Publia laughed coldly. ‘They will have no compunction against slaughtering you and your men,’ she said. ‘Their lands have been ravaged by your legions. But they will not kill you if you surrender. We neither wish to destroy this fort nor its garrison.’
Platorius Nepos glanced ironically in the direction of the burning barracks block. ‘You don’t want to destroy…?’
‘That was not done under my orders,’ she snapped.
‘Nor under mine,’ said Platorius Nepos. ‘Why would I order my own barracks burnt down? Your lies find you out, woman.’
‘There was some confusion in the fight,’ she admitted. ‘Your Germans came over to us when your legionaries attacked them. Perhaps it was they who set fire to the barracks block.’
‘Surely something should be done.’ Sidonius Placidus spoke up bravely. ‘That fire will spread unless some attempt is made to extinguish it. Governor, order some of your men to take buckets of water and put out that fire.’
‘Nobody will move,’ Publia warned, ‘until the negotiations are complete. You will not attack us under the pretext of firefighting.’
Platorius Nepos turned away in disgust. ‘Then send your own men,’ he said impatiently. ‘Put out that fire, if you want to preserve this fort for whatever reason. I swear by Venus and Rome that my men will not make any move until the fire is extinguished.’
Publia looked over her shoulder at Quintus—if that was indeed the identity of the cloaked man—and he gave a curt nod. Looking oddly grateful, she turned and gestured to several German footmen, who hurried away to fill buckets at the fort well.
‘Now...’ Publia broke off as a man ran round the corner of the headquarters.
‘Men are marching on the fort,’ he cried. ‘We’re under attack!’
— 27—
Under her breath, Publia cursed.
She had miscalculated. Although she had been aware of the legionaries encamped in the valley, the plan had been to make a lightning raid, take the governor prisoner, and then be away with what they had come for before the alarm was raised. Now they were fighting on two fronts.
‘Take men and attack,’ she ordered. As she did she heard the distant swoop of arrows from the vicinity of the Praetorian Gate and a chorus of shouts and cries, punctuated by a thunderous boom.
‘Men are already defending the walls,’ she was told. ‘But the attackers are trying to batter down the gates.’
Publia turned to her fellow riders. ‘Some of you, ride round to the southern gate and reinforce the defenders on the walls. The rest of you…’
Before she could finish speaking, the legionaries under Platorius Nepos’ command surged forwards, led by Camillus Marcellinus.
‘Drive them back!’ Publia cried, her horse rearing. Men and horses fell, but the rest galloped forwards, swords and javelins gleaming, to meet the legionaries in the open outside the headquarters building.
Platorius Nepos and Sidonius Placidus watched from the shelter of the barricade.
‘Men on foot against mounted men?’ the procurator complained. ‘This is sheer lunacy, governor.’
Platorius Nepos shook his head. ‘You heard that messenger. The legionaries stationed by the riverbank have come to our aid. They must have seen the smoke from that burning barracks block and guessed that something was amiss. Their centurion deserves a commendation for acting so decisively. Now we have a chance!’
Obstinately the procurator shook his head. ‘Our negotiations were bearing fruit. That woman told us that she did not want to destroy the place. She wanted our peaceful surrender. Very well, let us surrender.’
‘And face who knows what humiliations at the hands of the barbarians?’ Platorius Nepos asked. ‘It was a trick. Obviously a trick.’ He watched the savage fighting, but he could see nothing of the man in the red cloak. ‘I wish I could speak with Quintus. I wish to know what his part in all this is. What the young fool wants…’
‘Watch out!’ shouted the procurator. Platorius Nepos whirled round. An auxiliary was bearing down on them.
The governor drew his sword and faced the man. The auxiliary halted, and wrested off his helmet, revealing the red bearded face of a German. It was Adelmarus, the prefect in command of the rebellious troop.
‘Sir!’ he cried. ‘Peace!’
‘Peace?’ Platorius Nepos barked over the roar of the fighting. ‘Peace like this?’
The barracks block was still burning, and now another building had caught fire. In amongst the smoke, dark figures struggled and slew.
