“Somewhat of an obscure posting for such a man, the garrison of Luca,” Tertius commented.
“You could say so, Tribune Fuscus, but it’s a quiet life and perhaps he knows the Lady Fortuna will never again smile on him like she did that day.”
Centurion Lentus approached Lucius one morning. He saluted briskly.
“I believe I have a man in the eighth century who can out-throw Otto with a javelin, sir.”
“Do you now? I’ll go and find him.”
As he walked across the parade ground with Otto at his side, Tertius asked him what was going on.
“A javelin contest sir, you might like to watch.”
Lentus stood at the end of the range with a knowing smile on his face. A brawny legionary with powerful sloping shoulders stood next to him. Lucius looked the legionary up and down; the man was composed, eager to show off his prowess.
“Centurion Lentus, this is hardly fair. I believe you have been training your man for months while Otto has not picked up a javelin since we left last autumn….”
Otto laughed, picked up the nearest weapon and hefted it in his right hand. He took half a step and launched it with a roar as it left his grasp. The javelin whistled through the air, arced high over the target and stuck quivering, six foot up the palisade wall fifteen paces beyond it.
The new contender Lentus had proposed looked disappointed; he was never going to best that throw.
Lentus saluted. “I believe we should call it a day, sir,” he said, his face expressionless.
“Don’t be downcast, soldier” Lucius told the legionary on whom Lentus had pinned his hopes. “Otto is a foot taller than you and he’s still growing, as far as I can make out. The only thing that will beat him is an artillery bolt thrower.”
They smiled at the quip and any ill-feeling was avoided.
Tertius noted another example of how easily Lucius related to the men. He would never have thought to address the legionary directly. He knew he was too stiff, too firmly upper-class to be able to do so freely. And he also had the intelligence to know that he should not try. He would content himself with being an active and thorough officer and hope the legion would come to appreciate him for those qualities.
The arrival of Tertius had changed the dynamic in the legion officer corps. Before his appointment, Lucius had direct access to the legate and took his orders from him. Now he fell under the command of Senior Tribune Tertius Julius Fuscus. Tertius was careful not to throw his weight about but he had to impose himself on the legion. It was not an easy path for him to tread, particularly since all the officers and men knew this was his first tour of border duty. Lucius was mindful of the legate’s words when he and Tertius had been introduced and showed the newcomer unwavering support. This was noticed but did not alter the fact that some of the senior centurions were undecided about the new tribune. In their eyes, only battle showed a man for what he was.
Lucius spent more of his time than ever with Cestus Valens and the artillerymen. He had developed his mathematics and expertise to the extent that his comments were now taken seriously. He also kept close contact with Centurion Corvo and his mixed force of archers and slingers. He could not handle a sling, no matter how hard he tried but he became more than competent with a bow. If he should ever be demoted, he could take his place among the archers as the equal of most of them, though below the best. Tertius disapproved of an officer working alongside the men while dressed in an old tunic, dismantling and greasing a catapult. He had been trained to believe that such behaviour was prejudicial to discipline. With some vague idea of mentioning to Lucius that his appearance and actions were inappropriate, he went across to where he stood with Valens, head bent over a bench studying a wax tablet covered with triangles and scribbled figures. In spite of himself, Tertius was intrigued.
“It’s always the same calculation, sir,” Valens explained. “Weight of missile, tension on the rope sinews, maximum range possible.”
“Can you not simply twist the ropes tighter?” he suggested.
“Ah, well, then we bring in the other consideration; the structural strength of the weapon, sir; too much tension and it will rip itself apart,” Lucius informed him.
“But if we….” Tertius went on and was surprised to find that a full half hour had gone by while they discussed the intricacies of hurling death up into the air to rain down on an enemy.
“Do you think it is necessary to labour alongside the men and out of uniform, Tribune Longius?” he asked at last.
“But if I don’t know how these machines should be assembled and maintained, sir, how will I know if the men are doing it properly?”
Tertius smiled. “Therefore, it is necessary, tribune and you are to be commended for your attention to detail, as are you Cestus Valens.”
“Thank you, sir,” Cestus replied. “We like to pretend that our knowledge of geometry excuses our sometimes less than officer-like appearance.”
The Second Lucan trained its recruits, exercised its infantry, maintained its fortifications and showed the flag. Sorties in strength along the banks of the Rhine or into the forest were always dangerous but an essential activity. The sight of Roman power should kill any rebellion in the egg. Largely speaking, it did.
On the last day of May, the second cohort, supported by sixty of Corvo’s mixed missile troops and commanded by Tribune Tertius Julius Fuscus left the Porta Principia Dextra to patrol the Roman bank of the Rhine for a distance of fifty miles upstream. Prefect Aldermar had seconded three scouts to the mission. Quadratus ordered Lucius to take part.
“You can have a look at Centurion Corvo’s men in the field, Boxer, make sure they are in good form,” the legate had said but they both knew that Lucius was also there to back up Tertius in case things went badly.
Since Lucius was marching, or rather riding, Otto was at his side; he would be of use in translating for the scouts. Lucius offered his two-mule cart to Tertius since it was small and light enough to go where the supply wagons could not. Passer demanded to drive it. When he was told he could not, he looked so despondent that Otto thought an explanation was necessary.
