by R. W. Peake
Ivomagus hesitated again, but he answered, “No, it is not.”
Then why in Hades did you talk about this fucking forest three days away?...was what I said in my head.
Aloud, I asked, “And where is this closer forest?”
He did not answer, verbally anyway. Instead, he pivoted a bit before lifting his arm and pointing in the direction, straight across the river.
“So our choices,” I summarized to the officers of my command, Cador and Motius, “are to travel overland to the west to the farthest edge of Parisii lands, to find a new mast. Or,” I took a breath, “sneak across the river into the Brigantes’ lands, where Ivomagus says there is a forest with pine trees and other varieties about three miles from the river.”
As I expected, this caused a stir, the others murmuring something, and it was Saloninus who asked me, “How does Ivomagus know about this forest and how to find it?”
It was a good question, but I did have the answer. “Because Cogidubnus and Ivomagus’ father, who was the previous king, had claimed a strip of land about ten miles deep from the river, and they were treated as Parisii lands until fairly recently, when the Brigantes took them back.”
This, I knew, was something my men would understand; the boundaries between tribes in Germania are constantly shifting, the only requirement being that the conqueror is strong enough to maintain control of the ground he seized in the name of his people. And, I was not surprised to see, this clearly held true for Britannia. As I suspected would be the case, this was accepted by the others, including Cador and Motius; I presumed that, being from Gaul, they were as aware of this native practice as we Romans were.
“All right,” Saloninus continued, tacitly accepting this explanation. “What do we do?”
The discussion that ensued lasted well more than a third part of a watch, but when I finally called an end to it, we had still not come up with a plan. In terms of the problem, it was fairly straightforward; we had to cross the river, march to this forest, with one of the Parisii as a guide, survey the forest, then find one, or preferably two trees, in the event that one of them proved unsuitable. As both the seamen continually stressed, seeing a straight tree in a forest and thinking it will be a good mast is a far cry from it actually being suitable. Saloninus was for the straightforward approach.
“We take the Brizo, row it across the river, march both Centuries to this forest, and while they stand watch, we get what we need. Then we use the draft animals that the Parisii will have to supply, and use a sledge to drag it back, making sure that they’re protected. Once back to the river, we attach a cable to the ship, and row back across to Petuar, drag the trees out of the water, and get to work.”
As it went, it was a sound plan, and one that I would have immediately approved; if, that is, I had not already broached this as a possibility to Ivomagus, when we had learned of our latest dilemma.
“Centurion Pullus,” Ivomagus had not hesitated, and his tone was emphatic, “if you do that, you will be starting a war between my tribe and the Brigantes.”
“Why?” I had protested. “All we need from you is a guide and some draft animals. The rest is all Roman.”
“And,” he had countered quietly, “what do you think the Brigantes will do? Even if they cannot assemble a warband large enough to challenge you, they will see you taking their timber, then returning here…to Petuar.” He shook his head, “And that would give the Brigantes the excuse they have been looking for.”
I determined very quickly that I had no argument to counter this, so I did not try, which was why I told him, “I’ll meet with my officers, and we’ll come up with something.”
But now we were sitting in my tent, and after a substantial amount of time, still no closer to an answer than when we had started. We even discussed, briefly, simply risking crossing back to Gaul without a mast, but both Cador and Motius, while not outright forbidding it, did an adequate job of describing the risks and most likely outcome if we ventured out into the channel.
“That channel acts like a funnel for the storms that come from the Mare Germania,” Motius had explained. “The weather we encountered during the two days’ row here was highly unusual, and I would not be willing to wager that it will repeat itself. If we are caught in the channel without a sail, or even just a mast to balance us, we will have little chance of surviving.” When I pointed out that we had done so once, Motius replied quietly, “We were blessed by your goddess Fortuna that time, Centurion. I would not expect her favor a second time.”
Alex, as was his habit, had been listening from his spot in the corner of the tent; and, as also is his habit, when he did choose to speak, it was to the heart of the matter.
“Acisculus, how many men would you need to take down a tree, then bring it back? And how much time would you need?”
Acisculus considered this, then finally answered, “I’d only need at most a half-dozen men, but I’d also need at least four oxen and a sledge to bring it back.”
“And how long would that take?”
I was looking at Alex now, knowing that there was something behind these questions, but he was gazing at Acisculus intently and did not notice, requiring me to speak up.
“What are you thinking, Alex?”
He did not answer immediately, but I could see he was still thinking, so I did not snap at him, and after a span of a couple heartbeats, he said, “If we can’t simply go across the river and take what we need, we’re going to need to steal it, essentially. Would you agree, Pilus Prior?”
While it had been his habit from the beginning, I was always appreciative that Alex took care to address me by my rank and not praenomen when we were with others, and I nodded as I said, “Yes, I would agree.”
“But, as we know, even if we don’t see them, the Brigantes are watching us.”
