Traitors of Rome (Eagles of the Empire 18)

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the servant responded, with a look of disappointment. A sentiment that was shared in the exchanged glances between the staff officers. Macro could not help smiling at the discomfort of the young men from noble families who made no secret of their sense of entitlement to the best supplies to be had. He also felt admiration for the general. Corbulo might believe in firm discipline, but he was prepared to share the privations of his men. That example would be valuable in the days to come.

  Corbulo caught Macro’s eye as he approached, and nodded approvingly. ‘Your Praetorians looked smart as they marched up, Centurion Macro.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Once the camp’s defences are ready, I’ll have your century with me when we approach the gates to demand the rebels’ surrender. Let them see the kind of men they’ll be up against if they’re thinking of fighting it out.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll make sure the lads put on a good show.’

  ‘See that they do. I want this business concluded as swiftly as possible so that we can teach any other potential rebels a lesson. And then we can get on with preparing the army for the invasion of Parthia.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Corbulo turned his gaze back towards the walls of Thapsis for a moment before he continued. ‘If the people up there come to their senses, we’ll only have to execute a few ringleaders, take hostages and leave a small garrison behind. With luck we’ll be marching back to the bridge just as the repairs are completed, and the people of Thapsis will be relieved that Rome has shown them mercy. That should dampen any further appetite for rebellion.’

  For a moment, no one commented, then Macro coughed gently. ‘And if they don’t come to their senses, sir? Given that we’ll be short on supplies until the siege train arrives, we’ll find taking the town a tricky prospect.’

  Corbulo turned to him with a sour expression. ‘You are something of a master of the art of understatement, Centurion.’

  Macro shifted uncomfortably. ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you have cut to the truth of it. We are not in a position to mount a direct assault on the town. So I must make certain that the rebels are aware that siege weapons or not, I will not permit them to defy Rome. They must be made aware of the consequences. If they refuse to submit, we’ll lay siege to Thapsis until we starve them into surrender. And then we’ll kill every man in the town and enslave the women and children before we burn the place to the ground.’ Corbulo smiled grimly. ‘When I have said my piece, they will be in no doubt as to the wisdom of putting an end to this revolt and reaffirming their loyalty to the emperor.’

  It was late in the afternoon as General Corbulo gave the order for the bucinas to announce his approach. Wearing a clean cloak of dazzling scarlet over his polished breastplate, he led a small party of staff officers, equally well turned out, from the camp and up the road that passed through the settlement towards the town gates. Immediately behind him marched four men blowing a series of brassy notes on their bucinas to make sure that the rebels were made aware of their approach and to signal that no trickery was intended by the Romans. Next came the standard-bearers carrying the eagle of the Sixth Legion, the general’s personal standard, an image of the emperor and the standards of the other units in the camp. Macro’s century of the Second Praetorian Cohort brought up the rear, each man as neatly turned out as was possible given the limited time to prepare. Macro marched at their head, his medal harness gleaming over the dull rings of his mail vest.

  The procession made its way steadily up the gentle slope and began to pass through the abandoned buildings of the lower settlement. Most of the windows and doors hung open and the roadway was strewn with abandoned baskets, broken jars and other items hastily discarded as soon as the Romans had marched into view. Scores of soldiers were foraging for food, firewood and materials to build shelters. They stood aside as Corbulo and his small column marched by, then resumed their search. On the far side of the settlement stood a loose line of pickets, keeping a watch on the town wall some three hundred paces away. There were dead dogs on either side of the road, and Macro guessed that the defenders had killed them to save having to feed them once the siege began.

  Closer to, the defences of Thapsis looked more formidable than ever. As Macro marched up the road towards the gatehouse, he noticed a series of thin posts set in lines across the open ground, and realised that the defenders had placed them there to indicate the range from the wall. The furthest was no more than two hundred paces from the outer ditch; just beyond bowshot, he estimated, relieved at the prospect of the rebels having nothing more powerful than arrows to meet any attack.

