‘To that end, I suggest that we should leave the road and cut across country. The rough terrain suits your men far better than it does the cumbersome legions.’
‘But I thought that we didn’t want to attack the Romans unless absolutely necessary?’ Sextus queried.
I was starting to lose my patience. Obviously I had only a few years’ experience with the legions, but that was in a guerrilla war. These three were amateurs, caught up in the excitement of the campaign, and had no inkling of the dull, practical matters that really win battles.
‘We,’ I replied tiredly, ‘will be expected to use the road. If anything, this route will be tougher but a lot shorter, cutting off the corner, so to speak. Staying up in the hills will make it a lot harder to walk into a trap, and easier to spring one. Our men know this land better than any Roman, remember? Now if you don’t mind, I need some sleep.’ I began to hobble back out.
I heard someone whisper, ‘Father!’
‘Oh, yes. Er… I shall send a surgeon to see to you, Severus,’ Vindex mumbled.
‘Thank you, Governor.’
* * *
The going was slower up in the hills, but that was to be expected. We had turned north-east off the road and set up camp the next day not far from a small town called Geneva. Having this new force of cavalry eased my worries considerably. With such a large scouting force it would be nigh impossible for us to be taken unawares, and they could help us choose the route which offered the greatest strategic advantage.
We tramped over those long lines of hills ever northwards, and ate up the miles. The men were in good spirits, singing old war songs to their old gods. Some were rousing, with a percussive beat ideal for marching; they made you feel absolutely joyous at being a soldier. Others made your heart soar for their beauty. Sometimes I was even glad that I didn’t know the words, in case they didn’t do the music justice. You may think I’m being overly sentimental, musing about barbarian war chants, but music can lift a man to heights that he had never thought possible. The true beauty of it is that the mightiest, richest man in Rome can be put to shame by a filthy swineherd with a good voice. Music is truly liberating. And while these common little Gauls might dream of the splendid lives we lead, these men from different tribes, with different customs, they can come together in song and move you more than any Roman or Greek poet. I may well be biased, having had tedious odes and turgid couplets drummed into me from boyhood by starched and humourless old men, but if you are one of those men who boast of their wealth and influence but have never ventured the far side of the Alps, you are missing out.
Perhaps at this point I should expand a little on the growing attachment that I felt for these very ordinary men. In Britannia, we had contact with the natives of course, but we would mostly keep to our camps and garrisons. This was the first time that I had spent a long period with people who weren’t what we would call true Romans, even if many were now citizens within the empire. I had been living among the Gauls for weeks now, and had been treated like one of their own. Despite their thinking that I was a Vindex, a nobleman, I had been treated as an equal by all those I had encountered. Though Vindex himself tried desperately to cover up his Gallic roots, these simple, down-to-earth people were the most welcoming I had ever come across.
Mind you, I was looking forward to returning to the civilized world once Galba rescued me from Vindex and took me with him to Rome. A bath and a shave were my top priorities. Nonetheless, I would miss the simple, open company of the Gauls.
* * *
On the evening of the fourth day, we encamped ten miles from Vesontio on a small hillock, far enough away from the city to go unnoticed by the Roman scouts; at least I hoped so. This time the camp was built properly: a long rectangle, defended by a trench, slope and palisade. Men were on sentry and changed guard regularly, with new passwords for each shift. On the outside, it could be mistaken for a Roman fortress, if you overlooked the fact that there were no watchtowers, no uniformed soldiers, just a horde of Gauls inside.
A council was summoned for the following morning. I had made it clear to Vindex that this was not to be a grand council of war, and only those I had chosen should attend. So it was that the governor, Quintus, Lugubrix and I met in Vindex’s billowing tent, with two stout men posted outside.
We all sat in a semicircle round a fine table, which had taken some knocks and scrapes over the journey. Vindex was in his element, regaling us with various ideas that had struck him along the march, each more ridiculous and impractical than the last. Thankfully I didn’t hear too much of it, as my ears had picked up some muttering from outside. The guards parted and in stepped Martialis, looking very greasy and unkempt.
