by K. M. Ashman
Before he could walk up the steps, the general walked out of the door and down toward him.
‘Vespasian,’ he said, ‘perfect timing. Retrieve your cloak and come with me.’ He strode away from the officers’ quarters closely followed by Vespasian and the ever-present bodyguards. Vespasian caught up with the general.
‘Your stride seems purposeful, my lord,’ he said. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I want to show you something,’ said Plautius, ‘something that will astonish you.’
‘Is it in regard to the campaign?’
‘You could say that,’ said Plautius. ‘How goes your preparations?’
‘My camp echoes with the sound of Gladii being sharpened,’ laughed Vespasian. ‘Even my toughest centurions are surprised by the enthusiasm shown by the men.’
‘Yes, it is good to have a focus again,’ said Plautius. ‘Politics have a way of blunting a Gladius quicker than any training post.’
‘I still can’t see why Claudius doesn’t just flood this island with Legions and crush every tribe like beetles,’ said Vespasian. ‘All this pandering to barbarians who see themselves as kings makes me sick to my stomach.’
‘Oh for the old days,’ laughed Plautius, ‘it was so much simpler back then.’
They walked through the rows of barracks toward the outer palisade. Finally Plautius stopped before a building that had no shutters in its solid walls.
‘Here we are,’ he said.
‘Slave quarters?’ suggested Vespasian.
‘Similar,’ said Plautius, ‘but these are used for incarcerating those we take captive.’
‘Plautius running a prison,’ laughed Vespasian, ‘wonders will never cease. Any taken by my men are sent to the road gangs, Rome, or sold on as soon as possible. Prisoners take up too many resources for my liking.’
‘I agree,’ said Plautius, ‘but sometimes the intelligence gained is useful before they are despatched.’
They walked into the candle-lit building, past the fully armed guards and waited as the inner door was unbarred.
‘After you,’ said Plautius and followed Vespasian into the inner cells. Before them was a room with a barred front containing three prisoners, all sat on the floor with their backs against the wall. They were all dressed in plaid leggings and naked from the waist up. Their hair was dark, matching their full beards, and the scowls on their faces told Vespasian they had not had an easy time of it at the hands of Plautius’s guards.
‘Catuvellauni?’ suggested Vespasian.
‘Yes,’ answered Plautius. ‘A few misguided individuals who thought they could be a thorn in our side.’
Vespasian walked toward the bars of the cell and smirked at the three men.
‘Pathetic,’ he said.
One of the captives suddenly sprang forward and smashed into the bars, swearing in his own strange language. Vespasian stepped back in alarm.
‘Still got some spirit though,’ said Plautius.
‘So what is all this about?’ asked Vespasian.
‘You are about to find out,’ said Plautius. ‘Guards, bring one of those men outside, the one with attitude.’
Four Legionaries entered the cell and subdued the captives at the point of their Gladii, before dragging the volatile one out by his heels and throwing him in the dirt before the doors. Another group of guards surrounded him, forming a circle of spear points. Plautius walked to the guard commander and whispered in his ear. The guard commander ran to another nearby block and disappeared inside. A few moments later he returned to the circle closely followed by a young man dressed in full Lorica Segmentata, the flexible armour of the front-line Legionary. In his right hand he carried a Gladius already unsheathed. He walked into the makeshift circle.
Vespasian looked at the young man with interest. He was young, obviously strong and had an air of arrogance about him which was evident in the way he strutted around the stationary captive.
‘Vespasian, meet Cassus Maecilius,’ said Plautius, ‘the most ruthless killer I have ever met.’
‘Quite a statement,’ said Vespasian, ‘I could name a hundred of my own men who could stake a claim to the same title. What makes this man so special?’
‘You are about to find out,’ said Plautius and turned to face the circle. ‘Cassus Maecilius,’ he shouted, ‘kill this filth.’
