fortunus looked out at the tiny path, and wandered over to the frigid mountain lake to wash his face. The Legate felt the shock of the cold as he splashed the clear mountain water over his eyes. As he did this, a laughing group of legionnaires made their way over to Fortunus. The splitting headache that was plaguing the patrician, behind his eyes, was beginning to get to him. The harsh laughing only made each throb more painful. “Men, enough!” said Fortunus, irritated. He allowed a surprisingly informal relationship between himself and his soldiers under some circumstances.

After a brief exchange of words with the common soldiers, Fortunus mounted his horse, with several other patrician officers. They smiled at their commander as he acknowledged them. “Anything?” asked the Legate.

“No sir,” said a reserved Tribune.


Fortunus shook his head, as he watched the sun rise over the eastern slopes of the Pyrenees. “This isn’t working,” he said, solemnly. Fortunus squinted as he looked over at his Tribune. “What are we doing?”

The Tribune looked at Fortunus. “What do you mean?”

“This isn’t working. What the hell was I thinking? Any bandits aren’t going to come up here, and wander along and just saunter past us. That is, unless they’re dressing up as traders.”

“That could be,” said the Tribune.

“Either way, we wouldn’t know. We don’t know enough about these people to be able to distinguish honest men from crooks. Hell, half the traders don’t speak Latin… Or they pretend that they don’t speak Latin.” Fortunus paused for a moment. “Well, I think that we’re going to have to use these locals to get at the crooks.”

“Locals?”

Fortunus nodded. “Yup. Let’s go speak with the villagers. Legion XXXIV is the only one in all of Northern Hispania. I’m sure the men are waiting to see some of the countryside.”


Fortunus entered the tiny Iberian tavern. Immediately he was greeted with a thousand putrid smells. He looked around the place. Total silence greeted him.

The Celtiberians looked with shock at the Roman dressed in full-battle regalia. Fortunus looked around awkwardly, his helmet crest nearly brushing against the top of the doorframe as he turned his head from side to side, taking everything in. The image of several legionnaires looking through the doorframe behind the Legate made the situation rather awkwardly tense. Fortunus laughed a little. “Boo!” he shouted.

A few smaller men, seated just in front of him jumped a bit in their chairs. The rest of the place remained completely still. “Any Latin? Latin speakers?”

Silence. Fortunus moved in a little, and was followed by several soldiers. “Come on. Somebody here must speak Latin. I’ll give you denarii, I’ll give denarii to every men who speaks Latin in here. It’s the prerogative of Quinus Vitellius to spread Latin culture, and you can’t be Latin without speaking it. So, if you do, I’ll give you a bit of cash.”

There was a brief pause, and slowly several people got up. Fortunus’ eyes widened, and he immediately became very animated. “Aha! I knew it! Sit down, I didn’t tell you to get up!”
With that, the Celtiberian Latin speakers sat down suddenly, and Fortunus left the place, slamming the door behind him. The locals suddenly let out some laughs at the odd behavior of the Roman.

Outside, Fortunus looked at his soldiers and smiled from ear to ear. The reserved Tribune looked at his Legate with a look of utter confusion. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Don’t question me.”

“Yeah, but what are you doing?”

Fortunus looked annoyed, as he had to explain himself again. “Come on, isn’t it obvious?” The soldiers looked at him, and the Tribune looked even more confused. “I’m screwing’em up a little. Messing with their heads, you know? Threat and intimidation!”

The Tribune shook his head. “No, no, no. Quinus said we’re trying to get these provincials to respect Roman authority.”

Fortunus rolled his eyes, “I’m not hurting them. Damn, whatever.” With that, the Legate turned and opened the door a bit, and stuck his head in the dim place. The Celtiberians silenced themselves and looked over.

“Um… could all of the Latin speakers come out here real quick? It’s a matter of prudent urgency, on request of the Proconsul himself! Your denarii is waiting as well,” said Fortunus.

Fortunus closed the door and smiled at his men, as the door reopened and several Celtiberians, of varying sizes and ages entered the area. The stood, silently, as they watched the Legate. Fortunus motioned to his Tribune to take out several little pouches of money. “Okay, gentlemen. My name is Romulus Fortunus Julianus, descended from the founder of Rome himself, bearer of Fortune’s grace, to all who serve my interests,” he said. As the Legate spoke, some soldiers smirked a little.

