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

by William Kelso

  A sudden cry from near the gates to his property made Marcus turn. Two riders were approaching down the rutted track, their heads covered in wide-brimmed sunhats, their hands raised in greeting. Peering at the newcomers, Marcus recognised Dylis and her son. As the pair rode towards the villa, Dylis’s twin daughters started to hurry across the fields towards their mother. Leaving his position in the line, Marcus also strode over towards his half-sister, raising his scythe in greeting as he did.

  “You are back then,” Dylis called out with a little smile, as she caught sight of Marcus. “Was your journey to the Rhine a success?”

  “I recovered most of the gold and Armin is locked up inside the house,” Marcus called out. “How was Londinium? What were you doing there anyway? You have been gone for a long time.”

  “I had business to take care of that could not be rushed. There were some business associates I needed to visit. It was interesting,” Dylis replied evasively, as she dismounted and quickly and warmly embraced her twin girls. Then gesturing to her teenage son to lead the horses to the stables, she turned back to Marcus. “There is something that I need to discuss with you. But it can wait. You said that you brought Armin back?”

  “Yes,” Marcus said. “The miserable little shit is inside the house.”

  “I want to see him,” Dylis said sharply, her face hardening. “I want to see him right away.”

  Sitting with his back against the wall in the small windowless room, his hands tied behind him, Armin looked utterly miserable, a broken shell of a young man. The smattering of a beard had appeared on his pale face and he looked like he had been crying. As Dylis, followed by Marcus, stepped into the room, the boy hastily struggled to his feet and backed away, his eyes widening in fright. Slowly Marcus folded his arms across his chest, as for a long moment Dylis glared at Armin in contemptuous silence.

  “Why have you kept him tied up?” Dylis said at last as she turned to Marcus. “This is the most secure room in the house. He is not going anywhere.”

  “It’s in case he tries to harm himself,” Marcus growled. “I need him alive. I have sent a message to Elsa demanding that if she wants to keep her little brother alive - she should come here to Vectis and present herself to us.”

  “He knows where Elsa and Cassius are hiding?” Dylis said raising her eyebrows.

  “They are still in Rome,” Marcus replied.

  For a moment Dylis said nothing as she stared at Armin. Then she took a step forwards and quick as a striking snake she caught hold of the young man’s chin with her hand forcing, Armin to look at her.

  “We took you and your sister in,” Dylis said in a voice that crackled with fury. “We adopted you both. We treated you like you were family. We loved you like you were our own children and this is how you repay us. You conspire to ruin my family and my farm. You plot to put us in mortal danger. You steal our gold. You threaten my children. You are not worth the dirt on my boots.”

  And with that Dylis spat into Armin’s face and sent him staggering backwards against the wall.

  “You should kill him Marcus,” Dylis said harshly, as she turned and strode out of the room. “You should kill him and his bitch of a sister. Only that way will this feud end once and for all.”

  ***

  Out on the villa’s terrace, the camp fire was slowly burning itself out. In the balmy night all was peaceful. The slaves had long since cleared the evening meal away and most of the family had retired to bed, leaving Marcus and Dylis as the last ones sitting around the table, each with a cup of wine in their hands.

  “You mentioned that you wanted to speak to me about something?” Marcus said at last, as he turned to look at his sister.

  “Yes,” Dylis muttered with a faraway look. “Whilst you were gone looking for Armin I spoke to our neighbours. In fact, I spoke to all the villas on Vectis. They have agreed to warn us if strangers are spotted on the island. Ninian, our business agent in Reginorum has agreed to do the same. It may give us some extra time if Nigrinus’s men come looking for us.”

  “That’s good,” Marcus said with a nod.

  “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” Dylis continued, as she gazed out into the darkness that covered the fields.

  “Whilst I was in Londinium, I discovered something,” she said, slowly turning towards Marcus. “It concerns Corbulo, our father. Did you know that he was writing an account of our family history?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Marcus replied frowning. “He never mentioned anything like that. Why, what did you find?”

