Rome’s Fallen Eagle

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘Not if at the same time he has his own scheme for gaining Claudius popularity with the army.’

  ‘How?’

  Vespasian sucked on his lip and shook his head. ‘I don’t know; but Callistus isn’t stupid so he’ll have one.’

  ‘We’ve got two who are alive enough to answer some questions,’ Magnus said, walking up to the brothers, ‘but no sign of old one-handed matey-boy. He must have made it out and is across the river by now; but I reckon we’ll see him again.’

  Vespasian turned and looked north; on the far bank two hundred or so warriors stood holding the river against them. ‘We won’t be able to cross here but we’ll worry about that once we’ve found out what the prisoners know.’

  ‘Take another one, Ansigar,’ Vespasian ordered, ‘and then ask him again.’

  Ansigar pushed his weight down on his knife; after a moment’s pressure it cut through the bone and, with a spurt of blood, the ring finger was severed, falling to the ground to land next to its smaller, erstwhile neighbour. Ansigar growled again in German but his victim, an older Chatti warrior held down on his back by two auxiliaries, just screwed up his face against the pain and said nothing; his chest heaved unevenly, glistening with sweat. He had a deep stab wound in his left shoulder, just below his iron collar.

  Vespasian looked down at the wreckage of the man’s left hand on the blood-drenched stone that was the chopping board; it was limp and extended at a strange angle from his forearm, which had been brutally broken after his first refusal to say why the Chatti had attacked them. ‘Take the third,’ he hissed, ‘although I’ve a feeling that it’s going to be a waste of time with this one. But it may encourage our other friend to talk.’ He glanced over at the second prisoner, a younger man, kneeling with his hands bound behind him, staring with terrified eyes at his tormented comrade; he tried to tear himself loose from the two Batavians holding him as the third finger dropped to the ground.

  The older man still refused to talk.

  ‘Shall I take off his hand, sir?’ Ansigar asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Ansigar drew his sword and laid it on the wrist; the warrior tensed at the touch. The young man let out a sob.

  ‘Wait!’ Vespasian shouted as Ansigar raised the blade. ‘Take his friend’s right hand.’

  The maimed warrior was dragged away and the younger man’s bonds were cut. He started to scream and writhe like a landed eel as his two guards hauled him towards the stone. They forced him down onto his back and pulled out his right arm. Ansigar showed him the sword; a stream of German poured from the terrified man’s mouth.

  ‘He says that the one-handed man came half a moon ago and spoke with their King, Adgandestrius,’ Ansigar translated. ‘He doesn’t know what was said but when the man left, the King ordered a hundred warriors to go with him and to obey him in all commands. He led them to the Rhenus, opposite Argentoratum, and told them to wait on the east bank whilst he took two fishing boats with three men in each over to the west.’ Ansigar looked at the man who spoke some more and then carried on the translation: ‘They waited for seven days then one of the boats came back at night with orders to ride north along the river until they met up with the one-handed man.’

  ‘What’s his name?’ Vespasian asked.

  Ansigar asked the question.

  ‘Gisbert,’ came the reply followed by another stream of the harsh language.

  ‘When they found Gisbert,’ Ansigar continued, ‘he told them that he had followed a Roman raiding party; what’s more, they were Batavians, who are their enemies, and he proved it by showing them the body of one that he had killed. He said that they should track them and kill one or two every night but to always allow them to be holding a weapon when they died.’ Ansigar paused as the young man carried on his tale and then repeated it: ‘He said you would always be heading just east of north and they were to put the corpses ahead of you every day. They didn’t understand why but they obeyed him as they would their King. Yesterday Gisbert sent a message to Adgandestrius, in Mattium …’

  ‘What’s Mattium?’ Vespasian asked.

  Ansigar asked the question and the young man looked at Vespasian, frowning quizzically before answering.

  ‘It’s the chief settlement of the Chatti, to the east of here,’ Ansigar translated. ‘The message was for two hundred men to wait on the northern bank of the river and kill you as you tried to swim it but they stupidly gave away their position by shooting at the patrol. Gisbert then told them that we’d come to kill their King in vengeance for the raid across the Rhenus.’

