by Alex Gough
The bodyguard hurried off to do as he was bid, and Caracalla sat on the edge of the bed. The slave girl didn’t look anything like Geta. Wouldn’t carry grief and sadness in her eyes, the way Domna did.
The girl appeared at the door, her face pale, legs shaking delicately. He looked at her carefully, and saw fear, but no accusation. Then his eyes trailed over her body, her wide hips, her delicate bust, and he felt himself harden once more. He beckoned her to him.
Januarius 213 AD
There was a loud crack, and the beam beneath Atius split in two. It caved inwards and he fell through with a crash. The arrow followed him down, faster than his fall, but no longer aiming for the centre of his chest. Instead it hit the top of his collarbone and ricocheted off into the barn.
He landed heavily on his back, all the air leaving him in a whoosh. He tried to suck air to cry out at the shock and the pain in his shoulder, but couldn’t seem to draw breath. Memnon and Eustachys were leaning over him, peering down. He breathed in hard, coughed, then breathed again, more easily. Memnon put out a hand and Atius took it to pull himself up into a sitting position. He prodded his ribs, wiggled his toes, then winced as he felt his clavicle. Nothing seemed to be broken, though his fingers came away from his shoulder sticky and red.
With Memnon’s help, he got to his feet.
‘Did I get them all?’ he said, voice strained.
‘Most,’ said Eustachys. ‘There were two lodged in the walls. Memnon reached them by leaning out of the windows. They almost got him, but he is unhurt.’
Atius nodded and looked around. Scaurus and Drustan were watching him anxiously, while keeping half an eye on the windows for signs of attack.
‘What are they doing?’ Atius asked.
Drustan peered out for as long as he dared, then ducked back.
‘All still at the moment.’
There was little sound now from outside the barn. The warrior wounded by Scaurus’ arrow was silent, either belatedly discovering stoicism, taken away by his comrades or dead.
‘Aldric,’ said Atius. The German guide had his knife drawn, but had been keeping out of the way, in a corner of the barn. ‘Who are these people? What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Aldric gruffly.
‘Well, what is their tribe? You can tell from their accent?’
‘Just a few words, shouted in Latin. It’s not much to go on.’
‘Guess.’
‘I would say Alamanni. You are in their territory, after all.’
‘And their motivation? Just to kill trespassers?’
‘Probably. It is their land.’
Atius looked across at Eustachys, who wore a sceptical expression.
‘What does it matter?’ asked Scaurus. ‘Those barbarian bastards are trying to kill us. So we kill them.’
‘I was just seeing if there was any way we could talk our way out of this,’ said Atius, not concealing his irritation. ‘We are trapped and outnumbered.’
‘You can’t negotiate with this sort,’ said Scaurus. ‘Barbarians. Foreigners.’ He gave a meaningful look at Aldric, who bristled but didn’t otherwise react.
Atius looked at Eustachys, and wished again that Silus was here. He was much better at taking command in these perilous situations, where clear thinking was required.
Eustachys said, ‘He might be right, unfortunately. I don’t know if they are definitely Alamanni, but there are certainly elements of that confederation whose enmity to Rome is unshakeable. They would have no desire to let us go.’
‘So we have to fight our way out,’ said Atius. ‘We are in a tricky spot though, men. We are surrounded and outmanned, and we can’t see them to shoot at. Thoughts?’
‘We can’t stay here,’ said Scaurus. ‘They will burn us out, or starve us out. No one knows where we are, and we have no hope of rescue. We need to break out.’
‘We can’t break out in the dark,’ said Drustan. ‘They will pick us off easily.’
‘They are both right,’ said Memnon. ‘Let’s wait until light and then make an escape.’
Atius looked around them doubtfully. There were no good options. In the barn, they had some protection, but it was illusory. It was no fortified legion marching camp, with palisade and ditch. It was a flimsy animal shelter that felt like it could be blown away by a strong breeze.
They all looked at Atius for answers, and he had none, but he knew enough about command to know when to bullshit.
