As Sergius’ eyes betrayed that he did not know this fact, Bassano laughed at the sudden worried looks from the men around him, almost all of them turning to look at Sergius, whose jaw dropped at the news.
“So” continued Bassano, his voice rising to a new level of anger as he pointed at the various wax tablets on table “what do your precious reports tell you about that” he finished with a snarl as he crossed his arms and stared straight at the camp prefect, who seemed to wilt under his intense glare.
“I, I” started Sergius, his eyes darting from Bassano to the wax tablets and back again before a multitude of calls came from the assembled officers, many angry at the news that Postumius had taken much of the rich spoils from Bolae when he left the camp. Marcus looked to Potitus, both men sharing the alarm that the other officers faced. A push came from the men in front of Marcus and the table, full of wax tablets, was rocked as the men at the front had no choice but to stumble into the furniture and knock some of the wax tablets containing lists and orders to the floor, a well-placed foot smashing some of the wooden hinged tablets as they landed on the packed earth.
“Stop, stop” called Sergius, losing control of his men almost within a heartbeat as Bassano stood smiling at the sudden change in circumstances. The noise grew as Bassano was pushed from behind and turned to raise his vine cane at another officer, a patrician named Tullus, who shouted angrily at him. Marcus saw the sudden movement of several of Bassano’s supporters as they spread themselves into the tent to support their friend, the mood suddenly becoming very dark.
Marcus took a deep breath, something inside him realising that someone had to gain control of this mess before it became too uncontrollable to manage. He pushed forwards and took a stance in front of Sergius, whose eyes showed that he had lost control of the officers, fear staring back at Marcus, who simply turned and called in his best parade ground voice.
“Officers of Rome. Officers of Rome” he called, the nearest men turning to him as he shouted, others gripping the collars of their fellow leaders and still snarling hatred at each other.
“You” called Marcus “Centurion Bassano” he said, his voice level, but loud. “Here” he commanded, pointing to his side and glaring at the man he had known and respected for many years, hoping that the respect would be returned now. “Centurion?” he asked in a quieter voice as the noise began to die down and all faces turned to him. Bassano’s face went from anger to acceptance as he nodded and stepped across to Marcus, his jaw set firm as he moved but his eyes searching Marcus’s as he did so.
“Officers of Rome” Marcus said again as silence descended within the tent and men shuffled, with a few pushes, to stand and look at him as he placed a calm hand on Bassano’s shoulder. He waited until all the men had turned to him before he turned to Sergius and pointed to the small box behind him.
“Sir, may I ask that you light the candle so that we officers of Rome can discuss” he turned back to the group of soldiers “in a calm and orderly manner” he added more loudly “what you require of us, as your oath sworn men” he said with a look at Bassano. Marcus knew that the invocation to the gods and mention of the oath would stop the officers arguing for a moment as his words sank into their minds, but he stepped forwards and turned to the men closest to him as he heard Sergius open the box and search for the candle to Mars which was usually lit for all meetings of the camp officers.
“Fellow officers” he said, his eyes wide as he looked around at the faces of the men in the tent. “Are we base-born men who must fight with our fists, or are we officers of the greatest city the world has known?” he asked. “The Centurion asks a question, as is his right” he nodded to Bassano who simply stood and stared back into the crowd of men. “That question cannot be answered here as the Tribune has been called away” he held up his hands at a few men who raised their voices demanding to know why Postumius had left and why he had taken all the rich loot from the baggage carts. “Gentlemen” he said firmly, his grim face causing silence to fall once again into the tent. “The prefect is best placed to record the facts and to explain matters. If he cannot answer them then we recourse to the process. If we have any questions you may have them written down for review when we return to Rome. Every man here knows how the system works” he said flatly. “The lists here show what items are held within the spoils, and each tablet is written in triplicate” he added with a nod at the table indicating that whatever Postumius had taken was clearly shown in the lists maintained by Sergius. As he turned to look at the men one of the group looked shiftily at the broken tablet on the floor, his foot twitching as if he wished to push it away from him in case it incriminated him. Ignoring the red flush on the man’s face Marcus continued.
“Discipline, gentlemen” he said as he looked into the faces in front of him, marking each eye movement as the men glanced to their friends. “It is our discipline as Romans that sets us apart from those we conquer. The men out there expect it from us, their leaders. Without discipline we become the barbarians we despise, gentlemen, and I, for one, will not lose my discipline, or my dignity. Rome expects us to lead its men to glory and to return its sons to their mothers. Rome is more important that one man or any number of spoils we take from our enemies and we have laws, gentlemen, laws which support all of us to achieve these things. Discipline, gentlemen, discipline for us, for our men” he raised his arm and pointed towards the tent entrance. “They need their officers to be unified now more than ever. The camp prefect has his orders and we must obey them. My friend Centurion Bassano has raised concerns, but we must remain disciplined as we seek answers, and we must follow the correct procedures. The men need discipline and we need it too.”