“Anyway, if you help me, I help you. Rome is coming to Hispania at full swing. If you show yourself useful to me, the Proconsul, and Emperor Pertinax himself, you will be rewarded. What’s the name of this town?”

A Celtiberian spoke up, quickly. “Equestrium, sir. The Proconsul declared it so.”

Fortunus looked around at the loose conglomeration of buildings around the area. He looked out at the long road that had just been built over the year, under Quinus Vitellius’ initiative. “Equestrium, eh? Well it’s a good location. Right on the road,” with that, Fortunus’ eyes glazed over a bit as he began to daydream. Quickly bringing himself to reality, Fortunus continued to speak.

“Well, you all, no doubt, know of the current situation with the bandits, correct?”

The Celiberians nodded their heads, as silence graced the area. Fortunus continued, “Quiet group. Anyway, Rome’s here to maintain order. We want you to do business. We want your homes to grow, your crops to grow, your population to grow, your education to grow. We want a prosperous land. We are here to secure your lives, to police this land. The bandits are murdering and raping everywhere they go. Rome and Iberia can work together, to remove this threat,” said Fortunus.

With that, Fortunus instructed the provincials about precautions, order, and networking the information found about bandit-strikes across Northern Hispania. The provincials, in turn, told Fortunus about Quinus’ visit to the village, his naming of it, building of the great road in Southern Hispania, and the overall Romanization of the region. As it turned, most of the Latin speakers happened to be some of the same merchants who were being struck at.

When the meeting began to slow-down, and Fortunus’ Tribune began handing out cash to the cooperative locals, a particularly large but soft-spoken Celtiberian came to the Legate, and took him aside. “Sir, I have some important information regarding a particular petty-criminal who resides here in Equestrium.”

“How do you know him?” asked Fortunus, raising his eyebrows.

The Celtiberian immediately began to sweat, realizing he was treading on dangerous grounds. “Well, sir. Honestly? I used to work with him,” said the man.


Fortunus shot his muscular arm through the air, right at the face of the Celtiberian sitting on the chair in front of him. A loud “smack” reverberated through the room, as the Spaniard fell over, off of his chair. The legionnaires beside Fortunus laughed. The Legate bent over, and grabbed the man by the collar, raising him up to eye-level. “Are you going to tell me what you know, little man?” asked Fortunus.

The Legate flashed a look over to Bokiar, the man whom he had met earlier. Bokiar immediately began translating into the strange Celtiberian language. The little Spaniard showed great fear in his eyes, and muttered something. Bokiar translated.

“I don’t know anything!”

Fortunus frowned. He lowered the man to the ground, and kicked him with great ferocity, in the crotch. The legionnaires gave out a great laugh, and this time Bokiar chimed in. “You’re lying. What’s your name?” Fortunus turned to Bokiar, and he quickly rolled the strange Iberian language off his tongue.

“Likinos. Please, don’t strike me anymore!”

Fortunus smiled, and lowered the man. “Are you ready to talk?”

“Yes,” said Likinos. He lowered himself a bit to the chair, and looked up to the Legate. “But this will be putting me in a good bit of danger.”

“How so?”

“I am in the pay of a greater man,” said Likinos.

“A greater man?” asked Fortunus, baffled.

“A very powerful man. He has over a hundred men in his party,” said Likinos. “He pays me to keep quiet, and to keep watch over Rome’s roads. He finds them useful.”

Fortunus turned to his Tribune. “Ah, pay attention Varus. Criminals find Rome useful.”

Likinos seemed lost by Fortunus’ Latin comment, and paused. Fortunus looked down to the native. “This is a large raiding-party? How does it work? He uses the roads?”

“Yes, his name is Sertorius. He’s of mixed-stock. He and his party suddenly appeared when some petty-bandits struck here and there. He’s never had a run-in with the Romans, and hardly seems aware of their- your existence.”

Fortunus looked baffled, as did his Tribune. How could it be that there were still provincials who were so isolated they were unaware of Rome’s presence? After an era of the Empire’s domination of Europe, it still seemed that Romans were claiming hegemony over people who were claiming independence over themselves. The world was after all, a big place.

“Well, how does Sertorius operate? What’s the deal he has with you?”