  Corbulo halted the column a safe distance beyond the outermost range-markers. Macro deployed his century into line just behind the colour party, and ordered them to stand to attention. A final series of notes blasted from the bucina men, and then one of the staff tribunes walked his horse towards the town. Macro could see the glint of helmets and spear points along the battlements of the gatehouse, and at the walls and towers, as the rebels watched the officer draw closer.

  He reined in thirty paces from the gates and addressed the defenders in Greek.

  ‘People of Thapsis, General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo sends greetings in the name of Emperor Nero of Rome. The general wishes to parley with you to discuss the terms of your surrender. He offers leniency to all save those responsible for betraying the treaty with Rome through which Thapsis has enjoyed peace and prosperity. How do you respond?’

  As the echo of his words died away, a figure climbed onto the battlements above the gates and sat down nonchalantly with his legs dangling over the dressed stone. From his position Macro could make out the man’s green jerkin and conical helmet and the outline of a beard. He surveyed the Romans before him, then the camp, before he responded in the same tongue, calling out loudly enough that he could be clearly heard.

  ‘I speak on behalf of the patriots of Thapsis. My name is Ordones, and I return your greetings. The treaty with Rome was agreed by the despots who ruled here before. Now the people have chosen to throw off their chains and pay no more taxes to your emperor. Send word to Nero that we are no longer his vassals. Return to Tarsus in peace.’

  ‘Damn the man’s impudence,’ Corbulo snapped, and spurred his horse forward so that he might speak directly to Ordones, regardless of the risk. He checked his horse in front of the tribune and glared up at the rebel. ‘I will not permit you to break the terms of the treaty. Thapsis has submitted to Rome and Rome will not relinquish her authority over this town. You will surrender or you will be obliterated, and ten years hence, no man will recall that Thapsis ever existed. I will give you until dawn to surrender. If the gates are not opened when the sun rises, there will be no further opportunity to surrender. You will die, Ordones, along with every man within the walls.’

  ‘Before that happens, you have to take the town,’ the rebel retorted. He gestured towards the Roman camp. ‘I see no siege weapons. And without those, your half-starved army is never going to succeed, no matter how many men you hurl against our walls.’

  ‘The artillery train will catch up with us soon enough. And when it does, we will bring down your precious walls in a matter of days.’ Corbulo clenched his fist around the pommel of his sword in frustration. ‘Don’t be a fool, man! Save the lives of your people and surrender. Do it now.’

  Ordones laughed. ‘I think not. We have the advantage here. Our walls will hold. We have plenty of men under arms, and enough water and food to hold out for two years.’

  ‘Then my army will take Thapsis in two years and a day. Rome never admits defeat. You know this is true. You have no choice but to surrender.’

  ‘We have already made our choice, General Corbulo.’ Ordones drew his feet up and half turned as he made a gesture with one hand to someone out of sight. ‘You will not have to wait until dawn for our decision.’


  With that, he climbed down behind the battlement and an order was shouted. At once, Macro saw archers appear on the towers. There was no need to warn Corbulo; the general had already sensed danger and had wheeled his mount round and started galloping back down the road, shouting at the tribune to follow him. The latter was slower to react, and had only gone a short distance before the first arrows were loosed. Macro saw the dark shafts sweeping down and then quivering as they struck the ground about the two riders. Miraculously, none of the first volley struck either man or their mounts as they raced for safety.

  The second volley, more ragged than the first, sped down in a shallow arc. The tribune suddenly arched his back and flung his head back as he was struck, but managed to stay in his saddle. As he leaned forward and urged his horse on, Macro saw the shaft that had lodged in his right shoulder. A moment later, the general’s horse reared up and unleashed a piercing whinny. Two arrows had plunged into its croup. The animal dropped back onto its forelegs and ran on a short distance, then stumbled as its rear legs gave out. Corbulo released the reins at the last moment and threw himself to the side as the horse collapsed and rolled over. It came to rest in a small cloud of dust, kicking its forelegs and tossing its head as it tried, and failed, to rise. Corbulo was on his feet in an instant, running down the slope as the wounded tribune galloped past him.

