‘With respect, sir, Nepos and I know the legion better than any men living. We hand-picked every man.’
‘For all our sakes, Tuscus, I hope you’re right.’ The column of smoke grew thicker and darker, as if to spite Tuscus’s words.
There was nothing we could do until Nepos returned and told us what was happening. The noise of thousands of men, the slap of sandals underfoot, their jubilant shouts, the smell of burning, it came nearer and nearer. It was as if time itself had slowed to watch what was happening, and well it might: the smoke enveloped an entire building, which was all ablaze. It was the principia of the Twenty-Second, it had to be. No other building could create such an inferno. In the distance we could see a solitary horseman galloping towards us, down the road that led from Primigenia’s side of the fort.
Nepos was wounded, blood seeping from a deep gash in his thigh.
‘They’ve looted Primigenia’s treasury, burned the building, and now they’re coming this way,’ he panted.
There was no time to think, just to do.
‘How many men haven’t joined the madness?’ I asked.
‘Two hundred, maybe more.’ Nowhere near enough to contain the riot.
‘Then send riders to all the auxiliary troops nearby, and have them march here immediately. Tuscus, get over to the forge. Take all the men you need, and see if you can jam the gates, try to stop this chaos from spreading and keep the men in the camp until help arrives.’
‘They’re coming here next, sir,’ Nepos interrupted.
I whipped round. ‘For our treasury?’
The centurion nodded curtly.
‘Then that’s where we will have to make a stand. Get as many men together as you can, and bring them to the principia. You have three minutes, Nepos. Any more and it will be too late. And Nepos!’
‘Sir?’
‘Send one man to my family, and tell them to ride to safety. The rest of you,’ I called to the men on the square, ‘will follow me.’
‘Madman!’ Flaccus screamed. ‘You’ll kill us all.’
‘Shut him up, somebody.’
One of the guards hit him over the head with his sword-hilt. The old man tumbled into a waiting pair of arms. That wasn’t quite how I’d meant it to happen, but I was glad to be rid of Flaccus’s wailing. We ran to the principia, and sent the unconscious governor down the passage and into the treasury itself. There was no safer place in the entire camp. The guards below were brought up into the cold winter air; they would be more use with us outside than alone in the darkness once the looters broke through.
‘All of you, go into the principia, stables, anywhere nearby and bring things to barricade the roadway. We’ll need two barricades at least twenty paces wide, so get moving.’ Tables, desks, chairs, anything and everything was used to throw up two barricades ten paces either side of the doorway to the principia. Quintus, pale but determined, was marshalling the legionaries and oversaw the building of the eastward barricade; I took the westward. Nepos, on foot, arrived at the head of perhaps sixty men. They scrambled over Quintus’s barricade and automatically split into two groups; one stayed put and the other joined my men.
Nepos looked around. ‘Where’s the governor?’
‘In the treasury. Have you seen Tuscus?’
‘I last saw him and a few men by the main gate, driving in bolts to keep the doors shut.’
Good man, I thought. ‘Let’s hope he can close all of them in time.’
‘He should do, though most of the rioters were heading this way, not into the town.’
‘Lucky us.’
Nepos smiled briefly. ‘Orders, sir?’
‘Take command of the east barricade, no killing if you can help it. Quintus and I will hold this flank.’
‘Quintus, sir?’
‘Tribune Vindex.’
‘Good luck then, sir.’
‘Go on, man, they could be on us any minute.’
‘Legate!’ a voice shouted.
‘What?’
There was no need to ask what. The noise had been getting louder and louder, and now they were upon us, close enough to hear individual shouts among the sea of voices. I clambered over our makeshift defences to look down on my men. The road was a heaving mass of silver and red, hemmed in by those pushing from behind and by the buildings on either side. I can still remember the noise of hundreds of armoured men in front of us, jostling each other, making a sound like hailstones striking your helmet.
‘Listen to me,’ I shouted. The first few ranks looked up at me, but everyone else was too busy talking to their neighbour.