“You are not a warrior and the mules and drivers are the first targets that raiders aim for.”
“What is the use of being free if I can never do anything of my own will?” he said.
So Tertius rode out at first light with five hundred and forty men, accompanied by twenty mules carrying entrenching tools, sharpened poles for the basic structure of a palisade and food supplies; and one cart loaded with extra food, arrows and slingers’ bullets driven by a thirteen-year-old boy.
“Your slave does not lack courage,” Tertius said to Lucius pointing at the grinning Passer, high up on the driver’s seat.
“He’s not a slave, sir. He demanded to come along because he’s now a free man.”
Tertius looked askance. “Your domestic arrangements are unique, Lucius,” he remarked.
Five abreast with the transport mules dispersed along the length of the column, they passed out of the bright May sunshine into the gloom of the forest. They planned to follow a route they had used previously which took them forty miles as the crow flies from the camp and five miles inland of the river. The disadvantage was that it was ripe for ambush, since they were known to have made use of it. The scouts ranged ahead and, on either flank, constantly criss-crossed each other’s paths on the hunt for any sign of danger. The legionaries were all on high alert, their tension almost palpable. But there was also an advantage in following this previous way through the endless monotony of trees. The track had been beaten down and was easy to follow. Overnight halting places were quickly cleared; in the two years since the legion had been this way, saplings had grown up in the clearings where they had spent the night but they were easily cut down and added to the palisade.
Tertius ordered fires to be lit. “Inevitably, we are being watched. They all know where we are, so there is no reason for the men not to have the comfort of some warmth a
nd light.”
The only incident that occurred was early one morning when a wild pig and half a dozen of her litter rushed across their path. Some of the soldiers asked permission to hunt them down. Tertius refused.
“For all we know, they have been chased in front of us by the Germans for that very reason. Fifty paces to the side of our column, you men would be out of sight and ready to have your throats cut.”
Mid-morning on the third day, they turned to the east and broke out of the overhead canopy by early afternoon. They felt the sun on their faces and the sight of the blue dotted with white clouds above them as a blessing. There was something about being constantly surrounded by trees on all sides with the canopy of their tangled branches overhead which was profoundly depressing to the spirits of the legionaries. They angled towards the river and came in sight of it late in the afternoon. They made camp. There was the danger that they would relax now that the back of their march was broken but Tertius anticipated that. He trebled the sentries
“We can see little in the forest and are more vulnerable in the open. One is as bad as the other. We cannot drop our guard.”
They now travelled with the Rhine on their right flank and the skirts of the forest on their left. The scouts surged in and out of the trees constantly on the move; if there were to be trouble, it would most likely come in a screaming rush from between the pines. Their track was wide and free of undergrowth. It was regularly used by civilian traffic going up and downstream. The day passed. They broke at midday to rest men and animals and then resumed with the sun at its zenith. In the late afternoon a treeless hill came into view ahead of them. It was about one hundred and fifty feet high, its steep sides yellow with flowering gorse bushes and a crown of bramble, furze and alder on its summit. The track bent around it so that the hill lay between the soldiers and the river. As they came nearer, Lentus made his way up to Tertius and Lucius at a brisk pace. He fell into step beside their horses and saluted.
“An optio reports one of his men thinks he saw movement near the top of that hill, sir.”
Tertius began to turn his head to look at it but noticed Lucius was studiously avoiding looking in that direction and stopped.
“Nothing from the scouts?” he inquired.
“No sir, but they’re all in the forest.”
“I see. Centurion, how many men do you think could hide in that thicket up there?”
“Dunno, maybe a couple of hundred…” Lentus suggested.
“I think more. I think they could have a force up there that would equal our own, or no-one at all.”
“We could cut inland, sir….”
“Rome does not move aside for a few barbarians, let alone the suspicion that some of them may be nearby….”
“Sir, if we...Boxer…” Lentus pleaded, suddenly afraid that this untried officer was going to lead them into a trap.
Lucius’ voice rang out like a hammer striking an anvil.
“Centurion Lentus, you forget yourself. The noble Senior Tribune Tertius Fuscus commands here. Address yourself to him.”
Lentus pulled himself to a taut attention then bowed his head briefly.
“My pardon sir, I intend no disrespect.”
“I am glad to learn it. Now, centurion, if I may finish what I was saying. We do not move aside but we alter our dispositions according to the circumstances. Prepare to adopt a marching box formation eight men broad, two ranks deep. Put the transport animals in the centre. The rear ranks to face forward but to be ready to about turn if necessary. Get Corvo.” He came running up. “String your bows and ensure you all have sufficient ammunition. Fall-in on either side of the transport to protect it. On your own initiative, deploy your men where they will be of most use if we come under attack. Lentus, halt the column and carry out the manoeuvre, quick as you like.”
Orders were shouted, whistles blown and in a very short time with an immense clatter of shields and weapons the caterpillar of men and animals had turned itself into a mobile fortress. They reached the foot of the hill and heard a roar of frustrated rage and anguish from the top of it.