  “Well I went back to bank that used to be run by Falco. Remember him? I wanted to see what interest rates they offer. It’s not important,” Dylis said with a quick dismissive wave of her hand. “But to my surprise I discovered that they had kept all Corbulo’s old business files. So, whilst rummaging through them I found this account, an incomplete account of our family’s history. Corbulo seems to have started writing down everything he knew about his ancestors, but the account is incomplete. It’s just a few paragraphs. It had got stuck in amongst a mass of business receipts and orders. That’s why Falco never found it.”

  “Really?” Marcus said turning to look at Dylis with sudden interest. “What did the old man say about our ancestors?”

  Fondly Dylis gazed out into the darkness. Then she raised her cup of wine to her lips and took a sip.

  “He was always full of surprises, Corbulo,” she said with a sigh. “I have brought the account back with me if you would like to read it,” she said. “Nothing really unusual in it except that Corbulo says that one of our Roman ancestors was present at the meeting where Hannibal and Carthage surrendered to Rome and Scipio Africanus after the battle of Zama. Apparently, he was there when Carthage sued for peace and the terms were agreed. Corbulo even claims that Hannibal knew him and spoke highly of him.”

  “What?” Marcus frowned. “Carthage’s surrender? Hannibal. That must have been well over three hundred years ago. Corbulo never mentioned anything to me about an ancestor being present at the peace conference.”

  “Well it’s all there in writing, our father’s writing,” Dylis replied. “I think it’s true. So, it seems we have an illustrious forefather in our family.”

  “Extraordinary. Did Corbulo give a name?”

  “No, no name,” Dylis replied with a little chuckle. “But from the way he wrote about it. I would say that our father was mighty proud of our ancestor.”

  Chapter Twenty-One - The Dogs of War

  “Marcus, Marcus, where are you? Wake up,” the urgent voice cried out. A moment later the door to Marcus’s bedroom was flung open and Cunomoltus came marching into the room. In his hand he was holding a small oil lamp. In its dim hissing light, Marcus saw that Cunomoltus was clad in a well-worn and dust-covered riding cloak. He looked flushed and agitated.

  “What,” Marcus snapped in an annoyed voice, as if he had just been woken. Next to him in bed Kyna groaned and, keeping her eyes closed, she rolled over and away from the intrusion pulling the covers with her.

  “What is it?” Marcus said reaching up to rub his eyes. “Do you know what time it is? It’s still dark outside.”

  “Trouble,” Cunomoltus hissed.

  Instantly Marcus was awake. In the dim light from the lamp he gazed at his brother. Then hastily he swung his legs out of bed and reached for his tunic and belt.

  “What,” Marcus snapped, as he fumbled with his clothes. “What has happened? Weren’t you supposed to be selling your dogs to the army at Isca Augusta. You were not supposed to be back for a few days.”

  “To hell with the dogs. I have ridden two days without stop. I rode through the night to get here,” Cunomoltus exclaimed, as he took a step backwards. Leaning against the wall Marcus suddenly noticed how exhausted his brother looked. “We’re in trouble Marcus,” Cunomoltus stammered in a shaky voice. “A shed load of shit is on its way as I speak. You had better wake the others. It’s serious.”

  “Talk to me bro
ther,” Marcus said in a calm voice, as he hurried to put on his clothes.

  “Well you are right,” Cunomoltus stammered. “I went to meet my army contact at Isca as per usual to sell him my dogs. Normally it’s a formality. He inspects the dogs and then quotes me a price. We settle on the amount and the transaction is completed. Only this time my contact is not interested in my dogs. Instead he is reluctant to even meet me. No, not reluctant, he was afraid Marcus. He was afraid. Said that the deal and any future deals were off.”

  “Why?” What has made him change his mind?”

  Cunomoltus took a deep breath. “So, I finally managed to speak to him,” Cunomoltus said. “Turns out he knows something about us. He tells me in all confidence that a centurion from the Second Augusta by the name of Flaccus and fifty legionaries left Isca on foot the day before and guess where they are heading and what they have gone to do?”

