by C K Ruppelt
“Let’s go!” The legionaries and Oz’s squad started to run.
***
As Oz, Maximus and their men ran up the valley they saw chaos everywhere. What had started as a retreat for the Transcudani warriors had transformed into wild panic. Hundreds of their warriors had been cut off by pursuing cavalry forces. Some of the bands had simply given up, their weapons thrown into the mud. Once wrists and ankles were bound the Roman soldiers moved on, leaving only a small force as guards. Other groups of Transcudani were still fighting, clearly intent on dying. After running through the middle of a forcefully emptied town they passed several legionary centuries caught up in these senseless struggles. The men boxed the warriors in behind a continuous shield wall, resulting in a brief and vicious slaughter. Oz shook his head, though on some level he understood the choice these warriors made. So much senseless death. I am not sure I can take much more of this.
As the group came to a second town they saw huge groups of surrendered enemies, all cut off from their escape to the high plateau by the soldiers of the Eighth legion. Most of the gatherings were in the lower thousands, but the biggest, cornered against the three-thousand-foot-tall sheer wall of the high eastern plateau counted at least ten thousand. Looking ahead at the steep incline, Oz saw a handful of agile warriors attempting a last-minute escape by climbing. His eyes followed them up, widening at the sight of tens of thousands of Transcudani standing along the edge of the plateau, helplessly staring down at the valley. He gazed over at the long incline between the two table tops where a big mass of the warriors successfully defended the winding path to keep the legionaries from following.
Oz and Maximus stopped their men when they reached the soldiers of their second cohort who had formed a loose line around a few thousand Transcudani that seemed devoid of all hope. Some were pale, sitting on the ground in shock, while others were standing and wailing loudly. Many walked back and forth, often crying violently. Oz let his eyes scan through the sad masses of captives.
This is horrifying. So many children, guarded only by grandparents. What? He scanned back. Two small children, all alone.
He held his breath. A small girl hugging a little toddler boy, both crying. The other Transcudani around them didn’t seem to care, leaving the space around the two children wide open as if nobody wanted to take responsibility for two lonely children. Their family must be among the many dead.
As Oz watched the girl step protectively in front of the little boy, a dam of long pent-up emotions broke inside of him. He started sobbing violently, the losses of all his many loved ones hitting him at once. No, no, no.
He acted without conscious thought and ran through the circle of soldiers before rushing into the captives which opened a path for him, showing him fearful faces. He grabbed both children and turned around, clutching them tightly in his arms while running back. The young girl kept hitting him with her little fists as hard as she could, screaming all the way. He made shushing sounds, saying “It’s alright, it’s alright” in Numidian, unable to calm her or himself down. As he approached the soldiers, Adhe, Gulussa, and several others from his squad protectively rushed at him. All shed tears as they surrounded him to hide the children from prying legionary eyes.
***
Retukenos stood next to his favorite chieftain colleague at the edge of the western high plateau. They looked out at the scene below them without speaking a word. He noticed Koitina’s worried glances at him. She finally put her hand on his shoulder to push him down and broke the silence. “Sit for a moment, old friend.” He did, momentarily caught too much in his own grief to reply.
The few survivors that had made it up the path were now grieving for the family and friends that hadn’t. Retukenos watched many of the big groups below stop fighting and surrender, while some of the small groups of warriors chose death over slavery. He took a deep breath. “I hope you’ll be up for this. My friend. I think we need to form a group of emissaries to negotiate with the Roman general. If we offer full surrender, they may spare more of our people from the yoke of slavery.” He looked at her. She nodded and helped him back up. “Let’s see who survived.”
They walked off together to gather a few elders and a handful of surviving council members. Once they numbered around twenty, Retukenos figured it would have to do.
“Fe can’t keep looking for more elders. We need to go down to the Romans now. We need to end this before they trap us up here in a siege. All they need to do is wait until we starve.” He looked at Koitina. “Are we all in agreement?” When she nodded, he looked at every other face in turn. Some of the men still looked shocked, others clearly grieved about loved ones. Two of the men just looked angry. “Do we have a problem?” he asked them.
“No, we don’t, even though I hate the idea of surrendering to these dishonorable dogs, I know there is nothing more we can do,” one of them said. They all nodded in agreement.
***
Cinna noticed Vatinius walking up to Sabinius and him. “Get the slave traders!” the man commanded before moving on. Sabinius left Cinna sitting alone on the boulder they had shared to search for a cavalry man that could bring the legion’s three resident slave traders over from the main camp. The slavers had been part of the Ninth legion’s entourage since the very beginning of the campaign. Sabinius found a scout to send and walked back.
“Won’t take them very long to show up. I suspect they’re already halfway here,” Sabinius quipped after he returned to the boulder.
Only twenty minutes later Cinna spoke up. “You were right, here they are.” The three slave traders and their men made their way through the different groups of Transcudani, carefully counting and studying long the way. A few legionary centuries continued to bind yet untied hands and ankles in the bigger groups, while the remainder of the cohorts had moved on to start siege fortifications for the two high tableaus.
