The west-facing beach was in shadow as Vespasian and his companions picked their way down the winding cliff path leading their horses and a donkey, upon which perched Tertulla riding sidesaddle. A small trading ship was tying up at the jetty, which thrust out twenty paces from the shore into the now calm, slate-blue sea. Vespasian could make out six or seven crew members scurrying around with ropes making the ship fast.
The vessel was a classic flat-bottomed sailing ship that plied the shallow waters up and down the Italian coast: a sixty-foot-long, single-masted, carvel-built, high-sided, open, wooden ship. Two keel planks joined by a wooden shaft were attached either side of her raised stern; they served as a rudder as well as preventing the keelless boat from drifting too much. Between these was a six-foot-high carving of a swan’s neck and head that gave the ship an illusion of grace it would have otherwise not have merited.
Attalus was already on the jetty talking with the squat, bearded ship’s master as the party approached; voices were raised and the steward’s worried expression was obvious to Vespasian.
‘Master Vespasian, the master is now saying that he doesn’t have room on board for the horses as he’s taken on more olive oil than expected at Ostia,’ Attalus said in a hushed voice, coming up to Vespasian as he and Magnus made their way along the jetty.
‘How much have we paid him already?’ Vespasian asked.
‘One hundred denarii.’
‘So he’s willing to lose out on a hundred and fifty denarii?’
‘No, he still wants that before you get on board.’
‘I thought the deal was four passengers and four horses.’
‘It was, but now it’s changed.’
‘I see. Magnus, I think we might have some explaining to do to this gentleman of the sea.’
‘I think you may well be right, sir.’ Magnus looked back at Sextus and Marius, who were helping Tertulla down from the donkey. ‘Stand by, lads; we may have a problem that needs resolving.’
Vespasian walked up to the master. His speckled grey and black beard almost totally covered his face, leaving only the very tops of his browned cheeks and forehead open to the elements. His eyes were barely visible from years of squinting against the sun and wind. The rough leather sleeveless tunic, which seemed to be the only garment that he was wearing, gave off an unpleasant odour, a mixture of dead fish, sweat and decomposing flesh, as if it hadn’t been tanned properly.
‘My steward tells me that you are going back on the deal that you made with him,’ Vespasian said brusquely.
‘It ain’t my fault, sir, we was meant to be sailing back to Genua half empty, then the ship’s owner brought an extra load of olive oil and there weren’t nothing I could do about it.’
Vespasian looked down into the ship’s open hold to see, at each end, two large stacks of amphorae sitting in their circular storage slots, leaving only ten feet of deck space between them.
‘Surely we could fit the horses in that gap there?’
‘It ain’t about space, it’s about weight. If you bring the horses on we’ll be too low in the water and that ain’t good, I can tell you, especially as it is winter when a storm can brew up without much notice.’
‘But it’s a lovely calm day, there’s hardly a cloud in the sky.’
‘Now it is, but how long will that last? I ain’t going to sea in an overladen vessel, that’s for sure, not for two hundred and fifty denarii.’
‘Ah, so that’s it, is it? So, for how much would you go to sea in an overladen vessel, then?’
‘Five hundred and that’s my last word.’
‘And will the extra money help us to stay afloat? I think not. What if we just decide to take the road?’
‘If you had wanted to take the road then you would have done, but for some reason or other you can’t, so you chose to take passage on a ship in winter. My guess is you want to get to Genua unnoticed, so I think that deserves a larger fee.’ The master smiled coldly in a take-it-or-leave-it sort of way. Vespasian could see that he was going to get nowhere negotiating with him.
‘It would seem that you have us by the balls. I will talk with my friends.’
Back on the beach Tertulla was adamant. ‘If you sail with such a dishonest rogue he’ll either murder you, throw your bodies overboard and take all your money, or he’ll hand you in to the port authorities in Genua and still take all your money.’
‘It depends on how many of them there are,’ Magnus said. ‘Did you count them, sir?’
‘I reckon there’re six or seven plus him, maybe more.’