  “Shit,” Marcus muttered as he looked away.

  “That’s right,” Cunomoltus snapped, nodding vigorously. “Centurion Flaccus and his fifty men have been ordered to march to our farm here on Vectis and arrest you. Gods know what they are planning to do with you, but I don’t think they are there to escort you to a tribunal. They are on their way as I speak. I have been told that they have orders to take you dead or alive and kill anyone who stands in their way.”

  “Fifty legionaries,” Marcus said quickly, running his hand over his head. “Who gave these orders?”

  “My contact didn’t know,” Cunomoltus replied. “But it must be one of the senior legionary officers. Probably a friend of Nigrinus and the War Party. My man told me that our name and our business has suddenly become toxic. He says no one will want to work with us anymore. He told me to my face that he never wanted to see me or do business with me again. The arsehole. After all the high-quality dogs that I sold him over the years.”

  On his feet, Marcus swore again. Then fastening his belt around his waist, he turned to Kyna. She was sitting bolt upright in bed, very much awake, with the covers drawn around her neck, staring up at Marcus and Cunomoltus in silent horror.

  “Wake the others,” Marcus growled, as he reached for his sheathed gladius and pugio army knife. “Gather them together in the dining hall. I want to speak to everyone and get the slaves to prepare three horses. We will set out straight after breakfast. You did well, brother. Get some rest whilst you can.”

  “Set out?” Cunomoltus blurted out in confusion. “Where? Who? Why?”

  But Marcus was already striding out of the room and the questions went unanswered.

  ***

  The straight Roman road cut through the forest, vanishing over a small rise in the distance. It was around noon and in the high summer’s sky a few clouds were visible. In the verges running alongside the drainage ditches that lined the highway, colourful flowers poked their heads above the long grass and insects buzzed and darted around on the cool, peaceful and scented forest breeze. Marcus stood in the long grass, his gladius and pugio stuffed into his belt, his hands resting on his hips, as he peered at the lone rider trotting towards him. The horseman’s beast was kicking up small clouds of dust as it clattered along on the gravel-covered road. The man seemed to be in no hurry. At the edge of the tree line, holding onto the three horses, Cunomoltus and Indus too were gazing at the approaching rider. Across his back Indus had strapped his bow and quiver. Cunomoltus was clutching a massive and ancient looking battle-axe in addition to a gladius and a knife that hung from his belt.

  As the rider came towards him Marcus silently stepped out onto the road and raised his hand in a greeting.

  “What news Ninian?” Marcus called out.

  Up on his horse Ninian raised his hand returning the greeting. The family’s commercial agent and grain broker sighed, his face sombre as he glanced in the direction of Indus and Cunomoltus. Then he turned to look down at Marcus.

  “I sent my boys out, north and west,” the agent exclaimed. “Like we discussed. My eldest has just reported back. He says he spotted a party of legionaries marching down this road. They are heading towards Reginorum as we suspected. They are coming in from the west. He says he counted fifty men plus an officer. All on foot with a single ox drawn wagon in support. Gods know what they need that for. My eldest says it’s empty. All the men are armed to the teeth, wearing their armour and carrying shields. He says that if they keep going they should be here within two or three hours. Are you sure you want to do this Marcus? It is not too late to consider the alternatives.”

  “You want me to run,” Marcus said with a little sarcastic smile. “Thank you, old friend, but we shall wait here for the soldiers. I am done with running.”

  Up on his horse Ninian nodded wearily. “I thought you would say that,” the agent muttered. “So, what’s the plan Marcus?”

  “The plan,” Marcus replied calmly, “Is not to get killed or arrested.”

  Ninian nodded again but he looked doubtful. At last, with another sombre sigh the broker nudged his horse on past Marcus and started out down the road towards Noviomagus Reginorum, Chichester.

  “I hope to see you again soon Marcus,” the man called out, as he raised his hand in farewell. “You are a good client.”

  “You have proved a faithful friend to me and my family, Ninian,” Marcus called out as he turned to watch Ninian move off down the road. “I shall not forget it. You will see me again.”

