The Blood of Rome

by Simon Scarrow

  An optio stepped forward. ‘I was in the game, sir. It was like Glabius says. The Iberian started it.’

  Before Cato could ask for further corroboration, the Iberian slumped to his knees, breathing heavily as he continued to hold up his curved dagger with a wavering hand. Two of his comrades hurried forward and kneeled at his side. One gently took the weapon from his hand while the other pulled the wounded man’s tunic up, moving his hand aside, and exposed the wound. Blood pulsed over the exposed flesh and the Iberian’s companion pressed his hand against the wound and held it in place.

  Cato pointed to the optio. ‘You go and find the surgeon. Now!’

  As the man turned and forced his way back through the press, Cato glanced round at the curious and hostile expressions. Already the Iberians were moving off to one side, with their backs to their tents, and the mood was becoming dangerous.

  ‘Macro.’ He spoke calmly. ‘Get our men out of here. Except him – Glabius. He’s got some answering to do.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Macro nodded, then drew a quick breath before he addressed the Roman soldiers. ‘Back to your tents! Centurions! Optios! Get these men moving! At the bloody double!’

  The tense quiet of a moment before was shattered as the officers yelled orders at their men and pushed and shoved them away from the scene.

  Cato turned to Glabius. ‘And were you cheating?’

  ‘No, sir! It was a fair game. Ask anybody. Glabius runs a fair game, they’ll say.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be sure to ask. In any case, you know the regulations, and what the penalty is for drawing a weapon on a comrade. If he dies, you die.’

  The slinger shook his head. ‘He ain’t a Roman, sir. He ain’t any comrade of mine. Just some fucking barbarian, that’s all!’ He spat in the direction of the Iberian.

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Cato snapped fiercely. ‘Not one more word, you hear?’

  The crowd was dispersing quickly and then there was the optio, the surgeon close behind him with his sidebag stuffed with dressings and the immediate tools of his trade. He saw the slinger’s wounded arm and hurried over.

  ‘Not him. He’ll live.’ Cato nodded towards the Iberian instead, who was struggling to stay upright and was supported by his companions. ‘That one needs you first. See to him.’

  The surgeon nodded and set his bag down beside the injured man and wiped the blood away to examine the wound briefly before reapplying the makeshift dressing.

  ‘He’s bleeding badly, sir.’

  ‘Do what you can for him,’ Cato ordered and looked round at the Iberians, who were still standing in a half-circle, their expressions hardening as they regarded their stricken comrade. The surgeon eased the wounded man on to the ground as the latter began to tremble. More figures emerged from the tents behind them and Cato felt his heart sink as he saw Rhadamistus and several of his entourage striding towards them.

  ‘Oh, bloody terrific,’ Macro muttered. ‘Just what we needed.’

  Rhadamistus snapped an order and the Iberians hurried out of his way. He stopped and quickly surveyed the wounded man on the ground and the slinger, and then fixed his dark eyes on Cato. ‘What’s happened here, Tribune?’

  Cato explained briefly and Rhadamistus nodded towards Glabius. ‘He’s the one who stabbed my man?’

  ‘Yes, Majesty. But he says your man started the fight.’

  Rhadamistus turned to the small group of Iberian soldiers and interrogated them sharply, then faced Cato again. ‘They say your soldier was responsible. He tried to cheat this man out of his silver.’

  One confrontation was leading to another, far more serious, and Cato forced himself to deal with the situation calmly, even though he could feel his heartbeat increasing and his shoulder muscles tensing, as if he was about to go into a fight.

  ‘We can lay the blame for this at a later time. Right now, both men need to have their wounds seen to. Glabius, get yourself to the surgeon’s tent. Have one of the orderlies see to your arm.’

  Before the slinger could act upon the order, his opponent gave a deep groan and arched his back for an instant before going into violent convulsions. The surgeon did his best to hold the man down, and the dressing slid off and a fresh gush of blood welled out of the puckered flesh around the wound and spilled on to the ground.

