Gerwulf shook his head, ignoring Scaurus’s outburst.
‘With respect, Tribune, whilst your colleague is clearly in flagrant breach of your orders, I cannot come between you in this matter since it’s far from obvious to me that you’re really the senior officer here. Your best option now that the Ravenstone is safe from attack would surely be to march for Apulum and then head north, to seek the judgement of the Thirteenth Legion’s legatus. You could order me to do your will, of course, but my inevitable refusal can only provide you with more embarrassment, wouldn’t you say? The matter of the child will sort itself out soon enough, I expect.’
Belletor shook his head in frustration, and then came to an abrupt decision.
‘Very well, we’ll take this Galatas at his word and negotiate a peaceful end to this rebellion, after which I’ll march our three cohorts north to join with the main force. I’m sure the Thirteenth Legion’s legatus will be happy to receive reinforcements, and equally happy to sit in judgement of your insubordination. You, Prefect Gerwulf, can guard the mines in our absence and you, Tribune, will soon be receiving a harsh lesson as to what the price is for failing to obey the orders given to you by your betters!’
‘And that’s their king? That young lad riding in the middle of all those ugly looking bastards?’
Marcus replied without taking his eyes off the Sarmatae party, watching the men around Galatas carefully for any sign of a problem, with the fingers of his right hand touching the patterned spatha’s hilt.
‘Yes, Standard Bearer, that is indeed the king of the Sarmatae.’
Galatas was surrounded by the party of fifty horsemen that had been agreed in the initial negotiations, enough to represent a show of the tribe’s mounted strength without posing any threat to the defenders’ infantry cohorts, which had been drawn up on an open-sided square before the wall’s gate. His uncle Balodi was riding at their head, and the would-be usurper Inarmaz was mounted behind Balodi with his hands bound in front of him. The party stopped and dismounted, Balodi signalling to his men to help Inarmaz down from his horse before the three men stepped forward to meet the Roman senior officers waiting for them. After a moment’s discussion between the two sides Scaurus stepped away from the group and signalled to Marcus to leave his century and join them. Pacing out to meet the young centurion halfway, he spoke quietly as they walked towards the waiting men.
‘The king specifically requested you join us for the negotiations. I think he has a soft spot for you, and Belletor’s in no better position to refuse the request than he was when dear old Balodi insisted that I should be party to the treaty.’
Galatas smiled when he saw Marcus in the tribune’s company, stepping forward to take the Roman’s arm in a formal clasp.
‘Greetings, Centurion! It gives me great pleasure to see you again.’
Marcus bowed deeply.
‘As it does for me to see you in your rightful place, King Galatas Boraz.’
He bowed to Balodi, who nodded in return and gestured to Inarmaz at his side.
‘Greetings, Centurion, and well met once more. I’m sure my brother-in-law would greet you in effusive terms had I not taken precautions against him spreading more poison against the king as he’s done so many times before.’ The Sarmatae noble’s mouth was tightly bound with a strip of cloth, and Balodi laughed at the evil glare he received for drawing the Romans’ attention to his discomfiture. ‘Ah, if looks could kill, but then I’m afraid that looks are all my brother’s brother by marriage has left in his quiver. I’ve told him that any attempt to speak while he is thus restrained will only result in my having his mouth stitched closed, which would be a shame since I have a mind to deliver his final punishment before the sacred sword rather than watching him starve to death before we reach our homelands. But now to business, Tribune.’
Scaurus gestured for his colleague Belletor to step forward, and the other tribune did so with a venomous look of hatred at him which Balodi noted with a raised eyebrow. Gathering himself up, the Roman raised his head to point his chin at the Sarmatae nobles.
‘Very well then, King Galatas Boraz, I am Tribune Lucius Domitius Belletor, the officer commanding this mining facility and thereby responsible for your defeat. You have requested a negotiation of peace terms between your people and the Emperor Lucius Aurelius Commodus Antoninus Augustus. What terms do you seek?’