‘Sir, it’s all a mistake!’ Adelmarus gasped.
‘A mistake?’ Emboldened, Sidonius Placidus came from behind the barricade. ‘Well, of course it’s a mistake! Tell your men to put down their arms!’
‘A mistake?’ Platorius Nepos’ lip curled. ‘Your men stormed the fort and slew my men—by mistake? What kind of mistake is that? Now you’ve seen that I have reinforcements, you’d surrender?’
‘Sir,’ said Adelmarus, ‘it was not my men who stormed the fort but auxiliaries who accompanied you here. And your legionaries attacked my men without reason. I could not control them, and besides, did you not order your men to attack them?’
‘You attacked first!’ Platorius Nepos said. He paused. ‘Or at least, the men Quintus took with him did. I would dearly love to speak with that tribune…’
‘You’re right,’ Sidonius Placidus said. ‘It was the auxiliaries with Quintus who made the initial attack. When the legionaries fought back, they failed to distinguish between them and the Germanic auxiliaries in the fort.’
‘Then the question must be,’ Platorius Nepos said slowly, ‘who is the real culprit? Quintus and his woman, it seems. But why? What motivates them?’
The procurator gripped Adelmarus’ wrist. ‘Can you not speak to your men? Show them that it has all been a mistake? Encourage them to join the side of right?’
The German nodded wildly. ‘I shall speak to them,’ he said.
‘Good man,’ said Platorius Nepos.
Adelmarus strode away through the swirls of smoke, in the direction of his men who were fighting the legionaries. But even as he did so, an auxiliary on horseback burst from out of the smoke and rode him down.
Sidonius Placidus turned away, gagging in horror. The rider galloped on as if nothing had happened. Perhaps he had not even noticed. Adelmarus’ mangled body lay in the gravel and dirt. Soon the corpse vanished from sight as the legionaries began retreating.
With the prefect’s death all hope seemed to perish. The legionaries were falling before the auxiliary attack, the survivors withdrew to the barricaded arch.
‘Sir,’ reported Camillus Marcellinus, who was missing his shield and his plumed helmet and bore a broken, bloody sword in his fist, ‘They are too strong for us. We must surrender.’
‘No!’ Platorius Nepos rasped. ‘By Jove, no! We have reinforcements on their way! We must defend the headquarters until they come to our aid.’
A final time the battering ram slammed into the doors, and they burst open.
‘Forward!’ Brandishing his sword, Junius Italicus charged in, and the others followed.
Flaminius was at his heels. Somewhere behind him ran Rhoda, her face white, but insistent that she remain with them.
The ground was strewn with the bodies of the slain. A third of the century had fallen to the arrows of the defenders. But now they were inside the fort, racing down the tunnel that opened out into the street that ran north between lines of barrack blocks towards the headquarters building.
As they came out into the open, German auxiliaries appeared; the same men who had been shooting from the parapet, swarming down to meet them. The fighting was savage in the cramped space. Flaminius’ sword was bloodied to the hilt three times in the first few seconds. He glimpsed Junius Italicus duelling with a blond German bigger than even he was.
Then two more Germans came at him, and he panted desperately as he met their blades. What was happening here? He had thought Pons Ae
lius was under attack from the Caledonians. But mailed auxiliaries were attacking them. He lunged, thrust forward, knocked aside one man’s shield and sank his blade into the man’s neck. Then the other lunged his spear at him, and he felt a flash of agony as the spearhead entered his unprotected thigh. He brought his sword flashing down, smashed through the man’s shield and into his helmet, splitting his skull.
‘Where in Tartarus are those reinforcements?’ Platorius Nepos cursed.
The legionaries were fighting in the archway as the auxiliaries tried to force their way in. At the moment, the pressure was off on the south side, and the governor was able to concentrate his forces on the attack from the north. But they were giving ground by the second. If he was to hold his headquarters, then regain the fort from the mutineers, he would need more men.
Smoke was thick in the air. What had happened to the firefighting expedition he did not know, but evidently it had not been successful. The fire spread from barracks to barracks, and much of the northern half of the fort was now ablaze.
