Knight of Rome Part II

by Malcolm Davies

  Lollia scribbled the gist on a wax tablet for Libius so that he could understand why everyone was celebrating.

  “I’m coming with you to the fortress,” Felix said in a voice that showed he was not going to be denied.

  “Of course you are. We’ll need the cart to carry the escort’s kit and personal gear.”

  “I’m going to be in my uniform,” Felix told Otto, again daring him to refuse.

  “Good, make sure to wear your gold chain as well.”

  There was an unfamiliar face commanding the guard as Otto rode up. Djinn’s black hide gleamed as he pranced up to the glowering walls. Otto wore his parade armour polished to blinding perfection. Felix sat arrow straight on the seat of his mule-cart.

  “Imperial Military Prefect Otto Longius to see Legate Tertius Fuscus. Open the gate, now!” he demanded.

  He dismounted at the steps of the Praetorium and handed Djinn’s reins to a passing legionary. They recognised each other from the old days.

  “Pleasure to see you sir, coming back to us?” the soldier asked.

  “Thank you but no, other business. I’m glad to see you looking well and not shivering in the cold like we all used to eh?”

  The guard admitted him to the secretaries’ office.

  “If you would care to wait, sir,” one of them said, “I’ll tell the legate you are here.”

  “No,” Otto replied. “Just announce me.”

  Tertius Fuscus and Nonius Priscus looked as if their worst nightmare had walked through the doorway in broad daylight. Otto saluted. “The Emperor requests that I make you aware of my presence in the area,” he said, handing his commission over to Tertius.

  Priscus leaned around to read it over the legate’s shoulder. “Not you tribune,” Otto snapped. “The Emperor’s words are for the commander of The Second Lucan alone. You can order the First Spear Centurion to call a general assembly right away.” Priscus looked at his legate who nodded to show he should do it.

  “Put your best uniform on, and your armour; you know, dress up as if you were a soldier,” Otto called at his retreating back.

  “Well, Otto, an unexpected turn of events. Will you take wine with me?” Tertius asked trying to make the best of what was, for him, a desperately awkward situation.

  “No,” Otto responded brusquely. “I’ll wait outside.”

  The first of the men were hurrying into position to the calls of the horns. Some of them saw Felix on his mule-cart.

  “Good idea Felix! Give ‘em some oil!” a wit yelled to general laughter and shouts of “Watcher Felix!” from the old sweats and to the bafflement of the recruits.

  “Silence in the ranks, there!” the centurions bellowed but the older ones had smiles on their faces.

  Otto mounted the rostrum with Priscus and Fuscus. He looked around him for a moment waiting for silence and the full attention of the parade.

  “Soldiers of The Second Lucan, it makes me glad to see you once more; comrades I served with and new faces who will bring as much honour to the legion as those they replace. I am here at the order of Emperor Augustus. Your Senior Tribune Nonius Priscus will now read you the Emperor’s letter,” he declaimed and handed the scroll to Priscus.

  The tribune unrolled it, saw the contents, immediately paled and began to mumble. Otto stood forward and held up one hand.

  “Can you hear him, lads?”

  “No!” the massed ranks shouted.

  “Better speak up, Nonius,” he said to the tribune who glared at him but began to read again in a ringing voice.

  “To My Loyal Officers and Soldiers of The Second Lucan, Greetings.

  Know that the Equestrian Otto Longius is commissioned as a Military Prefect under my direct orders. Prefect Longius is a member of my Imperial staff reporting to my secretariat in Rome and no other.

  As the resident legion in his area of operations, you will comply with any and all of his requests for support and assistance without hesitation, as if they came from me. Failure to do so in fact or in spirit will be regarded as treason.

  Augustus Imp.”

  “You made me do that to humiliate me. I’ll pay you out for it,” Nonius hissed and handed back the scroll.

  With a smile on his face, Otto turned to Tertius Fuscus. “You have heard this man threaten an Imperial Staff Officer. Do you think it’s a good idea to keep him on the strength?”

  Priscus looked at Fuscus’ expression and his heart sank. He had gone too far; his outburst had finished his career, connections or not.

