Glory of Rome: (Gaius Valerius Verrens 8)

by Douglas Jackson

  And the Chatti attacked, rising from the forest in one great wave.

  Which was precisely what Valerius wanted them to do.

  XXI

  The chieftain with the gold torcs had faced a dilemma. His first priority was to recover the sorceress Aurinia, the source of his tribe’s prestige and prosperity, their guiding hand for four generations. He’d hoped to do so by negotiation or intimidation. When they failed, his only options were to attack and take the hill, or besiege it and starve the enemy out. Yet either risked the Roman commander’s fulfilling his promise and killing Aurinia. Then the horns blared out and he knew he had to make a decision. The horns meant potential rescue and the loss of the prize. If he’d been given a moment to consider he might have remembered that this was one of the few places the river shelved gently from the shallows to the centre, and that by outflanking the position on either side he could cut off the Romans’ escape. But the taunting cheers from the little redoubt robbed him of that moment. His proud warriors responded by rising from their concealment without his command to meet the challenge.

  Valerius’s estimate of the force facing him had been surprisingly accurate. Of the hundred and twenty or so men who accompanied the chief barely half were seasoned fighters, with the rest made up of artisans or farmers. It was the warriors, bare-chested and tattooed, who charged screaming from the trees and hit the slope at the run, clawing their way through the scrub. The chief ran in their midst, Aurinia’s fate all but forgotten, his whole being bent on slaughtering the arrogant Roman who had insulted him.

  Valerius watched them come, sword in his left hand, positioned to the right of the defences where he could see the entire line. Hilario stood closest to him, with three men from the Ninth and one from the Second Adiutrix. Shabolz and his Pannonians were in the centre, alongside Crescens, while Serenus and the rest made up the left flank. His heart raced, but his mind was entirely calm, senses attempting to assess everything around him. He became aware that the timbre of some of the Chatti screams had changed. A warrior reared up as one of the concealed stakes ripped into his groin. Another fell back with blood pulsing from the gaping hole in his throat. The charge slowed, the men suddenly aware of the hidden danger. He heard a sharp snap that reminded him of the strike of a sling pellet and one of the leading attackers dropped like a stone with a Pannonian throwing a dart in his brain. Yet the rest came on, more eager than ever, determined to avenge their comrades. The first of them reached the top of the slope and began hauling at the thorn wall, oblivious of the inch-long hooked claws that tore into his flesh. Shabolz almost casually reached across and stabbed the point of his sword into the exposed neck and the warrior disappeared in a haze of scarlet. A concerted attack might have overrun the meagre defences in those first moments, but the Chatti advanced piecemeal, some braver than others. The time spent hauling at the barrier left them momentarily defenceless and easy practice for the Roman swords. Hilario reached out and pulled a screaming warrior on top of the thorns before sawing his sword across the Chatti champion’s throat. In the centre Valerius was conscious of Crescens hacking the head from a man who came too close. It was going well, but he knew it couldn’t last. A burst of frantic shouted orders and now the warriors were attacking in pairs and fours. Spearmen protected the warrior who tore at the barrier allowing him time to make a difference. Valerius saw the Chatti chieftain halfway up the slope urging his men on.

  ‘Shabolz, I want that bastard dead.’ The Pannonian’s arm came up, but before he could throw a warrior lunged at him with his sword and when the chance came again the chieftain had disappeared.

  Valerius concentrated all his senses on gauging the ebb and flow of the fighting. Warriors swarmed the slope, and now the more timid, the farmers and the millers and the carpenters, scented an opportunity to share in the slaughter. Outnumbered four or five to one the defenders were only being kept alive by the strength of the position and the barrier of thorns. Timing. It was all about the timing.

  He turned to look at the river. Florus and Ceris were pushing the sorceress into the shallows, about to be swallowed by the bank of fog. Where was Antonius? It had to be soon, before the enemy breached the barrier. A scream and Serenus reeled back with blood spurting from his forearm. One of the big Chatti warriors threw himself across the thorns to make a bridge and another leapt on his back and into the perimeter. The warrior’s sword came up and Serenus raised his uninjured hand in a despairing attempt to protect himself. Before Valerius could react the closest Pannonian turned and whipped one of his weighted darts through the air and into the swordsman’s back. The man dropped his blade and clawed vainly at the missile before collapsing and trying to crawl away. Nilus stepped forward and finished him with a cut to the base of the skull.

