Hammer of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  Before he’d completed the sentence Calgacus launched himself across the ice in a rush and Valerius was forced to fight off a flurry of blows in the space of a heartbeat. It was as if what had gone before had merely been some kind of game. Now the Selgovae attacked with a relentless, deadly ferocity that reminded Valerius of Serpentius. The truncated sword made little difference. If anything it made Calgacus more dangerous, for the jagged, saw-toothed break could take a man’s throat out as easily as a needle point. In battle, Valerius had always relied on his speed and an instinctive aptitude for swordsmanship, but in battle, even if he was outfought, a man could always hope that some comrade would come to his aid, or a pocket of resistance provide sanctuary, however short-lived. Here there would be no aid and there was nowhere to hide.

  Somehow he managed to survive the onslaught, but he was conscious of an ominous silence from the Roman bank. His legionaries, every man a veteran, believed it was only a matter of time before their commander lay dead on the ice. The bigger they are the further they have to fall. He ducked a vicious slashing cut, but where Calgacus expected him to recover Valerius allowed his momentum to take him down in a frantic roll that allowed him to stab upwards into the Selgovae’s groin. Again, Calgacus was too quick for him. The big man leapt away and landed two-footed on a patch of ice and slush where they’d fought previously.

  This time the crack lasted a dozen heartbeats and the sound froze both men in place.

  Valerius saw the consternation in Calgacus’s eyes as the ice gave way beneath his feet and plunged him into the freezing waters below. At the same time he felt movement under his own boots and took a hurried step back. Calgacus clung to the fractured edge with one hand, determined to hold on to his broken sword with the other, and for a moment it seemed he would be swept away. Valerius moved towards him. He would never know whether he was moved by the Selgovae’s plight or a desire to finish the fight for good, because at that moment the gap between them widened and a lurch almost made him lose his footing. As he moved back, Calgacus finally dropped his sword on the ice and used both hands to haul himself, gasping and shivering, to safety. He forced himself to his feet. Astonishingly he was still smiling.

  ‘Another minute and I would have killed you, Roman,’ he called across the dark, swirling waters that separated them.

  ‘No,’ Valerius gasped. ‘I think I just about had you.’

  Calgacus laughed, looked at the void between them as if he was contemplating attempting the leap, then walked away.

  ‘Calgacus?’

  The Selgovae half turned. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Arafa said you called me that. The Swordsman, eh?’ Valerius could see he liked the name. ‘From an enemy almost a compliment.’

  ‘Make terms now,’ Valerius urged him, unsure in his own mind why he was making the effort. ‘Become a client of Rome. I will do what I can to ensure you remain a king and your people will live in peace under the Empire’s protection. Otherwise …’

  Calgacus hesitated for a moment before shaking his shaggy head. ‘Perhaps if it was only you, but Rome … I do not think so.’

  ‘In the spring then.’

  Calgacus nodded. ‘The spring.’

  As the Selgovae king walked back towards his family and his warriors Valerius turned to see Quintus Naso, offering a thick cloak. ‘It was a good offer,’ Naso said.

  ‘No,’ Valerius accepted the cloak. ‘It was a very bad offer.’ He saw the question in Naso’s eyes. ‘Agricola would never have honoured the terms. One way or the other Calgacus would have been dragged to Rome in chains and the name of Gaius Valerius Verrens would be dragged behind him in the mud.’

  XXXI

  Spring proper was late that year and Valerius spent a further two months of frustration in Trimontium before it finally arrived. Emerald buds clothed the skeletal trees and the first wild flowers began to peep through the leaf mould on the forest floor. Still the ground was too wet to open the campaign against the Selgovae in the marshy wastes of the western valleys. By the time the messenger reached him from Julius Agricola the men of the Ninth were heartily sick of attacking the steep flanks of the three hills.

  Naso joined him while he opened the leather scroll case and watched as he read the contents.

  ‘The governor is back with the Twentieth at their winter quarters in a place called Luguwaliom about four or five days’ march to the south-west of us. He’s ordered me to a conference to discuss a joint campaign against Calgacus. You’ll need to prepare the legion to march immediately on my return, Quintus.’