  ‘Fuck,’ Macro growled, dropping his vine cane and running towards the general. There was a brief respite, then more arrows rose from the town’s towers. He raised his shield as he pounded up the slope, and gritted his teeth in anticipation. An instant later, the first arrow struck the shield and deflected over him. More landed on either side before he reached Corbulo and covered them both with his shield, grasping the general’s arm and hauling him close.

  ‘Let’s go, sir. It’s too uncomfortable to stay here.’

  With Macro keeping the shield raised, they rushed past the last of the range posts. Several of the Praetorians came forward with raised shields to escort the two officers to safety. The sound of jeering came from the walls, the defenders brandishing their bows and other weapons. Macro paid no attention as he quickly examined the general for any wounds.

  ‘You’re all right, sir,’ he said with relief, catching his breath.

  Corbulo was breathing hard and managed a nod before he muttered, ‘My thanks . . .’

  ‘Just repaying a debt, sir.’ Macro looked over to where the wounded tribune was being helped down from his nervous mount by two more of his men. ‘Get him back to the camp! And you, take his horse.’

  The rest of the staff officers and the colour party hurriedly retreated behind Macro’s century until only Corbulo and Macro himself remained. The general was staring towards the walls of Thapsis with a look of cold fury. ‘How dare they? Now they’ll find out what happens to those who abuse the rules of a parley.’

  Macro nodded. To his mind the rebels had committed a cowardly outrage and had therefore forfeited any chance of negotiating surrender terms. Death or slavery was the fate that awaited the people of Thapsis from this point on.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the muffled sound of several cracks within the space of a heartbeat, and as he looked towards the battlements, he saw several dark dots rise up from behind the town’s walls and climb swiftly into the afternoon sky. The general saw them at the same moment and turned to the waiting Praetorians.

  ‘Get back! Get back to the camp! Go!’

  The rocks hurled from the catapults inside Thapsis slowed as they reached the peak of their trajectory, then plunged downwards. Most of the Praetorians and the other men were aware of the danger and now ran to get clear of the path of the missiles. Some, however, had not seen the rocks or were too slow to react, and paid the price. The first rock struck close to Macro and his commander, and the impact made the ground shudder beneath their boots as grit and dust exploded into the air. Another struck the ground right at the feet of one of the bucina men, smashing his legs, the impetus carrying the boulder onwards to knock down the standard-bearer behind him, crashing into his hip. More of the missiles plunged down amongst the buildings a short distance further down the slope.

  Macro straightened up as the last boulder landed and looked through the swirls of dust thrown up by the impacts. ‘Fall back!’

  The men needed little encouragement to escape from the threat of further bombardment and ran back down the street towards the camp. Amongst them were the staff officers, spurring their mounts through the fleeing crowd. Macro gave the general a gentle shove.

  ‘Get going, sir.’

  As soon as Corbulo had moved off, Macro called to survivors of the colour party to gather up the injured, while he himself recovered the standard that had fallen to the ground when its bearer had been struck down. Above the din of scrambling boots he caught the sound of more clanking as the rebels prepared to unleash a second wave of rocks. He ordered the last of the men on the slope to run, and then turned away to follow them through the abandoned settlement. As the missiles smashed through buildings and crashed into the streets and alleys, the men who had been foraging joined the retreat, desperate to get beyond the range of the rebels’ artillery.

  As he passed through the heart of the settlement, Macro saw the mangled bodies of two legionaries who must have been standing close together when they were crushed. One was still alive and gasping for breath as he writhed feebly. Crouching down, Macro saw that the man’s jaw and throat were smashed and that he was beyond help. Macro ran on as the next volley of missiles crashed down amongst the buildings. The following volley fell some distance behind him. Realising that he was safely out of range, he slowed to a walk as his mind grasped the guile of the trick the enemy had played on them. The range posts had been set out for the archers alone. The rebels had used the dead dogs to mark the ranges for their catapults.

