The King of Rome

by Francis Mulhern

  Another seven or eight, he’d lost count, women later and Javenoli had started to make his excuses. He hadn’t caught sight of the green dressed woman again and was beginning to think he had dreamt her up due to his boredom when Capitolinus appeared at his elbow and spoke to his wife.

  “I fear that Gaius will soon be needed my dear” he said with a quick look to the relieved face of his guest. “And I’d like a moment of his time before he leaves if I may” he asked quietly as Vispania clutched Javenoli’s arm more tightly.

  “Only two more introductions to do, dear” she replied haughtily as her husband nodded crisply and raised his eyebrows to Javenoli before turning with a grin on his face. Javenoli took a slow breath and turned to smile at two identical twin sisters, both dressed in coarse woollen dresses dyed a stark blue with a brown sash across their waists which were both tied into a small knot on their left hips. Javenoli turned from one to the other, completely missing their names as Vispania continued to say that they were from good Sabine families and had been in Rome for four generations. It turned out that the one on the left was called Marcianna and was recently widowed with a small child, a boy called Arrius. Javenoli spent a moment talking pleasantly to both women, raising a smile which caused jealous glances from the mothers around the garden who were watching like vultures. As he made conversation, the first time he had actually felt at ease with any of the women he noticed Vispania had disappeared from hanging on to his elbow and was hugging a tall woman in a green dress, the multi coloured braids of her hair cascading over her shoulders and onto her back. He tried not to stare and concentrated hard on Marcianna as she told him of her son and how he missed his father. After a few moments of talk he made his excuses, and suggested that maybe the boy would like to visit one of the institutes for new Camillus’ which were now looking for new recruits. Marcianna and her sister had babbled about how much of a good idea this was, but Javenoli had already mentally left the conversation and was glancing towards Vispania as she continued to talk to the bead-haired woman he had seen earlier.

  “Ladies, I must leave you for now, I must return to my duties” he said as he bowed to Marcianna and her sister and kissed both their hands as they bade him farewell, which raised a low hiss of conversation from the watching crowd. Nodding to all the women who watched him as he stepped backwards he quickly turned and stepped across to Vispania. As he approached he had a moment to look at the woman in the green dress. She was tall, slightly shorter than himself. Her dress draped down to her feet, leather sandals, good quality, were visible under the hem of her dress and he noticed her finger nails were painted with a blue dye. She wore three gold rings on her right hand, two on the smallest finger of plain gold, probably family rings, and a thick gold band on her middle finger, the sign of a widow. He licked his lips as he came to stand next to Vispania.

  The woman turned her eyes to Javenoli and her deep brown orbs caught his in a firm grip. The whites of her eyes were perfect, a slight blue hue under the eyelids. The dark eyelashes were thickened with some powder which made the eyes themselves look like two dark holes in a white sea, the black centres of which constricted as she looked at him. Her cheek bones were high, giving her a long jaw line which framed full lips. The green dress cascaded off wide shoulders which accentuated her breasts as the material was pulled tight into a thin brown belt of leather which circled her waist, the buckle was a highly polished silver with swirling patterns engraved into a thick metal clasp. He felt his mouth salivate as he stood and turned his eyes from her stare and spoke to Vispania.

  “And who is this lovely lady?” he asked. “And why have you kept her until the very last” he added as he looked back with a genuine smile to the woman in front of him.

  “Why Gaius” Vispania said with narrowed eyes and a quick glance to her friend. She picked up his hand and squeezed it gently, bringing a frown to Javenoli’s face at the familiarity of the movement. “This is my oldest friend, Pompeia Vermillianus” she said. “You will remember her family, the clan Vermillii?” Javenoli nodded. The Vermillii were an old family who had left Rome to farm the lands around the city of Circae near the fire mountain of the Pompeian marshes many years ago. It was said that they owned more than half the territory and were richer than most of the oldest families of Rome put together. He glanced at her again and she continued to look at him with an air of interest, her gaze never faltering or lowering as he was drawn into her deep brown eyes.

