Britannia: Part I: The Wall

by Richard Denham

  And what were the VI doing about it, the refugees wanted to know. The VI were limitanei, for Jupiter’s sake, guards of the frontier. More, they were the largest fighting force in the whole of Britannia Secunda. Were they going to hide behind their impregnable walls for ever?

  ‘It’s a fair question,’ Leocadius sat with his fist around a goblet of Spanish wine in the tavern along the Via Caesi. The place was out of bounds for soldiers of the VI which was precisely why he was there. Vitalis looked at him and the girl on his lap. What was her name – Lucia? Lucilla? He couldn’t remember. After his umpteenth goblet he was having difficulty remembering his own name.

  ‘How do you mean?’ he managed, his tongue thick with drink.

  Leocadius frowned at his friend, then burst out laughing. ‘You are such a lightweight,’ he said and clinked his goblet with Vitalis’. He leaned as close to the table as he could, allowing for the girl hanging around his neck, breathing hot breath and suggestions in equal measure into his ear. ‘What I am saying is, why aren’t we out there collecting a few heads of our own?’

  Lucia stopped being subtle and ran her tongue over his ear, whispering something that Vitalis couldn’t hear and was glad not to. Leocadius laughed again and nodded to the girl. ‘On the other hand,’ he said, adjusting the arm around her so that his hand was somewhere a little more intimate, ‘There’s no hurry, is there?’ She giggled and squirmed suggestively in his lap.

  Vitalis, through the blur of the oil lamps and the raucous laughter at the tables, suddenly felt rather in the way. He downed the last of his wine, shook his head and stood up, after a fashion. ‘I’ll be saying “Goodnight” then,’ he slurred.

  ‘Indeed you will,’ a stern voice barked in his ear. He half turned to see Flaminius, primus pilus now that Piso was dead. Vitalis remembered the man from his training days. His bark, men said, was worse than his bite but Vitalis knew different and had the scars to prove it. Even now, in cold weather, the skin on his back crawled and twitched to Flaminius’ cane. The thing was gnarled, carved to inflict maximum pain. ‘The praeses wants you,’ the centurion said. Then he looked at Leocadius. ‘And you.’

  Leocadius’ smile had frozen on his lips. ‘If it’s just a matter of us being slightly out of bounds, primus pilus …’

  ‘Nothing to do with that – this time,’ the centurion told him.

  Leocadius’ mind was racing. He had never felt the whip before and had no intention of starting now. ‘The girl, then …’ his face lit up. ‘I don’t even know her name.’ He slapped her rump. ‘Look,’ he held her out to the man by the wrist. ‘You can have her if you like.’

  ‘Leo!’ Lucia shrilled, frowning, sitting back down on his lap with a bump. She had been passed around various cohorts of the VI before, but she liked it to be at least partially of her own free will.

  ‘Get up,’ Flaminius ordered and Leocadius obeyed, letting Lucia slide unceremoniously to the floor. The centurion was a big man and he had four pedes with him, men who were not from Leocadius’ cohort. He could make a run for it, but how far would he get? Flaminius was already talking to Vitalis. ‘How many have you had?’ he pointed to the empty goblet.

  ‘Some,’ was all the lad could manage.

  The centurion clicked his fingers. ‘Ussos. Now,’ he said and both lads were hauled away, their arms pinioned by a guard on each side of them, Vitalis trying to force his legs to walk vaguely in the same direction.

  ‘You arsehole!’ the luscious Lucia bellowed at Leocadius’ back. ‘Don’t you think you can come sniffing around me again in a hurry.’ Her snarl died as her eyes lighted on a handsome young man sitting with his friends at a nearby table. ‘Ave,’ she said in her best Latin, smiling. She ran her fingers through his curls. ‘It’s Marcus, isn’t it? Ave. Ave.’

  The cold of Novembris hit Vitalis like a hammer and they dragged him with the constantly complaining Leocadius north to the river. With the plumed helmet of Flaminius ahead like a battle standard, the seven wove their way through the side alleys in the dark of a smoky evening. Dogs barked in the shadows and the smell of the tanneries wafted on the early night air. Vitalis’ head hurt and he suddenly could not think of a damned thing to say. Leocadius, on the other hand, born barrack-room lawyer that he was, could not shut up.

