Rome’s Fallen Eagle

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘I would consider your positions, gentlemen,’ Sabinus advised, walking forward, his gaze falling on two of the three men; behind him Magnus rushed from the sleeping area, his sword drawn. From outside came the good-humoured clamour of a victorious legion returning to camp. ‘Vibianus, I’m pleased to see that you’re still primus pilus, and Laurentinus, I imagine that you’re on your last few months of service and the Ninth will be needing a new prefect of the camp soon.’ He looked at the youngest of the three. ‘Scaevola, I’m sure you feel you owe loyalty to Corvinus for making you his thick-stripe tribune but I would advise you to put that aside for the moment and listen.’ The young tribune’s eyes flicked nervously over to Sabinus for an instant and then back to Vespasian; his sword stayed firm as did those of his fellows. ‘Plautius will be here very soon with at least one legion. You three have only two choices: try to kill us and then carry on being a party to your legate’s treason or hand Corvinus over to us. Choose the first option and you will find yourselves leading your legion against fellow Romans, as Plautius will have no option but to use force to ensure that the Emperor’s orders are obeyed. But choose the second and you’ll receive the thanks of a grateful emperor.’

  Scaevola pressed his blade harder against Vespasian’s throat. ‘Why should I trust you?’

  ‘You’ve got no reason to; but Vibianus and Laurentius, you know me and you know the pride that I have in the Ninth Hispana, my first legion when I was a military tribune and my first as a legate. Do you think that I would want to see this legion disgraced? You both served under me for a couple of years; did I ever do anything that would make you doubt my word? Narcissus has set this up to expose Corvinus’ treachery; but at the same time he made me legate of the Fourteenth so that there would be somebody whom you trust to reason with you, someone whom you know has your best interests and those of this legion at heart. Believe me, gentlemen, your new legate has lied to you and has put your lives in danger.’

  Vibianus and Laurentius looked across Corvinus into each other’s eyes; after a moment they both gave the slightest of nods. Their swords slowly moved from Vespasian’s throat and pulled back to Corvinus’.

  Scaevola’s face tightened with indecision and sweat formed on his battle-grimed forehead.

  ‘They’ll be in here, sir,’ Paetus shouted, bursting through the entrance, causing the young tribune to start; his sword jerked and Vespasian pulled his head back, blood trickling from a straight cut on his throat.

  ‘What the fuck am I going to tell the Emperor and Narcissus?’ Plautius roared, storming in after Paetus. ‘You said that you’d stop this treacherous shit before he did too much damage.’

  Vespasian looked down in horror at the blood on the sword blade; as he did Scaevola’s hand released the hilt and it clattered to the wooden floor. Over Corvinus’ shoulder Scaevola’s eyes glazed and blood seeped from between his lips. Vibianus and Laurentius held a rigid Corvinus motionless with their swords pressed to his throat; Scaevola slid to the floor with a knife protruding from the back of his neck.

  Vespasian checked the wound to his throat and found to his immense relief that it was superficial; he moved his hand down and eased Corvinus’ weapon from its scabbard and chucked it away. ‘I’m sorry, general, we arrived too late.’

  ‘Too fucking right you did.’ Plautius marched over to Corvinus and, without hesitation, slammed his fist into the centre of his face, crushing his nose and sending him collapsing onto Scaevola’s body. ‘That feels much better.’ He stared furiously, neck ligaments bulging, at Vibianus and Laurentius. ‘Get that dung heap out of my sight and keep him secured until the Emperor arrives to sentence him to death.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ they replied, simultaneously snapping to attention.

  ‘Which one of you killed the tribune?’

  ‘I did, sir!’ Vibianus barked.

  ‘Put yourself on a charge, primus pilus.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘Charge dismissed; now fuck off out of here.’

  Vibianus and Laurentius crashed salutes and hurried from the tent dragging Corvinus with them. Vespasian nodded his thanks to Vibianus as they left.

  Plautius turned his malevolent gaze onto the two brothers.

  ‘I saw what happened; I was with the cavalry on the hill. It seems that we have them beaten; they’ll probably ask for terms tomorrow.’

  ‘They tried to surrender this morning but Corvinus had the envoys murdered,’ Verica said, hobbling out of the sleeping area.

  Plautius looked in shock at the old King and then slumped down onto a folding stool and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘What a fuck-up this is and none of it will be Narcissus’ fault. What’s Claudius going to do now when he gets here apart from have Corvinus executed and march into an already occupied town?’

