Hero of Rome trt-1

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘Shit,’ he said, as his nerve failed him and he fell to his knees. He tried to manoeuvre the gladius so he could drive the point below his ribs but his hands were suddenly clumsy. A spear shaft knocked the sword from his grasp and another smashed him into unconsciousness.

  ‘The ship should arrive tomorrow,’ Valerius told Lunaris. ‘So make sure everyone’s accounted for with their equipment all present and correct. We don’t want you making a poor impression on your new tribune.’

  Lunaris laughed. ‘Like as not he won’t know one end of a sword from the other. How long before it sails again?’

  ‘A couple of days, maybe three.’

  Lunaris nodded. ‘I’m sorry you won’t be coming with us to Mona.’

  Valerius stared out across the river to the settlement on the south bank. ‘One thing I’ve learned, Lunaris, is that you can’t fight the fates. When I came to Britain I barely knew one end of a sword from the other. But I think I became a good soldier, maybe even a good officer. Part of being a good soldier is obeying orders. They’ve ordered me back, so back I’ll go. Still, I’d like to have fought alongside you.’

  He turned to the big man and offered his hand. Before Lunaris had time to take it, they heard a shout from the quayside and a legionary ran up to them.

  ‘Sir, you’ve to report to the procurator,’ he said, belatedly remembering to salute.

  Valerius frowned. ‘What does he want with me?’

  ‘The Iceni have risen.’

  *

  Maeve witnessed Queen Boudicca’s terrible revenge.

  One by one, warriors nailed the men of Crespo’s command to the doorposts along Venta’s main street with their arms and legs broken, in a mockery of Roman crucifixion. Crespo himself was last to be fixed. They stripped him naked and carried him to the main gate as he struggled and protested, pleading for a mercy he would never have given. They stretched his arms brutally to left and right and when the carpenter hammered the first of the big iron nails through the palm of his right hand into the wooden boards of the gate he shrieked in agony and called out to Mithras for aid. By the time they had fixed his feet in similar fashion he was delirious with pain but still aware enough to understand what was happening.

  Boudicca stood before him as he hung from the gate with every sinew of his body reminding him of his torment. When they brought the cudgels to break his bones, she held up her hand to stop them. She had a more appropriate refinement in mind for the man who had led the rape of Banna and Rosmerta.

  ‘He was very proud when he removed my daughters’ innocence. Remove his pride,’ she ordered.

  Crespo was still conscious when the executioner approached with the gelding knife. His screams split the night.

  It was still not enough.

  ‘This place is a stain upon my honour and the honour of the Iceni. Burn it and let the flames which consume Venta be the start of a fire which cleanses all of Britain.’

  As the town blazed and his men with it, they pulled Crespo’s broken body down and staked it out on the roadway outside the gate. He still lived when the iron-rimmed wheels of Boudicca’s chariot crunched across his bones, but by the time the last warrior of her avenging army had passed over him the only evidence of his existence was a smear of blood and bone in the dirt.

  Catus Decianus did not inspire confidence. His long nose twitched as he studied the scroll pinned to the desk in front of him and a sheen of sweat glistened on a forehead creased by worry lines. Disdain for the world about him was carved into every line of his pasty, underfed face. He looked up as Valerius entered, but immediately resumed his reading of the document.

  After a few moments, he sighed. ‘Inconvenient,’ he said.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

  ‘I said this is terribly inconvenient. You are Verrens, am I correct? Tribune Gaius Valerius Verrens?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Late of the Twentieth legion and bound for Rome.’

  The procurator emitted an audible sniff and his pained expression grew more pained still. ‘Yes, on the ship which should also have carried my report of the successful annexation of the Iceni into the province of Britain. But that report cannot be sent now.’ He paused. ‘Not until this regrettable misunderstanding can be resolved.’

  Valerius wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly. ‘Misunderstanding?’

  Decianus peered at him with beady, sharp-set eyes. ‘Of course. I have here a request from Colonia to provide reinforcements for the local militia. It is the quaestor ’s belief that a section of the Iceni have risen in armed insurrection against the Empire. This belief, I am certain, is based on rumour and speculation. You served a recent posting in Colonia, I understand?’

