Douglas Jackson - Enemy of Rome

As he and Serpentius rode ahead with the squadron’s thirty-two troopers ranged warily behind them, the Spaniard produced a sour smile. ‘The German swamp rats think you’re an idiot who’s going to get them killed. Maybe I hit you on the head one too many times?’

‘Do you want to live for ever?’ Valerius laughed. ‘If I was baiting a trap, I wouldn’t have three full centuries on parade by the side of the road. I’d have them lounging about looking unprepared and waiting to be slaughtered.’ He gestured to the grape vines in the fields beside the road. ‘You could hide an army in those bushes.’

Valerius felt the tension grow in the men behind them as they approached the town. By now he could clearly see the lines of helmeted men arrayed by the roadside, the points of their pila glistening dangerously in the sunlight. His eyes searched the ground to right and left looking for the threat that could kill him, but saw nothing but vines fluttering in the soft breeze, and beyond, on the slopes of the hill, ranks of dusty green olive trees.

With a hundred paces to go, he allowed his mount to drift back to the unit’s commander. ‘At the first sign of trouble,’ he said softly, ‘we ride straight through them and kill any of the bastards who get in the way. When we’re clear, turn and join one of the flanking squadrons.’ The man grinned with the cavalryman’s time-honoured disdain for foot soldiers. His unit hadn’t had a proper fight for almost a year and he’d as happily slaughter them as not.

But as they approached the silent ranks ahead, the only movement was from a single officer who stepped out briskly into the centre of the roadway and the accompanying ripple along the iron-clad ranks as the men came to attention. Valerius and the auxiliary approached warily and the man in the road slammed his fist into his breastplate in salute.

‘Annius Cluvius Celer, praefectus of the Ateste cohort of evocati ,’ he announced. Valerius took a moment to study the man, who must have been in his fifties. Celer had a thick beard flecked with grey and the uniform he wore had been patched and mended. The combination brought to mind Falco, commander of the Colonia militia, which wasn’t surprising, because that’s exactly what these men were: legionary veterans who had been given a land grant to settle here. The evocati were soldiers who had completed their twenty-five years’ service, but had volunteered to be ready for recall if the Empire needed them. Celer, their commander, was of equestrian rank, and his family probably originally came from the area. He would have invited the legionaries he served with to make their homes around the town when they retired. The men on parade looked well, still fit and hard, which told Valerius they weren’t long out of the legions. They looked up for a fight. The only question was, who with? Celer answered that with his next words. ‘The Ateste cohort of evocati declares for Titus Flavius Vespasian.’

Valerius relaxed and turned to the auxiliary officer. ‘Send word to Octavius that Ateste is ours and to bring the men forward. They can water their horses in the stream.’ He dismounted and walked with the prefect along the lines of men. ‘They look impressive.’

‘You mean they look impressive for militia.’ Celer produced a great belly laugh. ‘But don’t be deceived, tribune. Not that long ago these men were the toughest soldiers in the Sixth Ferrata, the toughest legion in the Empire.’ Valerius smiled at the boast. He knew it was no idle one. The Sixth Ferrata had been the rock on which Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo’s Armenian campaigns had been built, and Corbulo never accepted less than the best.

‘You know that the Sixth declared for Vespasian in Judaea?’

Celer nodded. ‘We’d heard that. It was one of the reasons we decided Ateste should support him, but not the only one. In the spring, when we should have been planting our fields, Vitellius’s bandits came this way, burning and looting, and killing anyone who didn’t support their man. Ateste stayed loyal to Otho, the rightful Emperor. We managed to get most of the people from the outlying farms into town and we looked dangerous enough to keep the enemy out.’ He spat. ‘They were only cavalry, after all. But,’ a shadow fell over his eyes, ‘a few of the outlying estates didn’t get word. I lost my son and his family. Many of these men lost people. All we want is the chance to avenge them.’

A muted rumble of agreement emerged from the throats of the men within hearing distance. ‘Shut up, you useless shower,’ Celer snarled. ‘Have you forgotten what it is to be a soldier?’

‘I’ll make sure General Vespasian hears of your loyalty,’ Valerius said.

The other man bowed his thanks. ‘Just give us a chance to fight.’

‘You’ll get your chance,’ Valerius assured him. ‘But first you should stay here and hold the city for Vespasian until the Danuvius legions secure the territory. I’ll leave word suggesting you be incorporated in Third Gallica.’

The Third had been another of Corbulo’s legions until they’d been sent to Moesia. Valerius knew they were the Sixth’s arch-rivals. Celer’s smile broadened. ‘They’ll enjoy showing that useless bunch of raw recruits how a real soldier acts.’

Valerius waited with the prefect while Octavius approached at the head of the main force. ‘Have you heard anything about troop movements in the Padus valley?’

Celer grimaced. ‘I apologize, tribune; it should have been the first thing I reported. Word arrived this morning that soldiers have been seen this side of the Athesis river opposite Forum Alieni.’

‘How far away is Forum Alieni?’ Valerius frowned. ‘Did your informant say how many?’

‘Half a day’s steady riding,’ Celer said. ‘As to numbers, I questioned him thoroughly, but he couldn’t say for certain. He is a civilian, sir, just a travelling hawker. He saw men in armour guarding a bridge, and a few horses. There was no bridge at Forum Alieni a week ago, so they must have built it themselves. That would have taken a sizeable force.’

Valerius called up Octavius and passed on Celer’s information. The big German cavalryman looked thoughtful. ‘If they have constructed a bridge, it would seem they plan a crossing. The prudent thing to do would be to withdraw and link up with General Varus at Patavium.’

‘That’s true,’ Valerius acknowledged. ‘But it would also mean giving up all the ground between the Athesis and Patavium on the word of one man who isn’t certain what he’s seen. It’s possible that the troops at Forum Alieni are only an advance guard sent to prepare the ground for a main force. We’d look like fools if we went back to Varus not knowing whether he was going to be facing four or five cohorts or four or five legions.’

Octavius could see the sense of that. ‘A probe in force then, to gauge the enemy’s numbers.’

Valerius grinned. ‘And if those numbers are in our favour?’

The big German’s yellowing teeth showed through his beard. ‘We slaughter the bastards.’

Serpentius slipped from the gloom beneath the olive trees as silent as any phantom, his face and clothing caked with mud the colour of a terracotta roof tile. ‘Atticus,’ he growled as he approached Valerius. Octavius and the ten-man patrol waiting in the fading light for his return relaxed in their saddles when they heard the watchword.

Valerius handed him a water skin and the Spaniard washed his mouth out and spat the residue to one side. ‘The ground is as flat as a ten-year-old virgin’s tits from here to the river,’ he reported. ‘But the olive groves and vines give plenty of cover until you’re about two hundred paces away. It looks as if they’ve put all their effort into building the bridge, because a child could cross the ditches around their camp and you could spit through the palisade.’