Hammer of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘Not now.’ Valerius managed a smile. ‘But it was before, if the man is very tall.’ He didn’t know Polio well enough to call him friend, but their shared rank and experiences made him more than a casual acquaintance.

  ‘And you fought him with this?’

  ‘Do not be deceived by the length of the weapon, Herenius. It is probably the best sword I have ever owned. Better even than the gladius Suetonius presented me with after Colonia. That iron cut Calgacus’s blade in two.’

  ‘That blue sheen.’ Polio brought the metal close to his eyes. ‘They say it is a sign of incredible strength. What is it the armourers believe …?’

  ‘That a certain mix of charcoal and bone creates the effect. If only one could reproduce that mix.’

  ‘But they never have.’

  Valerius took the sword from his hands and placed it back in its rack. ‘To what do I owe this visit?’

  Polio pointed to a jug sitting on a small table beside two cups. ‘I thought you might need something to bring a little joy into your life after your audience.’ He smiled. ‘The finest Falernian I could find in the governor’s personal supplies. Rank has to have its privileges, don’t you think?’

  Valerius went to the table, poured two cups and handed one to Polio. ‘To rank, then.’ He raised the cup in salute. ‘So you knew about my audience before I did. And the subject matter?’

  Polio took a sip of his wine and released a contented sigh. ‘A good choice, even if I do say so myself. I doubt there is a man in the camp who doesn’t know the legate of the Ninth had been summoned to be lectured on the subject of overreaching himself. I see you survived unscathed.’

  ‘Relatively.’ Valerius sensed the question in the statement and considered for a moment before answering it. ‘Perhaps the governor had a point. He certainly thought so.’

  ‘So you accepted your chastisement without protest. I salute you.’

  ‘I offered to resign my command, but he refused to accept.’

  ‘Then our leader is less of a fool than I thought.’

  ‘You don’t like him, Herenius.’ Valerius lowered his voice. ‘Why would that be?’

  ‘It’s not a matter of liking. It’s a matter of trust. I do not trust Gnaeus Julius Agricola to act in the best interests of my legion.’ He saw Valerius’s wry look. ‘Why should he, and isn’t that a commander’s prerogative? Perhaps you’re right. But at the very least I would prefer to be sacrificed in the best interests of the Empire and not for the advancement of our governor.’

  ‘Titus trusts him, or he wouldn’t be here.’ A wary flash of blue eyes from Polio made Valerius wonder just how well informed he was. ‘Why shouldn’t we?’

  ‘You’ve just returned from being lectured by him for doing nothing but your duty and you don’t know?’ Polio laughed, but there was little humour in it. ‘It astonishes me that you can be so innocent and have survived what you have, Valerius.’ The Adiutrix’s commander paced the cloth-covered floor. ‘This campaign is not about defeating the Selgovae,’ he said carefully. ‘Or subduing what is left of Britannia. It is wholly focused on furthering Agricola’s career. When the history of our deeds is written there will be no mention of Herenius Polio, Gaius Valerius Verrens or Julius Ursus. They, however valorous, or however great their contribution, are to be forgotten. He is so obsessed by the notion of a triumph that it fills his thoughts and dreams night and day. You’ve seen the way he has his clerks record every word and every deed?’

  Valerius nodded.

  ‘That is not to allow a comprehensive account to be written. It is to ensure he remembers which actions to justify, which to claim credit for, and where to apportion blame. Do you wonder that your audacious attempt to bring the Selgovae to heel by killing their ruler inspired nothing but fury? If you had defeated Calgacus with that little sword nothing he could do would have stopped you taking your place in the pantheon of Rome’s greatest heroes. Romulus reborn. Horatius defying all at the Pons Sublicius. You would have had a statue in the forum and been feted across the Empire. Yet all Agricola can talk about is your vanity, a lack of judgement and the consequences of failure, which he multiplies until they rival Varus in Germania. I …’ his face dissolved into a sheepish grin and he took a sup from his wine cup, ‘have talked too much. A legate doesn’t have much opportunity to talk freely, unless it is to his equals, and I have overindulged. Ursus keeps his thoughts to himself and doesn’t entertain mine. I just wanted you to know that you should not place too much emphasis on our governor’s rebukes. It is you who have been wronged, not he.’