‘Well, that ain’t the sort of odds that I’d fancy in a small space like that over two days and nights; we’d best get on the horses.’
‘We can’t,’ Vespasian answered, realising just how stuck they were. ‘Even if we had the time go cross-country, which we don’t any more, those bastards have seen us. When they get to Genua they’ll be able to tell anyone who pays them or threatens them what we look like and where they saw us. They’ll lead them straight to Tertulla’s house and then it will be a simple case of deduction to lead them to me and the rest of the family.’
‘You’re right, Vespasian,’ Tertulla sighed. ‘But you need someone to sail the ship.’
‘Marius, can you remember enough from your navy days to sail that thing?’
‘I reckon so, sir, so long as we follow the coast.’
Tertulla smiled grimly. ‘Then it looks like the master’s just signed a death warrant for himself and his crew.’
‘I’m afraid it does, Tute. Magnus, we’ll walk back up the jetty; I’ll hold out a purse to him; you take him as he reaches for it. Sextus and Marius, stay back on the beach; we don’t want to make him suspicious. As soon as the master falls follow us on to the ship as fast as you can. We’ll kill them quickly before they’ve a chance of finding their weapons. Don’t throw the bodies overboard, we’ll do that later, a long way from here.’
‘I’ll come with you, Master Vespasian,’ Attalus said. ‘It’ll lessen the odds somewhat.’
‘You’ll be worse than a man short,’ Tertulla scoffed. ‘You’ll be in everyone’s way and get yourself killed.’
‘Then it will be merciful release for both of us, I’m sure.’ He followed Vespasian and Magnus on to the jetty.
Tertulla smiled at the bravery of her old friend, and then looked at her grandson in admiration as he walked back along the jetty. He was thinking ahead in a cold and calculating manner; he was made of the right stuff to survive in this world, she was sure of it.
The master was waiting, talking quietly on the jetty with one of the crew, as Vespasian and Magnus walked up. ‘What’s it to be, then?’ he asked in a casual manner as if he were serving in a tavern.
‘Four hundred,’ Vespasian replied.
‘I said five hundred was my last word.’
‘I suppose we don’t have any choice, then, do we?’ Vespasian said, holding out the purse that contained his gold aurei.
‘That’s the way it seems,’ the master said, his eyes fixed greedily on the heavy-looking purse. It was the last thing they ever saw.
‘You were right, my sea-faring friend, we didn’t have a choice,’ Magnus said, pulling his sword from the master’s heart. The crewman froze for an instant, not registering what had happened, as he watched his commander slump down on to the jetty. Vespasian’s knee thumped into his groin, doubling him over, exposing the back of his neck to Attalus’ blade, which sliced through it at the nape, into the vertebrae; he was dead before he had worked out what was going on.
Vespasian leapt on to the ship’s bow, gladius drawn, and severed the sword arm of the first man he came to; the ensuing scream as he went down, clutching at the spurting stump, alerted the rest of the crew to the danger. Followed by Magnus and Attalus, he jumped over the large stack of amphorae and down into the belly of the ship, landing on the back of a grizzled old crewman who was pulling a sword from the now opened weapons box beneath the mast. He thumped his sword hilt down hard
on to the back of the man’s skull, cracking it open like a walnut. A shout from Attalus caused him to dodge to his left and narrowly avoid the wild slash of an axe, wielded by a tattooed monster of a man wearing only a dirty grey loincloth. The monster snarled like a wild beast as his blow missed and scythed through a line of amphorae. Olive oil gushed out over the deck. Vespasian grabbed on to the ship’s side to steady himself on the treacherous surface. He heard Sextus and Marius yell as they sprinted up the jetty and jumped on board over the stern rail. To his right Magnus had gutted a ginger-haired Celt, whose writhing body he slammed with all his strength into the monster, who tried to fend it off but slipped on the oily deck and landed on his arse. The screaming Celt flipped over his shoulder, spilling hot intestines into the monster’s lap as he went. For a moment the monster sat and stared, bemused by the grey innards that seemed to come from within him, before realising that he hadn’t been split open; he looked up just in time to see Attalus’ dagger enter his right eye. His guttural roar of pain echoed around the cliffs as Attalus twisted the blade left and right, turning the core of his brain into a jelly; it came to a sudden end as Attalus pulled the knife sharply up, slicing his brain in two.
