Traitor

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Traitor Page 25

by Geraint Jones


  The thought of them in the camp made me sick.

  ‘What will happen to the hostages?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Vuk assured me. ‘The army is surrendering. We’ll be giving Rome hostages, I imagine, but Pinnes has no reason to harm those he took from Bato. Soon they’ll be free to leave and join the Dalmatians.’

  I should have been happy at that, but selfishly I hated the thought of never seeing Miran again.

  ‘Over there.’ Vuk pointed, his hooded eyes sharp.

  I followed his pointed hand, and then I saw them, a sight of dread and awe.

  The Romans had arrived.

  * * *

  The legions took the field in a march of martial majesty. Across the river planes they came, a creeping tide of steel that shone in the summer sun. I was awed into silence at the sight. Stunned by the vision of a force so deadly, and yet so beautiful. There must have been forty thousand of them, their rank and file filling the canvas of the open fields, a work of art. These men and their forebears had conquered the known world. They had changed war. Who had stood before them? Who could bear their onslaught? They were man’s greatest triumph, and his greatest evil. They were the glory of Rome, and the death of those who would oppose it.

  Was Marcus with them?

  Were the men that killed my father?

  The thought of it turned me to sickness. A voice told me that I should be ashamed that I had not avenged his death, but Cynbel was my father’s greatest friend, and he had wanted me to go to Britannia. He did not want me to die to avenge my father, and if I had? I would not have been able to stand with Pinnes. I would not have found my true fight. Nothing could bring my father back, but with the king I had tried to change something bigger than myself.

  That dream was over, now.

  ‘How many legions?’ Vuk asked.

  Too many. There were always too many. ‘At least five,’ I answered glumly. ‘The rest are light infantry and cavalry.’ No doubt they had speed-marched here with the smell of victory in their nostrils. This wasn’t the war that any of them wanted. This was a rebellion to put down. Hard duty in the mountains. The legions wanted this over. They wanted the glory of war against powerful tribes and kingdoms beyond the borders of empire, and the plunder and loot that came with it.

  I heard Vuk sigh. ‘And this is what… half of their force?’

  ‘Less,’ I answered quietly. Could we ever have beaten them? ‘What will Bato do now?’

  ‘What else can he do? Even if he empties all his garrisons and somehow puts every man in the field, he can’t stand against the Romans, not without the king.’

  And the king was preparing to surrender.

  I thought I could see him. There was no way to be sure, but a solitary rider stood clear of the massed ranks of the rebel army.

  What must have been going through his mind as the thunder of the tramping Roman army rolled over the valley? His homeland. Was Pinnes ashamed of himself? Was he glad that his men would live?

  ‘This will break him,’ Vuk said quietly, and I could see that there were tears in the eyes of the hard man.

  The Roman force had filled the field, a blanket of flesh and iron. Voices carried on the wind, the orders of centurions, and then there was silence.

  ‘It doesn’t feel real,’ Vuk said, and he was right. Below us, the plain beside the river held more than a hundred thousand men, and yet they were silent. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this…’

  Who had? Not every man went to war. Fewer again saw it from this vantage point above the ranks.

  ‘This must be what the gods see,’ Vuk uttered.

  The theatre of war. The tragedy of men.

  A deputation was riding forwards from the Roman army. A knot of horsemen that shone beneath the sun.

  The lone king rode forwards to meet them. They came together in the middle of the field.

  Vuk was crying, now. Silent tears tracked across his cheeks. The sight of his lord – alone – was too much for him.

  ‘I should be with him…’ But he had chosen to be here. To avoid the surrender so that he would not be an oath breaker. Vuk’s war was not over. Neither was my own.

  ‘That is the man we must kill,’ I said, my eyes on the figure that must be Tiberius. Who was with him? Germanicus? His generals? The legate of the Eighth?

  I didn’t know if my old legion was here, on the plain. I didn’t know if thousands of this army beneath us had once called me brother, and now traitor. Doubtless my death would be something that the Romans demanded. Would Pinnes say that I’d fled the army? That I’d died in battle?

