Dawn of The Eagle

by Francis Mulhern

  Marcus looked to Decimus who was also smiling but looking somewhat confused, his eyes screwed up and deep frown on his face. “How does that relate to this?” Marcus asked, frowning as well and looking puzzled.

  “Well” said Mella, now chewing on a chunk of stale bread, “He will present the prisoner to the Senate and claim he won a great victory to capture him, just like Oblitius did” he nodded as he continued to munch on the thick bread “and then when we arrive with the true story he will look like the true fool he is and I for one will be happy to tie his sad corpse to a boar and flog it around the city” he nodded with a malicious grin. Marcus wondered if this was true. Would Postumius be so stupid as to think that he could get away with pretending he had won a great victory, it was madness to think that the Senate would not wait for his brother and the other commanders to give their version of events when they returned to Rome in the next few days. Surely he would face ridicule when he was found out.

  “Of course he could have another plan” added Decimus, taking the water pouch and drinking noisily from it, the water seeping out of the corner of his mouth and dripping down the front of his tunic.

  “What’s that then?” asked Mella turning to Marcus and winking, his long dark hair blowing across his face as he did so.

  “Well, I don’t know do I” said Decimus in an exasperated voice, “I’m a dumb soldier not some jumped up politician who has spies everywhere and buys every senator in the house just to get one up on his fellow Patricians, present company excepted” he quickly added glancing at Marcus and then facing forwards so as not to catch his eye.

  Mella burst out laughing “I thought you were going to come up with some deep and meaningful statement which we would all agree was absolute genius” he said, his face creased with laughter. “But I think you are right, he’s clever that Postumius. He will have thought it through and he will have some plan which will advance his family in this” he nodded sagely as Marcus’s mind grappled with what sort of plan Mella could be talking about. It was a mystery Marcus would need to discuss with his brother. This campaign was getting more curious every day.

  Just then they heard a voice call “Avaenti ahead” and his mind was brought back to the present as he squinted into the bright sun ahead of him. “Mount up lad” said Decimus, “Let’s get there quick and report to your brother”. With this Decimus and Marcus left Mella and the remaining troops and headed to the city of Avaenti at a gallop.

  Chapter 8

  The inn was dark, with barely any light coming through the small windows on one side of the room and was filled with rough wooden benches crammed into the space to allow as many people as possible to sit and drink. The dank smell of faeces and wine hung heavily in the air as the man stepped closer to the table he had been told he should attend, squinting into the half darkness and counting the tables to make sure this was the right one. As he approached he saw two cloaked figures look up from their drinks and noticed that both of them held one hand under the table, each clearly holding some kind of weapon, but wisely keeping it out of view. One of the men moved across on the bench leaving a space for him to sit, and he sidled across looking quickly around the room to see if he was being watched. The dark room was noisy as revellers drank their fill and enjoyed the cheap, sharp wine that the hosteller served, but the rider thought it might be too public for him and the message he had to give.

  “Free born” said the man quietly as he sat, looking at the dark space under the hood across from him.

  “Republic” replied the hooded figure in a deep growl, the light catching a stubbled chin with a thick scar running along its length. A cup was pushed across to him and he drank deeply, happy that this was the right response but still wary of the number of people around him. The ride had been long and he hoped to be well rewarded for the information he was giving, it was certainly worth a handful of gold he hoped as he licked his lips and slid the tablet from a pocket in his thick riding cloak.

  “Not here” whispered the man to his right as he stood and edged past him dragging a hand across his shoulder and leaning close to him. “Stop looking so nervous and call the woman over to get a drink” he added as he went off moaning loudly about needing to relieve himself and staggering as if he had been drinking all day. After calling for his drink the rider finished the cup in front of him and looked once more around the room. The smell of sweat mingled with the general smell of the inn and he wondered if it was his own sweat he could smell. It had taken him three days of hard riding to avoid both the Aequii and Roman scouts out on the road, keeping to ditches, trees and higher ground as much as he could, and he knew he must smell terribly. His horse was worth its weight in gold, he mused, and he thanked Fortuna silently for its strength as he sat staring into his empty cup. As the second hooded figure returned he stood to allow him to retake his seat. “No, move along you fool” growled the man, “stop looking like a hen at a cock-fight and relax” he added nudging him along. “Here” he said giving him a jug of wine and pushing him along so he could sit next to him. The rider was finding it hard to understand what was required of him. All he had been told was that he could earn good coin by taking the information to this inn and handing it to two men on the last table, the seventh, in the right corner of the room. He felt a need to urinate and decided it was best if he didn’t drink any more wine just in case he needed to keep his wits about him.

  “Ave” said the first man, suddenly, from across the table and abruptly stood and left after clasping hands with the second man and patting the rider on the shoulder. Confused the rider stared open mouthed at the hooded figure next to him and was about to speak when this figure too rose, clasped arms with him and said “you have done well rider. Enjoy your drink before you leave, we may need your services again”. As he spoke the man gripped him in a bear hug and belly laughed as if he had heard some great joke before turning and stalking from the room.

