Tabitha took his hand and squeezed it, and they continued along a street lined with crowded bars. Valerius had agreed with Felix that some of the men could taste the dubious delights of Augusta Raurica while they waited for the ships. He’d kept them on a tight leash during the journey north, with constant exercises that he’d hoped would bring the men of the different units together. An overloud, slurred voice told him it was a forlorn hope.
‘You bastards from the Twentieth have always thought you’re better than the rest of us.’ The familiar carping tones of Julius Crescens echoed in the street. ‘You, Marius, you’re worse than the rest, with your tongue up the decurion’s arse and yes, sir, no sir. You’re happy playing nursemaid to a has-been cripple. Well fuck you. As soon as we get back to Londinium, I’m gone.’
Valerius motioned Tabitha into the shadows and ordered the escort to douse their torches.
‘And we’ll be well rid of you and your constant whining.’ A shadow appeared in the doorway of the bar and a push propelled Crescens bodily into the street, muttering threats and curses. He stood for a moment trying to get his bearings before disappearing into an alley. The familiar sound of rushing liquid followed.
‘I could cut his throat and no one would be any the wiser, lord,’ Trooper Shabolz suggested quietly.
‘I’m grateful for the offer, but I don’t think so, Shabolz.’ Valerius held Tabitha close. ‘Let’s not taint an auspicious day with the blood of a fool.’
‘Thank you,’ Tabitha whispered.
Valerius bent to kiss her head. He had a feeling it might be a decision he’d live to regret.
It took two full days of back-breaking work to load the bulk of the horses and wagons on to the three available merchant galleys. Felix sold the bullocks to a local trader – they could hire or buy more when they were needed – and the other carts and most of the servants would follow when suitable transport arrived. Valerius selected a section of eight men to protect the supplies he was forced to leave behind.
Still, the ships were cramped as a result of the cargo and passengers they carried. Accommodation was of the most basic kind, with a cloth tent for Tabitha and her servants, and everyone else sleeping on deck. The captains were happy to accept Valerius’s suggestion that they anchor early each day to allow the cavalrymen to exercise their mounts before making camp.
They set sail on the third morning and the strong current carried them swiftly downstream. Felix and seven of his men accompanied Valerius, Tabitha and Lucius in the leading galley. Each ship was equipped with a single central mast, a bank of seven oars to each side and a larger steering oar at the stern. Thick woodland carpeted the countryside they travelled through, with small farmsteads providing occasional signs of life among the trees. Where the woods thinned the broad, fertile flatlands flanking the river were given perspective by low hills just visible in the hazy far distance. Brigo, the captain, a taciturn, bearded Ligurian, told Valerius he was keeping to the centre of the river because of reports of suspicious activity on the east bank further downstream.
‘It’ll get worse after Argentoratum. Any ship that strays within bow range is like as not to get a shower of arrows for a welcome, so we’ll hug the west bank. If the current forced us east and we ended up stranded on a sandbank a cut throat would be the best of it.’
Valerius used the six days it took to reach Moguntiacum, two hundred Roman miles downstream, to get to know Felix and his escort. The decurion had chosen his steadiest men to travel with the legate and his wife. Didius Gallus was one, virtually inseparable from Lucius these days, Shabolz and Licco, one of his Pannonian comrades, two men who had followed Felix from the Twentieth, Florus, who it seemed couldn’t be separated from Ceris, and, most surprisingly, the threatening Hilario.
‘He’s angry at life,’ Felix explained. ‘He lost his woman and newborn son just before we left Britannia. I think the reason the legate sent him was that he was frightened of him, and what he was capable of.’
‘Then why is he with us?’ Valerius glanced towards the brooding presence in the bows, where Hilario stared menacingly across the dark waters to the east.
‘Because when it comes to a fight Hilario is a force of nature,’ Felix said cheerfully. ‘A combination of whirlwind and battering ram. He rode at Governor Agricola’s side in the northern campaign to tame the Brigantes six years ago. The men of the legion still talk of the day his patrol was ambushed and he singlehandedly cleared a way for the survivors to make their retreat. He was covered in so much Brigante blood they called him the Butcher.’ Hilario turned as if he could sense them talking about him. He fixed Valerius with a narrow-eyed glare. ‘Besides, I think he likes you.’
