Wolves of Rome

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘Maybe we’ll go together one day,’ said Flavus.

  ‘I’d like that!’ replied Arminius. ‘Shall we have dinner together?’

  ‘It will be a joy after all this time. I think it’s just about ready.’

  ‘Do you know how many times in Syria I found myself thinking, If only my brother were here . . ., especially when there was a decision to be made. And what of Taurus?’

  ‘I’ve lost track of him. My commander, Vinicius, kept me busy. The missions have always been demanding. But I’m certain we’ll meet him again, sooner or later.’

  They dined in the garden near the small lily pond; their voices were accompanied by the gurgling of the fountain. Arminius talked about Antioch, Laodicea, Jerusalem and Damascus and Flavus listened to him spellbound.

  In the end it was Arminius who raised what had been on their minds from the start: ‘I’m sorry you never saw Father. You weren’t so far from him.’

  ‘Discipline is the heart of the Roman army,’ said Flavus. ‘Everything else comes later, even family. Disobeying an order is not conceivable. I myself, as the commander of an Ala of the auxiliary cavalry, often had to punish my men if they took liberties outside the regulations. Discipline is what has made Rome great. Remember Taurus?’

  Arminius nodded. He certainly remembered his lashings. Neither one of them went on to talk about the past, or the future. They’d forgotten the first, or so they thought. The second was unfathomable. The only thing that was untouchable was their relationship.

  When they finished eating, Flavus said, ‘I have a girlfriend.’

  ‘The slave?’

  ‘No, she was just for camp. The girl I’m engaged to is the daughter of the Magistrate of Roads in Magontiacum.’

  Arminius wanted to protest, ‘You are a prince of noble lineage . . .’ but he chose not to risk a nasty retort. He said instead, ‘What’s she like? It would be nice to meet her.’

  ‘She’s pretty. She has beautiful eyes, a nice body and she’s really sweet-natured. I’ll soon be assigned a more prestigious house and we’ll begin our life together.’

  ‘Iole? Do you ever think of her?’

  ‘I knew her for such a short time . . . I do think of her, though. She’s surely dead by now. So young, in that place . . . she can’t have lasted long.’

  They spoke for hours like they used to do as boys, lying in their old beds, which had been prepared for them. ‘Thiaminus, maybe, or Privatus? Are they still around?’ asked Arminius.

  ‘Yes, they’re still here,’ said Flavus, ‘and that means that Taurus will be back too, sooner or later.’

  THE CITY WAS still draped with all the recent signs of mourning for the death of Gaius Caesar. The altars were adorned with cypress fronds and black curtains hung on the temple facades. The altar of the family mausoleum offered up smoke.

  Taurus returned twenty days after Arminius’s arrival. Tiberius returned from Rhodos at almost the same time.

  The centurion settled into his house on the Aventine and invited Flavus and Arminius to dinner, to inform them about the situation. ‘The emperor was devastated by the deaths of Lucius and Gaius Caesar, his grandchildren and adopted sons, but he has to guarantee succession nonetheless. Tiberius’s recall from his long exile can mean only one thing. What’s more, operations in Germania are stagnant; there’s been no progress on that front. It’s probable that the emperor wants to turn around this Germanic campaign, which has lasted too long without giving definitive results. To do that he’ll need the greatest soldier of the Empire, the idol of all the armies of the Rhine to the Danube: Tiberius Claudius Nero.’

  ‘A soldier who has not taken up his sword for many years . . .’ observed Flavus.

  ‘A soldier is always a soldier,’ replied Taurus. ‘But there’s more . . .’

  Neither Flavus nor Arminius had imagined that there wouldn’t be.

  ‘A single heir remains of his bloodline, the youngest son of Julia and Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa. Agrippa Postumus is supposedly a violent, menacing lad; at least that is how he is described in the rumours artfully spread by people I know well. He lives like Philoctetes on an island full of snakes.

  ‘But then there is another young man whom the emperor is very fond of. A splendid lad who you met once; you even fought against him in my training ring. The build of a statue with two formidable arms.’

