Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  So they’ve gotten even stronger since Saloninus saw them, I thought, since none of my officers had reported chariots, and the number of mounted men had doubled. This is even worse, and we might be truly fucked; this was what was going on inside my head.

  Aloud, I said, “So you have a mobile group of the enemy that outnumbers these men you plan on using five to one, able to move around the town to cut off those men before they get to Petuar.” I saw that he was weakening, but I did not get the sense he was ready to submit, so then I indicated the area around the hall as I asked him, “What do you see?”

  He was clearly irritated, knowing that he would not like what was coming, but he performed a quick scan, then surprised me by replying, “Since I am obviously not seeing something that you are seeing, Centurion, perhaps you could just tell me?”

  Maybe, I thought, there’s hope for you yet, you arrogant bastard, another thought that fortunately stayed within my skull.

  “Lord Segovax doesn’t have any kind of fortification around his hall. No wall, and not even a ditch,” I explained, then pointed in the direction of the town, “but the town does, at least on three sides. Not,” I added, “that it’s much of a wall, but it’s better than nothing.”

  I stopped then, sensing that he needed to be the next one to talk, and I watched as he turned, surveyed the hall and outbuildings, so that when he turned to face me, I had seen his shoulders slump in what I took as acceptance.

  “Very well,” the words came grudgingly, “you have made your point.”

  As satisfactory as this victory was, on a number of levels, I was not done, and I strode over to where several horses were tied to the post, which had been returned to its original purpose.

  “We need to ride into Petuar for me to show you the rest,” was all I said, leaping onto the back of a bay gelding that was larger than average, which was why I chose it.

  It was something of a risk, I admit, but I did not wait for Ivomagus to come and mount his own horse, or even to respond, kicking the bay into a trot. I heard what I feel confident were curses, but since I was riding away, he could not see me smile at the sound of his horse moving at a trot to catch up.

  One of the more disturbing things I found in Petuar was the manner in which the people were behaving. I had expected to see the townspeople scrambling about, moving their valuables and making what preparations they could to pack up and flee, yet it seemed to be just another normal day if one were to judge by their collective demeanor.

  “Have you not warned the people?” I asked Ivomagus in astonishment.

  “No.” He shook his head, though he refused to meet my eyes. “I decided against it. I did not want to start a panic.”

  “You’ve practically assured that of happening!” It took an effort not to shout, not that it would have mattered since we were speaking in Latin and he was the only person who could understand me. “It’s too late now, which is all the more reason we need to make preparations.”

  Moving at the trot, I led him through the open area of the town to reach the mud track that they call streets that was the closest one running parallel to the riverbank, pulling up at what the Parisii called their eastern gate. Hopping off the horse, I walked over to one of what passed for the pair of gates, which I grabbed with both hands and gave a tremendous yank. I had no idea if it would work; in truth, I did not expect it to, but somewhat to my surprise, there was a resounding cracking sound as the vertical timber that served as the frame for the gate and to which the hinge was attached pulled free. My actions did not pull the gate down, but now it noticeably sagged, and I turned to Ivomagus.

  “I noticed the other day that the wood for these gates is old and dried out. And,” I indicated the other one contemptuously, “this one is no better. I could kick this gate down by myself.”

  Thankfully, my demonstration was enough, although it seemed to demoralize Ivomagus even more.

  “What is your suggestion, Centurion?”

  “I’ve seen the size of the Parisii wagons,” I told him honestly, “so we’re going to need three, turned over on their side. They’ll block the gateway. And,” I added, not very hopefully, “if we have time, we can put together a parapet so that the men guarding the gate will have some protection, but also be in a position to repel anyone who tries to climb over.”

  Ivomagus did not immediately reply, so I braced myself for another argument, but he surprised me when he asked, “Should we find something heavy to bolster the wagons? So that they can’t just be pushed out of the way?”

  “Yes!” I agreed. “That’s an excellent idea, Ivomagus. That would work very well!”