“He came and raided Equetrium. Ransacked the place. The people here are mostly merchants, artisans. It’s a transient place. Nobody’s prepared for such violence. Sertorius is all about threats. He enters, intimidates, burns a bit, and then demands loot,” said Likinos. The Celtiberian took a pause, and then continued speaking.

“He did it several times over the last two months. But, he was pretty unsatisfied with the booty. He was in the tavern one night, and found out that…”

Fortunus looked at Likinos more closely. “Found out what?” said the Legate.

“Well, he learned that I earn my living as a mooch.”

“As a mooch?” Fortunus let out a little laugh. “What the hell does that mean?”

Likinos shrugged his shoulders. “I-I have no skills. My father died when I was young… I fell in with the wrong crowd…”

Fortunus let out a loud laugh, and released Likinos from his grip. “So you’re a crook, too?”

“Yes.”

“Thief?”

“Yes, sir.”

Fortunus cleared his throat a bit. “Well, how much do you know about Rome?”

Likinos shrugged his shoulders, and spoke cautiously, and slowly. “Well, I know it’s in Italia.”

“Where’s Italia.”

“The east.”

“What’s Italia.”

Likinos looked at Fortunus with a baffled expression. He struggled to find the right words, as he anticipated a blow if he mis-answered. “I. It’s. It’s the land of Rome.”

Fortunus laughed. “You really have no idea, do you? You ignorant bastard.”

Likinos looked at the ground. Fortunus suddenly got serious. “What do you know about Rome?”

“I know Rome is very powerful. Your legions control Gaul, the Greeks, and the east I think.”

Fortunus looked surprised. “And?”

Likinos looked confused. “And… and…”

Fortunus became frustrated, and began to wave around the area. “And Hispania! Iberia! This whole horrid place, we own it!”

Likinos smiled. “That would explain your Proconsul coming through here and building the place up a bit.”

Fortunus looked around. “Country yokels,” he laughed to Varus. “Unbelievable.”
Varus shrugged. “Well, we’ve been preoccupied over the years… Many areas in Hispania are still very isolated.”

Fortunus rolled his eyes. “Well. Rome owns this. Rome owns everything here. We are here for your protection. The world is a swirling place filled with treacherous peoples and deities, just waiting to take advantage of peasants like yourself. That Sertorius is one of them. Whatever he’s paying you, we’ll double it.”

Likinos looked shocked. “Oh, well, sir…”

Fortunus pulled Likinos outside abruptly, into the harsh morning light. He immediately brought over the standard-bearer from Legion XXXIV. “Take the oath. Declare your loyalty to Emperor Pertinax and his family.”

With that, the confused little Celtiberian took the standard oath that all soldiers declared upon joining the legions. Afterward, Fortunus beamed. “Now you’re officially part of Rome. If you truly show Rome service and loyalty, you will receive more pay, and other rewards. But I need you to keep your high-loyalty secret, for now. We need to get at Sertorius. How do you serve him?”

The smiling Likinos responded with greater enthusiasm. “Sertorius knows that I follow the daily trading caravans. I am settled here now, and I usually get information from the passer-bys, on where they are headed. The merchants usually trade along the coasts, and are now using this road to move through Equetrium, and through the passes in the Pyrenees. Sertorius gets impatient, and pays me to alert him when large caravans are coming his way.”

“Where is his way?” asked Fortunus.

“He lurks in the foothills of the Pyrenees. I send him information when I get any.”

“Where exactly in the foothills?”

Likinos shook his head. “I don’t know for sure.”

With that, Fortunus began to work out a brief plan in his head. He paced back and forth, and then returned to Likinos. “Well, for now, I am taking my Legion twenty miles north, to establish camp. We will be receiving aid from two other legions. I will send couriers to communicate with you. As soon as you next hear from Sertorius, contact me. In the meantime, I need to meet with my officers to discuss a plan of action, for our coming “encounter” with these criminals.”

Likinos nodded. “What do I do in the meantime?”

Fortunus smiled. “Be yourself. Act as though you never met us.”

Likinos nodded quickly. “As you wish.”

“I’ll return to your residence when I need to let you know more,” said Fortunus.

With that, the Legate left with Tribune Varus, and gathered the troops to head north. Much work was done be done.

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By: Romulus Fortunus Julianus

AD 54