‘We’re trapped, then,’ Marius said. ‘If we go forward they’ll see us, and if we try to hide they’ll probably find us.’
‘If you can’t beat them, join them,’ Vespasian said.
The crossroads brothers looked at him quizzically.
‘What?’ Magnus asked, not understanding at all.
‘We’ll join them; we’ll take them out and borrow their cloaks, helmets, shields and spears. That way from a distance we’ll look like just another patrol and we should be able to cross that open ground unchallenged,’ Vespasian explained.
‘But there’s only three of them,’ Magnus said.
‘I’ve got my military cloak and helmet; the plume is longer than a Praetorian’s but from a distance it will do. Marius couldn’t hold a spear or a shield in any case; it’ll work, it’s not as if we’re going to try and go through a roadblock by passing ourselves off as Praetorians, is it?’
‘You’re right, sir,’ Magnus agreed, pleased to have a plan. ‘But before you pluck a chicken you have to wring its neck. So let’s get further back into the wood and find a place to ambush them.’
They retraced their steps to the line of the chase, turned left along its path and followed it for a couple of hundred paces where, to their right, they saw a dell about ten feet deep and thirty paces across.
‘This’ll do us,’ Magnus said, the beginnings of a plan formulating in his head. ‘Now, sir, they’ll be looking for a young military tribune, and you’re the only one of us that fits that description so it has to be you that leads them here. Go back along the track and when they see you race back here, down through the dell and up the other side there.’ He pointed to a gap between two large alders perched at the top of a steep bank on the far side of the dell. ‘As they’re following you up the bank we’ll unhorse them and finish them off.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t got that far yet, but we’ll be on foot so let’s get these horses out of the way, lads. Sextus, do the honours.’ He and Marius dismounted and handed their reins to Sextus, who led the horses away.
‘Good luck, sir,’ Magnus said. ‘We’ll be ready when you get back.’
‘I hope so,’ Vespasian replied with a weak grin. He turned his horse and headed back towards the Praetorian troopers.
His leg was throbbing and his head ached but he felt confident that he had strength enough to stay on his horse and to ride fast through the wood for a short period of time. He was also sure that they wouldn’t try to bring him down with their spears; Sejanus wanted him alive, which, in the circumstances, he found a comforting thought.
Keeping his eyes peeled he advanced cautiously, making a mental note of any obstacles that he would meet on the way back, until he caught sight of a flash of red through the trees ahead of him. He stopped and waited for them to come on, bracing himself for the dash back. He didn’t have long to wait.
‘There he is!’ a shout came from about fifty paces away.
Vespasian turned his horse and kicked it into a gallop. As he sped back down the now familiar path, dodging trees, jumping logs and ducking under low-hanging branches, he felt an admiration for the horsemanship of the riders behind him who had earlier ridden the same route but without the benefit of a recce. He reached the edge of the dell and slowed. He looked around briefly to make sure his pursuers could see where he was going, then, satisfied, he plunged down the bank and tore across the dell in the direction of the two trees that Magnus had pointed out on the far side.
The Praetorians made it down the first bank as Vespasian’s horse scrambled up the much steeper bank opposite. Its forelegs reached the top; as it tried to pull itself up on to the level ground, its hind legs scrabbled behind it to gain purchase on the loosened earth of the bank. Vespasian clung on as his horse gave an almighty heave and pulled itself clear of the bank, but the speed of its thrashing hind legs hitting the firmer ground of the woodland floor caused it to overbalance and it stumbled, sending Vespasian crashing to the ground.
‘We’ve got him!’ someone called from behind him as he rolled on to his back and drew his sword to defend himself. The first two Praetorians had almost scaled the bank when a couple of dark blurs swept across Vespasian’s vision; two stout branches crunched into the troopers’ faces, sending them tumbling off their mounts, who in turn reared up and toppled backwards down the slope on to the third trooper behind them. Magnus and Sextus charged down the bank from their ambush positions behind the trees, hurling their branches down at the fallen troopers. They leapt on them, swords drawn, as Marius slid down the bank behind the troopers to cut off any retreat. The horses crushed and kicked their riders as they struggled to get up, leaving the troopers as easy game on the floor. Three swords flashed almost simultaneously, blood spurted from the troopers’ throats and they died beneath their terrified mounts.
