Vespasian pressed forward his advantage, taking his neighbours with him into the gap, his sword flashing red over his shield and into the face of the next warrior, crunching through the bridge of his nose as the man stared in cross-eyed disbelief at the blade. The Chauci line momentarily faltered. Magnus exploded forward, bellowing curses above the screaming, taking the Batavians to his left with him, and hacked away a spear shaft before him; the warrior slipped on the slick blood-drenched deck lowering his shield for a brief instant. Magnus’ sword found its mark.
Now they were past the spears and toe to toe with the boarders; the second rank of Batavians closed up, holding their shields over the first ranks’ heads to protect them from the downward spear-thrusts of the Chauci still up on the fighting platform. Vespasian felt the pressure on his back as the man behind him pushed him forward. He stabbed repeatedly with his spatha until he felt it connect with flesh and then he twisted and was rewarded with a scream. To both sides of him the Batavians were making ground and only a few Chauci were left in front of the fighting platform, trapped, unable to get back up. They died swiftly. The warriors on the platform pulled back out of range of a disabling sword swipe to their ankles. They were at stalemate.
Vespasian stepped back, letting the man behind him replace him in the front rank. Ansigar, with five oarsmen on each side rowing constantly, was keeping the longboat at an angle to the Chaucian vessel preventing it from coming alongside and disgorging even more warriors. To his left Paetus’ crew were having a hard fight of it, they were almost pushed back to the mast. But of Kuno’s boat there was no sign. To the right, the river was littered with flotsam and jetsam; one bireme had flames issuing out of its oar-ports and warriors swarming up its sides from a longboat attached to its bow with grappling hooks. The remaining biremes clustered around the last three longboats afloat, pumping arrows into the shields of their crews who could do nothing but cower.
With a sudden lurch the longboat rocked as a massed cry broke through the cacophony of the river battle. A warrior tumbled from the fighting platform into the water whilst the remainder up there had to grab the sides to steady themselves. In an instant Magnus and Sabinus led the Batavians leaping up, taking full advantage of the enemies’ lack of balance; as they did Vespasian looked beyond them to see the cause of the shock: Kuno’s boat had circled around and had rammed the Chauci in the rear. Kuno’s men leapt onto the surprised vessel, slicing into the crew whose attention had been focused on Vespasian’s longboat.
As the last warrior fell from the fighting platform Sabinus and Magnus pushed the Chaucian vessel away, leaving Kuno’s men to finish the job.
‘Ansigar!’ Vespasian shouted, pointing at Paetus’ boat where now more than thirty Chauci had pushed Paetus’ men beyond the mast.
The decurion understood and pulled on his steering oar, guiding the longboat towards the hard-pressed crew on the boat next to them. With a few pulls at the oars they were almost alongside. Armed with the remainder of their javelins, the Batavians sent two savage, close-range volleys into the Chauci’s flank. More than a dozen fell, skewered from the side; a shudder went through the rest and a few paused to look towards the new threat. This was enough for Paetus and his men; they surged forward with renewed vigour, getting between the long spears of their opponents and working their swords through the gaps in their shield wall. As Vespasian’s boat drew closer the Chauci nearest the rail turned and fled knowing that they would soon be outnumbered, leaving their three comrades already engaged to the front to succumb to the stabbing swords of the Batavians. Ansigar shouted in German and the defenders swarmed all over them using their shield bosses and fists rather than their blades. As the last one went down, disarmed and unconscious, the Chaucian longboat pushed away, backing oars whilst warriors helped survivors from the other boat out of the water.
‘Let them go!’ Vespasian shouted. ‘Take up the oars and let’s get away from here.’
‘I don’t think that would be a wise thing to do, legate,’ a voice called from behind him. ‘You’ve seen how accurate our ballistae crews are.’
Vespasian spun round to see a bireme just twenty paces away; leaning on the rail, resplendent in his red crested helmet, bronze muscled cuirass and flowing red cloak was Publius Gabinius. He smiled without mirth. ‘If I were you I would take my generous invitation to come aboard my ship. Oh, and you’ll bring that trinket that you found, won’t you?’