‘By Jupiter, you have listened to me before, and now you will listen to me again!’
The crowd began to quiet.
‘Decimus, why do you stand armed before your legate, and you, Pollux, is that gold in your hand, gold stolen from your sister legion?’ Silently, I thanked the gods that I had made an effort to learn the names of my men. The men I singled out looked ashamed, and I could see some of that shame spreading throughout the crowd.
‘Are we going to bow our heads like children when all that stands between us and the gold is a few men and a pile of wood?’
There could only have been one man who had spoken thus. Strontius, fully recovered from his lashing, dominated those around him.
‘They hold back, Strontius, because they still have their sense of loyalty to the empire.’
The big man laughed, as did his friends and supporters in the crowd.
‘Loyalty! We are poor, hungry and dangerous, and you are in the way.’ He snatched a spear from a man next to him and took aim.
‘Throw that spear, Legionary Strontius, and every man in this camp will be crucified.’
That checked his arm. ‘Who by?’ he sneered.
‘By the German auxiliaries who are marching here as we speak, all fifteen thousand of them, along with the rest of the Rhine legions. But if you listen to me, I promise you that every man here will live, and get richer too.’
There were a few shouts of ‘How?’ from the crowd, and not wanting to give Strontius the dignity of being their spokesman, I addressed them all.
‘I still say you are loyal to the empire, and to Rome. Those of you from Primigenia, you won’t have heard our brave First-Spear Centurion Nepos refusing to renew his oath. He has nothing but respect for his men and the empire, and yet he chose not to take his oath to Galba. Galba is old, weak and cruel, a man not fit to be emperor. Macedonica have taken an oath to the Senate and People of Rome, and it is men like Strontius who would make you outlaws, hunted wherever you go. Aulus Vitellius, the man who spared one of your own, is considering whether to challenge Galba’s authority. He is a good and generous man; think how generous he would be to the men who made him emperor.’
I left that thought hanging in the air. Most nodded their agreement. Strontius spat on the ground. ‘Bollocks. Let’s take the gold and run.’
There were many who agreed with him. Too many. There was only one thing I could do to salvage the situation.
‘You risk condemning to death innocent men who would rather follow Vitellius than be nailed to a cross. Fight me, Strontius. It’s what you want, to even your score with me. Kill me in open combat, and there will be one less man to uphold the barricades. And if I kill you, every other man will live.’
‘Now?’ he asked.
‘Now.’
‘Where?’
‘In the parade square, for all to see.’
‘Then let’s get this over with.’
An excited chatter broke out, and thinking of the other barricade and the crowd facing it I called out: ‘Spread the word, tell everyone to gather at the parade square.’
I made my precarious way back into the only safe ground in the entire camp. Quintus could hardly decide what to ask first. Nepos was hurrying over.
‘Why a duel, Caecina?’ my friend asked.
‘Strontius and his friends outnumber us. I reckon the idea of crucifixion scared the rest of them, but there were too
many who think the way Strontius does to convince them with mere words. If I kill Strontius, what have they lost? A leader, but they keep their lives, rank, pay, everything, and the chance to fight for Vitellius.’
‘But why did this man Strontius agree? He could have killed you there and then.’
‘I had him whipped for doubting my word.’
‘He’s also one of the best swordsmen in the legion,’ Nepos interrupted, ‘and can’t resist an audience.’
‘And if I die, at least I’ve given Tuscus time to jam all the gates, and the auxiliaries get closer with every minute we waste here.’
I raised my voice so that everyone between the barricades could hear me. ‘Thank you, all of you, for your loyalty today. I am sorry for taking such a risk with your lives. If I die, hopefully I can buy you some time, and if you hold out long enough the Germans will relieve you. I leave you under the command of Tribune Vindex and Centurion Nepos, but I would have fought with you to the end.’
They did not cheer me. I did not expect them to. They knew how good Strontius was, and I was an unknown quantity as a swordsman. The odds were not good. One of them reported that the men on the eastward side were backing off. The message must have got through and they were heading for the square like everyone else.
