by Nick Brown
‘That’s it,’ said the tribune. ‘By the great gods, that’s it.’
Cassius felt happy. Despite the realities, he had hoped to never see Romans fighting Romans and even the events of the past few days had not prepared him for it. Countless injured – from both sides – now passed across the bridge and there seemed as many auxiliaries as legionaries. The defeated horsemen, swordsmen and archers were disarmed and placed under guard upon the strip of grass – now mostly mud – at the bottom of the wheat field. Several auxiliary units had fled the battle but many more had been rounded up by the cavalry. Cassius suspected that some of the enemy centurions would not be entirely unhappy at the outcome. They might have fought under Tetricus for many years but surely they’d not all done so enthusiastically? It seemed impossible that they felt the same zeal as they might against the Goths or the Palmyrans or the Persians.
Turning away from the carnage, Cassius picked his way through yet more casualties to the bridge. Feeling as if he could collapse at any moment from exhaustion, he leant against the wall beside Indavara.
‘Did you see him?’
The bodyguard shook his head.
Cassius said, ‘Looks like some of the auxiliary units are still out there – rounding up prisoners. He may yet appear.’
Indavara watched the passing men, eyes moving from face to face.
At one point, he hurried forward and almost called out before reconsidering. He cursed and grimaced. The numbers coming across the bridge were slowing.
Eventually he pointed at the units guarding the prisoners. ‘I should check them. But what if he passes here?’
‘Any man that passes here is likely seeking treatment – probably won’t be going far. You are sure about this? It wasn’t someone we’ve met more recently?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘It is possible that you might see a familiar face. There will be auxiliaries here drawn from all over Gaul. In fact, there’s probably no place you’d be more likely to see someone.’
With a decisive nod, Indavara hurried away towards the prisoners, past an immense pile of stray shields and swords.
Cassius was about to go and find a quiet spot in the vineyard when he saw a large party of riders galloping across the wheat field. As they got closer to the command post, he realised the party included three prefects: Gratidius, Clemens and Venator.
Once the three commanders had dismounted, various attendants appeared and put out chairs for them under an awning. Cassius noticed soldiers from both sides observe this development with surprise but he was far from shocked. Though Clemens had sided with Tetricus, he was evidently a realist and presumably had a good deal in common with his fellow prefects.
Cassius recognised a couple of Venator’s staff officers and smiled when he saw the aged attendant, Amandio. As the servant helped the prefect remove his armour, Cassius hurried over. Unfortunately, with the arrival of the commanders, a squad of legionaries had been put on guard. Cassius had nothing to identify himself and had to call out.
‘Prefect Venator. Excuse me, sir.’
The aristocrat held his arms high as Amandio removed a glittering silver breastplate. He looked as striking as ever, with his snowy white hair and fierce, dark eyebrows.
‘Corbulo?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Get over here. You men, let him through.’
Once free of his armour, Venator ushered Cassius forward and gripped his forearm.
‘Dolabella?’
‘We found him, sir, but he … he’d been tortured. He didn’t survive. But he didn’t give them anything. He held out.’
Venator let out a long breath and looked away towards the river until he’d composed himself. ‘Tough old sod. I felt sure they’d not broken him.’
‘Sir?’
‘Certain plans were changed once we discovered they had him but the key to the offensive was always the First Italian. The emperor is with them. It was Dolabella’s idea to sneak the First through the Alpine passes. Tetricus knows we have the numbers but he wants to win the first decisive battle, put us on the back foot. Three days ago, he moved the Eighth and the Twentieth south to Cavillonum to meet our main force. He believed it was two legions against two. But with the First it will be three against two. Fifteen thousand men against ten thousand.’
‘Did it work?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
Venator turned to watch his fellow prefects. They were now sitting opposite each other and deep in discussion. Clemens seemed an impressive fellow: he was tall and broad-shouldered, his face chiselled and dark. Clemens was listening intently to Prefect Gratidius but could not stop his eyes drifting to his defeated army.