  ‘Kill their King? Are you sure?’

  Ansigar questioned the man again; he answered, nodding, but with a look of puzzlement still on his face.

  ‘That’s what he said. He ordered them to charge us; they knew that they wouldn’t win because they normally fight as infantry and dislike fighting mounted, but the King had told them to obey so they had no choice.’

  ‘Ask him what he thought Gisbert was trying to achieve by sacrificing so many of them.’

  ‘He can only assume that he wanted to kill as many of us as possible,’ Ansigar said after listening to the answer, ‘so we’d have no chance of crossing the river against the two hundred men on the other side.’

  ‘He’s done a reasonable job of that,’ Paetus observed. ‘We’re down to just over a hundred and thirty troopers now; we won’t be able to force a crossing against those odds.’

  ‘Then we’ll follow the river until we find another place to cross,’ Sabinus suggested.

  Vespasian looked at the force holding the north bank. ‘They’ll just keep pace with us. Ansigar, ask him if there’s a bridge anywhere.’

  ‘He says that there’s one at Mattium,’ Ansigar said after a brief conversation in German. ‘But it is very well guarded.’

  ‘I’m sure it is. Well, gentlemen, it looks as if we’re fucked; any suggestions?’

  ‘It seems to me that we either follow the river east and try and sneak across at night, or we storm the bridge, or we turn back.’

  Vespasian and Sabinus looked at each other; they both knew what turning back would mean for Sabinus.

  ‘We’ll build a pyre for the dead,’ Vespasian said, ‘and then go east and see what Fortuna presents us with.’ He looked down at the Chatti captives. ‘Finish them, Ansigar.’

  Ansigar took his sword and placed it on the young man’s throat; his eyes widened in terror and he began speaking with urgency. Ansigar lowered his weapon and the captive looked up at Vespasian, nodding furiously.

  ‘He says that he can help us cross the river,’ Ansigar informed them.

  ‘Oh really?’ Vespasian was unimpressed. ‘And just how does he think he can do that? Fly us across?’

  ‘No, he says that the men on the other side will shadow us wherever we go but they won’t cross because they’ll lose too much time in doing so. He says that the river does a large loop to the north and then curves back, about ten miles east of here; if we follow it until the point that it changes direction and then leave its course and head due east we’ll rejoin it again after three miles across country. The men on the other side will have to travel eight miles following the course, but we’ll have time to cross and be away before they catch up with us.’

  Vespasian looked at the young man’s terrified eyes. ‘Do you trust him, Ansigar?’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out, sir.’

  CHAPTER VIIII

  THE THICK SMOKE of the funeral pyre climbing high into the air was still visible, four miles behind the Batavian column, as they trotted east towards the curve in the river. They kept to a slow pace, saving their horses for the gallop across country that would put sufficient distance between them and the Chatti for a river crossing to be possible. As predicted, the Chatti were shadowing their movement on the northern bank; their silhouettes could be occasionally glimpsed through the trees that lined both sides of the river, just over an arrow’s flight away.

  The landscape had beco
me gradually more agricultural; small, enclosed, family settlements of a few huts surrounding a longhouse were dotted around the gently undulating terrain; wood smoke from their cooking fires wafted skywards, occasionally adding a sweet tang to the air. Older men, boys and some women worked the fields, taking little notice of the column unless it came within a mile or so of them, then they would scuttle away to the relative safety of their settlements.

  After a couple of hours’ steady progress they came to the top of a grassy hillock; half a mile before them the river swept north to begin its ponderous loop. Its tree-lined course wove a lazy pattern into the distance before disappearing behind a line of small hills that had forced its diversion.

  The Chatti captive gabbled excitedly to Ansigar who then turned to Vespasian, Sabinus and Paetus riding behind him. ‘He says this is it. If we keep going straight we can’t miss the river as it loops back round.’

  Vespasian glanced over to the north bank; the trees were too thick to see through but he knew that the Chatti were there. ‘We’d better make this quick, then; if they thrash their horses all the way they can still be at the crossing point a quarter of an hour after us.’

