Veterans of Rome (Book 9 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “No woman or wife waiting for you back home?” Fergus said, as he turned to gaze at the smoke.

  “Nope, at least none who won’t charge me money.” Dio paused. “I have a dog Sir,” he said at last. “She is being looked after by friends in Zeugma right now. I found her abandoned on the streets one day and took her in. Suppose the bitch and I are both orphans. We have that in common. She and the army are enough for me.”

  Fergus nodded, his eyes suddenly looking troubled.

  “I have five daughters and a wife,” he said. “Haven’t seen them in nine months. They are living in a villa on the banks of the Euphrates just outside Zeugma. And it just occurred to me,” he said with a sigh, “that if this uprising is wider than just Seleucia; they could be in trouble. I am not there to protect them. Knowing that they are safe gives me the strength to continue. But if the kingdom of Osrhoene too has risen in rebellion, they will be right in the front line.”

  “You can’t think like that Sir,” Dio said quickly.

  At his side Fergus nodded. The centurion was right. His men were looking to him to lead them out of this mess. That was his job, his first responsibility. He could not afford to focus on anything else.

  For a moment the two officers were silent, as lost in thought, they gazed towards the wall of smoke and flames.

  “Your father, Marcus,” Dio said at last. “they say that he’s an important man. A senator back in Rome. The rumour going around is that Trajan listens to him. Is that true?”

  Fergus sighed. “I have not heard from my father in nearly two years,” he said in a weary voice. “I don’t know whether he is alive or dead. Letters have not been getting through. It’s a fucking mess.”

  ***

  Outside, through the double doors, leading out into the gardens, the light had faded, and darkness was setting in. Britannicus, Dio and their fellow officers crowded around the table gazing at the crudely drawn map and listening to Fergus, as he gave them a final briefing on the withdrawal plan.

  “When H hour comes,” Fergus said in a grave voice, “we start withdrawing the guard companies one by one from the canal line. It is vital that the enemy do not realise that we are leaving. We will bring in the furthermost companies first. The last to leave their positions will be the men holding the main bridge. Once the evacuation is under way, you will withdraw your men to the wall at this spot here,” he said, tapping the map with his finger. “We have three ladders on this side of the wall and three more will be lowered over the other side. The ninth company will go over the wall first. Their task is to secure the ground for the rest of us. Once again it is vital that the enemy do not get wind of what is going on. So, we need to be quiet. Make sure that your men know this. Tell them that anyone who endangers his comrades will be severely punished.” Fergus paused, to let that sink in.

  “Each man is to take only those vital things which he can carry,” Fergus continued, as he turned to look around at his officers. “If all goes well, we should have the whole garrison over the wall within an hour or two. Now once we are beyond the wall, we will have no transport or horses to carry supplies. Each man should therefore have on him grain rations for two weeks and water for at-least a full day. We can replenish our water supplies from the Royal river and the Euphrates. And any man abandoning or losing his equipment will face a court-martial when we get out of this mess. Make sure all are made aware of this. The wounded and sick and those who can’t walk will have to be carried out on stretchers to the Royal river. Each company will be responsible for looking after its own wounded. They are their comrades after all. Once we reach the Royal river we will start to follow the canal westwards towards the junction with the Euphrates. After that we head south towards Babylon.” Fergus paused. “Any night time operation is always going to be extra difficult, so it will be incumbent on all us, Roman army officers, to see that nothing goes wrong. I expect that all of you will give your best when we leave here. One fuck-up could be the end of us. Speed and silence are going to be vital. I want to put a good distance between us and Seleucia before dawn. Britannicus, you will lead the advance guard. Your job will be to find a route for us to follow. Dio and I will bring up the main column.” Fergus paused again. “All right, is that clear? Questions?”

  Around the table no one spoke. Then at last Britannicus cleared his throat. The young aristocratic tribune glanced at Fergus, seemingly unperturbed by the public tongue lashing he’d received the night before.