  Otto strode to the centre of the rostrum again. “Mars and Fortuna with you boys; your First Spear Centurion will now dismiss you all except the Tesserarius and the cavalry.” Within two minutes the parade ground was largely clear. “Come closer,” he shouted. “I want six men to act as my escort…..”

  “I say,” the cavalry commander bleated, “I say, you can’t simply take my chaps without permission. It isn’t done …”

  “Are you hard of hearing?”

  “No, since you ask.”

  “Are you a person of slow understanding?”

  “I say that’s rude you know….”

  “What did you fail to hear or understand of, “comply with his requests” when Nonius read it out?”

  “Still, you mean, it isn’t on…” he grumbled but no-one was listening.

  “I need six volunteers. You will escort me on the roads in between Luca, Pisae and Spedia. There may be some action involving bandits or local citizens causing trouble. You will be billeted in Luca and earn your standard pay. Step forward anyone who is interested.” Over fifty men took a pace towards him. “I’m grateful to you but you’ve made things a bit difficult. Tell you what, another pace forward anyone who saw action in Germany.” This time there were twenty of them. “Any man who saw action in Germany under General Drusus Germanicus…” The final count was ten. “I can only take six, we’ll have to draw straws.”

  Once his six successful candidates were lined up in front of him, Otto called on the Tesserarius to make a record of their names and told him that the troopers remained on The Second Lucan payroll.

  “Right, men, he said, “get your kit on the mule-cart and we’re off.”

  Otto carried out his duties conscientiously. They frequently travelled the dusty roads between the three cities. Otto inspected each garrison, but deliberately avoided forming a pattern. None of the centurions knew when he would appear. But he was fair and knew what he was talking about so the commanders at Spedia and Pisae respected him and were amenable to any suggestions he might make. With Massus, it was a different story. Otto knew that the one-eyed centurion was an exceptionally capable soldier and leader so his “inspections” of the Luca garrison were more like social events.

  He now had less time for Lollia but as her belly was rounding out and her breasts growing heavy, riding the countryside was no longer advisable for her. She was content to be comfortably at home, waiting for the baby developing inside her to be ready to enter the world. She was also happy at the difference in her husband. Having a part to play on the big stage gave him a sense of purpose and structure.

  Massus had been right about the garrison stables being too small for an extra six horses. Otto built a new block with billets for the troopers above and their own bathhouse and latrine at the back of his villa. This caused a problem for Tullia. Otto drew on legion funds for their rations but feeding six hungry new mouths was too much for her. She and Otto went into Luca and found her an assistant. Tullia had blenched and clamped her mouth tightly closed when they entered the slave dealer’s yard. The tears that came to her eyes were as much a result of her agonising memories of her own humiliation in that place as the stench. They settled on Plotina, a tall, stick-thin woman of around thirty. She had been a slave in a cookhouse that had gone bankrupt who was being auctioned off with the other assets to meet the demands of the former owner’s creditors. Otto bought her, took her to the river to wash then dress and freed her. She was in a daze for t
hree days until the fact that she was now a free woman registered with her. She followed Otto with adoring, doe eyes every time he passed.

  Winter came and went and with the spring came a new source of trouble. Bandits were stopping parties of travellers on the open roads and kidnapping them to sell as slaves to big estates or mines. They operated mostly around Spedia and were ruining commerce; fewer people were prepared to run the risk of bringing goods in and out unless in armed convoys which put up all the prices. Cavalry patrols from the fortress were useless. The criminals simply lay low until the troopers had shifted their area of patrol to a different location and then came out of hiding to strike again.

  Otto came up with a plan. Felix drove the mule-cart carrying three soldiers of the Spedia garrison dressed in tunics but with their swords and shields out of sight down on the floor. They hired two prostitutes to go with them to give the effect of a couple of families of tradespeople. The girls were happy to be paid to be driven around the countryside and have a picnic. Otto and his escort rode parallel with Felix in the cover of the woods. On the fourth day, a dozen men took the bait. They burst out of the undergrowth and surrounded the cart. The girls screamed. The bandits laughed; they were bully boys with cudgels and knives, wearing leather jackets and caps for protection. They might terrify an unarmed carter and his mate but they were out classed by the professional killers suddenly racing at them as Otto’s men attacked with lances levelled. It was all over in less than five minutes. The cavalry drove them close enough to Felix and the soldiers for a swift sword thrust in the back while they tried to fight off the troopers. The girls stood up and yelled encouragement once they saw their side getting the best of the encounter.