  ‘Their horses will be blown, though,’ Paetus pointed out.

  ‘Yeah, but their spears won’t be,’ Magnus grumbled from behind him.

  Vespasian ignored the gloomy comment and kicked his horse forward. ‘Let’s get this done.’

  The column surged down the gentle slope behind him, hooves thundering and bridles jingling, accelerating along the last half-mile of east–west-flowing river. To their north the occasional flitting shape beyond the trees testified to their shadows keeping pace with them. As the river curved away, Vespasian led the column straight on. He was vaguely aware of some faint shouts from their pursuers as they were forced north away from their quarry; he did not look back but, instead, concentrated on keeping his horse at a gallop that it could sustain for three miles and still be able to swim a river.

  The countryside rolled out ahead of them and they began to rise steadily, their mounts forcing their muscles to work harder against gravity as each downward slope led to a longer ascent until they were at the summit of the line of small hills. The great oxbow of the river could be seen in its entirety and Vespasian felt a surge of relief as, directly ahead of him, he saw it return to its original course; the captive had not lied. Then a pall of smoke hovering over a hill on the other side of the river, a mile beyond the curve, made him realise with a jolt that he had also not been completely truthful. The smoke partially concealed a large stockade hilltop town.

  ‘Ask him what that is,’ Vespasian shouted at Ansigar, knowing in his heart the answer and not liking it one bit.

  Before Ansigar could frame the question the captive pulled his horse away to the south, kicking it for all he was worth, urging it into yet more speed; Ansigar made to follow.

  ‘Let him go!’ Vespasian shouted. ‘We haven’t got time to waste chasing him.’

  ‘I’ve been here before,’ Magnus told Vespasian as Ansigar pulled his horse back into the column. ‘We sacked that place twenty-five years ago; they’ve evidently rebuilt it. That’s Mattium, the Chatti’s chief settlement.’

  ‘I should have guessed; he said it was east along the river and he’s led us right to it.’

  ‘We could always turn back.’

  ‘No, if I were the Chatti I would have left enough men to hold the river against us in case that was our plan. At least here we can cross unopposed.’

  ‘Unopposed apart from by the rest of the Chatti tribe, that is.’

  Vespasian was not about to argue with his friend and prayed that they could get across and away before their presence was noted by sharp eyes in the watchtowers of Mattium.

  As they drew closer to the river the troopers began to unsling their water-skins and empty them. Vespasian looked over at Paetus who was doing the same. ‘Why are you doing that?’

  ‘Buoyancy, sir; you’d do well to do the same, we won’t have a moment to lose; we’ll fill them up again once we’re across.’ Paetus began blowing into the skin, inflating it, concentrating on keeping level in the saddle at the same time.

  ‘Better do as he suggests,’ Magnus said, reaching for his skin. ‘And you too, Ziri.’

  The little Marmarides looked in horror at his master as he emptied the contents of his water-skin. ‘No, master! Man must not waste water; it brings bad luck.’

  ‘In the desert it might, but here? Bollocks. Get on with it.’

  Vespasian finished inflating his skin as they slowed, reaching the first trees of the riverbank. Paetus jumped from his horse and laid his shield on the ground. ‘Tie the skin to the central grip of your shields,’ he told the brothers and Magnus as they too dismounted, ‘and make sure that the neck is tightly knotted so the air doesn’t leak out.’

  ‘Prefect!’ Ansigar shouted, pointing back.

  ‘Shit! They crossed!’ Paetus exclaimed. ‘Get in the river, now!’

  Vespasian looked back up the hill; just over a mile away a line of cavalry thundered towards them, about one hundred in total. The Chatti had split their force.

  Vespasian fumbled with his inflated water-skin’s leather thong, twisting it around the neck and tying it to the shield grip; around him troopers, well practised at this novel drill, were already leading their horses to the river, urging them to swim the fifty paces across. They placed their shields, with the improvised buoyancy bag underneath, on the surface and lay flat on them; the wooden shields with the added bag of air supported their weight, even with the heavy chain mail. Kicking with their feet and holding the horns of their mounts’ saddles as they swam, the Batavians began the crossing.