  Germanicus! thought Arminius. The son of General Drusus. Many memories came unprompted to the minds of both Flavus and Arminius, memories their father had planted.

  Rarely was Marcus Caelius Taurus wrong. No more than three months went by before the supreme ruler of the State adopted Agrippa Postumus and Tiberius Claudius, who in turn was ordered to adopt his nephew, Drusus Claudius Nero Julius Caesar Germanicus, as his son.

  Arminius thought of the day in which that ‘splendid lad’ had appeared in the ring, when Taurus had ordered the boys to face off against him. They were brow to brow, they had breathed in each other’s breath, and yet there was a chasm between them. So many of the heirs to the Empire had been dying lately. Would Germanicus survive long enough to become the next emperor of the Romans? He thought of the little boy wearing a toga and a pendant at his neck, portrayed on the marble frieze of the Altar of Peace – how much he had grown, in every way.

  Arminius was soon summoned to resume his military duties as commander and instructor of the army’s Germanic Auxilia. His days became increasingly full with appointments and training activities. He never made it back to the house on the Aventine before evening, but he and Flavus were often invited to dinner by Taurus. That gave Arminius the opportunity to ask for advice on how to lead and instruct his men. With them he used his ancestral language, because he wanted his commands to be instantly understood and executed. Using their language meant that the men often confided in him. He was curious to learn about their thoughts, their aspirations and hopes. One evening when he had gone to Taurus’s on his own because his brother was occupied elsewhere, he asked Taurus about something that had been on his mind for some time. ‘My father’s people have fought and are still fighting against the Roman armies of Ahenobarbus and Vinicius. You’re aware of that, of course?’

  ‘Yes,’ confirmed Taurus. ‘That is so.’

  ‘And why have no retaliatory measures been taken against us? Flavus and me?’

  ‘Because you are no longer young hostages; you are fully qualified officers of the Roman army.’

  ‘Is there news of my father?’

  Taurus fell silent for a few moments, then replied with another question: ‘Is it important to you?’

  ‘He is my father,’ said Arminius.

  ‘I know nothing. Honestly. He may have fallen in battle. I knew him; he was a brave combatant. I can say that if he had been forced to choose between saving his sons and achieving independence for his people, he would have chosen the latter.’

  ‘That’s true,’ replied Arminius.

  ‘If I manage to find out something about him, I’ll tell you. But don’t count on it. I haven’t heard anything for a long time.’

  Arminius dropped the subject of his father. He asked Taurus only about what he and his brother could expect.

  ‘Well,’ Taurus began, ‘Augustus has never given up on the idea of extending the northern border of the Empire from the Rhine to the Elbe. This would mean annexing, educating and assimilating the Germanic peoples. It’s a big dream that all started with General Drusus . . .’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard about it,’ said Arminius.

  ‘That the Empire should include Germania, with all her strengths and her indomitable attachment to independence and freedom. One day there will be emperors who are Illyrian and Celtic, Iberian and Dalmatian and . . . Germanic.’

  ‘Do you think that’s truly possible, Centurion?’

  ‘Certainly. There are already Gallic senators in our curia. General Drusus wanted the Germanics inside the Empire because he had faced them in many battles and he knew their merits well. This is what makes
Rome great: a single homeland for a number of different nations. My own mother was Germanic.’

  ‘With your blue eyes, Centurion . . . I’d always thought so.’

  Arminius turned his gaze to Taurus’s armour displayed on a hanger like a trophy, topped with his cross-crested helmet, covered with decorations. ‘It must be something that you believe in deeply.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Taurus replied. ‘With all my heart. The Empire of Rome is the only place in the world worth living in.’

  ‘I’ve heard myself that a big offensive is being prepared in Germania. I’m expecting to get a call at any moment. May I ask if my brother will be coming with me?’

  Taurus seemed to reflect for a few moments. ‘As far as I know, Flavus will be the first to leave for Germania, to the area bordering Batavian territory, in preparation for Tiberius’s arrival. The commander will be leaving shortly.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Arminius.

