Vespasian: Tribune of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘Are you now? Well, with that Sabine accent you don’t sound like one of the Aemilii to me and you’re going in the wrong direction for a start. Where’re your papers?’

  ‘I’m to be issued with them at Genua, that’s why I’m taking the Via Aurelia.’

  ‘A likely story, and who are these unpleasant-looking thugs with you?’

  ‘Tullius Priscus, sir, at your service, and these are my associates Crispus and Sallius,’ Magnus said, stepping forward to the centurion. ‘The young gentleman has hired us to escort him north.’

  ‘Well, you’re going nowhere until the Praetorians have had a look at you.’ The centurion turned to one of his soldiers. ‘Go to the guardhouse and get the tribune up here immediately.’

  The soldier saluted and ran back towards his comrades. Magnus gave a quick gesture to Sextus and Marius and then, stepping forward and bending down in one swift motion, head-butted the centurion in the groin. He doubled up in pain. With a monumental effort Magnus straightened himself up with the centurion over his shoulder and hurled him over the parapet and down into the river where he sank like a stone. Sextus and Marius leapt at the remaining soldier who, before he had time to react, found himself following his superior into the brown water below.

  ‘Mount up and ride,’ Magnus shouted, leaping on to his horse and kicking it into action. Vespasian jumped into the saddle and urged his mount forward through the panicking crowd towards the rest of the Urban Cohort soldiers who, alerted to the trouble, were forming up in a line at the far side of the bridge. The crowd parted as his horse gained momentum. He could see Magnus ahead and hear the brothers behind him urging their horses on. The soldiers, shieldless and armed only with swords because they were serving within the city, took one look at the four horses only ten paces away charging towards them, and broke, scrambling over each other in their haste to avoid the trampling hooves.

  ‘Stop!’ A Praetorian tribune stepped out of the guardhouse into the road; his sword was raised, aiming at Magnus’ chest. With one swift movement Magnus unsheathed his own sword and brought it crashing down, backhand, on to the tribune’s blade. The force of the blow jarred the sword from the man’s hand and forced him to his knees.

  Reacting quickly to being disarmed the tribune whipped his pugio, a long dagger, from his belt and confronted Vespasian. Seeing that he had no alternative other than to charge him down, Vespasian reached into his saddlebag and pulled out his sword. He swung it wildly, sending the scabbard flying through the air, and bore down on the tribune. At the last moment before contact he pulled his horse to the left and aimed a cut at the tribune’s neck. The tribune ducked and, as Vespasian sped by, thrust his dagger towards the horse’s belly, hitting instead Vespasian’s leg; the blade pierced the greave, embedding itself in muscle and bronze. Vespasian’s momentum pulled it clean from the tribune’s grasp and sent him rolling in the dirt. Pain seared up Vespasian’s leg but he knew he had to keep going. He put his head down and drove his horse forward, the dagger wedged firmly in his leg as it gripped his mount’s heaving flank.

  Magnus looked over his shoulder and saw his three companions riding hell for leather behind him. ‘Just keep going for as long as you can,’ he called to Vespasian.

  Vespasian gritted his teeth and concentrated on riding his horse, trying to block out the pain from his wounded calf, but every jolt caused the dagger to vibrate and seemed to force the razor-sharp point further in. He tried to reach down to extract it.

  ‘Leave it,’ Magnus shouted, slowing down to come closer to him in order to hide the dagger from the eyes of passing travellers who were looking with suspicion at the four horsemen tearing up the Via Aurelia. ‘If you pull it out now you’ll lose too much blood. We’ll do it properly later.’

  Vespasian nodded weakly and hoped later would come soon.

  They passed the second milestone from Rome as the sun started to turn gold and sink towards the horizon. There was no sign of any pursuit but Magnus still urged them on. The further they got from the city the more the traffic thinned out. By the time darkness fell they were on their own.

  ‘Right, lads, let’s get off of the road and find a place to camp,’ Magnus said. ‘We’ve got to see to that leg of yours, sir.’

