‘Take your cohort and double round to the centre. Maximus is in command there and he needs help.’
Despite his exhaustion, Tatius gave a sharp, veteran’s salute. ‘We’ll be there.’
Fighting off the fatigue he shared with Tatius, Vespasian moved on to find the prefect of the Gallic cohort, now half clear of the fighting as Cogidubnus’ auxiliaries, finally in proper military formation, shoulder to shoulder, swept their countrymen before them; on their flank the slingers maintained a continuous barrage to ease their path through the dead.
Although the screams of battle rose up to the heavens in a multi-octave dissonance and the pounding of metal and leather-clad wood pulsated in manic accompaniment, Vespasian was now inured to all sound; all except one: the sound that he had prayed for. It came from over his left shoulder, faint but to Vespasian plainly audible: the shrill blare of a lituus. He turned in his saddle; the Batavians appeared from behind the hill, flecked with firelight from the inferno above them. Behind them doubled two cohorts, one legionary and one auxiliary; Valens had arrived. Now was the time to take the initiative.
‘Prefect!’ Vespasian called, finally spotting the Gallic cohort’s commander. ‘Pull your men in behind Cogidubnus’ lads; I’ll order him to move aside so that you can take his place and create a broader front. One more effort from you and we’ll be safe.’
The prefect nodded grimly and turned to his primus pilus to sort out the details of the manoeuvre as Vespasian kicked on towards Cogidubnus, his heart feeling lighter than at any time since he had woken to find his lamp mysteriously burning, two nights ago. With the first cohort to reinforce it, the centre could withstand for a while yet and now that Valens had arrived he could take the fight to the Britons rather than just scrambling a defence. They would win through.
As his horse pounded past manoeuvring auxiliaries, Vespasian felt, for the first time in his life, a real closeness to his guardian god, Mars, who had warned him of his oversight. Mars, the god to whom his father had dedicated him at his naming ceremony, nine days after his birth, at which the portents, Vespasian knew from an overheard conversation of his parents, had predicted a destiny, preordained. Yet what that destiny was, he did not know; his mother had sworn all those present to secrecy and no one had ever spoken of it to him. However, now he had witnessed the power of the god, he could believe that, whatever his destiny, Mars truly held his hands over him and would guide him to it.
The lituus blared again as Vespasian drew up next to Cogidubnus and quickly gave him his orders. He looked up; the Batavians had galloped ahead of Valens’ main force; now, perhaps, he could relieve Vibius – if the young lad still lived. With a nod to Cogidubnus, he set out to intercept the Batavians, just two hundred paces away; Ansigar rode at their head with Blassius next to him. Vespasian cursed under his breath: Alienus must have avoided capture.
The gap quickly closed between Vespasian and the oncoming cavalry; to his left the Hamians could be seen jogging down the hill. He swerved his mount around and joined the head of the column next to Blassius. ‘Alienus?’
Blassius shook his head. ‘He just disappeared; we caught sight of him as we went around the hill but he saw us. When we reached Valens there was no sign of him and no one could remember seeing him.’
‘Shit! Well, I’ll worry about him later; get back to Valens and tell him that as soon as he is level with Cogidubnus they’re to swing round and crush the Britons against the legion; Cogidubnus is ready for it but Valens must hurry before the Britons see the trap coming.’
Blassius pulled his horse away and galloped back to the oncoming infantry. Vespasian felt his heart quicken but this time it was not with fear or anxiety, but the scent of victory: victory that just under an hour ago had seemed an impossibility in the face of the horror that had sprung out of the night. Smiling to himself, thinking of how Magnus would have spat and held his thumb to avert the evil-eye if he had shared such premature thoughts with him, he turned to Ansigar, the bearded, senior decurion of the Germanic Batavian cavalry. ‘We head over there.’ He pointed to where Vibius’ depleted command could be seen rallying, making ready for another charge at the deeply packed Britannic centre that had now been forced to fight both to the front and rear.
‘And after they break?’
