by Jack Ludlow
‘You must stand aside. I represent the Imperium of the Senate of Rome. No man may block my progress.’
The whole place was silent as Trebonius raised his fasces, the bundle of sticks with the small axe inside, the symbol of his authority. In no way did it threaten harm; it was merely being used to gently poke the man’s chest, but it was enough. His sword shot out from his side in an underarm blow that carried it into the senator’s guts, right up to the hilt and Trebonius doubled over. A great cry went up and the crowd on either side surged forward to strike at him. Swords flashed and blood spurted as his enemies literally hacked him to pieces. They could see some of the blood-spattered tribesmen leaving the crowd, their teeth tearing at great chunks of Publius Trebonius’s flesh.
‘Time to get out of here lads,’ said Flaccus softly. ‘They’ve left old Trebonius till last.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Didius Flaccus and his men straggled back, at dawn, into the temporary camp at the pass, filthy, tired and hungry, to find their general had arrived with several wagons and was busy supervising the construction of some defences. Cholon, his servant, had tethered both their horses and was trying to arrange a space where, if he so desired, his master could take his ease. This involved the surreptitious use of some of the troops Aulus was directing. The wagons were being broken up to provide a fighting platform, trees were being felled and dragged into position to form a palisade across the track at the point where the pass narrowed. A few were diverted by the fastidious Greek for use as a bench on which Aulus could sit, the smaller branches going to feed the fire he had started. The servant looked at what he had laid out with something less than satisfaction, for no amount of pleading had ever allowed Cholon to travel on campaign with the things he insisted he required. Aulus was content to eat a soldier’s rations, if nothing finer was available, a deprivation much resented by his attendant, forced to live off the same food as his master. Now all he had was the contents of two saddlebags, plus the leftovers from the meal they had eaten in the main camp the night before.
Flaccus, giving a crisp salute, noticed that, as the general broke off from his task, he first counted the number of men who had returned. Sure that all were present and showing no signs of combat, he nodded and ordered the centurion to breakfast his men, then get them into the small tents which had been set up, at the temporary camp, just to the north of the pass.
‘Once you’ve done that, report back to me.’
Flaccus was as tired as his men but he knew he would be lucky to get any rest; the general would want to reconnoitre the situation as soon as he heard the news and logic demanded that he take with him the man who had seen the terrain. Not that the centurion was averse to a return; after all, the gold was there. A quick splash of cold water across the face revived him a bit, then he saw his men settled, with all their equipment neatly stacked, before returning to make his report. Aulus listened in silence as Flaccus told him of the fate of Publius Trebonius and those he had sought to bring out of Epirus.
‘Were they Epirote?’ asked Aulus.
‘Can’t rightly say, sir. I didn’t get close enough to have a proper look.’
‘No chance to take a prisoner, then?’
Flaccus had told lies all his life, no more necessarily than other men of his rank. You could not rise in any army without the ability to look a senior officer in the face and tell him a blatant falsehood yet even with all his wealth of experience, the centurion felt uncomfortable under this gaze. Aulus’s eyes, boring into his, caused him to stammer out a reply, rather than answer in the crisp fashion that was required.
‘Your orders, General, not to risk casualties. I couldn’t see how to fetch back a prisoner without risking all our lives.’
The general said nothing; he just kept staring at the centurion. Flaccus tried to take his mind off the gold and the two men he had killed to get it, lest the truth somehow show in his face, feeling even more exposed, there being no god to pray to that dealt with untruths. He could easily have taken one of them prisoner. Damn it, he had failed even to examine their armour to try and find out where they were from.
‘They’re too far north for my liking,’ Aulus said eventually, looking through the narrow pass. ‘Trebonius got away quickly enough and the tribune he sent to inform us said that he had ample transport. They should have been able to outrun the pursuit.’ The other man stayed rigidly at attention, eyes now focused on his commander’s back, hoping to avoid another searching look. ‘I can’t go back to the main body without some more information.’
Flaccus had been at the original conference and he knew enough of the general’s thinking to be able to essay a comment. ‘There weren’t enough of them to stop you if you want to push the legions south, sir.’
‘But it doesn’t feel right, Didius Flaccus, does it?’ It was not for the likes of a centurion to answer that kind of question and Aulus hardly gave him the opportunity anyway. ‘Ever since that tribune arrived at Salonae the whole thing has had a rank smell. I don’t want to make any final dispositions till I know who it is I’m fighting.’
This sounded like excessive caution to Flaccus, but he could not say so. ‘Then we’d best go an’ have a look, General.’
Aulus glanced at the sky, thinking that the legions to the north would have broken camp by now; that is, if Vegetius had not decided to afford himself a morning in bed. He could send orders for them to stop, though he was reluctant to halt them too early in the day. Yet at the same time he was loath to try and push them through this narrow defile until he was sure what lay ahead.
‘A dozen men, Didius Flaccus. The fittest you’ve got. No armour and no shields, though they can make up their own minds about swords or spears.’
