The Last Battle

by Nick Brown

  ‘Of course.’

  Now the optio had cause to stare again, because Bibulus had ordered Aphrodite and Ioanna out of the carriage. The young women looked curiously around before they too noticed the descending lift.

  Volosus hadn’t finished: ‘One more thing, Manilia – your men are not to address the women at all.’

  The lift measured ten feet by eight. At both ends, a rope ran up from each corner to an iron ring, which also held the two lifting lines. The ropes were as thick as a man’s arm and the whole arrangement indeed looked well maintained. In the centre of the lift were four posts connected by horizontal timbers. Having sent Bibulus and Gutha up with Dolabella and their bags, Volosus was to accompany Manilia and the women. Once they were on, the optio gave the signal and the bell was rung again.

  ‘Hold on,’ said Manilia, gesturing to the wooden posts. ‘They’re there for a reason.’

  Volosus did so and watched the women comply. Young Ioanna looked terrified. But, as often seemed to be the case, Aphrodite showed no fear. She had asked twice about being taken back to the brothel now that Volosus had Dolabella. He’d told her there was no time; and that she was now a risk to operational security. There was an element of truth to that but the comment had been largely for the benefit of Gutha and Bibulus. The fact was that Volosus wanted her; and he had no intention of letting her go yet.

  The ringing of the answering bell ended.

  ‘Ten seconds.’

  ‘Exactly,’ replied Manilia. ‘In case the sentries on the ground are overcome. If it’s not exactly ten we won’t send it down. We always have two men down here – in case anyone comes by and to look after the horses. We never see anyone but I suppose that could change in the next few weeks.’

  The optio was fishing. Like most of his rank during times of upheaval, he was seeking information from a superior about the wider situation. Volosus hoped to soon be one of the most well-informed individuals on either side of the upcoming clash. His task then was to communicate that knowledge to the emperor and his staff as quickly as possible. He gave Manilia no reply.

  The lift did not move particularly smoothly, nor was it particularly stable.

  ‘Don’t worry, girl,’ Manilia said to Ioanna. ‘We don’t lose many over the side. Only two in the last year.’

  He chuckled to himself as Ioanna fell to her knees and wrapped both arms around the nearest post. Aphrodite put a hand on her shoulder and looked around as the lift jerked upwards. They were now about thirty feet from the ground and Volosus felt a fearful shudder run through him. He’d never been one for heights.

  Manilia – standing proudly with his feet well spread and his thumbs tucked into his belt – leered at Aphrodite. With the wind now blowing at her hair, the exquisite shape of her face was even more striking than usual.

  ‘By all the gods – you are a beauty, girl.’

  Volosus did not appreciate this impertinence but was now more concerned with not looking down.

  ‘You all right there, sir?’ said Manilia. ‘You should try it on the windy days – we usually have to slop the whole thing down to get all the vomit off.’

  Not long after, even the talkative optio put a hand on the nearest post. ‘Probably past a hundred feet now.’

  Volosus made the mistake of glancing over the side. The men on the ground looked tiny. He felt himself sway. He dropped to one knee.

  ‘Good idea, sir,’ said Manilia, voice thick with sarcasm.

  Volosus cursed himself as he saw a slight smile upon the face of Aphrodite. He intended to make her pay for her arrogance before long; and then it would be him smiling.

  Manilia was still staring at the girl, who took one hand off the post to brush her hair out of her eyes.

  ‘Not only beautiful,’ observed the optio. ‘Brave too.’

  She ignored him. Volosus tried to make himself look away but the sight of her standing there, upright and unbowed was nothing less than captivating. He could only conclude that the gods had created her to weaken men; to make them forget themselves; to drive them out of their minds.

  But after two hundred feet, even Aphrodite staggered off the lift and took a moment to compose herself. The waiting Gutha offered his arm to Volosus, who refused it and turned his back to the dizzying view.