‘Ride down as many as you can; I want them to remember the Second Augusta.’
‘What about her Batavian auxiliaries?’
‘I want the Britons who come into contact with you to remember nothing – ever again.’
Ansigar grinned beneath his full, blond beard. ‘I pray that your wish will be granted.’ He shouted in his guttural language to the liticen behind him as he swung to the right aiming for the centre of the battle. With a blare of the instrument, his finely trained troopers started to fan out and without losing pace the column began to manoeuvre into a line, four deep.
But then shouts from within the ala disrupted the move. Vespasian turned to his left to see a lone trooper veering away to the north; in the dim light he could see that he was not wearing trousers like the rest of the Batavians, but was dressed in the uniform of the legionary cavalry. ‘Alienus!’ Vespasian pulled his horse left, pointing at a couple of troopers in the front rank. ‘You two with me! Ansigar, you ride on.’ He sped after the fleeing spy, the two Batavians following him, out into the darkness beyond the reach of the twin fires now blazing on the hill and in the camp. He trusted the animal sense of his horse not to stumble but kept as close to Alienus’ track as possible; he would be able to risk more speed than Alienus who would be riding blind. He could just see him and judged that he was about fifty paces ahead. Glancing at his two companions, he counted at least half a dozen javelins in their holsters. ‘We’ve got to bring him down, understand?’
The Batavians growled their affirmation, reaching back for a javelin each whilst controlling the mounts with prodigious skill as they thundered over the ever-darkening ground.
‘Pass me one,’ Vespasian shouted, stretching out his hand whilst keeping his eyes fixed upon his quarry; he sensed that they were gaining. He felt a javelin pressed into his palm; he fiddled with it, getting his forefinger through the looped thong midway down its shaft. They rode on, the barrel chests of their mounts heaving. Despite the darkness, Alienus was becoming clearer; they were gaining.
‘We’ll try a shot!’ Vespasian called, clenching his calves tight around his horse’s sweating flanks to gain purchase. The Batavians did the same, throwing back their right arms. With colossal effort all three raised themselves from their saddles as they thrust their arms forward, hurling the missiles away into the darkness. Alienus remained mounted but suddenly skewed to the left and then just as quickly veered back again to the right.
Vespasian thrust out his hand again. ‘Another!’ A javelin was quickly passed over as Alienus continued to swerve, shortening the distance between them. Again Vespasian braced himself against his mount, judging the diminished distance and the rate of Alienus’ deviations. With another huge effort he and his companions hurled their sleek weapons, but this time at a lower trajectory. Alienus’ mount again changed direction abruptly and then veered back with equal force but not smoothly; it let out a shrill neigh that rose in pitch, bucking to try and remove the javelin embedded deep in its rump. Vespasian slowed his horse as the stricken animal kicked out again with its back legs, this time with such violence that it dislodged its rider. Jumping from his saddle, Vespasian sprinted forward, whipping his sword from its scabbard as the unhorsed man crunched down onto his back. He rolled over and got to his knees as Vespasian brought the flat of his sword slamming round onto the side of his head, sending him rolling to the ground, unconscious. Vespasian kicked the body over and looked down at the man who had betrayed Sabinus, his brother.
CHAPTER V
VESPASIAN AND MAGNUS picked their way through the piles of bodies that marked the line of combat like driftwood delineating the extent of high tide. Dawn had broken in the east, red as blood as if in mimicr
y of the slaughter that had preceded it. The dead lay on the field in their hundreds, twisted, broken, dismembered and slimed with offal, blood and faeces. Here and there a groan indicated that life still lingered in some pain-racked body.
As the sun rose the scale of the killing became clear. Valens’ cohorts had joined up with Cogidubnus’ auxiliaries and the Gauls and together they had swung round onto the rear of the Britons, trapping many and consigning them to an inevitable death; no quarter had been offered or expected. Caratacus, however, had seen the danger that had appeared out of the west and, realising that his chance to annihilate one of Rome’s dreaded war machines had passed, had fled back into the night with the majority of his warriors. The Batavians and the surviving Gallic and legionary cavalry had pursued them, harrying the broken Britons and preventing any attempts to rally. They had still not returned but their passage north was littered with corpses that were now being picked out by the rising sun.
