by R. W. Peake
Ivomagus was once again correct; when we rowed upriver and the village came within sight, we could see that there were far more than two hundred people standing on the riverbank next to the single wooden dock that, as we got closer, became more ramshackle, and even I could see there was no way that it could accommodate a ship the size of ours. Nevertheless, this was a secondary consideration as far as I was concerned; my focus was on what I estimated to be about four hundred people gathered there, and of those, how many were warriors. I had ordered both Centuries to don their segmentata and had the First Century abovedeck, where they lined both sides, with their shields grounded on the deck in front of them. This was definitely not what Cador or Motius had in mind, and they argued vociferously that this would be viewed as an overt threat by Rome on the Parisii, but I was unmoved, and said as much.
“Good,” I said flatly. “If they see what they’re up against, then maybe they’ll think twice if they think they can attack us.”
Understanding that in this I would not change my mind, Ivomagus was brought up on deck, and he was escorted to the bow of the ship as we closed the final couple of furlongs, the Hortator beating a very slow rhythm that meant the slaves would stroke, then wait a beat before repeating, giving us just enough speed to maneuver but not enough to go smashing into their flimsy dock. I was slightly relieved to see that, judging by appearance, there were only about a hundred warriors in this crowd, although I supposed there could have been more hidden away in the cluster of huts that, to the eye, did not appear all that different from what one would find in Germania or Gaul, with wattle and daub walls and thatched roofs. The civilians seemed to be evenly divided between men and women, and once we were close enough to start seeing their expressions, my sense was that they were worried, but also curious.
Just when we got about a hundred paces from the dock, there was a sudden commotion, originating on the far side of the village, as people who had been standing in the muddy strip that intersected with the dock that served as the one street leapt to either side. Once they cleared the path, only then could we see the cause, and it created a bit of a stir among the men as three chariots came thundering down the street, flinging mud in both directions.
“Chariots?” Saloninus exclaimed. “These bastards use chariots?”
He was standing next to me on the rear deck, and I experienced a momentary temptation to talk about the British chariots and the skill with which the tribes of Britannia could handle them, having read about this in the Prefect’s account, but I managed to refrain from showing off a bit.
Instead, all I said was, “Apparently so.”
Almost as if the driver had read my thoughts, the leading chariot appeared as if he intended to gallop straight down the street and off the end of the dock into the river, but with what I can only guess was perhaps a half-dozen paces to spare, he hauled on the reins, the horses responding immediately, and with a tremendous shower of mud, slid to a stop so that the front hooves of the pair of horses were just barely touching the dock. Almost as impressive was the manner in which the other two fanned out, and while they both did the same thing on either side, their chariots stopped so that they were both a half-length behind, and I was certain this was by design, as a way to demonstrate to us their prowess.
“Well,” I told Saloninus, “I better go forward and see whether we’re going to be fighting or not.”
I dropped down to the main deck, and as I made my way forward, I called out, “All right, you bastards! Don’t do anything stupid that might make these savages think we’re here to start trouble. But,” I had reached the steep stairs to the upper deck at the bow, so I called over my shoulder, “show them what a fucking Legion of Rome looks like!”
There was a ragged chorus that was part acknowledgment and part growled promise, but by the time I walked up to the prow, Ivomagus was already talking to the barbarian I assumed was the lord of this area. Obviously, I could not understand what was being said, yet to my eyes, it looked as if the lord, who turned out to have driven his own chariot and was still standing on it, was not convinced about something. However, I was not prepared for what it was, nor I suspect were Cador or Motius. Ivomagus, without any reason I could see, suddenly let out a shout of frustration and turned away from the dock to face us.
“What is it?” I asked.
Ivomagus shook his head, and to my eyes, appeared embarrassed, which was explained when he muttered, “The dog doesn’t believe I am who I say I am. He thinks I’m an imposter, or,” he added more ominously, “a traitor who is attempting to lull him into allowing us to land. And,” he said accusingly to me, “I can see why he would think as much, given your men are armed and ready to fight!”