  ‘You are very free with your speech, Herenius.’ Valerius looked pointedly at the tented doorway.

  ‘Oh, it is of little import. Our friend knows how I feel.’ He stepped in close and put his mouth to Valerius’s ear. ‘His obsession is destroying him. He is falling apart. There may be a time when independent action is necessary, and you are his deputy, for better or worse. Know that you have my support when … if … the time comes.’

  He pulled on his cloak. ‘Tomorrow he will ask your opinion of his plan, but it is already decided. The Second is in camp a little north of here. My scouts have found a way into Selgovae country from the west, but I’ve been ordered to advance north against the Damnonii who have already sent envoys pledging peaceful passage for our troops and asking for client status. In a few days, a week at the most, Agricola will launch a simultaneous attack which will crush Calgacus’s forces like a nut caught between the hammer of the Ninth and the anvil of the Twentieth. I believe he has already dictated the victory dispatch. All that is required are the details.’ He laughed as he went out. ‘If I am wrong about our leader, you will be hailed as Valerius Verrens, Hammer of Rome. Think of that.’

  ‘I doubt I will ever see it carved on a triumphal arch,’ Valerius said ruefully, but Polio was gone.

  XXXII

  Another foggy pre-dawn in the bowels of a damp river valley on the edge of the reduced Selgovae lands. Valerius suppressed a shiver, but experience told him the mist would burn away when the sun came up.

  Quintus Naso sat his horse on Valerius’s left side, a calming presence and constant reassurance that everything had been prepared. They’d made the night march in silence and, they hoped, Calgacus’s scouts were still unaware of their presence. Daybreak would be the signal for the attack.

  ‘Are you sure the forts aren’t defended?’ Valerius said quietly to Gaius Rufus, who rode at his shoulder. A pair of redoubts guarded the slopes at the head of the valley and he didn’t want any unnecessary casualties.

  ‘They were yesterday, and the day before,’ the scout replied. ‘A garrison of fifty or so men in each, but they’re empty now.’ Still Valerius didn’t seem convinced. ‘I got close enough to look into their latrine pits,’ Rufus said. ‘The newest shit is two days old. Does that satisfy you?’

  For reply, Valerius worked at his chin strap with his left hand and studied the sky, which unless his eyes deceived him had become appreciably lighter.

  ‘Tell Cornelius to bring the escort forward. And remind the cavalry commanders of their orders.’ Agricola had decreed that any civilians found still on their farms were not to be harmed. He planned to set up a veterans’ colony at Trimontium when the conquest was completed. The veterans would be given farms in this valley and he wanted the land maintained in good condition. Rufus turned his mount and rode off to the rear.

  ‘Ready, Nilus?’

  Valerius’s signaller licked his lips. ‘Ready, lord.’

  ‘On my signal.’

  Cornelius Felix rode up with the thirty men of Valerius’s escort just as a glowing ball of pink rose up directly ahead of the legion. The mist lifted as if a curtain had been pulled back and light filled the valley.

  ‘Legion will advance,’ Valerius called to his signaller. In the same instant Nilus’s trumpet brayed and the call was echoed by the legion’s cornicines down the line and the cavalry trumpeters on the flanks.

  Asturian and the Gaulish auxili
aries of the advance guard trotted past in open order carrying their spears at the trail. The First cohort followed close behind, identified by its double-strength centuries of a hundred and sixty men apiece. Valerius and his escort slipped into the gap behind them, already occupied by Honoratus, the aquilifer, and his eight-strong guard. The column passed without incident beneath the two Selgovae watch forts, circular earthen ramparts perched like falcons’ nests on each side of the valley, and emerged into a broad vale that hugged the north bank of the river.

  Here the forest had been cleared and the remains of small, burned-out farmsteads dotted the fields and meadows their former occupants had tended.

  ‘Which cavalry ala is covering the hills there?’ Valerius pointed south beyond the river.

  ‘The Ala Petriana, lord.’

  ‘Still no sign of the enemy?’

  ‘Nothing. Not even their scouts.’