Aulus turned on his heel and made for the spot that Cholon had chosen as their temporary base. The Greek was heating several items on a hardwood spit. Being covered in leaves, Aulus could not see what they consisted of but he could smell it, which meant that the soldiers toiling with axes and scythes could do likewise. Given that they had breakfasted on a cold and tasteless pulse, washed down with water from a nearby stream, such a smell was likely to start a mutiny.
‘Another few minutes before it’s ready,’ said Cholon cheerfully.
To admonish him would be pointless; his master had been trying to do that for years, with little success. The Greek made no bones about his feelings on the matter; wealthy men should behave as such, to do otherwise smacked of hypocrisy; a false act, designed to win a specious form of favour with the lower orders. They did not respect you for it, rather they despised you. Aulus was never sure if his servant was right or wrong.
‘Get me out of this armour, Cholon,’ he growled
The slave rushed to obey. ‘Can I just loosen the straps, your honour. If I leave those birds too long, without spinning them, they’ll burn.’
Aulus looked at the fire and spoke angrily. ‘How many times have I told you, Cholon?’
‘As many times as I’ve replied, master,’ said the servant, totally unaffected by the tone of voice. ‘It may suit your dignity to be on short commons, but it does mine no good whatsoever. I have the task of caring for you, something I shall do to my utmost.’
Aulus just sighed and lifted off his own breastplate as Cholon ran back to his roasting birds. ‘I’m taking a dozen men out to scout the area south of here. Since they’re unlikely to eat again today, we’ll split the food amongst them.’
Cholon, leaning over his spit, sighed unhappily. There would be none left for him.
Deep, dreamless sleep. The kick brought him round quick enough and Clodius cursed and forced his eyes open, only to see Flaccus standing above him.
‘On your feet, old lad. We’re off to war again.’
Clodius groaned. ‘I’ve only just got my head down.’
Flaccus sat down on his haunches and spoke quietly. ‘You’ll get no sympathy from me. I haven’t had a chance to close my eyes, at all, so you best get up if you don’t want another
boot in the ribs. The general wants to take us back to the spot we visited last night. Now I’ve told him you’re one of my best men and that I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without you.’
‘You must think I’m dreaming if you expect me to believe that,’ said Clodius, pulling himself up.
Flaccus was smiling, which was rare. ‘Bit of luck really, when you think on it. Tunic only, no helmet or armour. Take a spear or sword, but not both. Seems we’re set to run back.’
The vultures wheeled overhead, and carrion crow filled the trees, squawking noisily, angry at being disturbed and the ashes of the fire were still hot. Aulus looked at the pile of bodies, rigid now and drained of blood. All their weapons and armour had been taken and as a final insult the bodies of the women had been thrown on top of the men, arranged so that they seemed to be indulging in grotesque sexual couplings. Trebonius was in there somewhere; that is if enough of him had survived to be identified. They would need a proper pyre, of course, but that would have to wait. Aulus started to walk about the place, looking for clues as to the identity of the men who had done this. Flaccus stayed on the crest of the hill with Clodius, looking south, ostensibly keeping a lookout.
‘Slip along the ridge and see if our loot’s still there,’ he said softly.
‘What if the general sees me?’
‘Then I’ll tell him you’ve been caught short. Perhaps all that rich food he gave us didn’t agree with you.’
Clodius dropped back out of sight and headed to his left, sword out in front, counting the paces as he walked. The disturbed state of the ground around the base of the pine tree told him all he needed to know but he went to have a proper look anyway. The hole that Flaccus had dug was empty, the earth scattered all around and the thorn bush had been hacked back to make access easier. He swore under his breath, not only for the loss of the money but for the fact that he would have to go back and tell Flaccus they were still poor.
‘So much for all his damned prayers.’
Clodius turned and went up to the crest to look down into the clearing, with the charred frame of the wagon that he had set alight just below. He could see, in the long grass on the hillside, that those searching had left an impression and no doubt that was how they found the cache. Flaccus had not thought of that. Clodius had gone up and down from the wagon more than a dozen times. They could not see the result in the dark, but in daylight the flattened grass that marked his journey must have looked damn near like a proper path. It would have led those searching right to the spot and that made him curse under his breath again. Clodius would have been content to have what he could have carried in his belt; now, thanks to Flaccus’s greed in trying to steal the lot, they had nothing at all.
His foot kicked the small pile of coins as he turned, causing them to clink. Someone had dropped them in the grass, and had either been unable to find them, or too laden to care. He bent and picked them up, gold, four of them in all, enough for a few good nights out, but a far cry from what they could have had. He put them in his belt and headed back towards the main body.
Aulus Cornelius looked at the small pile of evidence he and his soldiers had accumulated, and saw that everything pointed to the attackers being Illyrians, rather than the Epirotes from the south. Not that there was much; some cloth, a few bits of broken pottery, a buckle from a sword belt. The most telling thing was a decorated wine gourd. The carvings were quite distinctive, but if anything travelled far and wide, it was a flask made to hold wine. He disliked the idea, but he would have to go even further south to look for clues. The people who had left this clearing had gone that way; so must he.
