by David Black
At last, still flanked by lines of nurtured green vines Arminius came to the end of the track, where it joined the cobbled Appian Way. The ancient road would lead him straight to the gates of Rome.
Ahead, a small crowd had gathered on the roadside beside a wooded olive grove. From the structures erected among the trees, Arminius realised instantly what he was approaching. He had seen the tall wooden crosses too many times before. This was a permanent place of death where condemned slaves and the worst dregs of the criminal underworld were publically executed. Deliberately situated beside the main highway, it was clearly visible to rich and poor, freemen and slaves alike. It was a warning of what awaited those who dared break strict Roman law, or defy the word of their Emperor.
They were long gone now of course, but Arminius remembered during one history lesson his teacher had told the class of six thousand escaped slaves, followers of Spartacus, the Capuan gladiator had lined the very same road he was now riding on. Each rebel had been crucified and left to die as punishment for joining the gladiator’s slave revolt against their legal masters. The Legions eventually defeated Spartacus and his army of beaten and half starved slaves. Revenge had been cruel and Roman mercy non-existent. Prospering in a society based on slavery, an example the Senate decided must be made. It was agreed in the Forum that surviving slaves guilty of rebellion had lost the right to live. As a black hearted warning against similar rebellion in the future they were left to rot where they hung along the Appian Way, which led to the very heart of the Roman Empire.
Arminius shuddered. He considered for a moment turning his mount and finding another way into the city. Time was against him however; he had no choice but to pass the grove, and the ghastly spectacle it contained.
Crucifixion was considered a most shameful and disgraceful way to die. All but the worst condemned Roman citizens were exempted from such execution. The manner and process of crucifixion was unspeakably brutal. The criminal, after sentence had been pronounced, carried their cross to this place of execution outside the city. Often, the condemned’s backs were scourged to the bone by their guards as the prisoner dragged the heavy timber towards the place where they would die. The damned criminal was forced down and nailed through wrists and ankles to the wooden cross by soldiers specially trained as executioners. A medicated cup of vinegar mixed with gall and myrrh was sometimes given, for the purpose of deadening the pangs of the sufferer, providing sufficient coin was slipped to the guards by the condemned’s grieving family.
As Arminius drew near he saw that two men and a woman had been recently crucified. One of the men was white haired and ancient, the other young. The woman was also young, perhaps even attractive once, but not anymore. Their clothes were rags, all three dirt streaked and filthy. They were still alive and moaned pitifully as they struggled through the agonising pain to take their next breath. Nailed to the cross, they suffered massive strain on their wrists, arms and shoulders which all too often resulted in the further agony of dislocation of the shoulder and elbow joints. The rib cage was constrained by their body’s weight, which made it extremely difficult to exhale, and impossible to take a full breath. As life slowly ebbed away, the prisoners would continually try to draw themselves up by their feet to allow inflation of their lungs, while enduring terrible pain in both feet and legs. Soon, the pain would become unbearable and the condemned would be forced to trade breathing for pain. Sometimes it took days for the release of death to come. It was a terrible, slow and excruciating way to die.
Arminius slowed his horse and stopped beside a water trough. As his horse drank he looked across the narrow clearing. He called out to the Centurion in charge of the execution detail, who had his back turned and was talking casually to one of his men.
‘What was their crime Centurion?’
The Centurion turned with a scowl on his face. Suspiciously eyeing the young man on the fine horse he snapped.
‘Who wants to know?’
Arminius drew himself up in his saddle. Station in Roman society was everything, and he had learned that even a name could be used as a weapon.
‘My name is Arminius. I am Prince and heir to the Cherusci throne; an Imperial hostage of Rome under the patronage of Senator Varus.’
Most of his Legion service had been spent marching across in the parched wastes of Syria and Judea. The Centurion had never heard of the Cherusci, but since he’d returned to Rome, he’d certainly heard the name of Senator Varus. Anyone under the powerful Senator’s protection was worthy of respect. The Centurion’s attitude towards the young man changed in a heartbeat. He nodded and came to attention.
‘Ah, they’re slaves Sir. Escaped slaves, that is. All owned by the House of Crastus. They were caught about twenty miles north of here, hiding in an old outhouse by these men a few days ago. One got away but these three were brought back this morning to their owner’s villa... to face his judgement.’
Arminius nodded as he glanced at the rough looking group of men nearby. He noted the weapons and manacles each of them carried on their belts before returning his gaze to the Centurion.
‘And?’
‘Well Sir, their owner has been having trouble with escaped slaves recently. Being merciful and just giving them bread and water for a month, and a good flogging of course hasn’t worked so he called us in and told us to make an example of all three of these scum...’ The Centurion jerked his thumb towards the dying slaves and shrugged. ‘Can’t just have them cutting off their slave collars and skipping when they feel like it, can we Sir? They work...’ A smile at his own slip drifted across the Centurion’s face. ‘Or rather they used to work in the vine fields behind us. That is, ‘till they made the mistake of doing a runner.’
Arminius nodded. At least they had the option to try, he thought sadly. Arminius turned to the group of men who stared back at him.