‘Quick, lads, try and calm those horses down, then start taking what we need,’ Magnus said as he clambered back up the bank towards Vespasian. ‘Are you all right, sir? That looked like a pretty nasty tumble.’
‘I’m fine. Are they all dead?’
‘Of course. I wouldn’t be standing here chatting with you otherwise, would I?’ Magnus replied helping him up. ‘Come on, let’s get going.’
They hurried down the bank to where Marius was stripping the Praetorians of their cloaks and helmets, whilst Sextus struggled to control the horses.
‘Take the saddles and bridles off the horses, Sextus,’ Vespasian said, ‘then let them go.’
With the bodies, bridles and saddles safely hidden in the long undergrowth away from the track, they donned the Praetorian cloaks and helmets, retrieved their own horses, mounted up and made their way to the edge of the wood. Looking out over the open ground they could see no sign of another patrol.
‘We’ll ride two by two,’ Vespasian said, ‘but not too fast, otherwise if another patrol sees us they may think that we’re chasing someone and come to help us.’
‘You’re right, sir,’ Magnus agreed, ‘nice and easy all the way to those hills. All right lads, let’s go.’
They left the wood and started to cross the grassland at a steady canter. Vespasian struggled for a while trying to control his horse with just his right hand whilst holding a spear and a heavy shield in his left, but after a mile he’d got the hang of it and he was able to offset the extra weight by leaning slightly to his right whilst still keeping his horse going in a straight line.
‘Sir, look, behind us to the right,’ Sextus shouted suddenly.
‘Don’t speed up,’ Vespasian said, looking over his shoulder. Sure enough, heading for the wood that they had just left was another red-cloaked patrol.
‘What do we do?’ Marius asked.
‘Nothing, mate,’ Magnus said staring straight ahead. ‘Don’t look at them; just keep going. Let’s hope that we’re far enough away to fool them.’
Vespasian held his breath as they cantered on. He risked another quick look over his shoulder. The patrol was skirting the wood and making its way towards the Via Aurelia, seemingly taking no notice of their presumed comrades a couple of miles away out on the grassland.
‘It’s working. They’re not interested in us, they’re heading back to the road,’ Vespasian shouted. ‘Keep to this pace, lads, and pray to whichever god you hold dearest that we’ll be out of sight soon.’
After another half an hour they had started to climb the first of the hills. The sudden shout they had feared, ordering them to stop, had not come. As the sun reached its zenith behind the rain-filled clouds they passed over the crest of the hill and down into the comparative safety of the valley below.
CHAPTER XVII
NIGHT HAD FALLEN and the rain had stopped. They had ridden fast through the hills and had now slowed to a walk as they crossed rocky scrubland. The full moon shone through the thin cloud covering giving enough light for the horses to be able to pick their way through the rough ground. Below them, to their left, the route of the Via Aurelia co
uld intermittently be discerned, picked out by the torches of an occasional passing carriage or a group of travellers. Beyond it, high on a cliff, were the twinkling lights of a hilltop town.
‘That is Cosa,’ Vespasian said to Magnus. ‘My grandmother’s estate is just to the north of town overlooking the sea. We need to cross the Via Aurelia and find the road that climbs up to the town. About halfway up there’s a track off to the right that leads to her land.’
‘Well, now’s as good a time as any, sir,’ Magnus replied. ‘It seems pretty quiet and I for one am looking forward to a hot meal and a warm bed, and I’m surprised that you’re still able to sit on a horse. Dismount, lads, we’ll lead them down to the road.’
They stopped in an olive grove fifty paces from the junction of the Via Aurelia and the road that wound its way up the hill to Cosa. In the distance they could hear the clatter of a large troop of cavalry coming up from the south.