They harboured for three nights below the bridge at Moguntiacum, provincial capital of Germania Superior and the base for two legions. Valerius and Tabitha dined with the governor, Lucius Acilius Strabo, at his palace, along with the legates of the First Adiutrix and the Fourteenth Gemina. All three men assured him Vespasian had nothing to fear about the morale or loyalty of the legions or their auxiliaries, but Strabo echoed the suggestion of Augusta Raurica’s duoviri that the time was ripe to force the Germanic tribes away from the Rhenus.
He pointed to the window. ‘That river mouth you can see from the balcony leads like a spear into the heart of the Chatti. If the Emperor would agree to a combined operation with the legions of Upper Germania, I could transport fifteen thousand soldiers thirty miles into their territory before they could react. Between us we would crush the Chatti and the Tencteri like grapes in an olive press, then combine to destroy the Cherusci.’
Valerius thanked them for their hospitality and returned with Tabitha to the house where Strabo had insisted they stay. While Tabitha slept, he worked on his report to the Emperor and reflected on the individual characters of the men of his escort. While they’d improved as soldiers – even Gellius Pudens could stay in the saddle – the divisions between them had deepened rather than healed as he’d hoped. Not all, it was true. He could depend on perhaps fifteen or twenty out of the thirty-two, but the others, encouraged by Crescens, wanted nothing to do with their new master.
At dawn the next day they continued their journey north towards Colonia Agrippinensis.
XIII
Two hours after they left Moguntiacum the great river entered a deep gorge and the tree-lined slopes soared above them to east and west. A soft, all-enveloping drizzle began to fall that even a lanolin-treated cloak struggled to keep at bay, and wisps of mist or cloud caught in the treetops like pieces of wind-blown spider’s web. Driven by the current, they sailed in perpetual silence through a landscape of rugged, fractured beauty, yet their eyes seldom left those dark, preternatural forests with their hint of constant threat. Valerius was reminded that it was in these very same forests that Publius Quinctilius Varus had lost three legions and their eagles. One thing was certain: nobody would ever again underestimate the fighting qualities of the Germanic tribes.
Felix saw it first. A slim, multi-oared galley moored in the centre of the current. A man stood in the bows waving a flag while another motioned that the ships should veer towards the left bank. As the ship slowed the galley reinforced the signal with a piercing trumpet call.
‘What’s this?’ Valerius demanded.
‘River patrol of the Rhenus fleet,’ the captain explained. ‘They want us to moor in the inlet where they’ve set up a tent, see?’
‘Does it happen often?’
‘Not often, but I’ve seen it before. During the revolt they suspended all merchant traffic on the river for a month.’
‘Can you ignore them?’
Brigo gave him a sour look. ‘Not without losing my reputation and my livelihood.’
‘Very well.’
‘Back oars and steer for the bank!’ The ship slowed dramatically and veered to the left, with their consorts following suit.
They anchored as close to the tent as they could without grounding and a young officer appeared. ‘You can’t co
ntinue past Baudobriga until we’ve cleared the way,’ the man told the captain. ‘The Chats have a pair of captured ballistae and are up to their usual mischief. They’re covering the narrows and have sunk one cargo ship already. Moor outside the fort and wait for instructions.’ His tone changed as he noticed Valerius in his distinctive legate’s sash. ‘My apologies for delaying you, sir, but I have my orders.’
‘How long will it take?’ Valerius asked.
‘We can’t tell, I’m afraid.’ He pushed a flick of damp hair from his brow. ‘It could be a few days or a week. They’ve done this before. When we attack them from the river they just shift the catapults somewhere else. We may have to wait for a century to come up from Confluentes, but they won’t be in any hurry to be ferried across in case it’s a trap.’
‘I can’t afford to wait on the ship for a week.’
The young officer was more used to dealing with the merchant ship captains whose livelihood he controlled than with patricians who could break him on a whim. A horse whinnied in the depths of the hold and he brightened. ‘If I can make a suggestion, sir, you could disembark at Baudobriga. They still have a usable dock from when they rebuilt the place. From there you could ride to Confluentes below the obstruction. It may be that you could charter more ships’ – his voice faltered as he saw Brigo’s jaw come up and the dangerous glint in his eye – ‘or stay in comfort until we’ve dealt with the situation.’
‘How far from Baudobriga to Confluentes?’ Valerius asked the captain.
