Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5)

by William Kelso

  GERMANIA

  Book five of the Veteran of Rome series

  By: William Kelso

  To: Grandma and Granddad Kelso and Johnson, the greatest generation

  About the author

  My name is William Kelso and I am a British author specialising in ancient Roman and classical historical fiction. My interest in history and in military history started at a very young age when I was lucky enough to hear my grandfather describing his experiences of serving in the RAF in North Africa and Italy during WW2. Recently my family have discovered that one of my Scottish and Northern Irish ancestors fought under Wellington at the battle of Waterloo in 1815.

  I have always wanted to be a writer. It was my childhood dream, that and being a pilot, a Royal Marine and a Jedi knight. I grew up in the Netherlands in the 1970’s and 80’s in a wonderfully liberal place with a great passion for football.

  As a child growing up just north of Eindhoven it was impossible to get away from the reminders of World War 2. The town where I grew up, Son en Breugel, straddled Hells Highway, the main road that was used by the allies during Operation Market Garden in September 1944. Indeed, the US 101st Airborne had dropped in on the fields where I often played football. The Dutch are very thankful for that liberation. They commemorate it everywhere, in street names, square names, names of bridges, liberation day (5th May) and through memorials, one of which, the Joe Mann memorial was close to where I lived.

  My love affair with ancient Rome began when I read Rosemary Sutcliffe's ‘The Eagle of the Ninth’ and Alfred Duggan's ‘Winter Quarters.’ These two writers had a huge influence on me and after seeing the majestic ruins of the ancient Forum in Rome I knew that this was the period I wanted to write about. I have not looked back. Now, the more I learn about ancient Rome, the more I see her influence reflected in modern life; from law to language; place and country names; to the football stadiums of today. The soundness of many Roman ideas and concepts has stood the test of time and we should respect the ancients for what they achieved. The Greeks may have been thinkers but the Romans were doers! The Romans were an immensely proud people but they were always happy to copy and adopt other people’s good ideas. It is this quality that makes them so likeable and so enduring. The Romans would have had no problems adapting automobiles for military use. God forbid what they would have done with a mobile phone.

  I didn't end up becoming a Marine or a Jedi Knight. After leaving Holland in 1991 for a place at Lancaster University in the UK, I decided to use my summer and Christmas holidays to hitchhike around Europe and bring medicines to the UNHCR in Zagreb, which was then embroiled in civil war. I still vividly remember sitting in my small tent on the hills just outside the city and seeing the anti-aircraft gunners celebrating the start of the New Year. After my idealistic phase had run into that great barrier, i.e. lack of money, I decided to get a job and joined a financial publishing house as a conference salesman and organizer and had a ball of a time.

  I live in London, one of the greatest cities on the planet, a town the Romans would be proud of, if only they could see what their once humble port has become.

  William Kelso, London, November 2016

  Germania

  (Book Five of the Veteran of Rome)

  Chapter One – The Cave

  (Late spring AD 105, the North of Britannia)

  Fergus stifled a yawn and glanced up at the night sky. Dawn was not far away. Nearly time to wake Aledus and change the watch he thought. Then at last he would be able to get some sleep. He lay stretched out on his stomach on the rocky ground of the forest, hidden amongst the tangled undergrowth, a brown woollen army blanket carefully covering his back. The hood of his cloak was drawn over his head, hiding his red hair and preventing the moonlight from reflecting on his body armour and revealing his position. The night was peaceful and surprisingly warm and the only noise was made by the rustle of the branches and leaves in the gentle, western breeze. Over his head the sharp tops of the tall, conifer trees pointed at the twinkling stars, like a dense phalanx of spears. Bored, Fergus turned his attention back in the direction of the cave mouth, eighty paces away, across the open, barren, boulder- strewn ground. In the darkness he could not make out the entrance to the cave but it didn’t matter. The cave wasn’t going anywhere, he thought grimly. For two days and now this night, he and the five legionaries in his squad had been staked out in the forest, watching the cave. And during that time, they had seen nothing but a single lost-looking sheep. But Titus, the Company Centurion had ordered them to watch the remote cave, for the villagers in the valley had revealed that it had sometimes been used by Arvirargus and his band of fugitives. For weeks now, the twelve infantry companies of the Second and Sixth Cohorts of the Twentieth Legion had been combing the mountain valleys, hunting for the famous Briton fugitive and last of the rebel leaders. Fergus sighed wearily and peered into the darkness. The Centurion had forbidden them from starting a fire and since their watch had begun, they’d had nothing to eat but stale, cold bread, cheese and water. The boredom was beginning to get to them and there was still another day to go before they would be relieved.

