by George Green
‘We can always use more soldiers. Who were you with?’
‘I was with Antoninus in Gaul, in the Seventh Legion.’ Serpicus paused for a moment, then made a decision. ‘If Graptus can do without you, you are welcome. How long do you need to prepare?’
He grinned shyly. ‘Don’t wait. Set off when you are ready. You’ll be on the Comum road. If I’m not back here by when you leave then I’ll catch you up.’ He made the hand gesture again. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’ Serpicus watched him walk briskly away with a lift to his stride.
‘What’s he up to?’ drawled a voice from the other side of the pillar.
‘What do you mean?’ Serpicus said, coming round to stand beside Brutus. A scattering of well-sucked olive stones surrounded his feet. He jerked a thumb at Cato’s back.
‘Does that seem right to you?’
‘What?’
Brutus squinted against the sun and looked over the harbour. ‘Busy place like this, must be coming up to the busiest time of year, and the harbour-master quite cheerfully tells his right-hand man – the man who, as far as we can tell, does most of the work around here, as well as being the only man he seems to trust – that he can go off on an expedition which might take months, might be dangerous, might never see him again.’ He gave the last olive stone a final careful examination between his front teeth and spat it out. ‘Does that make sense to you?’
Serpicus pursed his lips in thought. ‘I don’t think it was exactly a favour. I think Graptus sacked him, so Cato wanted a job and didn’t want to explain why.’
‘You think so? Did Graptus ever complain about him? Show the slightest sign of dissatisfaction? I got the feeling Cato was doing a pretty good job. And it isn’t something you can train someone to do in a week. I wouldn’t sack someone unless they were doing more harm than good. Is that the impression you got from Graptus?’
It wasn’t. Serpicus was confused. ‘What are you saying? That Graptus has a reason? Maybe he wants to keep track of us and is sending Cato as a spy? What reason would he have to do that?’
Brutus shrugged. ‘No idea. It just seems a bit odd to me, that’s all.’
‘Or maybe Cato just likes travelling?’
‘Ah, you mean he’s leaving and he hasn’t told Graptus?’ Brutus pondered it. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Makes more sense, I grant you. Explains why he asked us so close to departure, so Graptus wouldn’t find out till it was too late.’ He paused and then another thought struck him. ‘Is Cato a slave?’
‘I don’t know. Do you care?’
‘Only that Graptus might send people after us to get him back.’
‘Then we’ll give him up. He isn’t our concern.’
Brutus pushed himself upright off the pillar and kicked absently at a few olive stones. ‘Fair enough.’ He was getting at something and Serpicus didn’t know what it was.
‘I’m not sure what it is you’re trying to say.’
‘Just speaking my mind, that’s all.’
‘Trust no one, eh?’
Brutus looked at him seriously. ‘On this expedition, no, I don’t.’
‘Present company included?’
Brutus said nothing, but smiled.
They walked in silence back to the ship. Cato had told them that he served with the Seventh in Gaul. A couple of Severus’ men were from the Seventh. They could be counted on to find out very quickly if he was lying. Legion veterans always immediately asked new men claiming to have been legionaries who they had served with, and they hated it when they caught civilians pretending to be one of their number. They had plenty of ways of finding out the truth, ranging from asking innocent-sounding trick questions to hanging suspects upside down over the latrine in the dysentery hospital. Serpicus wondered for a while whether he should be worried about Cato, and then decided he wasn’t that day’s problem. He put Cato on the list of all the other things he had to think about and was putting off, like whether they were going to survive the month.
Chapter Nineteen
To Aelius Sejanus, from his Servant:
The expedition left Genoa yesterday and is making good time. It is as yet unclear to me what the exact route will be, but I assume it will head directly north until we come near the area controlled by the rebellious tribes, and then swing west to get as close to our destination as possible before exposing ourselves to the possibility of meeting hostile barbarians.