  They left one alive who took them to their hide-out; a cave in the side of a steep defile. There were eight beaten and half-starved victims roped together inside. The soldiers released and fed them with what was to hand. They cried and kissed the legionaries rough hands as they helped them to a freedom they thought was lost forever. The property they identified as their own was returned to them.

  “What about this one?” Felix asked pointing at the battered but surviving bandit.

  “Crucify him,” Otto said.

  “No, no wait,” the abject prisoner shouted, “I’ll show you something.”

  He did. There was a hollow under the hearthstone where his gang had hidden the money they earned by selling their fellow citizens into slavery. It contained over six thousand denarii.

  “Thank you,” Otto told him and turned to his troopers. “Now crucify him.”

  He shouted, swore and cursed until a blow from the butt of a lance broke his jaw and knocked most of his teeth out. After that, he just moaned and sobbed.

  The prostitutes demanded a share of the loot.

  “You didn’t do any of the fighting,” a trooper reminded them.

  “Yeah but we was there and we could’ve been killed or worse…” one of them told him.

  “It was risky for us an’ all…” her friend cajoled.

  Otto decided they had a point so awarded them each a half share. The rest was split evenly between all who had taken part, himself included. Five hundred and nine denarii was a rich reward for four days driving or riding and less than the same number of minutes fighting. It took them an hour and a half to get back to the road, walking or on the cart. One of the troopers rode ahead to Spedia and transport arrived to pick them up when they were ten miles out of the city.

  “Remember your centurion chose you for this duty, lads. See him right, fifty denarii each should do it. Let me know if there’s a problem,” Otto told the garrison soldiers.

  There was no problem.

  The city council of Spedia hosted a dinner for Otto. The trade guilds clubbed together and awarded him a commemorative silver tray. They were so glad that the roads were secure once more, they wrote to Rome extolling Otto and his men. A very civil acknowledgement signed by the Emperor in person arrived in due course. It was framed and hung in the city court room where it was a source of continuing civic pride.

  Chapter 17

  Quintus Mucius sat nervously on the edge of the chair Augustus had offered him. He was twenty-nine years old, under the minimum age to be elected to the office of quaestor but exceptions were not unusual for members of senatorial families. He was short and a fraction overweight. His dark hair was naturally curly and fell over his forehead in a fringe which he brushed aside in a nervous gesture with the back of one of his long-fingered, artistic hands. He had a thorough understanding of the duties of a quaestor; supervising public finances in the city. What he did not understand was why the Emperor had summoned him. He had taken up his duties less than three months ago and had made no major errors that he could recall. He had even refused a substantial bribe to ignore a shortfall in the road-repairs budget. But here he was in the Emperor’s private office on a sunny first of June.

  “Do you know what Britain is?” Augustus asked him.

  “It is a large island off the coast of…”

  “Not what I meant. Don’t be dense. Supposed to be bright, that’s why you’re here. Annoyance, Britain is an annoyance. The Divine Julius said he conquered the place forty odd years ago but what I say is, poor show. Won battles, nearly got himself marooned, ships wrecked on the beach by a storm, and then home he comes. So you see, young Quintus, it is a problem.”

  “If you say so sir, but I do not quite understand…”

  “Course you don’t. Thing is, Britain is an Imperial Province. Can’t simply ignore it. Most of the dreadful natives violently hostile but we have a few friends. Need to develop them, the friends. Need to let them know we value them. The other lot, the hostile ones, are forever fomenting trouble in Gaul and the Belgic lands. Must, “demonstrate our presence with boots on the ground.” as good old General Agrippa always used to say. Keep our allies on side, that’s the order of the day and where you come in.”