  ‘The legion has been ready for a month, legate, as you well know. My biggest problem will be reining in the auxiliary cavalry.’

  Valerius returned his grin. ‘Send orders for Rufus and my escort and a full squadron of the Ala Petriana. No point in taking any chances. The Selgovae are bound to have scouts covering the south of the country.’

  Naso left and Valerius turned to the letter that had arrived with the first supply convoy to make its way up the Thuaidh from the coast. He smiled as his eyes ran across the neat lines of exotically inscribed and slightly archaic Latin that identified Tabitha’s correspondence. The scroll was only the second he’d received since he’d sent Hilario south. Tabitha reported that, though he’d found London lively enough at first, he was now bored with city life and pined for his old tentmates and a chance to cross swords with a proper enemy. There’d been no further incidents and Metilius Aprilis kept a respectful distance. Whether that was because of Hilario’s ferocious presence and the increased security in the house or the regular missives from the Emperor tendering his kindest regards and affection she wasn’t certain. This last comment provoked a frown of concern. If, as Valerius suspected, Aprilis or some other was having Tabitha’s messages read before they reached her, he prayed Titus was careful with his words. However, Tabitha never so much as hinted that her correspondence might have been tampered with, and she had much more experience than Valerius with such hole-in-the-corner techniques. She ended with a cryptic suggestion that Agricola’s winter sojourn in Londinium might have resulted in something more tangible in his wife Domitia than appreciation of his frequent companionship.

  Valerius certainly hoped that was the case. He had a feeling that, Titus’s favour or not, the governor’s reception for his legate of the Ninth legion Hispana might not be as warm as he would wish.

  They set out to the sound of trumpets on the Tubilustrium, the last day of the Quinquatria festival dedicated to Mars. Thanks to the guide’s knowledge of the road and the regular switching of remounts it took just two and a half days to reach their destination.

  Even before Valerius had washed and donned his ceremonial toga, an aide appeared at the curtained door of his room in the pavilion of Julius Ursus, legate of the Twentieth. ‘The governor suggests it is too late in the day to begin a conference of war,’ the young tribune said. ‘But he asks you to attend him as soon as you are ready.’

  Valerius noticed the suggestion that the timing of his arrival had delayed their meeting, the use of attend rather than join, and the unnecessary pretence of urgency. All suggested rebuke or were deliberately designed to annoy. ‘Very well,’ he said evenly. ‘Tell the governor I will attend him as soon as I’ve seen that my men are properly settled.’ Agricola wasn’t the only one who could play games.

  When he finally entered the governor’s quarters Agricola was seated at his desk dictating orders to a clerk. Valerius expected him to dismiss the man, but Agricola merely finished the orders and welcomed his visitor with a tight smile.

  ‘I wanted to speak to you alone, Valerius, so that you could give me a report of your operations against the Selgovae over the winter, and your plans for the spring offensive. My clerk will take notes for my report to the Emperor. Is that acceptable to you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Valerius wondered for a moment whether to congratulate the governor on his impending fatherhood, but thought better of it. ‘Though I fear my report will be shorter than you would like.’ />
  ‘Yes?’

  Valerius explained how the Selgovae had melted away before his advance, and described the attack on the empty hill fort and the frustrating winter that followed. ‘Every settlement we would have attacked and burned they had already destroyed. Every cow and every pig that we would have taken had either been driven off to their mountain fastness or slaughtered and used to contaminate a well or a spring. The only course left us was to send out patrols to take what prisoners they could and harass the Selgovae wherever they found them. We killed a few when they raided our camp intent on burning our supply of timber, but I fear that was the limit of our success.’

  Agricola waited until the clerk’s nimble fingers had completed their work and his stylus no longer moved over his wax tablet. ‘Yes, I can see that would be frustrating for a man of your … qualities.’ He hesitated, and his voice became suspiciously mild. ‘But I’m confused. Is something not missing from your account?’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘I’m led to believe that the legate of the Ninth legion Hispana has made a treaty in my name with a tribe called the Votadini. A chief named …?’ He looked to the scribe.

