‘But will your men fight with us against this Alpinus?’
‘It’s what we’re paid to do, General.’
‘Good man. Now, where is Alpinus from?’ I asked.
‘He’s the chief of a small town to the west of here, Aquae Helveticae. He made his fortune from the healing springs on his land.’
‘Then we will stop this rot before it spreads. Pansa, I want you to march the legion to the west and put this village to the sword. That’ll stop anyone from joining Alpinus.’
* * *
The next morning the legion began to march slowly through the valley, following a mountain river westwards towards its source, the springs of Alpinus’s town. The march was cold, but the men’s boiling anger kept them going. The idea that a barbarian had mutilated some of their own fired them up; I might even have had a mutiny on my hands if I hadn’t given them the chance for some retribution. I was in something of a dilemma about the Helvetian auxiliaries though. Their prefect seemed dependable, but I couldn’t be sure about his men. Would they join in the punitive raid, or would they turn on us? I didn’t dare send them away either, for without the legion to deter them only their commander and their sense of duty to Rome would keep them loyal, and I didn’t want to put their loyalty to the test. The stench of burning pine followed us on the easterly wind, a constant reminder of the night before. The wounded men were spared the march, recovering instead in the relative warmth and comfort of a military wagon.
Pansa rode alongside me, hoping to make me forget his role in this monumental cock-up by professing his enthusiasm for the coming campaign in Italia. Thankfully I was spared his ramblings when a scout was spotted on the road ahead, galloping towards us.
‘Legate Pansa,’ he called. The legate raised his hand.
‘You may give me your information,’ I told the scout when he came close enough. ‘I’m in command here.’
The scout looked questioningly at his commander, but Pansa nodded his assent.
‘The whole town is out, sir. Armed with anything they could get their hands on. Picks, scythes, swords, the lot.’
‘How many men do you think there are?’ Pansa said.
‘I’d guess about three thousand.’
‘And Alpinus, is he with them?’ I asked.
‘I can’t tell, sir.’
‘All right, you may rejoin the rest of the cavalry.’
‘Well, what now?’ the legate asked me.
It was only now, in the daylight and with his helmet off, that I had my first proper look at Pansa. I guessed he was in his late forties. The greying hair and the not-so-taut skin made it a safe enough guess. This was a little late for a man to be made a legate, and in what was normally the most peaceful province of the empire. A younger brother of a more famous man, or a cousin perhaps, who owed his position to favour rather than merit, that’s what I surmised.
‘We bring peace to this province, Pansa, and quickly.’
Within a matter of hours the river we had followed had narrowed to little more than a trickle, yet the valley had broadened out a little. Nestling between the hills to the north and south lay the little town, and in front of the town stood an army. The scout was right, I guessed around 3,000 men stood in one line right across the valley floor. Pansa passed my orders to his tribunes, and the legion began to form its own line. In little more than a minute our marching column was transformed into an immaculate wall of burnished iron and steel, with 5,000 shields touching rim to rim. I took care that it was only men from the Rapax Legion in the line, and that the Helvetian cohort and its prefect were out of sight in the rear. Pansa and I were perhaps twenty paces in front of the formation.
‘The legion will advance,’ Pansa called. Five thousand men moved as one, each footstep sounded as one metallic clang, the metal plates of their armour jangling against each other as the men paced forward. The opposing line advanced menacingly. Pansa scanned it nervously, but my younger eyes had seen no bowmen among the townsfolk, only farmers with pitchforks, scythes and staffs. We were in no immediate danger. I could see a tremor of fear run through the peasants, like a ripple on a still pool. Some of them were edging backwards. A few men in the centre called out words of encouragement, and the line held firm again.
Just before we came within javelin range, I raised my hand for the Rapax to halt.
‘Helvetians,’ I shouted, ‘my name is General Severus. I serve the emperor.’
‘Which one?’ a voice called out. There was a smattering of nervous laughter.
‘The Emperor Vitellius, a man who has the interests of the Rhine-folk at heart.’
