Bedrock of Empire

by Thomas M D Brooke

  She looked up at me with a stern expression. ‘I thought you were in a hurry?’

  We set off together, dripping wet, but warming up in the hot sun. The ground was easier here, less treacherous. However, although she could walk on it, it was clear Viviana’s ankle was still troubling her. ‘Let me help you,’ I offered, trying to take her arm.

  She pushed me away. ‘It’s no good, Cassius. I’m slowing you down. You need to go on without me, otherwise all we have achieved will be lost.’

  I thought to argue, claim I couldn’t leave her here alone. But then I stopped myself. What was I trying to achieve here? Drag her into the same danger I was putting myself in? Hadn’t I wanted to leave her before we reached the old Roman road? Well, it was only a mile or two away now. Surely I could dispense with my guide? My reluctance to say goodbye to her had put her in danger. I inwardly cursed myself. ‘I should have left you up in the the cave. There was no need for you to come so far.’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘You would still have found yourself lost, and you’d have never managed to steer that boat alone.’

  I looked into her dark eyes. ‘I wouldn’t have dared attempt it without you.’ I looked up at the way we’d come. The stream dropped down the mountain at an impossibly steep angle; had we really come down that in an animal skin boat? ‘Will you be safe if I leave you here? Can you climb back up that mountain with your ankle how it is?’

  Viviana laid her hand on my shoulder. ‘My ankle will be fine. You needn’t worry about me in these mountains. They are my home, and being here is as natural to me as it is for you to walk down a street in Rome.’

  I looked at her closely, to make sure she wasn’t lying to me. ‘What will you do?’

  She shrugged. ‘Find shelter, rest up for a bit.’ Then she shook her head. ‘I told you, you don’t need to worry about me. I will be alright. It’s you who I’m worried about.’

  I tried to put confidence in my voice. ‘I’ll find my men. Once they’re warned, we’ll be able to find a defensive position to hold. We’ll be alright.’

  She looked up at me. ‘I’m not stupid, Cassius. I know it will never be that easy. Aleixo has several hundred warriors. He will know every bend and rise in that road. He’ll be able to attack your column at any spot he chooses, to either the front or rear.’ She bowed her head. ‘There’s a strength of spirit in you, something I’ve never seen in any man, not even my husband. Don’t throw it away on a lost cause. If you arrive and find the situation hopeless, don’t throw your life away trying to change the inevitable. Your courage is your strength, but it’s also your greatest weakness.’

  I was nowhere near as brave as she thought me, but I couldn’t tell her that, not now, not just before we departed. I swallowed hard. ‘Viviana, you are …’

  She placed her hand on my mouth, a surprisingly intimate gesture. ‘Don’t say any more. It won’t help me move on from this, and I don’t think it will help you when you return to your true love in Rome.’

  I nodded, unable to say anything more.

  She gave me a wry grin. ‘Go in peace, Cassius. I hope you save your friends.’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  I left Viviana as quickly as possible. My emotions were a confused jumble of guilt: for leaving her behind, and also a feeling of betrayal towards Numeria. I may not have broken my promise of fidelity to Numeria, but the boundaries had surely been tested by my thoughts about Viviana. Inside, my stomach turned and wrenched with a troubled conscience.

  But I knew now wasn’t the time for this.

  I knew I had to get my mind back to the job at hand. I needed to find Marcus and the others. I wasn’t a youth any more, given time to pander to lost infatuations. I was heading into a perilous situation, and if my focus slipped, just a little, death remained the only likely outcome. So I ran alongside the fast-flowing stream, skirting the difficult patches of mud and sticking to the firmer ground as much as possible. Now the land was beginning to level out; it wasn’t as difficult as it had been higher up. The two miles to the road didn’t take me long, and I was soon skirting down the final bank to the stone flagstones of the Roman road.

  Finally, I’d made it. I looked both ways along the highway. Many of the flagstones were broken, and the subsidence of the land meant that the road was no longer completely level in a few places. However, despite these faults, the road was overall in a good state, considering it hadn’t been maintained in generations. Quite a testament to the engineers of the legions who’d constructed it all those years ago.

