I had other priorities, naturally. I brought Tullia her toasted bread and demanded an explanation.
“Really, Aulus, it’s quite simple,” she answered, “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out. Brennus was one of the Celtic Ambassadors, as you know, here about the lawsuit they were pleading. Well, Catiline approached him and promised he would help them in their dispute, if they would help the conspiracy. They were thinking about it, but Brennus judged that Catiline would fail.”
“A smart move,” I remarked.
“Luckily – for us, at least!” Tullia said. “But he couldn’t speak directly to my father, because some of the other Ambassadors were very cautious, and he had doubts about father. And father had doubts about him. We knew all about the letter. Father thought it was a trick, but I believed Brennus was honest. He was the one who convinced the conspirators to write it the letter and to sign it. But then how could we get at it? Once Volturcius had it, he wouldn’t even let Brennus touch it. We didn’t know when Volturcius would try to deliver it. That’s where you came in.”
I see.
“Well, thanks to my plan, and to Fulvia, and to Fulvia’s friend, and to your slave, you were able to testify to the Judges, and now you know the rest.”
“I still think you could have told me,” I said.
“And I still think I couldn’t have,” she replied, but she smiled.
Soon breakfast ended, and I gave the word to put out the cooking fires and make ready to ride back. As we were packing, however, the Druid shielded his eyes from the sun and gave a cry. “Spurinna! I think there are soldiers moving on the road there. Do you see the dust?”
He was right; but we were still wondering what it could mean when a man rode up at full gallop. He reined in where I was standing with the sergeant and Tullia, and he saluted. I saw he was in uniform.
“Where is Flaccus?” he asked. “I have orders for Flaccus from the Consul Antonius.”
The sergeant told him Flaccus had fallen out, and I was now in charge.
“You?” cried the messenger, but the sergeant seemed about to strike him so he added hastily, “Yes, of course. Spurinna from Etruria, you say? Very good. Well, sir, the Consul Antonius is marching today, sir, against Catiline. And we are short of cavalry, sir, so he requests politely that Flaccus and the – that is, that you and the cavalry will join him at the fourth milestone from the city. Immediately, sir.”
“We can do that,” I said; and raising my voice I addressed the men. “Soldiers, the Consul is marching against the traitor Catiline. We ride to join him. We ride to battle. Are you with me?”
Despite their lack of sleep, they were keen. One anonymous voice called out from the back, “We’re with you! We ride with Spurinna!”
I turned to the Druid. “Brennus,” I said, “you’ve heard. Your Celts will have to escort Volturcius back the way you came.”
At this the Druid cleared his throat and said, “That would be well. Yet the captain has asked me to tell you, Spurinna, that his warriors would prefer to accompany you to battle. Indeed, they beg you to allow them to come. They are rather fierce,” he added quietly, “and they get restless without a battle every few months.”
“Do they?” I replied. “Well, let them come. But you’re staying?”
“I should return and explain the situation to Cicero,” he answered. “We have never trusted one another fully, but this man Homer will come with me, if you allow it. He is known to the Consul, and can produce the letter of proof and describe our good deeds. And perhaps the Consul’s daughter will come with us?”
“Brennus, you are not serious!” said Tullia. “I wouldn’t miss a battle for the earth!”
Tullia was as sad as I was to see Homer go, riding beside the Druid with Volturcius firmly between them. Homer had given the prisoner his donkey and taken Volturcius’ horse in exchange. In one hand he grasped the letter with the conspirators’ signatures, and in his new toga pouch lay his certificate. Half a dozen Celtic warriors made up the party.
“See you soon, sir!” cried Homer, turning back. “Half a month at most, I think!”
“Say hello to Pantolemos, won’t you?” I called.
“‘Say hello? I’m going to rub his nose in it for days!” He smiled as he and the Druid turned round a bend, taking the road to Rome.
