Knight of Rome Part I

by Malcolm Davies

  “Aldermar, what would your people do with this dead man’s head?”

  “A thief’s head? We would stick it up on a pole to rot.”

  “We have none around here and if we bury it, some superstitious idiot is going to convince half the legion there is a curse on it. Select four reliable scouts and send them out to reconnoitre the area where Justus Cordius and his men were attacked. They should have no trouble working back along the wagon tracks. I want their report in six days unless they come across a substantial party of raiders say, over two hundred, in which case they must be standing in front of me sooner, much sooner. Would any of them have a religious objection to taking this villain’s head and throwing it away in the forest?”

  “None at all, sir,” Aldermar grinned.

  “Good, then organize it” the legate went on. “Put everything back in the sacks, Calvus, and follow Prefect of Auxiliary Cavalry Aldermar. He will take the offending burden from you and give it to one of his men.

  The German saluted and left with Calvus in his wake.

  “Now Cordius, I believe you said one of your men was killed?”

  “He was, sir; at the outset.”

  “Often that way,” Titus Attius remarked.

  They were silent for a few seconds remembering sudden deaths they had witnessed.

  “He was a former legionary?” Titus asked.

  “He was; a good solid infantry man, honourably discharged.”

  “You brought his body along with you?”

  “What else? He was a comrade,” Justus said sharply, offended that anyone should think he and his men would leave one of their own to rot on the forest floor.

  Titus held up a hand in a sign of peace. “No offence was intended. All of us have had to leave good friends behind when we had to get out quick.”

  “Let him have his funeral honours under the eagle. Get the priests to organise it, Titus,” the legate ordered

  “Thank you, sir,” Cordius said. “It will mean a lot to me and the others.”

  “And what will you do now?”

  “I shall talk it over with the lads but it’s pretty sure we’ll cut our losses and head for home.”

  The legate nodded his approval and hunted around on his desk for a smooth wax tablet and a stylus. He scratched a few words on it and held it out to Cordius who stood up and took it from him.

  “This orders the quartermaster to look over your stock and buy in anything he thinks we might need at a fair price. If you have any wine that is even half-decent he is sure to want it. After that, you may offer your goods to any off-duty legionary; they were paid the day before yesterday and some of them might even have a few coins left. Stay within the walls for the rest of today and tonight. The legion will feed your men and animals and then I suggest you head for home in the morning. “

  “Sir, this is unexpectedly generous of you…”

  “Not at all, Justus Cordius; the information you have given us might yet be of great value and in any case, you took the path of duty to go out of your way to report. You have my thanks.”

  Titus Attius stood up and led Cordius out. As they reached the door, Publius Quadratus called after them.

  “Oh, and Cordius, you will leave by the southern gate which, as we all know is the Porta Decumana, referring to it as anything else will not be appreciated by my men.”

  Chapter 4

  Justus Cordius and his companions sold practically their entire remaining stock to the quartermaster and the legionaries. He was pleased that all their amphorae of wine were taken into the legion stores. The heavy terracotta jars were difficult to transport and their absence would lighten the mules’ loads on their way home. They even managed to sell the old bronze helmet and the thin, silver arms rings they had taken after the raid. The soldiers wanted them as souvenirs to impress their stay-at-home relatives and neighbours with lying tales of winning them in single combat against huge German warriors. Curly’s remains were cremated during the evening and a priest handed Justus a glazed pot holding his still-warm ashes the next morning as they set off. They headed south towards Gallia Lugdunensis relieved that they had made a small profit, even taking into account the loss of one wagon. They passed through the Porta Decumana without ribald comment and drove off in the fine cold rain that had come on overnight.

  Aldermar’s scouts did not throw the severed head into the undergrowth. They came across a well-used path and rode along it until they came to a sharp bend over which hung an oak branch. They tied the head to it by the hair so that it dangled and spun, about the height of a mounted man. For the rest of the afternoon they grinned and laughed at the thought of the next traveller suddenly coming upon a disembodied grinning face dangling in front of them.

  They were skilled trackers. Following the signs left by three mule drawn wagons was like riding up a sign-posted highway to them and they made good time to the ambush spot. They dismounted, scattering the feeding crows into the trees where they roosted and complained loudly. Three corpses lay at the side of the road. The fourth, headless, had been dragged into the edge of the undergrowth where it had been dismembered, probably by wolves they decided. The scouting party split and two horsemen took each side of the track heading north and east with an eye on the hoof-prints and footmarks which told a clear story. The mules had been galloping and then slowed to a trot. The men had been running at first then fell into a jog before they all stopped and milled about, probably examining the contents of the wagon. They broke off the track and headed in a more westerly direction. By late afternoon they had met up with others, lit fires and settled for the night. The scouts made camp in the same place.

  At dawn they moved off following the raiding party which had made no attempt to conceal its tracks. Yet another group joined them, herding cattle and horses. Then they all changed direction and made haste towards the river. Aldermar’s men kept on the trail to be sure that their quarry had not turned off and then debated what to do. They had found no evidence of a major force operating in the area and it seemed clear that this had been an incursion for whatever plunder the tribesman could grab before running for the Rhine. It was time to return to the legion camp.

