Knight of Rome Part I

by Malcolm Davies

  In the red waters of the stream, a fallen German lashed out with an axe in his death throes. He had not chosen his target; he could no longer see but his blow hit a legionary on the ankle of his leading leg and chopped right through it. The soldier screamed and toppled forward. The second rank man who had been pushing on both of his shoulders with all his strength was caught off balance and he too staggered and tripped over his fallen comrade. In an instant a dozen warriors flooded through, hacking at the breach in the Roman line, causing it to fold back on either side. Titus jumped in, stabbing and thrusting with his sword and laying about him with his vine-staff.

  “Reserve on me! Reserve on me!” he yelled.

  They responded at the run and soon the intruders were contained and being forced back as the Roman front was re-established. But three had escaped Titus and now dashed towards Quadratus. He drew his sword and defended himself against the leading man who thrust at him with a spear, one of them dodged from foot to foot, unwilling to commit himself but the third had run around to the back of Quadratus’ horse. He flung himself under it from the side and sliced its belly open with a long, curved knife. The dying beast screamed as its paunch and entrails slithered out of the gaping wound and it fell forward, flinging Quadratus over its head. He had somersaulted as he was thrown. The wind was knocked out of him when he landed flat on his back. He lay there stunned. The spearman grinned and lifted his face to the sky making an offering of this Roman’s life to his gods. He raised his spear to strike. Quadratus was perfectly conscious but unable to move. He looked up at his killer with a composed face, determined to die with calm acceptance as a Roman should.

  The German tightened his grip on his spear until his knuckles whitened then fell sideways with a javelin transfixing his neck. Otto had seen his legate fall and had cast the last javelin that Titus had given him. It had found its mark. He ran forward with his long cavalry sword in one hand and his pugio in the other and engaged the two remaining warriors. Otto was big and he was fast but there were two of them and they knew their business. With Quadratus at his feet, he parried and counterattacked. One was trying to get behind him and when he fought to prevent that, he was open to the other one. All the time he knew he could not move freely but had to stand over the legate. In desperation, he dropped to his knees and sent a scything blow with all his force at the legs of the man in front of him. The blade cut him to the bone on his upper thigh. Blooded jetted up and the man fell. Otto felt a hot line of pain on the side of his head. He did not get up but thrust his sword diagonally backwards over his shoulder. He felt the shock as it hit something, stopped and slid on. Suddenly it seemed very heavy. He scrambled to his feet and saw that his blade was embedded in the chest of the horse-killer. Titus ran up shouting for a fresh mount. Lucius dragged his over by the reins.

  “Get the legate in the saddle,” he commanded.

  Quadratus was beginning to come-to and tried to assist them as they hauled him onto the horse’s back. He grasped the reins struggling to sit upright.

  From his vantage a little way up the hill, Helmund had seen the legate fall.

  “Their general is dead! Their general is dead. We have the victory! Press on my warriors and they will break!” He screamed again and again.

  They heard him. A triumphant growl rose from their throats and they flung themselves against the Roman shields. But the wordless cry of victory turned to a moan as the legate’s plumed helmet rose once more above the heads of the fighting men. Quadratus seized the moment and trotted his horse to-and-fro behind his soldiers.

  “We have them now boys, holdfast; holdfast and the day is ours!”

  The Germans on the left-hand hill had the best view of the situation. They saw their dead comrades littering the slope with spears sticking out of their bodies. They saw the heap of corpses spread in front of the Roman infantry. They saw the bloody gap Aldermar’s cavalry had bitten into the flank of their forces. They decided their fight was over and began to filter away between the gorse bushes and rocks. Soon the men on the other side began to do the same and within ten minutes, they had all melted away over the hill.

  “Stand down!” Titus ordered.

  The weary legionaries stayed in place but let their aching sword arms fall. They grounded their shields and leaned on them, breathing deeply. Their respite did not last long. A flurry of orders got them scurrying about the battlefield.