Four hundred warriors had lain concealed in the brambles and thorny scrub for two days. They had held their collective breath, as the Romans’ scouts had ridden around them jabbing their lances into the tangle. But the cover was too thick for them to enter on horseback. The ambushers’ reward for enduring the cold night and the days lying still, always with a thorn sticking into them somewhere, was to see their enemy come into view, wary and prepared to fend off an attack. If they had been able to hurtle down on the cohort while it was in line of march, they would have had a more than even chance of fragmenting it and cutting the scattered groups of legionaries to pieces. But with the formation Tertius had adopted, the odds of success were loaded heavily against them. Scores of men erupted out of the dense cover but they did not attack. Promising the Romans destruction on another day at the top of their voices, brandishing spears and axes, they drifted away down the far hillside and upstream to vanish into the forest. Thirty or so young warriors desperate to make a name for themselves and a few older fanatics who should have known better, made a ragged charge at the Roman flank. They were repulsed with heavy losses. Many more were brought down by lead bullets and arrows fired by Corvo’s men as they tried to scramble back up to safety. It had been a disaster for the Germans.
A dozen legionaries had received minor cuts and grazes. Tertius pointed to the top of the hill.
“Good place to camp, I think.”
In the morning they dragged the enemy corpses to the summit and flung them into the undergrowth before setting fire to anything which would burn. The wind was behind them and they marched for several hours with the smell of smoke in their nostrils.
In camp once more, Lucius was invited to drink some wine in Tertius’ quarters. The Senior Tribune raised his cup.
“To you in thanks for backing me up when it mattered.”
Lucius laughed politely. “It was nothing, chain of command and all that but you now have the undying loyalty of the second cohort forever.”
“Why?” Tertius demanded.
“Because of taking that hill and turning it into a funeral pyre; that smoke will have been seen for thirty miles in every direction. The soldiers like the way you, “showed ‘em what we’re all about.” They will follow you anywhere. But as far as the Germans are concerned, congratulations on becoming perhaps the most hated Roman officer on the Rhine.”
They drank more of Tertius’ best Falernian wine and began to talk more intimately.
“Why the fascination with artillery?” Tertius asked.
Lucius sighed. “My promotion prospects are not good. The artillery is far from glamorous, as you pointed out when we were dismantling that catapult, but if I master the skills, there is the vague possibility of an appointment to a general’s staff as a master of artillery. You heard the legate when we first met. I shall never lead a legion; politics. Thank you grandfather,” he said and raised his cup in mock salute.
Tertius pulled his stool closer and leaned forward, speaking intently in a low voice.
“You are not alone in having troublesome ancestors Lucius. My own grandfather was a rabid supporter of Pompeius Magnus against the divine Julius Caesar. He was on Pompey’s staff in the Civil War and about to embark for Greece with his legions when he had the good sense to drop dead before his ship sailed. My father was a very young officer who took the chance to desert, word of it got out and hundreds joined him on a desperate march to Rome. He threw himself on Caesar’s mercy and the fact that he had a cohort of experienced soldiers with him no doubt helped him get his pardon. So, I have a grandfather who was willing to take up arms against Caesar and a father who was a celebrated deserter. No-one really trusted him afterwards, no matter how much they praised him for joining the “right” side.”
“But you have been able to rise to your present rank, in spite of all that,” Lucius said.
“Yes, because my family remai
ned in Rome and kept their money. Rome is where the decisions are made, not in some provincial city. And the money buys influence and pays for favours granted…”
“Grandfather lost all ours, or rather it was confiscated. He was a dedicated Antonian and when Marcus Antonius went to Egypt that was the end for us in Rome. Fortunately, my grandmother’s people had property in Luca which has stayed in the family” Lucius told him.
“Your family owned a house in Rome?” Tertius enquired.
“Yes, on the Esquiline Hill, I believe.”
“And what was your grandfather called?”
“Taurius Vitius Longius, my father is Vitius Lucius Longius and you know who I am.”
“Would you mind if I make a note of these names?”
Lucius was doubtful but did not want to offend his senior officer and possible new friend by refusing. Tertius understood.
“Lucius, those were troubled times, to say the least. The stories that come down through families are often a false version of what actually happened. I have a younger brother who is beginning to make his way in the court system. He could make discreet enquiries on my behalf. Let me write to him, perhaps some good may come of it.”
Lucius shrugged. “I don’t want you to waste your time but thank you for the offer. Please let your brother loose on the records.”
“Good, then here’s to the rehabilitation of the noble Longius family!”
The clinked wine cups and drained them together.
Chapter 22
While Lucius and Tertius were laying the foundations of a future friendship, First Spear Centurion Titus Attius and Centurion Lentus, leader of the second cohort, stood side by side on the walkway gazing out over the silent landscape. The Rhine reflected a metallic glow by the light of the rising moon. As it climbed higher in the sky, the cleared area around the camp resolved into the long black shadows of tree stumps interspersed with brilliant patches flooded with such bright moonlight that all colour was bleached from the ground. The two men were cloaked against the damp chill of the night air. The sentries had moved away, leaving the officers room to talk in private.
Knight of Rome Part I Page 24