‘Then why does he steal our gold?’ another asked.
‘There never was any intention to take the gold for the fort. Before yesterday I would have returned it gladly, but one of your own has dared to raise his hand against the soldiers of Rome, and I will burn this town as an example for all those who would join the traitor, Julius Alpinus.’
Some wailed, others screamed their protests, but I would not be deterred.
‘I hear this Alpinus is a rich man. When we kill him, his fortune can go towards rebuilding your homes. Unless you give up Alpinus to me right now, your town will be burned, the men will be killed and your families will be sold into slavery.’
Deathly silence.
Then: ‘Fuck off back to Rome!’ the crowd roared in anger and fear, and began to charge.
Pansa and I quickly turned our horses round, and the men behind us made a gap for us to ride through. The red and silver wall closed up behind us, the men bracing themselves for the charge. I would have had the men launch a volley of javelins into the seething mass in front of us, but we would need every weapon we could muster once we crossed the Alps, so the grisly work would have to be done with swords and shields alone. The tribesmen were fifty paces away, forty, thirty… the legionaries turned their shoulders ever so slightly towards the enemy, bracing themselves for impact. Twenty paces, ten. There was an almighty crash as hundreds of bodies careered into the wall. Some of the soldiers had used the impact to send their opponents tumbling through into the ranks behind, where hundreds of swords waited to skewer and stab them.
The first screams of pain rent the air. From my vantage point behind the men I could see that our line was holding firm. The nearest Helvetii with their array of knives, scythes and pitchforks were trying to catch the rim of the legionaries’ shields with their longer weapons and drag them down so that another could lunge at the unprotected neck of his enemy. But every time one of the tribesmen came close to succeeding, the pressure from the eager men behind forced the man forward, within stabbing range of the deadly gladii. The enemy were falling in their dozens, and still they drove harder and harder against our wall. I saw a man go down from our side, overreaching himself in a vicious lunge. Just as his blade gutted the brute ahead of him a scythe must have hacked into his legs, for he went down like a mighty oak, crashing heavily to the ground. The feral tribesmen pounced on the fallen legionary, slashing, kicking and thrusting their blades into him when they should have made for the small space in the line. Then it was too late, a fresh man from the rank behind had plugged the gap.
I was watching the plight of the fallen legionary so intently that the first I knew of the spear was when it flashed across me, passing within spitting distance only to impale one of the auxiliaries. So much for them being spared fighting their own people! I saw other tribesmen at the rear of the mass were having the same idea.
‘Time to dismount, Pansa!’ The legate readily agreed. We should have dismounted long before then but we had a duty to set an example to the men. With my feet back on the ground I gave the signal for the bugler to call the advance. The young boy licked his lips before putting them to the cold metal. The high, harsh notes pierced the air. Up and down the line centurions heard the call and marshalled their men, readying them for the advance. By now the most eager of the Helvetii had fallen. This was the moment to send the rest of them running for the hills, where t
hey should have gone in the first place, instead of making a suicidal stand.
With a ferocious roar, our front rank took the fight to the enemy, no longer waiting for them to charge obligingly into our thicket of swords and spears. Slowly, ponderously, we began to inch forward. The keening cries of pain from the hill-men began to fade away, not because they were gaining the upper hand but because there were fewer and fewer of them left to kill. Our crawl became a slow step. As we advanced I was soon among the dead and dying Helvetii as the men marched inexorably onwards. I didn’t even draw my sword. Those who weren’t dead had gaping wounds, mostly in their necks or stomachs, evidence that the months and years of sword drill had ingrained in our men the technique to kill with a single blow. The auxiliaries behind us would administer the coup de grâce. I had spared them the unpleasant task of fighting their countrymen toe to toe, but putting the wounded out of their misery would be a lesson in loyalty.
The legionaries were striding forward now, not even cheering their victory. It wasn’t what they would call a victory. A full legion, not to mention the auxiliaries, against a mere 3,000 poorly armed civilians. By now those same civilians were running full pelt towards the town.
