Douglas Jackson - Hero of Rome

When he reached the ambush of the Ninth, the two listeners looked away as he related the discovery of the mutilated bodies.

‘You were correct,’ Cerialis confirmed grimly. ‘Four cohorts — two thousand legionaries — and the same number of auxiliaries. Just before we entered the valley, our scouts sighted a sizeable force to the south and I rode to investigate with the cavalry. They struck while we chased shadows. By the time we returned the infantry had been overrun and we were fortunate to escape with our own lives.’

Paulinus looked at him in a certain way and Valerius realized Cerialis still had a reckoning to face, but for the moment the governor needed every man he could get to hold Britain for Rome — and to avenge the thousands of Roman citizens who had already died. Valerius had heard from Agricola how Paulinus had been forced to abandon Londinium to its fate. The governor’s features had turned white when Valerius described the horrors he had seen but now the veins in his temples stood out like octopus tentacles and his face glowed red. ‘We do not face warriors.’ He fought for breath. ‘These people are animals and like animals we shall slaughter them. The Ninth and the veterans of Colonia will be avenged. Fifty thousand, you say, and growing every day?’ He shook his head and turned to the map, murmuring to himself. ‘Too many. I must fight them on ground of my choosing. But where? Where will she turn now that Londinium burns? Where will her thirst for blood take her? East, and back to the flatlands? No, because only victory keeps her army together. West? Possible. If she can bewitch the Silures she will control the gold and Postumus and the Second are already marching from Isca to join us. The south? Easy victories and control of our communications with Rome. Or north?’ Valerius felt his stare. ‘To destroy us.

‘She must fail,’ he said. ‘An army must eat; she has no supplies and such a swarm cannot live off the land for many weeks. They will be eating their sword belts long before harvest. But it is not enough for her to fail. She must be destroyed, and all who follow her must be destroyed along with her. I swear on the blood of Mithras that I will annihilate her. But where?’

‘North.’ The word echoed in the silence and Valerius felt the sour taste of betrayal on his tongue. ‘She will march north to destroy Verulamium.’ Maeve’s warning had been intended to save his life; now it would be Boudicca’s ruin.

Paulinus disposed his forces as Valerius rose to leave. Verulamium and its people would be sacrificed; he could not reach them in time or fight Boudicca while protecting a column of helpless refugees. In any case, Verulamium, for all its Roman pretensions, was the Catuvellauni capital: let them make terms with their Iceni cousin if they could. He would use his auxiliaries, the light, quick-marching infantry, to lure her on at a pace that would draw the fangs of her warriors. Then he would fight her and beat her, but where?

Agricola intercepted Valerius outside the tent. ‘I am to take you to the governor’s personal physician. Did he tell you?’

Valerius nodded, aware the tribune referred to the honour he’d been given. ‘I mean to refuse it, because I did not win it.’

‘It is what I told them you would say, but I fear you have no choice. It is your duty to accept and you do not strike me as a man who would shirk his duty.’

The room seemed to move beneath Valerius’s feet and Agricola stepped forward and put out a hand to steady him. ‘Come,’ he said gently. ‘We have delayed long enough.’

‘I don’t understand. There are a dozen men who deserve the Corona Aurea more, but they are all dead. I lived, but my mission failed and I am no hero.’

‘You were brave, you fought and you hurt them?’

Valerius shrugged and Agricola took it as acquiescence.

‘Then you are a hero, and my governor needs a hero. Tonight he will draft a report to Rome detailing the happenings of the past month. It will reflect well on no one, it will cost some their positions and it may cost others their lives. You may not have heard, but Postumus, who is camp prefect, refuses to leave Isca with the Second. He fears the Emperor more than he fears Paulinus, but he fears Boudicca more than both. So, defeat and disarray. Paulinus needs a victory, and if he cannot have a victory he will have a glorious defeat. You would not deny the veterans their glory?’

Valerius shook his head. ‘They fought like lions and they died like heroes. They deserve to be remembered.’

Agricola took him by the shoulders and stared into his eyes. ‘Then make sure they are remembered. Through you.’

By now they were on the threshold of the camp hospital. Valerius paused before walking through the flaps. ‘Your logic defeats my argument. Tell the governor I will accept.’

Inside the tent, a small man with sharp features and quick, restless hands rushed up to him like a mother hen. A dark beard and a mottled, balding head made him seem older than he probably was, but the eyes were lively and intelligent. ‘Tiberius Calpurnius,’ he introduced himself. ‘Late of Athens, now of this gods-forsaken mudpatch.’

He immediately began unwinding the bandage which covered the wound above Valerius’s right eye, explaining his reasoning as he did so. ‘You may feel your arm is more in need of my assistance, young man, but I can assure you it is not. I have seen men who appeared perfectly healthy drop dead at my feet hours after the merest bump with a sword, but a man with a severed arm may last a month without treatment if the blood flow is curtailed and the wound remains uninfected.’

Calpurnius deftly probed the sword cut with his fingers. ‘Fortunate indeed. A glancing blow, almost flat. Another inch to the left and you might have lost an eye; a little more of the edge and it would have been the top of your head. Contusions but no sign of fracture, and the wound is healing well, as I would expect in a man of your years. Fainting spells? Blurring of the vision? Yes? To be expected, but if they continue return to me and I will supply you with a draught. Now, the arm.’

Valerius winced as Calpurnius removed the thick cloth bandage to reveal a marbled, purple-yellow stump that reminded him of a piece of rotting meat. Vomit rose in his throat but the physician had anticipated his reaction and placed a bucket at his feet, into which he retched copiously.

Calpurnius whistled soundlessly to himself as he inspected the stump closely from every angle. When he reached out to touch it for the first time Valerius grunted in pain.

‘Yes, it would hurt.’ The little man gave a tight smile which quickly transformed to puzzlement. ‘Again you have been fortunate. I have never seen a battle injury like this. The cut is at the perfect angle, the weapon almost surgically sharp.’ Valerius gave a little cry as he probed the blackened, weeping face of the wound. ‘A few bone splinters, which I will deal with in a moment. The burned flesh must be removed, or it will mortify, but the unguent, though primitive, has kept infection at bay for the moment.’

He looked directly at Valerius and there was curiosity in his eyes, not quite suspicion, but certainly a question. ‘If a saw had been used I would have been quite proud of this myself.’

‘As you say, I was fortunate; more so than the man who treated me. He is dead.’ The lie came easily; there had been a militia physician but he had been among the first to fall on the field at Colonia.

Calpurnius shrugged. Plainly, the dead held little interest for him. ‘A pity. Now, as for treatment. In a moment I will administer a tincture of poppy seed which will render you unconscious and dull the pain. In other circumstances I would suggest that you rest for a few days before surgery, but I sense you are a man of strong heart and healthy lungs and will survive.’ He studied the stump again and sucked his teeth. ‘I plan to re-amputate two inches above the present level which will allow me to stitch a flap of skin across the wound, thereby protecting it from dirt and disease. It is by far the most effective procedure,’ he added, sensing resistance to his suggestion.