Venator turned back to Cassius. ‘Where the hell did they take him? We heard nothing more once you crossed to this side.’
‘A fortress named Hawkhaven, sir. With the help of some cavalrymen from the Third we got him out but they came after us. A man named Volosus was behind the abduction … he …’
Cassius halted because the prefect had put a hand on his shoulder.
‘You look worn out, young man. I’ve much to attend to here but seek me out later and tell me the rest of the tale. Get some rest.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’
Cassius was already on his way when the prefect spoke again.
‘Corbulo. I really didn’t want to send you. But if the battle to the north goes our way, you and those that helped you will have made a telling contribution. I am very glad to see you alive.’
Indavara insisted on continuing his search, so Cassius returned to the vineyard alone. The supply column had included another unit of medics and – despite the large number of casualties – they seemed to be coping. Cassius eventually found Simo sitting outside, washing his hands in a pail of water.
‘You all right?’
‘Yes, sir. I assisted with several operations.’
‘Gods. Rather you than me.’
‘Not pleasant but I learned a great deal. Sir, I think you should talk to Amarante.’
‘Why?’
‘She seemed to be doing a fine job but the last time I saw her she was … rambling, rather incoherent.’
‘Why didn’t you help her?’
‘Master Cassius, there are men dying in there.’
Cassius didn’t much like Simo’s tone but he couldn’t fault the attendant’s motives.
‘Where is she?’
‘I believe she went down to the river.’
Without another word, Cassius negotiated yet more walking wounded and hurried towards the water. Many were cleaning their wounds there or refreshing themselves but he could see no sign of Amarante.
Cassius began to panic. He felt exhausted and disorientated himself; there was no telling what state of mind the poor girl was in. He admonished himself for letting her assist with the injured; for all he knew it might have pushed her over the edge.
He was about to start asking around when he spied her, some distance down the shore. Cassius ran all the way, ignoring the additional pain that every step ignited in his fingers.
Amarante was sitting on sand, legs drawn up and hands round her knees, just like in the wheat field.
Cassius squatted beside her. ‘Are you all right, Amarante?’
‘We killed him.’
‘Volosus? Yes. We had to. We had no choice.’
‘When was that?’
‘It was today.’
‘Are they dead?’
‘Who’s they?’ asked Cassius.
‘Master and mistress.’
‘I don’t know who that is.’
‘Where’s Ioanna?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘With Enca?’
Cassius put his good hand on her arm. ‘Amarante, I think you need a rest. A good sleep. What do you think?’
She shook his hand off.
‘What about that sleep? I think it would be a good idea.’
Eventually, she let Cassius help her up. A
s they walked along the shore, he watched a swan swimming serenely towards the bridge.
The supply column was equipped with dozens of tents, many of which were now being erected in the vineyard. Once he’d convinced an optio that he was an officer, Cassius claimed two tents and put them up with Simo, some distance from the nearest soldiers and not far from the shore. He also nabbed a straw mattress and a pillow. Amarante stood silently watching them then went inside and lay down. Cassius peered in not long after and was glad to see she was sound asleep.
Simo volunteered to remain outside in case Indavara came looking for them. Cassius immediately removed his boots and flopped down in the other tent. Sleep took him as swiftly as it had Amarante and when he was awoken by Simo, the sun was setting.
The attendant had done so because Indavara had at last returned. Careful with his hand, Cassius extricated himself from the tent and stood up.
‘Any luck?’
‘No. And now it’s dark.’
The sun was in fact still visible above the ridge behind the vineyard.
‘We can look again in the morning.’
Indavara sighed. ‘Is there any food?’
‘I’ll see what I can find,’ offered Simo.
‘Wine too,’ added Indavara.
‘I doubt there is any.’
‘Aren’t we in the middle of a bloody vineyard?’
Cassius chuckled as Simo shook his head then departed.