Vespasian looked around; Sextus and Marius had secured the stern and were leaning on the rail catching their breath; two bodies lay at their feet. Magnus walked carefully forward on the slick surface and calmly slit the gutted Celt’s throat, instantly stopping his screams. The only sound now to intrude upon the gentle beat of the waves was the soft, steady moaning of the maimed man on the bow as the blood drained from his stump.
‘I’ll deal with him, sir,’ Magnus said, trying his best to stay upright on the slippery deck as the ship rocked gently on the slight swell.
‘Thank you, Magnus,’ Vespasian replied, as if Magnus had just offered him a drink of water. ‘Marius and Sextus, get those bodies down here then clear up this oil before someone hurts themselves on it.’
Vespasian put his hand on Attalus’ shoulder. ‘Thank you for that warning shout, old friend, I’m sure you’ll enjoy telling your mistress this evening that she would be minus a grandson if it hadn’t been for you.’
‘I shall, Master Vespasian,’ Attalus smiled, ‘and every evening in the future; although I rather think that she will spoil it by reminding me that you wouldn’t have been in danger if I’d done my job properly and got a trustworthy ship’s master.’
Vespasian laughed. ‘You’re probably right; let’s go and show her that we’re still alive.’
They climbed back out of the boat to see Tertulla still standing on the beach, her hands clasped in front of her.
‘Your grandfather would have been proud of you,’ she said as they walked off the jetty. ‘You fight like a man who knows that he will win. That is the sign of a man of destiny, a survivor.’
‘I very nearly didn’t survive, though, Tute. If it hadn’t been for Attalus I would be lying in two halves in the ship.’
‘So you have finally proved to be of some use after all these years,’ she said, smiling at her old friend.
‘It would appear so, mistress, which puts me one up over you.’
Vespasian left them to their banter and went to supervise the loading of the horses. Once they had been coaxed down a makeshift ramp into the belly of the ship, and their supplies stowed in the small cabin, Marius announced that he was as ready as he’d ever be to sail.
As they said their goodbyes Tertulla drew Vespasian aside and walked with him a little way along the beach. When they were out of earshot from their companions she took both his hands and held them tight.
‘I shall not be here when you return,’ she said, looking lovingly into his eyes.
Vespasian opened his mouth to protest but she held a finger against his lips, silencing him.
‘Nothing that you can say will make the slightest difference. I know that the days left to me are few and you will be away for years, not days.’
Vespasian knew that in all probability she was right, his father had said as much when he suggested that he should visit her; but admitting it seemed to make it inevitable. He felt tears start to creep out from the corners of his eyes. He took her in his arms.
‘Shed no tears for me now,’ Tertulla scolded gently. ‘Leave them until after I am gone. Be grateful that we have this opportunity to say goodbye for the last time. Few people are granted that luxury.’
‘I shall miss you, Tute,’ Vespasian said, wiping his eyes. ‘The happiest moments of my life have been spent with you here at Cosa.’
‘And there’s no reason why you should not have more in the future. I have left the estate solely to you. Your father will understand; he has two to run already and would not thank me for increasing his workload. And as for Sabinus, he never took any interest in the place and left as soon as he could.’
‘Nevertheless he will be very jealous and will find some way to get back at me.’
‘Well, that’s his and your business; I am only doing what I deem to be the right thing. I have freed all my slaves in my will and have invited them to stay on the estate, and work as freed men under Attalus to keep it running until you return. When you do, Attalus will have certain documents in his possession that I wish you to have. I have also made him a substantial bequest to keep him in his old age, so that he won’t be a burden to you.’
‘He could never be a burden to me, Tute, because he will always remind me of you.’
Tertulla embraced her grandson and then, standing on tiptoe, kissed him on the lips. ‘Remember, do what is right for you and for Rome, and you will fulfil your destiny, which is greater than you imagine.’ She ran her hand through his hair, as she used to do when he was a child, and smiled at him. ‘You should go now, the others are all on board. Farewell, my darling boy.’