Vespasian looked down from the bireme’s rail at the three streams of blood splashing into the river. Ansigar recited a prayer in German as the lifeblood of the three captives was emptied into the water in honour of Nehalennia, the goddess of the Northern Sea.
‘Was that strictly necessary?’ Gabinius asked.
Vespasian shrugged as the sacrifices were dumped overboard from Ansigar’s longboat. ‘I’m not really sure.’
‘Well, I am,’ Magnus asserted. ‘And I have to say that I feel a lot better knowing that we’ve got a German goddess on our side for the trip home.’
‘There can’t be any harm in that, I suppose.’ Gabinius’ attention turned to the bundle; he unwrapped the leather and held the Eagle in his hands, looking at it with admiration. ‘Of course I shall be claiming the glory of retrieving this.’
Sabinus looked more than resentful. ‘And Callistus will be boasting to the Emperor that it was his plan?’
Gabinius looked up, surprise showing on his thin, long face. ‘How did you know that?’
‘The man whom Callistus sent to stop us told us in exchange for a weapon in his hand as he died.’
Gabinius sniffed. ‘They’re very particular about that here; mind you, I suppose we like to have a coin put in our mouth for the ferryman, same sort of thing really. Anyway, he was right; Callistus will be enjoying his perceived victory, but I’ll be remembered in the history books as the man who found the Eagle of the Seventeenth.’
Vespasian looked up at the eastern bank of the river moving slowly by as they sailed north towards the sea and back to the Empire. Behind them the rest of the fleet had embarked and were following. ‘You know that your theft of this will cost my brother his life, Gabinius?’
‘Theft is a very strong word. You could argue that you would have failed had it not been for my attack on the Chauci. But no matter, it’s in my possession now and that’s what counts. As to Sabinus losing his life because of me, I doubt that will happen.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Because Narcissus told me so.’
Vespasian was outraged. ‘Narcissus knew that you were coming after the Eagle even though he sent us?’
‘Of course he knew; he doesn’t give a shit who finds the Eagle as long as it’s found. The end result is all the same to him and he considers it good politics to have his underlings squabbling amongst themselves.’
Magnus spat on the deck. ‘Fucking Greek freedmen.’
Gabinius smirked and gazed proudly at his prize. ‘Yes, I’m afraid they’re not to be trusted.’
‘What about Pallas, did he know too?’ Vespasian asked. ‘And did he know that Callistus sent someone to kill us?’
‘I don’t know if he knew of Callistus’ plan but I’m sure that he didn’t know Callistus had sent an assassin; he would have told Narcissus if he had. Narcissus made no mention of Callistus’ assassin, in fact quite the opposite; he was very specific in his letter to me that you were not to be killed if I came across you, so he would have in no way condoned Callistus’ little bit of cheating.’
Sabinus looked relieved. ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose: if he doesn’t want us dead I should be free to return to Rome; and I can expose Callistus as a murderous little Greek cunt to Narcissus.’
Vespasian sighed, exhausted by the day and the machinations of Claudius’ freedmen. ‘I wouldn’t bother; what proof do we have other than our word? Callistus will just deny everything and all you’d do is make him even more of an enemy. Besides, Narcissus won’t care one way or the other; he sees the bigger pic
ture and as far as he’s concerned he has his Eagle for his master and it’s time to move on.’
‘I think that you’re right there, Vespasian,’ Gabinius agreed. ‘And anyway, Sabinus, you’re not free to return to Rome. Narcissus gave me orders for you two in his letter should the Eagle have been found; assuming that you have survived of course. Vespasian, you are to return to the Second Augusta, and Sabinus, Narcissus, or rather, the Emperor, has appointed you legate of the Fourteenth Gemina based at Mogontiacum on the Rhenus.’
Sabinus was shocked. ‘The Fourteenth? Why?’
Gabinius shrugged. ‘I don’t know; imperial politics seem to get more and more unreadable and seemingly random but I’m sure there’s a good reason for it.’