‘Where’s Amarante?’
Cassius pointed at the other tent. ‘Asleep in there. You should rest too.’
Indavara took the sword from his belt and lay it out on the ground. ‘I saw Venator,’ added Cassius. ‘Sounds like it’s going well elsewhere. If we hadn’t got Dolabella out, it could have been very different.’
‘Really?’
‘The prefect seemed sure of it. At least Iovius and the rest of them died for a reason. I shall tell Gratidius what they did.’
‘Yes. We must. Corbulo, what if I can’t find him? What if we can’t find my home?’
‘Look at it this way – we’ve never been closer.’
They stood there for a while, watching the continual movement on the bridge above the placid waters of the Rhone.
Gloom settled quickly over the vineyard. Before Simo returned, a young legionary arrived with a message.
‘Officer Corbulo?’
‘Yes.’
‘Prefect Venator would like to see you. Your bodyguard too.’
Cassius was about to reply but Indavara beat him to it.
‘Will there be wine?’
There could be no question of visiting the prefect in their filthy, bloodstained tunics. Cassius found the officer in charge of the supply column and secured a new pair. These were of mediocre quality but, having also bathed in the river, he felt a new man as they set off across the bridge once more. Simo had failed to find any wine but had secured a package of army hard biscuit and some dried fruit. He was under strict instructions to watch over Amarante until their return.
Torches had been placed at regular intervals on the bridge and they found themselves a few paces behind a group of officers. From their conversation, Cassius gathered that cavalry patrols were still out mopping up any resistance. Apparently, centuries would be despatched the following morning to seize key locations.
The messenger had told them that prefects Venator and Gratidius were to be found in the largest tent at the command post. Twice the size of any others, it was not difficult to locate. The standards of both legions stood outside, along with dozens of officers. The mood seemed celebratory and many held mugs of wine.
The bodyguards and the centurion on duty at the tent’s entrance had been forewarned and Cassius and Indavara were admitted without delay. Old Amandio was the first to spot them and immediately furnished them with goblets of wine. Other servants were distributing refreshments and lighting lanterns.
Indavara lifted his goblet and stared at the gems embedded in the silver.
‘Not bad, eh?’ remarked Cassius.
‘What about grub?’
‘Just remember what I said about best behaviour. I don’t want to turn around and see you stuffing your face.’
‘Ah, grain man. Who’s your mate?’ Cassius found himself confronted by the senior centurion he had spoken to earlier in the day. It was rather warm in the tent and the veteran’s chubby face was rather flushed.
‘My bodyguard, Indavara. My name’s Corbulo.’
‘Bantius. What did you think of the battle? Quite a sight, eh?’
‘Certainly was.’ Looking around, Cassius noticed Tribune Plinius. He hurried over and asked him to have their bags sent over to the vineyard.
‘The prefect tells me he first met you in Syria,’ said Bantius when Cassius returned. ‘We fought for the emperor there too, you know – smashed that upstart bitch, Zenobia.’ Bantius was standing rather close and his wine-soaked breath was exceptionally unpleasant. ‘What were you doing there?’
‘Oh, this and that.’
Bantius aimed his goblet at Indavara. ‘You a soldier, lad?’
Indavara didn’t seem entirely sure how to answer this.
‘Yes, he took the oath,’ said Cassius. ‘The service has sent us all over the place.’
‘Same here. We go where they tell us. Fight whoever they tell us to fight.’
‘Ah, I see you’ve met the senior centurion.’ The arrival of Prefect Venator caused even the drunken Bantius to straighten up.
‘Yes indeed. Good evening, sir.’
‘Evening, Corbulo. And this must be Indavara.’
Indavara gulped as Venator offered his forearm.
‘Pleased to meet you at last.’
‘Hello, sir.’
‘Come, let’s have a seat. Excuse us, Bantius.’