* * *
Vespasian and Plautius both turned their attention to the scene before them. The well armoured Legionary adopted the classic stance, holding his oval shield before him with his left hand while the Gladius was held in his right with an overhand grip, levelled just below his shoulder and pointed forward at the dirty Celtic warrior to his front. His legs were shoulder width apart with the left slightly forward of the right, providing a stable base from which to launch any attack.
‘This is stupid,’ said Vespasian, ‘and provides no sport. Why not arm the heathen?’
‘It provides sport enough for my purpose,’ said Plautius, ‘patience, Vespasian.’
The Legionary sneered at the dishevelled warrior in front of him and took three measured paces forward. The warrior bent into a semi crouch and met the stare with a steely gaze of his own. As the soldier approached, the warrior skipped lightly sideways, forcing his adversary to follow him around the makeshift circle. For several moments, he followed the lighter warrior, unable to corner him to administer the killing blow. Finally he anticipated the next move and managed to corner the bedraggled figure at the juncture between the perimeter of soldiers and the wall of the prison.
‘Got you, you pathetic excuse of a man,’ the Legionary sneered and stepped in to slam the warrior against the wall. As he did, the Celt dropped into a crouch and slammed his foot into the enemy’s knee below the shield. Though it failed to smash the joint, it forced the soldier to stagger backwards in pain, causing him to lose composure for a few seconds. This was the opening the warrior had wanted and he followed the blow by launching himself onto the shield of his adversary, forcing him back even further across the dirt. So aggressive was the assault that the soldier struggled to get enough balance and though he swung his Gladius frantically, the blows were easily avoided by the prisoner as he pressed home the surprise.
‘The animal has spirit,’ said Vespasian, ‘this is much more interesting.’
The Legionary regained his composure and smashed the warrior backwards with his shield, following it up with a carefully aimed swipe of his Gladius, but where he anticipated flesh, there was only air.
The warrior caught his arm in full swing and before the Legionary could do anything, the unarmed man sank his teeth into his inner forearm, tearing flesh and tendon free from bone and causing the soldier to scream in agony as the Gladius fell to the floor. The Legionary stepped back, but despite the pain, his training kicked in and he renewed the assault, using the shield to force the warrior back once more. To his surprise, the warrior dropped down once again but alert to the danger, the Legionary lowered the shield to protect his knees and legs.
This was exactly what the warrior was waiting for and grabbed the bottom of the shield, to pull it outwards. As the soldier naturally pulled back to get it out of the smaller man’s grip, the shield tilted backwards and the Legionary’s eyes widened in horror at his basic mistake. A split second later the warrior slammed the shield upwards and the top edge caught the soldier under the chin, sending him flying backwards into the dirt. Before he could recover his senses, the warrior pounced onto his opponent’s body and pinned him to the floor, his iron grip clamped around the soldier’s throat. The other hand sought out the soldier’s own Pugio and pulled it from the sheath before placing it between the lapped scales of the armour, and against the soldier’s under vest just below the heart.
‘No,’ gasped the soldier, ‘don’t do it, please.’
‘Guards, stop him,’ shouted Vespasian.
‘Hold still,’ shouted Plautius and the soldiers re-sheathed their swords in confusion.
‘Plautius,’ answere
d Vespasian, ‘he is about to kill one of your men, you can’t allow this to happen.’
‘Be quiet,’ ordered Plautius, ‘this will be seen to its natural end.’
Silence fell again until the beaten Legionary’s pleading voice floated once again across the makeshift arena.
‘Don’t do it,’ he pleaded again, ‘I will speak for you, get you released to your people. I can do that; I am a Decurion.’
The warrior leaned forward and whispered into his ear, and as the soldier’s eyes widened in confusion, the warrior eased the knife upwards and into the man’s heart.
* * *
Vespasian drew his own Gladius and stepped forward.
‘Vespasian, hold still,’ ordered Plautius. ‘What’s done is done.’
