Knight of Rome Part I

by Malcolm Davies

  Chapter 23

  Not all the native inhabitants in their area of operations were hostile. The makeup of the population had changed beyond belief since Caesar’s conquest. Whole tribes had been annihilated; either slaughtered or enslaved and their towns razed to the ground. Others had sought terms after realizing that they could never drive out the Roman invaders. Some fled across the Rhine. It had been ethnic cleansing on a grand scale, reducing the total population by more than half. The wars had been over for forty years and more, now people were coming back. The ragged remnants of once numerous tribes were beginning to group together to form new societies, sometimes with peoples their ancestors had fought for generations. The Euberones had been wiped off the face of the earth as far as the Romans knew but some had survived. They and others had joined the Tungri which was a growing force.

  And there had been those peoples whose leaders had seen not only the futility of opposing Rome but the advantages to be had from allying themselves with these powerful interlopers from the south. Among them were the Treverii. They had made and broken peace with Rome several times but eventually entered into a treaty that had lasted. In recognition of this, Caesar had presented a gold medallion bearing his bull symbol to the king of the Treverii. On his father’s death this treasure had been passed to his son, King Gebhardus,.

  On the tenth day of June, three warriors emerged from the eastern forest edge and made their way to the Porta Praetoria. They rode easily, keeping their mounts to a comfortable canter. They were seen when they were well out and by the time they arrived at the gate, a centurion had been summoned and was waiting for them on the walkway. All three were richly dressed and armoured in mail shirts of Roman manufacture. This would have raised the hackles of the legionaries a short time ago. The only way they could have got their shirts was by stripping them off the corpses of Roman soldiers. But the sight of tribesmen wearing them was no longer unusual. Since the army had begun to adopt the lorica segmentata, surplus mail shirts were offered for sale all over the empire. The men carried brightly painted oval shields and each held two lances. They stopped thirty paces from the gate. One of them passed his weapons to one of his companions, hung his shield over his saddle horns and walked his horse forward. When he was within ten paces, he raised his arms and shouted to the centurion in passable Latin.

  “King Gebhardus of the Treverii, friends of Rome, has given me a message for the great general Publius Quadratus.”

  “Give me the message and I’ll pass it on,” the centurion called down.

  The visitor shook his head.

  “I am ordered to speak to the general and no other.”

  A soldier was sent to the Praetorium and returned with Tribune Soranus in tow, helmeted and wearing his decorated breastplate. The tribune climbed the ladder and looked down.

  “Give me your message,” he said.

  This time the messenger smiled broadly.

  “You are too young to be the general,” he replied.

  Soranus took a decision. “We’ll let him in but not the other two,” he told the centurion. “Send someone over to the legate and tell him what’s happening.” Then he called to the man below. “You may enter alone. Leave your horse. You must agree to be searched for hidden weapons.”

  The messenger led his mount back to his comrades and handed the reins to one of them. He removed his cloak and draped it over his saddle. Finally, he took a long knife out of the decorated scabbard at his waist and handed it to the third man. He sauntered back and took up his former position in front of the gate which inched open just wide enough to admit him. With Soranus leading the way, a legionary on either side and the centurion taking up the rear, he was escorted into the Praetorium where Publius Quadratus awaited him in the conference room. The legate was not alone. He sat in a chair with his senior officers, all in their best armour, standing on either side. Aldermar was at his right hand. The escort saluted and left the room. Soranus took his place at the end of one line of officers.

  Quadratus saw a lean warrior in his prime. He was unusually dark for a German but his eyes were grey-blue, sharp and intelligent in his tanned face. A green tattooed snake crawled over each of his cheeks with their open mouths meeting in the centre of his forehead, His hair was dressed in two thick plaits falling down to his belt and his beard was drawn through an ornate silver ring. He bowed courteously but without deference.

  “I bring you the greetings of King Gebhardus, General Quadratus,” he said in his accented Latin.

  “You may not call me “general”. I am Legate Quadratus. You know my name, what is yours?”

  “I am Hulderic…” he replied.

  “You are not Treverii,” Aldermar broke in.

  Hulderic smiled and turned his head towards the big cavalry prefect.

  “After the desolation made by Great Caesar, those who were left picked themselves up and forged new kinships. I serve King Gebhardus of the Treverii as you serve Rome although you are not Roman.

  “Hulderic, what is your king’s message to me?” Quadratus asked.

  “General… I apologise… Legate, my king is in a border dispute with the Tungri. The truth of the matter is that they claim cornlands which have always belonged to the Treverii. The harvest is not far off and they are massing forces against my king. If he is forced to fight, the corn may be lost and his subjects will go hungry over the winter. As an ally of Rome, he asks that you will come to his aid with all your men. The sight of your legion will deter the Tungri and the problem may yet be resolved without bloodshed if you will give your judgement on the rights of the matter.”

  Quadratus looked into the distance as he thought for a moment.

  “Whichever side I favour I will make an enemy of the other. There is no advantage to Rome in our intervention.”

  “No advantage, legate but a peril for you if you do not.”

  “Explain Hulderic,” Quadratus said with an edge in his voice.