Again, this was very true; in fact, earlier that day, the first full day after our arrival, a half-dozen men had suddenly materialized on the far riverbank, seemingly from the ground, and shoved what, to our Roman eyes, was little more than a large canoe, although there was a small mast attached, out into the river. They did not paddle out far; as I said, the river is barely more than a half-mile wide, and I suppose that there was, or is, an imaginary boundary line where, if the Brigantes crossed it, would announce they had hostile intent. I learned from the Sergeant who commanded the guard section that was kept aboard at all times, that these Brigantes had barely even glanced at Petuar and the people but had gotten as close as they dared to the Brizo, presumably to examine it.
However, when I mentioned this, Motius did not agree. “They were not looking at the ship, Centurion. While it is true the Britons do not possess ships of this size, they have seen more of them than they can count. They were examining your men standing watch.”
When explained, it made perfect sense, so I accepted this with a nod. Now, in the tent, I thought I was beginning to get an idea of where Alex’s mind was heading.
“Are you thinking of using the boys as some sort of diversion?”
“Yes,” Alex replied immediately, and now that we were of the same mind, I mulled the best way to accomplish that.
“We only passed one Brigantes town of a decent size when we came upriver, isn’t that right?”
“That’s what we were told,” Saloninus pointed out. “All we could see was a dock and some boats tied up to it, and the mud track that the Parisii told us led to the town.”
This was true; Ivomagus had informed us that what, to our eyes, looked like nothing more than a convenient spot on the river to moor the boats used by the Brigantes, mostly for fishing, although I had noticed a number of flat-bottomed, wide barges that actually served a town that was a bit more than a mile away from the riverbank, hidden from our view by a stand of trees. As I recalled, it was roughly halfway between the first Parisii village and Petuar, but while what Saloninus said was true, I could not see any reason for Ivomagus to lie about it.
Consequently, to Saloninus, I rep
lied, “That’s true, but there was nothing in it for Ivomagus to lie about it being there. And,” I took a deep breath, “it’s all we’ve got to use.”
“Use for what?” Columella asked, and I saw that he was suddenly and truly alarmed. “You’re not thinking of attacking that town, are you, Pilus Prior?”
“Of course not,” I snapped, irritated that he would think I would be that reckless. “But,” I went on, “the Brigantes won’t know we have no intention of doing anything, will they?”
This settled the Optio down a bit, and I took it as tacit acceptance when he asked, “What did you have in mind?”
With Alex’s help, I outlined what would become the bare bones of our plan, yet what became apparent was that, while deceiving the Brigantes and focusing their attention away from Petuar and any activity there was of paramount importance, the fact that we would have to deceive the Parisii was second only by a matter of degree. In terms of execution, the most crucial aspect was time; we had to move before the Parisii king returned from his hunting trip. Determining that return was my task, and it was Alex who came up with an idea that would turn out to be crucial, not for the success of our mission, but in handling the Parisii and the inevitable backlash that would be coming.
I found Ivomagus where I expected him to be, down on the dock watching as Acisculus and the men he had selected to help were beginning the work of constructing the crane. That he was there worked out even better, because there was something I needed to tell my Immune, but first, I approached Ivomagus. He saw me coming and turned to greet me; I cannot say we had become overly friendly, but I sensed there was a mutual respect between us. Which, if all went according to plan, would be destroyed.
Nodding to me, he said, “Centurion, I compliment your men again. They are very organized and work very well together.”
Now that I had resumed carrying my vitus, I raised it and said with a smile, “That’s because they don’t want to feel this across their backs, Ivomagus.”
His expression changed suddenly, and for an instant, I thought my mention of our method of punishment evoked memories of his time on the bench of our ship, but that was not what he had in mind.
“That is not the reason, Centurion,” he spoke quietly enough that I got the impression he did not want the working party to hear. “I have seen your men enough now to know that the reason these men work so hard is because of you. You are like my brother.” There was what I heard as a note of bitterness there. “Our warriors follow him because they want to follow him, not because he is their King. Oh,” Ivomagus carelessly indicated the vitus in my hand, “that certainly plays a role, but I have been around men enough to see those who are obeying simply because they are expected to and those who do so because they completely trust their leader.”
It was quite a compliment, and I confess that, if I had not had other things on my mind, I would have appreciated it more, and hoped that my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were somehow watching from the afterlife.
However, Ivomagus had provided the opening I needed, and I asked with a casualness I hoped did not sound forced, “Speaking of Cogidubnus, when is he expected back?”
Judging by his reaction, Ivomagus found nothing suspicious in my question, yet his answer froze my blood.
“Probably tomorrow,” he answered, his attention shifting back to where Acisculus and his men were in the process of binding the beams that would serve as the legs of the crane, which was a good thing because I am certain my expression would have betrayed me.
Now that I had learned what I needed, as bad as it was, I needed to move to the next task I had to complete to do what we planned, so I excused myself and walked over to Acisculus. I placed myself so that my back was turned to Ivomagus, but to distract him, I pointed at where two of the men were busy laying out the pieces that would be used next. As quietly as I could, I explained that we were going to be moving much more quickly, and he was clearly shaken by the news.
