“Good,” the legate said and turned his attention to Otto. “I am pleased that you have rejoined us, Otto Longius.”
“I am happy to see you again, sir. And where else would I be if not here by the side of Tribune Boxer?”
Quadratus eyes widened in surprise. “I can hear you have not been idle during your leave. I must congratulate you in the improvement in your Latin.”
“Thank you; the noble lady Aelia, the tribune’s grandmother, has spent a lot of her time helping me.”
“Very good but gentlemen, I forget my manners,” he indicated the other officer in the room, who they had seen previously just after their arrival.
“Please greet the noble Tertius Julius Fuscus. He has been given to us by the Emperor to act as my second in the legion with the rank of Senior Tribune. Tertius, I present Lucius Taurius Longius, tribune with special responsibilities in regard to artillery and missile troops and his companion Otto Longius.”
Tertius stood up and stepped forward. He looked about thirty years old, slender, immaculately and expensively turned out and so tall that he could look Otto directly in the eyes. He saluted Lucius who returned the salute and then they shook hands. He followed this with a slight bow to Otto but also took his hand with a not unfriendly but penetrating look.
“Well, now that we all know each other, shall we sit and take wine?” the legate suggested.
“If you will not be offended, legate, I would prefer to return to our quarters now that we have greeted each other,” Otto said.
“As you wish, Otto; no doubt we shall be seeing a lot more of each other in the coming months.”
When they were alone with a cup of wine in front of each of them, Quadratus began to speak.
“I did not introduce you to Tertius by the mule cart, Lucius because you would have been at an embarrassing disadvantage considering your unsavoury state. I want the air clear and no ill feeling between the two of you, so I shall be frank. Boxer, there was never any possibility of you being promoted to Broad Stripe rank. You’re too young and your family’s political history is against you. Both of those problems will diminish over time. So, harbour no resentment towards Tertius; he has not usurped your place. Tertius has been on permanent garrison duty in Italy during his entire career, so far. He is an able administrator and an expert theoretical strategist. I know that he will prove to be of great support to me but he has never served in a legion on active, frontier duty. It is to his credit that he accepted this offer of promotion knowing that it would take him to the German border; somewhat less comfortable than home. Tertius, Boxer is the most able of my tribunes; I want you to assist him to develop his expertise in the organisation of a legion. Boxer, I want you to aid Tertius when it gets dirty and dangerous, but discretely. The men must see that he is your superior officer. Now gentlemen, can you willingly agree to proceed as I have outlined?”
They looked at each other for an appraising moment then Tertius held out a hand to Lucius who took it.
“Very well, now then Lucius, tell us how you come to return to me practically hacked to pieces,” Quadratus said cheerfully.
Lucius began to recount the story. When he reached the point when Servius had run away and left him standing with his cloak wrapped around his left arm, Quadratus interrupted.
“Don’t tell me, Otto stormed up like Mars himself…”
“Yes, sir, just as you say; he smashed one into a wall and broke in his ribs and killed the other two with his pugio.”
“Excuse me,” Tertius enquired, “but I don’t quite understand where Otto Longius fits in…”
The legate laughed.
“Nobody does but we are very glad of him. Our auxiliary cavalrymen regard the relationship between him and Lucius as a compliment to them all, which helps cement their loyalty. Better tell him that story as well, Boxer.”
Tertius listened fascinated.
“Oh, there’s a lot more to say about these two, Tertius,” Quadratus remarked.
“But, if I may, why do they refer to you as “Boxer”, Lucius. It strikes me as disrespectful…” Tertius suggested
“The nicknames the men give officers are usually unrepeatable and never used to their faces. “Boxer” is the reverse of what you think, Tertius. It signifies that they have some regard for him. In any case, once we are in camp, if you ask for Tribune Longius, three-quarters of them will not know who you mean.”
