The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  Then the big man turned to study Marcus and there was a sudden hardness and seriousness in his eyes.

  “There may be a way in which I can help you,” he said quietly, “but if I do help you, I need to know that you will keep your mouth shut about what you will witness. It’s not entirely legal and if this gets out, then I am the one who will be in trouble. Do you understand? So, can I rely on you Marcus?”

  “Ofcourse you can rely on me,” Marcus said looking up at Clodovicus.

  For a moment, the big Batavian veteran was silent as he glanced at the blond slave girl. Then carefully he raised his fingers and stroked his chin.

  “Hengistbury Head used to be a great port, a big important trading centre,” Clodovicus said in a quiet, dignified voice. “Before my time, the merchants based here used to have an extensive network of trading partners across the sea in Gaul, in Armorica. They say that the trade routes across the sea have been used for hundreds of years. People grew rich and family fortunes were made on either side of the channel and with this trade came a powerful common interest, an alliance between the Briton tribes and their maritime counterparts in Gaul. So, when many years ago, Rome invaded Gaul, the Briton tribes were amongst the first to lend their support to their trading partners.” Clodovicus sighed as he studied Marcus carefully. “Now I am no historian but I have heard it said that the trading and cultural contacts were so important that this was the reason why Julius Caesar himself came across to Britannia to teach the Britons a lesson. Caesar wanted the Britons to stop helping their Gallic trading partners.”

  “What has this got to do with me getting across to Gaul?” Marcus asked sharply.

  Clodovicus held up his hand in a patient gesture.

  “But since the Roman conquest of Britannia and the founding of the ports at Rutupiae and Londinium,” Clodovicus said, “this place has gone downhill. The trade with Gaul has been diverted to the new Roman ports. Hengistbury Head is in decline. The young are leaving. There are no jobs, no work. There is no future for this place. Things are looking bleak.”

  Clodovicus was staring at Marcus now, a hint of defiance in his eyes. Then conspiratorially he leaned towards him.

  “But we, the remaining inhabitants here, are not just going to take that lying down,” the big Batavian veteran hissed, “Fuck that. People must survive. We must make a living and we have not forgotten who our true allies are. So, we have founded a new industry that has taken over from the old one.”

  Carefully Clodovicus wiped his chin with his hand.

  “Tomorrow night during the darkest hour of the night,” Clodovicus said quietly, “if all has gone as planned, a Roman ship will be anchored out to sea, a mile from here, just off the coast. She will spend some time unloading cargo onto the beach. Then she will sail for her home port at Gades in southern Hispania, via the Gallic port at Burdigala. Now I have friends here whom can arrange for you and your slave to go aboard this ship during the night, no questions asked, but it will cost you a considerable amount of money. I cannot say how much, for it will need to be negotiated with my friends and the ship’s captain.”

  Marcus was silent as he stared at Clodovicus. Then abruptly he looked away.

  “Smugglers,” he muttered. “So, this is the new industry that you and your friends have founded. You have become smugglers.”

  “Brilliant isn’t it,” Clodovicus grinned. “The Roman ship that should be off our coast tomorrow night operates on the Frisian run,” Clodovicus murmured, “She transports wine and olive oil from Gades to trading partners amongst the Frisii and returns with salt, slaves and amber gem stones. The Frisii are the northern neighbours of the Batavians. They live around the sea marshes and on many small islands to the north along the German coast. The Frisii are a free tribe beyond the borders of the Empire. The Romans consider them allies though and they like to trade. Now if the Frisii merchants had to sell their stuff through the normal regulated Roman trading posts along the Rhine frontier, they would have to pay one quarter tax on their goods. One fucking quarter, that is how much the Roman customs officials demand in tax from any barbarian who wishes to sell their goods in the Empire. And only hard, cold cash is accepted.”

  A sly little smile had appeared on Clodovicus’s lips. “So, we have an arrangement,” he hissed. “The captain of the Roman ship trades with the Frisii, charging them only one tenth in tax. The Frisii are happy to sell to him at that rate and the Roman captain pockets the tax that would have otherwise gone to the state. The captain then sails across the sea to Hengistbury Head, where we help unload some of his Frisian cargo, without the knowledge of the port customs officials. Once the goods are inland no one will know or care where they came from. The captain of the Roman ship then lands the rest of the cargo at Burdigala in Gaul where he has a similar arrangement with some of their locals. The Roman customs officials have no idea what is going on and they never will. Fuck them.”

