by Marc Jones
Vitalinus pulled a face. “Father, was it wise to have mentioned what you did?”
He looked at his son, an eyebrow quirking upwards. “You think that I was premature to mention it? You of all people?”
Vitalinus flushed slightly. “Yes,” he said stubbornly. “I think that you should have been more patient. And patience is something that I am learning.”
He studied his son keenly for a long moment and then clicked at his horse to get it moving again. “Perhaps you are indeed learning patience. But there is a time to be patient and a time to push, and we must now push. I don’t think that the situation in Hibernia will settle down, I think that it will get worse. And then there is Gaul. Stilicho will soon confront Constantius. No matter who wins there the old days of the Empire being all-powerful are over. We are on our own here. I think some of those fools back in Londinium suspect that, especially Aurelianus and Poplicala. Those two worry me.”
His son shrugged and lowered his voice. “We can always deal with them later.”
He glowered at him. “Later. And not before I say so. They still might have their uses.”
“They might also march against us.”
“They wouldn’t dare. They cannot risk civil war.”
Another shrug from his son. “Which is why I asked if you were moving too quickly. I bow to your leadership father.”
“Good. Any news from Moridunum?”
“Not yet.”
Vitalis nodded slowly. Ah well. It would have to be done. He needed the loyalty of as many people as possible. “Very well. Back to Glevum. And then from there to Venta Silurum. No point taking any chances. We can ship the silver across the Sabrina.”
His son nodded and Vitalis raised his right arm above his head and then gestured forwards sharply. As the horsemen broke into first a trot and then a gentle canter Vitalis found himself remembering his confrontation with that jumped-up peasant Cato. Well, there was a man who did need to die.
The road ahead was filled with marching men and horsemen. Stilicho watched them with a mix of emotions. There was pride for creating the army. There was nostalgia – it had been a while since he had last seen an army composed mostly of Romans. And there was the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that told of fear. He was taking a gamble. He had to roll the dice, it wasn’t as if he had a choice in the matter, but he wished that he had another option available to him.
The men were barely trained. Barely. The ghosts of previous Magister Militums and Emperors were probably laughing at what he had to fight with. If there was any justice in this world then he should have kept them training for another six months at least.
But he didn’t have six months. He was still balanced on the edge of that sword and the winds blowing him about were getting stronger. He needed a victory. He needed something to take to the Senate and the Imperial Court which would strengthen his own position.
So now here he was, moving North-West in the late spring, off to fight a war against men who had fought by his side just a few years ago at Mogontiacum. There was much to regret, not least his actions that had led to this point. He should have listened to the rumours from Gaul, he shouldn’t have promised Euric the land by the Rhenus, he should have sent the Visigoths somewhere else, such as North Africa.
Hmm. Such thoughts and regrets were all very well, but they were a bit behind the point of regrets now. He just hoped that he could achieve what he wanted to achieve – the defeat of Constantius and the settlement of affairs in Gaul – rapidly. A long campaign would be a disaster. This had to be settled by Midsummer, or by autumn at the latest.
He eyed a knot of cavalry as they trotted by and frowned internally. That lot were Visigoths and he needed a lot more of them. Every Roman army always needed good cavalry, mostly foreign born because Roman cavalry tended to be ineffective. The old knights were now a part of the social structure of Rome and there was also the little fact that training cavalry took time and money, both of which had been lacking in Rome recently. He himself had concentrated on training infantry with his sudden largesse of funds. There just hadn’t been the time to train up cavalry as well.
And he desperately needed cavalry. They were the eyes and ears of any army. They weren’t just the shock troops that could intervene on the wings, they were also the scouts and the foragers. Anyone who went into enemy territory without scouts tended to not come back at all.
And whilst he had some small vexillations of Scholae Palatinae (the rest of them were back in Rome) as well as some enthusiastic auxiliaries from North of the Padus, the majority of his cavalry were either Visigoths or Hunnoi mercenaries, few of whom could be trusted implicitly. In fact if he had to admit it he barely trusted any of them. He had a nasty feeling that many of the Visigoths might desert to try and find their own scattered people once they got the other side of the Alps. As for the Hunnoi… well he had a foreboding about their fellow countrymen to the North-East.
“Magister Militum.”
He turned from his dark thoughts to see the commander of the Legio V Iovia, or what could be called a Legion. It was lucky to have 790 men in it. “Julius Valerius. How can I help you?”
“We aren’t too far from Civitas Ebrodunensium. What are your orders from there?”
He carefully hid his surprise. He had been deep in thought for a bit too long – they were deeper into the province of Alpes Maritimae than he had thought.
“We head for their heart. Lugdunum.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aurelianus knew that he was brooding as he stared out of the window, but he couldn’t help it. Ever since the meeting in Londinium he’d been turning events over in his mind, again and again, over and over. He’d analysed every memory he had of it, looking over every aspect of it.
“A follis for your thoughts.”
He looked over at Poplicala, who had appeared to one side without being noticed. “I did clear my throat,” his old friend said wryly, “But you did not seem to hear me.”