  “Pompeia is staying with us as she is recently arrived here in Rome.”

  Javenoli continued to look at Pompeia, and she smiled at the words as Vispania said them. Javenoli’s eyes slid to her rings and Pompeia, noticing the eye movement, lifted her hand and spoke. Her voice was quiet, yet strong, with a deep tone to it which made Javenoli look up at her once more.

  “My dear husband died several years ago” she said as she let her open hand stay in front of her chest. Javenoli smiled and nodded as she continued. “Vispania and I are second cousins and I thought it would be good if she had someone around whilst she organised her household in these troubling times” she said as her eyes never left Javenoli’s. “We’ve finished the garden, as you can see” she let her gaze shift to the greenery around her “and I understand Vispania is helping with your own villa?” she asked, knowing full well that she was.

  Javenoli swallowed quickly, fumbling slightly under the woman’s gaze. “The gardens are beautiful” he said with a broad smile to Vispania before turning back to Pompeia. “If this is anything to go by, then I would be delighted to have your input to my own meagre gardens. Both of you, of course” he said quickly as his eyes moved to Vispania and he bowed.

  Vispania caught her lower lip between her teeth as she smiled at Pompeia before turning, with a look of surprise, to Javenoli. “Why we would be delighted to call in later this afternoon and have a first look over the garden if your house man would allow us to do so” she said as Javenoli licked his lips again.

  “Oh no need for that my dear” he said as his eyes gleamed. “I will be home all afternoon and I’d be delighted to show you myself.”

  ************

  Chapter 6

  “They know we’re here” called the scout as he slid from his horse. “Sir” he added quickly as Marcus and Ahala frowned at his words. “They’ve set up a camp by the road just over a mile away, here” he handed Marcus a wax tablet that he’d withdrawn from a pouch with a well-drawn scene of the camp the Volscans had started to build. The three men walked into the tent at which Marcus and Ahala had been standing and Marcus put the tablet closer to a candle to see the words and pictures in the wax.

  “Explain it in more detail” Marcus said as he handed the tablet to Ahala, who shifted a candle closer to inspect the writing and pictures. The scout, his brown hair matted with sweat to his forehead, stood erect and started to speak quickly and curtly, as if on the parade ground. “Stirius, slow down and keep it simple” Marcus said as he handed the scout his own water pouch.

  Stirius nodded his thanks and took a long pull of water before starting again. “We watched them cross the ford, sir, and then they started to dig a trench with their backs to the water. They sent several horsemen after our scouts, but I’d arranged them in four or five places as centurion Mella taught us, sir” he said. Marcus nodded. “So, they only drove away a couple of the men and caught none”, he added with a measure of pride. “They sent riders out towards Lanuvium and I sent one of the lads to track them and keep us informed.” Marcus and Ahala exchanged glances and nods at this information, which Stirius noted and quickly wiped the smile from his face as he continued. “A group of them unloaded wooden stakes from their carts whilst another brought in wood by felling local trees. By early nightfall they had built a sizeable marching camp with a three-foot-deep trench around the edge and a seven-foot-high rampart” he said as he nodded to the tablet. “On the rear is the river, the front gate is the only entrance and a wooden bridge of several planks was constructed which they lif
ted and moved into the camp overnight.” He took a moment to rub his hands together before adding, “Four thousand men in my estimation, agreed by my second in command, sir” he said. “Three hundred horse at most and a thousand Hastati in their ranks, another six hundred velites, Sir.”

  Marcus nodded; a thorough report and well presented. Mella would have been proud of his scouts who continued to be the best that Rome had. “Well done Stirius” he said with a grin. “Get cleaned up and get a few hours’ sleep, I need you to go back tonight and keep us informed of any movements from them.” He slapped the man on the shoulder as he turned to Ahala.

  “What do you say old friend?” Marcus asked as he tapped the tablet.