  I was laying on the enthusiasm a bit thickly, but he was obviously pleased, except we were far from through. With this detail attended to, or at least started, I hopped back on the bay, then moved at a brisk walk down what was in effect the outermost street at the town wall that extended south, away from the river. A wall that, as I had observed the instant that I laid eyes on it, was more to keep livestock in the town than it was designed to keep attackers out. There was a parapet, of sorts, but it was in a state of disrepair that, to my dismay, I could see there was no way to fix within a day. This was not the only problem, which I pointed out to Ivomagus.

  “See all this?” I indicated a motley collection of sacks, crates, broken carts, and other detritus that narrowed the width of what was supposed to be a street wide enough for a cart to pass. “This needs to be moved out of the way since we won’t know where they’re going to attack, and you’ll need to be able to move men quickly to wherever they’re needed.”

  From somewhere, Ivomagus had been joined by a man I recognized, serving in roughly the same role as Alex, although this man was a slave, and it was to this man Ivomagus was speaking, pointing at the debris. Satisfied that this would be taken care of, I continued on to make a circuit of the town, and the more I saw, the more worried I became, almost to the point that I began second guessing my advice to abandon Segovax’s hall. The wall, like most barbarian walls, was made of wood, essentially tree trunks that had been split in half, with what I would guess was a third of its length buried in the ground. On horseback, I could just see over the top of the wall, making it perhaps eight feet high, but to my eye, it looked as if about every third or fourth log was either damaged, or in a few cases, was missing altogether. It was not a wide enough gap for an animal of any size to get through, but to men who wanted to create a breach, this was about as open an invitation as could be offered as a good place to start.

  “There’s too many holes to have any hope of fixing them,” I told Ivomagus once we had made essentially a complete circuit, ending at what was the upstream, or western gate. “The best we can do is keep a couple of men in a spot where they can see anyone trying to use that to tear down that part of the wall and give them some way to sound the alarm.”

  Fortunately, both the southern gate that had always been open whenever I passed through it and the western were in much better repair, which was why I did not think it likely that the Brigantes would attempt to force either of them, not when there were so many other spots that looked easier. Although I never said as much to Ivomagus, I was making an assumption based on what I had observed during my time with the Parisii, and that was they were similar in many ways to the tribes of Germania, and from what I read of the Prefect’s account, the tribes of Gaul. Namely, they did not have much interest in the drudgery and hard work of conducting a siege, not like Rome does, so I was somewhat confident that they would behave as I would have expected from the Germanic tribes. As the Prefect had commented, and I have observed, the passion of these people runs very hot, but it does not last long. Also, I was equally certain they would be aware that Cogidubnus was, perhaps even at this moment, marching to Petuar, so if they hoped for any chance of success, it had to happen quickly. Despite my personal feelings towards him, I do not want to be unfair to Ivomagus, because there were things he had done that were important, like having dozens of barrels fill
ed with water from the river, placed evenly around the buildings nearest to the three walls to put out the fires that the Brigantes would attempt to start in the thatch roofs with flaming missiles. I did not even ask about artillery; nowhere had I seen anything that indicated they possessed any such thing, nor had I heard Ivomagus make any kind of mention of anything. Once we were done and I had seen everything, in some ways I thought we were even worse off than I had imagined, but what bothered me the most were the townspeople and what to do with them. If my concern was mostly centered on one occupant of this town, this was not something I intended to share with Ivomagus, although now I realize he was not fooled at all. It was with Bronwen in my mind that, as we sat our horses by the western gate after we finished our inspection, I offered a suggestion.

  “Your people don’t have time to pack up their belongings and get far enough away from Petuar to avoid running the risk of the Brigantes falling on them.” I turned to look Ivomagus in the eye. “Would you agree with that?”

  He did not answer immediately, but I saw in his face he knew I was right—he just did not want to admit it—and finally, he gave a slight nod.

  “Yes, Centurion, I would agree.”

  “That’s why I have an idea,” I began.

  He listened, and while I saw he was surprised, he neither fought it nor dismissed it.

  In fact, once I was through, he stroked his mustache, which I had observed was a habit of his, before he finally said, “That could work, Centurion.”

  I had to stifle my sigh of relief, not wanting to run the risk of him becoming irritated or slighted in some way.