  On the evening of the fourth day since Aldermar had been given his orders to send out his scouting party, he sat in the Praetorium sipping wine diluted with hot water and honey. Publius Quadratus and Titus Attius sat with him around the legate’s desk on which were placed the wine and water jugs and a plate of cold meat patties. The office was dimly lit by three oil lamps and pleasantly warmed by the glowing charcoal in the brazier. The two officers listened carefully as Aldermar gave them the gist of the verbal report he had received from his men on their return that afternoon.

  “A straightforward raid with no aim other than taking plunder, according to my scouts,” he explained. “Between sixty and eighty men in all who got away with one of Cordius’ wagons and around fifty cattle and twenty horses…”

  “And slaughtered a Roman citizen,” Titus reminded him.

  “That too,” Aldermar acknowledged, “but all appearances say that there’s no more to the incident than that. We have no reason to suspect any general unrest or hostile activity, no more than usual anyway.”

  Publius felt the side of the water jug. It was barely tepid. He shouted for his slave to fetch them more wine and another jug of the hot, sweetened water. When he had been served, he dismissed the man with a wave of his hand without thanks. He poured himself half a cup of wine and added an equal amount of the water.

  “Help yourselves,” he said and took a patty from the plate. He slowly chewed the spiced pork and pastry, eventually washing it down a gulp of wine before speaking.

  “The marching season is over and I want to start out for Rome in ten days. However, I am not prepared to let this go. Roman citizens have been robbed and one of them killed, as you so rightly point out, Titus. I am sending a force across the Rhine to take appropriate action. Is there any chance of finding the guilty parties, Aldermar?�
��

  “I could send some men over the river and look into it. It might take weeks to get any information but those responsible could be a group of thieves and outcasts who have already shared out the loot and gone their separate ways,” the prefect told him.

  “Right then,” Titus said. “We go over, find some poor sods and let them have it. We can put the word about that this is what happens when arseholes decide to bugger about in our neighbourhood; might put the next lot off.”

  “It won’t though, will it?” the German officer demanded.

  “No, it will not,” Publius told them both. “However, Roman citizens must be able to go about their business unhindered within the boundaries of the empire. When they are not, someone has to pay the price and Rome does not care who it is. That is the lesson we shall keep teaching them so long as they remain our enemies. What position does Lentus hold in the legion at present?”

  “He leads the second cohort; next in line to me,” Titus answered.

  “Very well, he brought this matter in front of me in the first place so he will be the senior centurion for this expedition. Let him take his own men with another century to back his men up; suggestions Titus?”

  “Send the twelfth; they could do with the experience and perhaps we should add a party of volunteer archers and slingers.”

  “Two things, firstly, no-one in the ranks will cross the river voluntarily and secondly, we have neither archer nor slinger units attached to this legion,” the legate said.

  No legionary would ever willingly go over into German territory. The dark, dripping forests with their ravines and bogs oppressed the Roman soldiers. They had a superstitious dread of the spirits that inhabited the wilderness beyond the Rhine and a healthy respect for the warriors who would oppose them. Above all, there was no profit in it. There were no cities to storm and loot. There was no gold to plunder. The women would not submit to being raped after a few slaps but fought like demons. Even after they had been forced, they would rise up from the ground and attack their abusers with anything that came to hand; they were big, powerful women and often their resistance resulted in the death of a legionary. There was little chance of bringing back any slaves to sell. The men battled to the death. The women cut their children’s throats and joined their men in the shield wall or ran clutching their babies to them into the dark recesses of the forest where it would be madness to follow. No, from the common soldier’s viewpoint, there was nothing for them in Germany.

  “By volunteers, I mean men who are known to be good with bows or slings and who will not want to disappoint their First Spear Centurion when he asks them nicely to help out,” Attius explained.

  “I leave it to you, Titus but when they get back, give them two weeks excused fatigues by the order of the legate and of which order, you will no doubt express your disapproval. I want them ready by midday tomorrow. Light order, mules but no carts, supplies for six days maximum, the missile troops to carry no infantry weapons or shields. You will provide four reliable scouts, Aldermar. We shall be marching seven days after the attack on Justus Cordius; we must be seen to act swiftly as well as with sufficient force,” said Quadratus decisively.

  “And Lentus will command?” Titus asked

  “No,” the legate told him. “Overall command will rest with Tribune Longius.”

  Titus Attius sighed and shook his head. Quadratus spoke again but this time with an edge to his voice which emphasized there was no room for dissent or debate.

  “Lucius Taurius Longius is coming up twenty years old. This is the end of his second season with the legion and he has told me he is happy to remain in camp over the winter. He is conscientious and has enough common-sense to know when to consult the greater experience of Lentus. If he is to progress, he must be given responsibility. I trust you will agree, First Spear Centurion Titus Attius.”

  “I apologize if I have offended you Legate Publius Quadratus. You command The Second Lucan, not me. After the shameful spectacle that tribune I shall not name made of himself at the Porta Decumana, I am pissed off with the whole tribe of tribunes.”

