Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5)

by William Kelso

  As he strode back towards the deck house filling his pipe, Alexandros called out to him.

  ‘We will never be able to sail up that river,’ the Greek captain cried, pointing at the estuary. ‘Not without rowers. The wind is slackening.’

  Marcus turned to stare in the direction of the wide bay. Then he nodded. Alexandros was right.

  ‘Alright,’ Marcus cried out in reply. ‘Sail her into the estuary as far as we can go and anchor along the north shore. Jodoc and I will go on foot from there. Deva Victrix is only about 6 miles inland along the river, if I remember correctly. It should take us half a day to get there and back, at a brisk walk. Stay with the ship until we are back.’

  From his position on top of the deck house, Alexandros nodded.

  ‘Bring me back some wine,’ Alexandros boomed in his deep voice. ‘It’s been so long since I last had a drop, that I have nearly forgotten what the stuff tastes like. And I don’t care what you all think, I am getting drunk tonight.’

  Marcus did not reply, as he paused beside the ship’s side and finally managed to light his pipe, using two, small flint-stones. As he took a long and satisfying draw and blew the smoke from his mouth, he turned to study the green meadows and dark forests that were now only half a mile away. He was nearly home and his long and epic journey was nearly done. Now that he was so close, his sadness at knowing their journey was coming to an end, was beginning to fade and a long repressed, powerful, excitement was taking hold. He could deny it no longer. He missed his family. It would be good to see Fergus; it would be good to see Kyna, his wife and Efa, Dylis and the others. For too long he had resisted the temptation of thinking about them, for fear that it would tip him into melancholy, restlessness and despair. He had been away for too long, and when he returned to Vectis he would keep his promise; a promise he’d made the day that Alexandros had rescued him from the ruined trading post; a promise to never leave Vectis, and his family again. He was done with travelling and adventure; he was done with fighting and hardship. The time had come to spend his remaining energies on the welfare and prosperity of his family. That was the least he could do to make up for all the times he’d been absent. Idly he reached up to touch the small canister that hung from around his neck and which contained Corbulo’s ashes and as he did Marcus smiled revealing a couple of missing teeth.

  ‘Look, you bastard,’ he whispered, jutting his chin at the green landscape. ‘I brought you home and soon you will rest beside your comrades. I did this.’ Marcus took another draw from his pipe and glanced up at the sky. ‘I did this,’ he said quietly. ‘So now we are even, old man.’

  ***

  The path along the river was deserted. Away from the water, the green, pleasant meadows were covered with lush, green-grass, colourful June-flowers and interspersed with small groups of trees. Buzzing bees and fluttering butterflies flew around in the strong warm sun. Birds were everywhere and out across the sluggish river, the sunlight reflected from the water and insects darted across the surface. Marcus and Jodoc strode along the path at a brisk pace. They said nothing as they looked around them in wonder, as if they had never seen a summer’s day quite like it. The firm, steady earth beneath his feet felt strange to Marcus after having spent so long on board the Hermes and he could see that Jodoc was having the same experience. Apart from a brief few days off the western coast of Hibernia, to take on much needed supplies, the two of them had not set foot on land for over forty-three days. But now everything was a delight and they revelled in the scents, the sight of familiar trees and plants, and the thought that soon they would be back in a proper Roman town.

  ‘What will you do now,’ Marcus said at last, glancing sideways at Jodoc.

  The young man shrugged and kept his eyes on the path ahead.

  ‘I will get married to Calista, in the proper legal way,’ Jodoc replied. ‘Alexandros has given me his consent. My father is dead and I do not have any other kin, so I guess I will go with Calista and her parents to Rome. I don’t really care where I go.’ Jodoc shrugged again. ‘I will work and I will provide. Maybe I will become a sailor like Alexandros. It doesn’t matter. As long as I am with Calista and my daughter, I will have everything I need.’