  “Then we should get started,” was all I said, and he nodded.

  It has been the practice of the Legions of Rome for as long as anyone can remember that when a Legion, Cohort, or in our case, two understrength Centuries builds a marching camp, before they resume the march, either the next day, days, or weeks later, that they destroy it by burning whatever wooden structures have been constructed and fill the ditch in. This had not happened when Saloninus departed, and it was our camp that formed the central part of my plan. It was not large enough to hold the entire civilian populace of Petuar, of course, but if we packed them together so closely that they barely had room to turn about, the women, children, and the old people of the town would fit inside the dirt walls of our camp. This was my hope anyway, and thanks to the gods, it was confirmed once Ivomagus, with the help of the warriors present, essentially herded them out of the town, down the road, and into the camp. I was still mounted on the bay, but I had positioned myself just to the side of the Porta Praetoria, trying to appear as if it was a complete accident. Bronwen was easy to spot because of her hair, standing out among the brown, black, and occasional head of blonde hair of the crowd being hurried along. Once they were close enough, I began cursing because I had specifically told Ivomagus that in order to have as much room as possible, they could not bring anything with them. Which meant, of course, every single person I could see, no matter their age, was carrying something with them, and the children seemed to be the most heavily laden of the bunch, some of them with what looked like a wooden box strapped to their backs.

  Seeing me, Ivomagus came ahead at the trot, but before I could say anything, he held up a hand, and he said apologetically, “I know, Centurion. They were not supposed to bring anything with them, but this was the only way we could get them to agree to come.”

  As soon as he said it, I realized I should have thought of this, thinking how the women of my rankers would react to a sudden order to leave their homes and told to leave everything behind.

  “Well,” I sighed, “they may have to be holding their baggage in their laps or sitting on it. And,” I felt awkward for saying it, “you did the right thing, Ivomagus. Arguing with them would have wasted time, and they wouldn’t have come without,” I waved a disgusted hand, “whatever they’re carrying.”

  Now that the swiftest of this group, not surprisingly the older children, who, to my eye, appeared to be more excited than scared, were almost to the Porta Praetoria, Ivomagus ordered a half-dozen of his warriors to dismount to lead the first arrivals into the camp. I had entered the camp while I was waiting, and I was quite pleased with what I saw; the men had left nothing behind, and the only way you could tell we had been there was the rectangles of beaten grass where the men had slept inside their tents. Once I saw the size of the crowd, while it would be tight, I knew that we could fit the townspeople inside the dirt walls. The only thing that had yet to be decided was how many men Ivomagus would agree to defend it, and I suspected that the numbers we had in mind differed greatly. It was as I thought about this that Bronwen, who was roughly in the middle of the stream of people, reached the Porta Praetoria, and I swung off the bay to greet her.

  “Why aren’t you carrying anything?” I asked her, the first thing I had noticed. “Everyone else is.”

  She seemed surprised, although I did not know whether it was the question, or that this was how I greeted her.

  “We were told not to,” she replied, as if this were a ridiculous question.

  I grinned down at her, joking, “You’d make a good Legionary following orders like that. But,” something occurred to me, but I was not sure how to phrase it, “given the kind of…merchandise you and your father sell, you’re running a terrible risk leaving it behind, aren’t you?”

  She surprised me, greatly, when she looked up at me and replied, “I do not believe so. I saw that you are helping Ivomagus to defend Petuar, so I think our goods are perfectly safe.” Shrugging, she finished with what sounded like resignation, “Besides, soon it will not be my problem anymore.”

  It took me a moment for the meaning, the real meaning of her statement to sink in, and in truth, it was my stomach that signaled the answer before my mind could comprehend, as it seemed to turn over inside me.

  “So,” I said, “you know about…”

  My voice trailed off, and she gave me a look of bitter amusement as she finished, “That my father has sold me off to Berdic? Yes.” Suddenly, she looked away, staring off in the direction of the hall. “I was informed by Ivomagus two days ago.”