  He slowed his horse, pulled it to the right and began climbing a gentle slope. Vespasian followed with the others; his head was light with loss of blood and his leg throbbed incessantly. He had made it out of Rome, but in this state he didn’t know how much further he would be able to go.

  PART III

  THE VIA AURELIA

  CHAPTER XVI

  VESPASIAN TUMBLED FROM his horse into Magnus’ arms and felt himself being laid gently down against a tree.

  ‘You rest here, sir. The lads are getting wood for a fire; once it’s burning we’ll be able to remove that dagger and patch you up.’ He eased Vespasian’s wounded leg straight and immediately the pain lessened as the ground took up the weight of the dagger.

  ‘Where are we?’ Vespasian asked weakly.

  ‘By a stream in a valley about a mile east of the road; there doesn’t seem to be anyone else about so we’ll risk the fire.’ Magnus placed a blanket behind Vespasian’s head and then raised a water skin to his mouth. Vespasian drank greedily; the blood loss had made him terribly thirsty. He felt the cool water flowing down inside him and his spirits lifted.

  ‘That was so stupid of me on the bridge, covering my face like that; I just didn’t think.’

  Sextus and Marius returned with armfuls of wood and set to making a fire.

  ‘It weren’t the most stupid thing you did, sir, if you don’t mind me saying,’ Magnus said, handing him a hunk of bread and some salted pork. ‘Telling the centurion that you were going to Genua, now that was stupid.’

  ‘But he would have drowned in the river under the weight of his armour, surely?’

  ‘He may well have done, likewise his mate, but the one he sent back to get the tribune most certainly didn’t, and he heard everything you said and the accent in which you said it.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, oh, indeed; now they’re going to be looking for us all the way up the Via Aurelia and keeping an eye out in Genua for a military tribune with a recent wound in his right leg who talks like a Sabine farmer.’

  ‘We had better outrun them, then.’

  ‘And that is particularly stupid . . . sir. Firstly you need to recuperate and secondly they’re probably passing the point that we left the road as we speak.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘Well, it would have taken half an hour to get a message to the Praetorian camp on the other side of the city; then another half an hour to get a cavalry detachment back to the Via Aurelia, which puts them an hour behind us. We left the road an hour ago. There you go, easy.’

  ‘I see. Well, then, the best thing for us to do is to carry on as I planned: head to my grandmother’s estate at Cosa, one day’s hard ride from here. We can hole up there for a while whilst my leg heals and the fuss dies down. After that we’ll have to just wait and see.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like a plan of sorts, sir, and it’s the only one we’ve got, so Cosa it is. But first we’ve got to deal with Macro’s dagger.’

  ‘Macro?’

  ‘Yes. That was Macro you took a swipe at, then you stole his dagger and I’m sure that he’ll be wanting it back.’

  ‘I didn’t steal it.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got it and he hasn’t, and it’s probably best to keep it that way. One thing’s for certain, though, he definitely got a good look at me. I won’t be safe in Rome for a while so I’d best come along with you, sir, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Well, I suppose so, but how? Will you join the legion?’

  ‘Will I fuck. No, I’ll come along as your freedman, young gentlemen often take a personal slave or freedman with them on campaign; it won’t look out of place.’

  Vespasian was too tired to argue – not that he really wanted to; it would be
a comfort having Magnus with him.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then. Now make yourself comfortable, sir, this is going to hurt.’

  Vespasian rested his head back on the blanket and looked up at the almost full moon. Its gentle light spilt through the leafless branches of the trees that lined the riverbank, giving them a silver outline that was filled in from below by the orange flicker of the fire that Marius and Sextus had built up.

  Magnus drew his sword and thrust it into the heart of the flames, then he went back to Vespasian and knelt down to examine his right leg in the firelight. The dagger had pierced his calf by about three inches but it was the bronze greave, through which it had passed, that held it tightly in place. Magnus pulled on the handle gently to test the strength of the grip that the bronze had on the iron blade. It seemed to be stuck fast.

  ‘Owww!’ Vespasian yelled.