‘Nepos, do you have the keys to the treasury?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Governor Flaccus shouldn’t have come round yet, though.’
‘Never mind him. Beneath the legion’s eagle is a pair of swords. Would you bring them to me?’
‘The ones that are part of the tribute, sir?’
‘Yes. I know it’s irregular, but humour me this once. Quick as you can, please, I don’t want Strontius whipping the men into a frenzy by telling them I’ve backed out.’
Red in the face after all the steps, Nepos was back promptly. He held the swords reverently, befitting an offering to the legion’s gods. Quintus’s eyes widened as he recognized the simple hilts and intricate patterns on the blades. He too remembered the good man who had carried the pair of them into battle against this very legion.
‘May the gods go with you,’ Nepos said, proffering me a hilt.
* * *
The men parted in front of me as I strode towards the square. Some tapped their neighbour on the shoulder and pointed, others just watched, silently. The sheer number of them meant that the crowd easily spilled on to the square itself. By the time I came up to Strontius, I was already near the very centre of the space. The last man stepped aside, and there was a circle of clear ground not ten paces across, where one of us would die.
Strontius was confused to see Bormo’s sword in my hand.
‘Not old enough to use a proper sword?’ he mocked.
‘This sword was dedicated to the eagle of our legion. I fight for the legion, Strontius. You fight for yourself.’
‘Enough talk,’ he said, and swung his blade at me. He nearly took me off guard, but I raised the Celtic sword into a block just in time. There was a clang as iron met iron, the force of his blow sent tremors down my arm. The first shouts of encouragement from Strontius’s friends were lost on me; all I could think about was where that sword would fall next. He attacked again, scything down in a killer blow directed at my head. Unthinkingly I drew Bormo’s sword up into the parry; his weapon slid down and bit into my knuckles.
The pain seared like a hot iron, and for a moment I was back in that terrible room in Vienne, Albanos leering at me, knife in hand. Strontius was too much of a showman not to make the most of the opportunity. He took a few steps back and acknowledged the applause of his supporters. He was toying with me, playing to the crowd.
‘You’re finished, boy. Hades is waiting for you,’ he taunted.
Trying to ignore the pain, I was determined to make the fight less one-sided. He was a big man, but then so was I. I launched a flurry of attacks, scything, sweeping, thrusting at my enemy. My strength surprised him, but he lacked the subtlety to pierce my guard in a counter-attack. The huge man would just beat me into submission, like he had countless others. With every hammer blow I parried I could feel my strength ebbing away, and the blood from my hand made my grip uncertain. Already I could feel the sword begin to slip and slide as I countered each blow.
I am bigger than most men, but strength alone wasn’t going to defeat Strontius, so I turned to the one advantage I had left. Speed. My paranoid mother had paid for an old drill-master to train me before I left for my posting in Britannia. I have an idea that had he been watching me that day, the grim bastard might just have managed a smile. I had hoped to weary Strontius with my own strength before letting my footwork dictate the duel. We circled round slowly, and I stole a moment to wipe my bloodied hand on my tunic. Strontius saw this and lunged wildly. I calmly side-stepped so that he struck nothing more than air. I tried to counter but he saw that he had overreached himself. He dropped to the floor, my blade catching him on the helmet.
I smiled. Strontius had realized why I had chosen my sword. The gladius is an instrument of death, perfect for the melee of battle. But this was a duel, and my Celtic blade was not just a symbol of my devotion to the legion, it had a longer reach. To land a blow on me, he had to come within the range of my sword, so now it was his turn to circle me slowly, watching for a weakness. My confidence returning, I made a feint at his stomach, let his sword drive mine to the side in the inevitable parry, only for me to follow into a backswing that chopped into Strontius’s leg.