  Ahead, against the purple of the sky loomed the towers and walls of the camp where torches flickered like fireflies on a summer’s evening. But in front of all that the Ussos meandered, dark and mysterious past the wharves and jetties. Fishing boats bobbed at anchor between the trading ships from Nostrum Mare, their holds still full of amphorae of wine from Iberia, earthenware from Gaul.

  Leocadius couldn’t believe it as his captors clattered with him down steps that led to the lapping water’s edge. It was dark down here and rats scuttled along the timbers where, at daybreak, the whole world would bring their goods to market. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘What are you doing?’ He had his legs knocked from under him and he felt his head being forced down towards the swirling water. Primus pilus Flaminius was kneeling alongside him. ‘Think of it as Father Tiber,’ he grinned. ‘You’re making an offering to the river. You.’ He nodded to the guards and they rammed Leocadius’ head under water. He shut his mouth and his eyes and did his best to hold his breath. How long they held him there, as the veins in his neck bulged with the effort and the Ussos roared in his ears, he couldn’t tell. When they finally hauled him out, coughing and spluttering, he could barely stand.

  ‘Next,’ Flaminius said as if he was supervising pay day. Vitalis’ guards threw him forwards on the steps. Then one of them kicked him viciously behind his left knee and he went down, the sudden pain jarring through the blur of his vision. Then he was under water, eyes open, trying to make sense of what was happening. Bubbles were bursting from his mouth and he felt a terrible pain in his lungs. Lights were bursting in all the colours of the rainbow behind his eyes and his nose and throat burned. Then they jerked him backwards and he roared as the air burst down water-filled passageways and let him live again.

  Both men now stood dripping wet and shivering in the cold, looking rather shamefaced at the centurion. ‘Best way I know of sobering a man up,’ Flaminius said. ‘The praeses wants to see you.’

  They had marched at double-quick time, which was almost a run and now they stood in the flicker of the guttering torches and lamplights of the Principia. Flaminius and his guards had been ordered away. The lads stood to attention in the near silence, listening to the spit and sputter of the torch-flames and the low wind that moaned forever through every building in the camp, winding its cold fingers into the brain below every other sound. They turned at the sound of footsteps to their left and Justinus and Paternus strode in. The circitor was in his tunic of mail, his sword at his side. Did that man never relax? Leocadius wondered. Paternus had been in mid-shave, the stubble gone from one side of his chin.

  ‘Justinus, what …?’ Leocadius began, but a door crashed back and the praeses swept in. All four men clicked to attention and stood facing him. Decius Ammianus was wearing a scruffy tunic that had seen better days and he wore civilian sandals rather than his army boots. He unwrapped a scroll lying on a side table and sat down, crossing his legs.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he nodded to them. ‘At ease, please.’ The four slid their feet apart and locked their arms behind their backs. The praeses looked at each man in turn. Justinus he knew, a circitor with guts and experience. He was a chip off the old block, because men like Flavius Coelius had made the legions of Rome. They had carried the eagles to the far corners of the world and their sons would do so again. Paternus was a semisallis and Ammianus had had to ask the relevant tribune about him. The man was good, the tribune had reported, but less so since he had got back from the Wall. His family were missing and he was fretting about them. The others were faces only but those faces were still glistening with water in the torch flames. The praeses was no fool and he knew the ways of his primus pilus. He would have found the lads pissed in some tavern s
omewhere and this was his way of sobering them up. Well, Ammianus thought to himself, some have greatness thrust upon them.

  ‘We need heroes,’ the praeses said.

  Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

  ‘You men are from the Wall,’ he went on by way of explanation. ‘To date, you are the only survivors of the Wall.’

  Justinus wanted to say that that could not be, that somewhere the Wall must have held, whatever kind of attack was launched against it. Segedunum, in the east; Onum with its fancy bath house; Vercovicium high on its crest – surely nobody could take that. Ammianus read the man’s mind from his quizzical look. ‘I know,’ he said softly, ‘It’s unbelievable, but we have to face it. And I’m not about to send the VI blundering northwards in an attempt to rectify the problem. The Duke tried that and look where it got him. Walled up here, we’re safe. Unless those murderous bastards have got siege engines and know how to use them, they won’t make so much as a dent in Eboracum.’