“You need to carry on as you are until the very last moment. I’m going to keep the extra men we’ll need in the camp. They’ll join us here once we’re ready to move.”
He had recovered himself enough to nod, then step back and offer a salute, which I naturally returned, then walked back to Ivomagus.
“I have some items to attend to in our camp,” I told him. “If you need me, you can find me there.”
He did not acknowledge me; instead, something flashed across his face that was explained when he said, “I know it was not your intention, Centurion, but thank you for reminding me that I have some things that need to be done as well, before my brother returns.” Before I could respond, he added with a smile, “Cogidubnus wants me to arrange a feast for you and your officers that will be held the night before you depart. And,” he laughed, “my brother has an…extravagant streak. He said he is sparing no expense.”
I was not sure how to respond, and I know I sounded awkward. “Ah, yes. Well…thank you, that’s very kind. Where will it be?”
“At Lord Segovax’s hall,” he answered, which was where we had held the first meeting once we arrived in Petuar and I knew that the king, his brother, and entourage had commandeered the hall as his own residence for his stay here, but then Ivomagus offered with a sigh, “which is where I am going now. If I am needed, I have a rider here.” He turned to indicate a man I recognized as belonging to Cogidubnus’ bodyguard. “All you need to do is tell him, and he will ride to the hall and get me.”
With that, our conversation was concluded, but most importantly, I had been given an opportunity that I did not plan to squander, thanks to Ivomagus. I walked with him to where his horse was hitched, and for a moment, I was worried he would ride next to me as I returned to the camp, but thankfully, he went to the trot and was soon out of sight, allowing me to break into a trot of my own. When I entered the camp, I was relieved to see that the men of both Centuries were either already formed up along their street or were in the final stages. As I ordered, they were fully armored, with shields and pila, giving every appearance of being ready to march into battle, which was exactly the intended effect. Not every man, however; there were ten men who were going to be remaining behind, wearing only their tunics, although they did have their balteae with their gladius and pugio, and most importantly, they each carried an axe. Perhaps if someone with a keen eye had been present, they might have noticed a similarity between them…and me, being the largest, strongest men from both Centuries.
Cador and Motius were still in my tent, as I had directed, and when I entered, I said only, “Go get the ship ready.”
They were already moving, both of them pushing through the flap and moving at a quick pace, heading for the dock where the ship was still moored, leaving just Alex and me alone, and he helped me don my armor, then handed me my helmet.
“I hope this works,” he said grimly.
“So do I,” I answered readily, but then I grinned at him as I said, “but if it doesn’t, I’m going to say it was all your idea.”
As I hoped, this made him laugh, but then, there was nothing left to wait for, and I moved to the flap. To my surprise, Alex came with me.
“What are you doing? You don’t need to be there,” I told him.
Instead of answering directly, he pointed at my armor.
“You’re not going to be needing that,” he answered, “but you can’t just leave it there.”
He was right, I realized, and I nodded, leaving the tent together. Saloninus was standing in the tiny forum area in front of my tent, saluting as I approached.
“First and Second Centuries, minus detachments, is ready to march, Pilus Prior,” he said, rapping out the standard response we use to inform our superior that we are ready to go.
“Very good, Pilus Posterior,” I said this more loudly than needed; I had adopted my father’s practice of emphasizing the rank of a newly promoted man in front of others, and while his expression remained unchanged, I saw the look of pleasure in his good eye. �
��Take your post at the head of the Second, and I will lead the march.”
From that, it was all a matter of ingrained habit, and I led the two Centuries out of the Porta Praetoria, marching at a slightly quicker pace than normal, though not at the shuffling run that we often use. The men were clearly baffled, since none of us had given them any idea what was happening, so the only sound was the tromping sound of hobnailed caligae, the clinking of metal bits; the normal sounds of a Legion on the move. We reached the row of huts outside the wall before one of the townspeople noticed our approach, a woman who was carrying a basket of what I assumed was wash from the river, and she came to a stop, her mouth open in surprise, but it was when she dropped the basket and turned to flee down the street back towards the river that something occurred to me.
“Pluto’s balls,” I muttered. “She thinks we’re coming to slaughter them.”
As we quickly learned, that was exactly what the assumption was, and suddenly, the street was filled with panicking townspeople who seemed to be rushing in every direction except towards us, but it was the noise that was most concerning. No, I did not think that the shrieks of a few hundred terrified people would carry all the way to Ivomagus, who was presumably already at the lord’s hall, but it was unnerving nevertheless. Fortunately, their hysteria actually aided us because, in their scramble to get out of our path, we had the street to ourselves. Also, the civilians, who were presumably fleeing for their own dwellings, which is the most common response, were instrumental in delaying the hundred or so warriors who had congregated at what I suppose passed for the Briton version of the lone taverna, which was on the edge of the town on the downriver side, hard against the wall. In terms of timing, it went perfectly; Motius and Cador dropped the plank onto the dock when I was no more than thirty paces away so that we did not even have to slow down.