“No. I don’t think so, too small.” Marcus replied. “They are probably crows. But” he peered around the location in which they sat “in this scrub-land there cannot be much food so they must be using the height to look further afield. Come on, we need to get the men moving again” he added as he moved away towards his horse.
The men were sitting and standing on the roadside with three guards, each looking outwards towards the open ground surrounding their location. A Roman scout, his horse walking slowly a hundred paces to their right, waved his spear horizontally in the air as he saw them begin to stand, the signal for all clear. Marcus nodded to Narcius, who smiled a toothy grin as he called the men into their ranks. The one hundred and fifty men of the rear guard set off at a slow walk towards the thick dust cloud that was the Roman army returning to Rome.
“Sir” asked Mella as he came up beside Marcus. “What do you think Manlius will have to say about his brother being whipped, especially with a flagrum” he asked, his face forward and his voice low. Marcus shook his head slowly and let out a deep breath at the thought.
“You know Manlius as well as I do. The man is prone to action and not thinking. I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid, but I suspect he will” Marcus replied, his face glum. “And” he added, his thoughts coming quickly as he had not had time to discuss these details with anyone up until this point “he will probably take legal action against him which will cost him a small fortune.” Again, he shook his head.
Mella glanced across at Marcus, his question forming in his head but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “And how do you think he will react to the fact that you whipped him?” he asked, his voice low as he saw a grimace quickly come and go on Marcus’s face. After a moments silence Marcus replied in a whisper “I don’t know.”
********
An hour later the men had arrived at a small ford, the clear fast-flowing water only ankle deep as the men splashed through. Marcus ordered the men to take a short break and to re-fill their water pouches and let the horses rest as he slid from his mount and tied it to a laurel tree, the grey trunk and thick green leaves providing a welcome break from the heat of the days march. Two scouts were sent out to check the flanks and three others continued for a hundred paces to keep an eye on the rear of the column.
Narcius wandered across to Marcus and saluted, his leather breastplate already undone as he wafted it to release the heat from his body. Marcus held out a piece of dried beef as the man approached and smiled at the face of his first spear.
“Nice spot” Narcius said looking around at the land in which they were sat. Away to their left were the low hills which led to Bolae, and to their right was the flat land of the valley through which this stream ran.
Marcus looked around at the trees and the thin grass with rocky outcrops before his vision came to the skyline. “Wouldn’t be much good for farming, but it’s a pretty place” he conceded with a nod as Narcius took the beef and thanked him. As Narcius took a bite of the beef a loud whistle came from away to the men’s right, its warning immediately clear. Marcus, Mella and Narcius were on their feet and running to the highest point, a jumble of rocks thirty yards away from where they had been sitting. The men, swords and shields dragged into position, began to form up into three lines as they watched their leaders run to the vantage point.
Darting across from the low scrub was one of the scouts, his body leant across his animal as it thundered towards them, the hoof beats loud against the quiet gurgle of water. The scout reined in and saluted before dropping from his horse and stepping up to Marcus.
“A force of some fifty or sixty horsemen are following” he said, his breathing laboured as he reported. “Armed. Spears and round shields, sir” he added.
Marcus looked to Narcius with a half-smile. “Probably just those Capenates checking that we left the area” he said. “But we best get going and catch up with the rear of the column just in case. Let’s get the men moving” he finished with a nod to the scout as he placed a hand on his shoulder.
********
The body lay across the thick stones of the low wall in the half shadow of a leafy Myrtle tree, a small crowd of locals standing muttering at the scene. The man had been dealt a heavy blow from behind, the back of his head a crushed mess of hair, brain and blood. Manlius shook his head as he stood looking down at the dead body of the second of his would-be assassins. He slowly scanned the road around him, the steep hill narrowing at this junction of the road was the perfect place for an ambush, with the low wall, the shadow of the trees and the steep rise. He shook his head at a question from one of his neighbours, his words indistinct as his mind raced through thoughts of who had killed the assassin.