  ‘Marro, lord?’

  ‘Yes. King Marro … sends me his fraternal greetings and offers me exclusive trading rights with his people. He appears to believe I am his equal.’

  ‘I made no alliance.’ For a moment Valerius struggled for words. ‘No treaty. The Selgovae were my priority – as they were yours – and so I came to an informal agreement with the numerous tribe capable of threatening my right flank.’

  ‘You sought this agreement? I thought my orders were clear. In Britannia under my stewardship Rome does not negotiate. It dominates.’

  ‘I did not seek any agreement, but one was offered and I dictated the terms.’ Valerius cursed himself for sounding so defensive. ‘A Votadini representative approached my camp when we reached the edge of Selgovae territory.’

  ‘And what did he offer, precisely?’

  ‘He gave assurances of friendship and asked for an alliance with Rome.’ Valerius saw Agricola’s eyes harden. ‘Which I refused on the grounds that only the governor of this province has the imperium to form alliances on Rome’s behalf. I was also conscious of your clear orders on the subject of negotiation.’

  ‘Yet you did negotiate.’

  ‘I believed, as a general of one of the Emperor’s legions, that I had some latitude in nullifying the threats on my front and flank.’ Valerius didn’t hide his irritation and Agricola blinked at the mention of the Emperor. ‘King Marro offered the services of his warriors, which I rejected. Instead, I suggested he took them to harry the settlements of the northern Selgovae, thus simultaneously depriving Calgacus of potential reinforcements and taking the Votadini far from our current supply lines.’

  ‘Very well.’ Agricola clasped his hands together before him. ‘And what did King Marro ask in return for these services?’

  ‘He asked for domination of the Selgovae lands to the east of the River Thuaidh. I agreed, because in my opinion he would have taken them anyway while we were busy with Calgacus.’

  The governor sat for a few moments, his eyes on the other man, before he nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I see your dilemma. I endorse your decision, but Valerius,’ his voice softened again, ‘you do understand that the Votadini will have to be dealt with in time and that by then your generosity in this matter of land may have strengthened them substantially.’

  ‘Thank you, proconsul.’ Valerius felt very tired. All he wanted was to get back to his tent, have a meal and get some rest.

  ‘Now.’ A different tone suggested something had changed and suddenly the room seemed to go cold. ‘Tell me about this fight – this duel – with Calgacus, king of the Selgovae, the man I sent you to capture.’

  ‘I …’ Valerius closed his eyes.

  ‘You deny it took place?’

  ‘No.’ How could he when Agricola had just provided proof that he had a spy somewhere in Valerius’s headquarters? Perhaps even in his household. ‘I believed I had the opportunity to subdue the Selgovae without further bloodshed. Calgacus …’

  ‘Come, Valerius, spare me no details.’ Agricola sat back in his chair with a complacent smile. A smile that said I have you now, and not even your friend Titus will save you from my wrath.

  ‘Calgacus sent an emissary under a branch of truce …’

  ‘So many emissaries seek you out, it’s almost as if they believe you are the governor in my stead. What reason did this emissary have to believe you would entertain him?’

  ‘It was not like that.’ Plainly there was no point in prevaricating. Agricola already knew the details. Valerius told him about the loss of Gaius Rufus, and the capture of Calgacus’s wife and daughter. How the approach had been made and how he had accepted. He kept his account of the fight with Calgacus short, hinting that he had never been in any danger and would have triumphed had the ice not broken. Agricola’s eyes reflected his unconcealed disbelief and Valerius realized the spy had not just heard about the fight, but must have witnessed it.

  ‘So let me summarize,’ Agricola said. ‘You agreed to exchange two of the most valuable hostages in Britannia for an entirely expendable half-Celtic scout …’

  ‘With respect, governor, Gaius Rufus has provided invaluable service and advice in this and other campaigns, as the governor well knows.’