  ‘Sorry, sir, just seeing what needs to be done; one thing I can tell you is that you were very lucky. If you hadn’t been wearing greaves the dagger would have gone straight through your leg and gutted your horse. You would have been arrested and your walking days would have been over; not that you would have had much need for walking with what Sejanus would have had in mind for you.’

  Vespasian grimaced. ‘So we’re looking on the bright side, then?’

  ‘We most certainly are, sir.’ Magnus looked round at Sextus and Marius. ‘Now, lads, this will be a three-man job. Sextus, you hold the greave. Once I’ve pulled the dagger out, yank it off.’

  ‘Hold it then yank it off – right you are, Magnus,’ Sextus repeated, anxious not to get anything wrong.

  ‘Marius, as soon as that greave is off, take the sword out of the fire and press the flat tip to the wound until I say stop.’

  ‘Got you, Magnus,’ Marius said, pleased that he had a onehanded task.

  ‘All right, sir, we’ll do this very quickly.’ He handed Vespasian an inch-thick stick. ‘Bite on this.’

  Vespasian did as he was told and braced himself.

  ‘It’s best you don’t look, sir. Ready?’ Magnus asked.

  Vespasian closed his eyes and nodded.

  ‘All right, lads,’ Magnus said, putting one foot on Vespasian’s ankle and grasping the dagger’s hilt with both hands. ‘After three. One, two, three.’

  Vespasian heard the rasp of metal scraping metal and felt a jolt in his leg, then a blinding flash of pain hit him; it eased slightly as the greave was yanked off, and then it escalated into red-hot agony. The smell of burning flesh hit his nostrils as he passed out.

  ‘Wake up, sir, we need to be off.’

  Vespasian felt himself being pulled out of a dreamless sleep. He opened his eyes; it was still dark. Magnus was kneeling over him shaking his shoulder.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Better thank you, Magnus, but my leg is stiff as a board.’ He put his hand gingerly on his wounded calf and felt a rough bandage protecting it. ‘How is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Not too bad; the burning stopped the bleeding and closed it. We’ve been taking it in turns to piss on it. My grandmother always did that if she couldn’t find any vinegar.’

  Vespasian’s face wrinkled. ‘I’m sure that with the amount that you all drink the effect would have been the same as vinegar.’

  ‘More than likely, sir. We should have some breakfast now and be ready to leave at first light.’

  Sextus brought some bread and cheese over to them and then started to bury all traces of the fire, whilst Marius struggled to fill the water skins in the stream.

  ‘Which way should we go?’ Vespasian asked through a mouthful of cheese.

  ‘My guess is that the Praetorians know you are wounded and will have realised that we’d have had to stop fairly soon after dark to tend to you, which we did. So they would calculate that if they rode on for another two or three hours into the night they would most certainly pass us. Then all they need to do is block the road and maintain patrols on either side to stop us skirting round.’

  ‘It sounds like they’ll have got us trapped,’ Marius said, still struggling with the water skins. ‘Perhaps we should head east to the Via Aemilia Scaura; it can’t be more than twenty miles away and it ends up in Genua as well.’

  ‘I thought about that, mate, but they know where we’re heading so I’m sure that they’ll have that road covered too.’

  ‘So where does that leave us, Magnus?’ Sextus asked. ‘Going back to Rome?’

  ‘No way, they’ll be checking everyone going into the city for days to come. No, lads, we’ve just got to go forward cross-country, keeping a sharp lookout, and try to slip past them.’ Magnus got to his feet. The first rays of the sun had appeared over the horizon sending long shadows through the wood. ‘Come on, lads, mount up. You’d best not wear that red cloak, sir, it’s a bit of a giveaway, if you take my meaning? Here, take mine.’

  Vespasian didn’t argue and wrapped the warm woollen cloak around his shoulders, and then packed his military one in his kit bag. He managed to get back in the saddle unaided but the exertion made his head spin and he had to hold on to his horse’s neck to steady himself.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ Magnus asked, concerned.

  ‘I’ll be fine, thanks,’ he replied as his vision steadied.