The prefect guided them past a dozen officers and a small group centred around Prefect Gratidius, who was not drinking but listening intently to one of his men. In one corner of the tent were four chairs set up around a table. Upon it were several plates but most of the food had gone.
‘Hungry?’
Cassius made sure he answered first. ‘Some food wouldn’t go amiss, sir.’
‘Amandio – full plates for these two!’ The prefect adjusted his red cloak as he sat down and gestured towards the chairs opposite his. ‘Please. Any injuries other than your hand there?’
‘Indavara has a broken rib. He usually gets the worst of it.’
‘Painful?’
‘I’ve had worse, sir.’
‘You were a gladiator, were you not?’
‘I was.’
‘I saw Chief Pulcher last time I was in Rome. Is it true – this tale of the lion in Cyrenaica?’
Indavara just nodded so Cassius spoke up. ‘He’d been thrown into a pit by a rogue centurion named Carnifex, who fed his enemies to the beast. Indavara took his belt off and used it to whip it on the nose. It jumped back like a startled kitten.’
Venator smiled. ‘By the gods. Did you fight other beasts in the arena?’
‘I fought a bear in my last fight in Pietas Julia. My bastard of a trainer made sure I didn’t have a decent weapon – so he could win a bet.’
‘What happened?’ asked Venator, leaning forward.
Cassius had often seen people question the bodyguard once they’d learned of his former career.
‘All I had was a little knife. I cut some tendon off a dead deer and used it to strap the blade to a pole. Made a quite good spear. Good enough to kill the bear anyway.’
‘Most resourceful – a trait you two seem to share.’
Amandio arrived with two huge platefuls of food: dried sausage, wheels of cheese, hard boiled eggs, even two rolls of what looked like fresh bread.
‘Do tuck in.’
Indavara didn’t need a second invitation. Cassius had no idea when he’d last eaten but he had little appetite: perhaps because he would soon have to recount recent events.
‘In a moment, perhaps,’ he said, lea
ving his plate on the table.
Venator sat back, goblet cradled in his hand. ‘So, from Lavona…’
‘I – we – had a working theory that they used a woman to trap General Dolabella and we had a lead on a dress she was wearing. Pretty thin but it turned out to be irrelevant. Once across, we took a route through a forest …’
It took Cassius a full quarter-hour to detail the whole story. He struggled on three occasions: the first when he described killing Dolabella. He halted and drank his wine but Venator leaned forward and pointed at him.
‘You did the only thing you could. I would have done the same.’
To his shame, Cassius had barely thought of it in amongst all the turmoil and he felt tears form in his eyes.
Indavara stopped eating and tapped a fist onto his knee. ‘Listen to the prefect. Right thing to do.’
The second difficult moment came as Cassius described the moment on the river when Volosus had taken the Brethren hostage and dragged them all back into his grip.
Venator intervened: ‘I hadn’t heard of this man but Gratidius has. He was known for numerous schemes and tricks. A truly nasty bastard, by all accounts.’
Cassius couldn’t bring himself to detail exactly what had occurred in the room with Amarante, instead leaving Indavara to describe his clash with Gutha. In typically understated fashion, the bodyguard covered it in a few sentences and returned to his plate of food, which was disappearing at a prodigious rate.
At the end of the tale, Venator shook his head in disbelief. ‘And I thought I’d had an eventful few days. Corbulo, I promised you that I’d repay you for taking this on and so I shall. Come, let’s introduce you to Gratidius. We shall tell him all about Iovius and the others. Rest assured, their contribution will not be forgotten. And then he and I will keep working on Clemens – we’re hopeful that he might persuade some of his centuries to switch sides.’
‘Sir, excuse me,’ said Cassius. ‘There’s one other thing.’
Venator was almost out of his chair but now lowered himself back down. ‘Go on.’
‘Indavara was taken as a slave to Pietas Julia, where he fought. He has little memory of his life before that but we believe he hails from Narbonensis. This is as close as he’s been. He’s desperate to try and find his family.’