Suddenly, my decision did not appear quite as wise, but I was not going to dwell on it or allow the other three to do so, and I asked bluntly, “So, how do we solve it? And,” the thought suddenly occurred to me, “are you who you say you are, Ivomagus?”
“I am!” he shot back angrily, but then he softened somewhat as he added, “but this man has not seen me since I was barely a teenager. And,” he glanced down at himself, “I did not look anything like this.”
When put that way, I could see why the man was reluctant, but that did not solve the problem. I knew that we could land if we needed to, and I also was certain that the men of both Centuries would love to have an outlet for their anger and frustration at their plight. Of course, that would completely destroy any chance of being resupplied, let alone repairing the mast.
“How far away is your brother?” I asked.
“If he’s at Danum, which is our capital city, he could be here by nightfall,” he answered. “But my brother does not like to stay in one place very long.”
I did not want to ask, but I could not stop myself, “And if he’s at the point farthest away from here?”
“Three days,” he answered grimly. “That’s if he’s willing to kill his horses. And,” he added with some heavy humor, “my brother loves his horses.”
And, I thought suddenly, how much does your brother love you? It took an effort on my part not to groan aloud as my mind raced forward with this thought. One thing we have learned from the various barbarian tribes that Rome deals with is that the relationships and connections with members of the nobility could compete with our patricians when it comes to complexity and double dealing. One only had to look at Arminius and his brother; they hated each other, and here was the brother of this king of the Parisii, and it had never occurred to me to at least try and find out whether Ivomagus would be welcomed back as a long-lost brother or viewed as a potential usurper.
Keeping those thoughts from being read on my face, I said to the Parisii, “You need to ask him to send a messenger to your brother and ask him to come as quickly as possible.” Suddenly, Ivomagus looked hesitant and a bit concerned, which made my stomach flip over in knots; was my suspicion about to be confirmed? “What is it?” I demanded. “Why are you hesitating like that?”
For a moment, I thought he would not answer, but time was passing, and our situation was not getting any better by delay.
“It is just that,” he spoke reluctantly, “the last words my brother and I had were not…happy.”
“Not happy?” I snapped. “What the fuck does that mean, Ivomagus?”
“It is just that the raid that I was leading when I was captured,” he said unhappily, “he had forbidden me to go on.”
“Pluto’s balls,” it was all I could do to keep from roaring in frustration and a fair amount of anger; my one consolation was that Cador and Motius were clearly of the same mind, although their oaths were in their tongue and not mine. We stood there in silence for a span of heartbeats, then I decided, “Well, hopefully, he’s forgiven you enough to come running, because if he doesn’t, my men are going to want to tear you to pieces. They won’t,” I assured him, but his look of relief was short-lived, “but only because I’ll kill you myself before they can. Now,” I thrust my arm in the general dire
ction of the dock, “for all of our sakes, Ivomagus, for my men and for yours, convince this lord to send for your brother.”
Ivomagus obeyed readily enough, but before he called back to the lord, he asked, “What if he does not come, Centurion?”
“Then we’re all fucked,” I told him calmly.
Chapter Three
Since I am dictating this after the event, obviously we survived, because, thank the gods, it turned out that Cogidubnus loved his brother. And, even better for us, he was actually even closer to the village than the capital Danum when Ivomagus made his request, because he had been alerted in the night by a pair of those eyes that we did not see watching us who rode immediately for the king, who in turn was actually in his palace at the capital despite Ivomagus’ fears. This was certainly good news; what was not as good was that, when he came, he brought all five hundred men of his personal bodyguard, although two hundred of them were spearmen who arrived well after the king. We spent this time anchored, having backed out into the river to put us out of missile range, and while I allowed the men to relax, I kept them in their armor. The civilian crowd gradually dispersed, while the members of the local lord’s bodyguard remained, but were lounging around much like my men. It was tense for a bit, but then the boredom set in, and I spent the time with my officers talking over how we should respond depending on what the Parisii did.
