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

by William Kelso

  Suddenly he gasped loudly in surprise and took an involuntary step forwards across the deck. Alarmed, Petrus and Esther turned in his direction but Marcus ignored them. His eyes were fixed on a vessel at anchor beside the quayside of the inner harbour and as he stared at the ship, the frown on his face was slowly replaced by a delighted grin.

  “What is it?” Petrus called out.

  “That ship over there,” Marcus said with a strange growing excitement in his voice as he pointed at a small battered looking merchant vessel, “that’s the Hermes. It’s the fucking Hermes! That’s the ship that took me across the ocean to Hyperborea. Of course, I should have known that Alexandros, would be here. He told me he was going to Rome. How could I have forgotten that.”

  For a long moment, Marcus gazed at the Hermes with a fond expression, lost in a hundred memories. Then sharply he turned towards his two companions.

  “Before we head into Rome I must say hello to an old friend.”

  ***

  The Hermes looked in a bad state of disrepair as the little lighter carrying Marcus, Petrus and Esther approached. Marcus sat at the front of the tender and fondly gazed up at the Hermes’s battered hull, worn timbers and improvised mast. The ship’s red sail had been furled and the eye painted onto her hull was barely visible. He could see no one up on deck and the door to the deck-house at the stern of the ship was shut. The ship looked deserted. Had something happened to Alexandros and his family? Had they sold the Hermes? Shifting his gaze to the roof of the deckhouse, Marcus’s gaze lingered on the helm and the two massive steering oars. How many freezing cold and drenched nights and days had he spent up there guiding the Hermes across the vast, endless expanse of ocean without a single sighting of land? With a sigh, he turned to look up at the proud pennant flying from the top of the mast and depicting the face of Hermes, the messenger of the Gods.

  “Alexandros, Alexandros, are you there?” Marcus cried out in a loud voice, as unsteadily he rose to his feet and reached out to grasp hold of the wooden hull of the Hermes.

  On board the Hermes there was no reply. Marcus called out again but once more his cry was met by silence from aboard the small merchant vessel.

  “Doesn’t look like your friend is home,” Petrus said, sitting behind Marcus in the small lighter. “Come on, we should head into Rome before it grows dark.”

  “Shut up,” Marcus snapped with sudden emotion in his voice, “I said that I would say hello to an old friend and that is what we are going to do.”

  “But if they are not here…,” Petrus exclaimed, hunching his shoulders and raising his exasperated hands in the air.

  “Marcus, is that you,” a young man’s voice said suddenly from close by. Startled, Marcus turned and looked up straight into Jodoc’s face. The young man was standing on the deck looking down at him with a calm but perplexed expression.

  “Jodoc,” Marcus said, his voice tightening in surprise, “yes it’s me. Can we come aboard?”

  On board the Hermes Jodoc remained silent as he gazed at Marcus and as the awkward silence lengthened, Marcus felt a sudden unease. In his excitement at looking forward to seeing Alexandros again he had forgotten about Jodoc. He had forgotten about the bitterness and conflict that had once existed between him and the son of the druid Caradoc. Jodoc had blamed him for his father’s death and although they had been somewhat reconciled since, Marcus was not entirely sure whether Jodoc had truly moved on.

  “Well this is a surprise,” Jodoc said as a weary, unhappy and resigned look appeared on his face and he folded his arms across his chest. “I hadn’t expected to see you again. But life is shit so I suppose letting you come aboard can’t make things any worse. If you want to know where Alexandros is, he is inside the cabin sleeping off his hangover. The old man does nothing but drink himself silly these days and the women are ashore, thank the Gods. My wife and I quarrel all the time and her mother always takes her side. My child screams all night and prevents us from getting any sleep. So, like I said, life is shit. Welcome on board. What are you doing here anyway?”

  The question seemed to catch Marcus off guard and for a moment he hesitated.

  “We are here on business,” Marcus replied evasively as he looked away. “I recognised the Hermes’s pennant in the harbour. Thought it would be good to come by and say hello.”

  “Really,” Jodoc said with an unconvinced voice as he turned to glance curiously at Petrus and Esther sitting in the small tender. “Business, right.”

  ***

  “Juno’s arse, Marcus,” Alexandros bellowed in a loud disbelieving voice as he staggered blearily to his feet and raised a hand to his head. With a broad grin, Marcus stepped forwards and embraced the big Greek captain. Alexandros stank heavily of stale wine and sweat and he seemed to have put on some weight.

  “Good to see you again old friend,” Marcus said as he released the big man and stepped back to examine Alexandros.

  In response Alexandros groaned, blinked and adjusted the black eye patch over one of his eyes. Then he peered at Marcus and slowly a wide smile spread across his lips.

  “Shit, it really is you,” the Greek captain exclaimed. “For a moment, I thought that I was dreaming. Ah, my head hurts.”

  “You look like shit and I see you have started drinking again,” Marcus said with a gentle disapproving shake of his head.

  “Yes well,” Alexandros sighed and cast a quick glance at Jodoc who was leaning against the doorway into the small deck house. “What else is there to do? No one wants to hire the Hermes for any cargo runs. They don’t trust the old girl to make it to the next port. We have been stuck here in Portus for months now. Nothing to do but drink and listen to that young whelp over there argue with my daughter.”

