The Last Battle

by Nick Brown

  Ignoring him and ignoring Gutha, who was standing outside the guardroom, Volosus continued down into the cellar. He passed Bibulus on the steps, who knew his master well enough to move aside.

  ‘Sir?’

  Volosus grabbed the nearest of the two lanterns and stood over the old general, who did not stir. A cuff across the nose was sufficient to wake him. His first act was to wince and then again cradle the three broken fingers on his right hand.

  ‘You must feel very pleased with yourself, Titus. Calculated and believable but a pack of lies nonetheless.’

  Bibulus had followed him but sensibly remained quiet.

  ‘I told you the truth,’ replied Dolabella. ‘But things change. That is the nature of war. You’d be better off touring the lines for yourself.’

  ‘I will have the truth from you, general. But you are right: things change. Thanks to Prefect Clemens, I now have some idea which of your legions are on the move and in which direction. Unless you corroborate those facts then tell me the orders those prefects are following, we will continue hurting you. I am especially interested in the First Italian. Apparently, the emperor is with them but we cannot confirm the location. You will tell me where they are. There will be no more beatings, no more broken fingers. Only flame and blade.’

  ‘I cannot help you. Sorry.’

  The old man could barely keep his eyes open. Volosus felt like lifting the lantern and smashing his head in.

  ‘Bibulus, cut him and burn him until he talks.’

  ‘Sir, I’m not sure he’s going to last all-’

  Volosus grabbed his underling by the tunic. ‘Do I have to repeat myself?’

  ‘No, sir. My apologies. We’ll get there. We’ll break him.’

  Volosus set off up the stairs. He had not wanted to do this. The sight and smell of cutting and burning was a bit much, even for him. But the general’s deceit had left him little choice. He had not gone to all this trouble to be defeated by this stubborn old prick and he was not about to disappoint Tetricus. Prefect Clemens was party to the latest reports from across the front and it seemed open warfare was only days away. News that the First Italian was already in Gaul was deeply disturbing; the presence of Aurelian’s crack legion could make all the difference. Yet there was still a chance to gain the initiative. If …

  Gutha was still at the top of the steps. ‘Sir, if I may, I too have some experience with interrogations. The man is old, close to unconsciousness, even death. And you need him to be clear and precise. I believe another approach might work.’

  Volosus took some time to consider his answer. Gutha had proven himself capable so far and he was right about the general’s condition. It was worth a try.

  ‘You have until dusk.’

  Shortly after turning left at the crossroads, Cassius’s party encountered a squad of legionaries. There were about a dozen of them, marching in loose order. The paved road had curved around a vast oak, and by the time they spied the soldiers approaching, there was no time to take evasive action.

  ‘You all know the cover story,’ said Cassius, who was riding alongside Enca, with Simo and Indavara behind them.

  As the two parties got closer, it became evident that these were more survivors from the clash with Umbrius and his cavalry. There were several walking wounded, and all the men were covered in grime and sweat. Even so, they were moving at an impressive pace. Cassius could not help admire such fighting men, even though they were loyal to Tetricus.

  One of the legionaries at the front caught his eye as they passed. ‘Seen any cavalry?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Cassius, affecting the manner of a man for whom military matters were a mystery. ‘Good day to you.’

  The soldier grunted as his squad marched on.

  Only once they were well past, did Cassius exchanged a relieved glance with Enca.

  ‘We can get off this after a mile or so,’ said the scout. ‘As I recall, there’s an area of marsh east of Hawkhaven. That might be the best approach.’

  ‘Marsh will slow us down.’

  ‘Not this time of year. It will have dried out.’

  ‘But the rain.’

  ‘A summer shower, sir. Underneath the ground will be firm and today it is warm.’

  ‘Very well. Will we able to see the fortress?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I doubt they’ll have pickets out but there’ll probably be sentries at the bottom.’