  ‘Who gave you permission to stop signalling, trooper?’ Valerius demanded.

  ‘There’s no need, sir. Look.’

  Valerius turned in time to see Rapid Racer emerging from the fog bank. Antonius came in as close as he dared and dropped anchor. Florus threw Aurinia bodily into the ship and helped Ceris after her. He hesitated, and the Corieltauvi girl called out to him, but he was already on his way back to the hill.

  ‘Get Serenus to the galley,’ Valerius ordered Nilus. The young signaller helped his wounded comrade to his feet and they staggered towards the river.

  ‘Lord?’

  ‘You should have stayed with the galley, Florus.’

  ‘Yes, lord, but the captain thought you might find these useful.’

  Valerius turned. Florus was standing with his arms filled with pila. Valerius felt a surge of elation. ‘The captain was correct.’ He sheathed his sword and picked up one of the weighted javelins. Four foot of ash, topped with two and a half of iron that ended in a pyramid-shaped point, it was designed to pierce the outer layers of a shield and then stay there. Valerius had seen a pilum go through human flesh as if it didn’t exist. He planted the point of the javelin in the hard-packed earth and picked up a second. ‘Shabolz, Crescens and Licco, to me,’ he roared above the din of the battle.

  The cavalrymen were struggling to keep enemy opponents from crossing the thorns, but they responded immediately, sprinting to where Valerius stood. All three were breathing hard and Licco had a cut across his cheek that turned his mail scarlet. Valerius nodded to the pila. ‘Two casts and then we go. But wait for my order. Form line.’

  They made a rough line on Florus two or three feet apart and waited, while their comrades fought for their lives not twenty feet away. Valerius stepped to one side.

  ‘Prepare to disengage.’ His cry echoed across the hill. A moment’s pause for a final assessment. ‘Disengage! Back to the galley.’

  Most of them had no idea of the galley’s arrival. They’d expected to die on the hill and they needed no second urging. Backing out of range, the defenders raced across the hilltop and down the steep slope to the river. The enemy howled with new enthusiasm as they saw the Romans turn and run and clawed all the harder to pull the thorns aside.

  ‘Ready,’ Valerius ordered as soon as the men were clear. Five arms came up and back, the pila clutched in their fists. ‘Throw.’

  The javelins whistled through the air and each struck its chosen target. Warriors along the line saw their comrades pinned by the heavy spears and hesitated.

  ‘Throw.’ The second cast met with equal success, but Valerius had no time to witness the result. The moment the spear left his hand he turned and sprinted for the river. Antonius and his oarsmen were hauling cavalrymen aboard as fast as they were able. Most managed to discard their chain armour as they ran to make it easier to board the ship. The men with Valerius did likewise, but for their commander, with his single hand, it was impossible. They were together as they hit the water, but within a few steps he’d fallen behind.

  The galley lay less than twenty paces from the shore and those already aboard shouted encouragement to the rearguard. Valerius saw Hilario standing by the bow roaring and Antonius shouting orders to his
crew. Suddenly the cries became shriller and he could hear splashing at his back. A line of men rose up on the ship and a flight of javelins whipped just above his head. Someone screamed a few feet behind him and he surged on, floundering the last few paces. He was almost at the galley when he slipped and plunged face first into the water. With the heavy chain mail on his back he felt as if he was pinned to the river bottom. Water filled his mouth and nose, but almost immediately something large splashed into the water beside him and he was hauled bodily to the surface. He blinked as Hilario’s glaring features came into focus.

  ‘This is no time to go for a swim, lord.’ The big man lifted him up so eager hands could drag him aboard the galley. They were already under way as Hilario heaved himself over the side and Valerius had the chance to look back at the shore for the first time. Dozens of screaming Chatti warriors stood in the shallows howling their frustration, while four or five of their comrades floated face up in the river, the heavy javelins that transfixed them swaying like masts in an ocean swell.

