by K. M. Ashman
‘Gentlemen,’ said Plautius, interrupting the quiet conversation that had permeated the room for the last half hour, ‘enough small talk, let’s get down to business.’
All the officers in the room gathered round the table.
‘As you know, we now have control over most of the tribes in the immediate vicinity. Trinovantes, Catuvellauni and Cantiaci have all bent the knee and we have received tribute from many of the other tribes accepting our governorship. However, we have allowed ourselves to become complacent. Over the last few months, to my shame, I have allowed myself to become detached from the situation on the ground. Our men grow fat from inactivity, and those tribes yet to kneel to our fist become more confident every day their blood remains unspilled.’
A murmur of excitement rippled around the room from senior and junior officers alike. This was what they had been waiting for. Their bridgeheads had been secured and they were impatient to carry out the task they had trained so hard for.
‘Our supply lines are secure,’ continued Plautius, ‘our fortresses well manned and the granaries full. The winter is behind us and we have a full campaigning season before us. As you know, I have been collating the reports from our scouts and have drafted the plans for the second phase, our move inland. What we have achieved so far is impressive but, make no mistake, the more difficult part is to come. Our forces have overcome the local tribes due to our superior numbers and discipline. Add to this the proximity of the four Legions in a relatively small area and the locals know it would be suicide to undertake any sort of offence against us.
‘However, that luxury has now come to an end. I have sent a message to Claudius requesting four more Legions. A few days ago I received his response; the request has been denied so it is down to us in this room and the men we currently command.’
More whispers filled the room as the size of the task before them sank in.
‘It is a big ask,’ continued Plautius, ‘as the further we campaign, the more we will be stretched and the further away from support we will be. However, the die is cast and we will make it work.’
He placed three scrolls on the table.
‘I have thought long and hard about your deployment, taking on board your relative strengths and allocating tasks accordingly.’ He picked up the first scroll and handed it to the Legatus nearest him.
‘Nasica, you will take the Ninth Hispana North-West toward Caledonia. You will have to cross the lands of the Coritani but should have no problem; they are reported to be relatively weak. However, beyond the Coritani lies the Brigantes and they are a different proposition altogether. Your task is to find a main route deep into the Brigantes territory and establish a foothold from which you will spread our control. Once they have been subdued, further campaigns can be launched north into Caledonia at a later date. I have no doubt your task will be difficult so prepare well.’
Nasica took the scroll and saluted the general.
Plautius turned to the second Legatus.
‘Geta, the Valeria Victrix will go westward to the heartlands of this country. There are still clans of Catuvellauni at large and we have yet to cross swords with Cornovii. Your task is to wipe out any remaining resistance from Caratacus’s people and try to reach agreement with the Cornovii. If that is not possible, use all necessary force to make them see the error of their ways. Campaign no further than Cambria but establish a fortified town close to the river that borders their lands. I also want a road built from Londinium to your final location. I have managed to obtain an extra unit of engineers as this will be a key task. Take prisoners as you go and put them to work on the road. Work them twenty-four hours a day if necessary, for if we are to invade Cambria, we will need quick and reliable supply routes.’
‘We are going into Cambria?’ asked Geta.
‘Eventually, yes, but one step at a time. Build the road and subdue the locals first. Cambria is a different proposition altogether and we need to be sure that our rear is secure.’
‘Understood,’ said Geta and took his scroll from Plautius.
The general turned to the last Legatus, Vespasian. The man’s features seemed younger than his thirty-six years and though he came from ordinary stock, his sharp mind and tactical mastery of his Legion meant that he was talked about in high circles as one to watch. His father had been a minor official, gathering taxes for the government in Rome, but his grandfather had been a feared centurion and fought under Pompey at Pharsalus. Vespasian had his sights set on other things and after serving in the military for three years in Thrace as a Tribune, he had also served his required time as a minor magistrate in Rome, a necessary requirement for anyone not of the senatorial class who aspired to higher office.
‘Vespasian,’ said Plautius, ‘to the Augusta falls the biggest task of all. First of all I want you to campaign south and secure the tin mines on the south coast. You should not encounter too much trouble on the way as many of the tribes are relatively friendly. However, your mission is twofold. When the south is secured you will turn west and start probing the lands of the Khymru. This is the most dangerous part of our expedition so far. In the south of the Khymru there is a tribe called the Silures that we know little about. Your task will be to gather as much information as possible with a view to nullifying their threat.’
‘These Silures,’ said Vespasian, ‘are they not the same ones who slaughtered one of Nasica’s cohorts?’
‘They are,’ said Plautius, ‘and I suggest that you spend time with Nasica to glean whatever information you can, though I fear that is precious little.’
Vespasian took the third scroll and as the other officers in the room read their own documents, his remained unopened as he tapped it repeatedly into the palm of his hand.
‘You look troubled, Vespasian,’ said Plautius.
‘Not troubled, my lord, but intrigued.’
‘Explain.’
‘Can I speak freely?’
‘Indeed.’
‘My lord, I understand the need for each task but to me they seem to be fragmented. Neither is linked to each other and when you consider the overall mission, surely there needs to be a more cohesive approach.’
