Traitors of Rome (Eagles of the Empire 18)

by Simon Scarrow

  Around midnight, the blizzard moderated and the wind dropped and the flakes no longer swirled through the air but drifted lazily to settle on the smooth mantle that stretched out ahead of him. With only the luminescence of the snow to see by, it was impossible to determine his direction, or even the distance of any snow-covered objects around him. Then the snow stopped altogether, and the sky began to clear from the west to reveal the stars and the wider landscape. Macro paused to get his bearings and saw that he was heading towards the southern range of mountains, so he turned slightly and continued, grateful that the wind had died completely and the only sound was the steady soft crunch of snow underfoot and the occasional deep exhalation of air as he forced himself on.

  Ahead he saw a forest, and to the right the outline of some scattered huts and smaller structures. He made directly for them, hoping to find food and clothing. This close to the camp, it was likely that the foragers had already been through the settlement, but there was a chance that something had been missed, and that there would be no one there for Macro to have to deal with. He was unarmed and weary and had little doubt that the odds would be stacked against him if it came to a fight. As he approached the nearest hut, he paused and listened, but there was no sound until a wolf began to howl somewhere within the forest. The thought of falling prey to a pack of wild animals spurred him on, and he hurried to the low entrance of the hut, swept aside the leather curtain that hung there and stepped inside. The interior was dark, and it was only possible to make out the vaguest details, so he wrenched the leather covering from its hooks to see better.

  The hut had been stripped of the most valuable items by the local people as they fled from the Romans entering the valley, and had then been looted by the foragers. All that remained was a few items of tattered clothing hanging from pegs fastened to the centre post, and scattered baskets and fragments of broken pots and jars. Macro pulled off his tunic and untied and discarded his loincloth. Then, taking a child’s cloak from the post, he rubbed himself vigorously to dry his skin and remove as much of the filth from the drain and ditch as possible. He found a man’s tunic and pulled that on, and then a cloak, before he tore strips of cloth from another battered cloak to wrap around his head, boots and hands.

  He paused to listen again, in case his efforts had alerted anyone who might be lurking in the huts nearby, but there was no sound other than the wolf, now joined by more of the pack. He looked round and saw a small pile of staves to one side of the entrance, together with an adze. He tried a few of the wooden shafts before picking one that was sturdy and well balanced. Then, fastening his broad military belt, he tucked the adze into it and set off to search the other huts.

  The foragers had been thorough, and the only food he discovered was some strips of dried beef beneath a bundle of old rags that had been overlooked by the Roman soldiers. He attempted to chew the end of one of the strips, but it was frozen hard, so he wrapped them all in cloth and tucked the bundle under his tunic against his chest in the hope that they would thaw out enough to eat.

  Back in the open, he saw that more clouds were approaching from the west. He glanced at the mountains again to determine the direction the hunting party had taken, then set off once more. It occurred to him that he would miss the track entirely, since it would lie beneath the snow now, but there might be some features he recognised from the times he had led forage parties along the valley. That had been during daylight, though, he reminded himself. At night and under snow, the valley was a completely different landscape.

  A fresh series of howls sounded, far closer than before, and he turned to look back towards the settlement half a mile behind. Dark shapes flitted across the snow between the huts and then gathered in a loose pack as they began to follow the trail he had left.

  ‘Oh wonderful,’ he growled. ‘Thank you, gods. Why put one obstacle in a man’s way when you can throw several in his path?’

  He increased his pace, using the stave as a walking stick as the clouds crept towards him, slowly shrouding the stars. The ragged clothes he had taken from the hut soon proved their worth, as they trapped the heat from his body and kept out much of the cold. He was still hungry, though. He had eaten nothing apart from a hunk of stale bread since the mutineers had taken over the camp. He hoped that the strips of frozen meat inside his tunic would soon be soft enough to chew.

  It did not take long for the light-footed wolves to catch up with him. Most of the pack slowed to keep pace with him thirty or forty feet behind. Far enough away to flee easily if he turned to confront them, yet close enough to spring forward and attack if he fell or faltered. A handful moved out along each side of him, at a similar distance, watching him closely as they matched his steps. They made no sound that Macro could hear above his laboured breathing and the squeaking crunch of snow underfoot. It was almost as if they were malevolent spirits rather than real beasts. He had seen wolves many times before and knew that they rarely dared to attack people. They took small children if they had the chance, but were wary of full-grown men. Yet it was not unknown for them to attack if driven by hunger, or if they sensed that their prey was weak. If they thought the latter, he was determined to prove them wrong.

  For the next hour, they stayed with him and made no attempt to get any closer, and Macro’s nerves were strained by the constant need to check his rear and flanks. Overhead, the stars had disappeared and darkness hung above him as it continued to devour the heavens. The ground began to slope ahead of him, and he saw a cluster of large boulders on the crest of the hill and altered course towards them. He could pause to rest with his back against a rock while he tested the meat to see if it was soft enough to eat.

  As he drew closer to the boulders, the wolves began to move in. It was done so gradually that he did not notice it at first, and was then shocked when he realised they were no more than ten feet away; close enough to rush him in a heartbeat. He drew the adze with his left hand and readied the stave in his right, ready to strike at the first sign of danger.