I have been entirely accepted by most of the soldiers of the group. In particular I have become the confidant of the young German, Decius. Some of the auxiliaries, particularly those who do not speak Latin well, are naturally suspicious of anyone not of their race, but they are of no consequence. I will concentrate on the leaders and all will follow from that.
They set off soon after and Cato caught them up by nightfall. He brought further news; men had been recruited to pursue them from Genoa. They were lightly armed and travelling fast, no more than a day behind the expedition.
Five days’ march brought them to Comum, which was the point where any fashionable Roman would have said that Italy – and therefore civilization – ended, and terra incognita – a barbarian land covered in eternal darkness and infested with cannibal hordes – began. Comum was the point, as a rich senator once put it, beyond which a Roman citizen could not walk with his money hanging in a bag at his waist while holding his blind virgin daughter by the hand and feel they were both absolutely safe. (The senator’s listeners would have known that this statement ignored the fact that that same Roman and his daughter most certainly wouldn’t have been able to do any of those things just a light javelin’s toss from the Forum in Rome either, but no doubt they let that pass.)
The change hit Galba particularly hard. He spent most of the march wrapping himself in a thick cloak and bemoaning the prospect in front of them.
‘No baths,’ he said sadly. ‘No massage. No steam rooms. Freezing water. Nothing but dirt, lice, smells and sweat, and all of it wet and cold.’
‘Never mind,’ said Brutus cheerfully. ‘We’ll soon find you a nice river and chuck you into it. It’ll be exactly the same.’
Galba looked at him resentfully. ‘Unless the river comes from a hot spring, I very much doubt it. I can always rely on the Germans to choose the uncivilized alternative.’
Brutus put a heavy hand on his shoulder and leant forward to whisper loudly into his ear. ‘Welcome to my country, you soft Roman tart.’
‘I’m not Roman, I’m Thracian,’ snapped Galba. ‘Not that you’d know where that is.’
Brutus grinned. ‘They have soft Roman tarts there too, do they?’
Galba suddenly frowned, reached into his cloak and pulled something from his chest. He looked at the wriggling louse between his fingertips with distaste and then flicked it at Brutus.
Brutus shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Maybe if you were still painted blue they wouldn’t want to chew on you quite so much?’
Galba shook his cloak and rearranged it around himself. ‘I don’t need to do anything except stand next to you, the smell drives them away faster than a lighted branch.’
Serpicus smiled. And so it went on.
The men were settled in a barn next to one of the local taverns with instructions to relax, stay sober and not get into any arguments. Serpicus reckoned that he could count on them for at least the first of the three. He sat in the tavern with Galba, Brutus and Severus in a side room and talked. Decius sat nearby, listening. A rough pigskin map of their route was on the table in front of them. The wine bottle went round, but everyone was watering it heavily and it was more for form’s sake than real drinking. They were all taking things a bit more seriously as the temperature of the air dropped.
Serpicus looked around at his companions.
‘I want us all to be clear what lies in front of us. Everything out in the open and on the table now. If anyone has any problems or misgivings then now is the time to say so. Let’s not have unnecessary arguments on the way.’ They all made noises of agreem
ent. He nodded to Severus to start the discussion. The old centurion looked serious.
‘We have covered around twenty leagues a day so far. Assuming similar weather, similar terrain and an unlimited supply of shoes we can go on at the same speed more or less indefinitely.’
Brutus turned his cup slowly in his hands and looked at it with a distant expression. ‘But we can’t assume any of those things. The weather will change, it always does. The terrain from here into Germany is first mountains, then mostly forest, hills or marsh and sometimes all three.’
‘And we’ve no idea where the good shoe shops are either,’ said Galba.
Severus pointed at the map. ‘Indeed, but there’s nothing we can do about any of that.’ His finger moved left, tracing a line north, and tapped a dark spot on the pigskin. ‘We will stay on the present road until we reach this point here. It’s the most direct route, and it takes us to the edge of Transpadana.’ On the map, a fortress of triangles swallowed up the road and spread out to the edge of the skin in each direction.
‘The Alps,’ said Brutus quietly.