  ‘Hold him!’ the surgeon ordered. The Iberian’s companions needed no translation and grasped his limbs to try and hold him still as the surgeon groped for a fresh dressing from his bag. The wounded Iberian began to gasp for breath, a horrible rasping sound, and his eyes opened wide and began to roll in mortal terror. There was one last convulsion, and his jaw hung open, and then with a slow release of tension his body sagged as the air sighed from his lips and he lay still, eyes staring up at the stars.

  For a moment no one moved or spoke, then the surgeon leaned forward to close the Iberian’s eyes and rose to his feet.

  ‘He’s gone, sir. There was nothing I could do to save him,’ he added with an anxious glance at Rhadamistus.

  Cato jerked his thumb towards Glabius. ‘Get this one to the hospital tent and have his wound seen to.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The surgeon closed the flap on his sidebag and approached the wounded Praetorian.

  ‘Stop there!’ Rhadamistus stepped up to the dead Iberian and thrust a finger towards the corpse as he glared at the Roman officer. ‘My man is dead. His murderer must answer for it.’

  ‘Now wait a moment,’ Macro interjected. ‘He accused Glabius of cheating and drew a knife on him. He started it. The fight was fair and he lost. That’s too bad for him, but Glabius is no murderer.’

  Rhadamistus spared him a glance before he addressed Cato again. ‘Tell your underling to still his tongue, before I order my men to cut it out.’

  ‘Underling?’ Macro’s eyes bulged.

  ‘Centurion,’ Cato intervened. ‘I will deal with this, if you please. For now, I want you to place Glabius under arrest and keep him in your custody. Understand?

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Macro grumbled and then added a curse under his breath. He moved to Glabius’s side, as ordered.

  Cato turned to confront Rhadamistus. ‘As Centurion Macro says, Majesty, it would appear that some of your men chose to play dice with Glabius. When the dead man lost, he accused Glabius of cheating and attacked him. Glabius was acting in self-defence.’

  Rhadamistus listened and then questioned the spearmen standing by the body. Satisfied by their answers, he turned back to Cato. ‘They say your soldier was the first to draw his blade and struck my man before he could defend himself.’ The Iberian pointed towards Glabius. ‘This man is a murderer, and a coward. I demand that justice and vengeance are satisfied. And so he must die.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ‘This is bloody absurd!’ Macro protested. ‘Those bastards are lying. You heard what Glabius said, and his optio backed his account up.’

  They were standing a short distance away from Rhadamistus and his men as they conferred. Two men were carrying the body away into the Iberian tents, while the Iberian prince and a handful of his nobles stood waiting for Cato’s response to the demand for Glabius’s execution. The wounded slinger stood to one side as the surgeon stitched his wound by the light of the fire. Glabius winced now and again as the needle went in and through his flesh but his gaze switched anxiously between the two Roman officers discussing his fate and the Iberians looking on with hostile expressions.

  ‘The optio would back him up,’ Cato countered. ‘Same as he’d back the word of any Roman over that of a barbarian, as he’d see them.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s much doubt about that lot being barbarians. You saw what they did at the fort. Are you going to believe them before you believe one of our own?’

  ‘Of course not. But it’s his word against theirs. It was done in the heat of the moment, and anything could have happened.’

  ‘Then you should err on the side of our man,’ Macro insisted. ‘That’s what I would do every time. If I was in com
mand I’d tell that lot of sand monkeys to fuck right off.’

  ‘But you’re not in command, Centurion,’ Cato replied firmly. ‘I am, and it’s my responsibility to see that anyone who breaks regulations is punished. It really doesn’t matter who struck the first blow, or why they did it. The rules are clear enough. If a soldier pulls a blade and wounds a comrade he is given a beating by the men of his century. If he uses the blade to kill another soldier then the penalty is death. You know that well enough.’

  ‘It’s death if the man kills a comrade, but these Iberians are not Romans. Why, they’re not even in the same army.’

  ‘You’re wrong. They are our allies, and as such they are subject to the same regulations as any other soldiers in the Roman army. If it had been the other way round, then I’d have insisted that the Iberian be punished the same way.’

  ‘You might well insist, but do you think for one moment that Rhadamistus would agree to that? I bloody well doubt it.’