  Then hastily Marcus left the road and strode over to where Indus and Cunomoltus were waiting with the horses at the edge of the forest.

  “Are you sure about this Marcus?” Cunomoltus hissed and, as he spoke Marcus could see how nervous his brother was. His hand was trembling and sweat was trickling down his forehead. Gently laying his hand on Cunomoltus’s shoulder, Marcus nodded.

  “We have no choice,” Marcus muttered. “When they come, try not to show any fear. They will not be expecting us. It may give us a small advantage. Let me do the talking. If it all goes tits-up, flee. Ride back to the farm and get the others to safety like we discussed. Under no circumstances are you to come back for me. Have you got that, brother?”

  Cunomoltus nodded.

  “Do not ask me to do the same Sir. I will not flee,” Indus growled in a menacing tone. “I have sworn an oath to the gods that I will protect you. My place is at your side. I shall die before I break my word Sir.”

  “I know, I know,” Marcus murmured, as he reached out to grip the big and old Batavian on his shoulder.

  ***

  It was several hours later when the party of legionaries appeared, coming over the rise. Their body armour, helmets and shields gleamed and glinted, reflecting the sunlight. In their hands they were clutching their large shields, emblazoned with lightning bolts and the men’s throwing spears were slung across their shoulders; the sharp iron spearheads pointing up to the sky. As they came on down the road towards him Marcus quickly gestured at Indus and Cunomoltus to prepare themselves. Then calmly he strode out into the centre of the road and halted. Placing his hands on his hips Marcus gazed at the heavily armed professional soldiers marching towards him. The party was led by a centurion, his fine and unmistakeable plumed helmet made of horsehair, making him look taller than he was. In his hand the officer was clutching his vine staff. Bringing up the rear, a solitary ox-drawn wagon rumbled along tended by two slaves. As the soldiers drew closer, Marcus forced himself to stand his ground in the middle of the road. Near the edge of the forest Cunomoltus had mounted his horse and was clutching the reins tightly, his huge battle-axe resting on the horse’s back.

  “Centurion Flaccus,” Marcus suddenly bellowed, raising his hand when the party were no more than a dozen yards away.

  On the road the centurion and his men kept on coming towards Marcus, the steady and relentless tramp of the soldiers hobnailed boots growing louder and louder.

  “Centurion Flaccus,” Marcus bellowed again, as he boldly moved forwards to physically block the officer’s way.

  And as he did the centur
ion at last came to a halt, his face twitching in a mixture of annoyance and surprise.

  “How the hell do you know my name?” the officer cried out as he peered at Marcus. “Stand aside citizen before I kick you off this road.”

  “Are you or are you not centurion Flaccus?” Marcus snapped.

  “I am Flaccus,” the centurion retorted with a confused frown. “Now get off the fucking road.”

  Behind the centurion the party of legionaries had come to a halt and all were staring at Marcus in surprise.

  “No Sir,” Marcus said firmly shaking his head. “I will not stand aside. My name is Marcus. I am the owner of the villa on Vectis to where you are heading. I am the man that you are looking for.”

  For a moment Flaccus looked too stunned and surprised to say anything. Then he blinked and slowly raised his hand to rub his chin. He was a short man of around forty, with bulging arm muscles and a green tattoo of a snake on his neck.

  “You are Marcus?” the officer exclaimed at last pointing at Marcus with his vine staff. “You are really Marcus? The man with the villa on Vectis?”

  “I am the man you have been sent to arrest,” Marcus growled. “Retired soldier and former prefect of the Second Batavian Auxiliary Cohort. Veteran of the battle of Mons Graupius and ex-senator of Rome. I am your man, centurion.”

  “Fucking hell,” Flaccus bellowed as a little amused grin appeared on his lips. “That’s a good one. If what you are saying is true, then you have got balls. I will grant you that. But how do I know you are speaking the truth? How do I know that you are the man I am looking for and not some imposter? Anyone could know what you have just told me. I am here on important state business.”