Eagles of the Damned

by David Black

  Prefect Macros scratched his head. ‘Sounds like you were lucky to escape?’

  ‘Yes sir, that’s what I think. The lads did well but we lost two men dead. One was killed from the scouting party which swept the village; another died of his wounds on the journey back here. I’ve got fifteen of my lads with the medicos now having their wounds treated.’ Rufus shrugged. ‘Nothing too serious, but I’ll have to put most of them on light duties until their wounds have healed properly.’

  The Prefect nodded. ‘Of course, I’ll leave that to your discretion.’ Rubbing his chin he added. ‘How did young Crastus perform?’

  Rufus looked down at the ground and said nothing. The boy had panicked during the action, but he was young and inexperienced and criticising a senior officer was a dangerous path to tread.

  Prefect Macros clicked his tongue with irritation. ‘Well?’

  Rufus looked up. Reluctantly he said. ‘He was in command before the ambush was sprung sir, but took a flesh wound shortly afterwards during the fighting. I led when he went down, so I can’t tell you much more.’

  The Prefect stared at his Centurion coldly. He was an old soldier and knew perfectly well when he was being lied to.

  ‘All right, Rufus, I hear your official version. I’ll see to it that’s what will be recorded on his record.’ He turned and walked back to his table. Sitting on its edge he folded his arms and lowered his voice.

  ‘Listen, I was as surprised as you when the General decided to give our young Tribune’s operational command, even inside the pacified territories. You and I have spent too many years learning our craft to be put under a novice.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose old General Varus thought it would be a good opportunity for them to gain some field experience without any real danger. They’ll go home in a couple of months full of daring tales, leading their men on the wild northern frontier, and their families will be in debt to Varus for giving them such a golden opportunity...’

  Rufus winced. It sounded about right. He snorted softly to himself. Keeping his voice low he said. ‘I’m glad I’m not a politician. The General has to score points while he thinks of his future. Me, I just wonder what tomorrow will bring, and if I’ll live that long.’

  The veteran Prefect smiled back at Rufus and said.

  ‘Spoken like a soldier...Now, off the record, what really happened?’

  * * * * *

  Sitting in the quiet of his tent, Rufus winced as he unlaced his sandal and gratefully rubbed his toes. His back was aching and he felt drained. It had been a tough fight and a gruelling march back to Legion headquarters. He had deliberately forced the pace and had removed his Century in good order from the danger of counterattack quickly. The men had grumbled when he had pushed them on, but now they were back safely and the injured were receiving proper treatment. He’d always thought that live moaning legionaries were better than silent dead ones.

  Lying down on his cot, Rufus threaded his fingers together behind his head and tried to relax his aching body. Sleep approached but his mind began to wander. A lifetime of soldiering with the Legions was taking its toll. Although he hid it from his men, recently a new ache or pain seemed to appear every morning somewhere in his battle scarred body when it was time to rise.

  He had a year left to serve before he could honourably retire from his military service. What then he wondered? He was entitled to a reasonably generous pension and the gift of land from a grateful Senate. The land wouldn’t be even close to Rome of course. That was all privately owned by the richest in Roman society. No, as a retiring veteran Centurion he would be awarded land taken from people somewhere within the Empire. Soldiers stationed locally would be specially sent in and the original owners would be driven off long before he arrived to take possession. It was tough on the locals he thought, but there it was, that’s how it worked. He would farm the land and support himself and perhaps, even a wife and family of his own? Except for the most senior officers, it was forbidden to take a wife while serving with a Legion. True, he thought some of his brother Centurions and even a few of the men had a woman who followed them as the Legion travelled. Like the traders, money lenders and brothel keepers, they had set up temporary home in the settlement which sprang up close to the Legion’s military stockade.

  With his eyes closed, as he lay luxuriating about his future Rufus wondered where he would eventually plant new roots. Southern Gaul was his favourite. The soil was rich and the winters were mild. Perhaps he would take a local girl as a wife? It was an appealing thought to have someone to cook for him and keep him warm in bed at night.