  In the undergrowth a twig suddenly cracked and Fergus turned sharply to glare into the darkness behind him. Something was moving amongst the trees, slithering slowly towards him.

  ‘Fergus, are you awake,’ a voice whispered.

  It was Aledus, Fergus’s Londinium-born mess mate and friend.

  ‘Of course,’ Fergus whispered in an irritated voice, ‘I don’t fall asleep on watch.’

  A moment later, Aledus, clad in a brown cloak, appeared out of the darkness and crawled up to his side. In the gloom Fergus missed the cheeky grin on his comrade’s face.

  ‘What’s the matter,’ Fergus whispered. ‘You are not on for another hour.’

  ‘I can’t sleep, Aledus muttered. ‘Seen anything,’ he added jutting his chin in the direction of the cave.

  ‘No, nothing at all. There is no one up here but us,’ Fergus growled in disappointment.

  For a while the two young legionaries were silent as they lay in the undergrowth, peering out into the darkness in the direction of the cave.

  ‘When we get back to Deva,’ Aledus whispered at last as he licked his lips, ‘the first thing I am going to do is buy myself some lovely, piping hot lamb-stew and stuff my face. And after that,’ he paused savouring the moment; ‘after that I am going to the baths for a good scrub. There is nothing better than a good scrub and scratch, after having been out in the field for as long as we have.’

  Fergus said nothing as he peered into the night. It had been eighteen months since he, Aledus, Catinius and Vittius had all joined the Twentieth Legion together as new recruits. The four of them had formed a close-knit friendship, that had grown stronger after Fergus had been promoted to Decanus, Corporal, and leader of his eight-man Contubernium, tent group. Fergus’s promotion had however not gone uncontested and had earned him the violent, implacable hatred of Fronto. He was another of the Company’s squad leaders, whose ambition to be promoted to Tesserarius, third in command of the company, Fergus had helped thwart. At the thought of Fronto, Fergus’s face darkened. The man had tried to murder him a year ago in the Lucky Legionary tavern and Fronto and his mates had beaten Aledus up so badly, that he’d spent six weeks in the military hospital. There was a score still waiting to be settled with that man.

  ‘Do you think Arvirargus and his men are going to show up?’ Aledus whispered.

  Fergus shrugged. At his side, Aledus turned to glance at his friend.

  ‘Is it true what they say, that it was your father who killed Arvirargus’s brother, at the start of the Brigantian rebellion,” Aledus muttered. ‘
They say your Dad put him up on a cross, outside the fort at Luguvalium, and left him to die, right in front of his tribesmen.’

  Fergus frowned as he peered into the darkness and, for a moment, he didn’t reply.

  ‘It’s true,’ he murmured at last.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Aledus whispered with a cheeky smile, ‘I won’t tell Arvirargus. But best not let him capture you or you may end up like that Christian god, Jesus.’

  Suddenly Fergus no longer felt tired. The thought of his father had the same sobering effect as a bucket of ice-cold water being poured over his head. He had not seen Marcus, his father, since he’d paid him a visit at the legionary base at Deva Victrix, more than a year ago. There, his father had handed him Corbulo’s old sword. In her letters to him, Kyna, his mother, had written that Marcus had left Londinium, in spring of last year, on a ship bound for Hyperborea, wherever that might be. His father had set out to try and retrieve Corbulo’s mortal remains and carry out his grandfather’s final instructions; to be buried amongst his comrades on the battlefield where he’d fought against Boudicca, the Barbarian Queen. But there had been no news from Marcus in well over a year now and the family back on the Isle of Vectis had begun to fear the worst. Tensely, Fergus reached down to touch the pommel of Corbulo’s old sword that hung from his belt. The touch of the cold steel felt reassuring, as if his grandfather Corbulo was standing beside him, encouraging him, and as he gripped the sword, a fierce wave of pride suddenly coursed through him. Three generations of his family had served in the Roman army. Forty-four years ago, his grandfather Corbulo had fought in the decisive battle that had destroyed Boudicca’s rebellion. His father Marcus had risen to the rank of Prefect of the Second Batavian Auxiliary Cohort and had saved the whole unit from annihilation at Luguvalium, during the start of the Brigantian uprising. And now it was his turn. Now it was his turn to uphold the honour of the family and make the spirits of his ancestor’s brim with pride. For one day, he would have to explain himself to them.

