by R. W. Peake
As I hoped, when Ivomagus relayed this, there was a chuckle from at least Cogidubnus, but I barely noticed it, dismayed at what I was seeing before us.
It is such a small thing, something that one never even thinks about until the moment comes where they are faced with the situation; in this case, it was the fact that my men had never erected their own tents before. Rather than the model of Roman organization and efficiency, there were groups of men bickering and blaming each other for being unable to perform what, to them, appeared to be a simple task, and it was all occurring before the eyes of their Pilus Prior and a handful of Parisii nobility.
“Centurion,” Ivomagus broke the silence as I stared in dismay at the shambles of half-erected tents, or fully erected tents where the flap was facing in the wrong direction, “is there a problem?”
“Yes,” I said tersely, and without thinking, I added, “My men are idiots.” Realizing how that would sound, I hurriedly corrected, “They’re not idiots. It’s just that while they’re working on the camp, it’s normally our slaves who erect the tents, so they’ve never had to do it before.” I went on to explain our organization, and how each section of men had a slave whose responsibility is to lead the mule that carried, among other items, the section tent. As I did so, I was scanning the area, and I finally spotted Saloninus, who was using his turf cutter handle that is favored by Optios, to thrash Aulus Denter of the Third Section, whose tent was one of those that was facing the wrong way, so that the ridge of it ran perpendicular instead of parallel to the tents on either side. I waited until Saloninus was through then called him over, and while I kept my voice low, I made clear my mood.
“I don’t care how you do it, Aulus, but get this fixed, and we better look like a Legion marching camp by the time it’s dark!”
He read me correctly, doing nothing more than stiffening to intente, saluting as he said, “I understand and will obey, Pilus Prior.”
Returning to the Parisii, I answered the questions, all of them from Cogidubnus; yes, every camp was essentially laid out in the same manner, space and terrain permitting. It was all a matter of scale, I explained, and also, whenever possible, the Centuries and Cohorts were always placed in the same spot in the camp, which helped with the speed and efficiency of constructing a camp.
“And,” I finished on a lighthearted note, “if we’re somewhere where our men are allowed out into a town like Petuar, and they have too much to drink, they can find their way to their tent.”
My error was betrayed by Ivomagus’ look of unease, but the most potent sign was that he had not translated my words.
I understood why when he asked, “Centurion, are you asking for my brother to give your men permission to come into Petuar? To drink, and…” His voice trailed off, not wanting to say the word “whore,” I supposed.
Can I possibly fuck this up more? I thought miserably, but I hurried to assure him that I had no intention of doing so. Yes, we were understrength; the First Century had fifty-eight effectives who sailed, and the Second had sixty-three, so it would not be more than a hundred men subtracting those left behind on guard, but unleashing even a section of Legionaries, at the end of a campaign, and who had been through the ordeal we had just undergone, would be close to a guarantee something would happen that would get us annihilated. We had our hands full in Ubiorum with outraged fathers and husbands, and it is a hardened military town, albeit more than three times the size of Petuar now.
“No, Ivomagus,” I assured him. “My men will be confined to camp, with the exception of those who will be necessary to effect the repairs of the ship. Trust me when I say this, and I mean no disrespect. We want to be out of here just as much as your brother and your people want us gone.” I smiled when I said this, and he accepted it in the spirit that it was meant.
Deciding they had seen enough, I turned and began heading for the Porta Praetoria, which we had oriented facing the town. The light was almost gone, but I was pleased to see coming out of the darkness a line of carts, heading our direction.
“Here are the supplies and the firewood that you requested, Centurion,” Ivomagus said this with a tone that alerted me that I should turn and face Cogidubnus. “My brother has upheld his end of the bargain.” He hesitated, then continued, “And, he acknowledges that you have upheld your part by releasing half of my comrades. But, he has a favor to ask of you now.”
“Which is?” I asked warily, not sure I liked where this might head.
“While he knows that you will not be releasing the other half until your work is completed. Or,” he added, perhaps to remind me he had not forgotten, “those men not of our tribe who will be released, he asks that you allow a member of each man’s family to come to visit their loved one aboard the ship.”
I thought for a moment, then I agreed cautiously, “I think that can be arranged. But,” I cautioned, “I can’t allow them to all come at once. And, I would ask that we do this tomorrow when it’s light.”
After a brief exchange, Cogidubnus agreed, then Ivomagus turned to more practical, and more pressing matters.
“What next, Centurion? What do your men need from us to help you with your repairs?”
“That,” I acknowledged, “is a good question. Now that we have seen the dock, I must speak to the crew of the ship and the men who will be helping with the repairs.”
We agreed to meet after dawn the next morning, and I reentered the camp. Thankfully, matters had been resolved for the most part, and more than half the tents already had a fire going in front of it as men began grinding down the grain that had been in the sacks brought from the town. For the first time in several days, things were back to at least a semblance of normal, and I caught the scent of baking bread, which made my stomach turn over on itself. My tent and furnishings were on another ship, but because of our casualties, there were extra tents, and mine was placed in the middle of our small camp, where I headed. Alex emerged from within, and I caught a glimpse of the flickering lamp inside, and per my instructions, he had managed to find enough stools to hold the meeting that I was about to call. The men were done for the day, but there was still much work to do.