One look at the centurion was enough. Clodius shrugged and opened his mouth to explain, but the general shouting orders for the two of them to join him cut off his words. Flaccus moved down the slope immediately and Clodius spurted to catch him.
‘Gone,’ he said.
‘All of it?’ asked Flaccus with a catch in his throat. ‘That soothsayer…’
‘Later,’ replied Clodius, as they came abreast of their commander. Aulus turned and started to jog south, his men at his heels. They left the clearing and the bodies and as soon as the sound of their presence faded, the vultures came back to feed.
‘That’s not a bunch of rebels, it’s an army.’
Normally sparing in his use of words, this statement from Aulus marked the level of his surprise, since those he had just used were superfluous. The road before them dropped away steeply, twisting left and right as it wound its way down to the plain below. The whole landscape was covered with marching men, all heading in their direction.
‘Where have they all come from?’ asked Flaccus.
‘Dacia!’ replied Aulus emphatically. ‘They’ve been supporting the Illyrian insurrection for years. I knew it didn’t smell right. They probably incited the Epirotes to rebel as well.’
‘What about the lot we saw last night?’
‘Poor Trebonius,’ he sighed. They knew that their general meant ‘poor everybody’. ‘The tribesmen he ran into were Illyrians heading south.’
‘To join up with this lot?’ asked Flaccus.
‘They can’t know we’re at Thralaxas, otherwise they would never have come on. Common sense would have told them to halt and fortify the pass, which means that we’ve moved a lot faster than they think. They expect to get back through there without a fight.’
The Illyrians had no need to come south at all, of course. They could have waited until the promised allies arrived. Did that mean they were prey to doubt, unsure that the promised support would be forthcoming? If so, that indicated a lack of trust, even the possibility of divided loyalties. Aulus did not analyse these thoughts in too great a depth, being experienced enough to know that war was an art most often conducted in a form of mental semi-darkness. He also knew that good generalship, once you had assembled all the available information, was instinctive. Without another word, he spun on his heel and started jogging back to the north. His soldiers dragged themselves to their feet and followed. They passed the heap of bodies again, but there was no time to bury or burn anyone. All they could do as they jogged past was offer a quick prayer for their souls to the Goddess Dea Tactica.
The sun was getting low in the sky; Flaccus stood beside his general studying the map he was tracing in the ground with the stick. ‘Tell Vegetius Flaminus to send me two more cohorts to hold the pass, plus a couple of catapults and half the cavalry. I want him to force-march his army to the east, throw a bridge across the Lisenus river and make for that plain to the south where we saw the enemy today. Once he’s there he’s to fortify a camp and let them know that he’s behind them. If we’ve held them here they will realise that there’s no way forward.’
‘Which means they’ll turn and attack our legions,’ added Flaccus happily, so carried away by the flow of the general’s words that he felt no qualms about speaking.
‘They might,’ replied Aulus, doubtfully. ‘I’m rather hoping they will see that their situation is hopeless and try and disperse.’
The centurion was shocked. ‘No battle, sir?’
Aulus gave him a wry smile. ‘One of the advantages, Didius Flaccus, of serving under a general who’s already had a triumph, is that he has no desire left to sacrifice troops in order to advance his career. I hope for a victory, I can forgo the battle.’
‘What about the Illyrian rebels?’
‘Probably the only thing that’s sustained them is the hope of a general uprising in the whole region. Once this is over, I think their rebellion will finally collapse.’
He handed Flaccus a scroll tied with a red ribbon. ‘Anyway, I’ve had Cholon write out the orders, so there’ll be no chance of an error.’
Having lost one fortune, Flaccus was even more painfully aware than usual of the prospect of booty; it could be that the only fighting would be here at the Pass of Thralaxas. The enemy was coming this way, and they might have his money with them. He pulled himself to attention. ‘With respect, Gener
al, could I detail someone else to carry your despatch.’
‘You wish to stay and fight?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Sorry, Flaccus. You’re the most senior man here, apart from me. I can’t go and leave you with such a heavy responsibility, nor can I deliver such a message in the hands of any old ranker. You are one of the senior centurions in the legion. You have enough weight to emphasise the importance of what you carry. However, once you have delivered your despatch, you may return with the reinforcements.’
Clodius had had no chance to talk to Flaccus. Not that either of them had much time now, with the centurion making ready to leave and, really, what was there to say? He told Flaccus what he had found and why he thought the cache had been discovered. The grizzled veteran just grunted, though the look he gave Clodius left the ranker in no doubt that he held him to blame. Stammering slightly, he opened his belt and reached into the cavity holding the gold coins.
‘I did find this in the grass. One of them must have dropped them.’ Clodius held his hand out, with the four gold coins gleaming in his palm, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Not much after what we had, I know. But better than a poke in the eye, eh! He took two coins and offered them to Flaccus. ‘Half each.’
The centurion took the coins, looking at those Clodius still held in his hand, then, with a swift motion he snatched them as well. Clodius made to protest, but Flaccus gave him a very hard look. ‘That’ll go some way to paying off the money you owe me. Let’s hope you have some luck here as well mate, ’cause I retire soon, and I want that lot paid back before I go home. Every sesterces!’