  Marcus nodded. He was relieved that the young man had managed to find a sense of purpose again. It had not always been so. Marcus looked down at the earth beneath his feet and bit his lip, as he remembered the wounded and despairing young man they had found lying along the river bank in Hyperborea. Jodoc had very nearly ruined everything and the only reason Marcus had kept him alive, was because they had needed him to help crew the Hermes back home. But that was all in the past now, and Jodoc did not need to know. The two of them were never going to be friends, but neither were they going to part as enemies.

  Sharply Marcus looked up as he struggled to contain his mounting excitement. Fergus, his son was based at Deva. As he strode along the path, Marcus tried to picture what Fergus looked like. The boy’s red hair was his own, that was true, but his son seemed to worship his grandfather, Corbulo, even though he had never known him. Marcus sighed. The boy would no doubt be surprised to see him, maybe even happy. But the fact remained that he and Fergus barely knew each other. And that was his fault. He had been away too many times. But now, he was going to put that right. He had resolved to get to know the boy. Fergus needed to know who his father was and that meant spending time with him. For there was something else, something Marcus could feel in his bones, something he had only slowly become aware of; he was getting old. The strain of the long, epic voyage to Hyperborea had aged him beyond his forty-two years. Idly he reached up to touch the canister that hung from around his neck. Yes, he needed to spend some time with his son. He would start by telling the boy about his adventures in Hyperborea. He would show him the canister, containing Corbulo’s ashes, and he would let him hold Corbulo’s skull and, with luck, he would be able to convince the boy’s commanding officer to grant him leave, so that he could attend Corbulo’s burial. The boy would like that. And so would I, Marcus thought. But he would have to resist the temptation to go and find Fergus a little longer, for first he had to find a doctor, who would be able to help and treat Cunomoltus. His brother needed a doctor urgently.

  The civilian town was filled with noise and bustling with activity, and as Marcus and Jodoc strode past the river harbour, Marcus gasped as he suddenly remembered that this was the spot where, nineteen years earlier, he and the Second Batavian Auxiliary Cohort had embarked for Hibernia. As they penetrated deeper into the town, Marcus became aware of just how many people crowded around the tightly-packed strip houses and in the market places, streets and shops. In Hyperborea the native settlements had often consisted of no more than a dozen people or a single extended family, living quietly in the forest or beside a river, but here in Deva Victrix there had to be thousands and they were all living on top of each other. Quietly Marcus exchanged glances with Jodoc. The young man too, seemed taken aback by the noise and scale of activity. They had forgotten. After their long isolation, they had forgotten what a Roman town felt and looked like. Warily the two of them pushed on into the settlement towards the vast legionary base and as they did, Marcus became aware of the curious looks and glances from the townsfolk, as if the people sensed that there was something strange and different about the two newcomers. The street hawkers and merchants advertising cries faded in volume, as they caught sight of Marcus, and here and there, people stopped what they were doing to stare at them, whilst others hastily stepped aside to let them pass. Marcus kept his eyes stubbornly on the street ahead. It felt uncomfortable, having all these eyes on him, but no one stopped them or spoke to them.

  ‘It’s our clothes,’ Jodoc muttered. ‘The seal skins and Hyperborean shoes. They stand out. No one has ever seen them before. That’s why they are staring at us.’

  Marcus did not reply. Down a side street he paused beside a large barn. Inside, six or seven horses stood quietly in their stables, looking out over the street.
For a long moment Marcus stared at the beasts, marvelling at their strong, gracious bodies and taking in their peculiar smell. He’d spent most of his army career in close proximity to horses, but in Hyperborea he’d seen none.

  ‘I want to buy two of your best horses,’ he said, turning to the dealer who was reclining on a bench before the stables.

  The dealer raised his eyebrows and studied Marcus with a frown.

  ‘How will you pay me,’ the man replied.

  ‘I will pay you in gold and I need them right away - your best,’ Marcus said quickly as he undid a small leather pouch from around his belt and showed the dealer several gleaming coins.

  ‘That should do it,’ the dealer grunted, staring respectfully at the gold.