“Well? Now that you’ve seen it, will the dock here be big enough?” I addressed this to Cador and Motius, and the former shifted uneasily on the stool, but it was Motius who answered for the both of them.
“Big enough? Yes,” he said, but in a manner that told me there was more coming, although I suspected I knew what it would be about. “But there are other things we need that I did not see.”
“A crane and winch,” I finished for him, and he was clearly relieved, nodding his agreement.
I turned to the only ranker called to this meeting.
“Acisculus,” I asked him bluntly, “can you build it?”
Gnaeus Acisculus was, and is, the Senior Immune for the construction and woodworking group in the Fourth Cohort. He was second in status only to the Chief Immune who marched in the First of the First with Sacrovir, and he is a capable man with, as would turn out to be quite important, a quick mind. He is in his forties, which means he looks ten years older, with weather-beaten features and skin as wrinkled as an old pair of caligae, and he is missing the first two joints of the little finger of his left hand. Now he was sitting head down, and if I had not seen him drawing in his wax tablet, I might have thought that he was nodding off. I felt quite awkward without a desk as I realized I had no real place to put my arms as we waited for Acisculus to make some calculations that I only dimly understand. Quintus Volusenus, like most equestrian fathers, had engaged a tutor for me, and while I had been taught the basics of things like geometry, I would always find my mind wandering ahead to when I would be freed to go out to the Campus Martius and perform the exercises that I truly loved doing.
Finally, Acisculus lifted his head and said, “It all depends on whether I can get the materials, Pilus Prior. I’m going to need several pieces of lumber at least ten feet long, and,” he held up his hands and held them apart, “this wide
on all four sides. But that,” he shook his head, “is not what I’m worried about.” He looked directly at me as he informed me, “Unless these barbarians have an iron cog and ratchet, we’ll have to make one, and that means I’ll need a forge.” He hesitated, and in the instant before he continued, I understood where he was going. “But that means we’ll need an Immune from the metalworkers.”
“And he’s on the ship with the wounded,” I finished for him; he was a man from the First Section of the Second Century.
“Do you think these Parisii have someone with enough skill to do that kind of work?”
“I have no idea,” I answered Saloninus. “But I need to find out.”
We talked for a while longer, with Cador and Motius describing what the repair process to the hull would be like and when we were finished, Acisculus had two tablets that I would take with me to meet with Ivomagus and Cogidubnus in the morning. Finally, it was just Alex and I, and since we did not have our furnishings, he had laid out my sagum on the ground, while he was stretched out on the opposite side of the tent next to the flap. He was using his pack for a pillow, and as always, he was reading by lamplight.
“Are you going to be reading much longer?” I asked, realizing that because this was a ranker’s tent, we did not have the partition to which I was accustomed, and I was anxious to get to sleep, but I knew the light would bother me.
“Just this last paragraph,” he assured me, and he was done quickly enough, but before he blew out the lamp, he rolled over and raised himself on an elbow to look at me, and I could see by his expression that he was troubled.
“What is it?”
“I…I’m not sure,” he said. “But what I can tell you is that I have a…feeling, and it’s not a good one.”
“A feeling? About what?”
“I wish I knew,” he admitted. “But while I can’t tell you why, I can tell you who it is that worries me.” When I only raised an eyebrow, he said, “I think that Cogidubnus might have something in mind.”
I cannot say I was dismissive, but neither was I overly concerned, if only because Alex could not articulate what I should be worried about; it was something I would have cause to remember later.
Chapter Four
Things began well enough. When we presented the list of materials we needed, Ivomagus, on behalf of Cogidubnus, who had gone hunting, quickly agreed to provide them, although when it came to the largest forge of the two belonging to the two smiths in Petuar, when Acisculus inspected it, I could see that he was concerned. So was Ivomagus, judging from his expression, but he did not say anything as we left the place, leading us back in the direction of the river to a small lumberyard a short distance from the docks, where we ran into the first problem.
“There’s nothing here big enough,” Acisculus said flatly. Pointing to a pile, he said, “Granted, those are long enough, but they’re not wide enough.”
I could see that he was right, but I was not yet ready to admit defeat, and I asked him, “You said they’re the right length but not the width.” He nodded, and I walked over to the pile, squatting so I could look more closely. Turning back to him, I asked, “How wide did you say they have to be?” When he held his hands apart, it confirmed what I thought. “It looks like these pieces that are long enough are almost exactly half the size of what we need. Couldn’t we combine them somehow? Maybe nail them together?”
He walked over to join me, squatting down as he frowned, but then shook his head.
“Nails won’t work,” he said, then just as I was about to let out a curse, he said, “but binding them together with iron bands? That,” he rubbed his chin, “could work.”
I tried not to sound smug, saying simply, “I know you’ll figure out a way.”
We spent a bit longer at the lumberyard, as Acisculus pointed out other pieces of timber that would be used in the construction, cross pieces that would connect and support the legs together and that sort of thing. Then we returned to the dock, where he pulled out his tablet and an iron square, pacing off the measurements then marking spots on the wooden dock with chalk. Ivomagus and I watched as he was working, and I began worrying about something, which, without thinking, I expressed in front of Ivomagus.