Galatas stepped forward to meet him, his expression neither humble nor proud.
‘We will withdraw from your lands and return to our own, seeking no further confrontation with your people, and we will provide you with enough foot soldiers to make up your battle losses. In return we desire only the return of the prisoners you have taken . . . and perhaps some small token of the renewed friendship between our peoples?’
Belletor nodded graciously.
‘Your gift of men to serve in our ranks is most generous, and we will, of course, liberate those warriors we captured in the course of defending our emperor’s property.’ He turned and smirked at Scaurus, knowing that the Tungrian cohorts would thereby be deprived of the spoils of their victory. ‘You will arrange for the repatriation of the prisoners, colleague.’
The Tungrians’ tribune nodded tersely, having already told his officers that he would seek no further opportunity to clash with his colleague, given the size of the rupture between them.
‘Further, I propose an accommodation between our two peoples. Procurator?’
Scaurus stared at the back of Belletor’s head with his eyes narrowed, and Procurator Maximus walked forward into the open space bounded by the ranks of soldiers, clicking his fingers to summon four men carrying a heavy strongbox. They walked forward, clearly struggling under the weight, and placed it before Galatas. Belletor smiled at the young king, holding up an iron key.
‘The box contains ten thousand gold aureii, Galatas Boraz, which you may consider to be an initial payment from the empire, if you respond favourably to two suggestions. Firstly, I propose a treaty of friendship between our two peoples, with both sides sworn to come to the defence of the other in time of war. Secondly, in recognition of the current state of war between the empire and your fellow tribes, I request the service of one thousand horsemen from your tribe. If you agree to both of these suggestions I will petition the governor to continue with regular payments for as long as there is friendship between our two peoples. Good and faithful service by your horsemen, and continuing peace on our shared border will, I am sure, be enough to encourage his agreement in due course. Do take a moment to consider this matter with your advisers . . .’
Belletor turned back to face Scaurus with a triumphant grin, clearly savouring the look of disbelief on his colleague’s face.
‘What in the name of Our Lord are you playing at, Domitius Belletor?’
‘Simply taking a lesson from the histories and applying it, Rutilius Scaurus. Barbarian kings are easily swayed by Roman gold, and this way we can ensure they stay out of the fight whilst also increasing our own army’s mounted strength. I have no doubt that the Thirteenth Legion’s legatus will snap up a thousand horsemen happily enough.’
‘I see.’ Whilst Scaurus’s reply was pitched too low for the Sarmatae nobles to hear, his tone was acerbic. ‘You seek to gain favour with the authorities by bringing them a gift of cavalry, whilst returning the prisoners we took in battle to put my nose out of joint, and so you spend the emperor’s gold like water in order to buy peace with a defeated enemy. And what of the slaves? I thought we agreed that the freedom of any Roman citizens among them was an absolute requirement? We know that they hold Roman citizens captive.’
Belletor laughed softly, shaking his head at his colleague’s anger.
‘So reality bites, does it colleague? Yes, I’ll do whatever it takes to show the men in power I know how these things work. Unlike you, I have no intention of being a tribune for the rest of my service, and this will make it clear to the men that matter just what I’m capable of. Besides, the mine generates nea
rly two million aureii a year for the empire, against which a payment of ten thousand is relatively small change, wouldn’t you agree? And as I said to Maximus here when he was busy wringing his hands at the loss of so much gold, we have to consider the bigger picture. Surely that’s a price worth paying, if it means the empire doesn’t have to post half a legion here to keep the place safe? And as to the slaves, if those people were foolish enough to put themselves in such danger, it’s hardly an imperial priority to rescue them from their own idiocy, is it?’
Scaurus spoke slowly, as if he were explaining a complex problem to a child.
‘The problem with paying protection money, colleague, as any stallholder will tell you, is that the men providing the protection are seldom satisfied with the sum initially agreed when they get the scent of more money. And the whole point of native levies is that they are sent to serve at the other end of the empire, not to put them into battle against their brothers. And to leave Roman citizens in bondage and certain depravity? Words fail me.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘At least you’re right in one respect, colleague. This will indeed say more about your abilities to the men who control this province than I ever could.’