  Hulderic held up his hands placatingly. “I mean no offense. I simply point out that Rome will be shown to have abandoned one of its allies when they requested aid. What will your other friendly tribes make of that?”

  “You dare to stand under my roof threatening me?”

  “No threat; if I speak badly remember I am using your tongue not my own. My king needs your help. Will you give it?”

  “No, I shall not. It is four days march to the city of King Gebhardus. I am to denude my stronghold of its men to go to his aid because a stranger who claims to be his ambassador rides in out of the wild and spins me a story? This interview is terminated,” Quadratus told him flatly.

  Hulderic nodded his head and stepped towards the legate. “Here,” he said, “thus is the final part of my king’s message,” he said and drew a soft leather pouch out of his tunic.

  The officers stiffened and fists dropped to sword hilts but Quadratus took the pouch and opened it, lifting out a shining ornament on a heavy chain. It was a rectangle of thick gold the size of a man’s palm. On one side was a relief of Caesar’s bull and on the other the initials “SPQR” symbolizing “on behalf of the senate and people of Rome”. The legate looked up at Hulderic sharply.

  “Yes, legate, it belonged my king’s father, put into his hands by Great Caesar. Now it is the property of King Gebhardus and the sign of his pact with Rome. He charges me to say that he believes the noble Quadratus will come with his men and return it in person. If he does not, it has no value and you are welcome to it.”

  “Wait outside,” the legate told Hulderic and gestured his officers to come closer and look at the medallion. It had the aura of a holy object to them. Caesar was now a god, “The Divine Julius”, and here was an object touched by the divinity.

  “Does this change anything, gentlemen?” asked Quadratus.

  “It adds to the legitimacy of the both the messenger and his message,” Tertius said. “But nothing can justify the entire legion marching out other than military necessity or an order from headquarters.” />
  The legate nodded his agreement. “What have you to add, Prefect Aldermar?”

  “Putting the famous token into your hands is a powerful argument in favour of going to the rescue of Gebhardus but I remain uneasy, sir.”

  Various opinions were put forward and suggestions made by the other officers. Quadratus listened to them all then rose to his feet and paced the room looking intently at the golden medallion in his hands.

  “Tribune Soranus, get twenty legionaries with shields and lances out the gate and bring in those other two visitors. Kill them if they refuse to come quietly. Lucius, call Hulderic back if you will.”

  When Hulderic stood in front of the legate once more, Quadratus spoke to him with a smile.

  “You have persuaded me. The legion will march to King Gebhardus.”

  “Thank you, noble legate. My men and I will ride at once to give him the good news.”

  “No, my friend, you will not. Your king expects me so there is no need. Instead you will be my guests in the stockade until I return. You will be well-treated, have no fear. Tribune Longius, show Hulderic his accommodation.”

  The stockade was a simple log cage built under the cover of the walkway to protect inmates from the worst of the weather. It was entered through a single gate hung on iron hinges and closed with a chain. Hulderic and his men were bundled inside. Their weapons were taken over to the gate for storage and their horses led into the stables.

  Quadratus issued his orders.

  “Tertius, I shall be taking the first cohort, three hundred cavalrymen plus half a dozen scouts and seventy of the missile troops. We’ll be constructing a full marching camp each night. We need enough supplies for a thousand men in the field for four days but I don’t want to be slowed down too much. The Treverii can feed us on the return journey in exchange for our assistance. Sort out the logistics for me, as soon as you like. Titus, I need you, Boxer and Aldermar with me. We’ll leave Corvo and Soranus together with the remnants of the cavalry and archers in support of Tertius who commands in my absence. We march at first light. To your tasks, gentlemen.”

  “That light mule cart of yours might be useful…” Tertius suggested to Lucius.

  “Of course, I will make it available, sir. Felix can drive it and Otto will ride with me.”

  “Is Felix up to it?” Titus demanded.

  “Oh yes, he’s just not so nimble on his feet that’s all but I shall give him the choice.”

  “Very well, I’ll give you a chit so you can get some kit for him. Can’t leave the poor sod in just a tunic if it gets interesting….”

  At dawn, with three pairs of eyes staring hard at them between the bars of the stockade, the First Cohort of The Second Lucan fell in. Their cavalry support brought up the rear following four light wagons each drawn by six mules and Felix perched up on the seat of Lucius’ cart. Quadratus mounted his horse and walked it to the head his of troops, half-deafened by the thundering of javelin shafts beating on shields in salute. Brass horns blared, the Porta Decumana opened and they marched, heading out to the south and east.

  The June weather was what it should be; warm but with enough showers to swell the grass and corn before harvest. The rain was not heavy and prolonged enough to impede the progress of the cohort as it made its steady progress towards the Treverii lands. Tertius had done a good job of organising their transport. The wagons hauled by their teams of six mules easily kept up at the swinging pace of the infantry. Felix was truly happy on his high seat looking along the line of legionaries with their equipment slung on forked sticks over their shoulders. To be on the march under the eagles with the legate’s flag proudly carried aloft, the sound and smell of the army all around was a dream made real. For the duration of this expedition he was readmitted into the world he loved above all other; where he belonged.