  Further dreams of the future were abruptly halted when his Optio’s head suddenly appeared through the tent’s flap.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you sir, but there’s trouble.’

  Rufus sat up with a start. Sleepily he growled.

  ‘In Jupiter’s name I’ve only just got to bed. What is it now Praxus?’

  The Optio winced. His tone remained apologetic.

  ‘It’s Legionary Severus sir. Tribune Crastus has had him arrested and put in chains.’

  Rufus rubbed the sleep which had threatened to overwhelm him from his tired eyes.

  ‘Arrested?...What do you mean arrested? On what charge?’ He demanded sleepily.

  Praxus answered quickly. ‘Like I said sir, it’s bad. It could mean the death penalty for Severus if he’s guilty. The Tribune has just charged him with being an escaped slave....’

  Rufus dressed in a hurry. Praxus was right. If young Severus was indeed an escaped slave who had furthered his getaway by joining the Legion there was only one penalty, and that was enshrined in Roman military law. The penalty was death.

  Urgently buckling on his breastplate, Rufus picked up his helmet and rushed outside. He followed his Optio through the darkness towards the legion’s headquarters. Returning the salute from the sentry he rushed inside and spotted the Prefect’s clerk hurrying down the gloomy corridor carrying yet more scrolls towards a storeroom.

  ‘Where is Prefect Macros?’ Rufus barked.

  The clerk spun round and faced the panting Centurion.

  ‘He’s gone over to the Provost’s office sir, with Tribune Crastus.’

  Rufus sighed heavily. Working under the direct command of the Prefect, the Provost was responsible for the wooden cells built to imprison captives and hostages taken by the Legion, and legionaries under field punishment for disciplinary matters.

  Rufus nodded and almost ran from the Headquarters, followed closely by Praxus.

  The cells were hard against the inside wall of the stockade, close to the communal latrines of the 10th Cohort. The latrine trench was close to being filled in, another was half dug nearby. Praxus gagged at the overpowering stench which rose from it as they hurried past.

  Ahead, silhouetted by flaring torches Rufus saw a small group of officers talking together. He recognised the Prefect first, and hurried over to him. Tribune Crastus was beside him. Saluting, Rufus said.

  ‘I’ve just been informed that one of my lads, legionary Severus has been placed under arrest. Can you clarify the charge for me sir, he’s one of my best?’

  ‘One of your best?’ The tribune snapped. His voice was laced with arrogant contempt.

  Startled by his sudden appearance from the surrounding darkness Prefect Macros stared at his Centurion for a moment as he raised his hand to stifle further comment from the young Tribune. Then, considering his words carefully he replied.

  ‘Ah Rufus, yes. I’m afraid a serious charge has been made against legionary Severus. Tribune Crastus recognised him and ordered his immediate arrest. There is considerable evidence, based on the Tribunes statement that Severus is indeed an escaped slave.’

  ‘What evidence would that be sir?’

  ‘Well, the word of a Tribune of course, but he bears scars on his arm, which could be where his slave brand was removed.’

  Rufus spluttered. ‘But...but he’s a good soldier sir. He saved my life a month ago. Based on his past per
formance I was even considering putting him forward for Optio soon.’

  Marcos shook his head. Spreading his hands he said.

  ‘I’m sorry Centurion; the matter is out of my hands. Based on the charges which have been brought against him, military law dictates that in due course the prisoner must be returned to our winter camp, and put in front of a tribunal of senior officers who will decide his fate.’ Marcos shrugged and said matter-of-factly. ‘General Varus has granted early leave to the three Legates, so we’ll have to wait for them to return before arranging the trial. He’ll get a fair hearing of course, but if he can’t prove his innocence...’ He shrugged as his words hung in the air. ‘They’ll find him guilty and there is only one sentence which fits this particular crime.... He’ll be crucified in front of his Legion.’

  Tribune Crastus stepped forward. His face was sly in the flickering light.

  ‘And while the slave is on trial Centurion, I expect the Legates will want to know why you were harbouring him in your Century?’