“We’re only going to defend ourselves, and that’s only if there’s a real threat, and I mean a real threat,” I told them sternly. “If someone throws cac at us, we don’t respond. We can’t afford to make these people our enemies, not if we want to get home. So we make it clear that we have no intention on hurting any of these savages.”
They did not like it, but I did not expect them to. I expected them to obey and make sure the men did as well, which was why I repeated the same message to both Centuries. What I did not tell them was why I was so adamant, but this was another moment where my father’s experience helped me, because I recalled from his account of the troubles that arose in Pannonia when the men of the Legions overreacted, and that had happened when they had the rest of their Legion, and the other Legions of that army to support them. We were far from home, all alone, and while we were not starving yet, we were close; the water had done a great deal to restore our spirits, but the gnawing hunger was only intensifying.
We were alerted that something was happening by the thin shout that drifted across the water to us, and it brought everyone scrambling to their feet, including me. This time, we saw them coming because of the dust cloud that was tracking their progress from the south, heading directly for the village and the river, but if we thought three chariots and twenty mounted men made for an impressive sight, ten of the former and what Saloninus counted was at least a hundred of the latter was not just impressive, it was daunting. A glance at my men lining the side of the ship, where we had them arrayed in close order so that they were shoulder to shoulder, and the manner in which they were suddenly shuffling about and talking to each other quietly told me more of their state of mind than if I had asked, but glancing over their shoulders where Saloninus, Columella, and the Tesseraurii from both Centuries were prowling, I could see they were of a similar mind as the rankers. They’re wondering if they’re going to have to fight for food, I thought; I confess, the thought had crossed my mind as well.
The minor lord had naturally driven his chariot out of his spot, as had the other two, and this time, the lord’s bodyguard lined both sides of the street in a wide enough swathe to create a passage that enabled what I was certain was Cogidubnus’ chariot, which was a bit wider than the first nobleman’s, to rush down the street. Another difference was that Cogidubnus was not driving the chariot; he was standing behind the man driving, although he was not even bothering to hold on to the wicker sides. Even if he had not been wearing a crown, which from where I stood looked like nothing more than a circlet of what appeared to be hammered iron with a series of points, I would have recognized him by his bearing the same way I had recognized Ivomagus.
“Seeing those chariots makes me think of reading the Prefect’s account.”
I whirled about in surprise; Alex has a bad habit of sneaking up on me, and I growled, “Your Greek blood makes you sneaky.”
“You’ve already used that a time or two. Maybe you should find something else,” he replied blandly, but when I glared at him, it was in mock anger.
“Oh, go piss on your boots. But,” I turned back to see the entourage thundering into the open space that surrounded the dock, which made the villagers, who had returned with word that their king was approaching, essentially flee for their lives to avoid being run down, “you’re right. I was thinking the same thing. What was it?” I tried to think, then snapped my fingers. “They hop from the platform of the chariot onto the back of the horses?”
“That’s it,” Alex agreed, then said wistfully, “I’d really love to see that.”
Seeing that Cogidubnus’ chariot was about to slide to a stop, I began moving to go back to the bow, but I did say over my shoulder, “So would I. Maybe I can arrange something.”
“What do you think, Pilus Prior? Are we going to have to fight these bastards to get what we need?”
It was a valid question, and one I was concerned about, but I really did not want to pause to answer the question from a ranker in the Third Section of my Century. However, I also saw that all of his tentmates and the men of the other Sections were not trying to hide the fact that they were paying attention.
“I hope not, Galba,” I answered honestly, biting back the urge to tell the ranker that tarrying here on the deck answering questions I did not know the answer to was not helping. “But I’m going to do everything I can to make sure we don’t have to.” I had resumed moving between the ranks, then I stopped to add, “But one thing I will promise you. We’re going to get fed one way or another, and if it means killing these fucking savages to do it, that’s what we’re going to do.”