  They were safe. For now.

  Antonius set a fast rhythm to take Rapid Racer and her passengers out of danger. With the aid of the current the little craft fairly flew across the surface, powered by her fourteen oars. When he was happy with her course he left the steersman and clambered over the seating benches to join Valerius, who’d stripped off his armour and tunic and sat shivering along with his men, naked but for a loincloth.

  Ceris moved among them treating their wounds, but, by some miracle, the only serious injury was to Serenus, who had a deep slash on his forearm.

  ‘We were lucky,’ Valerius said to the sailor. ‘If you hadn’t arrived when you did we’d all be dead.’

  ‘I almost didn’t,’ Antonius admitted with a wry smile. ‘We were groping our way up the river like a blind beggar and I had no idea where we were. I was on the point of giving up and coming back tomorrow when I remembered what you said about making your own luck and ordered our signaller to sound the call.’

  ‘Fortunately for us,’ Valerius said. ‘You have my thanks.’

  ‘Who is the woman?’ Antonius nodded to the bow where the two children stared in patent terror at Aurinia. Her gag had been removed and she sat in silence, staring ahead as if she was unaware of her surroundings. As they watched her head slowly turned and her eyes fixed on Valerius.

  ‘I will never be the plaything of your emperor, Roman who is only part man.’ Her voice was high and shrill and contained a loathing that sent a shiver through every man on the boat. More surprisingly, the words were in a Latin that could be understood by all. ‘Return me to my people,’ she continued, ‘and I will see to it you return safely to yours.’ From the corner of his eye Valerius saw Ceris shake her head. ‘Do not and I will lay such a curse on you as will destroy you and everyone you love.’

  Antonius’s hand shot to the charm at his neck and she smiled contemptuously as if the Roman gods were of no consequence to her, and turned away. ‘That,’ Valerius said, ‘is their witch. Florus and Crescens wanted to cut her throat, but Ceris convinced me she might come in useful. How long before we reach the Rhenus?’

  ‘That depends,’ Antonius said, his face suddenly grave.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘On them.’ He pointed to the mouth of a tributary stream, where a pair of long slim shapes emerged. Canoes, each carrying five tribesmen, and paddling swiftly to intersect Rapid Racer’s course.

  ‘Can we outpace them?’

  Antonius shook his head. ‘We need to avoid those rapids because of our draught. They’ll paddle straight through them.’

  ‘What, then?’

  The young sailor looked thoughtful. ‘Rapid Racer isn’t built for ramming. All we can do is make them keep their distance.’

  Valerius shrugged on his tunic and replaced his chain armour. ‘Shabolz. Hilario. Into the bows with a pair of pila each, but don’t throw unless they try to board. Didius, tie the witch to the mast where they can see her.’

  The canoes came within spear-throw, but kept their distance when they saw the two men in the bows. Only when Aurinia began a high-pitched keening did they make any kind of threatening move.

  ‘Lord?’ Didius prompted.

  Valerius nodded and the screeching stopped abruptly as the young soldier reapplied her gag. The two canoes veered away.

  Two miles further downstream they passed another inlet, this time on the south side of the river. Three craft waited in the mouth. One was much larger than the others, some kind of trading vessel, twenty paces in length, and carrying about thirty men armed with everything from spears to axes and hay scythes.

  Valerius and Antonius exchanged a glance. Without waiting for the order Marius began handing out the remaining pila to the men of Valerius’s escort.

  ‘How did they know?’ Antonius whispered.

  ‘Some kind of signalling system,’ Valerius guessed. ‘Or maybe a relay of fast couriers.’

  The biggest craft came directly towards them. ‘Marius?’ Valerius called. ‘Choose ten men in the centre of the boat. On my order they will stand and make ready to throw.’

  Marius called out the names and Valerius waited, hoping the Germans would veer away when they recognized Aurinia, but they kept coming.

  ‘They plan to ram us.’ Antonius slipped from the bench and returned to the steering oar.

  ‘Stand.’

  The ten men rose and drew back their throwing arms.