  ***

  Fergus was woken by a rough hand shaking him awake. Instantly he sat up, his hand already reaching for his sword. Aledus was crouched beside him. The young man’s face was flushed with excitement.

  ‘We have company Fergus,’ Aledus hissed, ‘A dozen or so warriors just arrived. They entered the cave.’

  Fergus blinked as he stared at Aledus in stunned silence. It was dawn and in the morning light, he saw the other four men of his squad, lying curled up asleep on the ground, wrapped in their brown army blankets. Quickly, Fergus rose to his feet and turned to stare in the direction of the cave. The dense forest and undergrowth however, blocked his view.

  ‘What do you want to do,’ Aledus whispered.

  ‘Are you sure of what you saw.’ Fergus muttered turning to give Aledus a sharp look. ‘You didn’t fall asleep and dream this up?’

  ‘I swear, Aledus protested and from the look on his friend’s face Fergus instantly knew that he was speaking the truth.

  ‘I mean,’ Aledus stammered, ‘I don’t know if Arvirargus is with them, I didn’t get a proper look but they definitely didn’t look like a bunch of farmers or hunters seeking a nice spot to make a camp. The men I saw were armed to the teeth. They looked like proper fighters.’

  Fergus did not seem to be listening. Hastily he strode up to the sleeping figures on the ground and gave each man a kick.

  ‘Wake up, all of you,’ Fergus hissed, ’we have company.’

  Without a word, the others stumbled to their feet and hastily grabbed their spears and large, rectangular legionary shields emblazoned with thunder-bolts. Bleary-eyed and subdued, they turned to look at Fergus.

  ‘Catinius,’ Fergus gestured to his comrade, ‘run back to the main camp and tell the Centurion that we have made contact. Tell him that we have seen a dozen or so heavily armed men enter the cave. Be quick and make sure that you are not seen.’

  Catinius nodded that he had understood and without a word he dumped his shield onto the ground, turned and sped away through the trees.

  ‘The rest of you stay here. Stay alert. Aledus with me,’ Fergus snapped as he pulled his army blanket over his shoulders and set off through the undergrowth. As he neared the edge of the forest he got down on his stomach and started to crawl through the tangled bushes and over the sharp rocks. At his side Aledus did the same. As they reached their observation post, Fergus stopped moving and lay still. The morning light was growing stronger and across the open, barren, grey slate-covered mountain slope, he had a clear view of the dark, gaping cave-mouth, eighty paces away. There was no sign of anyone. The cave-mouth looked just like it had looked yesterday and the day before.

  ‘A dozen men you say,’ Fergus whispered. ‘No horses, no dogs?’

  Aledus shook his head.

  ‘They came on foot, from over that ridge over there,’ he murmured.

  Fergus grunted and peered at the dark cave-mouth. The grey slate-covered slope offered very little cover. Anyone leaving the forest would be instantly spotted from the cave. Tensely Fergus bit his lower lip. The men Aledus had seen could be Arvirargus and his war band or it could be a group of complete strangers. There was no way of knowing. Back at the legionary fortress at Deva the army briefing and descriptions of what Arvirargus actually looked like had been vague and confusing leaving Fergus in little doubt that few Romans actually knew what the famous rebel leader looked like.

  ‘If he is really in there,’ Aledus whispered in a voice that trembled with excitement, ‘we’re going to be fucking famous Fergus. How long has Arvirargus been on the run? Sixteen years? And it was me who spotted him. The whores are going to give me a free one for just that alone.’

