Douglas Jackson: Saviour of Rome

‘Good,’ the Spaniard said. ‘But what he has not told you is that he has brought you here to die.’ Now there was a rumble of consternation and the men looked at each other. ‘That’s right, every last one of you bastards will die unless you do exactly what I say. Some of you will have known Buntalos and Sigilo and the others who once rode with me. This,’ he thumped his spear shaft into the gravel, ‘is where they died. Are you brave?’

A momentary hesitation before a ragged cry of ‘Yes.’

‘Well, Buntalos and Sigilo were brave too. Too brave. When their blood was up the hook-noses tricked them into advancing into the river. That river,’ he pointed with the spear. ‘And when they were in the river they slaughtered them. Those waters ran red with their blood. Once you are in the rocks you will not leave them. Do you understand? Tito,’ he called, ‘if anyone leaves those rocks who does he have to fear?’

‘He has you to fear, Nathair.’

‘That’s right.’ Serpentius ranged along the line of his men, his dark eyes filled with menace. ‘He doesn’t have to fear the pitiful Parthians. He has to fear me. I will follow any man who leaves cover and gets himself killed beyond the Gates of Hades, rip out his gut and strangle him with it. When the fighting begins and your blood is up you will experience one of two things. If you are fortunate you will feel more alive than at any other time in your life. You will think you’re quicker and better than any of your enemies, and maybe you’ll be right. If you’re unlucky you’ll have ice water running down your spine and you’ll want to piss yourself. Your spear will feel as heavy as a wagon wheel.’ He glared at them. ‘Neither of those things matters because you’ll stay in those rocks. In a defensive position a man who’s pissed himself is just as effective as a man who thinks he is invincible. The Parthians will try to frighten you. They’ll try to goad you and they’ll try to trick you, but their horses won’t be able to reach you. That means they’ll have to fight on foot. Cavalry don’t like fighting on foot, and it’s only the cavalry you’ll be fighting.’

‘But what about the Sixth, lord?’ Placido asked. ‘We heard there are two cohorts of legionaries.’

Serpentius’s expression turned bleak. ‘If the legionaries start to advance across the river you withdraw into the hills where a man in armour will have trouble following. Forget about duty and honour. Your job is to get out alive. You scatter and you go home.’ Because if the Sixth advanced while Tito and his men were still in position, it meant they’d reacted more quickly than Valerius expected. It would be all over. They would have failed. And they’d most likely be dead. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we have work to do.’

While Serpentius was passing his instructions to the foot soldiers, Valerius used Allius as an interpreter to tell the horsemen what he expected of them. Standing beside their horses in an untidy group deep in Serpentius’s gully, they were proud, unyielding men, with heavy brows and narrow eyes made for peering into a dust storm. Downturned mouths required just a twitch to transform their disdain for the world into a sneer that would have their neighbour reaching for his knife. They were men of the blood feud and that feud could last generations. Fine horsemen, their Celtiberian forefathers had ridden beside Hannibal two centuries before, but they were not soldiers. The key was to use them to create an opening for Valerius and Serpentius to reach Melanius and Severus.

The thought of what would happen there made Valerius pause. He would take no joy in killing either man. Melanius was a fat crook who Valerius suspected initially became involved only for the pleasure he took in manipulating people. By the time he realized what he’d got himself into there was no going back. Severus was greedy and vain and desperate to impress his beautiful wife. Neither of these was reason to kill someone, but their plotting had led to Petronius’s death. They’d unleashed Harpocration and his Parthian butchers on the innocent tribespeople of the mountains. So they would die. They’d stolen Vespasian’s gold. The Emperor was not a cruel man, but if he didn’t make an example of the men who’d robbed him, they’d spawn a thousand others. As Serpentius always said, a quick death was a good death, no matter how it came. And Serpentius had more experience of death than any man Valerius had ever known. Better for Melanius to die under Valerius’s sword than broken on a cross.

But he couldn’t do it alone. Whether Melanius died or not would be decided by these men.

‘Tell them they should not attack the Parthians directly.’ Allius translated the instruction and Valerius saw instant consternation on the horsemen’s faces. ‘We will certainly outnumber the hook-nose cavalry.’ He wasn’t certain at all, but they didn’t need to know that. ‘But the Parthians are expert spearmen and there’s no point getting killed for no reason. They are to think of themselves as a swarm of bees. Irritate and threaten, but stay away from their points. Attack only from the flanks, or better still the rear. They must also have one eye for Parthian reinforcements, who could come from either the river or the rear of the column. Hopefully our task will be complete by the time they are alerted. If not they must withdraw. Not run away.’ He knew better than to question their courage. ‘Withdraw and shield the wounded or help the unhorsed. The same applies if the legionaries of the Sixth move into formation for attack.’

A growl of sullen disapproval followed Allius’s translation. ‘They do not like this talk of withdrawal.’

‘Then they will stay here,’ Valerius snapped. ‘Or join their friends on the far side of the river. The Romans win because they have discipline. They win because they know how to obey orders.’

A guttural snarl from the rear of the group and Allius grinned. ‘They say they are not Romans. They will follow you, but they will only withdraw when you do.’

Valerius saw it was as much as he would get from these hard men of the mountains. It would have to be enough. It would probably be the death of them, but he managed to match Allius’s grin.

‘When the time comes their horses will have to grow wings to keep up with me.’

That brought a burst of laughter, as he’d intended, and the mood lightened. ‘They ask what we do now, lord?’

‘Tell them to check their equipment, sharpen their spears – and wait.’

Marcus Atilius Melanius bit back a groan and tried to rearrange his vast bulk in the saddle with the least possible discomfort. Every part of him was either scraped, scratched, rubbed raw, aching or on fire. His armour, which had shone so proudly when he’d ridden through the streets of Asturica with the cheers ringing in his ears, was covered in dust and cut into his shoulders and his hips. It was impossible to find a comfortable position for his sword. His splendid helmet with the red horsehair crest seemed to have a mind of its own no matter how tight he strapped it beneath his chins. All his meticulous planning and now this.

Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He knew the answer, of course: pride, simple foolish pride. He’d been determined to depart from Asturica a hero, and if a man wanted to be a hero he must look like a hero. At the outset a scarlet cloak had covered his ample form. It was long discarded, but sweat still poured from his brow, stinging his eyes and drenching his tunic. More streamed down his legs. It had been years since he’d done any serious riding. Why hadn’t he ordered Severus to provide a carriage? Still, perhaps it wasn’t too late.

‘You have a carriage, if I remember, Severus,’ he hinted. ‘A fine, well-sprung affair with a cushioned interior. We have done our preening, but we are sensible men, not peacocks driven by vanity.’ His horse tossed its head and he hauled at the reins with a muttered curse, sawing the bit across its delicate mouth. ‘We’re also not as young as we were. Too old and too senior, certainly, to spend our days eating dust. It would be no shame to take turns in the saddle and for one of us to show himself while the other rested for the rigours which are undoubtedly to come.’