‘Very well. We keep watch until light. Then we break out. Eustachys, can we expect any aid when we reach our destination?’
‘Maybe,’ said Eustachys. ‘I can’t guarantee it.’
‘Then we keep going,’ said Atius. ‘How fast can we get there, Aldric?’
‘If we keep up a good pace, we can easily be there before nightfall. But if we have to fight every step of the way? I don’t know.’
‘Good. Listen, everyone. We are tough. We are experienced. We are fighters. We will not surrender to barbarians. We can get through this. But if we don’t, we will die fighting. For Rome!’
‘For Rome!’ yelled Scaurus, thrusting his sword into the air.
‘For Rome!’ yelled the other legionaries, and Eustachys joined in enthusiastically, waving his sword around his head.
‘Watch you don’t poke your own eye out with that thing,’ muttered Scaurus.
They took up watch positions near the windows and door once more. Atius moved his arm in a circle experimentally, pleased that the injury to his shoulder from the arrow was not restricting his movement to any important extent. Time passed and he watched for the sky in the east to become lighter, but the hue changed with frustrating slowness.
Just as he thought he saw the first signs of orange, Drustan called out.
‘Sir, something’s happening.’
Drustan was keeping watch to the west, where the sky was darker. Atius hurried over to him, keeping his head down.
‘What is it?’
‘Movement. There and there.’
Atius peered, and thought he saw some scurrying figures, flitting around like bats. He took his bow back from Drustan, nocked an arrow, pulled back the drawstring and sighted down the shaft. But the figures were too distant and too dark against the western sky for him to pick a target. He let the string go lax.
‘What are they doing?’ he muttered. They seemed to be running around with no real purpose. As if their sole purpose was to draw his attention.
Oh.
‘Get ready for an attack!’ he cried, just as an axe smashed through the northern wall, which contained neither door nor window. The axe disappeared, then came down again, splintering wood and making a hole through which dim light dribbled in. Atius saw a face peer in through the gap, wild-bearded, straggle-haired.
Memnon thrust his spear right into the middle of the face, and then pulled his weapon back. The barbarian fell backwards, his eyes rolled up into his head, his nose gone, just a deep bloody cavern in its place.
Two more axes smacked into the wall beside the first hole, attempting to enlarge it.
‘Drustan, get over here,’ yelled Atius.
The Briton rushed over, and he and Memnon stabbed with their spears to force the axemen back. An occasional cry came as a thrust found its mark, though it was impossible to tell whether blows were mortal, crippling or trivial.
‘Atius, behind you.’
The cry came from Scaurus, and Atius whirled to see a barbarian halfway through the window that Drustan and he had been guarding moments ago. Before Atius could react, the German was through the window head first, rolling over his shoulder and regaining his feet. He had divested himself of any winter clothing he may have been wearing, and sported only a loincloth. Now he charged with a roar of anger at the nearest target.
Eustachys.
Atius was in motion at the same time as the German, head down, legs pressing against the floor to throw himself forward. But the German was nearer than Atius, and his axe was already descend
ing.
For a civilian, Eustachys was quick on his feet, and handier with the sword than Atius would have believed. The German clearly expected no serious opposition from the unarmoured, rather slight man he had targeted. So when Eustachys neatly sidestepped the descending axe, and thrust his sword through his attacker’s midriff, the German was taken completely off guard. The barbarian stared down at his new hole with amazement, and when Eustachys withdrew the sword, he clamped his hand over the spurt of blood.
Atius ran him through with his gladius, spitting him side to side through his chest, but it was completely redundant. The German was already dying.
An axe slammed into the wall again, and Memnon continued to stab his spear through once more, to repel the invaders.
The flimsy door suddenly flew inwards, rotten planks splintering and dropping off the hinges. A German, so huge he had to bend over almost double, came through, a second close behind.