  ‘Can you recommend any good, quiet taverns in town,’ Marcus added, glancing at the horse merchant. ‘One of my friends is ill. He needs a good, comfortable bed.’

  “Well, there is the Trajan near the harbour or the Lucky Legionary, but that’s not always quiet; an army tavern if you know what I mean,’ the man said as he headed into the stables.

  ‘And a doctor,’ Marcus called out. ‘Who is the finest surgeon in town? I am willing to pay good money.’

  ***

  Cunomoltus, wrapped in moose hides, lay stretched out on the ship’s deck in the warm sunshine. He was staring up at the sky with feverish eyes, his drawn and emaciated face covered in spots and sores. The doctor, a balding man of around fifty, was kneeling beside him, muttering to himself as he examined his patient. Close by, Marcus and Cora stood looking down at Cunomoltus, their arms folded across their chests, their faces emotionless. The Hermes lay at anchor in the river mouth and, on the bank Jodoc was busying himself, looking after the two newly purchased horses.

  ‘Is he going to live?’ Marcus said in a harsh voice.

  The doctor did not immediately reply as he examined Cunomoltus. Then at last, with a frown, the man rose to his feet. He looked perplexed.

  ‘You say that there is blood in his excrement,’ the doctor muttered.

  Marcus nodded. ‘He has been losing teeth as well. They just fall out of his mouth. It’s all rotten. So, is he going to live?’

  The doctor stroked his chin as he looked down at Cunomoltus. Then slowly he shook his head. ‘I have only seen these symptoms once before, and that was with a man who had been forced to eat nothing but wild fowl, for weeks on end. The good news is that the disease is not infectious and recovery is rapid, if he gets a lot of rest, and most importantly, he gets fed a balanced diet.’ The doctor turned to look at Marcus with a grave, serious expression. ‘You need to feed him roots, fruits, blackberries, onion’s, vegetables, beans and peas, those sorts of things. Your brother has been deprived of these foods. That is why he is sick. If you make sure he gets this diet, his recovery will be rapid and yes, he will survive.’

  Marcus sighed with relief, and nodding his gratitude he silently handed the doctor a single gold coin, which the man smoothly slipped into his pocket.

  ‘If you have all been eating the same food as your brother,’ the doctor said, ‘then all of you must take the same diet for the disease can strike down anyone.’

  Puzzled the doctor turned to stare at Marcus, then at Cora and finally around the deck of the ship.

  ‘What I don’t understand is how you could not eat these things for such a long time,’ the doctor said with a perplexed look. ‘Your brother is not sick because he picked up a disease. He is sick because of neglect. It’s almost as if he has been starving. Vegetables and fruit are hardly exotic goods. Many of them grow wild in the forest.’ The man’s puzzled look deepened. ‘And those clothes you are wearing, I have never seen anything like it and those hides; they are not from around here.’ The doctor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he turned to look at Marcus. ‘Where have you people been?’

  Marcus raised his head and quickly glanced up at Alexandros who was watching them from the roof of the deckhouse, a cup of wine in his hand and a happy, contented smile on his lips.

  ‘Nowhere,’ Marcus replied with a shrug as he caught hold of the doctor’s sleeve and started to guide him back to the raft that lay alongside the Hermes.

  Chapter Seven – Separate Ways

  The fire crackled, spat and roared, it’s flames sending showers of sparks shooting up into the black, moonless night. Out on the peaceful river the water lapped against the tall reeds that covered the bank, and in the darkness beyond, Marcus could just make out the faint outline of the Hermes, lying at anchor. A little way off, the two horses stood motionless, tethered to a tree and somewhere in the distant forest a fox was barking. The six crew members of the Hermes sat around the fire silently sharing the flask of wine which Marcus had brought back from Deva. Cunomoltus lay stretched out in the grass, wrapped in moose pelts, his lips and mouth stained with the juices from forest fruits, which Calista had collected for him that evening. His eyes were closed and now and then he groaned. Marcus raised his cup of wine to his mouth and poured the contents down his throat in one go. Alexandros was right he thought, tonight he was going to get drunk. And as he looked around the fire at his companions, he could see that they too were out to get drunk. The silence around the camp fire was heavy with a strange sadness. Tomorrow the crew were going to go their separate ways. Tonight, would be their last night together.