  ‘Don’t occupy it, then,’ Vespasian suggested. ‘If it surrenders tomorrow that doesn’t mean we have to march in immediately.’

  Plautius paused, frowning, and then broke into a grin. ‘Of course, the fool has never been to war, he won’t know what it looks like. We could just dress up a few prisoners, like Caligula did when he pretended to invade Germania, kill them as we march into the town and then have Claudius take its surrender and he’ll feel that he’s done something glorious. He’ll be happy, Narcissus won’t be able to complain and, more to the point, I’ll be in the clear. I’ll send for him to leave Rome right away.’

  ‘What do we do in the meantime, sir?’

  ‘I’ll despatch envoys from the Britons who’ve already come over to us to all the tribes and ascertain which chieftains will be willing to pledge themselves to the fool. Sabinus, I want prisoners for Claudius’ triumphant entry into Camulodunum; take your legion west for a month making our presence fully known and then return here with some captives. The Ninth will now remain here where I can keep an eye on them. I’ve left the Twentieth building a bridge across the Tamesis and securing the southern bank from Caratacus. The Second I’ve left the other side of the river ready to head south. So, Vespasian, it now falls to you and not Corvinus to take Verica back to his capital and then secure the Isle of Vectis so that there’s no threat in your rear next season when you start to push west along the coast; do it by negotiation with the King if you can – we need to preserve our troops. But if that fails then invade.

  ‘I expect Claudius to arrive soon after the calends of September. I want you back here by then with Vectis secure, Verica in place and your legion established as the main force in the south of Britannia.’

  CHAPTER XX

  ‘MY NEPHEW WILL yield,’ Verica assured Vespasian, ‘and once he does he will be completely loyal to Rome.’

  Vespasian tightened his grip on the rail as the trireme was again buffeted by a gust of wind in the choppy channel between the mainland and the Isle of Vectis. ‘Do you think so? He’s shown no inclination to be so in the last month of negotiations.’

  ‘Once honour has been satisfied he will accept Rome.’

  ‘But to satisfy his honour a good many of my men will have to die?’

  Verica shrugged and wiped the drops of salty spray from his face. ‘It’s always been the way of things. Many more of his warriors will die for his honour than will legionaries.’

  ‘I’m sure they will; but why do it? Why didn’t he just capitulate when I sent envoys offering good terms?’

  ‘Because I told him not to.’

  Vespasian turned to the old King, startled. ‘You did what?’

  ‘I did what I knew to be the best for everyone as I intend to make Cogidubnus my heir. My people’s blood has been shed fighting for Caratacus at the crossing of the Afon Cantiacii; Cogidubnus and his warriors weren’t there because of his and Caratacus’ hatred for each other. If Cogidubnus were to surrender to Rome without a fight my people would never accept him.’

  ‘They accepted you back and you came with us.’

  ‘True, but they did so only grudgingly. Now that Caratacus has been defeated and has fled west the Atreba
tes and Regni confederation are no longer under his dominion. They have accepted me back as their rightful King who was usurped by Caratacus. However, they resent the fact that I came with Rome and didn’t stand with them against her.’

  ‘So to secure your position you will make your nephew a hero for resisting Rome and then adopt him as your heir and fuck all the lives that will cost.’

  ‘Yes, you could put it like that; but the important issue is that my kingdom will be stable and when I die, which will be very soon, there will be a strong successor who will be supportive of Rome. You wouldn’t like the Atrebates and the Regni revolting next year or the year after, cutting off your supply lines as you move west, would you?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

  ‘If this battle doesn’t happen then that’s what you’d have. Both my sons are dead, legate, and my natural heir is my sole grandson, named after me, but he is only in his teens; he’s too young and, besides, he’s lived with me in Rome for the last three years so he doesn’t know my people and they won’t accept him.’

  ‘Doesn’t he mind being passed over for his cousin?’

  ‘I haven’t told him yet; but I hope that he will see that it’s for the best. I think he’ll try to make his way in Rome. Along with me, he was given citizenship and equestrian rank and now speaks fluent Latin. At the moment he’s serving as a thin-stripe tribune on Plautius’ staff, perhaps you’ve come across him? Tiberius Claudius Alienus is the Latin name he’s taken.’

  ‘Alienus? Yes, I’ve seen him; he is young.’

  ‘And obviously not strong enough to hold my people together under Rome.’