‘About three hours’ ride, lord,’ Brigo estimated. ‘He’s probably right. We couldn’t accommodate you in any comfort on board and Baudobriga’s hardly a fort at all. A few auxiliaries behind a wooden wall protecting the trading settlement. But they tell me there’s a decent road these days. You can’t miss Confluentes. Just cut the arc of the river bend until you reach the Mosela, then follow it downstream. The place has a decent mansio and baths. If you wait there I’ll pick you up as soon as I can.’ He shot the officer a look designed to shrivel his essentials. ‘I doubt you’ll find three ships with the cargo space to carry you in any case.’
Valerius studied the mist-shrouded heights around him as they proceeded cautiously downriver. Though the delay irritated him it was fortunate they’d been forewarned. A well-aimed ballista from among those trees could fire directly down into the ship and put a missile straight through her bottom. While the crew struggled to keep the ship afloat the enemy would swarm over the sides from small craft, cut their throats and tow the cargo ashore.
Baudobriga was as the shipmaster described it, a small civilian settlement protected by a wooden palisade. Judging by the charred remains of buildings lining the river it had been a much more substantial place before the Batavians destroyed it and slaughtered the occupants. They tied up at a rickety wooden pier below the town and the crew and the auxiliaries began unloading the cargo.
‘The horses will be easy enough,’ Brigo growled. ‘But the carriage and your supply wagons will be a bastard without winches or a crane.’
‘Leave the carts where they are then,’ Valerius ordered. ‘We should reach Confluentes before dark and it’s pointless to land them for such a short time.’
They managed to heave Tabitha’s carriage ashore, using every man they had and with the aid of a ramp. Didius and Hilario helped the driver hitch the team to the carriage under the watchful eyes of the auxiliaries manning the town walls. Valerius saw his wife and son aboard while the others helped the remainder of the escort to disembark their horses from the second and third ships. Tabitha would have one serving girl; the rest would stay on board until the way was clear to Confluentes.
‘But Father,’ Lucius cried. ‘Can’t I ride Khamsin?’
‘Not today, Lucius.’ Valerius rumpled the boy’s damp curls. He knew his son lived for his time in the saddle with Didius at his side, but with the light beginning to fade they’d have to move fast to reach Confluentes before full dark. ‘We’re likely to be in camp for two or three days and Didius will take you out as often as you like.’
Valerius went to say his farewells to Brigo.
‘I was talking to one of the sentries.’ The captain jerked a thumb towards the fort. ‘He reckons you have two choices. You can take the old road that flanks the river, but it’s more or less a farm track and there are some swampy patches that will give you trouble in this weather. Or you can ride half a mile west and pick up the Via Mosela, which is a better road, though with some tricky stretches. He recommends the second.’
An hour later Valerius was cursing the guard’s helpful advice. If the river road was a farm track the path they followed through the hills to the Via Mosela had been little better. The ‘tricky stretches’ turned out to be sections so steep that Felix and his men were forced to dismount and use their shoulders to help push the carriage over the next summit. The Via Mosela was nothing like the great roads that traversed Italia and Gaul, or even the comparatively rough tracks of Hispania. The track was so narrow and hemmed in by forest Valerius couldn’t post a flank guard. Instead, the escort split to ride sixteen in the van ahead of the coach, with a section of eight men bringing up the rear. Worse, the close-ranked trees and overlapping canopy made it seem like night although they still had at least an hour till darkness. Didius rode at Valerius’s side, alert as an Iceni hunting dog, and Felix nervously fingered his sword. Behind them, men cursed as they attempted in vain to pierce the gloom, and whispered of forest beasts. Felix hissed at them to stay quiet. If nothing else, Valerius reflected, his escort was receiving a lesson in its true role.
Eventually Felix lost patience and ordered Shabolz to scout ahead. ‘Maybe we should stop if we reach a clearing, lord, and camp for the night,’ the decurion suggested.
Valerius shook his head. ‘No. It can’t be as bad as this for the entire route. Once we’re out of the hills we’ll be able to move faster. It’s still possible we can reach Confluentes before dark.’
They travelled another mile before Shabolz reappeared, leading his horse from the gloom like a wraith. He raised a hand to signal the column to halt and Valerius slipped from his horse and handed the reins to Didius. ‘Stay with the carriage,’ he whispered.
When he reached the Pannonian, Shabolz stepped in close and spoke quietly into his ear. ‘The road is blocked by a fallen tree a hundred paces ahead. It could have been natural, but I thought it worth checking. They’re in the woods to the east of the track.’
‘How many?’