  Now I needed to decide which way I should go. North, where Marcus was heading? Or south, to Bracara Augusta, where he’d come from? It all depended on how far Marcus had come along this road. I crouched down and examined it. There was a scattering of twigs, leaves and other debris along the road, along with a fair amount of dirt and gravel. If a troop of men the size of the Praetorian column had come this way recently, they would leave some sign. There was none, so I knew I needed to head south.

  I jogged slowly to conserve my energy. Not only would it be inadvisable to turn up exhausted and fatigued; I also needed to keep my eyes open for the enemy. This road was now more theirs than ours – Viviana had warned me they could come at us from any point along it.

  I jogged through the morning and took a break by the side of the road at midday. I reached for my woollen bag, where I expected to find the remains of my hardtack biscuits. But the bag was no longer there; I guessed it must have been ripped off in the water in our rapid descent. I found a small spring trickling down the hillside and took off my small leather helmet and washed it out with water. I then filled it and drank deeply. I repositioned my shield comfortably on the strap around my shoulder and set off again, keeping my pace slow and steady and my eyes and ears alert.

  By the time the sun had reached the middle of the afternoon I was flagging. Running all day isn’t easy, no matter what pace you set, so reluctantly I realised I’d have to walk from here on. I found more streams along the way; the mountains in this region of Spain were not short of rainfall, so at least it was easy to quench my thirst. Hunger was a problem, but I’d been hungry before and no doubt would be again. It wouldn’t kill me, and I knew that hunger pangs were something that could be controlled.

  I kept an eye on the hills surrounding me, looking out for the telltale bright glints of sun that could only be reflections off a metal surface such as armour or a blade. I saw nothing, only the empty hills and mountains and the occasional mountain deer.

  The sun started to dip behind the mountains as the day turned to dusk. Yet another day coming to an end, and I was still no nearer finding Marcus. What could be keeping him? He’d had a long time to travel this road; why was he not closer to the Lucus Augusti to Asturica road? There was one possible answer to that question, one that flashed into my mind as unwanted thoughts often do. But it wasn’t one I wanted to consider; Marcus couldn’t be dead already. I refused to believe that.

  I started to think about where I could find shelter, knowing that I was too exhausted to travel through the night. But something caught my ear. It was very faint, nothing more than a whisper along the wind, but it was definitely there. The sound of shouting intermingled with the clash of steel: the unmistakable sound of a battle.

  Two thoughts instantly struck me. Firstly, that there was my column. Followed by another a heartbeat later – I’d arrived too late; the trap had already been sprung.

  My earlier exhaustion was forgotten. I upped my pace and jogged closer to the sound of battle. The sound increased the closer I got, so I realised I needed to see what was going on before I came rushing in. The road was surrounded by the foothills to the mountains, so it wouldn’t be difficult to find a high viewpoint. I selected a hill not far from the road and climbed up it. All the time, the familiar ring of battle resounded: screams, shouts, calls of defiance, intermingled with the sound of steel and the clash of shield walls.

  I only needed to go partway up the hill to get a goo
d view of proceedings. My heart gave a jump. There were my Praetorians, but not caught unawares and ambushed on the march as I’d presumed and feared. They’d secured an excellent defensive position on a small hill. The tight shield wall of the seventy remaining legionaries were holding the higher ground as waves of Celtic-Iberian warriors strove to assault them from below. It was clear my men were heavily outnumbered, but all was not lost. I was still quite far away, just less than a mile, so it was difficult to make out details. Nevertheless, I thought I could see Marcus, identified by his elaborate bronze breastplate and crested helmet, standing behind his lines, no doubt shouting encouragement to his men. ‘Well done, Marcus,’ I said to myself, relieved to the point of disbelief that my friend had managed to put his men in such an advantageous position.