They stayed in Lugdunum for a further three days to let men and animals recuperate and then made their way out on the arduous road to their destination in the face of spitting rain. They were two hundred and ten experienced infantry with their officers, and fifty-three raw recruits all travelling with their lumbering wagons loaded with military supplies…and Passer’s mule cart. Down on the coast by Forum Julii the first whispers of spring were on the air when Lucius had passed through. Now they seemed to travel back in time towards mid-winter as they crawled their way to the Rhine. The trees seemed even barer of leaves, the drizzle of the coast turned to sleet and hail. Ice formed on damp tents and water buckets overnight. The land around them grew less settled, bleaker and more forested. When not covered with treacherously thin ice, every stream they crossed was swelling with the arrival of the first snow melt waters tumbling off the slopes of the Alps.
It was particularly hard on Tertius. He had never been so cold and damp. He had never lived in the wilderness with a large body of other men. The crude realities of their everyday living disgusted him. There were insufficient men to construct a marching camp and rampart big enough to enclose their wagons so the wagons themselves became their rampart. They drew them into a rough rectangle pushed tightly together. They crammed the spaces between the wheels with thorny branches to prevent attackers crawling in underneath. All the men and animals crowded into this inadequate space: cooking, eating, washing and defecating cheek by jowl.
Over their evening meal, Quadratus, Tertius and Lucius were discussing their progress.
“We are covering a reasonable amount of ground under the conditions,” the legate remarked. “Still, it cannot be easy for you, Tertius.”
“How do you keep a disciplined distance between officers and men under these conditions?” he asked.
“You don’t,” Lucius replied with a shrug. “If you are squatting over a fallen tree having a shit and a centurion comes up asking for an order. You give it, salute and then finish your personal business as best you can after the interruption. The men are judging you at all times, particularly when you’re new. You have to show them you can cheerfully take the hardships as well as they can.”
“Arriving at the right balance takes time,” Quadratus said. “Eventually, one simply acts and the men respond.”
Lucius gave an example two days later. A wagon started to slip sideways over the edge of a frost covered, muddy slope leading down to a raging stream of brown water in the ravine below. Lucius had been riding knee to knee with Tertius when he saw the beginnings of the slow-motion disaster. He leapt out of the saddle and flung his reins to his superior officer.
“Take my horse, sir” he yelled and ran towards the wagon. “Drop your shields and on me!” He shouted to the nearest men. They gathered around him. “You, you and you, jam the shafts of your javelins under the wheels on the uphill side and hold it steady. The rest of you, get that cover off.!” They hauled the canvas aside. The wagon was loaded with barrels and kegs of sundry ironware; arrow and spear heads, tools, ratchets and gearwheels. He jumped up on it. “Right, get ‘em over the side.” The legionaries began to manhandle the cargo. “On the track!” he bellowed. “What’s the point of chucking them down the fucking slope? That’s the way boys,” he laughed and helped heave at the heavy barrels. “That’ll do; we’ve lightened it enough,” he told them when a quarter of the load was off. He hopped down to the ground. “Right, let’s give it a shove and get it straightened up. Carter, wake up those bastard mules!” They got their shoulders braced and dug their boots in “One, two, three, heav
e! One, two, three, heave!” he chanted to the crack of the driver’s whip. The wheels slipped and skidded but found purchase and reluctantly turned. The wagon lurched forwards, a yard away from the edge and back onto the safety of the track. Slathered in mud to the knees, Lucius put his hands on his thighs, bent forwards and took several deep breaths to regain his wind. He noticed one of the men he had been yelling at was an optio. He straightened up and saluted him. The salute was returned.
“Well done optio, and your lads. If your centurion agrees, I suggest three days off fatigues for these men, you know who they are. Perhaps some of the interested spectators who have done nothing so far might care to reload the cargo and get us moving?”
“Yes, Box… sir,” the optio shouted back.
Quadratus had joined Tertius and spoke to him quietly.
“Tribune Longius works alongside the men using appalling language and when the emergency is over, he reverts to the formality of his rank. And even though he is sweaty and mud-covered, the optio salutes him and calls him sir. This is what we were talking about the other night.”