‘It’s difficult to tell because the forest is so thick, but fewer than twenty, I’d reckon. I doubt they were expecting a column in this strength. By the tattoos I would say they’re Chatti, a raiding party to pick off a wagon or two and cut a few throats.’
Valerius considered the position. Clearly the ballistae threat had been a diversion to draw the navy away from the point where the ambushers crossed the Rhenus. Now they were his problem. The question was how to deal with them. The convoy was strung out on the narrow road and he doubted they could turn the carriage without alerting the Chatti. Much depended on the mood of the enemy. He could take a chance and push through to remove the road block, gambling the ambushers wouldn’t attack a force which outnumbered them, but there was no telling how they’d react. Twenty warriors screaming from the trees could still do plenty of damage even to a column that had been alerted in advance. ‘You did well not to show them we were here,’ Valerius said to the quiet Pannonian, and signalled Felix forward so he could explain the position.
‘We’ll leave the horses here and move into the woods to take them in the flank,’ he told the decurion. ‘Shabolz says they’re about thirty paces back and fifty paces ahead. We’ll have to move quietly. Leave Pudens and one other man a little way up the road to guard our rear.’
While Felix organized his men, Valerius led his horse to the coach where Tabitha was watching from the curtained doorway. ‘There may be trouble,’ he warned her. ‘Didius and Florus will stay with you while we investigate.�
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Typically, she neither protested nor complained. Instead, she rummaged in a bag at her feet and came out first with a cloak which she wrapped around Lucius, and then a belt with a sheathed dagger attached which she buckled around her waist.
‘I hope it won’t come to that,’ he said.
‘Better to be prepared.’ Tabitha leaned forward and her lips brushed his cheek. ‘I won’t let them harm Lucius.’
They locked eyes and Valerius felt a moment of regret at leaving her, but if he was going to act it had to be quickly.
‘Didius?’ he called softly.
‘Yes, lord?’
‘You and Florus will stay with the lady and Lucius. If anything happens when we’re gone take them into the forest and find somewhere to hide. If I don’t return you know what to do?’
‘Yes, lord. I get them to Confluentes, whatever happens.’
‘Good lad.’
The remaining cavalrymen tied their horses to the nearest branch and formed up in a rough skirmish line with Shabolz in the centre and a few steps ahead. Valerius stood where they could see him. ‘We outnumber them and we’re better than them,’ he called softly. ‘When it comes to it, make it quick and make it certain. Shabolz will lead; keep your eyes on him. We need absolute silence so check your equipment now. If anything rattles leave it behind. Tread carefully – a single snapping twig will kill you. For Rome.’
‘For Rome!’ The response was necessarily restrained, but no matter how often he heard it the words sent a thrill of anticipation through him. But he had much more at stake than ever before. ‘For you,’ he whispered.
As they set off into the forest he had to fend off the doubts that always plagued a commander before any battle. The rain had increased and great drops fell from the canopy on to the crouching men. The close-ranked trees and perpetual gloom reduced visibility to a few feet. What if Shabolz had miscalculated? These woods could hide an army. Perhaps he should have retreated back up the road and sent a messenger to Baudobriga or Confluentes for reinforcements. There was something else, too, a certain reluctance he’d never experienced before. He didn’t have to be here with a sword in his hand. Felix was perfectly capable of leading these men. Valerius could have stayed at the wagon with Tabitha and Lucius and no one would have thought any the less of him. Perhaps fatherhood and the years of peaceful existence at Fidenae had changed him? He shook the thought from his head and concentrated on placing his feet. Very little undergrowth here, thank the gods, just fallen leaves and fungi to soften the tread. The sound of the rain on the leaves above would drown out everything except a snapping branch. This was better. Forget about the might have beens; all that mattered was what was to come and how you adapted to the challenges. He looked along the line of men. They seemed steady enough, but he knew they too would be feeling a mix of emotions, especially those who’d never been in a proper fight. The Pannonians he could depend on. Shabolz stalked through the forest like a ghost, balanced on his feet in a slight crouch so he could dance one way or the other at the first sign of a threat. But for the sword held ready in his right hand, Hilario might have been on a country stroll and Valerius was astonished to see what passed for a smile on his forbidding features. There were others who looked equally confident, but that confidence could vanish in a dozen heartbeats. A man never knew how brave he was until his courage was truly tested in the balefire of battle.
Glory of Rome: (Gaius Valerius Verrens 8) Page 10