  Four hours later, they were as secure as they could be in a marching camp one mile upstream. Even though it was only mid-afternoon, cooking fires were lit and most of the men resting. The mule that had been killed was jointed and roasting slowly on makeshift spits. The fifteen Roman dead, including a centurion and an optio were being cremated downwind of the camp. There were thirty-three wounded all of which should recover to march again. Among them was Otto who now had a curved line of black stitches above the ear on the shaven side of his head. The German wounded had been killed with a sword thrust after a good kicking to make them reveal any information they had; it was very little. But at least the Romans knew their attackers had been Marcomanni under Helmund. All the bodies had been looted and their weapons collected. Titus was now in possession of a sack of silver arm rings and scores of spears and axes on behalf of the cohort.

  The officers sat on camp stools a little apart around a small fire.

  “What I want to know is what they are doing here,” Aldermar said. “Marcomanni lands are far to the north and east beyond the Elbe.”

  “When I make my report to headquarters, they might come back to me with some information on the subject. I shall certainly raise your question,” Quadratus told him.

  “I would like to ask you something, Prefect Aldermar but I hope you will take no offence,” Lucius said.

  “Come on then, Boxer cough it up.”

  “Why were you so late joining the battle and why did you come from the opposite direction?”

  “Do you accuse me of anything?” the prefect hissed, turning a frowning face on Lucius.

  “No, of course not… But I….” he struggled to respond.

  Aldermar laughed. “Sorry Boxer; I couldn’t resist it but I’m sure Legate Quadratus will be able to answer you better than I can.”

  “To maximize their effect on the battlefield, a cavalry unit must engage at speed and in tight formation. When our column was forced to stop so abruptly, the cavalry was at a standstill. They therefore withdrew and circled behind the hill. They let the conflict develop until Prefect Aldermar judged the best moment to charge had arrived. Too early, and his men would have been forced back. Too late, and there would be no point in joining the action. As it was, they came just when our opponents were beginning to lose heart and from an unexpected direction to add to their dismay. Have I explained to your satisfaction, Prefect of Auxiliary Cavalry Aldermar?”

  “To perfection, noble Legate Publius Quadratus of The Second Lucan,” Aldermar responded with a bow of the head.

  Quadratus sighed.

  “What exercises me now is what to do about Otto. He saved my life, killed the men who had brought me down and stood over me while he did so. Those, gentlemen, are the conditions to award him a civic crown. But Otto is neither a legionary nor a citizen and therefore does not qualify. I shall give his action prominence in my report and ask for the suggestion of my superiors. In the meantime, I have expressed my undying gratitude.”

  Chapter 25

  Twenty miles away Helmund walked his horse steadily northwards. The half dozen of his lieutenants who had remained with him were downcast but their leader’s face was impassive. He was hunched over in the saddle, staring down at his horse’s neck, analysing his defeat. He acknowledged that relying on the stream as a barrier had been an error. At a different time of year, the rains would have made it deeper and more difficult for the Romans but that would have applied equally to his men when they were forced to cross it. No, there were other reasons why the battle had been lost. The first was the javelin volleys that had caused such h
eavy casualties, the second was the way his men had attacked along the whole length of the Roman shield wall. He would have to come up with some way of reducing the devastating losses from the thrown javelins and of putting maximum pressure on one narrow section of the Roman line. He nodded his head and sighed. He promised himself that there would be a next time and then he would triumph.

  The first cohort broke camp before the sun rose with Venus setting in an otherwise starless sky. They were continuing their journey to the city of King Gebhardus. By full light they were on the road passing the site of yesterday’s battle. Foxes and wolves had mauled some of the German corpses which the legionaries simply spat on or cursed as they tramped along. Hulderic had lied to Quadratus but there was still the matter of the gold medallion. The legate wanted to know what Gebhardus had to tell him. Also, the whole district would have heard the news of the ambush. Rumours would be flying; some of them proclaiming a major defeat for the forces of Rome. Letting it be seen that they had neither been stopped nor turned back would reinforce the belief in Rome’s invincible power.