‘I’m sure there is and it’ll be more to do with Narcissus’ ambitions than my deserving it.’
‘I expect you’re right; it’s a strange world that we live in when our class is forced to take orders from freedmen. Anyway, you can’t have your old legion back, the Ninth Hispana has been given to the Empress’ brother, Corvinus.’
‘Yes, I know; the only good thing about that is that’ll keep him out of our way in Pannonia for a while.’
‘Only for a year.’
‘What?’
‘At the end of the campaigning season next year Aulus Plautius, who was made Governor of Pannonia in thanks for his support of Claudius, is moving to Gesoriacum on the north coast of Gallia Belgae, and he’ll be bringing the Ninth with him. The Twentieth will also be going there as well as your two legions and your attached auxiliary cohorts. You, gentlemen, have the honour to be part of Aulus Plautius’ invasion force for the conquest of Britannia.’
Vespasian felt a chill as he envisioned more fog-wreathed forests and strange gods; he looked at his brother. ‘I had a feeling that “honour” was coming and I’ve been dreading it.’
Sabinus was astounded. ‘It seems that Narcissus is determined to kill us one way or the other.’
Only Paetus looked pleased.
Magnus spat again on the deck. ‘Fucking great way to end the day.’
PART III
THE INVASION OF BRITANNIA, SPRING AD 43
CHAPTER XIII
‘BRACE YOURSELVES, MY lovelies!’ Primus Pilus Tatius roared at his double-strength century of a hundred and sixty men kneeling on one knee on the wet deck of a trireme hurtling towards the shore. The men immediately leant forward, thumping their right hands and the bases of their shields down onto the planking, their pila clasped in their left along with their shield grips. ‘That’s my boys; this won’t hurt – too much.’
Vespasian nodded to himself in satisfaction at the discipline of the first century of the first cohort of the II Augusta as he watched the oncoming beach, less than a hundred paces away, blinking his eyes against the sheeting rain. Next to him, in the bow of the ship, the aquilifer of the II Augusta held its Eagle aloft; beyond him, a line of ships with no sails set but each with oars dipping in unison as their stroke-masters piped out the same beat disappeared into the downpour. Vespasian cursed the weather in these northern climes and took a firm hold of the rail as two sailors ran forward to man the ropes holding upright the two twenty-foot-long, eight-foot-wide corvi, the ramps by which they would disembark.
‘Oars in,’ the trierarchus, who captained the trireme, called through a speaking trumpet at the stern.
A shrill, long call on the stroke-master’s pipe heralded the mass rasping of wood on wood as a hundred and twenty oars were drawn in through their ports; the beach was now less than fifty paces away. Again Vespasian nodded to himself in satisfaction: that was the prescribed distance to cease rowing so that the ship would be grounded but not beached. He checked his sword was loose in its scabbard and cast a glance along the line of triremes; only one still had its oars out. ‘Who the fuck’s that, Tatius?’
The primus pilus quickly counted off the ships. ‘Third and fourth centuries, second cohort, sir!’
Vespasian grunted and braced himself solidly against the ship’s side whilst Tatius did the same with one hand and with the other took a firm grip of the aquilifer’s shoulder so that the Eagle would not fall. With a slight upwards jolt and a grating of churning shingle the hull hit the sea bed; deceleration was immediate and swift, forcing Vespasian to tense his arm and leg muscles as he was propelled forward. The grating transformed into a tooth-aching screech as the speed of the vessel was checked until, with a groan of straining timber and a sudden lurch, the trireme came to a halt, resting – but not embedded – on the beach.
‘Up!’ Tatius cried.
As one the first century got to their feet, transferring their pila into their right hands; the corvi were released to fall with a descending creak to slam into the shingle.
‘The first century will disembark at double time,’ Tatius roared as he and the aquilifer stepped on to the ramp. Vespasian leapt onto the second ramp and jogged down, feeling the wood bounce slightly beneath his feet until he hit the shingle; the men raced down to the beach in groups of four behind him.
Bawled at by Tatius and his optio, they had formed up into four lines of forty by the time the last men had disembarked.