‘How far away are they?’ Vespasian asked.
‘Can’t tell,’ Magnus replied.
‘They may not even be Praetorians.’
‘I’ll bet they are; if they were just army auxiliaries they would have made camp before nightfall. They’ll be Praetorians all right; they must have realised a few hours ago that we had managed to get past them so I reckon they’ll be heading further north to set up another roadblock.’
‘Do you think we should just make a run for it?’ Marius whispered.
‘Best not; we’ll let them pass.’
The torches at the head of the fast-moving column were now in sight and they watched with bated breath as they came nearer. When the column, over a hundred strong, came to the junction their leader stopped.
‘Clemens, take half the men and carry on up the road for another ten miles and block it there. Search all the inns, farms and barns on the way. I’ll take the rest of the boys and search the town; if I don’t find anything I’ll join you in the morning. Get patrols out at first light, but only groups of more than four; I don’t want a repeat of this morning’s fiasco.’
‘I shall do everything that is necessary, Macro.’ The young decurion saluted; the torchlight glinted on his helmet as he turned to the column. ‘The first two turmae follow me,’ he ordered, and then led off up the road at a swift trot.
As the last of the sixty-man detachment passed Macro he called out to the rest of the column: ‘Right, lads, we’re going to turn this town inside out; anyone who’s arrived today I want brought into the forum for questioning, along with all the local magistrates and tavern-owners. Don’t take no for an answer from anyone – got it?’ He turned to the familiar figure beside him. ‘Well, Hasdro, I expect there’ll be some work here for you tonight. I’m sure a few of them will appreciate a little encouragement before they talk.’ He pulled his horse around and urged it up the road towards the town.
Vespasian and his companions watched the torch-lit column wind its way through the darkness up to the unsuspecting town a mile up the hill.
‘Poor buggers,’ Magnus whispered. ‘They’re not going to get much sleep tonight with Macro and his men running wild.’
‘But that works in our favour,’ Vespasian replied, now feeling desperately tired. ‘Let’s get going while the Praetorians are busy terrorising innocent provincials.’
They led their horses down to the road, mounted up and followed the column up towards the town. They found the track that led to Tertulla’s estate as the first shouts and screams from the town echoed around the hills.
‘We need to follow this for a mile or so to the top of the hill,’ Vespasian said, struggling to see the line of the track in the dim moonlight. ‘Then bear to the left towards the sea.’
Another series of screams came from the town and the group hurried on their way, not because they were in any immediate danger but in order to get away from the sounds of anguish that they felt responsible for.
The sound of distant waves crashing below them reached their ears as they came to the summit. The smell of salt water revived Vespasian and he sucked it in greedily. He had loved the sea ever since, from the age of seven, he and Sabinus had lived here with Tertulla for the five years that their parents had been in Asia.
He looked upon that time as the happiest of his life, despite his brother’s constant bullying. But his grandmother had protected him from Sabinus, inflicting severe punishments upon him every time new bruises had appeared on Vespasian’s body and making sure that Attalus, her steward, kept an eye on the two boys if she wasn’t around. Then one glorious day, when Vespasian was eleven, Sabinus left for Rome to seek the help of their uncle Gaius in getting a posting as a military tribune. Vespasian had then had Tertulla’s undivided attention for over a year and he had basked in her love. Each day, after he had finished his lessons with his grammaticus, they would spend time together. She told him stories as they walked along the cliffs and taught him how to knot a net whilst fishing on the beach; but, most importantly, she had taught him the workings of the estate that she ran herself, her husband having died before Vespasian was born.
When his parents had returned he had not wanted to leave Tertulla and her estate, which he had come to consider as home. It was only her accompanying him back to his parents’ newly acquired estate at Aquae Cutillae, and staying for six months whilst he settled in, that enabled him to do so. She had left the day after his thirteenth birthday; he had not seen her since.