‘Martialis, good to have you back with us. Here, have some food.’ I gestured to what Vindex had left untouched at his supper the previous night. There was some cold chicken, fruit and wine left over. Deciding not to stand on ceremony, he pulled up a stool and began to attack the stuff.
We sat in silence, letting the man have some breakfast before he made his report. He hadn’t had much good eating during his time here, judging from the manner and speed in which he devoured his meal.
Wiping away some of the grease on his mouth with his sleeve, he looked up at us and asked, ‘What do you want to know?’
Lugubrix started. ‘How much do the Romans know about our rebellion?’
‘Quite a lot,’ he answered. ‘When the Romans came this way they weren’t expecting any resistance, but when they demanded supplies from Vesontio the Sequani absolutely refused, telling them to take it if they wanted to try. That’s when the siege began. I stayed with friends of mine in the villages around here. The Romans sent foragers out to commandeer food for the troops, and at the same time collected as much information as they could about the rebellion. Eventually, they found an old couple who mentioned that their two sons had gone away for a while, but had now returned.
‘The two men were tortured, and told everything they knew. Apparently, they had both been sent home after a march, but they still knew that we were based out in Vienne. They know how many men we have, how we were training them, our lack of proper armour and weapons, and that we have no cavalry. Everything.’
Quintus was confused. ‘How do you know exactly what these two men told the Romans?’
Martialis looked grimly at him. ‘They weren’t killed. Instead, their arms and feet were cut off, so that they could never harm a Roman soldier.’
There was a dour silence.
‘And the siege-works? What do you know about them?’ I asked.
‘Vesontio is almost impregnable. The whole city fits into a loop in the river. Imagine a river bend so tight that the land at the neck is only three hundred paces across. This neck is blocked by a mountain that stretches all the way to both sides of the river, with a small citadel at the top. The Romans have posted units of men about five hundred strong at the end of each bridge leading to the city, while the main force has dug itself in with a warren of trenches, surrounding a whole side of the mountain.’
At last our glorious leader had a question. ‘How many Romans are there?’
‘I’d say twenty thousand, perhaps a few more, but around four thousand are watching the bridges.’ Strangely, Vindex looked pleased with this information.
‘Well, I think that’s all, Martialis. Excellent work. I think it’s time that you rejoined your men. We shall have a proper council of war in due course,’ I said.
Martialis smiled, stood, and then took another handful of chicken before leaving us.
We waited until he was out of earshot, then Vindex rubbed his hands together in glee. ‘Only twenty thousand men, what a chance!’
‘Only twenty thousand?’ I echoed. ‘Governor, might I remind you that we are barely touching thirty thousand, and the vast majority of our men have never taken part in anything more dangerous than a tavern brawl!’
He looked sulky at that. ‘Then what are we here for if not to fight?’
&nbs
p; I simply could not believe the stupidity of the man. I tried to restrain myself. ‘To negotiate, Governor. I will attempt to get a message through to Verginius Rufus, and then we can try and convince him to join us. Not a drop of blood will need to be spilt, if things go according to plan. I suggested this meeting to decide the best way of approaching Rufus. As I see it, there are two options: either to sneak into the camp and deliver a written message, or use me to talk to the general face to face.’
Lugubrix spoke up. ‘I would suggest, Governor, that given, ahem, Gnaeus’s previous experience, it would be foolish not to use his talents.’
‘But how do I know that—’ Vindex started, but I cut him off angrily.
‘That you can trust me? Well, I’m flattered, Governor, but while I may not be your man, I am Galba’s man, and I am here to carry out his orders. Those are to avoid bringing the Rhine legions into a conflict, and since you have made it impossible for Rufus to ignore us, we shall have to convince him to join us. Do you honestly think that once I’m in their camp I will betray you? Why should I?’