  Aldermar found all his missing men before noon. The circling buzzards and ravens had shown him where to seek them. They lay where they had fallen; dead, stripped of their weapons and valuables. One horse still stood by its master, head hanging low. An arrow was embedded deeply in its chest and a fine mist of bright blood escaped its nostrils each time it exhaled. In a demonstration of solidarity, the legionaries dug a common grave for the cavalrymen. Weapons and arm-rings from the battle loot were put in with them so that they should not be impoverished in the afterlife. Aldermar officiated at the sacrifice of the wounded horse to the gods. Everyone took part in re-filling the pit. A cairn of stones was raised over it to keep the scavenging wild animals at bay.

  They descended off the heathlands onto lower, more densely wooded ground, travelling without incident until half-way through constructing their marching camp when the riders Tertius had sent out made contact. Otto interpreted as they informed Quadratus of Hulderic’s escape and that their orders were to return as soon as possible with any message the legate gave them. The scouts found the first cohort in good spirits; they had survived and gained yet another victory. They did not have to exaggerate the number or ferocity of the enemy they had encountered; Aldermar’s men were expert at reading the ground and the whole story was as clear to them as if it they had been there when the fighting was at its height. The brother of one of them was among the dead. His grief was overwhelming but when he was told of the grave-goods and horse sacrifice, he felt the pain of his loss a little less keenly. At least his sibling would have comrades, wealth and weapons when he met him again in the hereafter. The other cavalrymen helped him to get so drunk he could not stand. Aldermar turned a blind eye. They lifted him onto his horse the next day, still half-conscious and he somehow stayed in the saddle as the trio set off for the main camp carrying a message to Tertius.

  At ten the following morning, they broke through a screen of trees into the heartland of the Treverii. Homesteads surrounded by fields of corn appeared. The crops were just beginning to turn showing a hint of the yellow ripeness to come among their green stalks but there were no people and no livestock to be seen. Rome may be the ally of their king but the farmers and their families had picked up whatever they could carry and hidden in the woods, driving their animals before them as soon as they saw the glittering armoured column. Quadratus had given strict orders that there must be no harm done to the local inhabitants on pain of death. Even if the peasants had known that, they would not have believed it. Strangers carrying weapons only meant three connected outcomes; fire, rapine and death.

  A few miles ahead, they had their first sight of the king’s city. A triangular hill stood with its apex in the fork of a river, rising up like the prow of a ship. The two sides nearest to where the waters split reared up in steep, naked rock. But as it widened towards the third, south-western side, the slope grew less steep until it levelled off at its base. The Treverii had dug a deep ditch between the two arms of the river and heaped up the excavated soil to make a rampart, like the Romans did. They had covered it with dressed stone. Above this was a high palisade of upright pointed logs. The defences had been continued at each side until the point at which the almost vertical rock faces offered their natural protection. The front ditch was twenty feet wide and fifteen feet deep; even in high summer there were three feet of water in the bottom. It was crossed by a stone bridge, wide enough for ten men marching abreast, leading to a pair of wide gates which defended the principal entry to the city. The gates were open but the top of the palisade was crowded with armed men, staring down at the approaching Romans. The king’s city was a formidable stronghold, big enough to contain his household and garrison in addition to the ten thousand people and their livestock who would head for its protection in the event of an invasion.

  Quadratus halted his men just out of bowshot and shouted for Lucius and Otto.

  “Carry my flag across to the gate and tell the guards I wish to speak with their king.”

  The flag snapped and cracked in the breeze as Lucius bore it upright, riding at a canter with Otto at his side. They stopped half-way over.

  “The noble legate Publius Quadratus seeks immediate audience with King Gebhardus of the Treverii,” Otto shouted up to the warriors crowding the parapet over the gate.