‘There must be ten of their dead for every one of our lads,’ Magnus observed as they came across a knot of legionary casualties that were being untangled by one of the many burial parties searching the field for Roman dead and wounded.
‘The first reports indicate that we lost over three hundred with double that wounded,’ Vespasian replied looking into the lifeless eyes of a young legionary and bending down to close them before walking on. ‘Most of our dead or wounded were either from the cavalry or the fourth cohort at the centre of the line, but every unit suffered to some degree. Some will need a couple of days to lick their wounds.’
‘What about the others?’
‘I’ll use them to probe north and make sure that the enemy aren’t regrouping, and whilst that’s happening I’m going to use the time to find Sabinus.’
‘Has Alienus said anything?’
‘Not yet, he’s still groggy but he will; every man has his limit and I intend to find Alienus’.’ Vespasian stopped next to a dead auxiliary. ‘He’s from the cohort that plugged the gap, so they should be around here somewhere.’
After a short while searching amongst the dead they found what they were looking for: the corpses of the druids. Vespasian knelt down next to an older man whose long, grey beard and hair were matted into clumps and festooned with what looked to be the bones of birds. Looking at the dead man’s dirty robe, Vespasian ran his hand over it and realised that the staining was not just the result of years of continuous usage without thought of hygiene; some of it had been put there deliberately. As he pulled his hand away he found it covered with fine off-white threads. On closer examination of the robe he saw that it was coated with these fibres; each area of staining was in fact a colony of thousands of threads interwoven with each other and sewn onto the garment. ‘They look like the roots of some sort of fungus,’ he observed, pulling off a chunk and sniffing it.
Magnus picked off another bit and placing it in the palm of one hand he cupped the other over it and put his eye to the small hole left at the join; after a few moments he looked back at Vespasian, proffering his hands. ‘Have a look.’
As Vespasian’s eye adjusted to the dark he became aware of a faint luminescence within. ‘So that’s how they make their robes glow in the dark. It’s not magic after all, it’s just luminous fungus roots, thousands of them.’
‘You’d better make that known around the legion; the lads will feel much better if they understand that the glowing robes are just a trick and not the result of some spell or influence from one of their accursed gods.’
‘I’ll get the robes stripped off them and display them in front of the praetorium. It’ll help morale.’ Vespasian got to his feet and hailed one of the burial parties; having given instructions to the optio commanding them, Vespasian and Magnus headed back towards the still smouldering camp past where the body of young Vibius had been found. ‘I’ll write to his parents. They should be told that he did his duty despite knowing that my orders would mean his death.’
‘You shouldn’t blame yourself for it, sir, he’s not the first man you’ve sent to his death and nor will he be the last.’
‘Yes, I know, but he was the first man I did so knowingly – and he knew it too. I could see in his eyes that he understood in that instant that there would be no career in Rome’s service to bring credit to him and his family, and yet he went.’
‘He certainly wouldn’t have had a future if he hadn’t gone.’
‘He couldn’t have been more than twenty. I keep on wondering what I would have done at that age in his position.’
‘Exactly the same. When Fortuna grabs you by the foreskin and leads you to an early death there’s fuck all that you can do about it. It’s just the way the dice roll and it don’t do to brood on it. Give him a decent funeral, praise his name to the lads and then forget about him because one thing’s for sure and that is he ain’t coming back from across the Styx; but what he did last night prevented Charon from being very busy today ferrying the entire legion over to the far bank.’
Vespasian nodded. His face tensed as he contemplated what might have happened.
‘And stop looking so strained; it’s not good for the legate to appear as if he’s struggling with a solid stool.’
‘I nearly lost the legion last night because I marched into a trap! I’m not surprised that I look shaken; even had I survived, it would have been the end of my career, and everything that I’ve worked for would have disappeared.’