‘To win a reward perhaps?’ he suggested.
‘I’ll get a damn sight bigger reward from Galba if I can pull this off, and so will you. Now, if there are no objections, I shall prepare myself for the mission.’
Furious, I stormed out of the council.
* * *
Back in my own tent, I sat down, trembling with rage. What a stupid, bloody fool I had been landed with. Of course it made sense for me to use my position, not to mention my flawless Latin, to masquerade as a Roman officer in order to meet with Rufus. In fact, I had only raised the possibility of a secret message delivered by an intruder to see if Vindex would go for it, and I was bitter to find out that he still did not trust me, after all I’d done for him. I glanced down at the stump of my little finger, a constant reminder of that odious man’s lack of faith. Still, my loyalty to Galba overrode any misgivings I had about continuing to serve Vindex.
I had some vellum and ink ready. Any number of things could go wrong that night, and there was one thing I needed to do before I rode off. I wanted to write to my wife. When I left home for those years of fighting in Britannia, she was eighteen and pregnant, irritable and difficult to love. But we were both older and wiser now, and we loved each other for our faults as much as for our qualities. She was a social climber; I was sometimes selfish. She was stubborn; I wasn’t the most romantic of men, but still I missed her. How I’d missed her! The way she smiled, flashing her pearl-white teeth, even the way she would wrinkle her nose whenever I cracked my knuckles. I had been away from home for over half a year, and I might never see her again. I grabbed the stylus and began to write.
My dearest Salonina,
I wish I could tell you where I am and the incredible things I’ve been doing, but I dare not write them for fear of this letter falling into the wrong hands. All I can tell you is that I am risking my life for the empire. If all goes well this campaign will give Rome a fresh start and a new moral leadership, though others seek to do this at the expense of Roman lives. What I am doing tonight might save those very lives, and no other man could do it, even if I wanted to back out of the oath I took to defend Rome.
I have already said too much. I am a soldier, you know that all my affairs are prepared should the worst happen. I know I don’t tell you often enough, but I love you with all my heart. If I survive, the first thing I shall do is call you to my side, wherever I am in the world. We have spent too many years apart, Salonina. I know that is my fault, but a senator of Rome must always put his duty first, and I would never want you or our son to be in any danger. If tonight goes well, I may even be back in Rome for the autumn. If not, then I thank the gods for every day that we have had together. Give my love to Aulus, and I pray we will be together soon.
With all my heart,
Caecina
I rolled up the letter and sealed it with candle wax. I did not stamp it with my family ring in case the letter was intercepted; after all, I didn’t want all Rome to know that I was with Vindex and his rebels. Quickly and quietly, I made my way to the tent that had been set up a hundred paces or so outside the camp. It would not do to let the men see how I would be dressed in a few minutes’ time.
Quintus was waiting for me. So was my ‘disguise’.
‘That was diplomatic,’ he said.
‘Don’t get me started, Quintus, I’m not in the mood. You can give me a hand instead.’ I gestured towards the cumbersome bundle on the ground.
Removing the layers of cloth in between the items, I laid them out on Quintus’s bed. First I had to remove my tunic and replace it with the double-padded tunic that formed the bottom layer. Next came the heavy metal breastplate. Quintus held it up while I threaded my right arm through, and held the other aloft while my friend secured all the fastenings down my left side. On went the stiff leather sandals, the burnished iron greaves, and I was almost ready.
To gain an audience with Rufus, it was vital that I was equipped like a Roman tribune, so I had to don a narrow red sash over my hips and a deep red cloak over my shoulders. That left just my helmet and a sword.