Fortunately, the men did not make their normal kind of demonstration whenever an officer teased them with the idea of combat, but I took heart from their low-throated approval. Which, naturally, caught the attention of Ivomagus and the two seamen who were back in their spots at the bow.
“What was that about?” Motius asked, but I only shook my head, preferring to address Ivomagus instead.
“I’m assuming that’s your brother.” He nodded, and I will say that he looked like he wanted to throw up, which did not make me feel better, but it took a few heartbeats for me to realize that his turning his back to the dock so his brother could not see his face was no accident. While I understood his hesitance, it did not mean I sympathized, and I snapped, “Turn around and face your brother, Ivomagus. Stop wasting our time.”
I expected this to make him angry, not that I cared; if anything, he looked like a scolded child, but he did as I said as I stepped up to stand next to him where I could see Cogidubnus’ face. We were certainly within hailing distance, but it was a bit difficult to read facial expressions, and there was a slight delay as the Parisii king hopped off the platform of the chariot to stride out onto the wooden dock, just in front of the horses. When he strode forward, I saw that he appeared to be in his late thirties, perhaps a decade older than I was, with long, flowing mustaches of a slightly darker color than his chestnut hair. He wore a torq around his neck, which was partially obscured by the clasp of the cloak around his shoulders, which was a deep green in color. What I found unusual was his tunic, which was not one color, but a pattern of a lighter green against the neutral whitish color of his tunic. The pattern was geometric, nothing more than green stripes that ran both vertically and horizontally to form squares of white, and I have no real idea why it struck me; perhaps it was just different. In fact, these Parisii on the whole were more colorfully dressed than the German tribes, yet despite these differences, it was easy to see the similarity between the two, as with the Gallic tribes. Cogidubnus was taller, and I had the unea
sy feeling he might have been taller than I am, which was later confirmed, but although his build was hidden by his clothing, I could see he was not as broad across the shoulders as I was, which made me feel better. What was most striking, however, was his reaction when Ivomagus finally did turn and face the dock. Any doubt about Ivomagus’ identity was erased by the manner in which Cogidubnus dropped to his knees, extended his arms towards us, and shouting something, of which I could only recognize “Ivomagus.” There was a moment where the Parisii king’s voice was the only sound, but it only lasted a flicker of a moment because the people witnessing this moment suddenly erupted in cheers. Even more telling was Ivomagus’ reaction, the man also dropping to his knees and covering his face with his hands as his shoulder wracked with sobs of what I can only assume was relief and happiness that, at last, his ordeal might be over. I confess I was moved, and a quick glance at the pair of seamen told me they were no less affected, despite the knowledge that they were financially ruined.
I was determined to be the one with a clear head, and as I helped Ivomagus to his feet, I told Cador and Motius, “Let’s hold off on the celebration. The next step is that we row over in your small boat to the dock.”
“Both of us?” Motius asked, and I realized quickly enough that it was a valid question.
“No. We’re going to need someone capable of handling this ship in the event things go wrong. So,” I pointed at Motius, “you’re going with us.”
I could see that the fact that Cador did not protest was not lost on Motius; nevertheless, the three of us descended to the lower deck, Motius running ahead to alert the crewmen to begin unlashing the small boat that was lashed to the rear of the Brizo. When I say it was small, that is what I mean; with a crewman handling the single pair of oars, while we could have fit one more man than the four of us, it would have been a tight fit. Worst of all, at least from my perspective, was that I could not stand up without rocking it excessively, so I had to suffer the indignity of sitting on the bench next to Ivomagus, and once we were a sufficient distance away, his stench was no longer covered by the collective stink of a trireme crammed full of filthy slaves and almost as filthy Legionaries, and I tried to stifle my gagging, but I was unsuccessful. Thankfully, Ivomagus was more amused than anything.