  ‘Save your spears. Tell them to get down.’ Valerius thought he was hearing things, but Antonius repeated the order, watching the cargo boat intently as it closed with every stroke. So close now that Valerius could see the glaring eyes of the man in the bow and the gleam of the blade he carried.

  ‘Wait. Wait. Slow your stroke,’ Antonius ordered, making subtle adjustments to the galley’s course and speed. Less than a boat’s-length now. ‘Brace yourselves,’ the sailor called. ‘Back oars!’ The oarsmen changed instantly from the forward stroke to the reverse and men were thrown from their seats as the galley stopped dead in the water. The cargo boat shaved the bow and Antonius waited until it had almost passed. ‘Now, row for your lives.’

  The oars bit and the galley accelerated with the current, its speed taking it up and over the stern of the cargo boat. The impact threw the men seated there into the river and the other occupants began to bail frantically with anything they could find as the boat filled with water. A great cheer went up from the galley. Within a few strokes they were past and Valerius looked back to see the other craft going to the larger boat’s aid.

  ‘It appears the witch isn’t as precious to them as you thought,’ Antonius called.

  ‘You may be right,’ Valerius smiled. ‘Do you want to throw her overboard?’

  They looked to where Aurinia sat and she must have sensed their gaze, because she turned and stared at them with such loathsome malevolence they had to turn away.

  ‘No.’ Antonius’s voice held a nervous edge. ‘But we’re close to where we picked up the children. If you want to land them now is a good time, while we don’t have any company.’

  Valerius agreed and they anchored off a gravel beach that backed on to an area of relatively flat ground. They landed the children and Valerius left them some food, a silver denarius each to make up for the loss of their boat, and a knife, which the girl snatched before her brother could get it.

  When they rounded the next bend the two small figures still stood watching them out of sight.

  ‘Do you think they’ll survive, Antonius?’ Valerius asked.

  The naval officer shrugged. ‘They’re half wild and they know the river. One thing’s certain: they’re safer on their own than they are with us.’

  The truth of his words was borne in upon Valerius an hour later as dusk was falling.

  ‘Back oars,’ Antonius said quietly.

  Valerius looked ahead. About two hundred paces downstream the river writhed and seethed in an unnatural fashion right across its width, and he saw tha
t someone had created a crude barrier of tree trunks linked together in some way. On a bluff to their left ten or so warriors watched the galley’s progress and Valerius thought he caught a glint of gold in one man’s hair. Along the shoreline some twenty small craft waited, each one filled with armed men.

  ‘We’re dead,’ someone said quietly. Valerius was surprised to find the voice belonged to Hilario.

  Antonius looked to the right bank, hoping to discover somewhere he could land the galley and give them a chance to escape, but the woods were filled with watchers. One glance told him that if he tried to run the barrier he’d tear the bottom out of the galley. ‘What do you want to do, legate?’

  Valerius felt a moment of panic. If Antonius, in his natural element, couldn’t get them out of this, what chance did they have? Every eye in the galley was on him, but two with an intensity that drew him to them. Ceris.

  Valerius rose to his feet and went to stand beside the mast where Aurinia was tied. He bent to remove the gag from her mouth. She worked her jaw for a moment before hawking and spitting in his face, a smile of triumph wreathing her wizened features. Valerius turned to Antonius. ‘Approach the barrier as slowly as you’re able,’ he ordered.

  The only sound was the rush of the river and the surge as the current forced itself beneath Rapid Racer’s stern. Aurinia’s harsh voice broke the silence, apparently giving instructions to the men on the shore. Her words stirred a ripple of movement through the moored boats. The occupants looked to their leader on the bluff, anticipating his signal.

  ‘For Mars’ sake, shut her up,’ Florus pleaded. Didius rose to replace the gag, but Valerius waved him away and drew his long sword. They were level with the height now, close enough to make out the chieftain’s splendidly coloured cloak and the gold circlet in his dark hair. Valerius looked up, and thought he could almost feel the heat of the man’s hatred. A hundred paces to the foam-flecked line of the barrier. ‘Stop her,’ he whispered to Antonius.