Vespasian climbed aboard as Magnus and Sextus hauled up the sail. The little ship edged forward and Marius at the helm eased it around and out to sea. Vespasian stood at the stern as he watched Tertulla get smaller and smaller. When she was no more than a tiny dot on the beach he dropped to his knees and broke down in a series of gut-wrenching sobs, mourning his beloved grandmother who, although still living, was now dead to him.
PART IV
THRACIA, SPRING AD 26
CHAPTER IX
‘WHAT’S THAT ARSEHOLE up to now?’ Magnus spat as he looked with disgust towards Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, the commander of the reinforcement column. ‘If we change direction again today I’m going to mutiny.’
‘You need to be under military discipline to mutiny,’ Vespasian reminded his friend as he watched Corbulo engage in another heated exchange with their local guides. ‘And seeing as you’re here masquerading as my freedman, and therefore a civilian, I think that anything you say or do will be ignored, especially by someone as well-born and arrogant as Corbulo.’
Magnus grunted and removed his conical felt cap, the pileus, the sign of a freedman, and wiped his brow. ‘Pompous arsehole,’ he muttered.
They had crossed the border from the Roman province of Macedonia into the client kingdom of Thracia five days earlier. For three days, following the course of the Via Egnatia, they’d marched through the budding orchards and the newly sown cornfields of the narrow coastal plain wedged between the forbidding, cloud-strewn bulk of the southern arm of Rhodope mountain range to the north, and the azure blue of the beautiful but treacherous Thracian sea, sparkling in the warm spring sun, to the south.
Corbulo had received orders, waiting for him at Philippi on the Macedonian border, to rendezvous as soon as possible with Poppaeus Sabinus’ army at Bessapara, on the Hebrus River, in the northwest of the client kingdom, where the northern arm of the Rhodope range abuts the Haemus Mountains. It was here that Poppaeus had the Thracian rebels pinned down in their hilltop stronghold, having defeated their main army in battle about fourteen days before. Corbulo had cursed his luck. He had tried to find out the details of the battle, but the messenger had already departed for Rome to bring news of the v
ictory to the Emperor and Senate.
Being a young and ambitious nobleman he was taking the request for speed very seriously, anxious to arrive before the rebellion was completely crushed and his chances of glory diminished.
They had met their guides and left the road at the eastern end of the Rhodope range, and were now heading northeast through its trackless foothills to pass around to the northern side of the mountains and follow them, northwest, to their destination. They were in the lands of the Caeletae, a tribe that had stayed loyal to Rome and its puppet, King Rhoemetalces, mainly out of hatred for their northern neighbours the Bessi and the Deii, who had revolted the previous year against conscription into the Roman army.
Vespasian grinned at Magnus as they watched Corbulo bellow at the Caeletaean guides, turn his horse and head back down the column towards where they were stationed, at the head of the first cohort of 480 legionary recruits.
‘I think our esteemed leader is just about to push another tribe into rebellion,’ he said, watching the red-faced military tribune approach past the vanguard of 120 auxiliary Gallic cavalry. ‘If he carries on like that we’ll find ourselves dangling in wooden cages over their sacred fires.’
‘I thought it was just the Germans and Celts who did that,’ Magnus replied, easing his travel-weary behind in his saddle.
‘I expect that these barbarians have just as nasty a way of amusing themselves with their captives; let’s hope that Corbulo’s arrogance doesn’t drive them to practise on us.’
‘Tribune,’ Corbulo barked, pulling up his horse next to Vespasian, ‘we are stopping here for the night; those ginger-haired sons of fox bitches are refusing to go any further today. Have the men construct a camp.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And, tribune—’ Corbulo peered at Vespasian over the long, pronounced nose that dominated his thin, angular face ‘—tell Centurion Faustus to double the guard tonight. I don’t trust those bastards, they seem to do everything possible to hinder our progress.’
Vespasian: Tribune of Rome Page 21