“So, sometime soon is the best you can say?”
“Exactly.”
Otto turned on his heel and marched away. If there was no prospect of being under cover today, he must arrange for the saddlery, harness and fodder to be protected from the weather. The men and horses would have to suffer in silence. He was making the arrangements when a legionary doubled up to him and saluted.
“Some Germans at the Porta Praetoria, sir; asking for you, we think. Keep saying “Otto”, sir.”
Six men on light horses, each leading a spare mount, waited patiently for him oblivious to the cold rain.
“We have decided to scout for you,. You are the one who killed King Helmund?” their leader said in his Suevian dialect.
Otto thought he had better start as he meant to go on.
“You will not be scouting for me but for Rome, if you are accepted,” Otto replied in the same language. “Dismount and let us talk things over.”
They sat on some new-cut logs. Each man recited his ancestry and a history of his experience in war. Otto listened gravely and without comment.
“The cavalry I command are all Romans. None of them speak our language. You will be able to talk with me alone. If this is not acceptable to you, you may leave now with no ill-feeling. If you stay, you must take an oath to serve Rome,” he explained.
Without saying another word, two of them stood up, mounted their horses and rode away. The remaining four looked at Otto impassively.
“Wait here,” he said and went to find an aquilifer.
Their oath was administered under the eagle. When they had finished, Otto greeted them again as comrades and brothers and led them to the stable block. He called his decurions over.
“We now have four good scouts recommended by Prefect Aldermar. They speak no Latin at present but are properly sworn in. Now understand this. I shall not tolerate any disrespect, so called “jokes” or any behaviour which might offend them. They are vital to the success of our operations in this area so repeat my words to the men. I’ll fall on anyone who disobeys like the wrath of the gods.”
The rain faded away during the late afternoon. Otto was summoned to the legate’s office. Lucius was already there.
“Prefect Longius, I am going to ride down to Aldermar’s encampment to bid him farewell and give him my despatches for the general. You will escort me with a party of ten. He will be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Boxer will be travelling with him….” Otto’s face fell. The legate could not avoid noting the look of distress on his face. “… You have perhaps forgotten that Tribune Longius is summoned to the Engineer General’s staff at headquarters. We must be happy that he has the opportunity for advancement.”
Otto made his expression blank. “Of course sir, you are correct; it had slipped my mind.”
“In addition, I shall need a middling sized cart with six mules so that the cavalry can carry off their share of the spoils. Please be ready to depart in one hour,” the legate said dismissing both of them.
Lucius and Otto sat with the table on which they had shared so many of Felix’s dinners between them. They had come to a fork in their road and must part without knowing when, or if, they would meet again. They both had much to say to each other. Lucius owed his life to Otto and that life had been transformed as a result of a hand clasp from a skinny Suevian lad not so many years ago. It had set a chain of events into motion leading him to Rome, an interview with the Emperor and his promotion prospects. Equally, everything Otto had become could never have been achieved if Lucius had spurned his offered hands in that burning village far across the Rhine.
The wise woman had told Otto his fate would be determined by a man bearing black plumes and so it had. She had not said that Lucius’ future was guided by the same meeting but in truth it had been.
They were both bursting to say what they felt; a sense almost like mourning the death of a loved one but neither could. They did not dare to show their feelings in case they wept, which would have been shameful. Instead they grinned awkwardly and made jokes, recalling some of their happier times. They laughed but their eyes remained haunted.
“Time to mount up, sir!” a voice called from outside.
They stood up, clasped arms looking intently into each other’s eyes as if trying to fix the face in front of them in their memories for ever and walked out into a chilly late afternoon.
The honour-guard followed by a cavalryman driving a mule-cart and towing his horse behind for the return journey, made its way down to the river. Otto was resplendent in his parade armour; the legate and Lucius had also dressed formally for the occasion. Aldermar took the leather satchel of despatches and was grateful for the cart to carry the heap of silver, weapons and ornaments that were his share of the victor’s bounty.
“May I speak with Prefect Longius, sir?” he asked Quadratus who assented. Aldermar put one arm over his shoulder and led him to one side. “Listen my young friend, you have risen very high in a short time on your own merits. Don’t think I believe your success is undeserved because that isn’t so. You are an example of what we people the Romans call “Germans” can accomplish. Remember that you represent us. Be true to yourself always and may the Gods be with you. Now, I’ve got something for you.” He grinned and beckoned to one of his men who ran up carrying a steel cuirass and back plate. The cuirass was modelled to represent an idealized muscular chest and belly. The centre had been beaten out into the shape of the Goddess Minerva’s head. “Took it off a dead Marcomanni chief. He must have nicked it from a Roman officer years ago but I know the Master of Horse likes to see his officers properly dressed so take it with my best wishes.”
Felix was in raptures. The cuirass was a fine piece of metal-working but it was dull and scratched in places. “Needs a right good polish does that,” he said and sighed with satisfaction at the thought of the hours of restoration work ahead. He had been assigned to act as Lucius’ soldier servant but his actions during the siege had made him a talisman for The Second Lucan. The legion wanted him to remain so Lucius had raised no objection.