  “Calista is just as stubborn as her father,” Jodoc retorted sourly before abruptly turning on his heels and vanishing out onto the deck.

  Marcus watched the young man go. Then slowly he turned back to Alexandros.

  “What about the meeting with the Empress, Pompeia Plotina, Trajan’s wife,” Marcus said quietly, “Did you ever manage to get an audience and tell her about our journey across the ocean to Hyperborea?”

  “The Augusta,” Alexandros replied wearily closing his good eye and groping for a jug of water on the deck, “Trajan has given her a new title. She is the Augusta now. But did I get an audience? Fat chance. I tried Marcus, I tried very hard but I never even got within a half a mile of her. Her officials refused all requests for an audience. And now they have forbidden me from asking again. They threatened to have me thrown to the dogs if I showed my face again at the Imperial Palace.”

  Alexandros paused to pour the entire contents of the jug over his head. And as he stood forlornly in the middle of the small deck house with the water dripping from his beard, black eye patch and clothes, he shook his head in a depressed gesture.

  “No one believes me, Marcus,” he sighed, “No one believes me when I tell them about the crossing of the ocean and what we saw and witnessed. They all think that I am mad. They don’t take me seriously. In the taverns, they have started to make fun of me.”

  Annoyed, Alexandros clenched his hand into a fist as he turned to stare at Marcus, passion suddenly blazing from his one good eye.

  “But fuck them, fuck the Augusta too. They were not there with us. Remember that storm Marcus, the one that split the mast and sent poor Caradoc overboard. Remember those icebergs; remember those great white bears and the natives with their bone weapons. I think about Hyperborea all the time. But a fat lot of good it does me.”

  Marcus nodded as he lowered his eyes to the ground. “So, what will you do now?” he muttered.

  “Ah, I don’t know,” Alexandros replied with a depressed groan. “If the Augusta will not listen to what I have to say, then I shall have to find another important person who will. But who is prepared to listen to me and more importantly believe me? I don’t know any important people in Rome.”

  “You and your family are welcome to
come and live on my farm on Vectis,” Marcus said. “We have a good life there.”

  But Alexandros quickly raised his hand in the air as a little grateful smile appeared on his lips.

  “Thank you,” Alexandros replied hastily. “That is a kind offer but I belong at sea. Farming would be no life for me or my family. We are sailors. It’s in our blood and like fish we need the water. I shall die at sea and be buried at sea and I will be happy with such an end.”

  Alexandros sighed. “Don’t worry about me Marcus, my luck will change eventually, it always does, like the wind and the seasons. I just need to be patient.”

  Marcus grunted and turned to look around the deck cabin. “You are right, your luck will change if you help it to change,” he muttered. “Nothing is given for free in this life and you must earn your good fortune. I have kept the agreement we made, not to mention a word of our journey to Hyperborea until you have managed to get an audience with someone who matters. You just need to up your game, my friend. Stop drinking, smarten yourself up and befriend the right connections.”

  Marcus turned to face Alexandros. “I am going to be in Rome for a few days on business. We will be taking lodgings in the city but I will make sure that I come to say goodbye before we return home to Vectis. And if I get the chance I shall try and arrange for an audience with the Augusta. Rome deserves to know about our journey across the ocean.”

  Alexandros nodded and stepped towards Marcus and grasped him affectionately by the shoulder.

  “It is good to see you again Marcus,” the Greek captain exclaimed warmly. “I would like that. Just a word of warning if you are travelling into Rome. There have been riots in the city in the past few days caused by disruption to the Egyptian grain supply. Several people were killed in the last riot. Emperor Trajan has left Rome for his Dacian war and the Prefect in charge of the city’s grain supply has made a mess of things. The populace doesn’t like it when they are denied their free bread handouts. So be careful Marcus. The mob doesn’t care who you are when they are out to vent their frustration.”

  Marcus stepped out of the cabin and into the bright daylight and as he did, his face darkened as he caught sight of Jodoc talking with Petrus and Esther.

  “We are leaving,” Marcus called out in a loud voice. “Let’s go.”

  As he clambered over the side of the Hermes and into the small transport Marcus caught Jodoc watching him with a sly, thoughtful expression.

  “I hope you kept your mouth shut about the real reason why we are here in Rome,” Marcus hissed turning to Petrus as the tender started to pull away from the Hermes.

  ***

  Trajan’s brand new inner harbour was a triumph of engineering. As Marcus led his two companions along the crowded and noisy quays towards the canal that connected Portus to the Tiber, he kept glancing at the hexagonal shape of the basin and the row upon row or river barges and ships that lined the quaysides. Some of the barges were heavily laden with timber, others with rocks, amphorae, gravel, marble and one was carrying several gigantic stone-carved columns. Marcus raised his eyebrows as his eyes feasted on the activity around him. It was clear that Portus had become far more important than Rome’s other and original harbour, Ostia, but at what cost? The new harbour and connecting canals must have cost a fortune to construct. As he looked around him, Marcus suddenly became aware of angry shouts coming from down an alley. Abruptly he paused in the street. A group of children no older than twelve were taunting and abusing a cripple with no legs. The man was angrily trying to defend himself but the children were fearless and were taking it in turns to hit the man with wooden sticks, laughing as they did.