‘You are a very astute man, Vespasian,’ said Plautius, ‘and yes, you are right. There is an overall link here – the Druids.’
All the officers stopped talking and their heads turned toward the general. Plautius stepped forward and leaned over the map to indicate the land to the west.
‘As you know, this is Cambria,’ he said, ‘otherwise known as the Khymru. Like Caledonia it is a place of high mountains but not on the same scale. There is one major mountain range that splits the land but it is easily travelled. On the northern shore of the Khymru lies the island of Mona, the heartland of the Druids. As you know, every act of every person on this island is guided by the hand of the Druids. They decide when to plant the crops, when to harvest and when to fast. There are Druids in every clan of every tribe throughout this land and they are responsible for gathering tribute and for ensuring the dead meet their gods. However, we also believe they are responsible for organising the resistance to our armies.’
‘But I thought they were no more than simple priests,’ said Geta.
‘This was indeed the understanding,’ said Plautius, ‘but the more we interact with these people, the more we realise they hold far more influence. Apparently, they have their own warrior clans and have made their island a fortress. Every tribe in Britannia looks to the Druids for guidance and I believe it is essential to minimise their influence.’
‘And how do we do that?’ asked Nasica.
‘To kill a snake, you must take its head,’ said Plautius. ‘I believe that if we take the island of Mona, the remaining tribes will lie down like a sick puppy.’
‘Then why don’t we just march in there and squash these priests under our heel?’ asked Vespasian.
‘It’s not as simple as that,’ said Plautius. ‘Between us and them lie three tribes, the Cornovii, the Dec
eangli and the Ordovices. All are threats in their own right though they are all relatively quiet at the moment. If we want to reach the Druids, we need to overcome them.’
‘Can they be bought?’
‘I doubt it; they have more gold than they need and are fiercely loyal to the Druids.’
‘Give me three Legions and I will bring back the head of the chief Druid himself,’ said Vespasian.
‘Your confidence is admirable,’ said Plautius, ‘but don’t forget, two years ago we lost an entire cohort to these barbarians. No, first of all we need to isolate them from the rest of the country, hence the individual tasks. With the south, north and central areas secured, the Khymru will be isolated and we can move in without fear that our rear will be compromised.’
‘But that could take years,’ said Geta.
‘There is no rush,’ said Plautius, ‘we are here to stay and if it takes years, then so be it. It would seem that the Khymru is very rich in gold and minerals so this has to be done right. First of all we will isolate them. During this time, we will also gather intelligence and when the time is ready, we will strike like a blacksmith’s hammer. With the loss of the Druids the tribes of Caledonia will also lose the stomach for a fight and if there is one thing we Romans have in abundance it is patience. Now then, let’s talk detail.’ The four men gathered around the cow hide map and spent the rest of the night talking tactics, breaking only for food. When the servants served bowls of broth, Vespasian sat next to Nasica on a couch, engaging him in conversation.
‘I hope you don’t mind I’ve got the west,’ he said, between mouthfuls of gravy-soaked bread.
‘Why would I mind?’ asked Nasica.
‘Well, with all this business about losing a cohort back then, I thought you would be keen to take revenge. It must hurt after all.’
Nasica ignored the thinly veiled jibe.
‘Oh it hurts,’ said Nasica, ‘but ultimately Tribune Mateus overstepped the mark. He went further than his authority and got isolated.’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Vespasian.
‘A bitter mix of inexperience and greed,’ said Nasica. ‘He thought he had the chance to take Caratacus and ploughed further into the country than was safe. When the locals turned nasty, they were far too committed to escape or expect reinforcements.’
‘Didn’t he have any experienced officers with him to guide his arm?’
‘Actually he had one of my most experienced men with him,’ said Nasica. ‘A centurion called Remus who has seen more battles than most men, yet even his vision was clouded and between them they led their men to slaughter.’
‘Caratacus would have been a great trophy,’ said Vespasian.
‘Admittedly, and perhaps we would all have been tempted so.’
‘Sometimes these things come off, sometimes they don’t. Pull it off and you’re a hero, fail and you are a pariah.’
‘Such is the burden of command,’ agreed Nasica. ‘Tell me, how is it you know so much of the battle? I thought your men were wiped out.’
‘All except one,’ said Nasica. ‘A Decurion named Cassus Maecilius. He was released by a freed slave who joined the enemy. Apparently, they knew each other in their youth.’
Vespasian’s eyes narrowed as he absorbed the information.
‘Wait a minute – you have a man who has not only been into the Khymru, but also engaged them in battle? You kept that quiet.’
‘The loss of a cohort, a Tribune and a respected centurion is not something you shout about,’ said Nasica. ‘Plautius was given a full briefing but the tale is of disgrace and treachery. The story was told of a valiant battle where our men fought overwhelming numbers but were eventually cut down in the service of Rome. The detail of individual stupidity, greed, treachery and desertion were kept from the troops.’
‘And what about this Cassus? What happened to him?’
‘He was taken under the wing of Plautius and I know not his fate. A shame, really, as he is a formidable Legionary, one of the best. He had a good future in front of him and I would have him back in a heartbeat.’