‘You cannot be serious,’ hissed Vespasian, ‘that filth has just killed Cassus Maecilius, the one man who could shine any light on the ways of the Silures. Since when does the great Plautius allow any Celtic filth to kill one of his own men without retribution? We have wiped out entire villages for less.’
‘Grab him,’ shouted Plautius to the surrounding guards, ‘and bring him to me unharmed.’
The ring of Legionaries closed in on the now-standing warrior and dragged him unceremoniously to stand before the general.
‘Release him,’ ordered Plautius, ‘and return to your posts.’
‘What are you doing?’ hissed Vespasian, holding his Gladius at the ready, ‘he could attack you.’
‘He won’t attack me,’ said Plautius. ‘But enough theatre for one day. Vespasian, meet Cassus Maecilius, soldier of Rome.’
‘What?’ gasped Vespasian, staring at the bedraggled warrior before him. ‘This is Cassus?’
‘It is.’
‘But I thought…’
‘Well you thought wrong, Vespasian. At no time did I say that Legionary was our man. You drew that conclusion on your own. Cassus has worked himself into the locals’ trust over the last year and is a passable imitation of the real thing, don’t you think?’
‘It is amazing,’ said Vespasian, and took a step closer, ‘he even stinks like a local.’
‘All part of the cover,’ said Plautius.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Vespasian and looked over to where two men were dragging the corpse of the dead soldier away. ‘I don’t understand. Why allow the death of a soldier to prove a point?’
‘Oh, him?’ answered Plautius. ‘He was nothing. I would have had to deal with him anyway. He was caught raping one of the locals last night.’
‘Spoils of war, surely,’ suggested Vespasian.
‘Women, yes,’ said Plautius, ‘children, no.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Vespasian and turned to Cassus who was waiting patiently in front of the two officers. ‘So, soldier, I am intrigued. What did you say to him before you pierced his heart?’
‘He told me he was a Decurion,’ said Cassus in perfect Latin, ‘and I replied, so am I.’
Vespasian nodded an acknowledgment and turned to Plautius.
‘So, my lord, can I take him?’
‘You can,’ said Plautius.
‘Get yourself cleaned up,’ said Vespasian to Cassus, ‘and report to my quarters at first light.’
‘What about those men in there?’ said Cassus, nodding toward the jail. ‘They will suspect something.’
‘You are right,’ said Plautius and turned to the nearby guard commander. ‘Soldier, execute the prisoners.’
‘Do you want them crucified, my lord?’ asked the soldier.
‘No, make it quick and burn their bodies when you are done.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said the soldier and saluted his commanding officer before spinning around and making his way back to the jail.
‘Anything you need, soldier?’ asked Plautius to Cassus.
‘No, my lord,’ said Cassus.
‘Then get some rest. I will see you tomorrow.’
The two officers strode away leaving Cassus alone in the dust circle. A nearby soldier wandered over and approached him.
‘Did I hear right?’ he asked. ‘You are a Decurion?’
‘I was,’ said Cassus.
‘What unit?’ asked the soldier.
‘I don’t have one,’ said Cassus, ‘now, where can a man get a meal around here?’
‘Follow me,’ said the soldier and the two men headed off into the barracks.
* * *
The following morning saw Cassus waiting patiently before the doors of the officer’s quarters. He was dressed in a plain white tunic, secured around the waist with a leather belt, and a black cloak kept out the morning chill.
‘What do you want?’ barked the guard.
‘I have an appointment with Legatus Vespasian,’ said Cassus.
‘Name?’
‘Cassus Maecilius.’
The soldier consulted his comrade who nodded his agreement.
‘You are expected,’ said the soldier, ‘surrender your arms.’
Cassus withdrew a Pugio from his belt and handed the small dagger over to the nearest soldier.
‘What sort of knife is this?’ asked the soldier.
‘A local one,’ answered Cassus. ‘Better made than our own Pugios and balanced to my own hand.’
‘Looks too light to me,’ said the soldier. ‘Anyway, where’s your Gladius?’