The big man bellowed like an ox, but I had no time to savour the moment. Suddenly his left hand smashed into my nose. There was a sickening crack, and blood streamed down my face. Strontius swung again, this time not at my body but at my sword. The force of the blow sent it spinning from my hand and into the watching crowd. I was defenceless, and the men watching saw victory was close at hand. I saw a familiar smile in among the hundreds of faces, and froze for a moment, understanding. Strontius slowly advanced, the crowd held their breath. Madly I dived to the ground, somehow falling to a roll, only to find myself on my back at the edge of the open ring.
No one spoke. They knew what was coming. Strontius stood over me, both hands on the hilt for the killer blow.
‘You didn’t really think you could beat me, did you?’
Someone pressed something into my flailing hand. Strontius raised his gladius for the kill. Using the last of my strength, I drove my sword through my enemy’s armour and deep into his guts. Strontius’s eyes opened wide in shock. A thin stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His legs gave way, and like a felled tree he crashed to the ground.
XXV
‘You’re a lucky son of a bitch, aren’t you?’ Valens said.
I could hardly disagree. Quintus’s timing had been perfect. He had followed me into the crowd, hiding the spare sword under his cloak. When Strontius had disarmed me, I flung myself towards where the original sword had landed so that my friend could give me an identical one, with no suspicion of foul play. Thinking back, if I had disarmed Strontius, would I have allowed him to take another sword? Probably not, there was too much at stake, but Quintus’s quick thinking gave the illusion that I had miraculously picked up my own weapon.
The men, initially stunned, suddenly picked me up and carried me around in triumph. Simple soldiers like to know their leaders have something special about them, and pride in their commanders helped them to take pride in themselves. Some were happy to see me kill Strontius that day. Maybe my words about Vitellius’s future generosity had sunk in at last.
* * *
I can still remember the look of surprise on old Tuscus’s face when he saw me enthroned on the shoulders of men from Macedonica and Primigenia. He had no idea what was going on. It took us hours to remove the damn bolts that had fixed the gates in place. Meanwhile there was the awkward process of refilling Primigenia’s ransacked treasury. Vocula had been taken prisoner by his own men, and was very shaken when we found him tied up in the officers’ mess.
‘S
everus, what the Hades is going on?’ he spluttered, once his gag had been removed.
‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t risk telling you. We’ve refused to renew our oath to Galba, and are at the service of the Senate and People of Rome,’ I explained, taking my bloodied sword to the ropes that bound him.
He struggled upright and stood awkwardly, trying to coax some feeling back into his limbs. He looked at me. ‘You’re wounded?’
Now that the immediate crisis was over, I could feel the pain returning, burning like fire. I called for a surgeon, and told Vocula exactly what had happened. Once I had finished, he initially said nothing.
‘I suppose we should be grateful we have a command left. If we hadn’t, you would be the first to be crucified. You know, I thought you were different. You could have been an outstanding officer, for Rome and the empire. But you’re as bad as Valens. I’ll say one thing for Nero: if he were still around, ambitious bastards like you wouldn’t dare to lift a finger, let alone a sword against him.’
He made as if to leave, but I held out my arm to stop him.
‘I lost my finger and sacrificed more for this emperor, only for him to fling my loyalty back in my face. Do not mention Valens and me in the same breath. Galba has brought this on himself, from the very day he ignored those who kept him on his throne. I could have made Rufus emperor in an instant, but I thought Galba was the best man to rule the empire. My conscience is clear.’
Vocula said nothing, and stormed out of the room.
* * *
It was only once the auxiliaries had arrived, and were overseeing men from the Primigenia as they handed back what they had taken from the now smouldering principia, and while our poor excuse for a surgeon looked at my hand, that I knew it was safe to make sure my family were all right. Irritably dismissing the surgeon, I had Achilles brought to me, and rode out of the one gate we had managed to prise open. Riding hard, I could just make out armed men on the walls. A spasm of fear gripped my heart. Had some of the rioters thought to attack my home and plunder it? Had my family got out in time? By the gods, if they hadn’t I would decimate the legion there and then.
The Last Caesar Page 28