  ‘He has something interesting in mind for us, then.’ Valerius reached up and the fingers of his left hand brushed the scar on his right cheek, a nervous habit he was trying to break. ‘Gaius Rufus,’ he shouted. ‘Attend me.’

  The little scout spurred his mount forward. ‘Legate.’

  ‘I’m disappointed in Calgacus. I thought he’d have given us a prod by now.’

  ‘Yes, lord.’ Rufus waited for the inevitable question.

  ‘Where do you think he’s most likely to make a stand?’

  The scout smiled to himself. They’d already discussed this a dozen times, but he understood that Valerius felt the need to visualize what they faced with the utmost clarity.

  ‘There are two prepared positions before the great lake where the king has his winter compound,’ he said. ‘The first is perhaps three miles ahead, an earthen bank and ditch with a rough palisade that stretches from the river to the hills, where its flank is protected by a steep scree slope.’

  ‘A formidable position, then.’

  ‘Indeed, lord, but not so formidable as the second, which consists of a pair of ditches a dozen paces wide and just as deep.’

  ‘He will hold the first until he believes he has caused us sufficient casualties to weaken us, then draw us on to the second where he will hope to destroy us,’ Valerius predicted. ‘It’s a good plan, but he doesn’t know Agricola and the Twentieth are advancing from the west.’

  ‘But not fast enough to assist us, lord,’ Rufus pointed out helpfully.

  ‘I want you to join the cavalry on the right flank. Take a squadron and forge ahead until you have a view of Calgacus’s first defence line. I have an idea that might deprive him of one of his battles, but first I need to know how many men hold that first line.’

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  As Rufus rode off, Valerius felt Naso’s eyes on him. ‘It only occurred to me just now, Quintus, but this position reminds me of Corbulo’s battle against the Parthians for the Cepha Gap.’

  ‘Ten thousand legionaries and auxiliaries against the Parthian Invincibles and their King of Kings.’ Naso had heard the stories.

  ‘If we can find some way to outflank the first line on the river side, we may be able to take the second before it’s fully manned and while they’re still unprepared.’ Valerius smiled. ‘The Ninth’s hammer may not require Agricola’s anvil after all.’

  ‘If we can find a way.’

  ‘Let’s see what the scout comes up with before we make our decision.’ He studied the countryside around them. ‘It almost seems a pity to fight a battle in such a beautiful place.’

  Naso nodded distractedly as they rode past another burned-out farm. ‘You can’t blame Calgacus and his people for being so keen to hold on to it.’

  ‘You have sympathy for him, Quintus?’

  ‘I enjoy soldiering, Valerius, but I’ve never felt terribly comfortable playing the conqueror. I’m no lord, like you and Polio and Ursus. All I’m looking for is a little personal loot to supplement my pension so I can sit back and watch other people doing the work during my hopefully prolonged retirement. To be honest, from what I’ve seen of the Selgovae my share of the plunder is likely to consist of a few rusty ploughshares.’

  ‘And slaves, Quintus. Our leader,’ Valerius silently rebuked himself for echoing Polio’s contemptuous phrase for Agricola, ‘the governor has demanded an enormous haul of Calgacus’s warriors for the markets in Rome. It seems the trade had prepared for a glut from Brigantia and now they’re desperate for labour to man the fields, the mines and the brick factories.’

  Ahead of them the leading auxiliary unit moved from column into skirmish formation as they approached a rise in the ground that hid the way ahead. The Asturians spread out across the valley in a loose screen and advanced warily until they had a view of the dead terrain. A signaller sounded the all clear and the column breathed again.

  ‘I’m all for the denarii a good strong Selgovae slave would bring,’ Naso agreed in his lugubrious fashion. ‘But I’ve seen the bastards fight. You’d be safer trying to capture a cobra with your bare hands.’

  Another hour passed before a warning shout came from ahead. Valerius ordered the column to halt. ‘Have the legion ready to form line on my signal,’ he told his aides.

  Naso rode up from the rear where he’d been chivvying a lagging cohort. ‘What is it?’ His eyes scanned the horizon where the auxiliaries waited, poised to return to the column at the appearance of an overwhelming force of enemy warriors. Instead a small column of horsemen came into view and trotted through their open ranks. As they approached Valerius saw the familiar figure of Gaius Rufus at their head.

