[Gaius Valerius Verrens 05] - Enemy of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  He frowned as he passed in the shadow of the enormous statue depicting the man he still considered his predecessor – Galba and Otho hardly counted, did they? He really must make a decision. A martial expression, certainly. A victor’s expression. He would have the head removed tomorrow.

  When the guards escorted him through the doors to his private apartments his heart almost skipped. How proud she would be. His secretary would already have conveyed news of his triumph in the Senate. Nothing could spoil his day.

  The look on Galeria’s face brought him up as if he’d collided with a buffalo. For a moment he thought his heart had stopped. ‘Lucius?’ Mutely, she shook her head, pointing to the corner of the room, where a grey-faced messenger wrung his hands in terror.

  ‘A … A …’

  ‘Speak!’ Vitellius flinched at the threat of violence that contaminated the word. I am a gentle man, he thought. What is happening to me? ‘Please,’ he said more soothingly, ‘speak. Take your time, boy.’

  The messenger swallowed and eventually found the words he sought. ‘A rebellion, Caesar. Rebellion in the north.’

  Vitellius laughed incredulously and looked to his wife. ‘Rebellion? Of course there is a rebellion, but even now our armies are taking steps to crush the usurper Titus Flavius Vespasian.’

  ‘Not that rebellion.’ Galeria’s voice had a frightening, haunted quality. ‘Rebellion on the Germania frontier. That one-eyed monster Civilis has incited the Batavians to rise against the legions. Fire consumes the Rhenus frontier and the barbarians east of the river flock to join him.’

  XXVII

  Carnage.

  ‘Send in the fifth century to support the attack.’

  Valerius watched from a raised earth platform as the eighty men of the fifth century of the Third cohort trotted towards the fiendish combination of ditches, palisades and blind entries the defenders of Cremona had created to confound any assault. Once within range of the fort’s archers, slingers and carefully sited onagri and scorpiones, the century formed a protective testudo. Maintaining their steady pace, they crossed the first ditch unscathed. Good, they’d chosen their line well, meeting the obstacle exactly where the Seventh Galbiana’s engineers had bridged it with bundles of branches.

  ‘The palisade on the bank beyond was demolished by the first attack, so it shouldn’t delay them too much.’ Claudius Ferox’s dutiful optimism was welcome, but didn’t quite succeed.

  Valerius’s eyes never left the compact shell of shields. Who was leading them? Of course, Geminus. He’d promoted him to centurion after the battle by the causeway.

  ‘No trouble crossing the second ditch.’ Serpentius’s harsh bray injected a note of reality. ‘Not with it being packed with all those bodies.’

  Valerius shot him a venomous glance, which the Spaniard ignored, and turned back to the attack. Would they manage to keep their formation? Yes. He tried to still the exultation that rose in his breast. If anyone could take the position, it was Geminus. The testudo topped the next rise, the banks thick with hundreds of Valerius’s men sheltering from the hail of javelins and slingshot that had thwarted every attack so far. As he watched, a boulder from one of the flanking Vitellian onagri glanced off the armoured carapace and bounced away to decapitate a legionary who’d raised his head to watch. One more earth wall. One more palisade. The sheltering centuries began to combine, ready to exploit the success of the testudo. He saw the moment Geminus and his men hit the slope, still protected by that impenetrable wall of shields. Waited for the inevitable storm of missiles. Nothing. But Valerius’s elation faded as the palisade opened. The genius of the testudo was that anything thrown or launched at it would bounce off the impregnable wall of shields, but it had one weakness. The big round boulders the defenders pushed from the top of the slope weren’t thrown, they were rolled. He saw them gather pace to smash into the exposed legs of the testudo’s unsuspecting occupants. He imagined the snap of breaking bones and winced as he watched the formation disintegrate, the whole splintering into a dozen smaller fragments comprising four or five men whose legs still pumped as they fought their way up the slope. A roar erupted from hundreds of throats as the sheltering centuries launched themselves from the second bank to join the attack. There was still a chance. Valerius clenched his fist so hard the knuckles turned white as exposed bone. Could they do it?

