Paetus did a quick mental calculation and then called back to Ansigar: ‘Can the boats take almost seventy men each?’
‘Yes, but they’ll be lower in the water and slower.’
‘We’ll take three, then,’ Vespasian decided as the river came in sight.
The turma guarding the boats started pushing them off the bank, floating them ready, as they pounded down the gentle grassy slope to the river’s edge.
Ansigar shouted orders to his fellow decurions and somehow the turmae sorted themselves out, two to a boat.
‘What are Thumelicus’ men going to do?’ Vespasian asked the decurion once he had finished terrorising his men.
After a brief conversation with the Cherusci Ansigar came back. ‘They’ll take the last boat south to return Thumelicus’ body to his mother, sir.’
‘Just five of them to row that?’
Ansigar shrugged. ‘They say they can manage if they keep close to the bank away from the main current.’ He stuck his finger in his mouth, wetted it and then held it in the air. ‘They think that this slight northerly breeze will grow and they’ll be able to hoist the sail soon.’
Vespasian looked at Ansigar’s finger and then wetted his own and held it up. The side facing north felt slightly colder. ‘That’ll mean it will be blowing against us. Well, wish them luck and thank them for me.’ He turned back to the Batavian boats that were now almost fully loaded and waded out and climbed aboard using a rope ladder slung over the stern.
Magnus hauled him over the rail. ‘Time to go, wouldn’t you say, sir?’
‘Long overdue, Magnus,’ Vespasian replied as Ansigar clambered up the ladder after him. He took the steering oar and shouted what Vespasian took to be a series of numbers, then as one the Batavians dipped their oars in the water and heaved back; the boats slid forward into the gently flowing river.
*
Vespasian ordered Ansigar to steer a direct course for the opposite bank to keep as far away as possible from the Roman fleet; the current pushed them downstream as they crossed and by the time they had reached the far side they were almost level with the fleet, plainly visible now that the mist had lifted, five hundred paces to the east. A couple of miles ahead the river curved away to the west.
‘Increase the stroke rate, Ansigar,’ Vespasian commanded as the decurion eased the steering oar away from him, turning the longboat north. ‘If we can get round that bend before they notice us we’ll be away.’ He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the Roman ships, mainly biremes, hauled up along a half-mile stretch of riverbank. The shouts of their crews drifted across the flat water, which shone like a mirror, reflecting the noonday sun.
‘We’ll be lucky to escape their notice,’ Sabinus said, hugging the Eagle in its leather wrapping to his chest. ‘I should imagine that right about now Gabinius is discovering that we got there before him, thanks to Thumelicus.’
‘That’s another fucking irony, isn’t it? This country’s full of them,’ Magnus declared. ‘The son of Arminius tried to steal a Roman Eagle that his father captured, so that he could return it to Rome, thus breaking an oath to Donar who struck him down from above with a German trap. And all because three ex-slaves want to keep their master and themselves in power, but at the same time they fight each other for the privilege of being considered the most useful by a drooling fool.’
Vespasian’s brow creased into a frown. ‘It does make you wonder what sort of government we’re going to have under Claudius.’
‘The same as always, I suppose.’
‘No, it’s been different with each Emperor. Augustus managed to rule with the Senate without making it seem that he was ultimately in charge although everybody knew he was. Tiberius wasn’t subtle enough to play that game so the relationship broke down because neither could understand what the other wanted. Caligula then drew all power into his own hands, ruling with the approval of the mob whilst the Senate cowered, scared of arbitrary execution every time the Emperor ran out of money. And now we’ve got a figurehead emperor who distrusts the Senate because it didn’t support him and who’s manipulated by three Greek freedmen that no one can trust – even though I would call one a friend – who seem to be running the Empire for their own benefit.’
‘That’s why I keep out of politics,’ Magnus commented. ‘I couldn’t give a fuck how we’re ruled or by whom, so long as they leave me alone in my little corner of Rome, which they do because I don’t give a shit about them. If you had the same attitude I’d have a much quieter life, if you take my meaning?’
Sabinus scoffed. ‘That attitude’s fine for your class but how can a senator avoid getting caught up in politics?’