  ‘You have news, Rufus?’ he called out as the scout approached. But the expression on the other man’s face told him something was not right here. Why had the patrol been able to approach from directly ahead, across ground that should have been swarming with the enemy? ‘How strongly is the first defence line held?’

  ‘It’s not.’ Rufus’s tone testified to his bafflement.

  ‘What do you mean, it’s not?’

  ‘We rode as far as the first line and not a single warrior in sight. I walked the entire length of it and it’s never been manned. So we continued on to the double ditches. The same. Not just abandoned; never occupied in the first place.’

  ‘And that’s not all,’ Rufus continued. ‘The people here have stayed on their farms – not the fighters, but their entire families. They’re tilling their fields and planting their crops. They acted as if we didn’t exist.’ Valerius noticed a ragged Celt on a small pony sitting in the midst of the auxiliary cavalrymen. ‘You.’ Rufus pointed to the Selgovae and spat a volley of Celtic. The man slid from his horse and approached, clearly terrified. When he reached Valerius he went down on his knees and made a long speech in the sing-song tones of his people.

  ‘He says King Cathal told them to stay on their farms,’ a glint of humour twinkled in the scout’s deep-set eyes, ‘and promised that the legate of the Ninth legion would ensure they came to no harm. They would live in peace under the Empire’s protection.’

  Valerius cursed under his breath as his own words came back to plague him. ‘Ask him how long Calgacus has been gone and how many warriors he has with him.’

  ‘He says the king started sending supplies north by hidden routes the day after your fight on the ice.’ Rufus shrugged. ‘King Cathal himself left three days ago with his sword brothers and every able-bodied man capable of fighting. He left behind a small band of warriors to man the forts in the lower valley until they heard us approaching.’

  ‘Hidden routes?’ Valerius eyed the grovelling man.

  ‘He claims he’s never left the farm, except to take his pigs to the king’s market.’

  ‘Find these hidden routes for me, Gaius Rufus. Find them and follow them.’

  But he knew it was too late. Calgacus was gone, like a ghost in the night.

  XXXIII

  ‘Keep going.’ Cathal thought his voice would tear his throat it was so ragged. Two days and two nights without pause he had been driving them, e
ver since the Selgovae sword brotherhood had reassembled, exhorting them to greater effort, denying them food and cajoling stragglers. ‘Keep going. They cannot be far behind us and we must not be trapped in these hills.’ He didn’t know whether the Romans were following them, just as he didn’t know they would send their cavalry north to block the passes where they spilled out on to the valley of Abhainn dhub, the Dragon river. Yet his instinct told him a man like Gaius Valerius Verrens would never give up the chase. ‘We will rest at daybreak, but not before.’ And not for long.

  Selgovae and Brigantes, they counted more than ten thousand strong. The supplies they carried should be sufficient for three days, but despite his orders not to eat he knew they would dwindle fast. When men carrying sacks of barley or oats felt themselves weaken their natural instinct was to fill what pouches they had and abandon the rest to those coming behind. If a man’s belly twisted into knots with hunger his response was to reach into his pouch for a handful, raw or not, to ease the pangs. Cathal had been forced to place his strongest men among the stragglers to recover the depleted sacks and discourage the slow from eating. The grain, what remained of it, was recovered, but it meant the weakest, those already struggling, became weaker still until they could barely put one foot in front of the other. It was these men Cathal had dropped back to encourage, but he could see his efforts were doing little good. One by one they fell or lay down. His instinct was to help them, but he hardened his heart and left them without a backward glance. Most would die of cold and hunger; the survivors would catch up eventually.

  Only to Olwyn did he confide his fears. ‘I had hoped to replenish at least some of our food from the northern clans,’ he told her. ‘But my writ holds little sway here, where I am just a name and they distrust southerners as if we were a different tribe.’

  Even that small hope had been extinguished the previous day when they’d passed a burned-out settlement, the bodies of its occupants stripped bare and mutilated. Smoke pillars on the horizon marked dozens of similar atrocities.