  Serpentius spat in the dusty earth. Valerius remembered willing the attackers upward on to his sword as he stood on the wall at Placentia. Waiting until the man on the ladder was perfectly placed and …

  ‘Merda.’

  A horn sounded and a storm of missiles from the flanking towers ripped into the attacking formations, tearing gaps through the charging men. In the same instant a cloud of spears arced from the parapet and a dozen attackers fell, writhing and clawing at their bodies as they rolled back into the ditch. Still the survivors fought their way up the slope and Valerius knew without doubt that the man at the very tip of the attack was young Geminus. A big man, with powerful shoulders and the invincibility of youth; he remembered the pride in the tall Calabrian’s eyes as he’d presented him with the crest and his vine stick of office. Watching the charging figure, he imagined the determination on the broad peasant face as he led his men forward. Saw the shield thrown aside as he tore at the stakes of the palisade. The dart of a spear and the moment Geminus’s hands flew up to his throat and the centurion fell backwards.

  His death signalled the failure of the attack. The few legionaries who reached the crest were met by javelin or sword. Accompanied by the jeers of the defenders, the rest fell back to their original positions, where they could shelter from the deadly missile fire. The dead were left where they fell and the wounded to make their own way. Throwing in another century would only have the same result. He must try something different.

  ‘Brocchus?’ Valerius snarled.

  ‘Sir?’ Somehow the Seventh’s primus pilus managed to turn the word into an insult.

  ‘Cohort attack on the wall at the base of the south tower. Wait for the signal.’

  ‘Sir! Don’t you worry, the First cohort will get in there for you. Skirt for all and the best wine kept for the legate, my word on it.’ Valerius didn’t look up, but he could imagine the leering gap-toothed grin. Still, an assault close to the base of the tower would save them from the pair of shield-splitters the defenders had placed overlooking the ditches. A heart-warming vision of the primus pilus spitted on one of the five-foot arrows flicked into his head, but he dismissed it as unworthy.

  ‘Claudius? A runner to General Fulvus. Seventh Galbiana will launch a cohort attack on the south tower at the sixth hour. Tell him I hope it will draw the defenders away from the gate and I suggest Third Gallica might be able to exploit the opportunity.’ He grinned at the image of Fulvus’s face as he realized he was being advised how to fight a battle. Better to be here than the messenger who delivered it. ‘A cornu will signal the assault.’ It was a risk that had to be taken. The sound might alert the enemy to the attack, but they were alert enough anyway. At best, Brocchus and his men would breach the walls and carry their swords into the fort. At worst they would provide the Third Gallica with a breathing space to attack a weakened defence. He paused, trying to gauge the battle by the sounds he could hear. Cohorts would be probing all along the line as Primus had ordered. Would it have been better to combine the legions for an all-out assault on one section of the walls? Perhaps, but the casualties would be just as heavy and the chances of success as variable. He couldn’t criticize the general’s tactics. A commander had to take a decision and be judged by it afterwards, right or wrong.

  ‘Cornicen?’ He looked from the trumpeter to where Brocchus was organizing his cohort into wedge formation. At least the ugly bastard knew his business. ‘On my signal you will sound the attack.’

  He waited to allow Fulvus to get the Third’s cohorts into position before giving the word.

  ‘Now.’

  At the blaring signal from the corn
icen, eight hundred legionaries moved off in tight-packed wedge formation. The First cohort consisted of five double-strength centuries and they trotted towards the defences with two in the van and three behind. Such a mass of men made an inviting target. Somewhere inside the fort an officer would be screaming at the crew of one of the big siege catapults to adjust their aim. But that took time. Valerius had gambled that Brocchus and his soldiers would be able to reach the shelter of the entrenchments before the enemy found his range. As they approached the first barrier each of the cohort’s individual elements formed testudo.