‘And who exactly are you?’ He enquired.
One of the surely group, their leader stepped forward.
‘We’re slave catchers, professionals.’ With a sharp warning glance from the Centurion he added reluctantly ‘Sir.’
‘And that’s what you do is it? Spend your days hunting down runaways?’
The leader of the group nodded.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what we do.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it. All perfectly legal and it pays well...’ He glanced up at the woman hanging on the cross. She had screamed shrilly when the iron nails bit into her flesh as the soldiers nailed her up. Now she just rolled her head and moaned in her agony. With a sly grin and a wink he added.
’And there are plenty of perks for the taking... if you know what I mean sir?’
The other men leered and sniggered knowingly to each other.
Arminius nodded tight lipped. He didn’t recognise any of the slaves, but he did feel both empathy and pity for them. There was nothing he could do for them but understood their suicidal hunger for freedom. In one sense he knew himself to be the lucky one. One day soon he would leave the confines of Rome to begin his officers’ training. Eventually perhaps, even be allowed to return to his homeland. Staring one by one into the agonised faces of the prisoners, he understood why they had run. They would never see their home or loved ones again if they didn’t try, doomed as they were forever to a life of misery and hopeless bondage.
* * * * *
Still disturbed and somehow deeply moved by the agonising fate of the slaves he had seen outside the city, Arminius handed the reins of his horse to the groom.
‘I watered him once he’d cooled down, but he needs feeding. See to it, will you?’
The groom bowed slightly. Patting the horse’s neck he said.
‘Yes Sir, I’ll see to it right away.’
Suddenly, there was a commotion outside and the school’s clerk rushed into the stable sweating profusely.
‘Ah, there you are Arminius.’ Breathing heavily, he spoke with obvious relief. ‘I thought this is where I’d find you.’ Leaning against a support
pillar for a moment to catch his breath, he gasped. ‘I have a message for you from Cepheus. He sent me over to find you. We have received word from Senator Varus’ office and Cepheus says you are to report to the school office immediately.’
Surprised by the urgency of the clerk’s tone Arminius left the stable without another word and strode through the bustling cobbled street towards his nearby school.
Arminius rubbed his hands through his hair and did his best to wipe down his dusty tunic. Satisfied that he had done what he could, he knocked smartly on the principal’s door. A familiar voice from inside called.
‘Come in!’
Arminius grasped the latch and entered. Cepheus was sitting behind his desk, talking to a senior army officer. Resting on the desk next to a half empty cup of wine was the officer’s helmet. It bore the plume of a Legate, the commander of an Imperial Legion.
Cepheus rose when he saw who it was.
‘Ah, well done Arminius. You’ve made good time.’ Looking towards his guest who wore a white cape marked with a broad purple stripe over his uniform, he said. ‘I’d like to introduce you to Legate Quintus Gaius Ovarious, Commander of the 7th Claudia Legion.’
Arminius did his best to hide his surprise. Legate’s held Senatorial rank in Roman society. He had never been introduced to anyone so senior or important.
Noticing the shock in the young man’s eyes the Legate smiled. ‘Ah, so you’re Arminius. I’ve been hearing nothing but good about you from your Principal and others who know of you. I also hear since you arrived you’ve become a true friend of Rome.’
Arminius nodded. Without hesitation he lied. ‘Yes...Of course Sir.’
Legate Ovarious beamed. ‘That’s excellent, excellent. I also believe you have become a damned fine horseman.’
Arminius quickly recovered himself. Truthfully this time he said.
‘Yes Sir, I do love riding.’
The Legate nodded. ‘Good...good. Now, I expect you are wondering why I have asked to meet you.’
His curiosity aroused, Arminius nodded politely.
‘Well, we are currently recruiting replacement officers for my Legion. I don’t usually get involved with such mundane matters, but my friend Senator Varus suggested I take a personal interest in you. Your Principal sends regular reports to the Senator’s office and it appears your record here has been exemplary. You have consistently shown yourself to be loyal, hard working and respectful. Most important of all young man, you have shown yourself willing to learn.’ The Legate paused and sipped from his cup and then continued. ‘As you may know, Senator Varus is keen for his charges to serve Rome through military service, so it has been decided you will join my 7th Claudia. You leave here tonight, and will begin your military training tomorrow.’
Arminius’ mouth dropped open with genuine surprise.
‘But I’m not a Roman citizen Sir, I can’t...
The Legate held up his hand for silence. He reached under the richly decorated helmet lying on the desk and removed a scroll concealed beneath it. He smiled.
‘We are nothing if not efficient Arminius. I have here a formal document bearing the Seal of the Senate which grants you citizenship with immediate effect.’ His face softened as he shook his head and added. ‘Now I can’t have a mere citizen serving in my Legion as an officer...The document also confirms your elevation to the noble Equestrian Order. From now on you may own your own horse and wear a toga adorned with the Order’s thin purple stripe, to publicly display your new enhanced status into Roman nobility.’
Legate Ovarious reached under his tunic and handed a gold signet ring to the astonished young man standing before him.