He turned to Sergius, who was fumbling with a heavy wax tablet, the cord bindings frayed after many uses. He glanced at the candle and nodded to Sergius. “Sir. The candle is lit, what orders do you have for us?” he asked as Sergius seemed to stare through Marcus as his thoughts came rushing back into his mind.
Sergius coughed as Marcus placed a hand on Bassano’s shoulder, his eyes catching those of his old friend who nodded slowly in reply as he placed a hand on Marcus’s forearm. Both men then returned to the throng of officers. As one every eye turned to Sergius, who took a deep breath and let it out slowly to regain his composure before he looked up and spoke.
“Marcus Furius Camillus is right. We must retain our discipline as officers of Rome. We have orders to camp here for the night and return to our home within two days.” He looked to his right and bent to pick up a small box, taking out a four-leaf wax tablet, the new wood almost white in colour as he placed it in front of the candle. “I ask Mars war bringer to give us strength in our camp and to lead us safely to our homes.” After a moment’s silence he looked up at the officers. “I will remain here and collate questions should any officer have them” he said with a resigned frown as he touched the new tablet on the table in front of him with his index finger. As the men shuffled their feet he raised his voice, “dismissed” he almost shouted as the men moved towards the exit, some grumbling whilst others discussed the briefing with glances towards Marcus and Bassano.
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Chapter 15
The day had dawned with a hazy hue of grey mist which had quickly cleared to reveal blue skies, a chill in the air quickly dissipating as the sun rose along the skyline. Scouts had been sent in all directions and the troops called from their slumber early. As the wagons were loaded with the wooden palisades and the gates from the camp the first sections of the legion had set off on their march, the silence in the marching ranks showing their mood as much as the early hour of the day.
“They’re not happy” Mella said as he chewed on a thin biscuit, spitting a particularly hard bit off the end of his tongue as he stood next to Marcus watching the dust rise ahead of them.
Marcus took a deep breath and sighed. The night had been one envoy of men asking questions after another. There seem
ed to be near panic amongst the men that Postumius had left the camp, with many irrational explanations becoming the gossip of the hour as the night wore on. Marcus and Potitus had been called to see Sergius on three separate occasions and each time the camp prefect seemed ineffective in his ability to quash any rumours. Marcus had suggested tripling the guard to keep the men busy, but Sergius dismissed this idea claiming it would slow down the march the next day. In the end, he’d simply allowed the gossip to hang in the air and the mood of the men to become more sombre.
“I don’t like it either, Mella” Marcus replied as he stared at the back of the last man leaving the space where the camp gate had stood only an hour previously. “But until we get to Rome there is nothing we can do, so I suggest we get the wagons loaded and get moving” he said with no conviction in his voice.
Mella looked at the biscuit and scratched at a thick lump with a finger nail “the sooner we get back home the better.”
The two men turned to see Narcius and a legionary named Falcius appear through the thin layer of trees which covered the ford by the river. With a raised hand, suggesting that all tasks had been completed, Narcius called to the men of Marcus’s Eagles and the newly detailed two hundred men picked up their marching gear and hefted it across their shoulders. Marcus and Mella took a moment to mount their horses and walked them to the edge of the road, waving to Narcius to get the rear column into motion. With a call from the first spear the wagons were kicked into movement and the men fell into a steady trudge along the slow rise of the dusty road. Narcius trotted across to Marcus and saluted, looking up at his officer with a brown-faced grin.
“There are still about a hundred horsemen just beyond the river, sir” he said, his eyes alert as he spoke.
Marcus turned his head towards the tree line, the green and brown leaves still in the morning sun. He scanned the horizon to the left and right and his brow furrowed. “I wonder what they want? They can’t attack us and it seems odd to trail us this far from Bolae” he said as he continued to look to their rear.
“The scouts will keep an eye on them” Mella added. “Maybe you should set a few extra just in case?” he asked, a genuine look of concern on his face.
Marcus glanced at Mella and pulled his lips tight. “You may be right” he said as he waved at a fly that buzzed in his ear. “Narcius, double the scouts and keep me informed every hour on the situation with our followers” he said with a smile as he nudged his horse forwards into a walk followed by Mella who twisted on his horse to look back over his shoulder as they moved away from the river.
****
“More bodies?” questioned the white clad Senator, his bored face sweating under the constant heat. He sighed deeply as the junior magistrate picked up the list from the table, scanning the contents quickly.
“Maybe Marcus Manlius and the plebeians were correct, sir” he replied, his deep brown eyes looking at his elder statesman with a sympathetic look. “It seems that the areas closer to the river are infected much more than the upper hills” he said as he tapped the list with a stylus, the thin bone instrument well-worn from many years of usage. “The Tiber has receded recently due to lack of rain and from what the report suggests” he picked up another wax tablet and opened the cover “there are more rats in the grain stores than usual at this time of year.” As he finished a pained expression came to his face as he looked up at the senior magistrate.
“Commoners though?” the Senator questioned with a measure of distaste in his voice.