  “I can see why the Frisii are happy with this scheme and why the captain of the Roman ship does well,” Marcus said with a frown, “But how do you profit from this venture?”

  “You are clearly not a merchant” Clodovicus snorted with a hint of contempt in his voice, “The Roman state needs money, loads of it so that it can continue to pay its soldiers and maintain the roads amongst other things. So even within the Empire a merchant must pay a tax when bringing his goods across provincial borders. The tax varies between one fortieth and one twentieth of the value of the goods and on top of that there is a harbour charge. So, that my friend is our bonus profit margin when we sell the goods that we shall be picking up from the beach tomorrow night.”

  Marcus was silent as he stared at Clodovicus. Then he turned to gaze into the flames.

  “All right, arrange it,” he murmured at last, “And I shall pay passage for three people.”

  “So where are you going, Marcus?” Clodovicus asked, studying him. “Where are you and this runaway slave woman heading?

  “It is best that you do not know,” Marcus growled, “For your own security. We are being hunted by a very clever and bad man.”

  Chapter Eight – The Stupid Boy

  Marcus crouched in the soggy mud and stared out to sea. In the darkness, he could see nothing and the only sound was that of his own breathing, the soft whispered nattering of his companions and the gentle lap of the waves as they came ashore on the stony beach. The sea marshes stank of rotting plants and now and then an animal or a fish moved amongst the tall reeds and narrow waterways. Stoically Marcus batted away a mosquito and turned to glance at his companions who were crouching behind him. They had been here all day, hiding in the marshes since before dawn and the enforced stay was beginning to grow wearisome. In the gloom, he could just about make out Petrus, Esther and Clodovicus’s friends whom had joined them around noon. Clodovicus himself however had remained in the village and Marcus had been surprised to see his slave girl, with the long blond hair, join the smugglers as they waited for the Roman ship to appear. She and Petrus had quickly struck up a friendship and in the darkness Marcus could hear the two of them whispering. The noise they were making was beginning to get on his nerves.

  Suddenly from out of the night Marcus heard a bird call. For a moment, it died away and then it came again. Behind Marcus one of the smugglers quietly rose to his feet and made the same sound. For a while nothing happened. Then close by the reeds began to move apart and a moment later the figure of a man appeared.

  “Marcus,” a voice whispered from out of the darkness, “where is Marcus?”

  “I am here,” Marcus growled as he recognised Clodovicus’s voice.

  In the gloom the figure moved towards him, cursing softly and squelching through the mud. Then Clodovicus was crouching beside him, his breathing laboured.

  “If the Roman ship has not been delayed they should be here soon,” Clodovicus muttered, steadying himself on Marcus’s shoulder. “But there is no way of knowing for sure whether they will come tonight. Any one of a hundred things
could have held them up. We just have to wait.”

  For a moment, he paused to catch his breath. “But there is a problem,” Clodovicus whispered at last. “I saw him. Cunitius, the man whom is searching for you. He is here in Hengistbury Head. He and his men are waiting for a pack of hunting dogs to arrive. They believe you are around here somewhere. Don’t ask me how they know. The dogs should be here by tomorrow. And if those dogs have Esther’s scent then they will find her. Nothing can escape a trained hunting dog when he has your scent. So, if our Roman ship does not arrive tonight, then you should think of another plan and you must do so quickly, Marcus.”

  At Clodovicus’ side, Marcus turned to stare in the direction of the sea.

  “My father,” Marcus murmured, “Corbulo, once outwitted a pack of trained hunting dogs that were on his trail. The Roman ship will come. We will wait.”

  “If there is no sighting by dawn, you must run, Marcus,” Clodovicus replied as he anxiously patted Marcus on the shoulder and then started wading back towards the smugglers.

  Marcus did not look round as Clodovicus moved away. Instead idly, his right hand came to rest on the pommel of his Roman army short sword. Esther had been right. If they were about to be caught he would have to kill her. Grimly he lowered his eyes as he felt the cold, hard steel of the sword. There would be no honour in killing a defenceless, pious woman who had done nothing wrong. There would only be shame and the shame would bite deep and long. It would poison him. Carefully he raised his head and gazed up at the night sky, but the moon and the stars remained hidden from view. Were the Gods testing him? Was this all part of the price that he had to pay for the bargain he’d struck with the Gods? Grunting with sudden contempt Marcus abruptly looked away. Well if this was part of the price he had to pay to keep Fergus alive then he would endure it. He would rise above it all, for his son’s survival was vastly more important than his own.