  ‘Six months over the winter,’ Valerius agreed. ‘I found the quaestor to be most capable and not a man to be diverted by… rumour and speculation.’ It wasn’t entirely true. He’d found Petronius to be arrogant, divisive and venal but he was also at the centre of a spy network which spread far up the east coast. If those spies reported trouble Valerius couldn’t allow Decianus to dismiss it, which seemed to be his inclination. ‘I also received information of agitators working among the Iceni, which I passed on to the quaestor,’ he added to reinforce his point.

  The procurator’s lips compressed in a tight smile. ‘Yet I myself spent time in the Iceni capital not more than two weeks ago and found it peaceful and the people quiescent. In any case, our standing treaty with the Iceni only allows them such weapons as are required to defend their borders. Only one in ten even owns a sword,’ he ended triumphantly.

  Valerius knew that was true, but treaties could be broken. He could tell where the interview was going now. He was to be part of an expedition against the Iceni. It was not a fight he would have chosen, but it was a fight he was going to have… if the rebellion existed.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Decianus continued, ‘I propose to send a force which I consider proportionate to the threat under the most senior commander available. These are your orders.’ He handed Valerius the scroll he had been reading. Valerius hesitated. His only independent command had been the First cohort on the winter road detail. Still, he could hardly refuse. He studied the orders, which commanded him to march to Colonia with all speed and deal with the situation as he saw fit, which, if he knew the army, was as good an invitation to put his neck in a noose as he’d ever seen. It meant any decision was his and his alone. Any mistake would be his responsibility.

  He pointed out the elementary error. ‘This doesn’t say how many cohorts I’ll have under me.’

  ‘Cohorts? I do not believe we need think in terms of cohorts,’ Decianus sniffed. ‘You will have one hundred and fifty men from the Londinium garrison and such other troops as are on leave or in transit. Enough to provide a stiffening for the militia and stay the panic in the quaestor ’s heart until such time as the governor considers it necessary to move a vexillation of the Ninth legion to Colonia.’ He smiled disdainfully. ‘You see, Verrens, I take no chances. The governor is informed, a solution suggested and a reinforcement sent. What more should I do?’

  ‘Sir, with respect, two hundred men is-’

  ‘Appropriate to the threat, and as many as you will receive. Am I to understand that you are refusing this command?’

  Valerius shook his head. He could protest that a force of two hundred men was as much use for defending a place like Colonia as two hundred sheep, but the procurator’s mind was made up. If the Iceni came he would have to depend on Falco and his veterans.

  ‘No sir, I will accept the command. But I’d like to request that the men of the Twentieth who formed my escort accompany me.’ Decianus frowned and Valerius continued quickly: ‘They know the area around Colonia well and have worked with the militia there.’

  The procurator nodded reluctantly. ‘Very well. This interview is at an end.’

  ‘So we’re not going to Mona?’

  Valerius shook his head. ‘No, we’re going back to Colonia.’

  Lunaris sucked hi
s teeth and looked longingly westwards over the rampart of the Londinium wall. ‘Mona could make a big difference. Those druids are trouble-making bastards.’

  ‘That’s true enough, but if the Iceni really have risen we’ll be needed in Colonia.’

  ‘Two hundred of us?’ Lunaris scoffed. ‘If nothing’s happened all we’ll have done is waste caliga leather. And if they’ve really decided to try to kick us out…’

  ‘Falco will be glad to see us.’

  The duplicarius shrugged. ‘I suppose orders are orders. The Mules will miss us in Mona, though.’

  ‘We’re marching at dawn. Have the men ready.’

  ‘With these buggers?’ Lunaris nodded gloomily at a pair of garrison rats leaning against the parapet of the nearest watchtower. ‘By the time we get there I’ll be carrying them.’