  “It’s a good plan Sir,” Britannicus said in a confident voice. “But what are we going to do with the Parthian civilians who are hiding with us here in the palace? They have put their trust in us Sir. Many have been very helpful. If we leave them behind, the rebels are going to slaughter them.”

  Fergus gazed at Britannicus. The uprising and his part in holding the palace and keeping the garrison intact seemed to have changed the young tribune. The success seemed to have gone to his head. There was a new cockiness about Britannicus, a mood to challenge that seemed to border on insolence. It felt as if Britannicus knew better. But his deputy and protégé was barely a shade over twenty; a young officer from Londinium, who owed his position to his family’s status in society. His military experience was strictly limited.

  “We cannot take them with us,” Fergus said. “Our wounded are already going to slow us down. I shall inform the Parthians myself that we are going. We shall leave the ladders in place. Once we are gone they will have to make good their own escape. That is the best we can do for them.”

  “Sir,” Britannicus said quickly. “We could get them to help with carrying the wounded. The able-bodied men will be willing to help.”

  “No,” Fergus replied sharply, “Like I said, each company will be responsible for their own wounded. Those are my orders. I don’t want a horde of civilians accompanying us. They will consume valuable supplies and slow us down even further. They are not trained to march like we are. Now, all of you, see to it that your men are ready and that all preparations have been made. H hour draws near.”

  As the O group broke up, Fergus glanced quickly in Britannicus’s direction. His protégé had the potential to become a very good officer but he also needed putting back in his box. But now was not the right time.

  ***

  The glow of the fires raging in the canal was eerily reflected in the still waters of the half-full swimming pool. In the night sky the moon and the fantastic array of twinkling stars was half obscured by smoke. In the last hour the wind direction had changed and now some of the filthy, choking smoke was wafting across the palace grounds. In the city beyond the canal all however seemed peaceful. Accompanied by his small military staff, Fergus hastened past the pool and on towards the tall and massive city walls at the back of the former governor’s mansion. A white bandage was wrapped around his forehead and his left arm was still in a sling. The fortifications loomed over the palace, hemming it into a protective embrace. In the faint light he could just about make out the companies of Roman legionaries mustering amongst the gardens and lawns. The hushed voices of their officers and the roar of the flames was the only noise. As Fergus reached the first of the wooden ladders, Dio quickly appeared out of the gloom.

  “We’re ready,” the centurion said quietly. “The ninth company have already gone over the wall. They are in position. There is nothing moving out there, Sir.”

  “Good,” Fergus replied coolly. “Start calling in the companies. We go now. Give the order.”

  As Dio hastened away, Fergus heard him hissing his orders. Calmly Fergus turned to look up at the top of the massive walls and, as he did, he raised his right hand to touch the Celtic amulet that hung around his neck. Galena, his wife had given it to him years ago when he’d first departed for the German frontier. The finely woven iron amulet, she had told him, possessed powerful magic. It would protect him, keep him safe and bring him home. He was going to need that magic tonight he thought grimly. At his side, his cornicen trumpeter had strapped his long, brass tubu
la to his back and padded the instrument with cloth to ensure it didn’t make a noise when banging on his body armour. Standing stiffly behind him, as if on parade, the standard bearer of the First Cohort of the Fourth Scythica Legion was holding up the proud vexillation standard.

  Fergus looked on as the first of the Roman heavy infantry companies appeared out of the gloom. The soldiers, many of whom had blackened their faces and armour with dirt and crude oil, were led by their centurion, with their optio clutching his distinctive wooden staffs bringing up the rear. The legionaries looked weighed down by their body armour, helmets, shields, spears and marching packs. As the men reached the ladders they formed an orderly queue and one by one they started to climb.

  “Move, move,” a centurion hissed in the darkness. “Quickly now. Keep moving. Keep moving for fucks sake and not a sound, boys. I don’t want to hear as much as a fucking fart from any of you.”