‘Wear this with pride. It bears the mark of the Order...and confirms your position.’
The Legate advanced smiling and slapped Arminius on the back.
‘On behalf of Rome and the Imperial Senate I offer you my sincere congratulations.’
As Arminius stared at his new ring, and tried to absorb the magnitude of the last few minutes the Legate turned away and looked out of the window. He stared down thoughtfully at the busy street below.
Suddenly he turned around.
‘Tell me Arminius’ he enquired. ‘What do you know of Pannonia?’
To his relief, Arminius remembered his lessons.
‘Err; it’s a Roman province to the Northeast Sir. It’s famous for its hunting dogs, forests and a strange drink called beer.’
The Legate slapped his thigh, threw back his head and roared with laughter. Because his guest laughed, Cepheus laughed too.
‘Yes, that’s it. It’s an awful place by all accounts. Full of flies, marshes and mountains.’
Suddenly, the Legate’s earlier warmth disappeared. His face turned grim.
‘Rome received urgent dispatches from our Governor in Pannonia several days ago. He has declared a state of emergency out there and is facing full-scale rebellion by a large part of its population. General Tiberius has been ordered by the Emperor to take the 7th Claudia and four other Legions to quell the revolt.’ The Legate’s face was grave. ‘There’s no question in my mind. It’s going to be a long, tough, campaign. When you complete your military training at the officers’ academy, you will immediately join my Legion in Pannonia, where you will serve as a junior officer in one of my auxiliary cavalry squadrons.’
Chapter 4
Loaded down with grain and medical supplies, the supply vessel’s oars dipped rhythmically into the water, splashing softly as they propelled the wooden ship through the deep waters of the River Lippe. The skies were darkening. Cold damp swirls of mist hung silently above its rippling surface as the ship made headway into the growing gloom, against the river’s gentle current. At the stern of the ship the steersman lent against the long wooden tiller, watching his Captain for the slightest indication of a course correction.
As the trader’s civilian master peered into the mist beyond the prow, the Roman officer beside him asked.
‘How much further up the river before we reach the supply depot at Anreppen, Captain Drusilla?’
Drusilla rubbed his chin, trying to decide if truth was the best option.
‘It’s difficult to say exactly.’ He quickly added. ‘What with this damned mist and all.’ He didn’t mention that he was sure he had missed the last way point that he usually used to judge the remaining distance to the Legion’s main supply dump upstream, nestled on the banks of the Lippe. The missing way point was a prominent hill on the right bank, but try as he might, the mist he thought had hidden it from his gaze. He wasn’t overly worried however; he had made the same journey countless times during the past two years.
Keeping 25,000 men fed and supplied in the field was never an easy task for him and the other supply ship captains. The logistics were incredible. The three Legions consumed grain, fodder and other supplies at an alarming rate of 40 tons per day and the Lippe was their key supply artery from distant Gaul. Every stockpiled grain of wheat and barley was carried overland by pack mule and cart from the main Anreppen depot on the Lippe, through a chain of smaller supply dumps to the soldiers of the Eagles, stationed deep inside the wild Germania interior. While the river remained free of ice from spring to autumn, it was the only route that worked efficiently, ensuring no interruption to the constant stream of vital supplies to the men on summer campaign.
Absently scratching a mosquito bite on the back of his neck the Captain said.
‘We’ll probably arrive just after dark. They always keep the torches burning on the riverbank outside the depot to help guide us in, and I reckon we’ll see them shortly.’ He smiled reassuringly at the tall auxiliary cavalry officer standing beside him. ‘Don’t worry though Decurion,’ he said. ‘We’ll be there soon enough.’
Excitement pounding in his chest, Arminius smiled. For him, it couldn’t come soon enough.
* * * * *
‘Raise Oars!’
The crewmen lifted their oars clear of the water on the command of their Captain. Sw
inging them vertically above their heads the sailors held them steady as the supply ship coasted the last few feet and bumped gently alongside the wooden jetty. Crewmen in the bow and stern threw mooring ropes into the hands of the waiting legionaries, who quickly secured them fast to anchor points on the jetty side. Laying down the oars inside the open rowing deck, the remaining crewmen set about their duties in preparation to begin unloading the numerous hemp bags of grain, medical supplies and other stores the ship was carrying.
Wearing the full uniform of a cavalry Decurion, with his personal belongings wrapped in a flax bag slung over his shoulder, Arminius was first to step heavily onto the wooden jetty when the narrow gangplank was lowered. In the early evening’s darkness the wide landing stage was illuminated with burning torches which threw long shadows into the surrounding mist, which still hung silently above the dark rippled water. Somewhere in the darkness a bird screeched suddenly.
More torches lit the Anreppen depot’s tall palisade walls beside the river’s edge. Sentries patrolled behind the wall, their helmets and spearheads glinted in the flickering torchlight. At the end of the jetty, two wooden towers straddled the tall wall of vertical logs, and were also patrolled by alert sentries. They kept watch on the main jetty gate, which had been unbolted and swung open as the supply ship arrived. His hobnailed sandals clattering on the landing stage planks, Arminius hurried through the gates.