  As they rode on, Cassius listened to the conversation unfolding behind him. Bizarrely, Indavara and Simo were talking about bread: all the different types of bread they had encountered on their travels. For Indavara, the best was the sweet bread containing raisins and honey that they’d eaten in the Arabian city of Bostra. For Simo, it was the chestnut rolls turned out by the army bakery in Antioch. From the subject of bread, they moved on to one of their other favourite topics – Patch. Both agreed that he was still tired from the long journey westward and that this was why he’d tried to bite one of the horses that morning.

  Cassius wondered why they were speaking of such things now. Were they truly occupied by these subjects or were they merely trying to distract themselves from the trials of the day and this perilous mission? In either case, it heartened him to hear it; and he was glad to have them with him.

  ‘Stop that man! Stop him!’

  This unexpected appeal came from the forest to their right. Seconds later, a rider burst from the trees only fifty feet ahead. With a quick glance at Cassius’s party, the interloper guided his horse toward the road. Along this section were drainage ditches and at this obstacle his mount shied. The rider was thrown forward and slipped onto the ground. He had at least kept hold of the reins and now unleashed a volley of curses at the horse.

  Cassius noted the shield and spear on his saddle. The shield was decorated with green and blue markings, none of which he recognised. The rider looked like an auxiliary cavalryman: a tall, bald fellow with strange, bulging eyes.

  ‘Stop him!’

  Now a second man appeared from what Cassius realised was an overgrown path. This fellow was at least sixty and he was waving his hands wildly.

  ‘Thief! He’s a thief!’

  The auxiliary was still occupied with his rebellious mount but there was no mistaking the flash of guilt and fear in his eyes.

  Cassius was glad to see Enca trot past him, then halt, blocking one route of escape. He urged his own mount closer, Indavara and Simo beside him.

  ‘What’s all this then?’

  Upon reaching the others, the second man stopped, wiping sweat from his face.

  ‘Thank the gods. Please help me. This man took all of value I have.’

  The auxiliary had his horse under control. ‘Shut up or I’ll stick this where the sun don’t shine!’ He snatched his spear from his saddle and aimed it at his accuser.

  ‘See the sack on his saddle there? Full of my belongings. He first said he just wanted some wine but once inside he grabbed everything – a bronze plate, a candelabra, the silver jug my wife and I were given for-’

  ‘All right,’ said Cassius. ‘We get the idea. You there – is this true?’

  ‘Stay out of it,’ snarled the bald man. ‘Army business.’

  ‘Armies are supposed to fight,’ shouted the purported victim. ‘Not steal!’

  ‘I suggest you return the sack,’ said Cassius.

  ‘Or what?’

  Enca stepped his mount closer, one hand on his bow.

  Indavara had already dismounted and passed his reins to Simo. He moved to within a few yards of the auxiliary, hand on his sword.

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Cassius. ‘Or are you claiming innocence?’

  ‘I don’t have to claim anything. I’m requisitioning for the army. You do anything to me and you’ll have the legion to answer to.’

  ‘Nobody need do anything to anyone – as long as you return what you stole.’

  ‘I ain’t scared of you.’

  ‘Very impressive but I don’t have time to wast
e. Return the sack and we’ll let you go on your way – without reporting you to the prefect. Twenty-Second Legion is it?’

  The auxiliary glanced at each of his opponents. He was still on the ground with reins in one hand, spear in the other. With Enca and Indavara close and ready, he had little chance of escape.

  Cassius continued: ‘As a military man, I’m sure you understand the concepts of both tactical advantage and numerical superiority.’

  The bald man frowned. ‘Huh?’

  Indavara drew his sword. ‘Just give us the bloody sack, idiot.’

  This at least the auxiliary seemed to understand. Untying the sack from his saddle, he threw it toward his victim. The sound when it hit the ground suggested that it did indeed contain several metallic objects.

  ‘Good lad,’ said Indavara. ‘Now piss off.’

  The auxiliary aimed his spear at the bodyguard, then Enca, then Cassius.

  ‘I’ll be making a curse tablet for you three tonight.’

  ‘You can write?’ said Cassius. ‘I’m stunned.’