  Rufus spun angrily and looked into the smug expression which had spread across the Tribune’s face. In another time and another place, the little snot would have felt Rufus’s blade in his throat.

  Before he could speak however, Prefect Marcos barked.

  ‘That is quite enough Tribune...You are dismissed.’

  Crastus eyes glittered angrily in the torchlight. For just a moment he glared at the Prefect. Reluctantly he saluted, turned and stamped off into the darkness.

  The veteran Prefect returned his gaze to Rufus. Stepping forward he whispered quietly.

  ‘We both know that little shit is covering his back after the mess he made during the ambush Rufus. I don’t know if the charges against your man are true but whatever happens, watch your step, that boy has rich and powerful friends at home. You should know he wanted me to arrest you as well for complicity, but based on what you had already told me, I refused. He’s trying to cast a shadow on your reputation of course, in case you make accusations of dereliction or incompetence against him during the tribunal.’

  Rufus spat on the ground beside him. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth he shook his head sadly and said.

  ‘This bloody army isn’t what it used to be, when jumped up little turds like that can cause so much trouble.’ With a sigh he added. ‘If I have your permission I’ll talk to legionary Severus when I get the chance sir. He’s one of mine and I can’t just abandon him. Truth is, he needs all the help he can get.’

  The Prefect nodded. ‘Of course you can Centurion. I’d do the same if it were me, but to tell you the truth, in this instance I’m glad it’s not.’

  Chapter 18

  It was hot working under the mid-day sun, even deep in the forest. Far from the safety of their summer camp, stripped to the waist the legionaries from the 2nd Century of the fifth Cohort sweated and grumbled as they laboured. Shields and spears lay on the ground, arranged neatly nearby beside each individual’s armour but as always, swords remained sheathed on their hips. The new stretch of road the men were engaged in building was only half complete and it was proving to be particularly awkward. Trees in its path had been felled, and the marching road’s broad foundation and drainage ditches dug, but suitable rocks big enough to form the base weren’t immediately available. To the growing annoyance of the engineer in charge, they had to be carted in from half a mile away. It was proving a slow process and the engineer’s schedule was falling further and further behind.

  ‘This won’t do at all Centurion. I need much more rock than this.’

  The Century’s newly promoted commander removed his helmet and wiped his brow. He stared at the frown on the engineer’s face for a moment.

  ‘My men are digging them up as fast as they can. To meet your requirements I can’t possibly deliver more without having extra men to quarry the rock.’

  The engineer stared at the sweating legionaries who were busy unloading the latest batch to arrive. The rocks were heaved from the two wheeled cart by its driver and another legionary. The lumps of stone thumped onto the ground beside the long scar already dug by their comrades earlier that morning. The work detail picked them up awkwardly. Lifting the heavy burdens into place they carefully interlocked each one tightly to its neighbour to create a solid and lasting foundation. Smaller stones would be added later in layers of decreasing size, as the final stages to producing a firm and levelled marching surface for the Legions.

  Casting his eyes away from the toiling men the engineer’s gaze fell on the fully armed guards who casually patrolled in pairs through the trees around the worksite.

  ‘What about using some of them?’ He enquired. ‘They’ll do.’

  The Centurion shook his head. ‘Those men are there for a purpose.’ He sighed. ‘I know this isn’t classed as hostile territory anymore, but regulations still state that half the men labour while the others act as their guards.’

  Already annoyed by the series of nagging delays which had confounded his tight construction schedule, tormented under the hot sun the engineer’s temper suddenly snapped. Angrily he snarled.

  ‘Damn your bloody regulations Centurion! Our progress is falling behind and you deny me the only possible means to make up precious time. You know very well that this area was pacified long ago. There is absolutely no danger out here and I’m telling you now, if you don’t release men to collect more stone right now I’m going to report you personally for causing this delay....’ He paused and glared angrily at the young Centurion as he waited for an answer.