  The rider was bemused. What was happening? He suddenly felt very alone and nervously put a hand to his pocket to feel the wax tablet he carried. The tablet was gone. He tapped the secret pocket again. His heart skipped a beat as he twisted in the seat, but then in its place he felt the unmistakable bulge of a bag of coins. He smiled as he squeezed the bag, feeling its weight and guessing its contents, and then he reached for the jug and poured a small cup of wine, now he needed to stay sober so that he could protect the money he had earned. Fortuna was smiling on him today.

  Chapter 9

  The city of Avaenti was built almost entirely of wood, the interior a typical Roman grid fashion, with two main streets and a series of smaller roads radiating from them with four gates. The houses were small, single story dwellings made mostly of wood and crammed together to make the most of the small space within the city. The city was bustling with people who seemed pleased to see the Roman troops as they went about their daily business in the small market or continued to build new houses in every space they could find, a sign that the city was developing well under Roman rule.

  Marcus was fascinated by the double ditches which lay outside the city and the tall palisades which contained twelve towers from which troops could see any enemy approaching the city for four or five hundred yards in every direction. The tall defences were made of enormous wooden spikes lashed together with thick cord which were doused with animal fat to preserve them from the weather and gave them a deep black colour. The effect from outside the city was as if thick lines had been painted around the walls of the city. At the centre, just off the main square were the rich houses of the chieftains and magistrates, each made of stone and wood to show the wealth of the inhabitants. It was one of these houses that Marcus and Decimus were shown to when they arrived at the city gates.

  “Marcus” said Lucius standing and walking from behind the wooden table as he entered the room with a great beaming smile, “thank the gods that you are here safely. The Aequii are all over the countryside searching for Comus’s son, Cornelius, and I feared for you.” He graspe
d Marcus and hugged him so tightly that Marcus felt uncomfortable in his arms, his aching muscles complaining about being squashed once again. He then clasped forearms with Decimus and thanked him for looking after Marcus, patting him repeatedly on the shoulder and telling him he would give him five horses when they returned to Rome for his service to his family, a gift for which Decimus seemed lost for words and mumbled his thanks with wide eyes and a broad grin.

  “Here, come and sit down and tell me all about the last few days. I need to understand why Postumius has returned to Rome without joining the army here as he was ordered. Decimus, stay too, your counsel will be wise” he added, stopping Decimus from sidling from the room. With this Marcus sat and recited, whilst hungrily eating through a large bowl of olives stuffed with peppers, the happenings of the past few days, but he decided not to tell his brother about the prophecy Antonicus had spoken. Marcus noticed how tired Lucius looked, his eyes were red rimmed and his mouth and lips looked dry and cracked. His right arm was covered in a thin bandage from the shoulder to the elbow, which was hidden under his tunic and Marcus saw his fingers were scratched and bruised.

  “What has happened to your arm brother?” he asked looking with wide eyes as Lucius slowly raised his arm and looked at it with a smile growing on his face.

  “Ha.” He said “you are very observant, brother” his voice sounding tired. “I have led many parties to search for you in the past days and have met one or two of Comus’s scouts” he clenched his fist and seemed to wince in pain as he did so. Marcus looked at his brother and it dawned on him that Lucius had been searching for him night and day without sleep. He stood and looked at the gaunt face of the man he had only truly known for seven months and he could feel tears begin to creep towards his eyes. He quickly blinked them back and stepped around the table clasping his hands on the forearm of his brother and then grasping him in a hug as tight as the one he had received on arrival.

  For the next hour, Marcus, Decimus and Lucius discussed why Postumius might have returned to Rome with the boy rather than make his way to Avaenti. They tried to consider any political advantage he could gain from his act, but none came to mind. Decimus half-heartedly suggested that it may be that he was cut off from returning to Avaenti, but that seemed unlikely as their own force had encountered no significant enemy soldiers en-route. Despite their best efforts they could not agree on any solution to this dilemma and so they wearily retired to their rooms to rest just after lunchtime.

  As the day turned to evening, a cold wind biting anyone stupid enough to be outside without a thick cloak, a rider arrived with news from Rome, which Lucius called all his senior officers to hear. As the men gathered in the large central room of the house in which the headquarters had been set up Marcus was delighted to greet Senator Javenoli and his small retinue of staff, who busily entered the room and searched for a prominent seat for their employer and master. Javenoli, for his part, seemed equally delighted to meet Marcus again and invited him for supper at his lodgings that night, saying he had a copy of a scroll on Gaulish fighting techniques that a friend of his had sent to him and which he was sure Marcus would find fascinating, especially as it also contained a section on German borderland tribes, said to be the most vicious fighters in the known world. As Marcus hurriedly accepted the invitation Lucius stood, calling the meeting to formal order and lighting the small tribute candle to Mars, which was always lit to include the gods in meetings of the war council. He looked at the men around him, feeling pride in the faces of the men he saw.

  “We have close to nine thousand men within the city or camped outside its walls and more returning from scouting each day” he said, looking at the tablet in front of him momentarily before speaking again. “And the latest report is that the Aequians might have double our number and are within a day’s march of the city, but we do not know if they intend to lay siege here or simply to continue to search for Comus’s son” he added, without looking up from the report. There were murmurs from the assembled men who nodded their heads sagely at this news, some smiling and patting their swords as they looked to each other.