  A splatter of liquid confirmed that Ioanna had at last been sick; an event that had seemed likely since she stopped praying and started retching.

  Aphrodite knelt beside the girl, who had collapsed once off the lift. ‘Is there a bed for her? Some water, at least?’

  After a nod from Volosus, Manilia beckoned to a nearby legionary who gestured up a stairway cut into the stone. He was one of the four manning the winches and was breathing hard after the effort. Volosus now saw how the whole arrangement worked:

  Two platforms had been constructed on either side of the lift. Upon each was a winch fully four feet wide. From there, the ropes ran up to hefty timber arm, and from there down to the lift. Volosus had already noted the legionaries locking off the ropes.

  As the women followed the soldier up the stairway, he saw that it ran past the right side of the fortress.

  ‘Would you like a tour, sir?’ offered Manilia. ‘Won’t take long.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  The optio instructed another of his men to clear up the vomit. When the legionary complained that he was still recovering from his winch-work, Manilia responded with an imaginative selection of curse-laden threats.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, before leading Volosus up the steps. At the top of them, to the left, was the first of three arched doorways.

  ‘Guard room, kitchen and barracks all in there.’

  Inside, two men were polishing armour while another swept the floor. In a small kitchen area, Aphrodite was trying to persuade the still-ashen Ioanna to drink some water.

  Manilia pointed at the third doorway. ‘First floor. Four rooms. You and your people are up there. Not many home comforts but the beds are decent enough. Second door leads down to the cellar.’

  ‘Bibulus has secured the prisoner down there,’ interjected Gutha. ‘I’ll go and check on them.’

  The mercenary could only just fit through the narrow, low doorway.

  ‘Gods, he’s huge,’ remarked Manilia, before pointing to the right. Here was a circular hole carved out of the rock; nearby were several pails and ropes. ‘Cistern – fed by the rainwater from above. We’ve got all we can drink. Clean as you like.’

  The optio then set off up a steep set of steps that took them higher than the flat fortress roof. Up close, Volosus noticed the varying colours and age of the rock, brick and cement used in the structure. About thirty feet beyond the roof, they reached a small area carved out of the rock, where a single legionary was stationed. This area was level with the top of the formation and provided exceptional views of the surrounding territory. Though there had been virtually no wind at ground level, here was a cold breeze. Manilia pointed at three iron cauldrons, then at a wooden chest and finally at a cage containing four pigeons. ‘Carrier birds plus fire and flags for signalling, though I’ve no idea who would ever be able to see any flag we put up.’

  ‘So, you use the fires?’

  ‘I’ve a couple of men who’ve made themselves quite expert at it. We can get a message to four different locations, including the Twenty-Second camp. Prefect Clemens has his signaller hail us every three days or so – just to make sure everything’s in working order. Then there are the birds for longer messages.’

  ‘Very good.’ Volosus clasped his hands behind his back and cast his gaze towards the Rhone.

  ‘Hard to believe the enemy might be swarming across in a few days’ time,’ said Manilia. ‘They do have the numbers.’

  ‘Don’t be glum, optio. We may yet have cause for optimism.’

  Leaving Ioanna in the bed, Amarante walked to the window.

  Ama she had been as a child and that was always how she thought of herself. The man who had bought her from her
family gave her the name of his dead wife and the German baron called her something German and the brothel-keeper had decided she was Aphrodite. She was glad they used these names for her. It would make it easier to forget it all when she was free and she was just Ama again.

  She looked down at the trees and the river and thought she had never seen anything so beautiful. People said she was beautiful – they always had – but she saw beauty in nature; perhaps because she had seen it so rarely in people. The view was so wonderful that she might have cried but you could only cry so much and she had stopped after the first time at the brothel. She was lucky, in a way, because they used her so rarely; because the men were told to treat her well. And they had, for the most part; apart from that horrible old drunk who’d tried to tie her up. She was certainly lucky compared to the other girls owned by Mistress Damianos. And so a lot of them hated her too.