  I looked to Vuk. Should I be worried about him? No. I had no doubt that he was loyal not only to the rebellion, but to me. We had done too much together. Shared hardships. Spilled blood.

  As I had done with my brothers of the Eighth…

  The shame of my treason crept up through my stomach. Not because I had opposed Rome, but because I had broken the trust of the rank and file. If only they could sit down and drink with Vuk and Thumper, they would see that they were no different! That their fight should not be with rebel men, but their Roman ruler! Who was paying the blood price in this war? Men from the gutter of Roman cities. Men from the hovels of Pannonian mountains. And who would reap the reward? Senators who had not set foot in the region, let alone on the battlefield! They were scavengers that grew fat on the flesh and blood and bone of other men. What was the reward for the Roman soldier? A dusty, barren plot of land after twenty years’ service. Broken knees, and a buckled back. For that he would pay with the blood of his brothers. The screams of his enemies.

  And yet…

  And yet, as I looked at the red ranks arrayed before me, I could not keep the scent of glory from my nose. I could not resist the majesty of the moment. The power of knowing that you were a part of something far grander, far more important than yourself, and that you could never be alone. The world would not remember the names of those men who stood as one together, but it would remember their deeds. Their spirit. Their courage.

  ‘Nothing will ever change…’ I said quietly.

  Men die, but war lives forever.

  Something was happening below. King Pinnes turned his horse, then shouted a command to his army.

  He had ordered them to give up their weapons. Sunlight caught the tips of fifty thousand blades and shields as they were thrown to the ground.

  The Pannonians were defeated.

  Vuk wept.

  I wept.

  The rebellion was dead.

  Chapter 54

  After the Pannonian army lay its weapons down on the grass of the plain, Pinnes dismounted his horse. Stools were brought forwards from the Roman army, and the leaders of rebel and Roman ranks sat to begin more detailed discussions.

  ‘What do you think they’re talking about?’ Vuk asked me. He had not wiped the tears from his face. He saw no shame in them. Pinnes was his king, and the rebellion was his life.

  ‘Tax, I imagine. Rulers like to talk about tax.’

  ‘Will they make slaves of our people?’

  I shook my head. ‘Bato’s army is still at large – it would make sense for Tiberius to encourage him to surrender by showing leniency to our army. If Tiberius can convince Bato to lay down his arms quickly, he still has enough of the year left to expand Rome’s borders. I doubt he will want to break this army apart without achieving some glory.’

  Vuk snorted. ‘This is not enough for him?’

  ‘This is housekeeping,’ I said, and felt his sharp look. I shrugged. ‘They do not see ending a rebellion in the same light as they do conquering new lands.’

  The talks went on. Beneath the trees on the mountain the air was cool, but I pitied the men standing in steel beneath the sun. No doubt they were flushed with excitement when they first took the field, but now they were likely doing what soldiers do best: complaining.

  The thought of it raised a smile on my lips.

  ‘What?’ Vuk asked, but I didn’t answer him. Some t
houghts were for myself, and myself alone.

  I expected at some point that the Romans would come forwards and begin to collect the weapons of the Pannonian rebels. Instead, the deputation in the centre of the field broke up, and calmly made its way back to the Roman ranks. Pinnes moved to his own army. Moments later, some thirty figures came forwards and crossed the field to the Roman side.

  ‘Hostages,’ Vuk guessed.

  For a moment I feared that Miran and Borna would be among them. Vuk sensed my worry. ‘They’ll want Pannonian hostages for a Pannonian king,’ he assured me.

  And now that those hostages were secure, orders were barked down the length of the Roman line. The steel snake of the army came to life, shields, blades and helmets glittering like scales.

  ‘They’re leaving,’ Vuk said, wonder in his voice, and I grasped the reason for it.

  ‘They left the army its weapons…’

  Neither of us could understand why. Our army was half-starved, a wounded animal, but we’d expected Tiberius to pull our fangs while he had us on the ground.

  Instead he was leaving. The Roman army was leaving. They spilled from the field like blood, and took the life of the rebellion with them.