Aurelianus laughed softly. “My apologies. My thoughts were on Vitalis.”
“Then you are excused.” He walked forwards and joined Aurelianus by the window, which overlooked the main drill square of the fortress of Deva. Outside, in the sunshine of a fine warm spring day, around 500 men – all infantry – were being put through their paces by various purple-faced centurions. “They’re doing well.”
“Only because they’ve been drilling for months now, paid for by the gold we have. I keep thinking about those poor lads in Stilicho’s army. If the messages I’ve been getting from friends in Rome are right, then Stilicho has levered enough money out of the Senate to pay for that standing army that they need so very badly, but I doubt that he’s had enough time to train the men properly.”
“I know,” Poplicala said quietly. “Makes me shudder as well to think about it. It’s the nightmare of every commander.” He looked at Aurelianus again. “You mentioned Vitalis.”
“I was wondering what to do about him. I was assessing our options. And what I came up with did not fill me with much joy. If we march against him with the army we condemn this island to civil war and all the horrors that will result, at a time when we should instead be seeking to build it up. But if we do nothing then he will pick us off one by one – he will weaken us, undermine us and seek to supplant us with his creatures.”
“Agreed,” Poplicala said with a grimace. “So – what’s to be done?”
Fingers drummed against the wall as Aurelianus thought things over. “We fight fire with fire.”
“Meaning?”
“Vitalis needs the tribes of the West to support him. I think that we need to make sure that the Great Bay is properly protected against any raids from Hibernia. I want the cavalry patrols there increased and we need to create a new base to support marines. I was thinking about the old fort at Maglona.”
Poplicala wrinkled his forehead in puzzlement. “Maglona? I thought that Maglona was in the North, near the Wall.”
&nb
sp; “I’m talking about the old fort on the Great Bay. It was named Maglona a long time ago. I’m not sure when or why it was abandoned, but we need to reoccupy it.”
Poplicala paused and nodded. “Very well, I agree. But even then it won’t be easy to undermine that old snake. And his even more dangerous son. Vitalinus is the long-term threat to us.”
Aurelianus turned back to the window and sighed. “Leave them to me.”
The scout looked down at the ground in front of him. It looked good. No loose branches from the trees that towered over him and his horse, no excess of leaves and above all no dry dusty ground that might kick up enough dust to give his position away to any unfriendly eyes. He looked around warily. He’d had a funny feeling for the past few stadia. An itchy feeling on the back of his neck that meant that he was being watched. The problem was that he couldn’t exactly go back and report it. The Optio would knock him down if he returned too early from scouting duties just because he’d had a funny feeling.
He urged his horse into a gentle trot as they crossed the clearing. He’d seen some track marks in the ground earlier and he needed to get a better idea of what they were. He risked a quick glance to his left. Yes, he could just see the hill beyond which Lugdunum lay. There was danger there, he could feel it.
Then he returned his gaze to the ground in front. Yes, he could see hoof prints in the softer parts of the earth. Horsemen had been there. Not a lot, just a few. Something glinted in the long grass to one side and he slipped off his own horse and ran his fingers through the green strands in a fingertip search. Aha. His fingers closed around a bit of metal and he raised it to his eyes to stare at. A piece of bridle. From whose horse though? A local farmer? Or Gaullish cavalry?
The scout pulled a face and then looked around at the trees. The itchy feeling was back. He shrugged mentally and then got back on his horse, marvelling yet again at the ease of mounting a horse with the help of the stapeda. He sighed and then clicked his tongue to get his horse moving again.
He never the saw the arrow that slammed into his back, slipped between his ribs and penetrated his heart, tumbling him lifelessly off his horse.
Stilicho was not a man who normally scowled at maps. But he was at the moment. And he couldn’t help it much. The gates of Lugdunum were closed to him. The inhabitants had made that very clear to him. The walls were manned by troops, but he didn’t know what kind of troops. Local militia or members of whatever army Constantius had access to? He didn’t know and that worried him. It meant that he couldn’t ignore the damn city.
Especially as he had a suspicion that Constantius was out there somewhere. He’d sent scouts out as his forces had approached Lugdunum, a mixed bag of irregular horsemen and other scrapings. Some had scouted around Lugdunum and had confirmed that all the gates were shut and that the bridges over the Rhodanus and the Saoconna were denied to him.
He glared at the map again. The bridges were important. Getting over the rivers meant that he could swing North on the main military highway that led to Augusta Treverorum. Well. He had engineers. Not brilliantly good ones, but building bridges to the North of the city should be an easy task. And that was the problem. The North. The scouts who had been sent there had not returned.
The fact that they had not screamed out to him that there was a force of enemy soldiers there. The word ‘trap’ came to mind in an instant. It made sense. The ground was rolling and dotted with woods and small lakes, with hills to the West and the East. Good ground for cavalry.
He grimaced. With an army that badly needed more training and seasoning he would be a fool to take too many risks. He had to presume that there was a force of Gaulish cavalry to his North. At the same time he could not rule out there being a force in the city itself. His siege train – what there was of it, which was not a lot – was still far to the rear and he wasn’t sure if the men were up to the task of a proper siege.