‘The Alps,’ agreed Severus. ‘We haven’t got a month to spare, so we have to go straight over them. We take the shortest way, through the Hinterrhein Pass. It’s steep, but the snow isn’t too bad this time of year.’
‘Won’t be much fun coming back though,’ said Brutus in the same soft voice.
‘True, but I don’t know of an alternative,’ said Severus, with the slightest hint of irritation. ‘The Hinterrhein takes us slightly east of where we’re actually going, but the alternative is to become mountain-climbers and none of our men have suggested much aptitude for that.’ He took a contemplative sip from his cup. ‘Then we swing west again and head straight due north for Augusta Trevororum.’ He pointed at another smudge on the other side of the mountains. The line on the skin that indicated where the road joined the south side of the Alps didn’t emerge on the north side. Galba squinted at the map mistrustfully.
‘Is there actually a road to Augusta?’
Severus made a dismissive gesture. ‘More of a decent track than a proper road, but it’s passable. More important, it’ll keep us on a reasonably straight route for the Treveri while keeping us away from the Leuci and the Lingones.’
Brutus looked up. ‘They’re south of the Rhine. I thought the tribes on the south side of the river weren’t involved in the revolt? I heard it was the mad bastards from the north who were rebelling, like the Mattiaci and the Chatti. Are the southern tribes joining in now?’
Severus shrugged. ‘The news isn’t clear. I suspect those who know what’s going on aren’t telling anyone the full extent of the rebellion, in hopes that the other tribes won’t join in. It’s always hard to know who is involved and who isn’t. The Mattiaci and Chatti are certainly in revolt. Other tribes who haven’t actually declared war will probably be assisting them, either with supplies or with volunteers. The Marcomanni for one will certainly be sympathetic. And even the tribes who are peaceful will provide safe haven for the rebels. And there will be renegades from every tribe, men who will never accept Roman rule.’ He looked down at the map. ‘And you can bet that there will be men from the Mediomatrici and the Ubii involved somewhere, whether officially or unofficially. There always are.’
Brutus and Serpicus looked at each other but didn’t speak. Severus was being tactful, he had just mentioned the tribes living either side of the Treveri without suggesting that the Treveri were in any way involved. Everyone knew that rebellions like this one always brought the discontented, the angry and the just plain bored to the surface. Just because the Treveri weren’t officially allied to the rebels didn’t mean there wouldn’t be men from their tribe involved. Perhaps men they knew. Serpicus wondered if events had taken a different turn, if Brutus and he had not been taken to Rome, whether they might not be in the forests at this moment, sharpening their weapons and praying to the gods to send them another Varus.
And there was another problem. Brutus, Decius and Serpicus were Germans, and there were Spaniards, Gauls and a smattering of other nationalities amongst the auxiliaries, but almost all of their legionaries would, to any German, appear Roman. Everyone on the expedition habitually spoke Latin and usually wore bits of Roman uniform. As far as any Germans they might meet were concerned, they were Romans, marching through conquered territory during a rising against Roman rule. Even the tribes who were not presently in revolt against Rome remembered Germanicus’ enforced peace and bore her no love. The expedition would have to hide their armour or they would probably be ambushed on sight. Even that might not save them. Bands of unidentified men were not likely to be allowed to travel unchallenged, by either side.
Severus continued. ‘We march north, staying close to the west bank of the Rhine, and head for the lands of the Treveri.’
‘Which takes us straight through the lands of the Mediomatrici,’ said Brutus.
Severus met his gaze. ‘Yes,’ he said levelly. ‘But short of a three-hundred-mile detour through Gaul and then swimming a very big river, there is no way of avoiding them that I am aware of. But it’s your country. Do you know another way around?’
Galba frowned, putting a deep line in the bulb of skin between his eyes. ‘Do we need to worry about the Mediomatrici?’ he asked casually.
Brutus looked serious. ‘You aren’t a Treveri or a Roman, so you don’t have to worry,’ he said. ‘They’ll only put a sword in you. They have a real pleasure lined up for the rest of us.’