“I know you said the dock is the right size, Acisculus, but is it sturdy enough to support the weight of the front part of the ship when we lift it out of the water?”
“No,” he answered immediately, and I saw that Ivomagus had not only heard, he was as concerned as I was by the answer. Before I could say anything, however, Acisculus explained, “Which is why we’re not going to bring her up onto the dock.” He walked to the far edge, then pointed at the spot directly next to it, saying, “We need to set her down here, on the riverbank.”
There was only one problem; there was a building already there. I say building; if I am being honest, it was more of a shack, but it apparently was where the ropes, cables, and other equipment for the Parisii version of a boatyard were stored. When I turned to address Ivomagus, I saw that he had immediately understood the problem.
“You need us to tear down this building,” he said, although it was impossible to tell his feelings on the matter.
“I wouldn’t say ‘tear down’,” I tried to be tactful. “We need to…disassemble it in order to bring the ship up out of the water so that we can repair the hole in the hull.”
He did not say anything immediately, but simply stared at the shack.
“You will be able to do that?” he asked finally, and I did not begrudge his doubtful tone, because I had just said it without thinking.
Rather than make an assurance, I asked him to wait, went to Acisculus, who had his back turned to us, and asked him quietly if it was possible.
He did not hesitate, saying almost indignantly, “Pilus Prior, you should have more faith in old Acisculus! Of course I can knock it back together. In fact,” he sniffed, “I can put it back better made than it is now!”
“That,” I clapped him on the back, “is wonderful to hear, and yes, do that.”
I returned to Ivomagus and assured him this was possible, which left us with the most important, and most difficult part of the repair. The first challenge came when I told Ivomagus the length of the mast, and all I received in return was a blank stare. Fairly quickly, we realized why; the Britons do not use our system of measurement, so instead, I had Acisculus pace out the thirty-five feet, of which almost ten of it is below deck since, as I learned, it is crucial to providing ballast, and most importantly, making it more difficult for a ship to capsize since having a mast that is only attached to the upper deck increases the top-heaviness.
Even before Acisculus stopped at the proper spot on the dock, I saw trouble in the way in which Ivomagus was shifting about, but he asked, “And how big around must it be?”
In answer, to my surprise and mild discomfort, Acisculus pointed down and indicated my thigh, saying, “It should be as big around as the Pilus Prior’s thigh, but ideally, it will taper some towards the top. Not,” he added, “much. But some. And it should be pine, but it doesn’t have to be. As long as it isn’t too heavy a wood, like oak.”
Ivomagus said nothing for a long span, which prompted me to ask, somewhat impatiently, “Is this going to be a problem, Ivomagus?”
“No,” he answered, albeit obviously reluctantly. “There is a forest where such trees exist in our lands. But,” he took a breath before finishing, “it is more than three days’ ride from here.”
“Pluto’s cock,” I groaned as, not for the first time, the thought entered my mind that perhaps the gods did not want us to return home. Then, the deeper meaning of his words hit me. “When you say three days’ ride, Ivomagus, are you talking about on horseback?”
“Yes.” He sounded surprised, which I could understand. “I mean, a man on horseback must ride for the better part of three days.”
“Which means that it will take longer with a wagon.” I said this aloud, which prompted Acisculus to clear his throat in
a manner that alerted me.
“Pilus Prior, as we’ve been walking around town, I’ve been looking around, and I noticed something.”
“Oh?” I knew I was not going to like this. “And what did you notice?”
Instead of addressing me, he turned to Ivomagus and asked, “Lord, the wagons I see here in Petuar, are they the standard size used by your people?”
“Standard size?” Ivomagus frowned. “I do not understand.”
I did, which was why it was me who said, “What he’s asking is whether you have wagons larger than the ones we’ve seen.”
“Ah.” His face cleared, but then the frown returned. “I am afraid not. At least,” he held up a hand, “not significantly larger. Why do you ask this?”
By the time Ivomagus asked this question, my mind had caught up, and I was recalling how we had transported the trees that became the masts for our part of the fleet. Essentially, we used two wagons, which were fastened together with long planks on either side, so that in appearance, it looked as if the wagons were separated, while the tail end of the second wagon had the boards removed so the end of the trees could protrude a few feet. I know other methods are used; when there is a short distance to cover, they are put on a sledge and simply dragged to where they need to go, but our return from the forest where we found the appropriate lumber had been a two-day return march. And now I was being told that while we might be able to reach this forest in three days, there was no way that we could haul that mast back in the same amount of time. I also recalled how cumbersome an affair such an arrangement is; not only does it require at least double the number of animals, but such seemingly simple things like turning because of an obstacle or sharp bend in the road took planning. In short, it was a fucking nightmare, and that would have been even if the Parisii had wagons sturdy enough for the job. Now, as we were learning, that was not the case.
It was with this in mind that I asked, more out of a need to say something than any hope, “And this forest you speak of, that’s the nearest spot where we can find what we need?”