  XXX

  Three days later, after a forced march of sixty miles, Valerius recognized the familiar low outline of Camulodunum’s turf walls on the far horizon. They were as impressive as any fortifications he’d seen on the island, yet he knew they’d been given up without a fight when Claudius’s invasion force arrived. He believed he understood why. To properly defend walls of that scale would demand a garrison far beyond the capabilities of the Trinovantes, who had held Camulodunum then, even if they had possessed the will to fight for them. On the way from Londinium he’d given much thought to the problems of defence and he had come to one devastating conclusion. The town of Colonia could not be held against any reasonable-sized force by the veterans whose duty it was to protect it.

  That conclusion was reinforced when he rode up the hill towards the familiar arch of the town’s west gate with the two hundred weary men of his tiny command in tight formation behind him. He noted again the enormous gaps in the walls and the warren of streets behind where an enemy could turn a flank or launch an attack from the rear. He saw only one possibility to defend part of the town and it could only be considered as a last resort.

  He thought he could rely on Falco. Petronius and his council were likely to be a different matter.

  The quaestor stood in the shadow of the arch along with half the town and the cheering began while the legionaries were still a hundred paces away. Valerius bit his lip in frustration. A civic welcome was the last thing he needed. Horns blared and someone had brought out a drum that beat in time to the soldiers’ marching feet. When he reached Petronius and Falco, standing side by side a dozen yards in front of the crowd, Valerius could barely hear their greeting. Relief was written clearly on their faces.

  ‘You have come at last.’ Petronius’s narrow face wore a wide smile, but it was strained and he had aged since Valerius had last seen him. ‘The council has voted to select a fine bull to be sacrificed in your honour and to thank Divine Claudius for our salvation.’

  Valerius exchanged glances with Falco, who had been straining for a glimpse of something in the far distance. He shook his head imperceptibly, and the older man’s eyes widened.

  ‘I fear you may be premature, sir,’ he told the quaestor quietly. ‘We are all the procurator has seen fit to send you.’

  Petronius looked as if he might faint, and Falco took Valerius by the arm and whispered furiously. ‘This is all? But we asked for four cohorts at least, and cavalry. Fifteen hundred men. What good is two hundred against the entire might of the Iceni?’

  The cheers gradually subsided to a confused murmur as the crowd realized no legion followed Valerius’s pathetic little band. A male voice demanded to know what was happening and Petronius glanced over his shoulder. Valerius saw that the quaestor was frightened. In Petronius that didn’t surprise him, but it was a shock to see his expression mirrored by Falco, who had fought his way across the Tamesa and led the charge which had brought about Caratacus’s final defeat. ‘I need to know everything,’ he said.

  They met five minutes later in an anteroom of the basilica looking out over the Forum. From the open window Valerius could see groups of veterans practising their swordplay, while others watched, shouting advice and laughing at their efforts, and children waved short sticks to mimic their fathers and grandfathers.

  Petronius stood talking animatedly to a short, sturdily built Celt whose bristling grey moustache gave him the look of a surly dog otter. ‘This is Celle,’ Petronius introduced the newcomer. ‘He makes what living he can hunting and fishing in the wetlands by the coast. He is one of my informants and was able to approach close to the Iceni camp, where their queen invokes the spirit of the wolf, the hare and the horse to preach painful death to all Romans. Not close enough, he admits, to gain full knowledge of this Boudicca’s thoughts and strategies — he aroused the suspicions of an Iceni scout and was forced to kill him — but close enough to gain worthwhile intelligence upon her strength.’

  Valerius studied the man, who looked out of place in a travel-stained cloak and ragged trews against the stark cleanliness of the white walls. ‘Can he be trusted?’

  Petronius scowled as if his own loyalty had been questioned. ‘Celle has no reason to love the Iceni,’ he said. ‘Five years ago his children were taken as slaves and his wife killed when they raided his camp in some dispute over fishing rights. He has never failed me.’ He made a sign to Celle, who spat out an unbroken stream of sentences in a dialect Valerius couldn’t understand.

  Falco translated, and his words fell into the silence like stones into a tomb. ‘He says you should know that the army of Boudicca is reckoned to be fifty thousand strong — fifty thousand warriors.’