For our part, we were ready to ride, and the trumpeter sounded the signal to move out. Though they must have been as tired as I was, the men were in high spirits. It appeared that the five riders whom Flaccus had first put under my command now considered themselves my bodyguard, and they rode beside us. The good feeling between cavalry and Celts continued, I saw, as we made our way in good order toward the fourth milestone. This lay to the south, for the army was not taking the Mulvian Bridge across the river but rather the main bridge, which Homer and I had crossed on our first day in the city.
Still, it was noon by the time we reached the main body of the army – an amazing number of armed men to see in one place at one time. I had thought our fifty riders and fifty warriors were a strong force; but there were several thousands already in the camp, and more coming up from Rome. Not many riders, however: they were mostly on foot, with spears and shields. Tullia rode off to pay her respects to friends, so I left my troop with the sergeant and went to find the Consul, Antonius.
“You must not refer to Cicero as ‘the Consul,’” I reminded myself several times as I approached Antonius’ large white tent. “In this army Antonius is the Consul, and he’s probably jealous of Cicero, so be careful.”
“Spurinna?” came a voice from inside, and I straightened my red cloak. But it seemed the voice was not addressing me, though it did belong to Antonius. “Who’s this Spurinna? I thought it was going to be young Flaccus. Didn’t he command this troop? He’s that Judge’s nephew, after all.”
“Spurinna’s from Etruria, sir,” said another voice, a staff officer. “He may be useful when we get there. Also, a friend of the other Consul’s. Flaccus fell ill yesterday.”
“Very well. Go find him.”
The staff officer emerged from the tent, an intelligent middle-aged man who clearly knew his duty. I introduced myself, and he showed me in.
“Ah, Spurinna,” said Antonius when he saw me. I had expected him to be dressed just like Cicero, but he was in military uniform, a big man sitting on a small stool. I saw he was sizing me up and looking a bit skeptical about my age. “Good to meet you. You’re young, eh? But I understand Cicero thinks highly of you.”
I agreed modestly, though the fact was that Cicero had not foreseen my leading a hundred cavalry: I had just been sent to protect Tullia. But I did not mention this point.
“Popular man, Cicero,” Antonius sniffed. “Nice to have him for a Protector, eh? Myself, I just wanted to reach the Consulship like my father and my grandfather did. Were any of your ancestors ever Consul?” he asked sharply.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to ask my grandson that, sir,” I replied.
“Will I, now? Well, I’ll do that,” Antonius answered, somewhat taken aback. “Now, Spurinna, to business. We’re marching to deal with this Manlius, and Catiline too, as you know. It’s fortunate that we found you, because we’re short on cavalry. How many riders have you got?”
“Fifty, sir. But we also picked up fifty Celts on horseback this morning, and they were so keen to join us that I thought it was worth it to double our force.”
“Fifty Celts, eh? And can you guarantee their loyalty?”
“Yes, sir. Good fighters, too.”
“Yes. So, a hundred. That’s good. That’s very good. It means a lot in this ramshackle – that is, in this particular army.” His opinion of me seemed to be rising: perhaps I was more valuable than I looked. “You shall be the horse reserve, alright? No scouting for you, and you may not see action, but that’s what a reserve is for. Just keep up to the headquarters.”
“Very good, sir.”
The next few days showed that keeping up to the h
eadquarters was no difficult thing. The army was marching into Etruria, taking the same road Homer and I had followed a month before on our way to Rome. But what had taken us five days in the rain now took fifteen. Antonius had three legions, hastily raised by himself and Cicero when it was decided to carry the war to Manlius. They were men from the city, mostly, without experience. The veteran legions had been recalled from the East, but it could take months for them to reach Italy.
Furthermore, we had different reports about where Manlius and Catiline now were. At first we thought they were staying in Etruria, but then the scouts said they were making straight for Rome, and we spent two days getting into a defensive position near Lake Volsinium, just by the inn where the young man tried to take my wallet. Then they said this was wrong, and Manlius was moving north – he had reached the border of Gaul, they said, but had run into the Roman army there and had doubled back, returning to Etruria. In any case we kept marching north, though my own troop did not have much to do. The December rain soaked us night after night.
