Insurgent of Rome

by Ken Farmer

  The men waited for her to gracefully recline on her mat, then the visitor asked, "The good Gnaeus and Titinia, your parentalis - they are ameliorated after their experiences on the island, I trust."

  She gave a wry smile at their visitor. "More than such. At every opportunity, Pater regales his friends with the tales of your audacious treatment of the pirates on the island, giving your disdain as if they were wayward children. I fear that yourself and my husband are cut from the same cloth."

  Caesar snorted over his cup. "Julius would not have been on the island in the first place. Had the putrid reavers selected his ship for easy gain, the men of the Petrel would have consigned their assailants to the depths of Poseidon. Even now their bones would be mouldering on the bottom of the sea." He drank, then continued, "As I have said, it was my evil choice not to have selected a ship of this family for my voyage."

  The evening was a goodsome event for the Domina of the household. She delighted in the presence of a noble from Rome itself, the meal being almost as if on one of the festive days of the year. Caesar himself was well versed in such societal gab, giving and taking as if he had any interest in the conversation - which, he may have had. Of course, it was insisted that their guest use the household of Clavius while he was in Capua, both Liburnia and the Grand Domina absolutely rejecting any idea that he reside at an inn.

  On the morrow, he walked with the two brothers to the Tabularium, being introduced all around and garnering a host of invitations to other noble houses - indeed, the man could have stayed in Capua until the solstice and not have exhausted the offers of feast and bed. But, finally, they gathered around the maps in discussion of the current problems.

  The senior Burgimagister of Capua was pointing across the table with his stick. "The Legate... Praetor Clodius is encamped here... at the approaches to the mountain, and across the only access to the heights. The slaves are settled around the crest, but are in much larger numbers than our last reports have given. By estimation, their leader, Spartissan - whatever his putrid name may be - has gathered almost a thousand followers."

  Another man, the chief Aedilis of the city, in charge of the city watchmen and various units that maintained order in Capua, spoke with confidence, "The Praetor has almost thrice the men, and is well situated to starve the wretches into submission." The man looked around the table with a satisfied expression. "Clodius has given oath to crucify at least half of those that survive, as warning to other slaves who might give thought of rebellion."

  "What is the latest on the situation?" asked another.

  "No word has come since the yesterday eve," said the Burgimagister. "But, the missive rider should arrive any moment."

  "My feet have been seeking salty water for these many days," said Julius suddenly. "I will take the Petrel to Herculaneum and gain a true understanding of what is progressing. The distance across the bay is only about sixty stadia along the bay." Indeed, the towering mountain was easily seen to the south from any part of Neopolis - the most prominent feature on the horizon.

  "Aye," said the Aedilis, with obvious approval. "A noble set of eyes will give us an accurate vision of what is happening. I fear that much of our information is passing through too many mouths, and gaining adjustment from each."

  "If I might make accompaniment with you, Sos." This was Caesar, and looking with surprise as Julius grinned. The Captain had known fully well that the noble Roman would wish to make such a trip, rather than in wait for any news to dribble back from the action.

  "Then, we will depart." To Aulius, he said, "If you will inform Camelia of my journey, and that it involves only observing from a distance, and not a battle with a thousand men..." His brother nodded, and both nobles and the batman of Caesar, Rufus, set out for the stables of the family.

  By midday, they were at the port, giving surprise to the men gathering in the inn for their meals. Densus called all to shorten their repast, as some work would be needed before they could depart. "The sail is on the drying racks, Capitaneus. I was not expecting a voyage..."

  "Nay. There is no blame here. And our voyage will only be the journey to Herculaneum - sixty stadia at the most." Both he and Caesar walked to the ship while the men hurried to reclaim the cloth for the mast, but within the hour, they had pushed away and were in sail to the south. Had this been an actual voyage, Julius would have spent far longer in examining the Petrel for the journey, but the seaside port city of Herculaneum was even closer to Neápolis than Capua. They could have ridden the distance in a few hours, but the ship gave faster pace and a refuge if needed.

  In a few hours they had pulled into a wharf, where Densus sent the new cook-man, Caius, for a modicum of victuals. Laid up between voyages, both water and wine barrels were empty, as well as the food locker. As Julius had no plans for a sea-going expedition, there was no need to fill the emptiness entirely. They would take their meals ashore, here in Herculaneum, but he felt uneasy with a completely unvictualed ship - thus a barrel of fresh water and one of wine would be purchased, and a some hard rations for a few days.

  The family had no agency in either Herculaneum or Pompeii, a short way down the coast. The trivial distance from Neápolis made the need for such office moot.

  Leaving the crew at the wharf, to gain their usual entertainment along the road of the port, the two nobles set foot for the center of the small city, to the single building of the Magistracy. They were accompanied by Rufus and Ngozi, the latter because... Julius could not give the reason, but the black man was a comfort to have at one's back when walking a road never traveled before.