  Suddenly from out to sea a light appeared and as it did an excited whisper rose in the marshes. Marcus tensed as he stared at the pin prick of light. Quickly the light was joined by a second light and a moment later the two lights began to move up and down.

  “That’s the signal,” one of the smugglers called out softly, “They are here. Raise the answering torch.”

  From the marshes one of the smugglers hastily raised a wooden pole on which hung a solitary oil lamp and swiftly waved it around.

  “Let’s go,” Clodovicus called out in a quiet, excited voice. A moment later the band of smugglers rose from their hiding places amongst the reeds and began racing towards the stony beach. Marcus, Esther and Petrus joined them and as they made it up onto the beach, Marcus could see that Clodovicus and his smugglers were already at the water’s edge, wading into the gentle surf.

  “Look Esther, we’re going to make it,” Petrus whispered in an excited voice, as he adjusted the heavy pack he was carrying.

  Marcus was silent as he paused and crouched on the stony beach and stared into the darkness. A few moments later one of the smugglers gave a quiet warning cry and from the gloom a rowing boat suddenly appeared. Four men were handling the oars and packed in between them were a large pile of sacks and tall ceramic amphorae. With a smooth grinding noise the rowing boat glided up onto the beach and as it did the smugglers swarmed over her.

  Petrus rose to his feet as he was about to join them, but a sharp command from Marcus made him sit back down again. In the surf the Roman ship’s crew and the smugglers were talking in hushed, urgent voices as a multitude of hands swiftly helped to unload the boat’s cargo and bring it up onto the beach.

  It was only when the cargo had finally been unloaded that Clodovicus detached himself from the men working in the surf and came towards Marcus accompanied by his blond slave girl.

  “The captain has agreed to take you to Gaul,” Clodovicus said in a hushed voice as Marcus rose to his feet. “You pay him half now and half on arrival in Armorica or Burdigala whichever you prefer. No questions asked. Have you ever been to sea before Marcus?”

  “I have,” Marcus muttered as a tight grin appeared on his lips, “I have sailed further than you could ever imagine.”

  Clodovicus shook his head, his happy face beaming.

  “I am sure you have. Now go my friend and safe travels to wherever you are heading. I shall not ask you where you are going.”

  “Thank you Clodovicus, I shall remember this favour,” Marcus said in a relieved voice, as he stepped forwards and hastily embraced the retired Batavian veteran.

  “They are going to Rome,” the blond slave girl exclaimed innocently as she turned to look at her master. “Petrus told me whilst we were hiding in the marshes. He told me that Rome is the capital of the world and that it is the largest city ever built. They are going to Rome, Clodovicus.”

  Chapter Nine – Portus Augusti

  Twenty-four days later…

  Marcus stood on the main deck of the merchant ship and gazed in fascination at the harbour that was now less than a mile away. Across the calm azure sea, the fierce Mediterranean sunlight glinted and reflected from the water trying to dazzle him, and there was barely a breath of wind in the air. The square sail hung listlessly from the mast and the gentle slap of the waves against the ship’s hull and the creaking of the ship’s timbers was the only noise. At Marcus’s side, Esther and Petrus, Petrus sporting a black and bruised eye that had nearly fully healed, stood steadying themselves with one hand against the main mast, as they too stared at the magnificent harbour with silent respect.

  “Portus,” one of the merchant sailors said as he noticed them staring at the artificial harbour.

  Marcus and the others did not reply.

  Jutting boldly out into the sea were two elegantly curving moles that enclosed the new and magnificent harbour of Rome, called Portus. They seemed to be reaching out to the small cargo ship as if wishing to pull them into a protective embrace. In the middle of the harbour entrance, set exactly in between the two curving stone moles, a small artificial island had been created on which stood a fine-looking lighthouse. Beyond the moles and inside the harbour of Portus, Marcus could make out dozens of ships of all shapes and sizes. A near constant stream of vessels was entering to the right of the lighthouse whilst other ships were leaving through the gap to the left.

