Lucius gave a little wave in response. Then Vitellius eased himself from the couch and stood up. ‘Until tomorrow. Enjoy the feast.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tarraco – capital of the Province of Hispania Terraconensis
The city of Tarraco was basking in bright sunshine as the warship passed the mole and entered the harbour. The slower merchant ships carrying the rest of Vitellius’ command would not arrive for a few days yet. Cato stood with Macro in the bow turret and took in the view. It was the first time that either of them had been to Hispania and Cato’s innate curiosity was thrilled by the prospect of discovering this new corner of the empire. The harbour was full of shipping: the rounded sides of cargo ships lined most of the quay, and more vessels were moored alongside, three or four deep, linked by gangways to the land. Gangs of labourers toiled across the vessels, loading and unloading, many bent under the burden of the heavy jars filled with fine olive oil that would be shipped to Italia and the eastern provinces. Meanwhile, fruits, cloth, jewellery and scents were imported from Egypt and Syria. At the far end of the quay was the modest harbour and boatsheds used by the small navy squadron that operated out of Tarraco. The handful of ageing biremes had been crowded to one side by the larger warships and troop transports that had recently arrived from Ostia.
Beyond the warehouses, inns and crowded slums of the harbour a wall encircled the original city, and beyond rose the grey mass of hills stretching into the interior of the province. Tarraco, the largest city in all Hispania, was divided into the lower and upper districts. The latter housed the temple of the imperial cult, which dominated the heart of the city, the huge columns rising above the jumble of tiled roofs to support the pediment on which a relief depicted Roma crowning a figure in a toga, standing in for Claudius, and before him Caligula and Tiberius. Other large buildings were clustered around the temple, including the main forum and the palace of the provincial governor.
A short distance outside the city rose a low earth rampart and palisade containing the neat ranks of goatskin tents erected by the Praetorian cohort that had arrived a few days earlier. Cato and Macro gazed towards the camp with a professional interest, quietly gauging the quality of the men they would be fighting with in the coming campaign.
‘Not bad,’ Macro conceded. ‘But then you’d expect the Praetorians to put on a good show of it. They do bugger-all else but train and show themselves off to the mob.’
Cato nodded as he recalled the time he and Macro had served with the guard on an undercover operation organised by Narcissus. The Praetorians believed themselves to be the elite corps of the Roman army, entrusted with the protection of the Emperor and his family. A former commander of the Praetorians had played a leading role in the assassination of the previous Emperor and Claudius had taken good care to pamper the men of the twelve cohorts ever since. A little silver went a long way towards buying their loyalty, Cato reflected. And a lot of silver bought their fanatical loyalty.
‘They can fight well enough. We saw that early on in Britannia.’
‘True,’ Macro said grudgingly. ‘But I dare say they’ve grown soft in the years since then. Too much good living and not nearly enough hard marching and fighting will ruin even the best soldiers.’ He turned and rested his elbows on the wooden rail of the tower as he looked aft to where Vitellius and several of his companions were sharing a wineskin and talking in a good-natured manner. As men will after safely concluding a voyage across the sea. Fortunately the weather had been kind enough to the passengers aboard the trireme and there had only been one light squall in the eight days it had taken to reach Tarraco. The pitching of the vessel had brought on Cato’s seasickness and he had spent several hours clutching the ship’s siderail, along with some of the other landsmen, vomiting over the side until there was nothing left in their stomachs but bile. Macro, by contrast, had lifted his head to the strong breeze and salty tang and been refreshed by the experience. He had not been heedless of his friend’s suffering, but knew that there was nothing that could be done about it and he left Cato alone to deal with his nausea until the seas were calm again.
Cato’s misery had been compounded by having been confined with Vitellius aboard the ship. He had no trust in the man’s assertion that he had chosen Cato and Macro to serve with him out of regard for their fighting qualities. A man like Vitellius was always scheming the next step of his path to power.