‘I have no sword,’ answered Cassus.
‘Then you are improperly dressed for duty in this fort,’ said the soldier. ‘Centurion Rufus will wear your arse-skin for slippers if he finds out.’
‘Then don’t tell him,’ said Cassus.
‘Don’t be funny, boy,’ said the older man, ‘or I’ll kick your arse from here to the guardhouse for insubordination. Now, wait there and I will see if the Legatus is ready for you.’
Despite his urge to wipe the sneer off the man’s face, Cassus held his tongue, knowing it was important to draw as little attention to himself as possible.
‘Yes, Sir,’ he said and waited as the man disappeared inside. A few minutes later he emerged and summoned Cassus in, patting him down for hidden weapons before allowing him past the door.
‘Nothing personal,’ grunted the soldier, ‘I just haven’t seen you around here before and we can’t take any chances, can we?’
‘No problem,’ said Cassus and followed the man inside. They walked down a corridor decorated with paintings of Roman architecture and past marble busts of various gods.
At the end of the corridor another guard opened a door to allow Cassus through into the room beyond. The room was very large with walls of solid stone plastered to a smooth finish and decorated with drapes of hanging silk. A fire raged in a giant hearth, carefully tended by an industrious slave. Vespasian stood in the centre of the room facing away from Cassus, a further two slaves securing his armour.
‘Cassus, come in,’ said Vespasian without turning around, ‘take a seat. I will be with you as soon as these two imbeciles finish this simplest of tasks. Perhaps a whipping will make them concentrate more, what do you think?’
‘Perhaps so, my lord,’ said Cassus, knowing the words were for the benefit of the two slaves and not him. The two slaves finished their task and stood back as Vespasian checked the finished effect in a full-length bronze mirror.
‘It will do,’ he said eventually, ‘now get out of here.’
The relief on the two slaves’ faces was immense and they retreated out of the quarters as quickly as they possibly could without falling over. Cassus rose from his seat as the Legatus approached the table.
‘At ease,’ said Vespasian. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, my lord, I have been well looked after.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Vespasian and took a seat opposite Cassus at the table. For what seemed an age neither man spoke as Vespasian took in the features and demeanour of the young man before him. Finally he broke the silence.
‘So, Cassus Maecilius, I expect you are wondering why you are here?’
‘Yes, my lord.’<
br />
‘Well, before I enlighten you, why don’t you tell me about your background and in particular, what has become of you since Mateus’s disastrous foray into the Khymru?’
* * *
‘Well, my lord,’ said Cassus, ‘after I escaped the clutches of the Silures, I was brought back to the fort to face my accusers.’
‘Ah yes, I understand you were accused of cowardice.’
‘I was,’ said Cassus, ‘and to be fair, I understand why. I was the only survivor from a complete cohort to escape with my life. Even then it was not by my own efforts but as a result of so-called kindness by one I once called friend.’
‘Prydain Maecilius?’
‘Yes, my lord. He released me out of some sort of false allegiance. As I rode away, the hills echoed with the death screams of my comrades as the Silures slaughtered everyone in cold blood.’
‘Yet still you fled.’
‘Yes, my lord. I know it sounds like cowardice, but it was the only way I could ensure that one day the traitor would pay for his treachery.’
‘And did your accusers believe you?’
‘No, my lord, though Plautius stayed my execution. My record was good and he saw a glimpse of truth in my words.’
‘He released you?’
‘No, my lord, he gave me an impossible task to prove my allegiance and bravery.’
‘Which was?’
‘To execute a troublesome king in the territory of the Atrebates.’
‘And I assume you were successful?’
‘I brought him the king’s head within a month.’
‘Impressive,’ said Vespasian. ‘Did you lose many men in the execution of this task?’
‘No, my lord. I had no men.’
‘You went alone?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘I am impressed,’ said Vespasian. ‘And how did you accomplish such a feat?’