  “I do not quite see how I can be of use to you in this matter, sir,”

  “Because I have not told you yet. Menities, bring it in!” he called.

  The secretary entered the room carrying a sandalwood box which he placed on the side table.

  Augustus opened it to reveal a large portrait of himself in the form of a cameo exquisitely cut in Sardonyx. His highly detailed profile was creamy white with his hair and laurel wreath a golden yellow fading into a warm, brown background. The carving was framed in chased gold and rested on the purple silk padding of the box.

  “The king of the Cantiaci is a client and ally. You are going to Britain where you will present him with this cameo. Ideal gift. It shows Romans are technically skilled, rich and generous. It also has my face on it. Remind him who is the king and who is the emperor, eh?”

  “Why me, sir?”

  “Why not? If you don’t want to go, say so. I am no despot. Find someone else, not a problem.”

  “Not a problem if I am happy to say goodbye to any hope of rising up the political ladder,” Quintus thought but said “It will be my honour to undertake this task for you, sir. I was merely questioning why I had been chosen.”

  “Never question emperors young man, not likely to lead to a long and happy life. You will not be going alone. However, military aspect problematical. If I send a cohort, looks like the advance party of an invasion. Natives up in arms. Cohort wiped out. Then there will be have to be a real invasion! Ha ha!” Point is to show the advantages of being friends with Rome but not leave you defenceless. Send a squad of shiny troops to make you look important, which of course you are, to me, your Emperor. I’ll give you Otto Longius to commend them. Just the man for you.”

  “Otto doesn’t sound very Roman sir…”

  “Equestrian, Imperial Military Prefect, Gold Military Crown, Otto Longius. All-round good chap. You’ll like him….”

  After he had left the office, Menities hovered about not saying anything but obviously curious.

  “Out with it, Menities, what do you want to ask me?” Aug
ustus said.

  “Since I wish to live a happy life, sir, I am unwilling to question an emperor,” he replied.

  Augustus laughed briefly. “You wish to know why I have chosen young Mucius?”

  The secretary nodded. “Understanding your way of thought helps me to serve you better, sir.”

  “Oh what a diplomatic creature you are! Very well. Quintus Mucius has intelligence. He is honest; refused that bribe in the road-repairs fraud. But how far is he prepared to go in the service of his Emperor? To Britain clearly, but how much more than that? I want to tie him tight to me at the outset of his career. If he is successful in this mission he will be rewarded and ready for the next….”

  “And Otto Longius?”

  “Is he not a living example of the benefits of alliance with Rome? Born a barbarian, he is a decorated officer and an equestrian. Let the courtiers of our Cantiari king see what rewards can come to any man who is diligent in our service.”

  “Otto Longius is not merely “any” man, sir.”

  “You and I know that, my Menities, but they do not.”

  Lollia was very heavy now. In spite of her height, her belly was full and round. Her navel had stretched and was protruding and her back never ceased to ache, day or night. Didia tended her constantly, fanning her and fetching her cool drinks against the growing summer heat. Tullia and Plotina plied her with specially prepared meals to tempt her appetite and nourish the baby curled in her womb. Once a week a doctor came to examine her.

  “All is well, lady. All is as it should be. Your child will be born in the second half of July,” he promised. She no longer slept in the same bed as Otto. The heat of his body was too much to bear and she constantly woke to urinate, clambering out of her bed alone but needing Didia’s help to get back in again. The maid slept on a cot in the corner of her mistress’ room. Lollia’s moods passed from elation, through quiet contentment to impatience and sometimes fear, but at least Otto was with her. He held her hand and spoke gently to her when she was very uncomfortable or afraid. His reassuring presence was the solid foundation on which she relied. When he rode out, she counted the anxious hours until she heard his boots on the tiled floor and felt his hand brushing the damp hair off her face. He smelled of horse and sweat, leather and metal polish but it was welcome to her. She always inhaled deeply, drawing his essence into her before pushing him away and telling him to bathe. As long as Otto was there, huge, powerful and gentle, all would be well. But another Imperial messenger cantered into the yard; as ever, in a cloud of dust on a lathered mount.