After thinking long and hard he traced the shape of the letter ‘L’ on the map, turned to the right. The short leg would face Lugdunum, the long leg would face to the North, where the men would build field defences. Once the Gauls knew that he hadn’t fallen into their trap perhaps they would be more cautious and withdraw – or even be willing to negotiate.
He didn’t want to be in this damn place. He had far too much to do in Rome and Ravenna. Honorius tended to be influenced by the last person he talked to and the Senate needed to be cowed at every opportunity.
Stilicho closed his eyes for a long moment. There was so much to do, even outside of the mess that was Gaul. The Burgundii were eyeing the Ostrogoths that were passing to the North of them. Rome’s economy seemed to be dominated by rich idiots in the Senate who owned vast tracts of land and who seemed to suck the money out of everything they touched. The currency was hopelessly debased and some people seemed to think that arguing over religion was better than addressing the problems of the Western Empire. Oh and there were times when Honorius seemed to be more concerned about his pet fucking chickens than the state of the Empire.
He thought about what he’d discussed with his wife before he’d left with the army again and grimaced again. Food for later thought. Then he looked back down at the map. Very well. A defensive position before a decision on what to do. The scowl came back. More time that he didn’t want to waste.
The helmet he was wearing was a too big for him, thought Constantius absently as he looked out over the wall at the Roman army that was taking up its position to the North and East of Lugdunum. He could see the shape that it seemed to be falling into through the dust and he nodded sharply to himself. So, Stilicho was no slouch as a general. The men looked better drilled than he had thought. They were not raw recruits. That said, they were nothing like past Roman armies. He had to admit that he was very glad that they weren’t like previous Roman armies. His own forces weren’t exactly like the Roman Legions of old.
He strode into the tower next to him and took off his helmet. “Whoever you got this from has a huge head,” he said to Tetricus with a wry smile. “I think it’s time for us to get ready.”
“Yes sir,” Tetricus nodded as he took the helmet and hung it on a nail by the stairs. “You think that Stilicho will take the bait?”
Constantius pulled at his nose as he thought and then jerked his head at the stairs. “He’s no fool,” he said as they descended to the base of the wall and then out into the open air. “We must be careful from this point onwards. Send word that no senior officer, in red cloak or plumes or anything too shiny, is to be seen on the walls. If someone wants to look out for the right moment then let them do it in a plain cuirass and an ordinary helmet. The last thing I want is for Stilicho to start getting suspicious.”
They had reached the horses now and Constantius and Tetricus both mounted their respective steeds. “Right then,” Constantius said to the officers around him. “It’s time to start the play. You all know your parts – we’ve planned enough for this. So – let us be about our business!”
The knot of horsemen trotted briskly down the road towards the Westernmost gate, where the waiting guards quickly pulled the gates open just far enough to allow Constantius and the others to slip through. As the gates closed ponderously behind them the men first trotted and then cantered gently down the road. After a few minutes Constantius held up a hand and then slowed his horse to a standstill. As Tetricus approached he held his hand out. “Good luck. Strength and honour.”
“Strength and honour, sir,” Tetricus answered as he clasped forearms with the General. And then he wheeled his horse and led his group off to the North.
Constantius watched them go for a while with a bitter smile on his face. “I wish that Generals could just fight out their differences without involving anyone else,” he muttered. And then he shook himself and looked at the remaining men. “Onwards!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“My thumb is pricking.” Stilicho muttered the words just under his breath as he looked out to the North. They’d finally
had some reports from some of the new scouts who had been sent in that direction. They’d found a few bodies here and there, hurriedly hidden in whatever undergrowth existed and even a horse with blood all over its saddle. Yes, the Gauls were to their North and were present in some numbers.
And now, in the past hour, scouts had returned with sightings. Gaullish cavalry had been seen and even some concealed infantry. There had been some small clashes, nothing major but enough to get his attention. They were out there. He just didn’t know how many of them there were, or exactly where they were, or where they were heading. You know, the kind of information that helped a general work out what to do.
He frowned. He needed more information about what was out there. More reports or better yet the evidence of his own eyes. He hated relying on reports from other men, sometimes they missed out certain details that afterwards turned out to be of extraordinary significance. But what he had was all he had and there was no point in complaining too much. No, he should be grateful for what he had.
The men at least were on full alert and busy digging field defences where they could. He’d learned from an early age that there were times when a mattock could be more valuable than a spear and as he’d known that they would be meeting Gaullish cavalry at some point he’d had the lads training in digging ditches and raising ramparts of earth. They were nowhere near as proficient at it as the old Imperial Legions had been (he’d grown up reading Caesar’s books about the conquest of Gaul) but even a small obstruction could help fight off cavalry.
The back of his neck itched for an instant and he scratched absently. Something felt wrong. He didn’t know what, he didn’t know why, but something felt wrong somehow and he rubbed a hand over his chin. Then he turned to his servant. “Get my horse.”