‘By stopping being a senator or, if his dignitas won’t allow him to resign his place, then at least stopping attending the Senate and stopping trying to get the next prestigious appointment.’
‘Then how can a man rise and gain influence?’
‘I have a lot of influence in my area.’
‘That’s because you’re the patronus of a Crossroads Brotherhood.’
‘Exactly, I am at the top of my, er … trade or sphere, as it were, and I aspire to no more than that. You gentlemen on the other hand run around playing politics in a sphere that you already know you can’t get to the top in because you come from the wrong family, so what’s the point?’
‘I suppose the point is to become consul,’ Vespasian said, ‘which would be a great honour for our family.’
‘It would have been two hundred years ago, but what does it mean now? Nothing apart from being preceded by twelve lictors and having the chance to go and govern a province afterwards, in the arsehole of the Empire, far away from the pleasures of Rome. Face it, sirs, things ain’t what they were in the old Republic and you’re just helping them to get worse.’
‘It’s better than sitting on a farm where the only thing to look forward to is seeing whether this year’s wine is better than the last,’ Sabinus said.
Vespasian did not look so sure. ‘I don’t know, Sabinus, that’s what I wanted to do when I was young and sometimes I wonder now whether it wouldn’t be a good idea to return to it.’
‘Bollocks, you’d be bored.’
‘Would I? I don’t know any more,’ Vespasian said, looking back out to the Roman fleet. Movement on the bank caught his eye; a large party of horsemen were drawing up. At their head was a man in a general’s uniform, his bronze cuirass and helmet glinting in the sun and his red cloak billowing behind him. ‘Shit! That has to be Gabinius, and they look to be the auxiliaries who questioned us. I think that he’s just worked out that he didn’t have any dismounted cavalry in his line.’ As he spoke he could see the general shading his eyes and staring towards them; and then he heard him shout. Instantly the sailors on the biremes nearest to him sprang into action; the ships were being made ready for the chase. ‘Can we go any faster, Ansigar?’
‘Not without risking fouling our oars.’
‘Risk it then, they’ll certainly catch us if we don’t.’
With a shout from Ansigar the Batavians increased their pace and Vespasian felt the ship accelerate slightly but at the same time he noticed the river surface was no longer mirror-flat; the Cherusci had been right, the north wind was freshening. He cast it from his mind, knowing that it would hinder the chasing biremes as much as it would the longboats.
‘That’s one they’ve managed to launch,’ Magnus said through gritted teeth as a bireme slid back into the water pushed by many men. ‘How come we always seem to fall foul of our own navy? I seem to remember being shot at by them in Moesia.’
‘Fucking low-life,’ Sabinus muttered; as with any man who had served under the Eagles, he had a very low opinion of the navy.
Vespasian watched anxiously as five more vessels, whose prows had been grounded on the bank, were pushed back, each spreading its oars as they floated, like geese warning off rivals.
By the time the longboats approached the bend in the river all six biremes were following less
than a mile behind.
Ansigar shouted at his men and the fifteen who had not yet rowed relieved some of their comrades. Vespasian did not feel any increase in speed but knew that a constant recycling of the rowers was their only hope of maintaining their speed and perhaps outpacing the biremes, which would not have such a luxury. For the third time that day he offered up a prayer to Mars to hold his hands over them and prevent what they had struggled so hard to get from being stolen at the last.
The bend neared as the Batavians strained at their oars, sweat pouring off them; they had not had time to remove their chain mail tunics in their rush to escape. Ansigar roared encouragement at them, spittle flecked his beard and his blue eyes burned into his men, willing them on. Just a length behind them the other two longboats were keeping up with the, quite literally, blistering pace.
The river started to ease away to the northwest and Vespasian felt a glimmer of hope as he looked back at the biremes; they seemed to be slightly further behind, perhaps they could win this race. A shout from Ansigar as they rounded the bend, blocking their pursuers from view, made him turn suddenly.
‘Juno’s gaping arse!’ Magnus exclaimed. ‘What the fuck are those?’