Whoever had been charged with cleaning and polishing my gear had done a fantastic job. When we had found the armour in the old barracks at Vienne, it had seemed a shabby and dingy collection. Now it shone. The cheek pieces of the helmet moved freely, and were inlaid with swirling patterns of brass. The sweeping curve of the neck-guard had lost its old scratches, and a new plume of crimson horsehair stood erect, from the brow backwards towards the neck. I walked over to the last item I needed and pulled the sword from its ornate scabbard. This was one of the new styles of gladius, produced in vast numbers in the fortress town of Mogontiacum. The leaf-shaped blade narrowed a small distance from the hilt, then broadened, finally tapering to a wicked point. This was to help stop the blade from sticking fast in your enemy’s flesh. The wooden pommel was large to counterbalance the weight of the hard iron blade, with no fancy decorations. It was a simple, ruthless tool for slaughter, and not some parade-ground bauble.
Sheathing the sword, I looked up at my friend.
‘Almost ready.’ I tied my sword belt securely, and Quintus passed me the helmet. I had forgotten how heavy the uniform was. The legionaries had it worse though; as infantry their body armour weighed considerably more than mine, while staff officers needed speed and manoeuvrability.
My horse was waiting for me directly outside Quintus’s tent. If the men saw a Roman officer lingering near their camp, it would result in a headache for Vindex. Swinging up into the saddle, I looked down at the young man who had come to be like a brother to me; a naive younger brother who still needed taking care of, but a brother nonetheless.
‘You will deliver that letter for me, won’t you?’ I asked.
‘Of course I will,’ he said.
‘See you this evening, if the gods are willing!’
Then I dug my heels in, and shot out of the camp and into the open countryside.
XI
Doubts and fears plagued my mind as I galloped through the fields towards Vesontio. My primary concern was how I could be sure that Rufus would agree to meet me alone, and not in front of his subordinates. I was confident enough about gaining entry to the Roman camp, given that I had once been a tribune. But then again, I thought, tribunes are usually aged between eighteen and their early twenties, and I was pushing thirty. I resolved to keep my helmet on for as long as possible, lest they spot the age difference. It did feel good to be clean-shaven at long last though!
But as I say, getting in was the least of my problems. Various scenarios ran through my head as to what might happen once I met with the governor. If he didn’t get rid of his staff, I was going to have a decidedly tricky time of it trying to negotiate secret deals in public. And what if I was given the opportunity, but Rufus decided to remain loyal to Nero?
Normally, a Roman citizen cannot be executed, unless convicted on a charge of treason, but it was diffi
cult to imagine an action more treacherous than asking an imperial governor to betray the emperor. I could expect any one of some terrible punishments: beheading, strangling, being thrown from the Tarpeian rock (an archaic but popular method), live burial or, worst of all, crucifixion. The thought of being strung up and left lingering on a cross for up to three days, with the added attraction of nails hammered through the wrists and ankles, was enough to make me feel queasy. And this from a man who has seen the druids of Mona build a wooden cage in the shape of a man, put people inside, and then set fire to the cage as a sacrifice to their heathen gods.
* * *
The ride to the city took me no more than two hours, keeping the winding river to my left, but the fear that clenched at my heart made it feel so much longer. I knew all of Rufus’s army would be concentrated around Vesontio and that wearing the tribune’s uniform meant that I was safe from attack, but I half expected to be ambushed by my own people, charging down from the menacing hills that loomed above me.
Ahead, I could see smoke spiralling upwards, not just one plume, maybe a dozen. The city was close at hand, and surely Rufus’s army nearer still. I rode up the crest of a spur that jutted into the river valley, and then I caught my first glimpse of a Roman city under siege. I remember it so vividly: the stench of a city at war, buildings on fire, and the echoes of a thousand sufferings, punctuated by the occasional crash of artillery. Britannia had been bloody, but this was Roman citizen against Roman citizen, never mind the fact that the city folk were Gauls. But while my heart went out to the people of Vesontio, fighting for a cause that did not really exist, my path lay towards the fortified camp hardly more than a spear’s throw from the citadel. I had to put a stop to this madness. There was no use in continuing to fret; I just had to hope that a combination of bravado and balls would see me through. Coming to the heavy wooden gates of the fort, I bellowed to be let in.
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