Half an hour later the sky cleared, and young tribune Crassus led the slave traders by Cinna’s boulder. “Where to next?” Cinna asked.
“They are done, so next is the meeting with Vatinius and the Ninth’s camp prefect,” Crassus answered. Cinna nodded, standing up to follow. Sabinius joined him as well, also wanting to listen in on this. Everybody involved in the fight against the Transcudani would get a cut from the spoils, Cinna and the cohorts on loan included.
The Ninth’s commander sat on a folding stool, animatedly chatting with his camp prefect when Crassus walked up.
“Ave!” Vatinius addressed the three civilians. “Have you come up with your numbers?” Cinna saw all three heads nod.
One of them stepped forward as a spokesperson. “We have, and we have concluded that the three of us must work together. We don’t have enough manpower individually to move all the captives, at least not without involving methods that would inflict heavy losses. On numbers, we came up with roughly twenty-five thousand men, women and children. I am asking to buy ten thousand head, and my colleagues here want seven and a half thousand each. Our offer is a generic two-hundred-fifty sesterce a piece.”
Vatinius looked to his camp prefect, who ran quick numbers in his head and whispered them to the legate. Vatinius shook his head. “That’s not enough. I want you to pay four hundred sesterces a head, or I’ll dispatch half my legion to bring them back to Scalabis where we can get much better prices.”
Cinna realized the slave traders were amused and had to work hard to suppress their smiles. He raised his eyebrow to look questioningly at Sabinius. “They know the legion would never attempt this kind of endeavor itself,” Sabinius whispered. “The slave traders have the upper hand and can push for wholesale prices. Why else would they follow the legions to the ends of the earth.”
The slaver’s spokesman looked back at his fellows and saw their nods. “We are willing to pay three hundred per head. That’s our final offer.”
The legate nodded. “Agreed. Thank you, gentlemen. Please help our prefect finish the paper work.” Vatinius turned to walk away.
Vatinius laughed. “I have to say that I don’t, not yet. If we could stay we would wait for them to starve. But, we don’t have time to hang around, Caesar needs us to move north. My hope rests on them not knowing we’re in a hurry.” They all looked back at the steep path and the tableau above and noticed a delegation consisting of twenty older men and one woman rushing down the winding path. They were well dressed and held their hands out with their palms up in a gesture of peace and supplication.
“Speaking of my hope!” Vatinius said. The man seemed outright giddy from today’s success. “Whatever they are going to ask, all I’m offering is that none of the ones on the tableaus get sold into slavery, and I want them to also deliver anything of value they have up there.” He paused. “They will take my offer, mark my words.”
Cinna and Sabinius excused themselves. They both wanted to get back to their troops and figure out their casualties. “See you in camp!” Cinna called after Sabinius, who had already walked off deep in thought. No doubt pondering the sale of the slaves. Not bad, seven and a half million sesterces, or one million eight hundred and seventy-five thousand denarii.
An incredibly big sum, considering a nobleman only needed to own twenty-five thousand denarii, in any mix of estate or cash, to be counted as a knight of the high equites class. As far as Sabinius knew, to be eligible for the Senate one only had to prove ownership worth a few hundred thousand denarii. Caesar would take a big share as was his due as governor and overall general. Though he wondered if the whole war would be enough for his brother-in-law, considering the rumors about his legendary amount of debts.
As he walked away, he wondered what his own cut would be once the campaign was all over. He was glad the Eighth’s commander was somebody trustworthy when it came to money, not like Vatinius. Maybe he could talk to Caesar about that, urging him to keep a close eye on the man. A somewhat capable commander, he had to admit. But Vatinius’ reputation for personal greed and extortion meant he should not be trusted with a single sesterce, and most certainly not with a whole legion’s spoils.
693 AUC (61 BC), early fall
lands of the Banienses, Hispania
Oz woke up with a start. He scanned the tent until his eyes rested on Adhe, who tossed back and forth on his cot. The boy’s forehead was drenched in sweat. Nightmares had become nightly companions for all of them. I wish I knew how to help you with those. I would like to get rid of my own at the same time.
He listened to his tent members sleep, some were snoring. Is it early morning? Definitely. Well after midnight with the bright moon shining through the holes in the tent leather.
He looked over to his friends. Massi still looked uncomfortable with his broken arm, but at least he no longer let out the involuntary groans he had made for a few weeks right after the battle. Gulussa was clearly uncomfortable as well, but by his own choice. Daleninar had become his woman, and now laid as if draped over him. It was a feat of contortion for two grown people to share a small army cot. He looked at her arm and leg hanging over the side and smiled. He was eternally grateful to the bright-eyed girl after she had offered to care for the two small Transcudani children and insisted on paying her a small fee. The siblings were currently sharing the empty cot right next to him, sleeping peacefully despite their rough experience, like only small children could.