‘Something must be done,’ the procurator was squeaking. ‘We should retreat!’
‘We are retreating, procurator,’ Platorius Nepos told him wearily. ‘We have pulled back into headquarters. Until those reinforcements reach us, we must hold them off as long as we can.’
‘Then the Germans are still fighting us?’ Sidonius Placidus asked. ‘Someone should tell them that this is all a mistake!’
‘We can forget about that,’ Platorius Nepos said dismissively. ‘The only option is to crush them. When those reinforcements reach us…’
‘They’ll never get here,’ said Sidonius Placidus, and he broke off into a fit of coughing. ‘You fool!’ he gasped. ‘When that fire reaches my files, it will be a disaster for the civil administration of this province!’
‘Is that really all you are worried about?’ Platorius Nepos sneered. ‘Our lives are threatened, and you maunder on about bookkeeping?’
‘I worry about our lives as well,’ the procurator said defiantly. ‘Once again, I insist that we surrender and pay due consideration to the rebels’ terms. Our lives are too valuable to Rome and to this province for us to endanger them in a conflict like this.’
Platorius Nepos turned on his heel. The fool knew his answer to that outrageous suggestion. How a coward like Sidonius Placidus had gained such a position of power was beyond him. He went to speak with the Camp Prefect.
Flaminius’ allies had also been forced back. Now they were pent up in the gatehouse, while the Germans controlled the street. Black smoke was billowing across the gravel. Flaminius crouched beside Junius Italicus as the legionaries kept up a sporadic interchange with the Germans. What had happened to Rhoda he did not know, but he feared the worst.
‘What’s happening in this place?’ he wondered. ‘I thought it was under attack from Caledonians, but now it looks like there’s been some kind of mutiny.’
‘Beats me, sir,’ said Junius Italicus, his beefy face imperturbable. ‘But if we don’t cut our way through them and find the procurator quickly, this whole place will burn down first. Then our only hope is that the information we’re looking for is kept in Londinium.’
From the distance came the sound of fighting from further inside. ‘We’ll achieve nothing staying here,’ Flaminius said. ‘Whoever our enemies are, we’ve got to get to the procurator.’
He crossed to where the centurion in command crouched, peering round the side of the gate. ‘Centurion, we must get to the procurator.’
The centurion looked back at him. ‘And the governor, sir, yes. But the place is in chaos, and these rebel auxiliaries are holding their position.’
‘What do you suppose has happened?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Have the auxiliaries been suborned by the Caledonians?’
The centurion shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ he told him. ‘I thought your people were the ones with the intelligence.’
‘The Commissary?’ Flaminius said. ‘Well, we don’t know everything. But one thing I do know, and that’s that we have to get through these mutineers. Get the men mustered, centurion, and ready for another full-on attack.’
‘I don’t take orders from civilians,’ the centurion said darkly. ‘I don’t know who you are, even if you are vouched for by a commissary centurion…’
Flaminius heard a soft voice speaking his name. He turned to see Rhoda sitting against the wall of the gateway, clutching at herself.
‘Oh,’ she moaned. ‘I’m hurt, sweetheart.’
He went to her side. ‘What happened?’ he demanded. ‘I lost sight of you during the fight. I thought you’d had the sense to keep back.’ He cursed, and knelt by her. An arrow jutted from her side. ‘Let me see that!’
She gasped with pain. The arrow was buried deep, protruding from a nasty mess of blood and fabric. Gripping hold of it in both hands, he snapped it close to where it jutted from her flesh. She cried out and her head slumped back against the wall. For a moment Flaminius thought that the war was over for her. He gazed down in horror.
‘I told her to stay back,’ he muttered.
‘She’s still breathing.’
Junius Italicus had come to join him. His face was drawn. At his words, Flaminius looked back to see that Rhoda was still breathing. He slapped gently at her face, and her eyes flickered open.
‘You fainted,’ he said. ‘We need to get you a medic.’
‘The only medic round here will be in headquarters, sir,’ Junius Italicus said, ‘if he still lives.’ He unclipped his lance-head brooch and handed it over. ‘This may help ease your passage.’