Scaurus rushed to the defence, stabbing his short sword forward. The giant German batted it aside with his axe, then swung his weapon backhand, upwards. Scaurus ducked, forward and down, and the blade just missed the top of his head, but the shaft smacked into his temple and sent him flying sideways, stunned. The giant barbarian lifted his axe over his head two-handed, ready to bring it down on the prone Scaurus.
Atius lunged forward, and the tip of his sword went through the giant’s larynx and out through the back of his neck, where it lodged in the door post behind him. Atius tried to tug it free, but the second German who had come in behind the giant was confronting him now. Atius turned towards him, weaponless. His new attacker smiled, showing surprisingly fine white teeth, and patted the sword in his hand. Then with the speed of an angry cat, he swung. Atius danced backwards, hitting the back of his head on a low beam, but just avoiding the tip of the blade.
The German was quick, following up the first swing with another, and Atius shimmied to one side, then danced back again, keeping his head lower this time, as the German stabbed forward. Atius looked around. Scaurus was still dazed, attempting to rise but only reaching his hands and knees. Memnon and Drustan continued to fend off the axes trying to chop the north wall down. Aldric was wedged in a corner, dagger held defensively in front of him, but making no effort to join the fight. And Eustachys was struggling with another German attempting to come through the window, brandishing his sword to keep the barbarian at bay.
For now, there were no more Germans trying to come in through the door, or the unguarded window, but Atius doubted that situation would last long. Their numbers were clearly not limitless, but they were much more numerous than Atius’ party. He had to dispose of his opponent quickly. But he was at a disadvantage with no weapon.
He tried to manoeuvre himself round to where the giant was impaled against the door frame, but the German warrior was no idiot, and kept himself between Atius and his weapon. The German feinted, slashed, probed. Atius found himself backing away to the east wall. Something prodded into his back. An arrow shaft was sticking out, a previous volley that had missed the window and penetrated halfway through the wall. He reached behind him, eyes fixed on the tip of the blade before him, and tugged.
The German lunged at him, just as the arrow came loose in his hands. Atius jerked forward, twisting desperately as his momentum carried him towards the blade. Grasping the arrow shaft just behind the head, he stabbed it like a dagger into the side of the barbarian’s neck. Bright red blood spurted from the entry wound, and the German grabbed at the arrow with both hands, his sword dropping to the floor. He attempted to withdraw the barbed shaft, trying to look at it from the corner of his eyes. Then he slumped to his knees and pitched onto his face.
Atius snatched up the German’s sword from the floor and looked around. The attack seemed to be receding. No more barbarians came through the window or door. Memnon and Drustan had repelled the axemen, though the northern wall had huge rents in it. Eustachys had sliced open the belly of his opponent, who was on his knees, soggy, bloody ropes of guts cradled in his arms like a horrific baby. As Atius watched, Eustachys stepped forward and thrust his sword down beside the man’s collarbone into his chest, the killing stroke of a gladiator. He yanked out his blood-soaked blade and wiped it on the barbarian’s tunic.
For a moment there was only the sound of heavy breathing as Atius’ men recovered from the exertion of battle. Then Scaurus struggled to his feet.
‘Now I’m really fucking angry,’ he said.
Martius 213 AD
‘And how is…’ Caracalla twisted his finger around in the air, eyes screwed up as he tried to recall her name. ‘…Tituria?’
‘She is very well in health, Augustus,’ said Silus. ‘Though lonely in her exile.’
Silus stood before Caracalla’s throne in his temporary headquarters in the Governor of Germania Inferior’s residence. To his right sat Domna, slim, regal, solemn. Silus could feel a distance between them, in stark contrast to the closeness he knew they had previously enjoyed. Furthermore, Domna looked everywhere around the room but at him. He understood. Silus had been present at her son’s death, some called it murder, at her stepson/lover’s hands. He knew from his own personal loss how difficult it could be to be reminded of tragedy.
‘Paying for the sins of her father, sadly,’ said Caracalla.
‘Yes, Augustus, quite rightly so,’ said Silus. ‘But I did wonder, with her father and his conspiracy gone, whether the time had come to reconsider…’
‘There are always conspiracies,’ Caracalla cut in. ‘But that isn’t why I ordered you here.’