‘Why did Plautius take him?’
‘Probably to make sure he kept quiet. The last thing we needed so early in the invasion was a severe blow to morale. For all I know he could be dead.’
‘Nasica, Vespasian,’ called Plautius, ‘enough chatter. Let’s get back to work.’
The two men returned to the planning table and the rest of the night was spent discussing detail. Finally, Geta and Nasica said their goodbyes and left for their own lines as the sun rose. Plautius was talking to a junior officer in the corner and turned to see Vespasian still waiting at the door.
‘Vespasian, you are still here,’ he said as he held out his cup for a servant to refill.
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Vespasian, ‘I have a question to ask you.’
‘And you had to wait until the others had gone before voicing it?’
‘Yes, my lord, as it may be one you do not want to answer and I do not wish to put you in a compromising position.’
‘Intriguing,’ said Plautius, ‘ask your question, Vespasian.’
‘My lord, the Legionary called Cassus. Does he still live?’
Plautius sipped on his watered wine thoughtfully, all the while staring at Vespasian. Finally he broke Vespasian’s gaze and looked over his shoulder toward the servants.
‘Leave us,’ he said and they scuttled out of the room without a backward glance. ‘You too,’ he said to his personal bodyguards at the door and after a perfectly synchronised salute, they also retired, leaving the two Legati alone in the room. Finally he turned back to Vespasian.
‘That is a very strange question Vespasian,’ he said, ‘why do you ask?’
‘My lord, if he is dead then my request is irrelevant, but if he still lives, I would request that he is posted to my Legion for the coming campaign.’
‘Why would you want him?’ asked Plautius. ‘He has been branded a coward and a deserter.’
‘Mere words,’ said Vespasian. ‘I care not what he has done in the past; I am only interested in what he knows. From what I can gather we have no knowledge of these Silures you speak of in the Khymru, yet there is one amongst us that has been there, fought them and lived to tell the tale. The task you have bestowed on me places my men in the vanguard of our assault on these islands. A task I hasten to add that we will embrace gladly, but embracing a task is not enough; success is also paramount. If the testimony of this man saves one life of my Legionaries, then it is worth a fortune. However, I believe it is worth far more. He has seen them fight, seen their weapons, and been on the receiving end of their tactics, all invaluable intelligence that will benefit my men.’
‘Your comments have merit,’ said Plautius, ‘and yes, the man is indeed alive, but I cannot grant your request.’
‘Why not, my lord? Is he not but one man?’
‘He is, but he has been tasked to other duties.’
Vespasian was quiet for a while but decided to push the point.
‘My lord, forgive me but I am at a loss to see how the duties of one man are more important than the security of a Legion.’
Plautius slammed his cup onto the table causing the wine to shoot out of the top.
‘Do not question my decisions, Vespasian. This man was the sole survivor of a humiliating massacre inflicted on us by a tribe of backward heathen. Yes, he was a good soldier and for that reason only I spared his life, but I cannot and will not risk that information contaminating our Legionaries’ minds. We routed Caratacus at Medway and our men are confident this country will fall like wheat before the scythe as we march inland.’
‘But it is common knowledge that we lost a cohort in the Khymru, my lord. The stories of their demise are shared around every campfire from here to Camulodunum.’
‘They are,’ said Plautius, ‘but the tale is one of bravery and a last stand of unbelievable courage against an overwhelming force many times their size. There is no mention
of treachery, cowardice or desertion, nor will there be. As far as the men are concerned, Mateus’s cohort was defeated in a battle covered with glory and now stands alongside Mars in the heavens. If I release this man, there is a possibility that a tale less honourable will raise its head and we cannot allow that to happen.’
‘Then why do you not just take his head?’
‘I don’t know, Vespasian. There is something about him. A look in his eyes that reveals a hunger that burns to the heart of him. Perhaps an opportunity will come where I may harness that fire and turn it upon my enemies.’
‘Then let this be it, my lord,’ said Vespasian. ‘Allow me to use his knowledge to our advantage. If it is of use, then your leniency in allowing him to keep his life will be justified. If not, then at least his sword arm will be suitably deployed in the service of the Emperor. Let that anger loose on Rome’s enemies and if he is indeed proved a coward, then I promise it will be my own blade that pierces his heart.’
Plautius thought for a while before nodding slowly.
‘Your words make sense, Vespasian,’ he said. ‘Rome’s investment in this man demands payment. Take him off my hands and use him as you will.’
‘Tell me where he is,’ said Vespasian, ‘and I will send my best riders for him.’
‘He is here, in this very fort,’ said Plautius. ‘Return at dusk tomorrow and he will be handed over.’
‘Until tomorrow, my lord,’ said Vespasian and after saluting his superior, left to attend his own quarters.
Chatper 4
Britannia
46AD
Vespasian rode through the gates of the fort for the second time in thirty-six hours. He was accompanied by a century of auxiliary cavalry as a bodyguard, as although they may have subdued the local tribes, there were always those who resented the intruders and fancied themselves as heroes. He dismounted outside the general’s quarters and gave the reins of his horse, along with his heavy cloak, to a waiting slave.