  Justinus knew that. He also knew that every fort on the Wall had its own onager, the ballista called the wild ass because of its kick. Stones hurled from this could smash palisades to splinters, cave in skulls and tear ribs apart. If all sixteen forts had gone that meant that sixteen wild asses were at the barbarians’ disposal. And once they had one, they may be able to make others.

  ‘You men live in the camp,’ Ammianus went on. ‘What’s the mood? What are people saying?’

  Again, no one spoke.

  ‘Come on,’ said the praeses. ‘Out with it.’

  ‘With respect, sir.’ It was Leocadius who put his head over the parapet. ‘It’s all a little … well … doom and gloom, I suppose. Men aren’t happy. They want to know why we aren’t out there, giving something back.’

  Ammianus nodded. ‘You … er … Paternus … you’re a semisallis. Is that how you see it too?’

  ‘People are afraid, sir,’ he said. ‘The Wall is all we know. It has stood as a bulwark against our enemies for longer than anyone can remember.’

  ‘Exactly,’ the praeses nodded. ‘So I want you four to do something about it. In two days each of you will be promoted. Circitor, you will be made a tribune.’

  Justinus’ mouth hung open. He could never have aspired to this exalted rank if he served a thousand years.

  ‘It will have to be supernumerary at first,’ Ammianus went on, ‘because, as you know, the legion has its full quota at the moment.’

  ‘Sir, I …’ but the praeses was in no mood to listen to Justinus’ protestations and held up his hand.

  ‘Semisallis,’ Ammianus looked at Paternus, ‘You will wear the lorica of primus pilus – again, supernumerary. Don’t get under Flaminius’ feet; he won’t appreciate it and operating as a team is an alien concept for him. You two,’ he fixed his gaze on Leocadius and Vitalis, ‘are circitors forthwith. There is one vacancy here, he nodded towards Justinus, ‘and I understand Decius Salvinus is about ready to hang up his boots.’ The praeses stood up and poured himself some wine. Then he filled four more goblets and handed one to each man. ‘Congratulations, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘The VI salute you,’ and he raised his cup.

  ‘Praeses, we …’ Justinus was far from happy.

  ‘You are my standard bearers,’ Ammianus said, ‘my aquilifers. And I’m asking you to lead in a very peculiar battle. On every street corner, along every wharf, in every shop …’ he looked at Leocadius, ‘in every tavern, it will be your job to sow harmony, wisdom and strength. If you hear that there have been atrocities, play them down. If you hear we aren’t doing enough, tell them we’re doing all we can and that the Emperor is on his way.’

  ‘The Emperor?’ Justinus was astounded.

  Ammianus nodded. ‘Or his representative. And I can assure you, gentlemen, he will not come alone. In the meantime, it is our duty – yours and mine – to keep spirits up. And that,’ he drained his cup, ‘is a two-edged sword. Defeatism is outlawed from Eboracum from today. If a man spits on a denarius, I want him flogged. If he mutters darkly in corners plotting against us, I want his balls nailed to a gatepost. Anyone who deserts will be brought back and hanged, if necessary in front of his wife and children.’ He paused for effect and looked at each man in turn. ‘Are we clear, gentlemen?’ he asked.

  There was another pause. Then, ‘Yes, sir,’ came the answer.

  ‘Good. Well, then, if there’s nothing more …’

  ‘I have a request, sir,’ Paternus stepped forward, even more aware now that he had just been promoted that he still had wet stubble on his chin.

  ‘Primus pilus,’ Ammianus was listening.

  ‘I understand that you are sending out cavalry patrols from time to time.’

  ‘I am,’ the praeses nodded.

  ‘Permission to ride with them, sir,’ Paternus said.

  ‘Why?’ Ammianus asked.

  ‘My family, sir,’ the new primus pilus said. ‘My wife and son. They are out there somewhere. I’d like to find them.’

  ‘Very well,’ the praeses said. ‘But watch yourself, Paternus. I’d hate to lose my extra first centurion so soon.’

  Despite himself, Paternus was smiling.

  ‘Goodnight, gentlemen,’ Ammianus turned and the four began to file out. ‘Oh, Justinus.’

  ‘Sir.’ The new tribune stood to attention.