Cato turned his eyes away from the city and followed the direction of Macro’s gaze. ‘Can’t say I am at all comfortable about the prospect of serving with our friend Vitellius again.’
‘Nor me.’ Macro sucked his teeth. ‘He’s a slippery bastard, and he’s got it in for us. We’d best watch our step around him. At least we won’t have to worry too much about the enemy this time out. Bunch of bandits roaming the hills aren’t going to get very far when we pitch up with our Praetorian chums. Strikes me that we’re using a bloody great hammer to crack a walnut.’
‘I hope you’re right . . .’ Cato mused. Then he smiled at himself. He was always thinking the worst of a situation, despite considering himself as more of an epicurean than a stoic. Cato determined to put on a more optimistic face. ‘No, I’m sure you’re right. Hispania has been at peace for the best part of a hundred years. Once we reach Asturica Augusta and put on a show of force, Iskerbeles and his followers will see that the game is up. I dare say that Vitellius will be happy to burn enough villages to the ground to persuade the locals to hand over the ringleaders. It’ll be over before winter.’ Cato scratched his throat. ‘The question is, what do we do next? I don’t fancy being a fixture in the Praetorian Guard. Even with the handouts from the palace, it’ll take many years before I can get enough together to buy another decent house. Thanks to Julia.’
Macro glanced at him in concern. ‘Rough deal, that. I would have thought she was too sensible to get into debt like that. But there’s nothing to be done about it. That Taurus is just like any other bastard money-lender. Bunch of sharks, living off the backs of the rest of us. But you’re right about serving in the Guard. We need to get out of Rome. Find a posting where the enemy’s up for a fight, and loaded with gold, silver and anything else that’s worth looting. That’s my kind of enemy,’ he concluded, fondly.
With a last few strokes of the oars the trireme approached the other warships. The captain shouted the order to ship the blades and the long dripping shafts rose from the sea and rattled inboard. The helmsman carefully gauged the distance to the nearest cluster of warships rafted together and as the trireme lost way he eased the steering oar over and brought the vessel gently round a short distance from a trireme. A handful of sailors was ready to take the ropes cast across the gap and soon the vessel was secured and a gangway lashed into place.
A marine climbed into the tower and saluted Cato. ‘Legate’s compliments, sir. Officers are to join him at once and make for the governor’s palace.’
‘Very well.’ Cato nodded and the man climbed back down the ladder.
‘Wasting no time, then,’ Macro mused. ‘Good. Sooner this is over the better.’
Despite the familiar pace of life in the streets of the provincial capital, the mood in the governor’s palace was markedly strained, from the instant that Vitellius and his party strode into the main hall. No wonder, thought Cato. Nearly three months had passed since the outbreak of the uprising. A large crowd of merchants and local dignitaries was demanding an audience with Publius Ballinus and a handful of clerks were busy holding them back while others took note of their names and the matter they wished to address with the governor. The shouting echoed off the walls and ceiling and Vitellius had to yell over the din to make himself known to the nearest of the clerks.
‘Legate Aulus Vitellius. Just arrived from Rome. I must see the governor at once.’
The clerk looked relieved and nodded. ‘If you’d follow me, sir.’
Those nearest to
Vitellius turned towards him and one pressed forward to block his path. ‘From Rome, sir? You’ve come to deal with the rebels?’
More flocked forward, some looking hopeful, some demanding immediate action, and Vitellius cleared his throat and raised his hands.
‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen, a moment’s calm, if you please.’ He waited as the crowd quietened down and gazed at him expectantly. ‘Rome has heard of your troubles and the Emperor has resolved to do everything in his power to crush the revolt and restore peace. Which is why he sent me, Aulus Vitellius, to do his bidding. I can assure you all that I have the necessary experience, and sufficient men, to hunt down and destroy Iskerbeles and his rabble. You can rest easy on that account, I give you my word. Now, if you please, clear the way and let me through.’