  “A rider has arrived from Rome this evening with news that Cornelius Scipio has set out with a reserve force, conscripted from the men in Rome and the Latin League, of some eight thousand men. They will meet us here in two days and garrison the city for the winter months”. He looked up at the assembled officers, “Once the garrison arrives we will depart within one hour of their arrival. All legions are to be ready to depart at the allotted time. Centurion Magnus” Lucius looked to his left and nodded to the tall thin man with scruffy grey hair and wide set eyes “will be our quartermaster and set the wheels in motion”. Many heads nodded at this and one or two clasped hands with Magnus as this was clearly a promotion for the Centurion and one which would see his standing in Rome raised upon their return. Indeed it was Javenoli who congratulated him most vociferously and delayed Lucius from speaking again for a few moments as the Senator offered his support, should it be required.

  Once the commotion had died down Lucius’s face turned grim and his lips tightened as he added, his face turning stony as he spoke, “And Publius Postumius...” to which a number of loud grumbles and groans came from the assembled men. “Tribune Postumius” he said, raising his voice over the growing noise and staring down some of the more vociferous men to get their attention “found himself cut off from returning to us by the Aequian army and begs our forgiveness at his...”

  “Strange how we never encountered any Aequians on the road here” grumbled Decimus in a stage whisper which set off a numerous small mutterings from amongst the soldiers in the room.

  “Gentlemen” chided Lucius loudly as he stared hard at Decimus until the Centurion apologised weakly, fumbling with the wine cup in his hands.

  “I must inform you that Comus’s son escaped in one of the skirmishes Postumius and his men had on the road here. It seems the boy disappeared into the night and was not seen again” finished Lucius placing the tablet on the table in front of him with a loud rasp and leaning back in his chair. The officers took a moment for this to sink in before the grumbling got louder. Lucius looked to Marcus and shook his head, exhaling deeply and look of total frustration on his face. “Gentlemen, we have 3 days to be ready to march, prepare your men” he said with finality as he stood and stalked from the room leaving everyone in stunned silence.

  ---

  It had been three days since Marcus had arrived at Avaenti and the army had been arriving in small convoys since that day. Lucius had been pre-occupied with arranging for the movement of the army back to Rome and sending riders to scout the countryside for signs of the Aequians. The latest report had been worrying as it suggested that a large force had been ravaging the Roman owned villages to the east of Avaenti and a small force of riders, with Decimus commanding, had set out the previous day to gain a better picture of what was happening and to search for signs of the relief force under Scipio. Magnus had kept the soldiers busy bolstering the city defences as well as preparing for the march back to Rome and Marcus had been impressed with the efficiency of the men as they obeyed orders without question whilst working tirelessly for fourteen hours a day. There was still no word of when Scipio and his men would arrive to garrison the town and already there were rumours that they had been slaughtered by the Aequians en route, but Lucius had dismissed this, stating that word of any such loss would have reached him by now.

  Marcus had spent much of his time sword training with Mella and attending the small temples in the city as sacrifices were given to the gods for the coming trip back to Rome. The temples were also used by the local magistrates to deal with legal issues, claims on property, slave disputes and issues relating to the governance of the city. Marcus sat and listened to the passing of sentences and agreements made between the prominent families of Avaenti with interest. As a young nobleman he would soon be looking for a position in Rome in the legal services, maybe as a junior magistrate’s assistant, and
this was as good a time as any to start to learn how it worked, and he had taken to it with verve.

  His sword training was going well and he had worked with Mella to quicken his reflexes and improve his balance as these were areas he felt had let him down in the recent fight at the mouth of the cave. His particular concern was that he had been unable to wield the long sword he carried when he was in close combat and he had asked Mella to help him to develop his footwork and the use of his shield. The training had been vicious, as Mella had continually beaten him for failing to keep his shield in position, and had left him with a number of bruises and aches and his muscles were still sore from the additional weight of the long wooden training swords, designed to strengthen the arm.

  It was early morning and he had risen at cock crow to make the most of the as the light was starting to shorten. He sat outside a small tavern just off the central square with Quintus Caedicius, a man some ten years older than himself who was in his fifth campaigning season and from a large landowning family north of the river Tiber. The morning was mild but overcast and both men were wrapped warmly in thick woollen cloaks to keep out the chill as the sun had not yet shone through the cloudy skies. Quintus had been invited to Javenoli’s supper and instantly Marcus had grown to like his quick military mind and deep understanding of ancient military texts. As they sat in the glow of a cold day and ate newly baked bread with olive oil they had been discussing the use of the Equites as a more attacking force as opposed to the traditional defensive role it played in large battles. The debate had been interesting and Caedicius, with his traditional view, had been surprised at how Marcus had argued strongly for the horse to be used as a strike force. As they argued back and forth it was clear that the issue for them both was defeating a phalanx of spears. The horses would not approach such a death trap and their riders, who had to pay for their own animals, would not be minded to throw away their best assets so easily. As the conversation came to a natural end they were disturbed by a legionary who rushed up to them, saluted and stated that they were required by the Tribune immediately at the command headquarters.