  When he reached the crest, he found himself looking down into a tree-lined vale that he recognised from some of the forage parties he had led. It was no more than ten miles to the forest and the hunting party. Almost at once, his eyes were drawn to a flicker of light close to the treeline only a couple of miles away. Then he saw another, and realised he was looking at campfires. From this distance there was no telling if they belonged to rebels, or the hunting party already making its way back to the siege camp. He must get closer to find out; if it was the enemy, then he would have to give them a wide berth and continue on his way.

  There was a soft prickle on the end of his nose, and he glanced up to see that it had started to snow again. Within moments, the distant campfires were blotted out, but he was confident of the direction he must take and kept moving, sinking with each pace into snow that reached his bulky calves. Tucking the stave under his left arm, he reached for the bundle of meat strips inside the tunic and hurled it to one side. There was a pause before the first of the wolves loped over to inspect the bundle, then it tore at it ravenously as the rest of the pack dashed over to fight for their share. Macro made use of the diversion to hurry on a short distance down the slope, but there was only the briefest respite before the wolves came on again. A soft grunt sounded from his left as four of the beasts bounded forward amid sprays of snow and went a short distance ahead of him before turning to block his path. Heads lowered and legs braced, they bared their teeth in snarls. Macro continued towards them warily, poised to strike.

  ‘Go on then, you bastards. Which one of you thinks he’s hard enough?’

  He heard a slight noise behind him above the snarls and instinctively stepped and leaned to the side. The wolf’s body blurred past his shoulder and landed heavily in the snow just in front of where he had been an instant before. He swung the adze down viciously and the edge bit into the wolf’s spine. It spasmed and dropped onto its belly, jaws snapping as blood
poured from the wound, staining the snow black. At once Macro dropped into a crouch, daring the other beasts to attack. One edged closer, hindquarters swaying, and he lashed out with the stave to catch it on the snout before it could dart out of reach. It was a firm blow, and the wolf leaped back and rolled over before springing to its feet and bounding away towards the nearest treeline. Macro sensed the opportunity and rushed the other wolves, slashing out with his stave and adze as he roared at the top of his voice. They turned and ran, chasing after the beast he had struck on the snout. He pursued them for a few paces before stopping and bellowing after them.

  ‘Who’s the centurion? Eh? You gutless hairy bastards!’

  The wolves continued running and disappeared between the trees. Macro straightened up, chest heaving as he breathed deeply and let the tension in his muscles ease. Then he turned back in the direction of the campfires and trudged on.

  Large snowflakes drifted down around him. He kept his course as straight as he could, but as a light breeze blew up and strengthened, the snow was driven into his face and it was almost impossible to look ahead or keep any sense of direction or of how much distance he had covered since he had caught sight of the fires.

  Then, in a brief lull in the snowstorm, he caught sight of a glow to his right and he turned and quickened his pace. Drawing closer, he could see the flames clearly, and by the light they cast he could make out figures sitting nearby, and off to one side the dark outlines of wagons and mules standing with their hindquarters facing the wind. His heart warmed at the sight, before caution weighed in and made him slow down. Better to be sure than blunder into the enemy and lose his life without warning Corbulo and the others about the mutiny. Too much was at stake. So he circled round towards the wagons, their loads covered by snow, and worked his way between them until he could see the men around the campfires. One was striding towards him, a black shape against the light of the flames, and Macro ducked back behind a wagon. When there was no further sign of the man, he edged forward and saw that he had turned to urinate. As the piss arced out in a stream, the man let out a contented sigh. There was no mistaking his profile, and Macro emerged from the side of the wagon and approached him.

  ‘General Corbulo.’ He addressed his superior calmly. ‘Good evening, sir.’

  Corbulo turned, still urinating, and Macro stepped to the side to avoid being splashed. The general’s eyes were wide with alarm, then with the shock of recognition as he made out the craggy features beneath the strip of cloth Macro had wound about his head.

  ‘Centurion Macro . . . What in bloody Hades are you doing here?’ Then it dawned on the general that Macro’s presence and appearance was ominous. ‘What’s happened back at the camp?’

  After Macro had completed his account of the mutiny to Corbulo, Cato and Apollonius while he warmed himself by one of the fires, there was a brief silence as the general reflected on the perilous situation he and his army now faced.

  ‘I should have sent Orfitus back to Tarsus in disgrace when I had the chance. Now the incompetent fool has compromised the siege of Thapsis. When word of the mutiny spreads, you can be sure the Parthians will take every advantage of our weakness. They’ll be trying to stir up rebellion all along the frontier. By the gods, they may even strike first and invade the eastern provinces while I’m struggling to contain the mutiny and any more rebellions.’

  Corbulo grasped his chin and gazed into the fire as one of the Praetorians added another dead pine branch fetched from the floor of the nearby forest. The dried needles flared briefly before the flames licked along the wood.

  ‘We have to put an end to the mutiny as swiftly as possible,’ he concluded. ‘Much as I detest the idea, I’ll have to negotiate with Orfitus and persuade him to call it off.’