  ‘Mighty Lero will answer my call and unleash vengeance upon you all!’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ said Cassius as the auxiliary mounted up. ‘Some obscure Gaulish deity, I suppose.’

  ‘You’ll know him when he strikes you down!’

  As the auxiliary was still holding the spear, Enca sensibly nocked an arrow and aimed it at him.

  The thief spat at the ground and cast one last eye-bulging glare at Cassius before kicking his mount, rounding Enca and galloping away.

  The older man ran to the sack and opened it. ‘A thousand thank yous to you all!’

  ‘Our pleasure,’ said Cassius, before leading the others away.

  ‘A good deed, sir,’ said Simo eagerly.

  ‘Indeed. Even I am capable of them from time to time.’

  As Enca had promised, they did not stay on the exposed road much longer. Turning south onto a wide mud track upon which only a few puddles remained, the party soon had to stop. The track ran along a crest, providing them a clear view of the Rhone to the east. But they had travelled less than mile when Simo spied a small group of horsemen moving north at great speed. When he alerted his master, Cassius immediately called a halt and dismounted. The riders were about half a mile away. Shields were visible, as was the red garb of an officer.

  ‘Cavalry,’ said Enca. ‘But are they ours?’

  ‘A chance worth taking,’ said Cassius. ‘Wait here.’

  With that, he guided his horse off the track and into a canter then a gallop. The mount did not shirk when they leaped a low stone wall and skirted a deep hollow. Once onto a smooth, grassy slope, Cassius turned his attention to the riders.

  There were six of them and four were now looking in his direction. He could see a couple of helmets and spears attached to their saddles but the coloured markings on their shields told him nothing. For all he knew, they belonged to the Twenty-Second Legion.

  Cassius raised his hand and was relieved to see the horsemen slow down. They showed signs of battle and their northward path suggested a swift retreat to Lavona. But he could still not be sure.

  A muscular fellow with short brown hair and a reddish beard, barked at him. ‘What do you want?’

  Cassius was about to try a neutral enquiry when he noticed that two of the shields featured the number three. These were cavalrymen of the Third Italian under Gratidius.

  ‘You are Umbrius’s men?’

  ‘What of it?’

  The veteran clearly didn’t consider Cassius enough of a threat to try and hide their identity.

  ‘My name is Corbulo. I was sent here by Prefect Venator of the Second Parthian to try and find General Dolabella. I know of the ambush this morning. Is Umbrius still alive?’

  ‘How do we know you’re not an enemy spy?’

  Cassius tapped a saddlebag. ‘I have my orders from the prefect here.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Cassius reached inside and retrieved the empty flask where he had concealed his orders. He handed over the single sheet of paper.

  Glancing at the others, Cassius found himself subject to five interrogative stares. None of the riders were as old as the red-bearded man, who appeared at least forty. He seemed to have made up his mind.

  ‘That is the signature and stamp of Prefect Venator.’ He looked past Cassius up the slope, where the other three were visible.

  ‘They’re with you?’

  ‘Yes. What about Umbrius?’

  ‘The decurion is dead. Most of the others too, as far as we know. He led us out of the ambush but we were trapped by the Rhone – between their own cavalry and the infantry from this morning. Some others may have escaped but …’

  The veteran looked suddenly weary.

  One of the others spoke up: a tall fellow, whose horse had suffered a shallow gash along its haunch.

  ‘We didn’t even know what we were doing over here. But when he realised we hadn’t much chance of getting back, Umbrius told us. He said this man is very important.’

  ‘It’s true. I might know where he is but I need more swords. Venator’s intention was that we assist each other if possible. It’s in no one’s interest that I tell you exactly why Dolabella is so valuable but I’ll say this: if we can get him back, we can prevent the enemy from gaining a crucial advantage. It’s no exaggeration to say it might affect the outcome of the entire campaign.’

  ‘Are you a tribune?’ asked the tall man.

  ‘Imperial Security.’