  From his elevated position Valerius tried to stay dispassionate as his men closed on their objective, one of a pair of thirty-foot towers to his left. Claudius Ferox gasped as a rock from the one of the defenders’ onagri smashed off the locked scuta of the leading century, splintering one of the shields. At this distance the missiles looked harmless enough, but inside the sweating hell of the testudo men would be in agony from the pain of wrists broken by the shattering impact of the boulders. Shield-splitters were more effective – a perfect strike would punch through a shield and impale the man holding it – but they took longer to reload. In any case they were too few to trouble an attack of this size. Not that it would matter soon, because when the cohort reached the shadow of the tower the angle would be against the machines. Valerius’s heart beat a little faster as the attacking cohort flowed over the defensive ditches and through the first and second palisades.

  As he had planned, four of the First’s centuries concentrated on the main defences while the other angled towards the base of the tower. Now Brocchus proved his worth and it was a joy to see the precision with which each double-strength century moved seamlessly to form four normal half-centuries. The final ditch had been dug with the defenders’ side almost vertical, to trap the attackers where they could be cut down at leisure. But it had one disadvantage. It required the defenders to expose themselves not only to the legionaries’ spears, but to sling and arrow fire. Valerius had positioned three centuries of auxiliary archers to support the attack. Now they peppered the palisade overlooking Brocchus’s cohort, their well-aimed shafts striking down any spearman foolish enough to show himself. Trapped in the ditch, another attacker’s resolve might have been tested, but these were Roman legionaries, trained to a brutal effectiveness in tactics honed by centuries of war.

  ‘I hate the bastards, but you can’t deny they’re good,’ Serpentius muttered with grudging approval. They watched the lead half-century form a ramp of shields and a second leap up to create a new testudo on top. The manoeuvre allowed the front rank of the elevated formation to tear at the palisade or drag careless enemy defenders into the ditch to be butchered. Satisfied with their progress, Valerius focused his attention on the attack against the tower.

  Here also, a lower tier of legionaries supported an upper unit on their shields, but with a different purpose. This century had carried a cauldron of glowing coals in their midst. Now they used the contents to try to set the supporting pillars of the tower ablaze, while the defenders above tried equally hard to stop them. One of the garrison appeared at the parapet and leaned out to pour water on the men below. Valerius saw him straighten, pierced by countless unseen arrows, and topple to plunge into the ditch. Flames began to lick at the uprights and if they caught hold it was only a matter of time before the tower must be abandoned. But the Vitellian defenders had other ideas. Valerius watched as they braved the arrow storm and began to tear the wooden parapet apart.

  ‘Bastards,’ Serpentius muttered.

  ‘What are they up to?’ Ferox demanded.

  Valerius’s heart sank as he realized what was about to happen. A dozen defenders bodily heaved one of their now useless onagri over the wreckage of the wall so it plunged on to the attackers below. The powerful machines were constructed of massive baulks of wood and enormously heavy. Even at this distance he heard the shrill screams as the catapult smashed through the carapace of shields as if it didn’t exist, to crush the helpless legionaries beneath. Both testudines disintegrated and the shattered survivors retreated to re-form and renew their attack, taking the injured with them.

  ‘It’s ready, sir.’

  Valerius turned, ready to snap at the messenger before he realized what the information meant.

  ‘Very well. Tell them to target the tower when they’re ready. Claudius, send a runner to the commander of the third century to abandon the assault on the tower and reinforce the main attack.’

  Primus had been able to bring forward only two of the big siege catapults in time for the attack and they’d been assigned to the northern sectors. Valerius was promised the support of the next to arrive. He ignored the attack for the moment and looked to his rear. In the far distance, he could see the long arm of the machine being pulled back. Experience told him there was little hope of a direct hit, but the psychological power of the huge missiles landing amongst the defenders would keep their heads down. With a tiny flutter of unease Valerius checked the angle between catapult and tower and realized he was in direct line of shot. He tried not to think what would happen if the cursed thing fired short. His fears vanished when the first giant boulder made the familiar whooshing sound as it flew overhead to crash into the centre of the Vitellian camp. A second throw fell almost two hundred paces to the left, making Serpentius hoot in disdain.