  I’d travelled over mountains, sneaked through a hidden village, been caught in a storm and ridden rapids in order to give a warning that might enable my friend to find somewhere just like this spot; one he’d secured anyway. I hadn’t given Marcus enough credit. How he’d seen it coming, I couldn’t guess. But he clearly had, and now they held a tight shield wall that covered the hill’s higher ground. Behind the Praetorians stood a large ox-cart, the eight bovines still attached to their heavy yokes and long lines of thick ropes. On the cart was a huge cage that housed possibly the largest creature I’d ever seen. Germanicus’ monoceros. Marcus had even completed his mission.

  Better news was to follow. Shortly after taking up my spot on the high eyrie, Aleixo’s men broke off their attack, retreating down to the base of the hill as the Praetorians raised a shout of triumph. This wasn’t over, not by a long way, as I doubted they’d retreat far. But for the time being my men were safe on a hill and their deaths had been averted. That was something to be thankful for.

  Now, I just needed to decide what I was going to do next. Was I planning on sitting here for the next few days, watching my men repulse enemy attacks whilst I waited for the cavalry to arrive? Or should I wait until dark and then try and pass through the enemy lines to reach my column?

  Duty to my men said it should be the latter. They were my guard, and their lives were in jeopardy because of the gold I’d put in their possession, and, other than Marcus, without any of them knowing. I could have left the gold in the governor’s palace as I’d been offered. But instead, my suspicious nature had forced me to take it to the frontier – and this was the result. The very least I could do was share their plight.

  And yet I hesitated. I told myself it was because I couldn’t do much to help – what difference could one man make? Viviana told me not to throw my life away on a lost cause. Does this situation qualify? Maybe I could be more use here? Go back the other way, find the cavalry and tell them to redouble their efforts to get here quickly? Or stay here and see if a situation arises where a man outside the lines could be of use. Was that so unlikely?

  But in truth I hesitated for none of those reasons. The real reason was I was scared. No, not scared, terrified. It was one thing to find yourself in a dangerous situation, like near the gorge with Flavus, Viviana, and Aulus. But to actively decide to put yourself in a perilous situation was another thing altogether.

  If I was unwilling to put myself in danger, why had I travelled so far to be here? Why risk my life and Viviana’s if my courage was just going to fail me again at the end? I tried to pull myself together, fortify myself, summon up some sort of pride or hidden strength. But I couldn’t. Much as I wanted to, the feeling of being trapped, like I had been in the Teutoburg, or Western-Gate Pass, was paralysing me.

  I just sat there, watching my proud Praetorians with the scorpion emblems on their shields and white plumes on their helmets, as the sun retreated further down behind the mountains to the west. I felt wretched and dejected as I saw those brave men standing ready on the hill in front of me.

  In the end, it wasn’t courage that got me moving. It was thinking of the repercussions of doing nothing. If I stayed here on this hill and Marcus died, I knew I’d blame myself for the rest of my rotten life. That would mean a return to the self-loathing and bitter recriminations I used to level at myself after my nerve failed me the first time in Germany. I couldn’t return to that. In fact, that thought was more terrifying than anything else, even standing on that hill alongside my Praetorians. Doing nothing wasn’t an option. I needed to join my men. My fear of returning to the man I once was demanded it.

  So I made my way closer to the battlefield to see how the enemy were positioned, to find a way to pass through their lines. It was late dusk now as I crept along the hill. I kept to the heights in order to give myself a good view of how they were laid out. I saw a large gathering of warriors grouped around the south-eastern base of the Praetorian hill. Presumably these were the outlaws who’d made the last attack up the hill. They milled around campfires and moved about without urgency. They didn’t look as if they were about to make another attack anytime soon. They’d probably wait until dawn. That was good.

  I scanned the rest of the vicinity. There was another group of warriors along the road, about a quarter of a mile in front of where I’d left the road to climb this hill. I was lucky I’d left the road when I had, I could easily have blundered into them. Their position was obscured by a narrow choke point formed by two hills either side of the road. I guessed there to be over a hundred warriors there, all heavily armoured in thick scale armour and carrying the larger scutum shield, similar to those that legionaries used. These must be Aleixo’s heavy infantry – what the Spanish tribes called their scutati. Why had he positioned them here and not with the warriors attacking the hill?