  Cato had already been feeling tired and now he sensed the exhausting pit of despair he had only recently emerged from creeping up on him again. ‘Listen, Macro, what choice do you think I have? Both sides here need each other if there is to be any hope of Rhadamistus reclaiming his throne, and Rome reclaiming its influence in the region. Ever since we marched out of Syria there’s been no love lost between our men and his. We’ve suffered the consequences of being divided once. If I refuse to have Glabius punished then we’ll risk that happening again. Right on the cusp of preparing for the decisive moment of the campaign.’ He gestured to the far bank of the river. ‘Artaxata is four days’ march in that direction. If the Iberians see Glabius walk free then I’d be as good as driving a wedge through the column.’

  ‘And if you execute Glabius, what effect do you think that will have on the morale of our lads? They’ll happily follow you into battle. But if you side with the Iberians and put one of our men to death, then it will cost you the loyalty of the Praetorians and the slingers.’

  ‘I’m not siding with anyone. I’m applying the regulations.’

  ‘But the regs are wrong in this situation and you know it.’

  ‘The regulations are the regulations,’ Cato retorted. ‘Regardless of the situation. And in this case, in this precise situation, it is vital that we stick by them, or we risk ruin. Macro, I’ve made my decision and I will not change it. There’s an end to the matter. Do not dispute with me any further. That’s an order.’

  Macro made to reply, then stiffened into a formal posture as he responded in a tone laced with contempt: ‘As you order, sir.’

  ‘Precisely.’ Cato looked past Macro to the surgeon. ‘Have you done with Glabius yet?’

  ‘Just tying off the dressing, sir . . . There!’ The surgeon leaned back to admire his handiwork. ‘As neat a set of sutures and dressing as you’ll ever find, sir.’

  Cato ignored him. ‘Glabius! On me!’

  The slinger came trotting over and stood in front of the two officers. Now that Cato was about to pronounce sentence on him, he suddenly became far more aware of Glabius as an individual, as opposed to merely a face in the ranks. The slinger was a well-built man in his thirties, dark hair, streaked with grey, tied back with a leather thong. His face was broad, with deep-set brown eyes either side of a nose that looked as if had been broken more than once. There was a scar across the cheekbone beneath his right eye and his beard was neatly trimmed. Despite the beard, his lips were set in a natural smile that promised innate good humour. But there was no shred of any humour in Cato’s heart as he cleared his throat and forced himself to speak in a matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘Auxiliaryman Glabius, you are aware of military regulations regarding fighting in the ranks?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cato’s heart sank a little further as the slinger unwittingly added to his culpability. If he had claimed that he was not aware, there might have been slim room for manoeuvre.

  ‘Then you know the penalty for killing another soldier.’

  ‘Another Roman soldier, yes, sir.’

  ‘The regulations clearly state Roman or allied soldier.’

  Glabius shook his head. ‘It says Roman soldier, sir. I know, because I read them when I joined up.’

  One of the rare literate auxiliaries in the army, Cato mused. And still only a ranker? He should have been an optio by now, at least. He had not made the most of whatever potential he had ever had.

  ‘Then you will recall the terms of the preamble to the regulations, where it states that the regulations extend to all allied soldiers marching alongside Romans. So, you’d be facing the same penalty for killing an Iberian as you would a Roman.’

  Glabius’s mouth sagged open but he did not dare to name the sentence himself.

  ‘Death.’ Cato nodded slowly.

  ‘But, sir, it was an accident. I swear it, on the life of my children. I never meant to kill him. He attacked me and I struck a blow in self-defence. It ain’t right that I should die for that.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Cato asserted. ‘The regulations apply under any and all circumstances. You have admitted being familiar with the rules so you should know that there is no basis for excusing the killer. You should have thought about that before you struck the fatal blow.’

  ‘But . . .’ Glabius shook his head helplessly. ‘But what was I supposed to do, sir? Let the bastard stab me?’

  ‘You should have backed off.’

  ‘And let him walk away with the money he owed me?’