  ‘Not only that,’ Agricola continued as if Valerius hadn’t spoken, ‘but you – the legate of a Roman legion – offered yourself in single combat against a tribal leader who is currently the most dangerous man in Britannia, and not just because of his prowess with a sword. Have you any idea of the effect it would have on the people of this benighted province of mine if it became known Calgacus had butchered a Roman general? Have you? He would immediately become the hero every Celt on this island would cheerfully march behind and die beside. Every tribe, in the province and without, would have heard about his victory within a week and every minor chief and petty king would have sought him out in a month. Forget Spartacus, a mere slave, followed by slaves. Calgacus is a warrior and a leader. Fortunately a warrior who currently leads a mere ten thousand warriors. Your death, Gaius Valerius Verrens, would have provided Calgacus with another fifty thousand willing spears. Your pointless, idiotic death, Hero of Rome, brought about by nothing but your own vanity, might very well have plunged Britannia into a bloodbath that would have finished Boudicca’s work for her.’

  The accusations and recriminations came at Valerius like a shower of arrows on the battlefield. His only shield had been his certainty that what he’d done was justified, but Agricola’s cold anger shattered that defence. The rebuke was made more painful by the fact that Valerius now understood that, from the governor’s point of view, it was entirely warranted. Every arrow hit its mark and the barbs bit deep.

  ‘I did what I thought was right …’

  ‘You thought to enhance your reputation,’ Agricola rasped. ‘Nothing more. In fact, Valerius, you did not think at all. Were you blinded by her beauty? I know you are susceptible to such things. Did she seduce you with her soft words … or was it her soft body?’

  ‘No, it was not like that.’

  ‘A real Roman general with iron for a backbone would not have hesitated to use mother and daughter to force Calgacus to abandon his pointless resistance and surrender himself. If you had built a pyre around their feet he would have come to you on his knees.’

  ‘No, you don’t know him …’

  ‘I know he is as hopeless a romantic as you are, or he would never have offered to meet you in single combat in the first place with all the risks it entailed.’

  Valerius took a deep breath. ‘If the governor has lost faith in me I will resign my position immediately.’ The words fell from his mouth like stones and it was as if he were listening to someone else say them. He was giving up his legion. He was no longer commander of the Ninth. All the energy drained from him and he felt an emptiness such as he�
�d only ever experienced in the terrible, bloody dawn after a battle. ‘If you would permit it I will take the time to say farewell to my men before I return to Londinium.’

  Agricola stared at him, lips clamped tight in a line that might have been scored by a knife point, but gradually the anger faded from him.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I do not think so. Though even your friend the Emperor wouldn’t rescind my order if I chose to issue it, against charges so serious and showing such flagrant disregard for military and political principles. The truth is I have no one on the island capable of replacing you.’ He paused. ‘Your past is too deeply embedded in the shadowier corridors of the Palatium for me to trust you fully. Who knows where your loyalty truly lies? But I always thought I could trust your instinct for command and your fighting qualities on the battlefield. Do not betray that trust again. We will meet with the legates in the morning. Let us speak of this no more.’

  Valerius stepped from the governor’s tent into the sunshine at the centre of a whirlpool of uncertainty. He didn’t know where he wanted to go until his feet carried him towards his quarters. Shabolz and Dagwalda took step by his side and he could feel their consternation. Had he changed so much in a few short minutes? He remained a legate, but what real authority did he have? A commander must have faith in his own judgement or he could not function properly as a leader of men. Titus wanted him to succeed Agricola as governor of Britannia. That aspiration seemed laughable now. Had Agricola been correct? Was it possible that Valerius’s impetuous acceptance of Calgacus’s challenge might have cost Rome the entire province? They would never know, but Agricola had seemed certain enough. There was nothing feigned about his anger.

  He arrived at Ursus’s pavilion and dismissed the two guards. Inside he turned left into his quarters. A tall figure in a formal toga stood by his cot, studying the sword Shabolz had presented to him.

  ‘They say Calgacus’s sword is as long as a man is tall,’ Herenius Polio, commander of the Second legion Adiutrix, commented. ‘Is that true?’