  Racked with indecision the Centurion looked at his men as they slowly walked the wooded perimeter, shaded by the trees from the hot sunshine. The engineer was right of course, this wasn’t an area known for trouble and there hadn’t been a single incident since his men had relieved the last century five days earlier. The prospect of being hauled up in front of his Prefect, or worse still the Legate on a dereliction charge appalled him. He’d worked and fought too hard to face demotion now, just when he had realised his life’s dream and achieved officer rank. As the youngest Centurion in the Legion, a bright future awaited. His mind made up, he was damned if he was going to see it all ruined by blind adherence to a stupid regulation which, he reasoned no-one else would know he had ignored anyway.

  ‘All right, I understand the problem. I’ll give you another twenty men from the guard to help quarry more rock.’

  The engineer was delighted. His face beamed. ‘Well done Centurion, now that’s really using your initiative.’

  While the Centurion made arrangements with his Optio to remove every other guard and march them to the quarry site, he was unaware that dark eyes were watching his dwindling command from the depths of the forest...

  ‘Is everything set and ready?’

  Lying quietly down beside him, Rolf nodded and whispered.

  ‘Yes Herman, the men are all in position and know what to do when you give the signal.’

  Arminius nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Very well.’

  Satisfied that everything was ready, Arminius motioned his cousin back from their concealed vantage point in the trees. They slithered down into dead ground on their bellies. Keeping low, both men jumped up and ran in a half crouch towards their waiting auxiliaries. The cavalrymen were waiting among the trees close to the latest completed section of the road, hidden from the engineer and the sweating legionaries by the brow of a low hill.

  Taking his horse’s reins from one of the men, Arminius pulled on his plumed officers’ helmet. Securing it under his chin he signalled in silence for the cavalry squadron to mount. The grinning Cherusci, dressed in their Roman auxiliary uniforms eagerly hauled themselves into their saddles; despite his churning stomach Arminius’s eyes had begun to shine bright with anticipation.

  He pinched the material of his Decurion tunic and then released it. His face contorted with a moment’s contempt and hatred.

  ‘Now is the time we turn these uniforms into weapons against our en
emies Rolf.’

  Arminius exhaled deeply, betraying the relief which engulfed him. ‘Finally we can begin to play our own part.’

  He turned his horse in the direction of the unsuspecting Romans. Lifting his arm Arminius waved his squadron forward at the walk. With bridles jingling and their horses snorting to the clatter of iron shod hooves the mounted column began to move. Turning his head back towards Rolf he said over his shoulder with a savage grin.

  ‘It is time to make the Roman swine ahead learn their true mistake of entering our land.’

  His untouched breakfast before him, General Varus frowned as he finished reading the latest reports from patrols which had recently returned from their duties in the interior. Two strong patrols had come under attack from the barbarians and taken casualties, and most worryingly of all, contact had been lost with one of his furthest border forts. Three full squadrons of cavalry had been dispatched to ascertain the fort’s fate, but had not yet returned.

  Varus sighed deeply and dropped the last parchment onto the table before him. This sudden explosion of violence didn’t make any sense to him at all. Silently he shook his head. In the last few weeks, the omens had all been good. Ignatius, his haruspex had been blessed one dark night by a highly significant dream. Granted by the Gods, the vision had shown him flying beside a great owl through an obsidian sky pitted with shinning stars. Obviously, Ignatius explained, the owl was a creature of great physical power and deep-seated wisdom. Ignatius had assured his master that the creature represented him as military governor, soaring free and using his own insight and sound judgment across the entire Northern Province.

  The General’s trusted prodigy Arminius had given no hint of trouble either. His latest reports confirmed that the tribes within the province were co-operating peacefully. To back up his confidence in Arminius, the evidence he had seen with his own eyes was solid and overwhelming; trade was flourishing across the Province and Varus’s road building program was running smoothly throughout the heavily forested tribal lands. The old general rubbed his hands slowly across the white stubble on his chin. He had not received any intelligence of unrest among the barbarian chieftain’s. Tax revenue was being successfully gathered on the whole, and the Province’s treasury was growing at an acceptable rate.