  Valerius felt the blood drain from his face. It wasn’t possible. The entire Iceni tribe numbered fewer than forty thousand; even fielding every man and boy and arming them with scythes and hoes there could not be more than twenty-five thousand.

  Falco saw the disbelief on his face. ‘This is the message we sent to the procurator. The Catuvellauni and the Trinovantes have rallied to Boudicca’s cause. Kings and princes, chiefs, nobles and warriors, even the workmen from the fields. And more arriving every day, including from the Brigantes in the north. Friendship, apparently, is less binding than the scent of loot. Now do you understand why we are afraid? We asked Catus Decianus to send us enough soldiers to hold off the Iceni until the governor could return to meet the threat. Instead, he sent you.’ The grizzled veteran smiled bitterly. ‘I am happy to see you again, Valerius, but I would have preferred a more substantial gift.’

  ‘The governor is not coming. Decianus will not disturb him.’

  Falco grimaced, and Petronius’s face went even whiter, if that were possible.

  ‘But why?’ Petronius asked. ‘My message was plain.’

  ‘He does not believe you.’

  While Petronius called a full meeting of the ordo and senior militia officers, Valerius walked a circuit of what remained of the walls with Lunaris. He’d learned that, only days before, the council had belatedly agreed the city defences were more important than the feelings of the property developers who had torn down the walls to make way for their villas and gardens. The duplicarius shook his head: ‘Too late. It would take a thousand men months to make this place defensible again. We’d have to tear down houses, rebuild the walls and demolish every hut for two hundred paces to give ourselves a clear field of fire. Even then I don’t think we’d have enough men to defend a perimeter of this size.’

  Valerius grunted agreement. ‘Falco reckons he can scrape together two thousand of his veterans and a few hundred able-bodied civilians who will be more trouble than they’re worth. Bela has had his cavalry patrolling the north road, but I’ve told him to pull back and form a screen ten miles north of here. They should give us a reasonable amount of warning of any attack and when they withdraw it will give us five hundred more, but I think they’ll be more useful on horseback than manning a wall.’

  ‘What about the signal station on the Venta road?’

  ‘They stay where they are and fight their way out at the first sign of trouble,’ Valerius said decisively.

  ‘We bo
th know what that means.’

  Valerius nodded. He had just sentenced eight men to death. The Iceni would overwhelm them in minutes, but the warning they gave could be decisive. He tried to put the image of the disgruntled Tungrian commander out of his mind but he was haunted by the legate’s words of a few months before: There will be a day, Valerius, when your soldiers are mere coins to be spent. Well, the day had come sooner than he’d believed possible. ‘How are the men?’

  ‘Our people — Gracilis, Luca, Paulus, Messor and the rest — are good, and the lads from Londinium are prime soldiers, but… you’ve heard the stories?’

  ‘That rubbish about the sea turning red?’

  ‘And the statue on top of the temple falling over.’

  ‘Pushed over is more likely,’ Valerius said dismissively. ‘Most of the local Trinovantes may have disappeared to hide or join the rebellion, but there are enough left to cause trouble. It wouldn’t have taken more than two men with a couple of ropes.’

  Lunaris grinned. ‘You’re right, but you know what soldiers are like. Superstitious.’ His hand rose to touch the amulet at his neck.

  ‘Tell them what I said, and the next time someone whispers in their ear have them arrested for spreading rumour and dissent.’

  ‘It’s time,’ Lunaris reminded him.

  ‘Yes, it’s time.’

  They were too many even for the curia, so Colonia’s hundred leading citizens and a hundred more packed into the main meeting room of the temple precinct. Corvinus was there, his dark eyes concerned and seeking out Valerius; Didius, the moneylender, sleek and calculating, but nervous for once; and a dozen others he knew. The men who had driven the city’s development since Claudius agreed its foundation and the men who had profited from it since. Perhaps a third of them were in their militia uniforms, the rest in the purple-striped togas that marked their office. Valerius knew his message wouldn’t be palatable for any of them.