  ‘And Cogidubnus will be if he can demonstrate that he stood up to Rome?’

  ‘Yes; this small battle and small loss of life is a price worth paying for that, don’t you think?’

  Vespasian looked round at the hundred and fifty men of the first century of the depleted first cohort, kneeling on the deck, wet with spray, looking in apprehension at the island’s shore, now less than a mile away, which, even in the thin dawn light, was visibly defended by a large force. Behind them, clutching their bows, knelt the two contubernia of Hamian auxiliaries that Vespasian had allocated to each ship. How many of these men would be dead within the hour to secure Verica’s kingdom? After a few moments contemplating the hardened faces he realised that, pragmatically, it did not matter how many would die now so long as the goal was achieved and Verica’s chosen heir could be seen as a man who bowed to the superior might of Rome after testing that strength for himself. Rome’s position in Britannia would be stronger for it.

  Verica was right, Vespasian mused, as the wind tugged at his cloak: his welcome had been less than enthusiastic. In the month after Corvinus’ arrest, Vespasian had led his legion south, in stages, down through the Atrebates’ heartland; every hill fort, township or village they had come to had opened their gates and submitted to Rome. The warriors had laid down their weapons but Vespasian had permitted them to take them back up so long as they acknowledged Verica as their King who would rule in the Emperor’s name; indeed, he even bore the Emperor’s name, Tiberius Claudius Verica, having been granted citizenship by Claudius whilst he was in Rome. This fealty, however, had not been granted immediately and Verica had been obliged to enter into protracted negotiations with the elders of each settlement before they would consent to accepting back their former King. The pacts had inevitably been settled with a long night’s drinking, each successively taking their toll on the ageing Verica’s health, and in the mornings there had always been fewer warriors coming to reclaim their swords than had deposited them the previous day. Some warriors had been waylaid heading west to Caratacus and they had been sent in chains to Plautius for use in Claudius’ mock victory but a significant number had slipped away to swell the ranks of the defiant chieftain’s growing army.

  Verica’s arrival at his power base, Regnum – a port within a natural harbour on the mainland, just to the east of Vectis – had been more triumphant as he was welcomed by his kin of the Regni. The II Augusta’s welcome, however, had not been so warm and both Vespasian and Verica had been forced to work hard at smoothing over relations between the two sides during the following month as the legionaries built a permanent camp and the navy modernised the port. It was at this point that Vespasian had entered into negotiations with Cogidubnus, King of Vectis, for the peaceful surrender of his kingdom, but his overtures had always been thwarted, despite the honourable terms offered and the presence of a large Roman fleet in the Vectis channel.

  Now he had been forced to use that fleet to take what Rome demanded he realised why it had not been given freely. He looked sidelong at the wily old King. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you’d told Cogidubnus not to surrender without a fight? I’ve wasted almost a month in negotiating with him.’

  ‘I had to have my people see that you were prepared to try and talk peace; had I told you at the beginning you would’ve invaded immediately and Rome would’ve looked like an impetuous aggressor.’ Verica turned his rheumy eyes to Vespasian. ‘You have to understand, young man, that if Rome is to stay here and doesn’t wish to keep four or five legions constantly tied up keeping the tribes subdued, then you must rule with the broad consent of the people and to get that Rome must be seen as powerful and inclusive. And besides, had I told you, you might have had me executed.’

  ‘That would’ve been a very unwise move.’

  ‘Yes, it would’ve been, and I’m pleased that you can see that.’

  ‘Brace yourselves, my lovelies,’ Primus Pilus Tatius roared. ‘This won’t hurt – too much.’

  The double-strength century slammed their shields down on the deck and crouched behind them; sailors ran forward to man the two corvi. The hollow thwacking of slingshot thumping into the hull from the beach, just over a hundred paces away, started in earnest. The now familiar sight of massed, clay-daubed tribesmen bellowing their defiance and brandishing their weapons to the blaring of carnyxes sent a shiver of fear down Vespasian’s spine; he felt his left hand go clammy as it grasped his shield grip. He offered a silent prayer to his guardian god to spare him this day from falling in a battle that was unnecessary in the short-term but whose long-term political implications he now fully understood.

  The hiss of a speeding lead shot passed close to Vespasian’s head and he too knelt down behind his shield. ‘You’d best get below, Verica.’