Lars Herminius Aquilinus was the grandson of a former Consul and had been working as a junior magistrate for almost a year. He had quickly learned that having no opinion, at least not openly, was the way to grow your status within the Senatorial group and its many hangers-on. He had spent some months working his way into the Senators inner circle and had finally been given the job of personal secretary to Cicurinus, a title which he knew would afford him a good start to his political career. He also knew that it would gain him the power to elicit a few extra bribes and a better income. He knew, though, that he must be careful to appear to be an eager fool or else the Senator would have him removed quicker than a pox-ridden whore.
“It would appear, Senator, that there are no cases reported in anything other than the lowest classes of citizen” he looked at the list “or indeed non-citizens” he added with a shake of his head.
Cicurinus huffed at these words, bringing a wry smile to Lars face as he looked up from the list with a questioning movement of his head. “Is there anything you would like done with regard to this?” he asked the older man, who wiped his sweaty brow. Cicurinus frowned and sighed again, his eyes looking tired.
“Seems minor. Continue the reports and send a message to Antoninius at the docks to give me a more detailed report on the grain and the rats situation, that could be a concern” he said as he stood from his chair, a grimace coming to his face as Lars stepped up beside him and helped him to stand.
“Thank you, Lars” said the Senator as he patted his left thigh “this old wound is getting worse. It won’t be long until I’m using a stick, just like my father used to” he almost laughed as he spoke, Lars smiling warmly as he picked up the tablet.
“If you’d make the impression here, sir, I will get the orders sent straight away.”
****
The sun beat down furiously on the men as they heaved at the wagon, the thick wooden wheel smashed in three places. The parched ground beside the road was strewn with equipment and brown cloth sacks of loot from Bolae, the men having removed objects to lighten the load.
“It’s no good” said a thick-set legionary, his muscles tense as he strained to lift the back of the cart from a deep hole at the edge of the dusty road. “It’s too heavy, we need more men” he added, kicking the wheel lightly as he shook his head. The wheel had dropped into a deep rut in the worn road and instantly snapped, causing the wagon to keel to one side, exacerbated by the sudden shift of the heavy load on top of the wagon which had also shifted across over the broken wheel. The men had lifted many of the sacks from the wagon, but they had quickly become exhausted due to the heat and weight of the heavy sacks.
“Titus” called another legionary as a smaller man stood from his seated position on the ground behind the cart, his youthful face alert and smiling as he responded to his name. “Run up to the front and tell them to stop, this thing’s not going anywhere” he added as he turned to look at the broken wagon and then up at the last of the wagons in front of him as it moved steadily away from them. “Let’s take a rest lads until the others get here” he said to the agreement of his three fellow legionaries, their sweat covered bodies testament to the efforts they had endured in trying to lift the wagon.
Titus, his young legs tight from months of marching, jogged along the track and caught up with the wagon in front of the one he was stationed with. As he passed he called out to the driver to slow down as the wagon behind had a problem, a wave from the man sat atop the bouncing seat showing he had understood the call. Within five minutes he had passed several of the rear wagons and each had received the same message. Ahead he saw the feathers of one of the officers, his helmet still sat on his head despite the general order for men to march without helmets due to the heat of the sun. Titus pulled up next to the officer who turned to him with a questioning gaze.
“Soldier?”
“Sir, I have to report that the last wagon has lost a wheel and is” he struggled for the word “stuck” he added eventually with a slight shrug as the officer grinned at him.
“Thank you legionary,” he said “take a moment to get a drink and return to your unit” he added as he turned and called orders to a man sat on a horse ahead of him.
The call to halt was issued and Titus set off back to his unit in a slow jog. As he neared the last wagon before his broken one he noticed that a gap of some two hundred yards had opened between them, the men of his unit sat under the wagon to avoid the baking heat of the sun. As he got close to
the wagon the men jumped up from their seated positions and Titus heard the drum of hoof beats as three horses passed him, reining in by the cart as they arrived.
“I’ve sent eight men” said one of the riders, his young face slightly red from being in the sun, as he slipped from the horse and handed the reins to one of the other riders.
“Let’s have a look” he said, walking around to the side of the wagon and peering at the wheel, kneeling low to see the shards of wood that had split. “Looks like the spindle has cracked” he said quietly as he ran his hand along the wheel, his eyes flicking around the underneath of the wagon. Standing he turned to the bare-chested burly soldier who had been attempting to lift the wagon earlier.
“Spurius, I doubt we will get this fixed today” he said looking around him at the sacks on the side of the road and the remaining items within the wagon. “Best to get those loaded on the other wagons I think.”
“Sir” came the reply as Titus arrived at the scene, his breathing heavy from the run. A movement behind the officer caught his eye as a horse appeared on the road, the heat haze making it difficult to see clearly. Without thinking he raised an arm and pointed to the rider. “Horse” he said, his voice loud but not shouting as heads turned to him and then whipped around to stare back down the road. The low scrub bushes and thick piles of rocks on either side of the dusty road suddenly looked menacing as the men around the wagon were now acutely aware that they were some distance from the rear wagon of the column and the relative safety of the marching men.
The Fall of Veii- Part 1 Page 11