As the crowd began to assail the legate with further questions and demands Macro turned to Cato and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Glad to hear that the Emperor’s finest is on the case. I feel so much safer already.’
Cato was scanning the anxious expressions of the people around them. ‘If this is how things are here in Tarraco, far from the uprising, then I think the situation might be somewhat worse than we’ve been led to believe.’
‘Bollocks. You know what civvies are like. One whiff of a crisis and they could give a headless chicken a run for its money in the flapping stakes.’
Vitellius steadily worked his way through the crowd as he followed the clerk towards a corridor leading off the side of the hall. Two auxiliaries guarded the entrance to the corridor and hefted their spears and shields as the crowd spilled towards them. The clerk and the Roman officers passed into the corridor and the soldiers closed ranks behind them, shoving the locals back. As he followed the others Cato glanced from side to side through the doors of offices and saw that most of the clerks seemed unconcerned as they toiled at their desks. Some, it was true, looked anxious, and others rushed from room to room with waxed slates clutched in their hands. At the end of the corridor was an imposing arch with a large pair of studded oak doors. The clerk gestured to a slave and the latter hurriedly admitted Vitellius and his party and stood to one side with a bowed head as the party of Roman officers in their gleaming breastplates and helmets swept by.
Inside there was an anteroom where two more clerks bent over their desks, piled high with waxed slates and scrolls of various sizes. They jumped up and bowed as soon as they saw the officers.
‘Legate Aulus Vitellius from Rome,’ announced the officers’ escort. ‘Requesting an audience with the governor.’
The older of the two clerks bowed his bald head and rapped sharply on the door between the two desks. A muffled voice responded from the room beyond. ‘Come!’
The clerk opened the door and announced those standing outside as Vitellius puffed his shoulders up impatiently.
‘Send ’em in.’
The clerk stood aside and respectfully gestured towards the entrance to the governor’s office. Vitellius led his officers through, ten men in armour with military boots that made a harsh clatter as they tramped over the tiled floor and across a sizeable chamber towards Publius Ballinus and his advisers. The governor was seated on a large cushioned chair and his closest companions sat on cushioned stools in a loose arc before him. All had discarded their togas in favour of more comfortable tunics, a sign of the seriousness of the discussion taking place before the arrival of the legate and his men. The civilians stood and Ballinus advanced and clasped forearms with Vitellius.
‘Greetings. I cannot tell you how pleased I am – we all are – to see you.’
Vitellius smiled politely. ‘As are we, to make landfall safely. Thanks be to Neptune.’
‘Indeed. Come, be seated, Legate. You and all your officers.’ Ballinus pointed out the spare stools lining the walls on each side and the governor’s advisers shuffled up to make room for them. The governor resumed his seat before it occurred to him to offer some hospitality.
‘I am sorry, would you and your men care for refreshment?’
‘I thank you, but no. We’ve had experience of more than enough liquid over the previous few days.’
The comment lightened the mood and most present smiled. Cato saw the governor’s eyes darting round his guests and then he smiled along with them. A man who went along with the common mood rather than stand above it, Cato reflected.
‘Your arrival is most timely, Legate. We were just discussing how best to deploy the reinforcements.’
‘Oh?’ Vitellius raised an eyebrow. ‘Were you now? And what exactly did you have in mind for me and the men under my command?’
‘It’s obvious, you must march to Asturica at once and crush the heart of the uprising. Crucify every rebel you take alive so no one forgets the terrible price to be paid for defying Rome.’
His advisers nodded emphatically.
‘I see. At once, you say. Me, my comrades here, and the cohort of Praetorians, the one unit I presently have to hand. Against how many men? Do you know how many men Iskerbeles has at his back?’
Ballinus stared back blankly for a moment before he blustered, ‘A few thousand, maybe more, but surely no match for trained soldiers.’