  The praeses waited until the others had gone. ‘There was something you wanted to say?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s not my place, sir,’ Justinus said.

  ‘Stop thinking like a circitor!’ Ammianus snapped. ‘You’re a tribune now, my right hand man … well, one of them, anyway. And I know it’s not going to be a bed of roses. My tribunes have their noses so firmly up their own arses I don’t know how they can breathe. They won’t exactly welcome you with open arms.’

  Justinus knew that. Most tribunes were rich young gentlemen whose families had been Somebody in Rome since the time of the deified Augustus. Men like Justinus from the ranks usually got no higher than primus pilus and that was after twenty years carrying a shield and pounding boot leather. He would be the unmistakeable smell of shit in the bed of roses. ‘No, sir, it’s not that,’ he said.

  ‘If it’s playing the spy you’re worried about, don’t be. That’s precisely why I’ve made you a tribune. No one with a lower rank could hope to achieve anything in the camp. The others can wander the canabae to their hearts’ content. I don’t care what the riff-raff south of the river think – although, Jupiter knows, we don’t need a rebellion on our hands. No, it’s the legion I worry about, Justinus. You and I both know we aren’t equipped for a field army’s work. That’s what I’ve asked the Emperor for. And, Jupiter willing, given fair seas and good roads, we’ll have his answer back soon.’

  Justinus stood there.

  ‘There’s something else,’ the praeses said.

  ‘We are not heroes, sir,’ Justinus said.

  The praeses pursed his lips and crossed the room to refill his goblet. He offered the pitcher to the tribune but Justinus shook his head. ‘Your man … circitor Leocadius … he’s been swaggering around Eboracum for weeks with tales of your glory and prowess.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been told the head count of Picts he killed stands at fifteen now.’

  Justinus was shaking his head. ‘That’s exactly it,’ he said. ‘He killed nobody. None of us did.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Ammianus asked.

  ‘We ran, sir,’ Justinus felt better now he had said that and stood waiting for his new rank and quite possibly, his old one, to be taken away.

  ‘I prefer to think of it as a tactical withdrawal,’ the praeses chose his words carefully.

  ‘Sir …’

  ‘Damn it, man,’ Ammianus snapped. ‘This is not about you. If you have a conscience, swallow it; along with your pride. We are not playing games here, sir. I have promoted you and your boys because of your courage in the face of the enemy, because apart from that gibbering idiot who brought us news of Fullofaudes’ cock-up, you are the only people who have even
seen these bastards – at least, you’re the only ones in uniform.’

  ‘But Fullofaudes …’

  ‘Fullofaudes was full of shit, tribune,’ the praeses said, grim-faced. ‘And I have a legion on the edge. These endless trickles of the dispossessed from the north don’t help. That’s why I don’t let them in. We don’t need their scaremongering or those buggers outside are likely to forget their oath to the Emperor and join the barbarians. It may be half of them already have.’ He stood with his nose almost pressed to Justinus’ chin. ‘Do I have your full support?’ he bellowed, laying stress on every word.

  ‘You do, sir,’ Justinus told him. It had to be enough.

  The legion hardly ever paraded like this but the praeses had his reasons. Every man who could walk was there, links of mail or bronze scales gleaming in the morning sun. It was as if Sol Invictus himself was smiling on the VI as the great silver eagle was paraded through the massed ranks. The townspeople from the canabae and the colonia were let in in sufficient numbers so that they could celebrate the four heroes singled out for praise. Every centurion was there, every cohort. Only the sick of the Ala Invicta Britanniciani who had not ridden out with Fullofaudes were missing. The nine men and their nine horses would not have impressed anybody and as they were the only cavalry Ammianus had, he kept them out of the way. This would be an infantry affair only.

  Claudius Metellus watched from his position in the stands. He was sitting with the wives of the legion and honoured guests, members of the ordo of Eboracum, the civilian committee who ran the town. He was not down there on the windswept parade ground with the dragon standard in his grip; that was because he could not hold one any more. Ever since the field of Hell-mouth, he could barely hold a spoon. Even now, as he watched the other signifers going through their paces, he felt his knees trembling and could not control the shake in his right hand. He did not care whether anyone was looking at him or not because he was far, far past all that. His nerve had gone and he would never be the same.