  Ama didn’t think she had ever done much for people to hate her; and yet they did. Her parents must have hated her because they sold her. Most women seemed to hate her. And men? They seemed to love her when they first set eyes on her but that often turned to hate.

  Ioanna whimpered for a few seconds then seemed to drift off into sleep. Ama was glad she was with her; she was not a strong girl but she had a good heart. When they had some time together, they often talked about where they came from. Ioanna was from the province of Aquitania and she longed to go home.

  Ama turned and looked at the doorway. Once the soldier had left, they were on their own. She had done what Volosus had asked her to; she could see only one reason why he would keep her around. She felt sure he would come for her that night.

  Ama supposed he was handsome, in a cruel way. His face was angular and lean, his eyes large but deeply set. His grey hair was always combed and oiled and he kept himself as clean and well-presented as any man she had met.

  She knelt down by her bag and took out the leather case where she kept her hairbrushes, nail files, tweezers and such like. Even Ioanna didn’t know about the tiny bronze knife she also kept there. She had found it under a bed in the brothel several months before. It was old, rather blunt, but it would serve its purpose.

  Ioanna coughed and sat up. Ama took the knife and slid it into the inside pocket of her stola. She would keep it there until she needed it.

  The cellar walls were patched with green mould and water was dripping from the ceiling in half a dozen places. The air was fetid and sour. Dry grass had been placed on the floor in a vain attempt to civilise the place but most of that looked rotten. The only ventilation was provided by two slits no wider than a finger.

  ‘By Mars, what a hole. In less pressing circumstances, a stay here might obviate the need for stronger methods.’

  Volosus came down the last few steps, past a bored-looking Bibulus and over to his prisoner. Dolabella sat awkwardly, unable to lean against the wall because his hands were bound behind him.

  ‘Whoever you are, at least loosen these bloody ropes.’

  Sweat glistened on his brow and red-lined cheeks. His considerable gut hung over his belt, touching his thighs. Upon his legs were more unsightly veins. All in all, a rather pitiful sight.

  ‘Have you not considered retirement, General Dolabella?’

  ‘You know me?’

  ‘It is my job to know such things. Titus Russus Dolabella. You have directly served four emperors and somehow retained the confidence of them all. Aurelian considers you no less than indispensable.’

  Dolabella gave a begrudging nod. ‘Partly correct. I am currently attached to the Third Italian but my focus is logistics. I have spent the last few weeks carrying out a survey of equipment and provisions on our front line. I fear you may have mistaken me for someone else. A shame – as you have clearly gone to so much trouble.’

  Volosus took a step towards him. ‘You are old. Weak. You have served your emperor well and for that you have my respect. But I do not have time for anything other than the truth.’

  Dolabella looked up. ‘Ask me something – I will do what I can to give you an accurate answer. But I’m afraid that unless it’s about flour or firewood or riding tack I may not be able to help you.’

  ‘Fetch me a stool from upstairs.’

  As Bibulus did his bidding, Volosus took another step, so that he was standing over his prisoner.

  ‘There will be many questions. But let us start with something specific. The Third Italian is at full strength, that much I know. But which auxiliary detachments have been assigned to it?’

  ‘Probably some archers. Likely some cavalry too.’

  ‘Numbers? Unit designations?’

  ‘As I told you, that’s not my area.’

  ‘Consider this, general. The war will be underway within days or weeks. We all know that. Do you really think that in all the ensuing confusion and bloodshed, anyone will care if some old officer did what most would do and simply cooperated without the need for any… unpleasantness?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ countered Dolabella calmly. ‘But do the gods not watch over us? Do they not see that I fight for the true emperor of Rome while you serve an inadequate bureaucrat who simply found himself in the right place at the right time? A man who must resort to underhand tactics and rely on sneaks and cowards like you.’

  Bibulus arrived with the stool.

  ‘Sit,’ added Dolabella. ‘Ask your questions. You will learn nothing of use from me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not going to sit on it,’ replied Volosus. ‘I told you, I have no time to waste.’