  The ranks of the Pannonians were soon disintegrating, doubtless forming into bands of tribe, family and friends.

  ‘We should go to the king,’ I said, but Vuk shook his head.

  ‘Watch,’ he said.

  And I soon saw them. Individuals and pairs emerged from the woods, and walked towards the rebel ranks. They were well out into the open when Roman cavalry also revealed itself from the trees and rode them down. Some were speared. Most were dragged kicking and screaming into captivity. There was no help from the surrendered army. This was Rome’s undisputed province once more, and the legions would dispense justice as they pleased.

  ‘You weren’t the only deserter in the king’s army,’ Vuk told me, and now those Thracians and Germans that had joined the rebellion were destined for death on a cross. ‘Pinnes will move from here tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We’ll join him then, on the march.’

  Vuk laughed, then. It was a deep laugh. I was so unused to seeing humour on this grim man’s face that it took me a moment to ask him what was so funny.

  ‘How does it feel,’ he grinned darkly, ‘to be one half of a rebel army?’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Come on.’ My comrade told me. ‘This isn’t over.’

  Chapter 55

  I walked north with Vuk and his horse.

  ‘Where do you think Pinnes will go?’ I asked the other half of the rebel army.

  ‘Somewhere on the Sava,’ he guessed. ‘It’s our tribal land, and we have walled towns there. It’s a good place, Corvus, you’ll like it.’

  ‘I can’t stay,’ I said, believing it, ‘there’ll be a price on my head. Someone will recognise me.’

  ‘I can always smash your face up,’ Vuk offered without humour.

  I snorted a grim laugh at my options in life. A lonely death in the mountains, or Vuk hitting me until I was an unrecognisable mess of swollen flesh and broken bone.

  The king’s army was following the river Bathinus, which Vuk informed me would empty into the Sava. We followed on trails through the mountains, and were soon ahead of the slowly moving force. No doubt there were also Roman scouts on the move, but we saw none of them. At times, it felt like you could lose a whole army in a forest.

  ‘Do you have family?’ I asked Vuk. As is often the way with soldiers I knew little of his life, despite going through so much together.

  ‘The king,’ he answered.

  ‘You’re related?’

  Vuk shook his head. ‘You don’t need to be related to be family.’

  There was truth in that.

  ‘I am afraid for him,’ he said then.

  ‘For his life?’

  Vuk shook his head again. ‘For his spirit.’ He looked at me. ‘He is a just king, Corvus. He started this war with a heavy heart. He wanted any other way but blood, but now… now I fear he will drown in it.’

  I said nothing. Vuk took a breath.

  ‘Come. Let us return to him.’

  * * *

  The king we returned to was not the one that we had left.

  Pinnes was sitting alone and silent in his campaign tent when we entered. He had aged a decade in a day. There were black bags around his eyes. His lips were dry. He was a man struck by the disease of failure.

  ‘Vuk.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Corvus. Sit. There is wine.’

  A day ago he would have bounded from his seat to greet us. Now he sat as though rooted to the land that now belonged, without question, to Rome.

  ‘How did it look?’ he asked us. ‘I was thinking about you both, and what you might have seen. Please, tell me about it.’

  And so we did. He wanted to know every detail, though I could see that they landed blows on his spirit.

  ‘How did I ever think we could stand against them?’ Pinnes uttered weakly. ‘Tell me,’ he said then, ‘has Ziva returned with the cavalry?’

  Vuk and I shared a look.

  ‘He did not return after the Mazaei were beaten, lord?’ Vuk asked.

  Pinnes slowly shook his head. ‘He did not.’ And that pained him. ‘I imagine he has ridden to Bato.’ There was a pang of betrayal in his eyes. The Pannonian had chosen Dalmatians over his own king.

  ‘Are all of his men gone?’ I asked the king.

  Pinnes shook his head. ‘Only the cavalry that rode with you. He has infantry here. A few scouts.’

  My heart sank. There was something about their deployment to guard the hostages that still did not sit well with me.

  ‘Lord King,’ I tried, ‘now that the war is over, what will happen to the hostages?’