  The Chatti had covered almost half the distance and their shouts could be plainly heard.

  Vespasian finally managed to secure the airbag and hurriedly followed Sabinus down to the water’s edge.

  ‘Fucking hurry up, Ziri,’ Magnus growled, picking up his prepared shield; most of the troopers were already in the water. He looked over to where Ziri was struggling to tie off a knot around his skin’s neck. ‘You stupid brown desert-dweller! You haven’t emptied the water; how the fuck is that going to float?’

  ‘I won’t throw water away, master, it’s not natural.’

  ‘Fighting on horseback ain’t natural, wasting water is, now empty it.’

  ‘No, master.’

  Magnus glanced back up the hill; the Chatti were less than half a mile away. ‘Fuck it, we ain’t got the time; you’ll just have to pray that the shield supports your scrawny little brown body by itself. Now get a move on before your arse starts entertaining a Chatti spear.’ He hurried his horse into the river; Ziri followed. The lead troopers were already pulling themselves out on the far bank as Magnus lay on his shield and his horse began to pull him across.

  Vespasian looked back from halfway to check his friend was following; the Chatti were little more than four hundred paces from the bank. ‘Hurry, Magnus!’

  ‘Shout at the horse, not me,’ Magnus retorted, striving to keep balanced on his improvised raft as his mount towed him across. Behind him Ziri was the last man in the river and having very little success in staying on his un-buoyed shield; his struggles were spooking his horse.

  Vespasian neared the far bank; most of the troopers were already out and hastily refilling their water-skins before mounting up. His horse pricked back its ears as it worked its powerful limbs against the water for the last few strokes; then its hooves hit the river bed and it surged up the bank, churning the brown-green water and splashing it into Vespasian’s eyes. Releasing the saddle and grabbing his shield, Vespasian found his footing and pushed himself forward, struggling to find purchase on the slimy bed. Sabinus stretched out a hand to him; he clasped it and was hauled clear. ‘Thanks, brother,’ he gasped, panting from the exertion. He immediately turned to check on Magnus and Ziri’s progress as the last couple of troopers made it out of the water; Ansigar and his fellow decurions were urg
ing their men to mount up. Magnus was ten paces out but Ziri was still mid-stream; he had lost his shield and was floundering, clinging desperately to his horse’s saddle. The beast snorted and shook its head in protest as it powered itself across.

  The Chatti were approaching the trees lining the south bank, hollering and brandishing javelins.

  ‘Hold on, Ziri, and kick with your feet,’ Vespasian yelled, swinging up into the saddle as the first javelins hissed into the water around the struggling Marmarides.

  ‘We move out now,’ Paetus shouted, ‘there’s no time to wait for him.’

  Magnus stumbled out of the water. ‘You go, I’ll wait for him.’

  ‘They’ll catch you. We can put a mile between us and the river whilst they cross.’

  Magnus’ face was set firm. ‘I said I’ll wait for him!’

  Paetus turned his mount and urged it on through the trees, following his men.

  Vespasian looked at Sabinus. ‘You get on, Sabinus, I’ll bring him.’

  Out in the river, Ziri’s horse let out a bestial screech as a javelin embedded itself in its rump; its back legs thrashed. A moment later another skewered into its neck, forcing an even shriller cry from the stricken animal; it bucked savagely, churning the bloody water around it and dislodging its floundering passenger.

  ‘Master!’ Ziri cried, splashing his arms in an attempt to keep his head above water.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do for him,’ Vespasian urged Magnus, who was watching open-mouthed, clenching and re-clenching his fists impotently, ‘unless you want to keep him company.’

  Ziri’s head dipped below the surface as his horse wallowed weakly next to him. His arms lashed at the water with enough force to bring his face back out. With his head tilted back he stared with wild eyes down his nose at Magnus. ‘Master! Mas—’ He juddered as a javelin slammed into the crown of his head and exploded through his palate; it punched out his front teeth as it wedged itself in his lower jaw, its bloodied point protruding like a reverse dimple from the middle of his chin.