‘Shall we chase them, General?’ Pansa asked.
‘No need. All I wanted was to burn Alpinus’s town and to capture him. Killing these men won’t help us do either.’
‘Killing a few more of his people might convince Alpinus to give himself up,’ the legate ventured.
‘If this were Italia would you offer me the same advice?’ I asked, sneering.
‘If this were Italia we wouldn’t be in this situation,’ Pansa shot back.
* * *
The town was empty by the time we reached it. The women and children must have fled westwards while their husbands and fathers fought us. There was nothing to loot except for the few chickens or geese that the townspeople hadn’t been able to carry with them. They would provide supper for barely more than a century, but then we weren’t looking to loot the place. While the auxiliaries piled up, counted and buried their countrymen, 782 of them to be exact, I had the legion collecting firewood, furniture, anything that would burn. When we came to Boudicca’s town in the miserable, flat lands of the Iceni, it hadn’t taken much to burn down her hall; a few well-placed torches, then you could stand back and warm your hands on the fire. Burning an entire town was different. With the amount of firewood available the men were able to place it strategically between key buildings to lay a combustible path across the whole expanse of the settlement. They also had to take account of the wind direction; when it favoured our purpose, then and only then could they build and light the first fire. A dash of oil from the archers’ supply was added to a corner of our town-shaped bonfire. A few sparks from a flint and the fire was born. Many hands thrust many torches into the fire, and each was carried to its allotted pile. Soon there were dozens of little flames that danced and flickered, steadily growing.
We stayed long enough to ensure that the whole town would catch fire before beginning our pursuit of Alpinus. Our column marched under the midday sun. Behind us Aquae Helveticae, a place of serenity and healing, was turning to ashes.
VI
Alpinus was a dead man, though he did not know it yet. With almost 800 dead, that left no more than 2,000 who would fight with him, and after the massacre by the springs I doubted even half that number would remain loyal to their chief. Many would scatter, taking their families up into the hills where it wouldn’t be worth pursuing them. But we couldn’t be sure that Alpinus wouldn’t draw men to him as he fled westwards. Pansa, Torquatus and I were holding a small council of war on horseback as the legion tramped through the hills and passes.
‘I’ve known stubborn bastards in my time,’ Pansa began, ‘but this man caps them all. We besiege and burn his fort, attack his tribe, burn his town; I mean, any normal man would hide in the mountains somewhere and wait for us to cross the Alps. But no, this one has to rally a bunch of suicidal tribesmen and hole himself up in the strongest fastness in the entire province.’
‘I did warn you, sir,’ Torquatus said wearily.
‘So you’ve said before, Prefect,’ I snapped. ‘Hindsight isn’t going to help us now. Torquatus, you know him better than any of us. Can he be persuaded to surrender and stand trial?’
‘Not a hope, General.’
‘Not even to spare his people?’
‘He is their chief. They’re oath-sworn to fight and die for him.’
‘And you’re sure that he’s not going to leave this fort?’
‘Certain. Mount Vocetius has been our last defence ever since my people came to the Alps. He’ll know by now that we’ve sent for the Thracian auxiliaries to block any retreat to the west. Now he’ll sit on his rock and watch us throw men against his walls.’
‘Then we should thank the gods that at least he didn’t storm your barracks, Legate. How many men did you leave behind to defend Vindonissa?’
‘Half a cohort,’ Pansa mumbled.
‘Two hundred and forty men to defend your own fort,’ I said scathingly. ‘And what if Alpinus had taken Vindonissa? You’d be court-martialled before the emperor, and Vitellius would have done what Valens and I told him to do. Let me make one thing clear, Pansa: even once my men from Germania arrive, you will be the senior officer. My senior tribune is little more than twenty and has already commanded thousands of men. One more slip-up from you and my man will take your place.’
‘What would happen to me then?’
‘Vitellius would decide,’ I said. Pansa read the next words in my eyes.