Vespasian’s mouth fell open. Less than half a mile downriver were ten square sails each bearing the image of a wolf; beneath the sails were the high, carved prows and sleek bellies of longboats. They were crammed with men. Vespasian looked at Ansigar; he did not need to ask the question.
The decurion bit his lip. ‘The Chauci wolf. The Chauci coastal clans have come to the aid of their inland cousins.’
‘Will they let us pass?’ Sabinus asked with more than a hint of desperation in his voice.
‘I doubt it and we can’t outmanoeuvre them because the wind’s in their favour; they will stop us and when they hear from our accents that we’re Batavians they’ll assume that we are part of Gabinius’ army taking prizes back to the Empire and then …’ Ansigar did not need to finish the sentence; they all knew what would happen then.
‘But surely they’ll turn and run when they see the biremes,’ Vespasian said, looking back, ‘they don’t stand a chance against them.’
Ansigar shook his head. ‘Each one of those boats is commanded by a clan chief; if one of them turns without making an honourable contact with the enemy then he wouldn’t be clan chief by the time he got home; if he got home at all.’
‘Then we’ve only got one option, we wait for those biremes. They’ll engage the Chauci and we may have a chance of fighting our way through in the chaos.’ Vespasian turned back to his companions; no one had any better ideas. ‘Back water then, Ansigar.’
As one, the Batavians dipped their oars in the water on Ansigar’s command, slowing the longboat as five of the Chauci fleet peeled off and headed towards them. Paetus’ boat came alongside; Vespasian quickly told him what he planned to do. By the time he had spoken to Kuno in the third boat the stroke had been reversed and the three vessels began moving backwards – and the first of the biremes appeared around the bend.
‘That’s given them a shock,’ Magnus chuckled as warning shouts floated across the water from the Chauci’s boats. The five longboats still out in midstream altered course to join up with those that were heading towards the Batavians.
The Roman flotilla was now level with them, just a hundred paces away, fanning out into battle order; the shrill pipes of the stroke-masters increased in pace as the artillery crews loaded the small ballistae mounted in each of their prows.
Vespasian watched them bear down on the Chauci. ‘They seem to have forgotten about us for the time being. Ansigar, time to go; we’ll fight alongside them.’
The three longboats surged forward at an angle edging closer to their erstwhile pursuers; Vespasian, Sabinus and Magnus grabbed their shields and made their way up to the fighting platform in the bow, pausing to take some javelins from the weapons box beneath the mast, into which Sabinus stowed the Eagle next to the Capricorn. The Batavians recently relieved from rowing joined them, sweating and grim, flexing their muscles and testing the weight of their weapons.
A series of loud cracks from their right announced the opening shots of artillery at extreme range of four hundred paces, and six plumes of water spurted skywards just behind the Chauci line.
‘Get it right, arseholes!’ Sabinus shouted pointlessly at the crews as they reloaded; the groans of exertion from a hundred and twenty rowers on each bireme, the shouts of the marine officers and the pipes of the stroke-masters drowned out his voice.
The two lines were fewer than three hundred paces apart; the Chauci had spread their oars and started rowing to gain some extra momentum. Vespasian could see them clearly now, even with a full complement rowing there were still at least twenty warriors ready to fight; they cheered on the comrades toiling on the oars, urging them to greater speed.
Six more twanging cracks sounded, and as Vespasian watched a Chaucian boat approach, a hole appeared in its sail and the heads of three of the men standing on the fighting platform just disappeared. Those around them turned red with the blood pumping from the gaping necks as the bodies stayed upright, such was the crush of warriors eager to get to grips with the hated invaders. Towards the middle of the Chaucian line one of their longboats started listing; men baled furiously with buckets and shields as water rushed in through the holed hull. Undeterred, its oarsmen rowed on.
At a hundred paces apart the ballistae shot for the last time; ten feet higher on the prows of the biremes than their targets, they had tilted down to aim their heavy stones into the bellies of the longboats. Half a dozen oars from one heaved up at odd angles as a shot carved its way down a line of oarsmen, decapitating and maiming in a spray of gore. Bodies were punched forwards into their fellows causing them to miss their stroke; the dead men’s oars fell back into the water and the longboat skewed around them and into the path of its neighbour, striking it amidships and raking it. Rowers were catapulted back as their oars were slammed into them by the solid wooden prow, screams of agony rose above the cheering of the Roman marines as ribs were smashed and arms snapped by the momentous pressure. But the other eight longboats came on.