  It was a good position to secure the road, the narrow choke point would be easy to defend, but as the Praetorians were all trapped on the hill, it looked a waste of his resources. Maybe he was just leaving them here as a reserve?

  Whatever the reason, it meant I’d have to climb around them and approach the Praetorian hill from another angle – probably for the best, approaching from the road was the most likely direction to give me away. I skirted around to the west, far out of view from the road, and scanned the ground below. There were still a few sentries here, but the main body of outlaws was out of sight. I’d just need to wait until full darkness, and then I should be able to slip through.

  I settled myself down and waited. I heard the Spanish warriors drinking and talking by their fires. They sounded in good spirits. This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I’d been hoping that they might be demoralised by their failed attack earlier, but if this was the case, they certainly gave no sign. I heard laughter and singing – not something you associated with a body of men low on morale.

  I saw no sign of sentries patrolling the perimeter, so when it was dark enough, I slipped down the hill. When I reached the bottom I crouched down low, looking both ways for enemy warriors. I heard the sound of two men coming my way, so I dived behind the nearest cover I could find – a hawthorn bush; not the most comfortable of hiding places, but effective. I kept silent as I heard the two of them walk past, talking to one another in low tones. I lay myself as flat and still as possible. I’d underestimated the vigilance of Aleixo’s sentries; it seemed they were far more disciplined and organised than I’d expect from a group of bandits. That was also a worrying sign.

  I waited until they’d passed by before extracting myself from the hawthorn bush and running over to the Praetorians’ hill. I was about three-quarters of the way up when I was challenged by a voice in Latin.

  ‘Who goes there?’

  A Praetorian pilum shot past me, only very narrowly missing me. ‘Hold back your weapons!’ I shouted in panic. ‘You almost killed me!’

  Another voice shouted down. ‘Who are you? Are you Roman?’

  I called back, removing my Spanish helmet. ‘Of course I’m Roman. I’m your blasted Quaestor!’

  The sound of the shouting alerted the outlaws below, and I heard them raising voices in alarm. ‘I’d better come up. Keep your weapons under control!’

/>   There was muffled confusion from above as the two guards argued, before the second voice shouted back. ‘Sorry, sir. Quintus thought you were one of them. We weren’t expecting you.’

  I gave a frown and picked up the pilum. ‘Clearly. Now, can I come up?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Straight away.’ Before adding in an embarrassed tone, ‘Could you bring the pilum up with you, sir? We’re running short.’

  I raised a smile, despite my near brush with death. I carried the pilum up with me until I reached their ranks. One of the Praetorians greeted me. ‘Quaestor Aprilis, it is you. I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding.’

  The second soldier came over to me, a young man of only eighteen or nineteen with a pale face and a sheepish tilt to his voice. ‘I’m so sorry, my lord. I had no idea it was you. I thought it was one of those bandits sneaking up on us.’

  I shook my head, looking down at the stiff leather cap in my hand. ‘Not to worry, I should have removed my Spanish helmet before I came up the hill.’ I hefted the pilum and handed it back to the legionary. ‘This is yours, I presume. Next time let the man reply to your challenge before you throw it at him.’

  He nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, sir, I will. I’m sorry again, my lord.’

  I turned to the other man, who I guessed by his manner was the senior of the two. ‘Where is Marcus Scaeva?’

  The older legionary pointed over to the centre of the hill where the great ox-cart lay positioned. ‘The tribune is over by the great monster, sir.’

  I thanked them, as other legionaries came over to see what the commotion was. On seeing who it was, the men looked both shocked and excited. I heard other men raise a shout. ‘It’s the quaestor! He’s back!’

  The young legionary called Quintus told me, ‘It’s good to have you back with us, sir. We won’t let you down. We’ll protect you from those bandits.’

  ‘I know you will.’ I went over to find Marcus. The word of my coming spread quickly, and Marcus came from behind the ox-cart, a startled expression on his face. ‘Cassius!’ he greeted me.