  ‘You’ll be leaving as well.’

  ‘For where?’

  ‘You’ll know when it’s time. Rest now.’

  ‘Should we be saying goodbye?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s necessary. Two Roman soldiers always end up meeting again. Farewell for now.’

  ‘Farewell, Centurion.’

  Arminius went back to his room. When he awoke the next morning he walked out onto the terrace that overlooked the City and noticed a little convoy coming down the hill in the direction of the Tiber, perhaps going to board a ship. He recognized Taurus on his horse, followed by his freedmen on a cart which held the centurion’s armour and his personal belongings. He asked himself, in the silence of the early morning, whether he would ever see him again.

  Barefoot and unheard, Flavus walked out behind him and touched his shoulder. ‘Did you say goodbye for me?’

  ‘You know what he’s like. He doesn’t like goodbyes. He said he’d see us again, before long.’

  ‘You and I can say goodbye, though. No tears, promise.’

  ‘Of course not. When are you leaving?’

  ‘It’s a question of days. I’ve received notice.’

  Five days later, Flavus got his orders to go to the Campus Martius where he would assume command of his Germanic cavalry unit and move north with the legion.

  He began to gather his things and put them into his saddlebags and Arminius watched.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ said Flavus.

  ‘I can see that,’ replied his brother.

  ‘No tears?’

  ‘No tears.’

  They clasped each other tight. Arminius watched as Flavus left the room. Ten days later it was his turn. When he had collected everything he was going to take with him and turned to close the door behind him, he had the clear sensation that he was also ending the most important time of his life, and that he would never return to it.

  DURING THE VARIOUS stages of his journey, Arminius had more opportunity than ever before to witness the Empire’s power first-hand: armies coming from every direction to converge on the Alpine passes, endless columns of soldiers, slingers, archers, cavalry, the heavy infantry of the legionaries; hundreds of carts carrying food, supplies, spare parts for the weapons, camp equipment, tents; triple-spiked implements of defence which could be hidden in the soil to cripple horses and enemy foot soldiers, artillery pieces such as ballistae, catapults, scorpions and onagers, all of which were transported disassembled for mounting at the moment of use. For each combatant there were at least two men in logistics, in the rear lines and in the workshops. What’s more, the camp hospital counted hundreds of surgeons and nurses.

  And when they arrived, after marching for two months, at the ports of northern Gaul, they saw the fleets: hundreds of cargo ships armed for amphibious operations. Thousands of shipwrights and blacksmiths were at work day and night, with the shipyards constantly receiving new stocks of planks, beams for building the hull frames, piles of oars, winches, anchors, coils of rope, stacks of hemp cloth to be used for the sails and the masts to which to mount them. He could only imagine how many people were still at work behind the lines in order to supply the building yards with fir and ash wood, oak and beech, planing and shaping the beams, constructing the cranes to lift them and the carts for transporting them.

  At the peak of that vast pyramid was one man: General Tiberius Caesar Claudius Nero, never defeated in his whole life. A nod from him sufficed to move hundreds of thousands of men, horses and pack animals, ships, crews, oarsmen, naval infantrymen, legionaries, artillerymen . . .

  Arminius understood as he never had before what the power of command really entailed.

  One day, as he observed a column travelling down the road that never ends, he thought he recognized his brother Flavus at the head of a cavalry squad. He called out, but his voice was drowned out by the noise of crashing and clanking, of shouts and whinnies, of trumpet blasts – the voice of the greatest army the world had ever known.

  Arminius also had the fortune of witnessing the arrival of the supreme commander. Tiberius passed on horseback between the legions drawn up three deep so that everyone could catch a glimpse. He wore the scarlet paludamentum which was the symbol of his rank, and his muscle cuirass but not his helmet, which he held under his left arm so the men could see his face.

  The centurions shouted out the order to present arms and the legions thrust forth their pila in perfect alignment, as the standards, labara and eagles were dipped at his passage.