  A little warmth came to the king’s face. ‘Fear not, my friend. They will be looked after. I have made my peace with Tiberius, but Bato has not. I have promised to keep the hostages in my safekeeping until Bato bends the knee. This war must end.’

  ‘What other conditions were there, lord?’ Vuk asked, sensing as I did that they were many, and great.

  ‘Our own hostages, of course,’ the king began, giving the names of the noble families that were now held by the Roman army. ‘They will be taken to Rome, I am told, and educated in the Roman ways.’

  ‘Did they make you an offer of a bride, lord?’ I asked.

  ‘They did not.’ His dry lips twitched in a smile. ‘In fact, they seemed quite disgusted by the suggestion.’ There was grim melancholy on his face as he recalled it. ‘They want tax, of course, and…’ he faltered.

  ‘And, lord?’ Vuk encouraged him.

  The king met his eyes. I saw pain in his own. So much pain. ‘And they want men, Vuk. I am sorry,’ he said, understating the depth of his sorrow, ‘I am sorry, Vuk. I fought this war so that our men could die on our home soil instead of bleeding for Rome’s conquests, but now we must provide their army with men.’

  We said nothing. The king breathed out. ‘My choice was that some of Pannonia’s sons will die in Roman wars, or all Pannonia’s women and children will slowly starve to death in the mountains. I’m sorry, Vuk. I made a decision out of love, not honour.’

  The king’s bodyguard nodded gravely. ‘You made the right decision, lord.’

  But there was more. Pinnes met my eyes.

  ‘They want your head, Corvus.’

  I said nothing. There was no surprise in that.

  ‘They asked for your head, but I told them that I was there to surrender an army, not a man. There was a commander of a legion, and he could barely speak your name, but Tiberius is a diplomat as well as a warrior. He said simply that it would be better for peace if you died, and I told him that you would.’ The king leaned forward, then. ‘I promised that you would die for peace, Corvus.’

  If he meant to kill me, it would be now.

  Instead his cracked lips pulled back to show his teeth. ‘And die you will, but at the time of the gods’ choosing, no
t mine.’

  For a moment, no one said anything.

  ‘You wanted peace, lord,’ I said at last. ‘You have it. You have saved the lives of thousands.’

  The king’s laugh was empty. ‘You can’t claim to have saved lives if you are the one that began the war, Corvus, but thank you.’ He put his hand on mine. ‘You are a loyal friend,’ he said, then looked to Vuk, ‘you both are, and I will need you in the coming days.’

  ‘Why, lord?’

  ‘Because Bato fights on, Vuk,’ the king said heavily, ‘and I intend to stop him.’

  Chapter 56

  ‘Lord,’ I asked the king, ‘you intend to kill Bato?’

  There was a spark in his eyes as he laughed at me. ‘Why must everything with you end in violence, Corvus?’ For a moment I saw something of the old Pinnes. Something of hope. ‘No, my friend, I am riding to Bato to speak. To talk. I gave Tiberius my word that I would convince Bato to put down his arms.’

  ‘What was he like?’ I found myself asking.

  ‘Tiberius?’ Pinnes thought on it. ‘Both patient and impatient. His speech is measured and his word appears to be iron, but I could tell that he is ready to be away from Pannonia. He wants this war over, I imagine, so that he can begin to conquer new lands. He wants his legions intact for that, of course, and he wants my men. Pannonia’s tribes must give him twenty thousand, and I expect he’ll want the same from Bato and the Dalmatians. More will follow next year.’

  That was my own suspicion. ‘He wants to wed your men to him through conquest and plunder.’

  ‘Yes,’ the king nodded, ‘I expect that is the aim. He will take away enough of our men that we can’t fight, but not too many that he can’t manage them. I am no fool, my friends, and I know that many men march for love of treasure as much as love of nation and tribe. If Tiberius is victorious on his next campaign, he will be more than able to buy their loyalty with loot.’

  There was more, too, but no one said it – soldiers like to follow a leader that wins. Tiberius was that man. Pinnes was not.

 

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