  “My king will come out to you. Return to your soldiers,” a voice called in reply.

  They reported back and in less then two minutes, the king came through the gates.

  The sun sparkled off his fish scale armoured shirt, split at front and back so it fell over his legs to the knees when he rode. He was mounted on a huge white horse. It could not have been easy to find one strong enough to carry his weight. He was bigger than Otto and much heavier. His hair had once been golden but now, in his fifties, it was shot through with white. He wore a long sword in a jewelled bronze scabbard by his side and a silver circlet around his brow. He stopped halfway between the end of the bridge and the Roman forces and briefly bowed his head

  “Greetings,” he called.

  Quadratus rode forward alone. “Greetings king, not the friendliest of welcomes,” he said, gesturing to the black silhouettes of archers and spearmen framed against the bright sky.

  “But you will see that I have not shut my gates against my allies,” the king responded. “Forgive my caution but I have heard that a Roman army has come into my land to bring war to me and my people.”

  “And where did you learn this?”

  The king shrugged.

  “Brought by birds on the wind; who knows how such tales spread? I also heard that a battle was fought near my borders and that you and all your men were dead; yet here you are.”

  “Why do you listen to rumours when I am at your gates in response to your urgent request for support against the Tungri who are about to seize your corn-lands?”

  Gebhardus looked at Quadratus with complete incomprehension.

  “Who told you that?” he asked after a pause to collect his thoughts.

  “Your ambassador,” the legate replied dryly.

  The king shook his head. “I have not sent anyone to you. This is some plot against me…or you. Noble Legate Quadratus, come into my city with some of your officers and we shall discuss this in my hall.” He saw the faintest flicker of doubt pass over the Roman’s face. “Post fifty of your soldiers at my open gates as proof of my good faith. I will wait for you inside.”

  Quadratus rode back to his troops.

  “I’m going in to speak with the king. Titus, get fifty of your men between the gates, they are to stay on the alert and not to go into the city. Aldermar, I want your cavalry drawn up on this side of the bridge. At the slightest hint of trouble, they are to charge and lay about them. The gates must not be closed at any price. Titus, have everyone ready to follow up the cavalry and get stuck in if there’s trouble. Kill anyone who gets in your way. Also, find me the biggest, nastiest-looking
centurion in the cohort, other than you, and six matching legionaries to accompany me. Boxer, you’d better come too…” Otto took a step forward alongside Lucius. “... Are you a Roman officer all of a sudden? Infernal Gods! What is the point in arguing? Come along, then. At least you might be useful if they start to talk in German.”

  Preceded by the King, Quadratus, Lucius and Otto, rode uphill through the city followed by a centurion and two files of legionaries with shields and swords but no javelins. Low, thatched houses with small gardens lined their route with the occasional smithy and other trades carried on under open-sided sheds. There were pigpens and stables, haystacks and middens, hens pecked around on the ground or searched for insects in the thatch. Chained dogs growled, women with babies on their hips or children peeping out from behind their skirts stared at them. Men briefly looked up from their occupations and then took no further notice of the small procession. The king’s hall stood halfway up the hill. The walls were built of heavy logs, not the wattle and daub of his subjects’ homes but, just like theirs, it carried a straw thatched roof. Inside was a large, dim space illuminated only by the light falling from the smoke-hole in the roof and slanting in through the doors. At the far end was a rostrum on which the royal throne was placed but Gebhardus did not take up his position there. Quadratus, Lucius and Otto were seated on benches on one side of a long, central table with the king and three of his nobles opposite them. The centurion and his six legionaries stood to attention behind their officers. Bread, cheese and mead in horn cups was set down in front of them. Gebhardus tore off a piece of bread and a nugget of cheese which he placed in his mouth and washed down with a little mead. Quadratus did the same. Now that they had broken bread together the sacred duties of friendship and hospitality had been fulfilled and they could get down to business.