“I’ll send some of my slaves to clean up the mess and to take the body and burn it” he added to the man, who was busily asking questions of all the bystanders, his peaceful world on the Capitoline clearly disturbed by this murder. After another look at the body he stepped away towards his own home which was no more than fifty yards to his right where the road began its steep drop back down towards the short valley to the Quirinal Hill. As he approached his doorway the door opened and one of his slaves appeared, his face a mask of worry and his eyes almost pleading with him to hurry. Without thinking Manlius started to pick up his pace as his slave waved to him, his beckoning hand waving urgently and the words “hurry Master” calling to him.
“What is it, what is the matter?” he called as he approached the doorway, his heart now beating fast in case the assassin had already visited his house.
“A man, Master, inside” called the slave, peering behind Manlius as he ushered him into the house and closed the door behind him. In the hallway the tiled floor, its bright coloured mosaic, was hidden under a thin wash of blood. A number of house slaves were mopping up the mess, a series of circular red sweeping lines disappeared as Manlius’s eyes adjusted to the darker interior.
“Here he is” said a voice which Manlius instantly recognised but took a moment to comprehend as his eyes swivelled into the dark corner where the door slave had propped up the dark-haired form.
“What?” asked Manlius incredulously as his eyes roved the scene in his house. He stared at the grimacing face of Gatto, his clothes covered in blood and his left arm hanging limply by his side. With his free hand Gatto held something up and through his clenched teeth said “Got you a present” as he handed them across to Manlius. Taking the two wristbands Manlius looked to the toothy gorgons and again at Gatto and smiled, a sudden relief coming over him.
“Get this man some water. Where is my wife?” he called to another slave as he called for others to clear up the mess in the hallway.
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Chapter 14
Postumius dismissed the officers with a wave of his hand, his angry face flushed purple as he had given the orders for the evening’s camp, Sergius standing to attention by his side with various wax tablets holding the details of the working parties. As Marcus watched the man handing out the duties, he saw a sneer appear on his face as he handed a set of orders to Aulus Virginius, the man’s face flushing as he quickly scanned the details he had received, snapping the wooden cover of the orders closed as he looked up.
“Sir” he heard him say, his voice strong and his head raised high as he stared with a look of loathing at his camp prefect. “May I respectfully request a change of duties for my men? This is the fifth day in a row that my men have been assigned latrines.” He shuffled a little as he stood erect, his shoulders stiff as his eyes flicked to the shorter man stood next to him.
Sergius glanced at him, a puzzled look coming to his face as he slowly turned towards Virginius. With a smile he spoke, his voice loud enough to carry across the tent and above the noise of the officers leaving the area.
“No, you cannot” he said. “The roles have been allocated. Your men will do as they are bid, they are good at digging ditches and their duties are assigned.” He f
inished with a cold stare. The shorter man, whom Marcus recognised, placed an arm on Virginius’s elbow and steered him away from the micro-confrontation that many of the officers had stopped to watch.
“What is that all about?” Marcus asked Potitus as they left the command tent, entering the coolness of the evening, the birdsong loud around them.
“It’s a long story” Potitus started to say with a quick glance back over his shoulder. After a moment, he continued. “Virginius and Sergius go back a long way. They grew up on neighbouring farms and were always fighting and competing against each other. The lads say that Virginius bested Sergius at wrestling, horse riding and spear throwing when they were young and that he also got the pick of the ladies, if you know what I mean?” Marcus quickly glanced at Virginius, his tall frame, long dark hair and quick eyes marking him out amongst the shorter, stockier, officers around him.
“I can see why” he smiled with a wink to his friend.
“Well, since Sergius got the camp prefect job he’s done his best to get his revenge on his former neighbour. He’s had every shitty job since the day the army left Rome, so they say. He was left behind in the attack on Bolae, his lads got the baggage train. And so far, Sergius has seen to it that his men are humiliated whenever he gets a chance. They’ve been ditch digging, first scouts and latrines at each stop from what I hear.”