  ‘His name is more powerful than the man himself,’ Fergus whispered, not taking his eyes off the dark, cave entrance, ‘As long as he is free and he lives, the north will never be fully at peace. He offered the tribes hope. That is why he is so dangerous. I heard the officers talking about the importance of destroying his name. They want him alive.’

  ‘Why?’ Aledus frowned. ‘If we kill him then he is gone, isn’t he?’

  ‘They want to put him on trial,’ Fergus murmured. ‘They want to show how no one is above the law. They want to make an example out of him. Then they will execute him in public and let everyone see what happens to the enemies of Rome. That way the Brigantes will lose hope and give up their resistance to Rome.’

  Aledus muttered something under his breath as he stared at the cave.

  ‘Well the man is a prick,’ Aledus whispered at last. ‘The Brigantian rebellion was crushed many years ago. He didn’t need to keep on fighting.’

  Fergus didn’t reply as he stared at the cave. The main company camp was two miles away down in the valley. It would take Catinius twenty or so minutes to reach it. An hour or so before he would be back with Titus’s orders. Tensely he clenched his hand into a fist and pushed it against the rocky ground. An hour. If the men in the cave decided to leave before then, there was precious little he would be able to do about it with just five soldiers.

  ***

  ‘Fergus,’ a voice whispered suddenly from the thick, tangled undergrowth. Stiffly Fergus turned to look behind him and recognised Vittius. The man was lying flat on his stomach, clad in his army cloak and clutching his spear.

  ‘What is it?’ Fergus hissed.

  ‘Titus is here,’ Vittius murmured. ‘He has brought the whole company. He wants to speak to you.’

  Leaving Aledus behind, Fergus carefully backed out of the observation post and crawled through the undergrowth until he was a safe distance inside the wood. Vittius gave him a quick, excited glance.

  ‘Do you think he is in there’, he asked as the two of them got to their feet and strode through the trees back to their camp.

  ‘Maybe,’ Fergus grunted.

  Their small forest camp had been transformed by the arrival of the full company of eighty heavily-armed legionaries. The men were spread out amongst the trees, kneeling on one kne
e, as they clutched their large, rectangular legionary shields and throwing-spears. They looked tense. The soldiers were fully armed and clad in their fine, segmented, body-armour and helmets with wide, cheek-guards. Lucullus, the grey-haired company Optio and second in command, stood behind his men, clutching his long wooden staff. He was in his forties and his eyes narrowed suspiciously as Fergus and Vittius appeared.

  Titus, the company Centurion, was easily recognisable from his magnificent red-plumed helmet and the vine stick, which he kept slapping against his thigh. The veteran officer stood waiting calmly, in the centre of the small forest camp, together with the signifer, clad in his wolf skin cloak and holding up the company standard. Fergus strode straight up to Titus and saluted smartly.

  ‘Sir,’ Fergus snapped.

  ‘Are they still in the cave?’, Titus said quickly, watching Fergus carefully.

  ‘Yes,’ Fergus replied. ‘One of my men is watching the cave mouth right now. He says he counted about a dozen men. Warriors, Sir. They were armed to the teeth.’

  Titus said nothing, as he glanced past Fergus in the direction of the cave. Then silently he raised his hand and beckoned for Lucullus, the Optio, and Furius, his third in command, to approach.

  ‘Good man,’ the Centurion said, patting Fergus’s shoulder.

  Fergus said nothing as he strode back to where Vittius and Catinius and two other men of his squad were waiting. It was rare for Titus, the company Centurion to show public emotion towards his men. The prospect of capturing Arvirargus must have even got their commander excited. Titus had a reputation for being a first-class soldier, stoic, calm and competent, who did not abuse his position and always made sure that his men were well looked after. That was the unspoken contract that Titus had with his company. In return for unquestioned loyalty and obedience, the soldiers knew that their commander would always do his best to look after them. But woe to the man who broke the contract, the man who disobeyed an order, or crossed Titus. The vine staff which he carried had only one purpose and that was to be used to beat legionary backs to bloody pulp.