I had not seen Antonius in seven days when he summoned me, after a long march, to the Consul’s tent one evening. The sun was dropping to the horizon, but from the knoll where the tent was pitched I could see that we were not very far from my own valley; we had passed through Faesulae that morning. I had ridden in to see my old school, but the whole town was deserted. Perhaps that was for the best. In my cavalry uniform I didn’t look much like the student I had been only months before, whose grasp of Greek grammar had always made my teacher frown. And the teacher might have started begging this fierce young officer to spare the building and the scrolls, which would have been very embarrassing.
“Ah yes, young Spurinna,” said Antonius when I entered his tent. He looked more tired now as he sat behind a makeshift desk, which was covered with maps. “How are you? A cup of wine, there, for this young man. And for me.” He stared at the maps and frowned. “I understand you’re from Etruria, Spurinna.”
“I am, sir. I grew up not very far from these parts, two miles north. My house is there.”
“Just so, just so. Well, come with me.”
Antonius rose heavily and pushed me gently out the flap of the tent, leading me to the top of the high ground.
“You may not realize it, young man, but Manlius’ army is in front of us, and we know that Catiline is with him!” Antonius’ eyes shone as he conveyed this information; it was plain that he wanted to defeat them and share some of Cicero’s glory.
“Where, sir?” I asked.
“On the far side of this valley, in the woods. You’ll see the fires when it gets dark. I’m giving the men a chance to rest from the march tonight, but tomorrow we fight!” He savored the idea for a moment, and then pointed down the valley. “I want to ask you about the river there,” he began.
“River?” I said, following his finger. “Oh, sir, it’s no river, except in the spring. Nothing but a stream, if that, at this time of year. That’s just the light glinting.”
“So men could cross it? In armor?”
I assured him they would have no trouble.
“Good,” he said. “Now the next thing. The ridge behind them. Do you see the one I mean?”
“Yes, sir. Around here we call it the Crow’s Drop.”
“Indeed? And can they cross it? You see it’s just behind them. Would it block Manlius’ retreat?”
“It would block it, sir, unless they had ropes for every man, or they knew how to climb pretty well.”
“Better and better,” said Antonius. “Now they just have the road to fall back on, where it winds south there to the left. Thank you, Spurinna. Now, another cup?”
I thanked him, but asked if I might have no more for now. I also asked if there was any chance of a battle tonight.
“Tonight? In the dark? Quite impossible,” he chuckled. “It would be chaos. Set your mind at ease about that. But come dawn,” he said, looking serious, “come dawn, we fight.”
I made my way back to my troop, where the sergeant already had them cooking their dinner. The Celts were positively celebrating, for news was spreading that Manlius was near. Their captain gave me a low bow, said something in Celtic, and shook his spear. I grinned and nodded.
Tullia was sitting off by herself, wrapped in her cloak against the wind.
“Hello there,” I said, “I just spoke with Antonius. There’s going to be a battle tomorrow.”
“So I heard,” she said. “And I’m happy to hear it. This marching back and forth day after day gets very boring.”
“Would you like to march a bit more tonight?” I asked. “I’m going to go pay a visit up in the valley. It’s not that far a ride, though we have until dawn. My house is there.”
“Your house? I had no idea we were near it. Of course I’d like to see your house, Aulus,” she said, springing up and running for her saddle. My unofficial bodyguard had overheard us, and they too hurried for their horses.
“It’s not much,” I insisted, as we left the camp and trotted up the lane of cypress I knew so well. “Just an ordinary place with farms, you know. A bit old-fashioned.”
“I’m sure it’s paved with old Roman virtues,” Tullia answered. “You’re far too modest, Aulus.”
Dusk was falling. But I was surprised, as we rode onto our land and began to pass the tenants’ cottages, to notice there were no lights flickering in the windows. The fields looked untidy, as though they had been harvested very hastily; and we saw no farmers standing in the common vegetable plot, gossiping as they liked to do in the evening. The land looked deserted.
We reached the front of the lane that led to our house. There was no one at the gate. But we did see a candle flickering in the slaves’ quarters, and in the air was a faint smell of beans baking. I dismounted, leaving Tullia and the horsemen in the courtyard, and walked up to see what was going on.