The messenger from the palace staff had found Silus in his lodgings that morning, still sleeping off a couple of ales and some stodgy stew. He had given no reason for Caracalla’s summons, and Silus had remained in suspense.
Oclatinius had met him at the gates of the governor’s palace and talked to him in a low, urgent voice, out of the hearing of the Imperial bodyguards, Praetorians, and assorted spies and informants that always hung around the court.
‘Remember, he knows nothing of the true nature of your mission. Festus told him that we had arrived in Colonia and that I was sending you into Germania Magna to complete some important reconnaissance work. He didn’t want the Emperor finding out you were in the city through some other means, and raising his suspicions. But it is imperative he doesn’t find out about Atius and Eustachys.’
‘You’re going to get me executed, lying to the Emperor.’
‘Festus will kill you if you betray him,’ Oclatinius had said. ‘So make it convincing.’
‘Why does he want to see me, anyway?’
‘I have no idea. Maybe he just wants to greet an old friend.’
Now, Silus stood before the most powerful man in the world, and fought against an urge to flee, while his heart pounded in his chest.
‘Remind me,’ said Caracalla. ‘What exactly is your mission among the barbarians?’
Shit. Time to improvise.
‘I am to scout enemy troop numbers and locations, Augustus.’
‘A man of your talents, for a simple reconnaissance mission?’
‘I was told it was a particularly dangerous mission, Augustus.’
‘Which tribes? Whereabouts?’
‘The Chatti,’ said Silus, dredging his memory of the conversation before he started drinking the previous night.
‘And where exactly?’
Kal-something?
‘I have a guide who will take me to the right area, Augustus.’
‘Will you be gone long?’
‘I hope not, Augustus, though I’m not sure the exact length of time I will be in barbarian lands.’
Caracalla nodded, his mild curiosity seemingly satisfied.
‘I thank you for undertaking this hazardous mission for your Emperor and your Empire. Be careful. As soon as you return, I want you to report to me. I believe I may have a task for you, by then.’
‘Yes, Augustus. May I ask what sort of task?’
Car
acalla looked around him. Besides Domna and himself, there were only two bodyguards in the room, by the door. Nevertheless, Caracalla just gave a half smile and put a finger to his lips.
‘There are always conspiracies, Silus. Fortuna be with you. You may leave.’
Januarius 213 AD
When the sun was fully risen, Atius ventured outside. The Germans had gone, taking their dead and injured with them. The only signs that there had been any disturbance were some patches of blood near the barn and a bit further out where their arrows had hit home.
Atius wasn’t foolish enough to believe they were gone for good. They had wounded the barbarians’ pride, as well as their bodies. He knew they would be back, and probably in greater force. This was their territory after all, where reinforcements could be easily found.
He probed himself cautiously for injuries. His collarbone was sore, the skin over it lacerated where the arrow had bounded off. His back too, where he had fallen through the roof. And his right arm screamed when he moved it, the desperate effort of fighting off his enemies leaving the sinews and muscles strained. He moved it in a tentative circle, trying to stretch away the tension.
Then he went back into the barn, where five anxious faces stared at him, waiting for news.
‘They’re gone. Get ready to move. We leave as soon as possible.’
The men didn’t need to be told twice. In moments, beds were rolled up, packs were packed, scabbards strapped on. Atius cast an eye over the squad. Apart from a growing swelling on the side of Scaurus’ head, they seemed to have come off lightly. He just had to hope they could get to their destination swiftly, without being caught in the open by the Germans.
‘Let’s go.’
He led the way out of the barn, his men behind him, and waited for Aldric to orient himself. The guide set off without a word, and after a moment’s pause, Atius gave the command to move out, and he followed the Bructeri tribesman. There was a thin layer of ice over muddy puddles which cracked and crunched as they stepped on them, and if they were unlucky shot icy water up the inside of their legs. But at least they weren’t wading through snowdrifts now.