  They were surprised to find a single guard at the door, a man of age and rotundness as to be unfit to give watch on a vendor's stall, and inside only a few clerici and scribes. At a question, one pointed into the distance, "The Comarchus and Magistratus have gone to the soldier encampment, Sos."

  "It would seem that the officials of Herculaneum have made fit to cull out a holiday for their entertainment," said Caesar as they walked the street that led to the base of the mountain. The city was not large, indeed, barely the size of a quarter in Rome, and they were soon in the cultivated farms of the outskirts.

  Julius had seen the mountain all his life, and indeed, on every voyage to and from the south. The prominence of the projection of the earth was such that it could be seen out to sea far beyond the point where the view of the coastline was lost. That it was large, he knew, from his own sight and from his boy-study with Patroclus years ago. But... The mere knowledge, and far vision from the deck of a ship did not accurately give the awesome magnitude of the actual feature of the landscape. Here, on the land and only about a stadium from the beginning of the slope, the mountain loomed over the city. Julius tried to estimate the distance to the top, but without any familiar features to give comparison, he could only guess that it must be a stadium, at least. Then, he saw below the crest, movement of a type, as a flock of sheep, but suddenly the demensions sprang into reality. Those were men he was seeing as specks against the mountainside. The distance suddenly grew dramatically - ten stadia had to be the minimum distance to the peak.

  The walk to the encampment, set at the beginning of the slope of the mountain was only about a single stadium, taking only the piece of the hour to walk, but even as they approached the cantonment, both were wondering if they were in route to a festival in the Forum.

  "By the stinking ventor of Minerva, what is this folly?"

  Julius just shook his head at the exclamation of his companion, in wonderment himself. The camping-ground ahead had no aspect of a military settlement. In the middle was a huge tent, round and with a canopy of red and white fabric, and with streamers flying at the holding poles. Around it were smaller shelters, but certainly not as the simple folded tents of the Legionaries. The size of the grounds that held the myriad of shelters was almost as that of the city from which they had just come.

  By now Caesar was mumbling black oaths to himself, then giving a few that his companion could hear. Then
, quietly he said, "It would appear that this Praetor Clodius, as you have said was his name, may have little experience with men in the field." He looked here and there to the extents of the encampment. "There are not even sentries around the boundary."

  Giving assumption that the grandiose canopy was the headquarters of the Commander, they walked through the maze of smaller tents, seeing that most were not for soldiers, but merchants, apparently come to feed and wine the men-at- arms. Eventually, they came to an open area, in front of the larger tent, that held a crowd of men - nobles and wealthy merchants, without doubt. The number of servants rushing here and there with platters and jugs easily gave that information.

  "I see no one in this mob that has any resemblance to a military officer," muttered the Roman noble. Then, his man Rufus touched his arm, pointing along the side of the shelter. "By the gods, a Centurion. Standing out as a fish in a basket of nuts."

  Threading their way through the tables and chairs and rushing servants, they approached the man with the red armor and pedal skirt of a Legionary. Under his arm was a helmet, but with the red brush of rank. The man saw the approach of the four, instinctively knowing of the status of the two in the lead, and stiffing to attention. Caesar stopped in front of the officer, saying, "I am Gaius Caesar, Commander of the Voluntari under the Consul Lucius Lucullus." He was not giving himself credentials for self-aggrandizement, but to allow the professional soldier to know that he was standing before a senior officer - a necessity since Gaius was not in military garb, but wearing an ordinary tunic on the hot day.

  "Aye, Commander. Cossus Titinius, Centurion of the rank, Princeps Prior, detached from the 6th Legion for duty with Praetor Clodius Glaber."

  "Where is the Commander, Centurion?"

  "Scouting the slope of the mountain, Sos." He pointed vaguely toward the towering summit.

  "Hmmm. What was your last posting, Centurion?"

  "With the Proconsul Cosconius in Eperium against the Dalmatium."

  He meant the war against the Dalmatia, in Greece. And in fact, the soldier had probably been just beyond the walls on the day that Julius and the Petrel had extracted both Melglos and the merchant, Barsa, from the doomed city of Salona. But, it indicated that he was a veteran, not just a man with the red brush of an officer of the Legions.

  "And your current orders, now?"

  There was a hesitation, then, "None of currency, Sos. Merely to stand by and..."

  "Then come with us. I will intercede for your absence should your Command require." The man nodded. "Show us the formation and placement of this... army."