  “Have some respect, I served in the legions,” the old cripple screamed at the children but they took no notice.

  Marcus’s eyes narrowed angrily and with a few strides he crossed the street, roughly grabbed two of the kids by their necks and sent them tumbling into the dust.

  “Get out of here,” Marcus roared, his face contorted with rage as he rounded on the remaining members of the gang. “Have you no shame, you cowards!”

  Startled, the children fled away down the alley and on the ground the cripple groaned as he watched them go.

  “Thank you, Sir,” the old man, who looked around fifty, murmured squinting up into the sunlight as he looked up at Marcus. “That wretched gang do this every day.”

  “You are a veteran?” Marcus replied gesturing at the stumps of the man’s legs.

  “I am,” the man replied with a hint of pride. “First Italica Legion, Sir, until some fucking Roxolani raiders cut my legs off. I have been begging ever since my discharge Sir. But those children think I am some kind of animal that they can play with.”

  Marcus turned to stare down the alley along which the gang had fled. Then he fished for something in his pocket and produced a silver coin. Crouching down he placed the coin in the cripple’s hand.

  “For your misfortune,” Marcus muttered, “I have never been to Rome before but tell me how come the Emperor Trajan allows his veterans to be treated in such a fashion? It’s a disgrace that men who have served their country should end up begging on the streets.”

  On the ground the beggar was staring at the silver coin. Then hastily he slipped it into his pocket and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed the exchange.

  “Bless you Sir,” the man murmured, “It is just the way things are. There are hundreds of us veterans begging in the streets of the city. Fortune looks the other way. Most of the men I know have mental problems. They are not right in the head if you know what I mean Sir.”

  Marcus sighed and looked away. Then he rose to his feet.

  “Did you serve Sir?” the veteran called out, squinting as he looked up at Marcus.

  “I did,” Marcus replied. “Twenty-three years in the 2nd Batavian Cohort. I fought at the battle of Mons Graupius in Caledonia with Governor Agricola.”

  “Ah,” the cripple nodded, “Mons Graupius, Caledonia. You have come from the north then. Good man. I have heard about the Batavian Cohorts. They have a worthy reputation as did General Agricola.”

  Marcus acknowledged the veteran with a little silent hand gesture and was about to walk away but the cripple hastily caught him by his leg.

  “A good deed deserves a good deed in return,” the veteran exclaimed quickly. “I may have no legs but I have not lost my honour, Sir. If you are new to Rome, you should know that some of your boys have set up home in the Subura. It’s a poor shit hole of a district within the city walls, nothing but whores, cheap wine shops and badly constructed insulae, apartment buildings, but if you ever need any help go to the tavern called the Last Truffle and ask for Valentian. Tell him that Honorius sends him a generous customer.”

  Chapter Ten – The Capital of the World

  The walls of the city of Rome were like nothing Marcus had ever seen before. Stunned into silence he, Petrus and Esther came to a halt at the side of the road and gazed across the river at the huge and mighty fortifications, thirty feet high, that ran along the top of the Aventine hill. It was growing dark, but despite the fading light the city was clearly visible and it was enormous. Truly gigantic; like a fat man’s belly. Rome seemed to have long ago spilt over its ancient boundaries and expanded beyond the city walls, for the suburbs, endless rows of buildings, streets, multi-storeyed insulae, apartment blocks and industrial buildings stretched away in every direction, covering the ground in brick, mortar, stone and concrete. And over it all hung the faint whiff of a pungent, unpleasant smell. On the tow-path beside the green, placid waters of the Tiber, a team of oxen plodded dutifully along, dragging a heavily laden river barge upstream towards Portus Tiberinus, Rome’s river port. Slowly Marcus turned to study the quays and waterfront up ahead. The river harbour, hemmed in to the west by the ridge of the Janiculum and to the east by the vast urban sprawl of Rome, had been squashed into a small, flattish, congested and low lying area that seemed prone to flooding. He could see that efforts had been made to raise
the embankments. Dozens of barges and small ships lay moored up against the embankments on either side of the Tiber and even now the place was a noisy hive of activity. Labourers, horses, mules and cranes were all working feverishly to help unload cargoes and transport them into the rows of huge, vaulted concrete storerooms that were packed tightly into the flat, low lying land on the eastern bank. The Portus Tiberinus and the Emporium to the south of it looked congested and Marcus could see why. There simply wasn’t any more space left for the river port to expand. All the available space had already been taken. Beyond the quays, his eyes came to rest on a stone bridge that spanned the river, it’s elegant stone arches boldly planted into the middle of the current; the fine Roman stone work proudly diverting the river around them.

  “It’s big,” Petrus muttered as he stared across the river at the city.

  “I think that must be the Aemilian bridge over there,” Marcus replied gesturing at the stone bridge in the distance. “We will cross the river and enter Rome there. Once in the city stay close to me and watch your belongings. This place reeks of money and where there is money there will be crime.”