A soft cough from the Sarmatae indicated that their thinking had come to an end. The Romans turned back to face them to find Galatas and his uncle waiting.
‘I have discussed this matter with my nobles, and we are in agreement with your suggestion. In return for your gold we will provide you with one thousand horsemen who will give you faithful service in the defence of your province. Perhaps we might examine the quality of your gold?’
Balodi stepped forward and bowed to Belletor, taking the proffered key and opening the heavy chest. Digging his hand into the coinage stored within, he pulled an aurei out from near the box’s bottom and examined it closely, testing the metal with his teeth. He nodded to Galatas, who turned back to Belletor with open arms.
‘Tribune, your generous gift proves the sincerity of your desire for friendship between our peoples. I accept this gold, and vow to return to my lands in peace.’
The Roman bowed.
‘And I accept your gracious terms, and your most esteemed gift of men and horses. I would have one more thing of you though, something without which I may struggle to persuade my master the governor of this province as to the likely longevity of this agreement.’ Galatas raised his eyebrows in question, but Marcus saw a look of complicity steal across his uncle’s face. ‘Give me your would-be usurper Inarmaz, and I will subject him to Roman justice every bit as unforgiving as your own. After all, he assaulted the centurion here despite his peaceful intent in returning your father’s body to you, and he clearly harboured ambitions to your throne.’
Galatas looked to his uncle, who returned the unspoken question with a slow, thoughtful nod. He turned back to Scaurus with a look of uncertainty.
‘Our punishment for Inarmaz’s crime would be for his head to be severed from his body before the sacred sword, making his execution both quick and honourable. Can you assure me of a similarly swift end to his life, if I hand him over to your justice?’
Belletor nodded soberly.
‘At your request, King, and despite his crimes, I will ensure a clean death for this man.’
Galatas gestured to the men surrounding Inarmaz to bring him forward.
‘Very well. Once I have left this place you will send him to meet his ancestors with the appropriate dignity for a member of my family.’
Belletor smiled.
‘I will. And with our agreement concluded, I would deem it a great personal honour were you and your uncle to join myself and my colleagues in a celebration of this alliance between our tribes.’
Later, when the gathered nobles and centurions had drunk enough for the evening to have turned rowdy, the feast tent was filled with the shouts and cheers of good natured if lively games of axe throwing and arm wrestling. Balodi, who had narrowly bested Dubnus in an axe-throwing contest, much to the big Briton’s noisy disgust, strode across the tent to salute Scaurus.
‘I give you my respect, Tribune. It was your quick thinking in releasing me that saved us all from a long stalemate, and my nephew there from murder!’ Galatas was sitting in earnest conversation with Belletor, who was holding forth on a subject of great significance, to judge from his intent expression. ‘Although I suspect he now faces a new and terrible danger – death by boredom!’
Scaurus smiled at the joke, but his eyes were hard as he stared at the Sarmatae noble.
‘It seems that I have made a big mistake, Balodi Boraz. I have underestimated you, and as a result the terms of your defeat have swung somewhat further in your favour than I might have believed possible.’
Balodi raised his drinking horn in salute, his smile unflinching in the face of the Roman’s evident disapproval.
‘You did the right thing, Tribune, you freed me and in doing so you ended this war. Can you blame me for using every tool at my disposal to settle the terms as favourably as possible?’
Scaurus shook his head.
‘No, I cannot, although you seem to have found our Achilles heel rather more easily than I’d have hoped. You did negotiate this whole agreement with my colleague Belletor before we ever came to discuss peace, didn’t you?’
Balodi grinned, nodding happily.
‘Well spotted, my friend! As my father told me often enough for me to grow heartily bored with his urging, a man never stops learning! A man watches, and he listens, even in the depths of adversity, even in captivity, and eventually he will learn something that he can use to his benefit. And soldiers will talk, so once I knew of the enmity between you, and that he was likely to be the more suggestible half of your partnership, I knew what I needed to do.’