  After most of the company had vanished over the wall and into the darkness, Fergus looked on as the legionaries started to carry, push and drag their wounded up the ladder. The effort was painstakingly slow. The noise of straining, softly cursing men and the occasional cry, shriek and moan rent the night.

  “Hurry. Keep them moving. Keep the pace going,” Fergus called out softly to the centurion in charge of the ladders. Then quickly and followed by his staff he turned and hastened off in the direction of the swimming pool. It was time to break the news to the multitude of Parthian civilians who had sought shelter in the palace that the garrison was leaving.

  ***

  Fergus stood in the garden of the palace silently gazing in the direction of the city. In the darkness the fires dominated the night. He looked sombre and unhappy. Seleucia had been his. He had been entrusted with control of the city and now he had failed to maintain the peace. The city had rejected everything he had tried to accomplish. All his efforts had been in vain and now he was about to beat an undignified, humiliating retreat; stealing away like a thief in the night. Knowing that he’d been defeated was a bitter pill to acknowledge.

  “Sir,” a soft voice called out from the darkness behind him. It was Dio. “The last of the companies are over the wall. It’s time to go Sir.”

  Fergus nodded and giving Seleucia a final weary glance, he turned and followed by his staff he started out for the city wall. At the ladders a centurion and a squad of legionaries were waiting for him. The officer saluted as he recognised Fergus.

  “Sir, the whole garrison are over the wall. We are the last to leave,” the centurion growled impatiently.

  Without saying a word, Fergus started to climb up the ladder using his right hand to steady himself. As he reached the top and scrambled up onto the battlements he was met by another squad from the rear guard. The eight silent legionaries were kneeling on one knee, their shields and spears facing the darkness. Swiftly moving across the wall, Fergus peered out across the darkened landscape beyond the city. There was not much to see. So far so good Fergus thought grimly. On the soft, balmy night breeze he could taste the smell of smoke and half a mile to the north beyond the city walls, the moonlight revealed the pale, still and gleaming waters of the Royal river.

  As he made it to the ground beyond the walls, Fergus was suddenly conscious of the hundreds upon hundreds of heavily armed Romans crouching and waiting around him in the darkness. In the distance a dog was barking but along the wall not a man made a sound.

  “Sir,” a centurion said in a hushed, urgent voice as he appeared out of the darkness from where he’d been waiting. “We’re ready to go. Britannicus and the advance guard have already made it to the canal. They have managed to take possession of two civilian barges. Britannicus says we could use the boats to transport our wounded? He wants to know what he should do Sir?”

  Fergus glanced at the officer and for a moment he considered the idea.

  “Tell Britannicus to use the boats and get our wounded onto them,” Fergus said sharply. “And the centurions are to light their torches. Let’s get going. The men are to be silent and to move as fast as they can. We need to put some distance between us and the city before dawn.”

  As his orders were hastily conveyed, Fergus heard Dio and the rear-guard clambering down the ladders towards him. The darkness had suddenly come alive with the noise of iron clinking against iron, curses, soft urgent voices and the unmistakeable sound of hundreds of men rising to their feet. A few moments later several torches burst into flames and began to move out in the direction of the canal. Calmly Fergus accompanied by his staff tacked onto the end of one of the heavy infantry companies and started to follow the men across the muddy irrigated fields towards the canal. The squelch of hundreds of army boots in the mud sounded horribly loud but the countryside around them remained peaceful. There was no sign of the rebels who controlled the city. Fergus bit his lip. Each centurion and Optio had been issued with a burning torch. They were supposed to lead their men to the canal and the legionaries were to follow them. But in the darkness, it was inevitable that some confusion would arise, and as he made his way across the fields, Fergus could hear the Optio’s and Decanii cursing and softly calling out to their men. The neatly ordered columns he had envisioned had quickly descended into a semi-chaotic stream of men, separated from their officers and units. If the enemy were to attack at this very moment, effective movement and control of individual units would be impossible. It would be pretty much every man for himself. Tensely Fergus opened his mouth as he silently said a prayer to Erebus, the Greek god of darkness and son of Chaos. Hastily he followed his first prayer with a second to the goddess Fortuna for, as with everything, he needed lady luck and good fortune to be on his side. His legionaries were counting on him to lead them out of this mess. That was his job. They trusted him. He had to show them that he knew what he was doing. The confidence of a general and the respect for their leader were of vital importance in any military operation.