  “Impressive isn’t it,” the sailor chuckled as he caught the look on the faces of the three passengers. “It took them twenty years to construct those moles and the light house. Trust me, this harbour will still be here in a thousand years. But wait until you see the inner hexagonal harbour and the canals that connect Portus to the Tiber. That’s the true genius of this place. Trajan employed ten thousand labourers to build them and it was only completed a couple of years ago. Without Portus, Rome, could never have grown to be the capital of the world. You will find nothing like it in the whole Middle Sea and I have been everywhere.”

  Marcus acknowledged the sailor with a little silent nod but his eyes remained firmly fixed on the harbour. Twenty-four days had passed since he, Petrus and Esther had boarded the smuggler’s ship. Their journey had been uneventful and had gone as planned, a quick night time dash across the sea to the coast of Gaul and Armorica, that had reminded Marcus of the great crossing to Hyperborea, and then onwards along the shore to the Atlantic port of Burdigala. Once on land in Gaul they had ridden on horseback over the excellent roads until they had reached the ancient Greek port of Massalia. From there they had found a cargo ship that was heading to Rome and had boarded it as fee paying passengers. And now they had finally arrived at Portus, less than a day’s walk from the walls of the city of Rome.

  “When we reach the city, I shall find us some accommodation,” Marcus said quietly turning to glare at Petrus. “All I need you to do is to arrange for us to meet your contact, Abraham, the Christian priest. That’s why you are here. Can I trust you to do that?”

  In response Petrus sighed and reached up to lightly touch his bruised eye. “I told you that I will arrange it,” Petr
us replied in an irritated voice, “but I will need a few days. Rome is a big place.”

  “And don’t fuck it up this time,” Marcus growled as he turned back to gaze at the port. “I told you, one more time…”

  “Yes, yes,” Petrus interrupted with a weary shake of his head, “one more fuck up and you will carve a bloody Christian cross in my forehead. Do you have to repeat yourself all the time? I get it. I am not stupid. I will arrange the meeting with Abraham. It will be fine. Everything is going to be all right. There is no need for more violence. Now can we please talk about something else. You are driving me insane.”

  Annoyed, Marcus sucked in his breath but he remained silent as he stared at the stone lighthouse that loomed over the harbour entrance. He had still not been able to fully forgive Petrus for the appalling breaches of security that the boy was prone to. Petrus had been boasting when he’d told the slave girl where they were going. An innocent gesture perhaps but it had infuriated Marcus. Petrus’s tendency to boast was becoming a serious problem. So, once they had gotten settled on the smuggler’s ship the first thing Marcus had done was to give Petrus a black eye for revealing their destination to Clodovicus and his girl. There was only a small chance that Cunitius would ever find out, but it was still a chance, and it had been completely avoidable.

  Suddenly Marcus became aware that there were tears in Esther’s eyes. Quickly she raised her hand to her face to wipe them away and as she did she glanced hastily and apologetically at Marcus.

  “Rome,” she gasped in a quiet, emotional voice, “I always dreamed of returning to the city where my family once lived and died. I am close to them now. I can feel their spirits. They are here.”

  ***

  With a loud splash the merchant ship’s anchor crashed into the water and swiftly vanished from view. Marcus rubbed his right hand across his bearded face and sighed as he turned to gaze at the packed, noisy and busy harbour. Huge grain carriers of over a thousand tons, belonging to the Alexandrian grain fleet, rode at anchor inside the protective embrace of the moles. Further away, close to the entrance to the brand new, inner, hexagonal shaped harbour were the smaller merchantmen of less than two hundred tons; oar-powered galleys; small and fast Liburna, fishing vessels and the odd naval warship. On land the huge stone merchant warehouses lined the waterfront and along the quayside a long line of cranes were unloading the precious cargoes, which were being whisked into the storage houses or onto flat bottomed river barges for transport up the Tiber to Rome. A column of charcoal smoke was rising into the blue sky from a furnace out of sight and the smell of garum, fermented fish sauce, polluted the fresh salty sea air. Out on the water, numerous smaller craft bobbed up down as they moved in between the larger ships and the waterfront. Marcus slowly shook his head in awe. He had never seen anything like Portus before. The harbour was vast, dwarfing the simple port in Londinium and as he gazed at the names of the vessels and studied their pennants flying from the tops of their masts, he had the impression that the whole world had come to sell their goods in the city of Rome.