  There were no immediate responses of the negative type Cassius was used to.

  ‘Corbulo, is it?’ said the red-bearded veteran.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Iovius. Guard Officer.’

  ‘Will you help me?’

  Iovius handed the letter back. ‘For a chance to avenge Umbrius and our fallen friends, yes. But we would do so in any case, sir. The letter states that you hold the rank of centurion. You do not have to ask.’

  Amarante and Ioanna were sewing. Ioanna had torn her stola during the flight from Lavona and Amarante was desperate to keep herself occupied. They sat beside each other on the bed, fixing the tear from opposite ends. The both froze at the sound of footsteps outside. They had eaten their lunch and it was far too early for dinner.

  Volosus strode straight in and looked at them, thumbs tucked into his belt.

  ‘What a pleasant scene. I do like to see young women working together. Please, don’t let me stop you.’

  Amarante was glad when he did not order Ioanna from the room but the agent walked to the corner and leaned back against the stone wall. Crossing his arms, he watched her. She tried to concentrate on her sewing.

  ‘Can you sing?’

  It was not a question she had expected.

  ‘Not well.’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ Volosus sighed and picked something off his tunic sleeve. ‘A dance perhaps?’

  ‘Here?’ replied Amarante. ‘With no music?’

  ‘You really are most unobliging, girl. It is fortunate for you that you compensate in other areas.’

  She was about to respond to that but caught herself, partly for Ioanna’s benefit. It seemed wise to at least make a pretence of cordiality.

  ‘There has been no more screaming. Is that old man still alive?’

  ‘You needn’t concern yourself with that.’

  ‘Might we be leaving soon?’

  ‘That depends.’

  She was surprised when Ioanna spoke up:

  ‘Sir, I would really like to go home. I do not like it here.’

  Volosus didn’t even look at her. ‘Stand.’

  Amarante put her needle and thread down, then stood as Ioanna took charge of the stola.

  ‘Look out of the window.’

  Amarante crossed the room and did as she was told. She was not surprised when Volosus closed in behind her. He leaned over her right shoulder and moved her hair aside with his fingers so that he could kiss her neck. The touch of
his lips sent a tremor through her.

  ‘You will come to my quarters later.’

  ‘Sir, I can’t lie with you. The blood-’

  ‘I don’t care, Aphrodite. You will come to my quarters and you will be utterly obliging, won’t you? Won’t you?’

  For all her brave words to Ioanna, she knew she couldn’t stop him. She had tried a refusal once before back in Cavillonum and they had locked her in the cellar and starved her for a week. Her master and mistress had wanted to hit her, of course, but they couldn’t risk damaging their precious property. She wished they had. She sometimes wished someone would ruin her face so that she was no longer beautiful. She’d even considered doing it to herself.

  ‘Won’t you?’ repeated Volosus as he moved his left hand onto her waist and squeezed.

  She couldn’t bring herself to say the words but she nodded.

  Only then did he move away. ‘Good girl.’

  Twice they had to hide from scouts of the Twenty-Second Legion. These were only four-man patrols but Cassius and his party – now bolstered to ten – could not risk being seen; far better that their opponents believe they had entirely destroyed or routed Umbrius’s force.

  The sun was already descending as they emerged from the marshland and saw the southern end of the Green Mountains up ahead. Cassius knew they were so named because of the trees that covered the lower flanks. The range ran north for a hundred and fifty miles; past Genava, into Germania as far as the Black Forest.

  The riders gathered around Enca when the scout called a halt. He had been correct about the marshland – passage across the dried-out beds of mud and reed had been simple and swift.

  ‘Hawkhaven is between the first and second peaks. Difficult to see from here.’

  ‘What is it – six miles?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Something like that, sir.’

  ‘Route looks clear enough.’

  ‘Not bad, sir.’

  ‘Assuming the fortress is inhabited, they’ll have a good view. We must approach carefully.’ Cassius glanced around. Every man looked tired, and though they had not pushed the mounts hard, they too seemed in need of a break.