  Ahala looked at it again and sighed. “Frontal assault is the only real option.” He’d only just spoken the words when he realised that this was exactly what Marcus had wanted him to say and he held up his hand as the dictator opened his mouth to speak. “Just a moment, sir” he said with a smirk as he placed the wooden tablet on the table by the candle. He spent a moment in silence considering the problem that faced him and smiled, with a slight nod of his head, before speaking again.

  “The weakness of the camp is that it has only one entrance” he said, his hand rubbing the thick beard on his chin. “Water behind and a clear front. So they must be preparing to defend it and wait for reinforcements” he looked to Marcus with a curious frown. “The entrenchments are good, from what we know” he added quickly. “And it suggests that they are confident that we cannot take the walls of their camp” he looked up at Marcus and his eyebrows rose as his eyes moved up towards the corner of the tent. “So, in fact, the strength of the camp is that it has only one entrance. One place to attack.” He frowned, his dark brows creasing into a scowl. He glanced up at Marcus again before continuing. “The Volsci are clever. Their general must be good” he added as he scratched at his beard. “It will take us days to defeat them, days we do not have and days in which they can wait for their reinforcements. They are expecting the remaining army to join them within a couple of days and with their numbers they expect to overrun us” he added glumly as he continued to scratch the dark hairs on his chin.

  Marcus moved to pick up the tablet, taking it in his right hand as he drummed the table with the fingers of his left hand. Taking a moment to look over the tablet once more he pursed his lips tightly, causing his companion to cock his head at the frustrated look that came to his face. With a slow exhalation he sat back on his chair and looked up at the tent ceiling. “There is, as you say, only one option open to us” he said slowly as he allowed his eyes to fall on Ahala “if we are to defeat them quickly, which we must. A frontal attack will be costly” he added. “We need another option.”

  ***********

  Stirius waved his spear above his head as he saw the cloud of dust approaching. As soon as he had seen the officers arriving the horns had sounded from within the camp and he’d positioned several scouts closer to the walls to ensure that there was a barrier between Camillus and any cavalry which might make a suicidal dash from the gate. He watched nervously as thirty riders approached with the blue cloak of Camillus visible in the front rank. Behind them he could just make out the first legionaries as they marched across the plain towards the Volscans camp. A shout from the walls made him smile as he realised that they, too, had seen the marching soldiers.

  Twenty riders, ten to each side, raced forwards to hold the wide position as Camillus approached, with Ahala at his side. Stirius nodded to his fellow scout, and the man kicked his horse into a canter and headed off towards the rear of the Volscan camp, Stirius edging his mount back towards the dictator and his officers.

  “Hail Stirius” Marcus called as he approached. Stirius saluted and welcomed both senior officers, bowing his head to them as they reined in next to him and stared at the high walls of the marching camp the Volscans had thrown up the previous day.

  “A good position, as you mentioned” Ahala said appraising the space around them. “Difficult to approach from the left and impossible from the rear without wading through two or three feet of water” he added as he narrowed his eyes and glanced around. “Only the front offers a true option” he added with a look to Marcus.

  “We need to get closer” Marcus said. “Have you spoken to them?” he asked Stirius, who shook his head.

  “No, sir. As soon as we approached they pelted us with arrows” he said, shrugging.

  Both officers shared a glance. “We need to get closer and see the earthworks around the camp ourselves” Marcus said as he twisted on his horse and looked backwards at the approaching army. “Ahala, line the men up as if we were planning a frontal attack. Then we’ll walk in and speak to them” he ordered before he stepped from his horse and smacked his cloak with his hand to knock the dust from the thick wool. “And remember to bring the scorpions to the front” he added as Ahala waved back to him and set off towards the approaching mass of men.

  “They gathered water this morning, sir” Stirius said as he looked across to the camp where several heads were now visible above the walls, bronze helmets shining in the sun.

