Gordon Doherty - The Scourge of Thracia

They halted at the principia. A man emerged from this command tent. Gallus did not recognise him. Certainly, he was much unlike the giant of a man who had led the Macedonica the last time they had marched with the Claudia. This one was of Gallus’ age, medium height and whip-thin, with lank, dark hair hanging to his collar. He had wan and delicate — almost feminine — features that looked as if they had been shaped by the most delicate of hands. He wore a brown cloak and bronze scale armour that failed to disguise his narrow, rounded shoulders. ‘Saturninus, Magister Equitum of the Great Northern Camp and the Five Passes,’ he said in a timid, hoarse voice, his breath clouding in the lofty chill.

‘Tribunus Manius Atius Gallus of the XI Claudia Pia Fidelis,’ Gallus replied, throwing an arm up in salute. He did not let it show, but he could not dispel a sense of disappointment that this man — subordinate only to Magister Militum Traianus — seemed so meek. He had heard so much about these mountain passes that he had built up an image of some ironclad colossus, fighting back the marauding Goths. Was Saturninus craven and unsuited to military life as Barzimeres had suggested? He pushed his doubts to one side. ‘We come at the behest of Emperor Valens, Magister Militum Traianus. . and Tribunus Barzimeres.’

‘And not a moment too soon,’ Saturninus mused as if thinking aloud. ‘Have your men prepare camp in the north-eastern quarter.’ He pointed to a small tentless patch of ground there. ‘They can eat their fill too,’ he added, nodding to a sheltered table with a steaming urn of broth and a basket of well-fired loaves.

Gallus swung round, nodded to his four wordlessly, and in moments they were at work. As Gallus turned back to Saturninus, he spotted a few Macedonica legionaries coming to and from their tents. He recognised none of them.

‘You expected to find familiar faces of the Macedonica here?’ Saturninus said, having stepped over next to him.

Gallus shrugged. ‘I am just pleased to find good soldiers here.’

Saturninus laughed. ‘Gracious words, but your eyes betray your true feelings. The Macedonica were utterly crippled in the wake of Ad Salices. Less than thirty men survived and none of them officers. . and their eagle was lost in the clash. I thought that by resurrecting the legion, by commissioning a new eagle, I might also revive the spirit of their fine past.’ He swept a hand to the silver eagle standard near the principia; it was gleaming and clearly a recent commission. Opulence, but with a purpose, Gallus thought, recalling Barzimeres’ pointless bronze vest. ‘So I drew in veterans from the south — men who know little of these lands. We have just six hundred men here. Many fell after the last Gothic attack, but the wall holds and holds well,’ he gestured to the north-facing side of the fortlet and beyond. ‘Fritigern can count many spears amongst his horde, but he does not know how to tackle a well-built wall.’

‘Long may that be the case,’ Gallus replied flatly, eyeing the battlements.

‘A century is posted on the northern parapet at all times, a century of archers is split between the two northern corners,’ he nodded up to the nearest corner, shrouded in the fog. These sections of the walls were a few feet higher than the rest. Up there, Gallus noticed the glint of stockpiled bows, lancea and plumbatae — the arrows, javelins and lead-weighted darts would be more lethal than ever when thrown from those points in the high ground, ‘and another century of legionaries is spread over the southern, eastern and western walls,’ he pointed to each wall in turn.

‘You fear they might circumvent this path and come round on your rear?’ Gallus said, his brow furrowing as he thought of the steep sides of the ridge. Surely such a move was impossible — certainly for any sizeable force.

‘We cannot neglect the possibility, unlikely as it is,’ Saturninus replied.

‘But the ridge path is surely the only way through this section of the mountains?’ Gallus insisted.

‘I thought so too,’ Saturninus nodded wearily, ‘until my men found a broken, veiled trail. It runs along the shale and scree of the ridge-side, right past this fort and all the way to the north. It is so treacherous a route that it is unlikely the Goths will stumble upon it, but we must be prepared for anything. Above all, we must hold this ridge path. As long as we do, the Goths will never be able to bring their wagons along it and to the south. Without their wagons, they have no grain, no tools, no tents. . no means of migrating south as a horde.’

‘So these walls are everything,’ Gallus nodded, appraising them once again in a different light.

Saturninus beckoned him and the pair strolled around the principia area. ‘With just over seven operational centuries, we have been running a rota of eight hour shifts for the last two weeks. Right now a third of my men sleep, a third maintain the camp and a third stand guard on the wall. But they are weary. Worse, some are growing complacent — we have not heard nor seen Fritigern or his men in nearly a month.’

‘And the other four passes?’ Gallus asked.

‘The same,’ Saturninus replied.

Gallus glanced to his four men erecting the tent — and the compact sea of legionary tents around them, then scoured the legionary line along the defensive northern stockade. ‘When Barzimeres despatched my four men and I to this pass, it was clearly not as any form of reinforcement. He told me of some sortie, into the north?’

Saturninus smiled a wry smile. ‘Ah, yes; Barzimeres. Tell me, are the reports I hear true? Has my great camp become a morass of drunks?’

Gallus sought his words carefully. ‘The blockade of the mountain passes is best served with you here and him at the camp.’

Saturninus nodded with a slight flick of one eyebrow. ‘Some men have to be tolerated, Tribunus, and that one has many names he can call upon, and so he must be allowed the command that his father bought for him,’ Saturninus laughed bitterly. ‘But enough about Barzimeres. Should the Gods be on our side, he will remain inconsequential.’ He stopped and crouched by a patch of bare, wet earth illuminated by torchlight, took out his dagger and drew five marks in a line. ‘If any one of the five passes fall, the entire blockade is foiled. The Goths will flood in through the fallen pass, and their number is such that they will be able to fall upon the rear of the other stockades with ease.’ He traced a line from the north, through the middle pass — this one — and then split it into four lines that rounded upon the rear of the other four passes.

Gallus crouched beside him. This man, however meekly spoken, clearly had no delusions of overblown strategic nous. His logic was simple and flawless. Gallus chided himself for judging Saturninus on appearance just moments ago.

‘Only while they remain on the northern side of our ramparts are we safe. And it must remain that way until the Praesental Armies of East and West arrive in the south. Only then will we have forces numerous enough to engage and defeat the Goths.’

Gallus’ thoughts darkened, imagining the shadowy faces of the Speculatores that would come with the Western Emperor and his army. His heart thudded a little harder and a frisson of ire swept across him. He dug his nails into his palm to shake off the dark thoughts, focusing on the crude earth map, imagining the great distances and mustering efforts required to bring the two Praesental Armies to Thracia. ‘Yet they will not converge on these lands until spring. Can the passes hold out that long?’

Saturninus’ face grew longer. ‘They have to, Tribunus. They have to.’

Gallus’ eyes were drawn to the section of earth north of the five passes where the Goths were currently camped: Moesia. ‘But the Goths will be starving before then. They will spare no effort in tearing these stockades down to flood south. There must be a secondary plan.’