Archers now took their place on the biremes’ decks sending a constant stream of arrows towards the oncoming vessels but the warriors raised their shields, protecting themselves and their comrades at the oars from sudden death.
Vespasian loosened his spatha in its scabbard, his belly tightened and he found himself wishing that he had the shorter infantry gladius for this close-quarters work. Ahead of him, two longboats were aiming straight towards the three Batavian vessels; they were close enough to make out the features of the frenzied men in their bows. To his right the nearest bireme was no more than five oar-lengths away, its bronze-headed ram foaming the water before it.
‘Release!’ Vespasian shouted, slinging his javelin once he could see the whites of his opponents’ eyes. The Batavians, with their shields in front of them, hurled their first volley as Ansigar bellowed an order; the rowers hauled in their oars, grabbed shields and javelins and lined the sides of the longboat that ploughed on under its own momentum. Ansigar steered it directly towards the gap between the two oncoming Chauci; they too hauled in their oars. The first return missiles hit with a heavy, staccato thumping on their shields and the bow as Vespasian prepared his second javelin; but the Batavians’ discipline held, as did their shield wall, and there were no agonised cries. To Vespasian’s left Paetus and Kuno’s men let fly their javelins with a roar; a couple of enemy warriors toppled into the water and sank immediately, leaving crimson stains to mark their passing.
‘Release!’ Vespasian again screamed at ten paces apart. The second volley slammed into the Chauci taking more down into the river; they readied their long thrusting spears for close combat. A massive cracking of wood to the right caused Vespasian to glance across to see a longboat being pushed back, impaled on the ram of the bireme next to him; Chauci warriors were jumping into the water and gra
bbing at the bireme’s oars, thrusting their spears through the oar-ports into the rowers within and trying to scale the ship’s sides; archers leant over the rail picking them off with easy shots.
Ansigar kept his course steady, hoping to pass between the two longboats, but the Chauci steersmen knew their business; at the last moment both boats veered to the starboard heading straight for Vespasian’s and Paetus’ vessels, leaving Kuno’s free to pass by.
‘Brace!’ Vespasian screamed as a collision became inevitable.
‘Fuck me!’ Magnus muttered next to him as he gripped the rail. ‘First horses and now longboats, don’t they do anything natural here?’
A shuddering blow, just to the starboard side of the prow, jolted through the whole boat, throwing a few of the less wellbraced Batavians to their knees. Spears jammed forward with determined force into the shields of the Batavians as the boat started to slew round. Vespasian hacked at a shaft embedded in Magnus’ shield as, behind him, Ansigar roared for some men to take up oars to steady the vessel. An auxiliary shrieked and fell back, ripping a bloodied leaf-shaped spearhead from his jaw; before the gap could be closed two Chauci warriors had jumped across, spears jabbing down from over their shoulders, whilst their comrades hammered theirs on the Batavians’ shields; gradually they gave ground. More Chauci swarmed over, bellowing with battle-joy, pushing the defenders ever back, off the fighting platform and in amongst the rowing benches. The Chauci followed, battering at the shield wall.
Vespasian stood between Sabinus to his right and Magnus to his left, punching his shield forward and up, trying to deflect the long-reaching weapons so that he could get under and close in on his foes; but to no avail. Sabinus raised his shield to a brutal overarm stab, taking the point just above the boss, embedding it with a deadened thump; twisting away from his brother he hauled the spear forward to drag its owner out of the line. Vespasian dipped to his right and swept his sword low below the man’s shield; his arm juddered but he kept his grip as it sliced into a shin with the hard, wet sound of a butcher’s cleaver thwacking into a side of pork. With an ear-splitting howl the warrior stepped forward to balance himself only to find the bottom part of his leg missing; he tumbled to the deck spraying blood from his newly carved stump over the feet of his comrades.
Rome’s Fallen Eagle Page 21