  But this iron discipline soon gave way to wild enthusiasm. The legionaries were almost all veterans of Tiberius’s campaigns on the Alps and on the Danubian front. One voice echoed powerfully, ‘Commander, we meet again!’

  Tiberius turned towards the legionary who had shouted out and pointed his finger at him as if to say, ‘I see you and hear you!’ At that point, many others joined in.

  ‘Commander, how are you? In top form?’ And Tiberius flexed his muscles for them.

  ‘Commander, I was with you in Armenia!’ Tiberius nodded and smiled.

  ‘I was in Rhaetia, Commander!’

  ‘You decorated me in Vindelicia!’

  ‘Me too, in Pannonia!’

  ‘I in Germania!’

  The drawn-up legions were delirious. A roar broke out, and then the clanging of their pila against their shields, a rhythmic pounding that went on and on. The commander who had always led them to victory was passing between their ranks without an escort because the whole Army of the North was his escort! Arminius, in formation with his auxiliary cavalry, felt a chill run down his spine. After Tiberius paraded a young man wearing the insignia of legion commander, surrounded by at least fifty praetorians in full dress uniform. He was quite close, and Arminius could see him clearly. Germanicus.

  For a moment their glances met.

  Germanicus blinked. Had he recognized him?

  Towards evening the legions withdrew to their camps and their tents. Shouting and carousing were echoing everywhere. The campfires blazed until very late. The centurions and tribunes closed an eye, or both of them, to the prolonged revelry.

  The next day the war started.

  18

  THE SIGHT OF THE boundless power of the Roman Empire, of the glory of its supreme commander and the astonishing organization of its structures, had completely dazzled Arminius, who came to understand why Flavus no longer had any doubts about where he belonged. Living among the units of the Army of the North, he realized that the legionaries and cavalrymen, the archers and slingers, belonged to every ethnicity – Hispanics, Italians, Gauls, Germanics, Rhaetians, Dalmatians, Greeks, Numidians, Syrians . . . – and they all saluted their commander with the same enthusiasm. Each and every one of them identified with the ensign of their cohort and legion and with the eagle of gold that represented the force of the legion and the honour of its soldiers.

  He fell in with his combat unit and embraced its rigorous discipline with great earnestness and dedication.

  Tiberius initiated operations with the determination and st
rategic intelligence that had always distinguished all of his military actions. It seemed as though he had spent the last ten years leading great expeditions and battles on the field, instead of studying and attending rhetoric lessons on the distant isle of Rhodos. He moved his troops with the swiftness of lightning. He was shrewd in using his reserves, in sending light units forward for reconnaissance, in gathering information about the conditions on the ground and about the populations they would meet with.

  It quickly became clear to Arminius why so many ships were being readied on the northern coasts of Gaul and Germania. Tiberius was subjugating all the peoples who had settled along the main rivers: the Rhine, the Ems, the Weser and the Elbe. It was evident that those rivers would subsequently be used as waterways for the navigation of the fleet, both for getting supplies to the army rapidly as well as for providing reinforcements.

  The first to be attacked were the Cananefates, a strange name for a nation because it meant ‘leek masters’, although there were, in fact, a great number of those vegetables growing on their territory. In this first campaign, Arminius found himself commanding the auxiliaries of a highly ranked officer, Velleius Paterculus. Velleius was a very well-educated man who kept a diary of everything that was happening. He told Arminius that his initial intention had been to write a very detailed account but that he had resigned himself to keeping much more succinct notes, perhaps because he was finding it difficult to keep up with Commander Tiberius Caesar’s rapid advance.

  Next it was the turn of the Chattuarii, a tribe settled between the Rhine and the Ems, and then the Bructeri.

  At first, Arminius stayed behind with an army unit that was left as a garrison in Chattuarii territory, but he was soon recalled by Velleius in light of the manoeuvres that were to come. Arminius arrived at dusk with his unit and an orderly of the camp prefect showed them where they could pitch their tents. He also informed Arminius that Legate Velleius was expecting him in the praetorian tent at the centre of the castrum.