“Who is it?” came a rough voice from inside, in answer to my knock.
“It’s me, Aulus!” I called. “Open up, will you?”
The door was swung open, slowly and cautiously. Inside I saw one of our tenants eyeing me with mistrust, a lighted lamp in one hand and his pitchfork in the other.
“Why, so it is!” he exclaimed, lowering the sharp prongs. “It’s Master Aulus, back from Rome! Call the mistress, girl! It’s Master Aulus!”
I stepped inside, as lamps appeared in the doorways. The hall was full of people, mostly women from the farms, all staring at me with open-mouthed surprise. And soon there came a clatter of feet, and Aunt Hercna herself was there in the kitchen doorway.
“Aulus!” she cried, rushing up and throwing her arms around me. “You’re back! I can’t believe it! Where have you been?”
We held each other’s arms, and stared at each other. She seemed older than before my uncle died, as though she had aged far more than a month while I’d been gone. Her voice had a rasp to it that I did not recognize.
“Yes, it’s me!” I said, and we laughed. “But tell me, what’s going on here? No lights at the farmers’ places, and a pitchfork welcome at the door! Is it a plague?”
My aunt didn’t answer at first, but led me to a chair and sat opposite. Then she told me everything: how Manlius had become more aggressive after I left, insulting her openly, and laughing at her threats. It seemed he had a lot more men now, and the farmers didn’t dare say anything – she didn’t dare, even – when they appeared as the harvest was ready and took all the grain. “To feed that big camp he’s got, Aulus,” she said with a mixture of sadness and anger. “And they took everything – even the barley! He stripped the fields!” The farmers had fled to the house, which Manlius had not dared to attack just yet; but why would he even bother? They had been left there to starve, no threat to his plans for now.
“But did you see him?” my aunt asked at last. “Did you see the Consul Cicero? After you left, I said to myself: It’s no use to have sent a boy off like that, it’s hopeless to think the Consul of Rome … I should never have let yo
u go, Aulus. But why were you gone so long? We were sure you were dead, killed on that dangerous road to the city.”
“I’m alive,” I confirmed with a smile.
“And where is Homer?” she continued. “Did he bother you much? You haven’t lost him, have you?”
“No, no,” I said. “I sent him off. I freed him.”
“Freed him?” she cried. “Oh, but, Aulus, how could you do that? Think of the money! We can’t afford to free a valuable slave like Homer. How will we pay for your school now? Oh, if only your uncle …” She began to weep quietly.
Just then a man rushed in, one of the household slaves.
“They’re here!” he cried. “Manlius is here! Not many with him, but they’re on horses and they’ve got spears! Six of them, in the courtyard!”
Suddenly real panic gripped the hall, and a lamp smashed on the floor as people hurried to gather their families.
“No, no!” I exclaimed. “Be calm, please! Listen now, it’s not Manlius, it’s just my bodyguard. I’ll go get them.”
“Your bodyguard?” said my aunt, looking up from her chair.
“Yes, here they are,” I continued, as the men walked in, followed by Tullia. “Look, it’s not Manlius at all, it’s me.” The men saluted my aunt, and Tullia waved politely.
“Aulus,” said my Aunt, “have you gone and joined the cavalry?”
“No, I haven’t. It’s just temporary. We’re here with the army, with Antonius.”
“Aulus is commanding the cavalry reserve, madam,” put in Tullía.
“The cavalry reserve …? Commanding …? I don’t understand,” said Aunt Herena. “You’ll have to explain. Sit down again. And who is this young lady?” she asked, indicating Tullia.
“Oh, this is Tullia. She’s the Consul’s daughter, and we couldn’t get rid of her. Say hello, Tullia.”
“The Consul’s daughter!” my aunt nearly shrieked. “Good heavens, forgive me, please, please sit down here. I had no idea. Aulus, really, how can this be?” Poor Aunt Hercna was gravely flustered, pained perhaps at the lack of food fit to offer a guest, and she began summoning the cook and servants.
The Roman Conspiracy Page 11