‘Keep an eye on her.’ Flaminius clipped on the brooch, rose, then returned to the centurion in charge.
‘How long do you intend to wait here?’ he said. ‘We must fight our way inside.’
The centurion rose. ‘They’re rested now, ready for another bout.’ He turned to his men. ‘Shields up, forward!’ he shouted.
The fight was short and savage. But as the legionaries burst through the Germans, cutting them down on either hand, the street between the barracks blocks reverberated to the thunder of hoofs.
The fighting in the entrance to the headquarters was growing fiercer. As the procurator watched from the cover of the doorway, surrounded by frightened clerks, he saw Platorius Nepos himself retreating with his men, spilling out into the courtyard as the Germans forced them backwards. The metallic echo of pounding hoofs preceded the mounted auxiliaries as they rode into the courtyard.
‘Procurator,’ shouted one of the clerks, a eunuch freedman. ‘We must flee! The fort is lost! Let these legionaries stay here to fight if they wish, but someone has to get word to the nearest fort!’
Sidonius Placidus gripped his hand gratefully. If he became the man who brought the warning of attack, he would not be branded a coward. His career would survive. He opened his mouth to thank the man, then broke into a fit of coughing. The smoke was thick in the air.
‘But we can’t leave,’ he said, turning in the direction of his office. ‘My files! I can’t abandon my files!’
The clerk seized his arm. ‘Forget the files, sir,’ he said. ‘We must find horses and ride from here.’
The procurator was almost crying in frustration. ‘Very well,’ he wheezed. ‘Get me a horse, and we will ride from the fort as best we can.’ Although Corstopitum was the nearest fort of any size, Condercum, two miles west along the Wall, was much closer, if smaller. He could be there in half an hour by horse, bringing the dreadful news. All he needed to do was escape the fort… But his files!
‘Get another horse,’ he told the man, ‘and load as many of the files in the saddlebags. Good man. You’ll get a promotion for this, depend on it.’
The procurator hid behind a pillar of the colonnade, struggling to see what was happening in the confusion of the courtyard. After a seemingly interminable wait, the clerk returned with only one horse, a bay mare. There was no sign of the files. It was then that the procurator’s nerve went
. Some things were more important than accurate record keeping.
‘You will have to remain behind,’ he said, seizing hold of the horse’s reins.
‘But what of the files?’ asked the clerk as Sidonius Placidus hauled himself onto the back of the nervous mount.
‘Oh, to Hades with the files!’ shouted the procurator.
The courtyard was filled with struggling armoured men. Sidonius Placidus jabbed his heels savagely into the horse’s flanks and galloped away.
— 28—
The courtyard was a scene of chaos. Thick black smoke obscured Sidonius Placidus’ view as he rode for the arch. Knots of fighting men blocked his route, and his nervous mare whinnied in terror as he sawed at the reins to guide her round them. He saw mutineers cut down legionaries, legionaries despatching auxiliaries. There seemed to be no strategy or tactics, just struggle and slaughter. Where Platorius Nepos might be in all this confusion, or the Camp Prefect for that matter, the procurator did not know.
At last he reached the southern arch, and urged his mount through it, galloped down the tunnel and out into the street beyond.
As he did a troop of mounted auxiliaries burst out of the smoke, and his skittish mount reared up, forelegs thrashing the air. He was pitched from her back to strike the ground with enough force to knock the breath from his body.
Weakly, he lay there, watching as his horse galloped away, caught up in the charge of the auxiliaries. Turning the corner they rode south towards the Praetorian Gate.
As the clatter of their hoofs receded in the smoky air, Sidonius Placidus struggled to get his breath back, lying there half in and half out of the archway. Eyes streaming, he watched numbly as the auxiliary horsemen attacked armoured men advancing from the Praetorian Gate.
The reinforcements! Numbly he recalled how word had come of them, the appearance of the reserve century that had been stationed by the riverbank. He wanted to approach them, to tell them to concentrate their efforts on seizing the headquarters, but he was too weak.
The Londinium File Page 21