  After a moment’s silence Marcus turned back to Stirius, a gleam in his eye. “How much water did they draw?” he asked.

  “Fifty men with buckets” came the surprised reply.

  “Fifty” Marcus said absently as he stepped forwards and looked at the camp again. He looked long and hard at each corner, taking a moment to peruse the structure. As he watched, from inside the camp slow drifts of smoke rose from the fires at which the men were obviously cooking. Heads ranged along the walls of the camp and the defences looked solid. “Only one option” he mumbled as Stirius looked to him with a frown.

  After nearly an hour the army was sufficiently arrived and lined up for Marcus to call to Narcius to prepare the bodyguard which would accompany him to the camp, but before that he called the elderly priest forwards with his cloth bag of oils and candles. Looking up into the sky he saw that the late morning had brought a dark blue sky interspersed with thick clouds which floated like woollen boats across the heavens. Nodding to the priest the man started to lay out a folding table, placing candles and clay pots of oils sealed with cork on the surface. Stirius handed Marcus a small cup of water and stepped back. Within five minutes the scene was set and all the centurions were standing in two rows behind the table, their men behind them in their ranks. Marcus looked over his shoulder to the Volscan camp and saw that many more heads were now on the walls, each helmet pointed in their direction as they watched the scene that the Romans were playing out in front of them. Marcus turned towards the walls, still over two hundred yards in front of him and held up the cup of water Stirius had handed him.

  “Volturnus, god of the water” he called, his white hood pulled over his head. “Spirits of the water which flows through this land. Land which we men of Rome do not wish to violate. Send your anger on these men of the Volscan territories who despoil your purity.” He turned and handed the cup to the priest, who quickly mixed it with one of the bowls he had on the table, slicing a newly picked blade of grass and calling for the spirit of the soil to join with the Romans. Marcus watched the walls as heads milled to and fro and he heard some shouts come from the camp, mostly abusive comments against the Roman gods. He smiled. The priest took a chicken from a wooden cage and held it out to Marcus, his eyes downcast as he held the bird by its neck and feet at the same time. Marcus stepped forwards and took out his gleaming silver knife, his eyes moving to the sky.

  “Jupiter, Mars, Fortuna and Juno” he called. “Give us your wisdom. Give us your strength. Give us your love as we do your duty as good men of Rome, your city. Let us smite our enemies this day. Let their lives be payment for the cruelty they do in breaking the laws you gave us.” He sliced the birds head from its body with a deft stroke, the blood pouring quickly from its long neck as the priest placed a silver bowl under the dripping neck. When enough red liquid had filled the bowl, he handed the bird back to th
e priest and smeared two red lines of blood across his own cheeks, moving closer to the priest and adding the same two lines to the priest’s cheeks before the man expertly slit the bird’s stomach and pulled out the intestines. These were laid across the table, with the heart and liver soon placed on a dish at their side. Marcus and the priest conferred for a moment before both nodded and turned back to the watching men, their faces showing their anxiety.

  “The reading is clear” he called as the men cheered at his words. “The camp will not last and we will overrun them.” As he spoke the centurions held their swords aloft and called “For Rome”, the chant swiftly followed by the ranks of soldiers behind them. Marcus noted a loud cheering coming from the walls of the camp too; clearly the Volscan leaders were getting their own men to cheer their own war cries. He smiled as he turned back to the camp.

  “Shall we go and speak to them?” he half-asked, half commanded, as he stepped forwards, pulling the white robe from his head and shoulders and nodding to the priest as he tossed it across to him. The feet of fifty men crunched the ground as they marched forwards at the shoulder of the dictator, Ahala on his right, Narcius on his left.

  “I still see no option but a frontal assault” Ahala said in a discouraging tone as they walked. “It could get very messy” he continued, as Marcus acknowledged his comment. Narcius glanced to the dictator and back to the camp. He had to agree with Ahala, there seemed no other choice and they didn’t have the time or men to make a long siege against this camp.