  “No offense has been taken, my dear Titus. I know you have the good name of the legion always at the front of your mind. Under Tribune Longius and Centurion Lentus, I anticipate a successful outcome. I believe it is time to wish you both goodnight; no doubt there are certain arrangements that can be made even this late in the evening. Titus, send the tribune to me, if you will.”

  Tribune Longius stood to attention in front of his legate trying to keep his face expressionless but failing to hide his excitement. Aldermar had told him that Quadratus wanted him for an important job and he should get over to the Praetorium as soon as possible. Longius did not have the appearance of a Roman aristocrat but he was of patrician blood on both sides of his family as far back as could be discovered. Young as he was, he had a deep chest and wide shoulders with the potential to be stocky and heavily muscled by the time he reached his late twenties. His cropped hair was chestnut, his skin fair and his eyes hazel. His nose had been broken and badly set as a boy when he was thrown off his horse. The bridge had been flattened and it was bent a little to the left. He looked as if he would be more at home in the ranks. However, he was an officer and keen to let everyone know he wanted to make his career in the army. Quadratus liked his energy and commitment.

  “Tribune Longius, in view of the attack on a Roman trading convoy and the murder of a citizen and legion veteran, you are given command of a punitive expedition. You will leave camp at midday tomorrow with two centuries of infantry and as many missile troops as First Spear Centurion Attius can find for you. Four mounted scouts will be provided. Once you have crossed the river, you will march north for one full day and only after that reduce any settlement you come across. At the end of the third day, you will turn back making your way to the bridgehead. When you are again within one day’s march of the river you will cease all aggressive action but may use what force you deem necessary to defend your troops. My clerk has a written order that you can collect when you are dismissed. Have you any questions?”

  “What supplies will we be carrying sir?”

  “Basic rations for six days on mules; no tents, you will all have to sleep wrapped in your cloaks and hope the weather is kind. The watchwords are fast and hard, tribune; fast and hard. Understand that by “reduce any settlements” I mean obliterate them and all their inhabitants. This is not a glorious and heroic mission but it is necessary to affirm Rome’s dominion, understood?”

  “Yes sir, I shall march with the men…”

  “No, you will not,” the legate cut him off in midsentence. “You will be on horseback wearing your best armour and cloak. There will be some prying eyes among the trees and they will see a Roman officer and his men. I want there to be no possibility of doubt that The Second Lucan mounted this expedition. On your return, Prefect of Auxiliary Horse Aldermar’s men will pass the news along the river that this is what will happen when Roman interests are attacked. The gossip will soon spread and who knows? Someone might even pay attention. Is that all?”

  “Yes, sir and thank you for giving me this commission.”

  “Not all, Lucius. Take a seat and have a cup of wine with me before you go.”

  He shouted and clapped his hands and the same slave scurried in to refresh the drinks. The legate mixed only the smallest amount of wine with the hot water and approved the way the tribune was not over-generous with his own proportion of alcohol. -

  “So, staying in camp over winter, Lucius; Rome has no attraction for you?”

  “I have never been to Rome, sir; my people are all from Luca.”

  “Indeed they are, how rude of me to have forgotten. That was what swung me in your favour when I had an unexpected vacancy in my tribunate; an officer from Luca for The Second Lucan largely manned by recruits from your area. It seemed an excellent idea.”

  They smiled at the thought and Quadratus rose to walk to the door with Lucius.

  �
��A first independent command is never easy,” the legate said as they crossed the room. “You have a good second in Lentus and three other experienced officers with you. You would do well to consult them but you are not obliged to follow their advice. It is you who makes the decisions for good or ill, not a committee. Remember that and Mars and Fortuna be with you.”

  Tribune Longius rode at the head of his two centuries resplendent in a mirror-polished breastplate and a nearly new cloak which fell from his broad shoulders to spread over his horse’s rump. Thirty resentful or glum looking men with bows or slings and a train of twenty mules took up the rear. Once free of the camp, the scouts rode forward into wide positions, hardly necessary in the open ground leading down to the bridge. Titus Attius and Aldermar watched the column from the walkway over the Porta Praetoria, the northern gate of the camp. The scouts crossed first, the column followed and were soon lost to sight.

  “Must be hard for you sometimes,” Titus remarked.

  “What is?” Aldermar asked.

  “Well, seeing the lads going off to kill Germans, you being a German and all.”

  “I sometimes wonder about you Titus, I really do. You have been stationed here for years and it never sinks in does it? There aren’t any “Germans”; it’s just a handy label Rome uses. Over the Rhine there are Chatti and Bructeri, Quadii and Cherusci; they all have their own lands and they chop their neighbours into little pieces any time they can. Caesar’s general Labienus invited my people to settle in Belgic territory. My grandfather led his horse in support of Caesar at Alesia where Vercingetorix was finished off. As a reward my family were made citizens. Those people over there have nothing to do with me and never did. Anyway, you aren’t a real Roman.”

  “Of course I’m a proper Roman,” Titus replied.

  “No, you aren’t. You told me you were born in Tarraco which, correct me if I’m wrong, is in Spain.”

  “Well, yes but I’m a Roman citizen.”

  “It’s going to be hard for you when the legion gets transferred over there to kill Spaniards.”