The Roman nodded his understanding.
‘In which case I can only salute you, Balodi Boraz, you played the game too well for me. You have a fortune in gold, you have a young king to mould as you wish, and your only potential rival’s death can be conveniently laid at our door, keeping your own hands clean and Inarmaz’s men from revolting. Belletor didn’t even manage to persuade you to free the Roman slaves that we know you brought with you.’
The nobleman shrugged.
‘I told him the truth, that many of my brothers would rather kill their slaves than hand them over to you under duress, and since you have no idea of how many of them we possess, many would most assuredly die if the king were to enforce their freedom. It will be much easier to have them freed quietly, and without fanfare once we have departed from this place. You have my word upon it.’ He eyed Scaurus speculatively. ‘And speaking of Inarmaz, what of this quick death your colleague has assured my nephew you’ll grant him?’
The Roman shrugged, hooking a thumb back over his shoulder at Marcus.
‘My centurion here has a sword sharp enough to slice fine cotton dropped onto the blade, and little enough love for Inarmaz. He’ll take the man’s head off with a single blow, when I tell him to do so.’
Balodi stared at him for a moment.
‘What other methods of punishment are usually employed to punish traitors to your empire?’
Scaurus raised an eyebrow.
‘We would usually give the convicted traitor thirty or forty lashes with a whip whose braids contained nails and fragments of glass. A skilled executioner can scourge a man to within an inch of his life without allowing him any easy exit. After that he’s nailed to a cross through his wrists and ankles with only three nails, by a man who knows how to drive in the iron without severing a blood vessel. After that it’s only a question of time before he dies of suffocation as his weight sagging from his arms stops his breathing. With his legs left unbroken a strong man can hoist his weight up on that single nail driven through his ankles for long enough to avert suffocation, although clearly at the cost of the most intense pain. Such a man might last for two or even three days, but the crows have usually taken his eyes before the end comes. It’s not a death you would wish upon
anyone for whom you retained any family feeling.’
He looked steadily at Balodi, waiting for the noble to speak.
‘Tribune, my brother’s brother by marriage is responsible for the death of my brother, and for the slaughter of some of the bravest and best warriors in our tribe. I do not find the prospect of his swift and merciful death an attractive one, and if it were my choice he would endure the fate you have just described. I feel that the promise of such an end for Inarmaz would be the best possible way of ensuring a lasting peace between us. And besides, the men I will be gifting to you are Inarmaz’s followers, as I am sure you will have guessed. My people respond best to demonstrations of strength, and so I will counsel your colleague Belletor to begin their time in your army by showing them your iron fist, if you take my meaning?’
Scaurus nodded slowly, his voice flat.
‘I do indeed. I don’t expect you’ll find him any less malleable on this subject than you did before.’
Balodi clapped him on the shoulder and then stood up, a little unsteadily, bellowing a challenge into the tent’s noisy interior.
‘Excellent! Now, where’s that big ugly ox of a first spear of yours? He promised me a contest of arm strength and the time for that mighty battle’ – he drained his cup of wine and held it over his head with the last drips raining onto his hair – ‘has come!’
‘Not looking quite so full of himself now, is he Centurion?’ Marcus stared across the parade ground at the cross onto which Inarmaz had been nailed the previous day, noting dispassionately that the slumped body was now motionless, in stark contrast to the frenzied struggle for life the Sarmatae had put up the previous day. Morban leaned closer to his officer, muttering quietly from the side of his mouth. ‘I heard that someone came out here in the night and put a spear in his heart. When the guards came to give him a prod in the morning he was already stiff as a plank. Some soft-hearted idiot who ought to have known better . . .’
Marcus looked down at him with pursed lips, ignoring the disapproving gaze that his standard bearer was directing at him.
05 - The Wolf's Gold Page 21