Marcus shook his head, his thoughts going over the impact such treatment would have, not only on Virginius but also on his men. “Probably learned that from his master” he said with a frown as his thoughts jumped to Postumius and his own treatment from the Tribune.
“Barbatus keeps an eye on him though. Keeps him out of trouble” finished Potitus.
“Yes, I know Aulus Barbatus” Marcus grinned. “Fine soldier” he added. Barbatus had served with his brother Lucius in a number of campaigns and Marcus had met him on several occasions, his intelligent conversation and calm manner quickly winning him friends with many of his colleagues.
As they walked back towards their tent Marcus fumbled with the orders he had received. He had glanced at them quickly when he had received them and had nodded with a resigned frown at the orders, knowing before he opened the tablet that he would be guarding the rear and the baggage – he and Virginius seemed to be tarred with the same brush.
“Same orders?” Potitus asked.
“Same” he replied as a movement to his right caught his attention and he came to a stop looking away at a group of horses being led towards the command tent. With a quizzical look both men turned and walked back towards the horses, their frowns expressing their lack of understanding as the horses were those of Postumius himself. As the two men approached the central square of the marching camp Ambustus strode from the command tent, his face a picture of anger, his dark brows furrowed and jaw set into a firm grimace. Seeing Marcus, he stepped across quickly. “Keep your head down and say nothing” he whispered as he moved away to the horses, his hands flexing into tight balls as he walked.
Potitus and Marcus glanced to each other and stepped back, moving away towards the numerous guards who were now appearing from the tent and lining up to create a funnel from the entrance to the horses. Ambustus stomped away grumbling to himself as Marcus watched him shouting at a legionary who just happened to be standing watching the proceedings at the commander’s tent, the man winced under the barrage of abuse and turned to run towards the horse enclosure with an impressive turn of speed as Ambustus gave him a string of orders.
Potitus raised his eyebrows at Marcus at this strange turn of events. Marcus shrugged in reply, his frown clearly showing that he, too, didn’t understand what was happening.
Postumius’s white horse stood stock still, its breathing quiet as the legionary handling it stroked its thick neck whilst three other mounts kicked the ground and snorted, their handlers struggling to keep them still. Marcus nudged Potitus and the two men edged further away, the warning from Ambustus still ringing in his ears.
“Yes, yes” came the voice of Postumius before his frame appeared in the entrance to the tent, his shining armour resplendent in the late sun of the day. His back was turned to Marcus as he had stopped in the entrance. “You have the orders Sergius” he said in an exasperated voice. “Tell the men whatever you feel is needed, but I have urgent business in Rome. Just make sure you get that baggage back to the city” he said with a shake of his head.
“At this hour, commander?” called the voice of Sergius from inside the tent, his voice sounding almost as infuriated as Postumius’s.
The commander simply shook his head and stepped from the tent, his right hand slipping the ornate sword from its scabbard with a clink to check it was well oiled as he walked across to the horses. He looked up and scanned the camp, a satisfied smile coming to his face as he saw a number of horses appear from the baggage wagons before he turned back to see Sergius coming from the tent with a handful of wax tablets.
“Sir” he said, “you haven’t signed the orders.”
Postumius laughed. “You are in charge man, you do it” he said as he stepped up to his horse and gripped the reins proffered by the legionary, who quickly knelt to the floor to become a mounting block. Two heavily built men stepped from the line of soldiers and mounted next to him as Postumius turned and looked away in the distance with a grim look on his face.
“Where is he?” he said quietly, almost to himself before turning back to Sergius.
“I want that baggage back in Rome in two days Sergius. Two days, do you understand?”
“Yes sir”
“No mistakes” he added with a measure of venom in his voice as he looked back up and instantly smiled “ah, here he is” he finished.