“I did not think to dismount and help,” Tertius admitted.
“Nor should you; the men have known Lucius since he was eighteen and completely raw. You are a mature officer of higher rank; he has his manner with the men and you will develop yours.”
As they marched north and west, the forest closed in around them. Dark pines, rank upon rank ran from the edges of the track into the dim recesses of the forest. The bases of their trunks were thick with ivy and brambles where the gales had brought some trees down to let a little sunshine enter. The spirits of the men dampened as the overwhelming dank solitude hemmed them in. Even at noon there was little light falling on them from the grey skies, it was claustrophobic.
It became more difficult to find a reasonably secure camping ground every afternoon. The experienced legionaries knew that the nearer they got to their destination, the more the danger grew. Close to their permanent camp they were always under the scrutiny of unfriendly eyes. The main routes in and out were equally watched and there was no doubt that their wagons laden with stores and equipment would be the prize of a lifetime for an enterprising warband. They were valuable enough to encourage several tribal groups to combine their strength in the attempt. Quadratus called a meeting of all officers. Tertius asked how far out they were and what was the average distance travelled each day. He then sat down with a wax tablet and stylus taking no further part in the discussion. Various proposals were put forward and all talked down. Finally, Tertius stood up and addressed the assembly.
“If I may, Legate Quadratus,” he began, “we are seven days from the security of our permanent camp at our rate of progress of twelve miles per day; a total of eighty-four miles. This distance could be covered in two days by a man on horseback riding hard. In two days’ time we shall be sixty miles from camp. A body of cavalry can cover that in a day and half and be with us when we are forty miles out. If we act now to put this plan into effect thus, we shall have the added support of mounted scouts and a screen of horsemen for our run in. Admittedly, this is not ideal cavalry country but no doubt our men are used to operating in such conditions. We also have the added benefit of being able to request infantry reinforcements if we run into serious trouble at the last minute.”
There was a long silence during which appreciative glances and nods of approval passed between the other officers.
“This sounds the best solution we have for our potential difficulties, Tribune Tertius Fuscus. I shall adopt it. Who is to ride for the camp?” Quadratus said.
“I suggest Otto Longius. He is a native speaker of the local language, useful if he is intercepted and is well known to our troops.”
“Ah, but he will not leave the side of Tribune Lucius Longius; his oath prevents him.”
“I think he will, if I may speak with him?”
Otto was summoned. The plan was explained and he shook his head.
“How can I abandon Boxer, sir? Honour forbids me.”
Tertius smiled. “Otto Longius, you are bound to do all you can to preserve the life of Tribune Longius, is that not correct?”
“Yes, sir, it is,”
“Then the best way you can support him is to bring us cavalry. Tribune Longius is in peril here, as are we all; he needs the protection they will bring. By undertaking this mission, you are fulfilling your promise. By refusing, you are leaving him in danger.”
Otto looked over to Lucius who solemnly nodded his approval.
“I ride,” Otto confirmed.
He left off his mail shirt and helmet to give his horse less weight to carry and armed only with his two spears, galloped away from the column. He had with him a rough map of their line of march and a written message for Titus Attius.
“Neatly done,” the legate told Tertius. “I did not believe that you would be able to persuade him.”
All worked exactly to plan. They entered the Porta Decumana without incident behind a screen of one hundred auxiliary cavalry. The myth of Tribune Fuscus’ ability to come up with ideas to get the legion out of trouble was born.
Chapter 21
Entering the camp felt like a homecoming to Lucius but inevitably, things had changed. The “useless” young tribune who had arrived last year had over-wintered with the legion. His boyish face had thinned and hardened, he was taller and more confident.
“Greetings Lucius Taurius Longius,” he said offering his right hand.
Lucius looked at him blankly for a moment without recognition. He held out his own hand and struggled to recall the name he had barely bothered to commit to memory.