  ‘At least we’ll be going slowly, as we don’t want to go carelessly blundering into any of their patrols. So you just hang on, sir, and shout if you need to stop.’

  Magnus kicked his horse and moved off; Vespasian followed, praying to the gods that he would have the strength to last the day.

  Keeping the Via Aurelia a mile or so to their left they picked their way across country. The undulating landscape was mainly farmland criss-crossed by small tracks and dotted with woods and olive groves. Here and there they saw a farmhouse or a country villa and skirted around it, keeping as far away from prying eyes as possible, but always maintaining a north-westerly direction. The occasional glimpses they had of the sea, a few miles to their left, helped them to keep on course, the sun now being visible only intermittently through the steadily thickening clouds. After a couple of hours, during which they’d covered over ten miles, Magnus stopped and turned to his companions.

  ‘By my reckoning we should be nearly level with the roadblock so watch out for their patrols. From now on we’ll try to keep as much as possible to the woods, olive groves and river beds.’ He looked at Vespasian, who seemed to be very pale. ‘Sextus, get something to eat for the young gentleman.’

  A quick rummage through his pack produced some more salted pork that he gave to Vespasian, who ate it thankfully as they pressed on with caution.

  By midmorning it had completely clouded over and a light drizzle of rain was falling. They were threading their way through an alder wood when a series of shouts stopped them dead.

  ‘What was that?’ Vespasian whispered, coming out of the reverie that he had fallen into and now suddenly alert.

  ‘Fuck knows,’ Magnus replied, looking around. ‘But whatever it was, it was close.’

  Another shout, which seemed to come from up ahead of them to the right, echoed around the wood. Suddenly, about fifty paces away to their front, three horsemen dressed in dull travel clothes crashed through the wood from right to left pursued by half a dozen red-cloaked, spear-toting Praetorian troopers.

  Vespasian and his escort stayed motionless, hearts pounding, as the Praetorians raced through the wood in pursuit of their quarry. So concentrated were the troopers on navigating their way through the trees and dead undergrowth that they could neither look right nor left. They drove their horses furiously as they sped out of sight, enveloped by the wood.

  ‘The bastards must think that was us,’ Magnus said as the last red cloak disappeared.

  ‘Then they’re not very good at counting, are they?’ Sextus pointed out.

  Magnus looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘That’s rich, coming from you. Anyway, who cares? The main thing is that they’re occupied so let’s t
ake advantage of it.’ He moved off quickly; the others followed. As they crossed the line of the chase more shouting came from their left, then a scream.

  ‘It sounds like they’ve got us,’ Marius said, smiling grimly.

  ‘Poor buggers; still, they must have been up to no good if they ran when challenged,’ Vespasian observed, feeling much revived by his racing heart.

  ‘Even if I was as innocent as a Vestal Virgin I think I’d run from a Praetorian patrol that wanted to ask me a few questions; they’re not known for their politeness, you know,’ Magnus said, quickening his pace as the wood thinned out.

  On reaching the last of the trees he stopped and looked ahead. In the distance, five miles off, was a line of hills, but before that was mainly rolling, open grassland used for sheep grazing. Here and there were little stone shepherd’s huts that were connected by paths marked out by lines of trees and bushes.

  Magnus dismounted and handed his reins to Sextus. ‘Hold these, mate, I’m going for a little scout around to check whether we’re clear to leave the wood.’

  He darted off to the left, leaving his companions wondering how they were going to cross such a large area of open grassland unnoticed by a patrol.

  Vespasian took a long slug of water and then another bite from the strip of salt pork. He was feeling stronger than he had first thing, but he still had a long way to go before being fully fit. He wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders in an effort to keep out the rain and shivered slightly. He turned to Marius, who had his reins wrapped around his left forearm whilst he used his right to scratch his back.

  ‘How did you lose your hand, Marius?’

  ‘In the navy, sir, I was a deck—’

  Magnus came dashing back, interrupting Marius. ‘They killed one of the unlucky sods and three of the guards are taking the other two back towards the road. The other three are a mile off and heading back towards the wood, I assume to look for what they must believe is the missing fourth member of the party.’