The legion had stayed in camp in the land of the Banienses for a second day in a row. For the first time after so many days of marching and nightly camp building, many of the men had jumped at the opportunity to bring their loved ones into the tents with them. The lack of privacy bothered many raw recruits, but the more experience the legionaries and auxiliaries all shared together, the more they saw each other as brothers in arms, and the less individual privacy seemed to matter. I don’t even think any more about the many slights and derogatory comments the Roman legionaries threw at us barbarians after our arrival in Hispania. Or the even worse condescension we received from the Cretans.
The lines had become more and more blurred, their varied origins or backgrounds didn’t seem to matter anymore. They all shared more hardship with each other than they ever could with any relatives left behind.
In his own dreams, Oz often relived some of the battles. The scenes were always the worst and most violent ones, filled with death and destruction. What made the episodes especially bad was his inability to change things. He knew what was coming, yet was not able to save a friend or a fellow soldier from sure death. Having everything repeat left him with a feeling of complete helplessness. Adhe’s dreams were similar, and the boy was often depressed. Still, in the bigger scheme of things he knew they were among the lucky ones. He had heard of a legionary from the sixth cohort who had woken up completely disoriented, and had killed three of his tent mates with a cooking knife before snapping out of it. The soldier had been put to death shortly thereafter, head hanging in shame through the whole ordeal of his execution.
Some of their friends had started to walk away from any conversations touching on previous battles or deceased pals. He sighed. Different personalities coped differently with their experiences, and the one constant binding them all equally was the apparent camaraderie. He settled back down in the knowledge that the morning call was still hours away. He knew he would not be able to go back to sleep, but he would stay as quiet as possible to let his tent mates have their well-deserved rest.
***
The next morning, Oz sat on his cot, wondering about the homey scene that had unfolded inside their tent. Daleninar used a hand mill to grind generous amounts of wheat into flour, while Adhe formed small loaves for the entire tent’s morning bread. The other archers sat outside around the fire lit in preparation for the bread oven, and the two small children took advantage of the now open space on the dirt floor between the cots to play. He corrected himself. The little girl watched over her two-year-old brother, who explored the tent. No, not just a little girl. She was his little girl now. Stena was a sweet, dark-haired five-year-old that desperately tried to act tough to keep her brother from harm. Little Sakaristar ended up at his side, and Oz pulled the boy into a quick hug before dropping him down again. He heard a throat being cleared at the open end of the tent and looked up to see Capussia’s face peeking in, eyebrows raised in wonder. “Ozalkis, I need to talk to you!”
Oz hesitated a moment before answering. “Come on in,” he replied.
“I think you need to come out instead, sorry. We need to talk on the way to my morning meeting at the legate’s tent.”
“Alright, I’ll be right out,” Oz replied. He hurriedly changed into a fresh tunic, mentally noting not to forget to have his other two washed today. He pushed out through the tent flap and started walking next to his friend. “What can I do for you, Capussia?”
“We lost two Numidian decurions during the battle with the Transcudani. The two turmae in question have elected new ones, but we need one more election. One of the dead was the overall second decurion. You know the second and third decurions are my official assistants, and next in line for command over our Numidian auxiliaries if I die.” He looked Ozalkis in the eyes. “I want to propose you for the job. If you’re up for it.” He chuckled. “Of course, you may not have any time since you now seem to be babysitting children.” Oz knew Capussia expected him to laugh with him. Instead he cleared his throat. “Just to be clear, the children are mine. I should have told you earlier, I took them from the Transcudani captives. When I saw them, I could not let them go into slavery with everybody else.” He took a deep breath. “I would appreciate it if you would keep quiet about this. Gulussa’s woman Daleninar is looking after them for me, so they won’t interfere with my duties.”
In answer, Capussi
a smiled knowingly and clapped him on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me on that account, I applaud you for doing it. I guess we share a soft spot for children. I hope to find the right woman to have a few more with before my number is up.”
Oz breathed easier. He had dreaded for days what Capussia might say once he found out since he had effectively stolen from the legion by taking Stena and little Saki for himself. I should have known better. Once again, he proves to be a true friend.
693 AUC (61 BC), early fall
lands of the Seurbi, Hispania
“The Callaeci delegation is here,” Hirtius announced to Caesar, who had received several urgent messages over the last few days, urging him to stop all hostilities and grant an audience to their highest chieftains. He had decided to grant the favor and had sent word to all his legions to stop marching.
He had also decided to treat the envoys as a nuisance, barely worthy of his attention and smiled at Hirtius. “Send them over to where the camp prefect currently has the latrines extended,” he said in answer. Noticing Hirtius’ raised eyebrow he broke into a wide grin. It was a hot fall day, and the area around the latrines would stink much worse than usual.
He collected some of the other officers on his way there and positioned himself right next to the latrines, making a show of being undisturbed by the smell while glancing toward the road from the corner of his eyes. Hirtius walked the delegation up to his group, and he was satisfied to notice many scrunched noses on their shocked faces. Good. That should maximize the effect I am after.