“Tribune Soranus, isn’t it?”
“Rufus Vulso Soranus; I’m not surprised you had difficulty in remembering me. We barely passed a dozen words last year.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Oh, don’t apologise. All I did was to get in everyone’s way at first but five months under the command of the camp prefect have taught me a lot.”
“Yes, exposure to Titus Attius tends to be educational…”
They laughed briefly.
After three days of settling back in, Quadratus invited all the senior officers to a formal dinner in his quarters. Otto was also summoned to attend.
“Otto, my friend,” the legate said, “yet again your status causes me a problem. This is an evening for my staff, and yet here you are and rightly so I believe. I am never sure if you belong to this legion or not. You have taken no oath under the eagles nor are you a citizen and yet you willingly rode through miles of dangerous country to bring me support when I needed it. What am I to make of you?”
“Nothing sir, with respect; I remain what I always was, the oath companion of Tribune Longius.”
But Otto was far from being the ignorant boy who had first loped into camp beside the tribune’s horse. He now spoke fluent Latin, could read and write and he had seen something of the Roman world. He had lived in the home of an upper-class provincial family. His viewpoint had widened along with his understanding. Only his loyalty to Lucius remained unaltered.
Stories of what had happened in camp and to the men on leave were swapped. Titus Attius was delighted that the pugio he had given Otto had sent two villains to the underworld. Then Lucius remembered to pass along the regards of Centurion Massus. “Centurion Decimus Massus, with one eye? Where did you come across him?”
“He commands the Luca city garrison,” Lucius replied.
“Does he now?” mused Titus and then paused before turning to Quadratus. “May I tell a tale, sir?”
“By all means, let us hope it is instructive,” the legate answered.
“Very well then, Africa, gentlemen; heat, flies, sand and elephants as well as ferocious opposition from the native inhabitants are what we faced back then. Imagine two legions formed up side by side showing one continuous front to the enemy with rocky escarpments protecting both of our flanks. Their horse archers rode up, wheeled and discharged a volley
before breaking away. They did this time after time. Our losses weren’t serious because they stayed too far back, barely within effective range. But what they did do was kick up a bank of yellow dust that rolled over us obscuring our view. So, there we were, gritty throats burning with thirst, when a bloody huge grey shape loomed through the dust cloud in front of the legion to our left. It was a war elephant with a platform on its back full of bastards firing bows and chucking spears at us.
To be fair to the lads, they held their ground. The elephant was being peppered with javelins which slowed it down but it was still coming on. The poor beast was not happy. It curled its trunk up and lifted its head to trumpet and a lucky throw, which turned out to be damnably unlucky, got it up through the roof of its mouth. It took a few more steps forward and fell dead. Of course the line broke; no-one wants to be underneath a dead elephant when it hits the ground. Hordes of barbarians swarmed over and around it and flooded through the gap. They managed to drive such a wedge that half of the legion Massus was serving in was cut off from the rest of us. Barbarians they might have been but they were not stupid. They manoeuvred to contain the bulk of the legions and directed their main attack against the lads who had been cut off. This is where “Cyclops” Massus comes in.
A ricocheting arrow had hit him in the eye. He pulled it out but what he did not know was that his eye had come with it. The arrow fell free and Massus was left with his eyeball swinging from its cords on his cheek and blood everywhere. Well, he really lost it at this point. He called down the curses of the gods on them and went forward with his sword. Anyone in front of him must have thought he was a demon; covered in his own blood and with this horrible eye rolling around in the middle of his face. No-one would stand against him and the nearest ones tried to get out of his way. This made more and more of them turn back the way they had come until it became a panicked stampede. Well, that turned into a general rout. We regrouped and advanced. Then the order for melee was given and we chased them down and slaughtered them in their thousands. Decimus Massus was awarded a silver spear for saving the army. Here’s to him.” Attius finished, raising his wine in a toast.
Knight of Rome Part I Page 23