Vitellius scratched his nose. ‘The last report I had, before leaving Rome, was that Iskerbeles has over five thousand spears behind him, and that the number is growing all the time. I dare say he will be even stronger by the time we march to Asturica Augusta. My dear governor, you are inviting me to disaster. Besides, I will make no direct move against the enemy until all my forces have landed, we are adequately provisioned and equipped and ready for the campaign.’
‘And when will that be?’ demanded one of the advisers, a swarthy rotund man with thick curly hair. ‘We’re suffering enough as things are. It’s your duty to get out there and put those rebel bastards down. That’s what we pay our taxes for.’
Vitellius turned to him easily. ‘I’m sorry, but we haven’t been introduced.’
The man glowered and then puffed his cheeks impatiently. ‘Caius Glaecus, chief of the olive traders’ guild.’
‘Well then, Glaecus, as you may be aware, an imperial legate has the authority to requisition all necessary supplies in his theatre of operation. Moreover, he is empowered to compel all citizens to serve under him for the duration of his emergency powers. Now, if you ever speak to me in that manner again I will commandeer every last thing you own, and then I will impress you into the ranks of one of my cohorts and ensure that you get placed in the very front rank of the battle line when we face the enemy. In order to satisfy your enthusiasm to see that the enemy is defeated. How does that sound?’
Glaecus paled, shrank back into himself and looked down at his sandals. Macro could not help a slight smile at the civilian’s discomfort, and a grudging admiration for the smooth manner in which Vitellius had squashed the man’s hubris.
‘In answer to friend Glaecus’ query, I am expecting the rest of my men to join me within the next five days. We should be ready to march in ten days’ time.’
The governor eased himself forward to address the legate. ‘That may be a little too late. Given our most recent report from the area.’ He nodded towards a slender man sitting at the end of his row of advisers and Cato saw that he was covered in dust and grime. He stirred wearily and rose to his feet. Ballinus gestured towards him. ‘This is Gaius Getellus Cimber. One of the town magistrates of Lancia, a provincial town not thirty miles from Asturica Augusta. He escaped from Lancia ten days ago.’
‘Escaped?’ one of the officers muttered.
‘Speak up, Cimber. Tell the legate and these officers what you told us earlier today.’
Cimber drew a deep breath as he collected his thoughts and turned towards Vitellius and his officers. He spoke with a pronounced accent which betrayed his origins at once. He was one of those born into the local tribes who had worked his way into the Roman administ
ration. ‘The rebels took Asturica two days before I left. The survivors of the garrison arrived shortly before the first of the tribesmen pursuing them. They told the story of what happened. The leader of the local senate had boasted that he would lead the militia into the mountains himself and bring Iskerbeles back in chains, or bring his head back at any rate. The senate assumed that the rebels were of no account and no extra precautions were taken to protect Asturica. The survivors claimed that the night watch on the main gate were drunk and they were overwhelmed in an instant. With the gates open, the rebels poured in, began to slaughter the garrison and any Roman citizens or officials associated with the running of the town.’
Vitellius cleared his throat. ‘Asturica is in their hands? Are you certain?’
‘I am only repeating what I was told, sir. Whether the rebels are still there or not is anyone’s guess. But the town has fallen to Iskerbeles.’
‘I see. So what has that to do with the escape that you mentioned?’
Cimber scratched his cheek anxiously. ‘The morning after Asturica’s survivors reached us, the rebels surrounded Lancia. I was sent to raise the alarm and request that forces were sent to relieve the town. I had an escort of six men, on horseback. We left under cover of night, but ran into one of their patrols and had to cut our way through. I, and one other, were the only ones to get away.’
‘And now Lancia is under siege?’
‘I believe so, sir. The rebels were setting up camp outside the walls that evening.’
Cato leaned forward so that Cimber would see him clearly. ‘Can Lancia hold out against a siege? Are the defences sufficient?’
Cimber considered briefly before replying. ‘Lancia has good walls, and we won’t be taken by surprise, as Asturica was.’
Invictus Page 13