  ‘Yes. Then come and report it to your centurion to take action. As it is, you stabbed the man and have condemned yourself as a result. All for the sake of a handful of silver.’

  ‘Sir,’ Macro interrupted. ‘This ain’t right. I’d have done the same thing in his place. And so would you.’

  ‘Then I would have you face the consequences, just as I would expect you to make me face them. Exceptions cannot be made, for anyone, for any reason. Otherwise the regulations will be worthless. They have to be obeyed if discipline is to be upheld. Without discipline no army can function. You have served long enough to know that what I say is true . . . Well?’

  Macro gritted his teeth and nodded. ‘Then have him flogged, sir. Anything but executed. It’ll go down badly with the rest of the men.’

  ‘It will go down badly with our allies if Glabius is permitted to live.’

  Cato felt exasperated. He no more wanted this situation than Macro did. It dismayed him to have to lose one of his men in addition to one of Rhadamistus’s. It was an utter waste, when every man was needed to ensure the success of the campaign. He was sorely tempted to do as Macro said and punish the man severely, but that was precisely why the regulations were as draconian as they were. If every officer exercised his discretion towards leniency then there would never be any meaningful sanctions.

  ‘We have no choice in the matter.’ Cato drew himself up and fixed his gaze on the slinger.

  ‘Glabius, by your own admission, and in contravention of army regulations, you did draw your dagger and stabbed a comrade and caused his death. Therefore, as the senior officer present, it falls to me to decide your punishment. I sentence you to death in a manner yet to be decided.’ He paused, then added, ‘Do you wish to say anything?’

  Glabius shook his head. ‘Sir, you can’t do this to me. I know the regulations, but I was defending myself.’

  ‘That’s irrelevant.’

  ‘But I have family who depend on me in Antioch. A wife and kids. What will become of them?’

  ‘I will see to it that they get your savings.’

  ‘This ain’t bloody right, sir . . . It ain’t right . . .’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘You’ve had your say.’ Cato gestured to Macro. ‘Take hold of him and follow me. But don’t speak out of turn.’

  They made their way back to Rhadamistus, who regarded them coldly. ‘Well? What is to become of this murderer?’

  ‘I have condemned him.’

  ‘Good. The
n hand him over to me. I’ll see that he is put to death in a suitable manner.’

  Cato recalled the manner in which Rhadamistus had executed his own men after the Parthian raid on their camp. Even though the auxiliary was to die, Cato balked at the idea of handing the task to the Iberians. Some deaths were far worse than others, he knew, and he was not willing to have Glabius suffer unduly. If only because it would further enrage his comrades in the slinger cohort. ‘No, Majesty. Glabius will be punished according to our code. He will be put to death by his comrades, in front of his entire cohort. The execution will take place at dawn.’

  ‘You dare to defy my will? This scum murdered one of my men. Therefore he should be answerable to me. I demand that my men carry out the execution. You will hand him over.’

  ‘I will not,’ Cato replied firmly. ‘If you wish, you can bear witness to his execution at dawn. You, and the men of his unit. But no more than that, given the tensions between your soldiers and mine, Majesty.’

  Rhadamistus barked an order to his followers and two of them stepped forward and moved towards Glabius. At once Macro drew his sword and pushed Glabius behind him. Raising the point towards the Iberians’ throats, he growled: ‘You heard the tribune. The prisoner stays with us.’

  The Iberians looked to their leader for guidance and Rhadamistus repeated the order and thrust his hand towards Glabius to reinforce his will. At the same time Cato had been swiftly weighing up the situation. His initial fury at Macro vanished the moment he realised that his friend’s action had committed them both, whatever the outcome. Now he drew his own sword and took his place beside Macro.

  ‘Call your men off. We are not handing Glabius to you.’

  Rhadamistus smiled. ‘You are two. My immediate followers outnumber you five to one. If you want to fight, then you will lose.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Macro retaliated with a dangerous glint in his eye. ‘Who’s first, eh?’

  The Iberians paused and Cato seized the chance to try to head off the fight. ‘If any harm comes to us, then my soldiers will turn on you and none of us will survive.’