  Valerius shook his head and concentrated on the attack, calling up a new century of archers to cover Brocchus’s flanks, which were coming under increasing pressure. The rush of air directly overhead made him duck. He looked up just in time to see the lower part of the tower disintegrate, sending its occupants tumbling screaming into the ditch below as the upper section toppled to smash the defensive rampart. Pure luck, but the gap was like an open invitation. If he were quick, he might exploit the breakthrough before the defenders had time to recover.

  He turned to Claudius. ‘Fifth cohort is the reserve. Tell—’

  A mighty roar cut off his words and he turned to see the defenders on the ramparts looking over their shoulders before they disappeared altogether. A few moments later a tiny figure appeared at the south gate waving what looked like a cohort standard and soon a messenger rode up to Valerius’s position.

  ‘My legate’s compliments,’ the man grinned. ‘The Third Gallica has breached the gates and he invites you to join him.’

  Valerius looked back towards the broken palisade where Brocchus’s men were pouring through in their hundreds as the panicked defenders fled. ‘I believe we already have.’ He matched the man’s grin. ‘Cornicen? Sound the general advance.’ He stayed long enough to watch the legion’s remaining cohorts set out in the First’s wake. He should have been elated, but at its heart – its very core – victory seemed very much like defeat. His body felt drained of everything but a weary emptiness. Those were Romans being slaughtered among the tents of the enemy camp. Roman soldiers who had fought bravely for their Emperor and their Empire. He could take no joy from their deaths. The only consolation was that this victory would tear the heart out of Vitellius’s army. It might not be the end, but it was certainly the beginning of the end. It could be only a matter of time before his old friend must concede defeat, and what then for an Emperor without a throne or an army?

  ‘I give you joy of the victory, sir.’ Ferox beamed, as well he might, because the fall of Cremona would be a stepping stone towards a command of his own. ‘Will you enter the city?’

  ‘No, Claudius.’ Valerius managed a weary smile. ‘I think I can trust you to look after the rest of it. But remind the centurions that we’re to take prisoners. The men we faced today could soon be fighting at our side and one of those legions could be yours.’

  The young man’s grin grew wider and he was laughing as he rode off at the head of the headquarters staff. Valerius felt Serpentius’s eyes on him. ‘What?’

  ‘Everything will be gone by the time we get there.’

  He was talking about loot, but Valerius didn’t have the e
nergy to object. ‘Go then, with my blessing.’

  ‘Do you want me to look for anything in particular?’ Valerius shook his head and yawned. The Spaniard turned towards his horse.

  ‘Oh, there is one thing,’ Valerius said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wake me up before sunset and I may have to kill you.’

  XXVIII

  ‘Valerius!’

  The urgent voice seemed to come from very far away, much too far away to bother answering. Better to stay drowned in this tranquil pool where the shadows of past failure caused you no pain. ‘Valerius, you must come.’ More insistent now, and accompanied by an uncomfortable feeling of responsibility that made the pool shimmer and the shadows withdraw. With the greatest reluctance, he swam upwards, towards the mirror surface, and opened his eyes.

  ‘How long have I been sleeping?’

  ‘Long enough,’ Serpentius snapped.

  ‘I told you …’

  ‘They’re burning Cremona.’

  ‘What?’ He rolled off the cot as the Spaniard reached for his sculpted breastplate. ‘No time for that.’ He picked up his sash of office. ‘Just help me with this and strap on my sword.’ He waited impatiently until Serpentius had carried out his instructions. ‘Is my horse ready?’

  ‘The groom is saddling it now. I—’

  Valerius was already on the way out. ‘Bring my cloak and you can tell me on the way.’

  He emerged from the tent to see black smoke hanging over the city like a funeral pall. Bright pricks of flame and bursts of sparks erupted from burning buildings inside the walls. They set off at a gallop and reined in outside the shattered south gate of the entrenchment to be met by a visibly shaken Claudius Ferox.

  The young tribune pointed towards the scattered corpses of friend and foe lying in small huddles around the entrance. ‘After the Third took the gate we had the usual slaughter, but when the Vitellians started to throw down their swords our lads seemed happy enough to let them surrender.’