‘Oh, that’s all right then, and there’s me getting all upset for nothing,’ said Galba. ‘I’m glad I’m only getting killed. What’s the much worse thing than that they’ll do to you then?’
‘They’ll set the dogs on us.’
‘Dogs?’
‘Hunting dogs. Jaws like bear traps. Once they shut their teeth on you, you can cut their heads off and they still won’t let go. They aren’t big enough to kill a man on their own, but they enjoy trying. And if six or so of them catch you, you’ll end up just a pile of rags spread across a mile of countryside.’
It was turning into one of the extended jokes that only Brutus found funny. Serpicus intervened. ‘They use a knife to make a cut in your belly, here. They pull the rope of your guts out. They nail your guts to a post. Then they set the dogs on you. You can choose between running away or standing and fighting.’
Brutus guffawed at Galba’s expression. ‘And you’ll need at least one hand to hold your guts up high,’ he said gleefully, ‘or the dogs will be fighting over them like it was a fresh garlic sausage.’
Galba looked at him critically. ‘I’m glad we’re not going near any barbarians then,’ he said, and straightened one leg to push hard with his foot on the edge of Brutus’ stool. Brutus let out a surprised yelp and crashed to the floor.
Severus leant forward and put his forearms on the table. ‘So, we are all agreed that it will be necessary to proceed quietly and unobtrusively through the lands of the Mediomatrici?’
Brutus, still chuckling on the floor, held up a finger and pointed at Serpicus and then himself.
‘We know some of the country round there, it touches on our own.’
‘Mine too,’ said Decius.
Severus nodded. ‘We’re going to need all that knowledge.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll look after you,’ Serpicus said. He hoped that the fact that the Treveri were allies with the Mediomatrici would protect them, but walking through Germany accompanied by a couple of dozen Romans didn’t make him feel very secure about it.
Galba tapped a fingernail on the table thoughtfully. He could focus his attention when he chose. ‘Let’s assume we make it through to the village unscathed. It sounds unlikely, but I suppose it’s possible. At least on the way there we can try to walk through the forests quietly and hope we don’t run into anyone. There’s hope. But on the journey back we’ll have a bloody great animal with us in a cage on a cart. We’ll have to use the roads, or at least what they use instead of roads
. How can we hide then?’ Severus looked serious. ‘Travel by night, slowly, while saying our prayers.’
Brutus glanced at Galba and shook his head. ‘You were right, we’re all going to die.’
Severus sat up straight and looked around him. Suddenly he was an officer of Rome again and it wasn’t a democracy any more. ‘We’ll meet those problems when they come. My two main concerns now are these men from Genoa behind us on the one hand, and the fact that there are several legions in front of us led by men who don’t like Serpicus on the other. If we run into them we’ll probably be interned.’
‘Oh good,’ said Galba. ‘I’d forgotten about Marcus and Consilius. There I was, thinking that at least there isn’t going to be anyone in front of us stirring things up.’
‘We can’t do much about the Romans. Not only do we not know what their plans are, we don’t know where they are either. I propose that we deal with the group behind us. There are fewer of them, and with them gone then at least we will know what direction to look in for the enemy.’
Brutus and Galba both sat up. ‘Suits me,’ said Brutus. ‘I was beginning to wonder when the fighting would start.’
‘One other question.’
Something in Severus’ voice made everyone look at him.
‘What?’ asked Brutus. Serpicus had a feeling he knew what was coming.
Severus took a breath. ‘There’s no polite way to say this. The men know that you are from Germany. They are wondering where your loyalties lie.’
Brutus sat back, his eyebrows raised. ‘What are you saying?’
Serpicus leant forward quickly. ‘It’s a natural question. The answer is simple. The Treveri aren’t at war, and even if they were it’s not our fight. We have a job to do, and we’re being well paid for it. And if that isn’t enough for them, remind the men that my family are hostages for the return of this expedition. That, for me, stands in front of any other loyalty.’