  Marcus turned to glance in the direction of the horses as he poured himself some more wine from the flask. Tomorrow he would take the horses and Cunomoltus, and head into Deva. He would find himself a tavern where his brother would be able to recover, and then he would go and seek out Fergus. And when Cunomoltus was capable and ready to travel, the two of them would head south, for he was growing keen to reach Vectis and his family. And after that he would make the journey to the battlefield, where he would finally lay Corbulo to rest beside his comrades. Slowly Marcus raised his head and turned to look across the fire at Alexandros. The Greek captain was staring moodily into the flames, his hand clenched tightly around his wooden cup, as if he was still at the helm of the Hermes in the midst of a storm. At his side Cora was picking at her finger nails, her red cheeks glowing in the fire-light, and beside Marcus, Jodoc had his arm wrapped around Calista, who was holding her new-born in her lap. The two youngsters were staring sombrely into space, their minds seemingly, on things far away.

  ‘Are you still determined to go to Rome?’ Marcus said turning to look at Alexandros.

  Across from Marcus the captain and owner of the Hermes stirred and wrenched his gaze away from the fire.

  ‘Yes,’ Alexandros replied in a determined voice. ‘All the way to Rome. I will get my audience with the Empress even if I have to crawl on my belly to her rooms in the Imperial Palace.’

  Marcus looked away. On the many days and nights that the two of them had stood together on the roof of the deckhouse out in the endless ocean, Alexandros had never tired of telling him what he was going to do, when they finally got back home. The Captain had not stopped talking about the rich ladies of Rome and their desire for eastern silk and other luxuries and so he, Alexandros, great sea captain, was going to take the Hermes and his family to Rome. He was going to petition the Empress, wife of Trajan, himself, for permission to lead a fleet of Roman ships back across the ocean to explore the coasts of Hyperborea and, if possible, to establish trading posts. And to back up his petition, Cora had kept a detailed written account of everything that had happened to them in the past fifteen months. She had enriched her account with dozens of beautiful drawings of the strange landscapes, animals, people, plants and objects that the crew had seen on their long voyage. And if that was not enough, Alexandros had taken care to amass a veritable mountain of physical evidence of their journey, all of which, hides, skins, Hyperborean weapons, fruits, bone amulets, herbs and plants had been carefully stowed into the cargo hold of the Hermes. The whole lot, Alexandros had told him, would be his gift to the Empress. How could she possibly say ‘no’ to his petition, the captain had argued, with supreme
confidence. And as he remembered their conversations, Marcus slowly shook his head in bewilderment and reached for his Hyperborean pipe. Cora however, had not seemed too sure that the Empress would be willing to listen, but like the good team they were, she had not undermined her husband in front of him.

  ‘Would you have given Matunaagd to the Empress if he had lived? Was that why you wanted to bring him back with us? An exotic Hyperborean slave for the mistress of the world,’ Marcus said quietly glancing at Alexandros, as he filled his pipe with the Hyperborean smoking herbs.

  The Captain did not reply as he turned to stare into the flames. Then he raised his cup to his lips and downed the wine in one go.

  ‘He died, that’s all there is to it,’ Alexandros growled sullenly.

  ‘You will need a couple of deck hands to help you sail the Hermes to Rome. It’s a long voyage and you can’t do with just the four of you,’ Marcus muttered as he took a drag at his pipe.

  ‘I will come with you into town tomorrow,’ Alexandros grunted. ‘I am sure to find a couple of willing sailors at the docks.’

  Marcus nodded. That made sense. Sending a satisfying cloud of smoke drifting upwards into the darkness, he turned to look at Cunomoltus. His brother’s eyes were open and he was staring up at the night sky.