  ‘But you heard what Centurion Macro said,’ Apollonius protested. ‘The mutineers are demanding that you abandon the siege and retreat. If you do that, the rebels of Thapsis will claim victory. Who knows which city or province will be next?’

  ‘Quite. Which is why there can be no question of raising the siege. I can meet most of their other demands readily enough, and then we can deal with the ringleaders when I’ve called up sufficient reinforcements to crush the mutiny. But for now, I have to keep the men in the camp and continue the siege, whatever it takes.’

  ‘You can be sure that Orfitus and the others will make impossible demands, sir,’ Cato said. ‘The kind of thing no Roman general could agree to.’

  ‘I know. But what choice do I have? If I refuse, they will hold us all hostage along with the rest of the prisoners and take their demands to the nearest senior Roman official. And that will be Quadratus, the governor of Syria. You can be sure that bastard will use the opportunity to destroy my career for ever.’

  Cato nodded. From the very first moment that Corbulo had arrived to take command of Rome’s forces in the east, the governor of Syria had attempted to challenge him. He thought over what Macro had told them about events in the camp.

  ‘You say that the mutineers opened up the supply huts?’

  Macro nodded. ‘Stripped them clean and stuffed their faces with everything they could find. Including what was left in the officers’ mess and the general’s stores.’

  ‘Good.’ Cato rubbed his hands together and then held the palms towards the fire. ‘Then there’ll be hardly any supplies left in the camp. It’s a good thing we ended the hunt and turned back when the snow started falling, but let’s not be in too much of a hurry to get back and negotiate with Orfitus. We could reach the camp by noon tomorrow. If we give it another day, the men will have started to get hungry again, with the prospect of starvation. They’ll be craving food.’ Cato nodded towards the wagons. ‘And we have plenty of that right here, which we can choose to supply to the men, or not, as we see fit.’

  ‘What about the supply convoy?’ asked Corbulo. ‘That’s due to reach the camp within the next couple of days. The mutineers know it’s on the way. They can easily hold out until it arrives.’

  Cato shrugged. ‘If we were to send a man to halt the convoy, with orders to burn it rather than let it fall into the hands of the mutineers, then the threat of starvation will be very real. I’d say we’re in a strong position. We have control of the one thing they want more than anything else right now: food. We hold that out to them and they’ll soon forget most of their other demands.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Apollonius intervened. ‘Macro told us that the rebels in Thapsis have promised to feed the mutineers if they lift the siege.’

  ‘I suspect that promise was made purely to help provoke the mutiny. Now that it’s been achieved, what incentive have the rebels got to hold good to their promise? Would you, in their place?’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t, but then I tend to take a more cynical line than most men.’

  ‘I’ve noticed. Even allowing for that, I think we’ll find that the rebels will put pragmatism above principle.’ Cato turned to the general. ‘Sir, I say we stay here for another day before we set out for the camp. If we can time our arrival for early morning, when the men will be cold, and hungry, that’s when I think your offer will have the most impact.’

  Corbulo thought for a moment as the other officers looked at him expectantly. Then he nodded. ‘Very well. We stay here. The first order of the day is to find some food for Centurion Macro, then for us all to get some rest. I think we’ll need alert bodies and minds over the next few days. The stakes are high, gentlemen. Let’s be sure that we do our duty for Rome. She will never forgive us if we don’t.’

  Two days later, as dawn broke over the mountains to the east, the sentry on the western gate of the camp squinted into the gloom, then turned to raise the alarm. A moment later, a bucina sounded the stand-to signal and the men of the duty cohort reluctantly emerged from their huts and picked up their javelins and shields before trotting to their positions on the rampart. By the time Or
fitus had been woken and had dressed and made his way to the tower above the gate, the line of wagons was clearly visible, no more than two hundred paces from the outer ditch.

  Pine branches had been piled beneath and around the wagons under the cover of darkness, and now a fire had been lit behind them while Praetorians carrying torches hurried into place beside each of the vehicles. The rest of the Praetorians, under the command of Macro, formed a line in front of the wagons, shields and spears grounded in the snow. General Corbulo slowly approached the gate and halted some thirty paces away a short distance ahead of Cato, Apollonius and his staff officers. Cato looked at the faces along the rampart, then glanced to the left and saw that the siege battery appeared to be deserted, the wooden frames of the catapults rising up above the field fortifications, still and stark against the sky when they should have been battering the wall of Thapsis.

  ‘Who claims to be in command of this mutinous rabble?’ Corbulo demanded as he ran his gaze along the line of the rampart before fixing his eyes on one of the men atop the tower. ‘Is it you, Orfitus?’

  ‘Yes, General. So you know about the mutiny? I take it that Centurion Macro informed you?’

  ‘He did. And he tells me that he is not the only officer who has refused to join your gang of traitors. Set them free and put an end to this treachery and I swear that I will hear your grievances and do what I can to address them.’

  ‘If Macro is with you, then you already know of our grievances. Agree to our demands and swear by all that you hold sacred that you will meet them, and that there will be no retribution for those involved, and we will open the gates and permit you and the wagons to enter the camp.’