  The five now walked toward the mountain, beyond the confines of the encampment. In both directions they could now see the actual fighting men of this... army, apparently waiting in some measure of camp. A Legion it could not be called - the gods might bring down wrath for the slander of the actual armies of Rome. Any sizable unit of Legionaries, outside of their home encampment, always organized their camps by a strict plan, with tents neatly line in rows, the officers under their own canvases in the center, but nowhere any gaudy pavilions as in the center of this one. Around the entirety of the camp would be a stockade fence, with towers. And sentries. And always, outriding horsemen, not equipped to fight battles, but to give warning of any unfriendly approach.

  "Has any scouting of the mountain been ordered, Centurion?"

  "Not to my knowledge, Sos."

  "Does anyone have knowledge of the terrain?"

  "Aye, Sos. Many of the herders that use the mountain for their flocks have been summoned for query, as well as men of the hunt." A pause, then, "But I was not privy to the reports." He pointed, "There Sos. Comes the Praetor."

  They waited as a unit of horsemen approached, at least twenty or more, and with the noble leader at the front. Julius wondered if the man would just ride past, but apparently the presence of the Centurion gave indication that the two were not just tradesmen from the city, come to gawk over a battlefield.

  The Praetor pulled his steed to a halt, lifting his ivory baton in greeting. "Ho, Titinius. Who is your escort?"

  Before the officer could reply, noble Roman returned the question. "I am Gaius Caesar, of Rome and assigned as Commander of the under the Consul Lucius Lucullus."

  Taken somewhat aback, the horseman asked, "Rome has sent you to Herculaneum?"

  "Nay, Commander. I was merely arranging my travels with a shipping merchantry in Capua, when I heard of the pending action against the rebellious slaves. My presence here is entirely for my own edification."

  The man threw off his apparent suspicion of a meddler come to gain glory at his expense, asking, "And your companion would be..."

  "The noble Julius Clavius of Capua, master shipowner and supreme strategist on the sea." Julius kept his grin to himself, as Gaius continued, "We come to watch the destruction of the rebels."

  "Excellent," boomed the Praetor. "I fear that there will little glory in the decimation. I would rather have a legitimate foe for my sword, but the putrid scum will give us goodly play for our iron. Come to my tent for the meal and we will discuss the impending action."

  The five men moved aside to let the group of horse pass, then followed the short distance to the gaudy tent. Inside, it was as ostentatious as the outside. Multicolored draperies curtained off the bulk of it, but the front 'room' was very large and furnished with tables and chairs for thirty, at least. The Praetor disappeared for a while to doff his gleaming armor, no doubt. During the wait, servants began to place... nay, to pile victuals and viands along the table, as the chattering group of nobles and staff officers moved to wait for the indication to sit. All had cups in their hands, and the chatter was enough that Julius could barely separate the conversations.

  Finally, the gabble ceased as their host appeared, now in the full toga of a nobleman. Still with his gayly booming voice, he waved all to sit, pointing at both Julius and Gaius. "There. Sit at the head and we can converse."

  Julius had little need for food, merely picking at a slice and that piece to give the illusion of eating. Rather, he was examining the men at the table. The nobles he could disregard. They were merely among for the excitement, to become the center of conversation at the fetes and festivals for the next month. Such was not unusual - even the veteran Legions usually had a retinue of important nobles in attendance, and as impossible to be rid of as a dog of fleas. But, the staff officers were pretend soldiers. Julius could see of most that their primary weapon, the gladius, was made for parades and appearances - blades gilded or silvered, the hilts wrapped in fine golden cord with dangling tassels of uselessness, and held in gold-layered and scrollworked scabbards that would weigh thrice that of the leather sheath of a real soldier. Even the ornate pugionis in the belts could have been compared to the ceremonial daggers in the court of King Antioch.

  "...the slaves have trapped themselves on the mountain. I give them two days before their thirst brings them down to beg for mercy."

  "What is to prevent them from escaping down the far side?" asked Caesar.

  A staff officer waved a bone in his direction. "Nay, Commander. Mons Vesuvius has nothing but chasms and cliffs on the eastern slopes. It would take a baboon from Numidia to descend, and even it might find such to be impossible."

  "Then you have scouted the mountain, entire?"

  Another spoke. "Not necessary. We have many flock-herders and meat-hunters that have familiarity with the land, on the slopes and even far beyond the mountain. All have assured us that no descent exists."

  Now the Praetor spoke, putting down his cup. "Of course, they could try to descend the flanks on either side of the single path, but the mountain there is like the dunes of the southern coast, except instead of sand, it is made of fine pebbles. A man trying to climb loses nine parts of ten for every step, and to descend, one misstep means that he will indeed reach the bottom, but as a rolling boulder."

  Now Julius spoke. "If the mountain is an obvious trap, then why do you think the slaves have taken it fo
r refuge?"

  Now the Praetor shrugged. "Who can give the thoughts of an ignorant slave? They know they are doomed. What matter where their final hours are spent?"

  "Your men are halved in their wait, on either side of the path. It is your plan to envelope the rebels should they descent with intent to fight?"