Otto dined that evening with Quadratus, Fuscus and Attius. It was his induction into his new role as one of the four senior officers of the legion. He found it uncomfortable at first. They talked generally of the condition to which The Second Lucan had been reduced.
“There can be no question of leave, for anyone,” the legate said.
No-one disagreed, not only because he was their commanding officer but it was obvious that their reduced numbers made it impossible. Tertius winced as he leaned over the table to pick up his wine cup.
“Shoulder still troubling you?” Titus asked.
Otto who had been silent up to then spoke.
“Did you know Martellus Flaccus, sir?” he asked the senior tribune.
“When we are alone it’s first name-terms, Otto, unless we are addressing our legate,” Titus pointed out.
“Yes Otto, you are now a senior officer and you must conduct yourself like one.” Quadratus said, not unkindly.
“Become a “gentleman” sir? You often begin meetings by saying “Gentlemen”. I shall have to take lessons.”
“I suppose I do often say that, now you mention it. You have natural good manners, although you do tend to speak out of turn at times; not always a bad thing. Cultivate yourself, Otto. Who is the most accomplished Roman officer you have come across?”
“Say “the Noble Legate Publius Quadratus” if you’ve got any sense,” Titus growled.
They all laughed.
“That goes without saying, Titus,” Otto replied, growing a little pink in the face at calling the First Spear Centurion by his given name for the first time.
“See?” said Titus. “He’s a born flatterer; half the battle!”
“Uncle Martellus!” Quadratus said, taking the conversation back round to its beginning. “He was a character; a decanus and master farrier, Tertius. He went off with Aldermar. Why do you mention his name Otto?”
“W
hen I arrived at headquarters, I was in a poor state; could hardly straighten my knees and back. Anyway, Martellus gave me a flask of liniment for the joints. It did wonders for me and I’ve got half of it left. I wondered if it might help your shoulder, Tertius,” again he reddened.
“Thank you for thinking of me. I shall try it if I may.”
“I’ll bring it over in the morning…”
“No you won’t Otto. You will send Felix over with it,” Tertius told him.
“I see I have much to learn, although I am better than I was,” Otto said and told them the story of how he had eaten the entire bowl of sausages the first time he sat down to dinner in Boxer’s home. He recounted his tale well, impersonating the various family members and spinning it out, rather like the bards he had heard as a boy. It was the highlight of the evening.
When dinner was over, he left with Titus Attius who gave him the benefit of his experience.
“When the legate advises you to get some airs and graces he’s doing you a big favour. Remember all your decurions are Romans born and bred. Right now, they think you’re marvellous because they saw you kill that wicked old king on the battlefield. But if you show yourself up at dinner, they’ll decide you’re nothing but another fucking German who just happened to be tougher than Helmund was. They’re all young men of good family; spend some time with them and pick up some of their ways. Don’t get too friendly, mind; you might have to order one of them to do something that’ll get him killed tomorrow or the day after.”
“What about you, Titus, where do you fit in with all of this?” Otto asked.
“I’m a commoner and that’s what I’ll die; either in the army or in the inn I’m going to buy when they chuck me out. None of it matters to me but then, the Emperor’s never heard of me. Think on that, goodnight.”
In the morning, the Romans saw that the bodies of Helmund and Hulderic had been taken down off their crosses in the darkness and removed by unseen hands.
Repairs went on at the same rate even though Boxer had left. Otto reflected that it demonstrated the nature of an army. One man made no difference, duty and discipline were all. Within a week, the camp had two new gates, the bridges and parapets had been replaced and Boxer’s Canal cleared. If it had not been for the missing corner and the peculiar diagonal wall replacing it, the camp looked exactly as it had before the siege. The stables and barracks had watertight roofs and all was returning to normal. The signal fort was refurbished; it had suffered almost no damage during the conflict. Because there fewer mouths to feed, the quartermaster’s stores did not need to be restocked for winter; the grain they had taken in the enemy wagons helped considerably.
The reduction in numbers meant that a greater burden was put on the cavalry; if the walls were to be manned, there were less infantry available to operate outside the camp. Otto’s men patrolled more often and further afield but never below thirty men and one scout in strength, led by their decurion. Otto went on one in three of these missions which were an important show of force. The local tribes knew the Romans had been badly mauled by Helmund. Quadratus wanted to let them know the legion was still a potent and self-confident force. There was no major demonstration of opposition; it seemed that they understood.
Otto took Titus’s advice and ate dinner regularly with his officers. At first they had been awkward affairs. The decurions were wary of their prefect; not only because he was their superior officer but he was thirty pounds heavier and half a head taller than the biggest of them. He seemed to loom over the table and dominate the small room in which they ate, perched on chairs and stools; there was no room for couches. They did not like to speak first and Otto had never practiced the art of polite conversation. There was also the issue of the food. Felix had not lied when he had told Otto and Boxer he could make a good stew and bake soldiers’ bread but he had not told them that was the extent of his culinary range. After the third dinner, Otto began to pay one of the cooks to cater for them. It was not fine dining but there was some variation in the dishes on offer. The talk improved with the menu. At first it was centred on the business of the day then expanded to include horses, horsemanship and the races in Rome. Otto mentioned that he had never been to one. That set them off, each one describing great events he had seen, multi-chariot collisions and why the team he favoured was undoubtedly the best and anyone who thought differently knew nothing. Once the ice was broken, conversation flowed freely during subsequent shared meals. Otto contributed freely but listened to them carefully, picking up on their ways of expressing themselves, their nuances of speech and manner, together with their prejudices, spoken and unspoken; all those social interactions which typified Romans of their class.