Marcus glanced to the left and watched as Ambustus and his Equites appeared, the men dishevelled but attempting to dress and pack gear as they came, clearly driven from their tents by the angry Ambustus whose face retained its dark countenance as he rode across and saluted to Postumius.
“Ready. Sir” he growled at Postumius who simply smiled back at him.
“Lead the way Ambustus” came the order as the Tribune and his entourage headed for the camp gate, men streaming from all sides to watch their commanding officer leave the camp, their questions coming in great shouts as Postumius rode on and ignored every one of them.
********
Sergius had immediately called the officers back to the command tent. A great deal of noise and confusion had descended upon them as they all stood waiting for an update from Sergius, who couldn’t gain control of the men surrounding him, his voice flat and low in the hubbub. Virginius had sidled across to Marcus and shook his head at the melee of men standing in the tent awaiting the final officers’ arrival before Sergius could start the briefing.
“The man’s a fool” he said with a glance to Marcus.
Marcus smiled agreement but said nothing as he exchanged greetings with Barbatus, who formally introduced Virginius.
“I’m delighted to meet you Camillus” said Virginius. “It seems you and I share the same enemy” he said with a flick of his head towards Sergius. “Well that trained dog and his master anyway” he smiled.
Marcus nodded slowly and smiled a wry smile. “Indeed Virginius” he replied, “but all dogs have their day until a bigger dog comes and barks louder” he added with a wide grin as a small, but ironic, cheer went up. Marcus looked across to see the last Centurion had entered the tent, hastily saluting and apologising as he panted from his near quarter mile run to the tent, long streaks of sweat running down his temples.
A silence fell over the assembled men as Sergius stood behind the campaign desk, a series of tablets spread across its length in front of him. Marcus knew the military ran on efficiency, but this man seemed to make a meal of every order, with triple tablets created for everything from the sick list to the supply lists.
Sergius took a moment to survey the officers, his weak smile hiding the fear he evidently felt inside.
“The Tribune h
as been called to Rome on urgent business” he started, his eyes flicking nervously to a few of the men in the tent. “His instructions are clear, as presented earlier this evening” he continued as a low murmur went around the tent. “We will” he raised his voice as the murmur grew “camp here this evening and start at first light back to Rome. With the will of the gods we will be back in Rome within two days march. All current orders stand for the full march” he added as Virginius shook his head and let out a deep groan, at which Barbatus shook his head and stared at his friend.
“Why has the Tribune left so urgently?” came the voice of Bassano, his head held high as the men nearest to him visibly shifted, leaving the Centurion looking like a small island in a sea of anxious faces.
Sergius’s chin dropped slightly as he peered at Bassano, his face dark and eyebrows drawn closely together. Bassano stared back at him malevolently as the camp prefect took a moment to collect his thoughts before answering.
“He has had an urgent message to which he must attend” he replied levelly, his tone suggesting that he would broker no other questions as he lifted a tablet from the table and was about to speak again before Bassano replied loudly.
“A Tribune should never abandon a camp mid-campaign” he said to a number of nods from the men around him. “Even Cincinnatus waited until the war was won to return to his farm” he added with alacrity as Sergius gritted his teeth and slapped the tablet on the table to gain silence from the gathered men.
“The business of Publius Postumius is of no concern of yours, Centurion” spat the camp prefect, his anger spilling over into his facial expression as his eyes bored into Bassano, who simply stared back at him un-moved.
A number of men gripped Bassano’s arm and tried to pull him aside but the man’s blood was up and he turned his face back to Sergius, his eyes flashing dangerously. “What is of concern to me, Prefect” he replied “is what the soldiers will think of their commander riding out of the camp without explaining to his officers why he is leaving. Do you understand how the army works and how men think?” he asked aggressively, as a few grunts of agreement came from the men closest to him in the tightly packed space. “He’s taken the majority of the cavalry support with him and taken all the gold and silver from the baggage wagons” added Bassano to a sudden gasp from the enclosed group of men.
The Fall of Veii- Part 1 Page 10