  The days were long in high summer so far north. Quadratus felt secure in continuing on their way for an hour more than usual before sending men out to find a place for their marching camp. A wide glade with a rivulet running through it was discovered and they began construction. Every legionary dug his part of the protective trench three feet wide and three feet deep, throwing the earth up on the inside to form a rampart. Then the sharpened stakes were taken off the carts and placed upright in the ground on top of the soil rampart. Green boughs from the nearby trees were woven between them to make tall hurdles. The archers and slingers stood by on the alert, ignoring the ribald comments of their toiling comrades. The cavalry horses and mules were picketed inside the temporary fortress. Only when the works had been completed and the animals fed and groomed did they light fires and cook their rations. Quadratus had a tent to himself. The officers settled under the wagons. The legionaries and the cavalrymen wrapped themselves in their cloaks and slept on the ground. As the long twilight dwindled into darkness, all was quiet other than for the occasional snorting of the animals and the sound of the sentries calling-in and being rotated. In the morning, they pulled out the stakes, filled in the trench, breakfasted and moved on.

  Throughout the second day they had to travel uphill on a long, gradual slope. It did not appear to be noticeably steep but it took its toll of the mules. They were working hard to keep to the pace of the infantry and the column slowed as the morning wore on. By mid-afternoon, groups of legionaries were detailed to lean their shoulders into the back of the wagons to help the struggling animals. Just before they were due to find a place to secure themselves overnight, the ground flattened out again but by the time they were behind their ditch and rampart, they were exhausted. Quadratus was satisfied with their progress. The extra hour they had covered on the first day compensated for the shorter distance they had been able to cover today and they remained on schedule. In a miasma of horse-sweat, man-sweat and woodsmoke, they slept as soon as they lay down under their blankets. The quarter-moon rose and the stars wheeled over them unseen as the night passed.

  Back in the permanent legion camp, all was equally peaceful. The sentries paced, the guard was changed and the rest of the legion slept. As the moon began to set, long shadows crept out across the parade ground. In the stockade, Hulderic unplaited his braids and drew out two lengths of finely woven, waxed horsehair with a small loop at each end. On his nod, one of his companions moved forward to the gate and began to make a mewing noise, high-pitched and keening as if he was in pain. The guard pacing his monotonous path up and down in front of the bars stopped and peered into the gloom. He saw a pair of glittering eyes in the gloom and banged on the gate with his shield.

  “Get back, there,” he ordered but the unblinking eyes stared back at him.

  He leaned in closer with his face almost touching the rough logs to see what was going on. He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye but before he could register that is was a man’s hand, he felt something touch the back of his neck under his helmet rim. A second hand appeared and grabbed the other end of the cord that Hulderic had flipped through the gap. The soldier suddenly felt the pain of it cutting into his neck and half-turned as he struggled. It bit in deeper. He bled and choked and died, held upright by the garotte wrapped around the wooden bars of the prison. They pulled his javelin inside and used the shaft as a lever to stretch the locking chain. One link was prised apart. They slipped its neighbour through the gap. The chain was loose and they were free.

  They stripped the body of its belt, helmet, cloak and weapons before making their furtive way to the foot of the nearest ladder leading up to the walkway. Hulderic put on the dead man’s helmet and flung his cloak over his shoulders. Holding the javelin, he climbed up and stepped out onto the platform. There was one sentry nearby. Hulderic walked confidently up to him. Only when they were face to face did the soldier notice the German’s long, unbound hair. Before he could cry out, a pugio hit hm in the base of his throat and ended his life without a sound being made. Hulderic grabbed the body and eased it to the planks. He dragged it into the partial shelter of one of Attius’ chests of stones. His tw
o men scuttled up to him at a crouch. They took the belt and weapons off their second victim and pulled his cloak from under him. They bundled up both cloaks and flung them over the wall then buckled the belts together before looping them over one of the sharpened points of the palisade logs. The distance to the ground was fifteen feet but by using the joined belts, it was reduced to a drop of just over ten feet. The first man swung down and let go. He landed safely between the defensive sharpened sticks bristling out of the earth of the rampart. He wrapped the cloaks protectively around two of the nearest just as the next man landed beside him. Hulderic came last. They went down into the ditch and crawled towards the south eastern corner before easing themselves out and making for the forest. When they were beyond arrow-range, they gave up any attempt at concealment. They stood upright and ran, zigzagging around the moonlit tree-stumps as fast as they could go. Lungs labouring and hearts racing, they arrived under the cover of the trees where they were met by a mounted man holding the reins of three spare horses. They flew up into the saddles and were gone.

  The sentry stared out into the darkness thinking to himself that half of Germany could be out there for all he could see. He sighed and glanced along the length of the walkway towards his nearest companion but saw no-one. He was not worried at first but he thought it odd. Several minutes ago, he had seen another legionary climb the ladder and walk towards the missing man. He strolled over to where his comrade should be but the stretch of walkway was empty. He called down the ladder but no response came. As he turned to go back to his post, he saw a huddled shape in the shadow of the chest full of stones. He went nearer and leaned over for a closer view. With shock, he realised what he was seeing. He recoiled and his boot skidded in the blood spreading out over the planks.