  Reaching the canal bank, Fergus hastily called out into the darkness and a few moments later he heard Britannicus answer. The young tribune was standing at the edge of the still water, clutching a burning torch and grinning from ear to ear. Close by, the stifled cries and moans of the wounded rang out in the darkness, as their comrades hastened to load them onto the two river barges.

  “Piece of luck Sir,” Britannicus said softly, gesturing at the boats. “We found them drawn up along the bank. No sign of their owners apart from a solitary boy and his dog. Unfortunately, both ran away when they heard us coming.”

  Fergus nodded and glanced quickly at the boats. In the moonlight all he could see was the outline of their dark hulls.

  “Take your men west along the canal and find us a route,” Fergus said calmly. “But stay close to the canal. We will need the water to drink and it will protect our flank. Keep up a fair pace but do not exhaust your men, understood?”

  “I can do that Sir,” Britannicus said in a confident voice.

  ***

  As dawn broke the morning light found the Roman column strung out along the southern bank of the Royal river. Tiredly Fergus rubbed his chin and turned to look back at the legionaries coming on behind him. How far had they come? Five, ten miles? It was difficult to say with any certainty but the men, heavily laden down as they were with their weapons, shields and equipment, were moving as fast as they could. Fergus grunted. There was no point in reprimanding anyone. The column was doing the best it could. It was already a miracle that they had managed to slip out of Seleucia unchallenged by the rebels. Out on the still waters of the Royal river, teams of sweating, straining legionaries clutching thick ropes were hauling the barges down the canal. The boats were completely packed with the wounded and a few rowers were doing what they could do to help, but there was no doubt that the wounded and the boats were slowing the column down. Fergus paused and stepped aside as the columns of weary Roman legionaries filed past. Anxiously he turned to gaze back across the patchwork of green irrigated fields and clumps of palm and date trees. The few village
rs they’d encountered had swiftly moved out of the Roman’s way but there had been no hostility from the locals, just a strange curiosity. As the men came plodding past him Fergus waited until he caught sight of Dio. The centurion was bringing up the rear-guard, cajoling the stragglers to keep moving with verbal threats and his vine staff. But some of the men were clearly exhausted and not well. A few were being helped along by their comrades.

  “We leave no one behind Sir,” Dio cried out trying to sound cheerful as he caught sight of Fergus. “Giving up now means betraying one’s comrades trust. All of us are going to get out of here. Isn’t that right Sir?”

  “That’s right,” Fergus cried out, masking the concern in his voice.

  “Come on. Move. Keep moving,” Dio roared, as he rounded on the stragglers coming along the high canal dyke. “You are not staying here. Not whilst I am still in charge. You can rest when you are dead. But you are not going to die today. Think that this is hard? I fought in Domitian’s Dacian war before most of you were even born. That was a proper war, a proper fight. Compared to that war this is nothing more than a pleasant march to the river and back. So, don’t any of you think about quitting on me. Don’t you fucking dare.”

  Fergus remained silent as Dio came up to him and turned to gaze at the stragglers.

  “There is no place on the barges for any of them,” Dio said quietly. “We need to find some more boats Sir. Some of these boys are not going to last much longer and I would really hate to leave them behind to be mugged and murdered by the locals. I’ve got a bad feeling about these villagers. They are just waiting for a chance to steal from the dead and dying. Carrion birds Sir, the lot of them.”

  Fergus sighed. Dio may be right but they had seen no more boats.