Knowing that he had less than half a mile to go before he was home he concentrated his mind on one final effort to remain conscious. The last few hundred paces were a blur to him, but eventually they arrived at the familiar wood and iron gate that he had last walked through nearly four years ago. He slumped forward on his horse, managed to kick his right leg over its back and dismounted. He felt Magnus’ arm support him as he stumbled forward and knocked on the iron knocker with what little strength he had left.
‘I think I’d better do that a bit harder, sir,’ Magnus said, giving the knocker three huge blows.
‘Who is it?’ came a voice from the other side.
‘Tell my grandmother that it’s Vespasian and three friends.’
They waited a while and then a familiar voice came through the gate.
‘If you’re Vespasian tell me what name you call me by.’
Vespasian smiled to himself and looked apologetically at Magnus. ‘Tute.’
The gate swung open and Tertulla, now well into her eighties, rushed forward.
‘Vespasian, my darling, it is really you.’ She put her arms around him and hugged him. ‘Ow, you’ve grown a hard skin since I last saw you.’
‘I’m a military tribune now, Tute, but we should talk inside; I’ve been hurt and need to rest. These fellows are my friends.’
‘Yes, of course, come in, come in all of you.’
Vespasian lay on a couch in the triclinium drinking warmed watered wine whilst Tertulla examined his leg wound in the dim light of an oil lamp held up close by a slave.
‘Not bad, Magnus, really not bad at all,’ she said admiringly as she ran her wrinkled fingers over the swollen, blistered wound.
‘Thank you,’ Magnus replied from the other side of the room whence he and his crossroads brothers looked on anxiously.
‘What did you clean it with?’
‘Piss.’
‘Very good, the best thing if you can’t get any vinegar. The wound itself has closed, so I just need to apply a salve for the burn and then bind it tight to keep it from tearing open. Attalus!’
A tall, well-built man in his late fifties entered the room. ‘There’s no need to shout, I’m right here,’ he said in an overly patient tone of voice.
‘There you are, you great oaf. Take Magnus and his colleagues and find them something to eat, then bring some bread and ham in here. And whilst you’re about it bring my cup, I don’t know why Vespasian is drinking and I’m not.’
‘Probably because you didn’t ask for your cup before.’
‘Must I think of everything?�
��
‘Yes, you must, because you are the mistress and everyone else is your slave.’
‘Well, behave like one, then.’
‘I always do. Is that all?’
‘That’s three orders; I don’t think you’ll be able to remember any more.’
Attalus looked over to Vespasian and grinned. ‘Welcome home, Master Vespasian, it will be so nice to have someone sensible around the house again.’
‘Thank you, Attalus. I see that my grandmother and you are still getting along.’
‘I tolerate her,’ he said in a playful whisper.
‘Why I tolerate you I don’t know. I should have you crucified.’
‘Then who would remind you what day it was and what your name is?’
‘Go on, get on with it,’ Tertulla said, slapping him hard on the arse and trying not to laugh.
Attalus left the room rubbing his behind and taking the bemused crossroads brothers with him.
Tertulla gently anointed the wound with a foul-smelling balm and then carefully bound it. As she was finishing Attalus came back with the food and a silver cup.
‘You took your time, did you get lost again?’ Tertulla said sharply, tying the linen bandage with a knot.
‘I’m surprised you remembered that I’d even gone,’ Attalus replied, thumping down the tray of food with a flamboyant flourish. ‘Would the mistress like water in her wine or is she planning on drinking herself into oblivion again this evening?’
‘I’ll pour my wine and then I’ll know there’s no spit in it. Off you go and do something useful like fucking one of my body slaves, put her in a good mood for when she does my hair in the morning.’
‘As a favour to you, mistress, I’ll have all three, then you’ll be surrounded by happy smiling faces when you dress tomorrow.’
‘Get out of my sight, you old goat, and take your little friend with you. You’ll probably need his help, considering your age.’
Tertulla dismissed the lamp slave, who knew better than to laugh at his mistress’s banter with his superior.
Vespasian: Tribune of Rome Page 19