  The first blow was upon the right side of his head, the second upon the left: neither hard enough for any permanent damage but sufficient to leave Dolabella with head bowed and eyes squeezed shut. The old man was therefore not ready for the stool leg striking his nose: not quite hard enough to break it, but enough to draw blood from both nostrils. After a time, the general controlled his breathing and put his head back. His angry eyes watched his captor.

  Volosus put the stool down. ‘I will leave you in the care of Bibulus here. He is far more patient and able in such matters than I. You will not last the night, general, so why inflict such suffering upon yourself?’

  Dolabella began a quiet prayer to the great gods.

  Volosus ushered Bibulus over to the steps. ‘Be careful. If his heart gives out, this will all have been for naught. Ask only about the Third Italian to start with. No blades without consulting me first. By daylight, I want something for the emperor. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Later, having eaten a surprisingly decent meal with Manilia, Volosus left the guardroom and the singing soldiers. The optio seemed to encourage such activity and Volosus had laughed out loud at some of the more outrageous lyrics, most of which involved Gaulish maidens and the supposed ancestry of Aurelian. He was glad to find himself amidst a loyal, well-drilled group; the time might come when he would need them. Outside, one legionary was extracting water from the cistern, decanting the pail into a barrel.

  Volosus spied an unmistakeable figure down near the lift. Once at the bottom of the stone steps, he noted a jug of wine in the mercenary’s hand.

  ‘Quite a view,’ said Volosus. It was a clear, stark night. Above the horizon, countless stars upon a blanket of dark blue. Far below, the Rhone mirrored the sky.

  ‘Looking to the east?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ replied Gutha.

  ‘I imagine you find the soldiers’ songs annoying.’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Part of army life, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Actually, I think they started because they didn’t want to eat their dinner to the sounds of a man’s screams.’

  Volosus chuckled. ‘Possibly. Do you not approve?’

  ‘It’s not my place to approve. In my experience, torture can often be ineffective.’

  ‘If done incorrectly, perhaps. Bibulus knows his business. As do I. Do you approve of our location, at least?’

  ‘I can’t argue that it’s secure. If b
esieged it could also be a death-trap. The men seem loyal enough to the optio but you shouldn’t discount the possibility of a spy, even here.’

  ‘I quite agree. You will keep an eye out, of course?’

  ‘I don’t have a lot else to do.’

  ‘We won’t be here long. When hostilities break out, life will get considerably more exciting. This is the calm before the storm.’

  With Gutha still outside and Bibulus occupied, Volosus knew the time was right to visit the girl. He would not be overly concerned if his subordinates found out but would avoid the eventuality if he could. It was hardly professional. But a man might live a century and not see such a beauty, let alone lay his hands on her. And these were dangerous times; he could be dead within a month. If Volosus died with her as the last girl he had taken, he would die happy.

  Up on the top floor, all was quiet, the door to the girls’ room closed. Volosus opened it slowly and found a single lantern alight. Young Ioanna was just putting her sleeping tunic on and she now hid behind Aphrodite.

  ‘Do you ever knock?’

  ‘Not for the likes of you, girl. Come, I’d like to talk to you.’

  She walked towards him, already wearing her own sleeping tunic. As she passed the lantern, Volosus saw enough of her shape to feel himself stir.

  He stood aside and let her out into the corridor, shutting the door behind her.

  He nodded towards his room. ‘Come, girl, you must be cold.’

  ‘I can talk if you wish, but nothing more.’

  ‘You will do as I command.’

  ‘I would if I could, sir, but it is that time of the month. I wouldn’t want an … accident.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’

  ‘I’m not lying, sir.’

  ‘Do you seriously think I’ve never heard that one before?’

  Aphrodite lifted the hem of her tunic with one hand and put the other between her legs. She then showed him a finger tipped with blood and held it close to a nearby lantern.