Although he was only a temporary acting prefect responsible for artillery, Corvo became infected with the strange fascination of the deadly machines. He was often to be seen hard at work dismantling one of them, greasing trigger releases, adjusting tensions and all the other constant tasks required to keep them in optimal condition. He borrowed a scroll on geometry from Tertius and studied it nightly until he had the required mathematics off by heart. His dedication did not go unnoticed by the legate.
“Admirable as his efforts are, I cannot help feel that Corvo is developing an unhealthy obsession with his scorpions and ballistas. In fact he is becoming quite a bore; they are all he talks about,” Quadratus remarked to Titus Attius.
“Cannot disagree, sir; very odd lot artillerymen…”
Winter was biting harder every day when Otto was called into the legate’s office. This was an official meeting with a clerk present so military courtesies were observed. Otto stood at attention and bowed to Quadratus who acknowledged him with a salute but did not offer a seat.
“Prefect Otto Longius, you are summoned to our general’s headquarters., I shudder to imagine what disreputable state you were in the last time you were there. Take an escort and a cart with your best uniform in it. We do not want to make an impression that reflects discredit on The Second Lucan, now do we? Dismissed.”
Last year, Otto would have asked when he was to leave and why the general wanted to see him. Now he knew better; the time to go was right now and the reasons were none of his business until he got there.
He left the next morning accompanied by ten troopers, his most junior decurion, one scout and Felix driving a cart with a waterproof cover pulled by four mules. The scout had sniffed at the cart and said he could take a day and a half off the journey if they left it behind but Otto refused. The rain blew into their faces but was less troublesome once they had gained the cover of the trees. Though most of the oaks and birches were now bare of leaves, there were plenty of pines to break the force of the wind. Otto tried to find the tree he had hidden behind to ambush Audo of the Bright Axe and his comrade but was not sure of its exact location. He told the story that night when they were bivouacked. That brought up other tales of subterfuge and sudden deadly encounters.
Considering that they were cold and wet most of the time, his men were cheerful enough. They complained in the ritually humorous way soldiers do, each one finding a story of misery and discomfort to top anything that had gone before until they became so exaggerated, they were ridiculous.
“So what happened next?” one naive youngster asked.
“We all died of course!” the storyteller told him, to gales of laughter.
Their progress was uneventful apart from the streams they were forced to cross. A few weeks ago, they had been knee-deep at most when Otto and Djinn had made their journey along this route. Now they were brown, foaming torrents, only forded with extreme care. They nearly lost the mule-cart more than once. When headquarters was an hour away, Otto stopped the column while he changed into his cuirass. Felix was outraged. He had polished it to perfection, a saddler had replaced the leather straps, the buckles had been recast in bronze and now Otto was going to put it on outside, in the rain.
“It’ll get water spots on it,” he complained.
“Yes,”
Otto replied.
“If you know, why don’t you wait until we’re under cover, sir?”
“Don’t want to,” Otto told him, unwilling to be bullied into explaining about the Master of Horse and his standards for cavalry officers’ uniforms.
As it turned out, he had done well to put it on. They were led straight to the most senior cavalry officer in the army. The first thing he said was, “Greetings Prefect Longius, properly dressed this time I see…”
Otto’s instructions were simple. He was to attend the general at noon the next day for a formal meeting. Further orders would be given at the end of it. If the Master of Horse knew more, he was not saying anything. Otto saw his horses and mules fed and stabled and only afterwards found billets for himself and his men. He had hoped to see Lucius but he was up-country with the engineers involved in some bridge project on the River Elbe. Aldermar was on patrol and not due back until the morning. Disappointed, he sat alone in his room wondering why he had been summoned.
The reason he was called to headquarters lay with Legate Publius Quadratus’ official report. He had given Lucius a glowing recommendation to the Engineer General in view of the way the tribune had reacted to problems thrown up during the siege but he had done nothing other than make a flat statement of Otto’s actions and added a list of witnesses. Opinion among the general’s aides was divided.
“He has received his reward, sir. You promoted him to a rank beyond his age and experience,” said one.
“And he demonstrated how fitted he is to fulfil that role in his very first battle. If he had been a Roman citizen when he saved his legate’s life he would have been awarded a Civic Crown…” the general said.
The aides began to argue among themselves.
“But he was not. I must say how unlike our Emperor it was to confirm citizenship on him…”
“The Divine Julius did so frequently…”
“Yes, but Emperor Augustus has always said he does not want the value of Roman Citizenship to be diminished …
Knight of Rome Part II Page 18