‘But you didn’t lose it, did you? You saw the trap just before it was sprung and it was your actions that turned what would have been a crushing defeat into some sort of victory. Now whether you want my advice or not, you’re going to have it. Put last night behind you, stop feeling sorry for yourself because a few people died and look instead at what you gained: another hill-fort garrisoned, a demoralising and humiliating repulse of Caratacus’ best move so far that may well make a few more chieftains question his leadership, and, above all, on a personal level, you can claim the glory of another victory, not to mention the fact that you have Alienus who may well hold the information that will help you find Sabinus.’
Vespasian put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. ‘You’re right of course; it’s just that the shock hasn’t quite worn off yet. I need to concentrate on what’s important now: I’ll send for Cogidubnus; I need to talk with him before we question his cousin.’
Alienus suppressed a scream and shook his head repeatedly, sending sweat arcing left and right in the brazier’s glow; the stench of his scorched flesh filled the dim interior of the tent whose only piece of furniture was the wooden chair to which the naked spy was strapped.
‘I’ll ask you again before the iron goes further up your thigh: who has my brother and where are they keeping him?’
‘I’ve told you, he’s dead!’
‘Then tell me where his body is.’
‘I don’t know!’
Vespasian nodded at the optio standing next to the brazier; with his hand protected by a thick leather glove the man pulled the iron from the fire, its tip glowing red. ‘Near the top of his thigh so that his cock and balls feel the heat; but don’t touch them – yet.’
This time Alienus could not stifle the scream that pulsed through his whole body together with the searing agony of the burn; his wrists and ankles strained against the straps that bound them as his cry of torment wafted the smoke rising from the blackened flesh.
Both Magnus and Cogidubnus winced at the suffering but Vespasian remained resolute. ‘The next one will roast your genitals and you’ll be pissing like a woman for the rest of your days.’
Alienus hyperventilated for a few moments after the iron was withdrawn and replaced in the brazier; blood had started to flow from beneath his bindings. ‘You’re going to kill me anyway so that’s no threat.’
‘Who said anything about killing you? How can I expect you to tell me the truth if you’ve nothing to gain by doing so? I’m going to let you live; Cogidubnus has agreed to vouch for you and keep you under house arr
est in his kingdom. It’s just up to you to decide in what condition you take up his generous offer: whole or with crucial bits missing?’
Alienus lifted his head; his mouth was set rigid with pain but his eyes narrowed in hatred as he regarded his cousin. ‘Live at the whim of that piece of filth? The man who, along with my grandfather, betrayed our people and sold our freedom to Rome.’
With one fluid motion, Cogidubnus stepped forward and slapped the flat of his palm across Alienus’ face, jerking his head right in a spray of sweat and blood. ‘Now you listen to me and try to do so without your callow mind being clouded by the confused thinking of youth. For the last two years you have aided Caratacus, the man who supplanted your grandfather from his throne and forced your people, the confederation of the Atrebates and the Regni, to pay tribute and provide men to fight for him. Your grandfather freed them from that shame and I preserve that freedom, whereas you would hand us back into the thrall of Caratacus.’
‘I would free us from Rome! We pay tribute to the Emperor and our men fight in his auxiliary cohorts; what’s the difference?’
Cogidubnus sneered, shaking his head, before carrying on slowly as if talking to a bright but misguided child. ‘The difference is that we get something for our money when we send it to Rome: we get peace and the chance to live on our own land under our own laws with our own king.’
‘You!’
‘Yes, me. But what did we get when we paid tribute to Caratacus? Poorer, whilst his tribe, the Catuvellauni, got richer. We had a king who did not live amongst us or even speak our dialect yet expected our men to fight and die for him in his endless petty wars away to the north and west, waged solely for his own glory. Did our men get paid for fighting for him? No, yet they were forced to; however, Rome gives them silver and will give them citizenship when they finish their service and they fight as volunteers, not conscripts.’
Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5) Page 10