  The King nodded and walked away towards the stern, erect and seemingly oblivious to the stones and lead that now flew all around. Vespasian glanced to either side; the forty ships of his invasion fleet were all in a line, with no more than five-pace gaps between their oars, and would hit the beach simultaneously; behind them on the right flank were six ships in reserve, carrying Paetus’ cavalry.

  At a shouted order from the trierarchus the oars were brought rasping in and Vespasian knew that they would hit the beach in a matter of moments. With a sharp cry of pain one of the sailors stumbled back and collapsed at the foot of a corvus, clutching a shattered arm. A roar from the trierarchus sent two more men forward to take his place. Only one man made it to the bow; his mate lay on the deck with blood seeping from his mouth, his forehead shattered by the direct hit of a high-velocity missile.

  The hail of shot intensified, ricocheting off shields, the rail and the mast with sharp staccato cracks. Hunched tight behind their leather-clad wooden guards the men of the first cohort grimaced, gritting their teeth as the unrelenting salvo clattered about them and spent shots rolled up and down the heaving deck. Vespasian’s ears sang with the report as his shield jolted back and a rounded stone, half the size of a fist, rebounded off and slammed into the shin of a kneeling legionary, cracking the bone and puckering the flesh. The man screamed and clasped his right hand to the wound but kept his shield up knowing, even in his agony, that to lower it would mean death.

  The shots trailed off as the ships neared the beach, making the angle impossible for the slingers but bringing them into the range of han
d-hurled weapons; javelins and spears rained down and the legionaries raised their shields into an interconnecting roof, but not before two soldiers fell, pierced and bleeding, to the deck.

  With the grating rasp of wood on shingle the trireme ground up the beach, decelerating violently. The impact sent many of the legionaries sprawling forward, dismantling the protective roof with catastrophic consequences. Almost a dozen failed to obey Tatius’ screamed order to stand and move forward as the two corvi arced down, with a rattle of pulleys and a squeal of hinges, onto the shingle, crushing one warrior who was unable, owing to the press of comrades behind, to move out of the way. As the legionaries ran forward to the ramps the javelin barrage was supplemented by renewed efforts from the slingers, who once again had a direct line of sight. Vespasian raised his shield, deflecting a heavy spear, and, drawing his sword, barged his way into the third rank as they began their descent down the right-hand ramp with a volley of pila. With shot pounding in from the front and sharp iron hissing down from above, the first cohort surged down the vibrating wooden planking, front ranks with their shields forward and the rest raising theirs once they had loosed their pila, knowing that the sooner they closed with the enemy the sooner the heavy hail of missiles would lessen as close contact made their usage nigh on impossible.

  Down they coursed into the warriors clustered nine or ten deep at the base of each ramp.

  ‘With me!’ Vespasian shouted over his shoulder to the men in the fourth and fifth ranks as the lead legionaries exploded onto the first of the Britons. He jumped off the side of the corvus, taking the men behind him with him, and hurled himself onto the warriors below, punching his shield down as he landed, knocking the sword from a snarling, naked man’s hand and following through with his shield boss to split open his face and send him crashing to the shingle. Vespasian landed with a heavy jolt on top of the unconscious warrior and rolled to one side, bringing his shield up over his face as the wicked point of a spear thrust down at him. With an arm-juddering impact, the iron tip embedded itself in the solid wood as a couple of the legionaries who had followed him regained their feet. Vespasian felt the pressure on his shield ease and smelt fresh faeces, suddenly, next to his head. He kicked his shield up and twisted around, getting to his knees as the spear-wielding Briton fell forward, shrieking, his belly slashed open, spewing forth its reeking contents. With no time to acknowledge the man’s killer and straining with the added weight, Vespasian forced himself to his feet; he slammed his spearencumbered shield forward, catching the shaft of the weapon on the shoulder of the next warrior as he endeavoured to close the gap. The impact dislodged the spear; it fell at the warrior’s feet, entangling them, and he stumbled, pitching forward onto Vespasian’s sword-weighted fist. Then, with a dull crunch of a shattered jaw and teeth, he slumped back. Vespasian moved forward, giving a lightning jab at the throat of the downed tribesman before joining the comrade who had probably saved his life in close combat sword work as more and more legionaries crashed down onto the beach behind them, forcing the Roman line ever wider. Then came what he had been waiting for: a fletched shaft suddenly materialised in the forehead of a warrior in front of him; the Hamians were now shooting into the enemy’s ranks, sowing terror amongst them and causing the less steady to back off, relieving some of the pressure on Roman shields.