  “If you want, I can kill Berdic for you,” I said in a joking manner, but she lifted her head to look up at me, and it felt as if I could not have taken my eyes from hers if I wanted to, like there was some invisible but powerful force that kept my head locked in place as her eyes roamed over my face, and I could see she was not fooled.

  “I believe you would, Centurion,” she finally replied with a frown that I misinterpreted as disapproval. “But why? Why would you do such a thing for me? You barely know me. And,” this was when she broke our gaze, bowing her head and muffling her words, “after what I did to put you in this position, why would you care?”

  “That’s partly the reason,” I answered her, deciding on the fly that a half-truth would serve. “Now that I know you were forced into it because of Cogidubnus’ threat to your father, I suppose I feel responsible for your…predicament.” She raised her head, but I sensed it was because of the unfamiliar word. “Besides,” I decided to fall back on a joking manner, “I suppose I feel like if your father’s not around, I should do his job while he’s gone.”

  She laughed, giving me a frank, direct look that told me that, again, she was not fooled in the slightest.

  “Centurion, I do not believe that when you look at me, you are thinking of me as your daughter.”

  Even if I could have thought of something to say, I doubt I could have gotten it out, so the silence stretched out, and my memory of this moment is that it was as if we were in some sort of bubble where the sounds of the people who were still entering the camp, calling out to each other as some children were laughing and others were crying could not penetrate.

  I finally broke the painfully awkward silence by stammering, “Yes, er, yes, well…” Acutely conscious as I was that I was babbling, I could not seem to stop myself. “I suppose that might be true,” I finally
got out, feeling my face burning in a way that reminded me of when I was twelve years old and I had gotten caught peeking in Clotidia Scrofa’s window as she was changing. “So, how about you call me Gnaeus instead of Centurion?”

  “Very well…Gnaeus.” Her tone suddenly sounded shy. Then, before I knew it, she had stood on her tiptoes, although she still had to grab my head to pull it down so that she could give me a light kiss on the lips.

  Even if I had reacted immediately, I would have been too late to do anything because she spun about and, moving with an impressive swiftness, joined the last of the townspeople entering the camp. And, once the last of them had disappeared, there was no way to miss Ivomagus, standing on the opposite side of the gate, staring at me with undisguised hostility.

  Thanks to the Brigantes, Ivomagus never got the chance to confront me about what he had seen with Bronwen. Immediately after we got the townspeople tucked away in the camp, there were too many other things to do, and we mutually agreed that it would be better to work separately. Not surprisingly, I was given the tasks that did not require much instruction and relied on brute strength, like moving the wagons, turning them over, then weighing them down. The first problem I ran into was that there were no rocks of any size, a result of the kind of terrain that is a feature of the Parisii lands near the coast. Instead, we had to find substitutes, which included the iron forges of the two smiths in Petuar, although one shop had two of them. And, probably not surprisingly, I took this opportunity to give my captors a demonstration of my strength, carrying all three to the eastern gate. The first two did not pose a problem, but by the third, my legs were on fire, my arms ached, and my tunic was soaked with sweat, but when one of the warriors of my working party who was more muscular than his comrades held his arms out in a signal to hand him the forge, I snarled at him in a way that he did not need a translator to understand. It angered him, but he wisely said nothing, stepping out of the way as I made it the rest of the way, except this time, instead of placing the forge on the inside of the wagon, I just dropped it, cracking the sideboard. Fortunately, the wood had not cracked all the way through, but we still needed more weight, and I sent men off in search of materials. We had taken off the wheels on the side opposite from the ground, while the wheels on the ground side actually aided in the stability and would make it more difficult for the enemy to simply push the wagon over using their numbers. Once the men returned, some of them carrying sacks of grain while others found crates of iron ingots and these were distributed equally between the three, I had the men, ten of them, try and shove the wagons out of the way, and they did not budge. The outer edges of the end wagons overlapped both sides of the gate by about two feet, so the eastern gate was now effectively sealed. We did manage to create a makeshift parapet with several overturned buckets, then laid planks on top so that the men who would be defending the gate could stand on them with the upper edge of the wagons coming up to their waist, while their shields would protect the rest of them.