‘Advance quick time one hundred paces!’ Tatius bellowed once he was satisfied that the lines were straight.
Pounding over the shingle, the first century doubled up the sloping beach. Behind them the fifth century moved into place from their landing point to the right and from the left the rest of the first cohort came smartly up to form up next to them.
‘Halt!’ Tatius ordered from his place just in front of the aquilifer.
The first cohort came to a crunching stop.
Vespasian looked along the beach to see the other nine cohorts of the II Augusta dressed perfectly in two lines along the strand; it had taken little more than two hundred heartbeats. The ships that had disgorged them bobbed on the shallow water afloat once more now that their weight had been drastically reduced; except one: the third and forth centuries of the second cohort.
As Vespasian marched forward to his primus pilus a lone horseman appeared over the scraggy mounds at the top of the beach leading a spare horse; he squinted his eyes against the rain at the oncoming man.
‘Sir!’ Magnus shouted as he drove his horse down the beach.
Vespasian frowned in surprise to see his friend coming out of the rain.
‘What is it, Magnus?’
‘Aulus Plautius has called a meeting of all legates and auxiliary prefects, so I thought I’d bring you a horse. Narcissus has just arrived and my guess is something’s going on. I don’t think he’s come all this way for a cup of hot wine and a nice fireside chat, if you take my meaning?’
‘Can’t he ever stop meddling? All right, I’ll be there in a moment.’ Vespasian turned to Tatius. ‘Very good, primus pilus, apart from that arsehole trierarchus who doesn’t know when to stop rowing; go and shout at him for a while, would you?’
‘Sir!’
‘Get the men and ships back to Gesoriacum, give them something to eat and then do the whole thing again this afternoon with the tide out; and this time I want no mistakes. I’ll join you if I can.’
‘Sir!’ Tatius bellowed, snapping to attention.
Vespasian nodded, mounting the spare horse that Magnus had brought. ‘Right, let’s go and see what plans that oily Greek’s got to make our lives even harder.’
The rain whipped in relentlessly as Vespasian and Magnus made their way the ten miles to Aulus Plautius’ headquarters; these were based in the villa that Caligula had had constructed for himself on the coast just outside the walls of the port of Gesoriacum when he had come north to attempt the conquest of Britannia four years earlier. All the land around the port on the Gallic Straits, opposite the island of Britannia, had been either ploughed and sown with wheat or barley or had been fenced off into fields containing more pigs and mules than Vespasian had ever seen. They were riding through what was essentially a huge farm stretching, even on a clear day, as far as
the eye could see and then further; much further.
The business of supplying the invasion force of four legions and a similar number of auxiliaries, a total of almost forty thousand men in all, plus all the ancillary personnel – cart drivers, muleteers, slaves and sailors crewing the thousand-strong fleet – had not shocked Vespasian with its magnitude when he had first approached Gesoriacum at the head of the II Augusta six months before; it had, rather, inspired him. The idea that every stomach, whether human or animal, had to be filled every day was a logistical problem of such vast mathematical proportions that it made his head spin just to think of the amount of fodder required to feed enough pigs to provide the entire force with a meat ration for one day, or of how many square miles of pasture the army’s five thousand mules would get through in a month. It made his problems of supply for the II Augusta seem trivial and petty in comparison, but they had been problems that he had thoroughly enjoyed tackling once he had returned to Argentoratum.
He and Sabinus had returned to the Empire with Gabinius’ fleet – much to Sabinus’ discomfort over the two-day voyage – and then made their way down the Rhenus back to their new legions; Paetus and his Batavians had accompanied them on their journey south. The voyage had been on calm seas, thanks, as Magnus had often commented, to Ansigar’s timely sacrifice to Nehalennia, the goddess of the Northern Sea.
Upon their arrival at Mogontiacum, news had reached them of their father’s death, but this was tempered by the news of the birth of Vespasian’s daughter, Domitilla. Flavia had written herself and it was with both relief and joy that he had read the letter; a mother and child’s chances of survival in childbirth were about the same as a soldier’s on the battlefield.
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