  ‘Clever,’ Macro muttered to himself. ‘Bloody clever. Round one to you. But you’ll pay for that, my friends. I swear it, by Jupiter, Best and Greatest.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘What’s the butcher’s bill?’ Corbulo asked as he stood with his staff officers and stared at the town looming over the tiled roofs and plastered walls of the settlement that lay between Thapsis and the Roman camp.

  Macro consulted his tablet. ‘Three Praetorians killed, five wounded, three of whom should recover. Eight legionaries killed, nineteen wounded. The surgeon reckons twelve should make a full recovery. Two mules—’

  ‘Mules?’ Corbulo turned to him.

  ‘Yes, sir. They were harnessed to a cart being used by the foragers when the building above them took a hit and collapsed. Still, they’ll make a decent stew.’

  ‘Stew aside, that’s a damned shame,’ Corbulo mused. ‘We need all the mules we can get.’

  Macro nodded. The humble beasts of burden were vital to moving supplies. They and their drovers were almost as valuable as the men who did the fighting.

  ‘What about Tribune Lepidus?’

  ‘The surgeon managed to remove the arrowhead, but he says the tribune’s shoulder blade was shattered. His arm will be almost useless.’

  ‘Much like the rest of him, then,’ Corbulo mused. ‘I was going to send him back to Rome when his service period was over in any case. He can take his war wound home with him to impress the plebeian voters. They appreciate that kind of thing far more than any actual competence.’

  Macro tended to take a more sympathetic view of soldiers who had been crippled while serving Rome and were then forced to find whatever living they could back in civilian life. Of course it was different for the likes of Lepidus, who came from a privileged background. He would never have to perform manual labour or go hungry, and his crippled arm would serve as a badge of honour and ease the way for his political career. He would not suffer unduly, Macro reflected as he responded to his superior. ‘I imagine so, sir.’

  ‘Anything else?’

&n
bsp; ‘That’s all, sir.’

  Corbulo gathered his thoughts. ‘We’ll have a funeral at dawn tomorrow for those we lost. I want every one of our men to be there to bear witness. Our comrades died as a result of the enemy’s refusal to abide by the customs of war. The rebels are without honour and deserve no mercy. I want you to make that clear to your men. Our purpose here is no longer to persuade the people of Thapsis to end their rebellion and take their place amongst our allies once again. It is to destroy Thapsis and make an example of that man Ordones and all who follow him, whether they do so willingly or not. We will avenge our dead, gentlemen, in the most ruthless manner possible, so that no one doubts the consequences of betraying Rome. When we invade Parthia, as we inevitably must, it is imperative that our lines of communication are secure. We cannot afford to have any rebels threatening our rear.’

  He paused to ensure that his officers understood the situation. ‘In order to ensure that Thapsis is taken, there’s much work to be done. I want the town sealed up so that no one can leave or enter it. Tomorrow we will begin work on earthworks to extend from the camp around the hill. I want a ditch and rampart with towers every fifty paces. That will require more men, more labour and above all, more supplies. To that end the cavalry will head out tomorrow and scour the surrounding land for food. The peasants here are no different to anywhere else; they’ll have hidden the stocks they couldn’t bear to destroy. We need to find those supplies. I don’t care who you have to torture in order to get them to reveal where their food is hidden. Every man, woman and child of this miserable little kingdom is fair game as far as I am concerned.

  ‘At the same time, there will be plenty of people hiding in the forests and hills. We need to round them up to work for us. That way, if the rebels feel tempted to try a few long shots to disrupt our work, they’ll only be killing their own people, and giving away the range of their artillery while they are about it. We can adjust the course of the earthworks accordingly. Once our siege train arrives, we’ll construct a battery to breach the wall.’