‘And the emperor would do whatever you told him to do?’
‘You’re learning, Pansa.’
* * *
The handful of men that Pansa had left behind were relieved to see us in Vindonissa once again, but not as grateful as our wounded were to arrive safely in the fort. Our encounter with the Helvetii had left us with thirteen dead and nearly thirty wounded, not to mention those who had been captured by Alpinus. The camp surgeon balked at the stream of men clambering out of the wagons. Some of the legionaries grabbed the men by their forearms and helped them to the ground as none of the escort had hands to grip the side of the carts.
‘This can’t have happened in battle,’ the surgeon said, shaking his head.
‘They were prisoners, doctor,’ Pansa explained.
‘Whose prisoners?’
‘Julius Alpinus’s. He’s the one who passed this way with the rabble that we defeated at Aquae Helveticae.’
‘By the healing springs? Did anyone think to use the waters on these wretches’ wounds?’
‘They wouldn’t have healed much after what the men put into them.’
‘Don’t tell me. Piss, shit, oil, the lot?’
‘My orders were to destroy Alpinus’s property, all of it.’
‘It was my command, doctor,’ I explained. ‘I assumed it was a local superstition that Alpinus profited by. Can’t you do anything for the men?’
‘Of course I can, but it’s often helpful to use the gifts the local gods have granted their people. I’ll have to use something else on the wounds instead.’
‘I never had anything special when I lost this,’ I said, gesturing at what remained of my little finger. ‘I just had it cauterized.’
‘Who treated you?’
‘A Gaul.’
‘Then that tells you all you need to know. Now if you’ll excuse me…’
The surgeon swept off with a coterie of assistants in tow, to begin sorting through the wounded to find the most serious cases.
‘He does have a habit of flying off the handle, I grant you,’ Pansa said, ‘but he’s the best surgeon north of the Rubicon, that’s for sure.’
‘So long as he does a good job, that’s all I want from a surgeon. I just pray he won’t be too busy once we cross the Rubicon.’
‘So do we all, General.’
‘But the fighting isn’t over yet, Pansa. Would you
show me your artillery?’
‘Now, sir?’
‘Now, Pansa. I want to put an end to this slaughter as quickly as possible. For that we’ll need artillery.’
I soon saw why Pansa had been reluctant to take me straight to the siege engineers. The once-mighty siege weapons had been left almost to the point of dereliction. Onagers, ballistae, scorpions, they were all packed up in a series of crates that made the building feel more like a disused carpenter’s shop than the home of Rome’s most powerful war machines. I told one of the engineers to open a crate. Nervously, the man fiddled with the locks and hinges until one side of the box flapped down, releasing a cloud of dust into the air. Coughing and spluttering, we had to wait a few moments before we could see inside. We heard a mouse screech and scurry away, disturbed from its peaceful nibbling. Within the crate lay stacks of iron bars, wooden planks and a mouse’s feast, four long coils of rope that had been bitten to pieces.
‘I want every scrap of equipment here fully repaired and tested within two days, or I’ll have each of your men flogged. Legate, I don’t know if you or your idle bastards here are responsible for this, but you’re on thin fucking ice.’
In hindsight I suppose I might have been too harsh on the men of the Rapax. After all, the legion had been posted to what had been the quietest province in the empire for decades and had never fought in pitched battle against the local tribes, let alone laid a siege. All my military life had been on active service. I was barely thirty years old and had fought against the Celts in the west of Britannia, Boudicca and her followers, with the Gauls against Verginius Rufus and now I commanded some of the most seasoned veterans in the entire Roman army. Raetia was almost as safe from invasion as Rome herself. If the barbarians ever mounted an assault against the empire, they would make for the Rhine or the Danube, not the freezing passes of the Alps. But the longer Alpinus was alive the more the authority of Rome and her legions was questioned, and Pansa worked his men hard to make the legion ready to march with all the supplies and equipment for a siege.
The Sword and the Throne Page 7