Onslaught_The Centurions II, page 35
‘All of you, on your bellies and lie still!’
Standing perfectly motionless at the parade rest, he had waited and watched as the baffled soldiers lay in silence, his face expressionless as he noted their every tiny twitch and shiver, as the ground’s chill seeped into their bodies. After what seemed like an eternity he walked forward, tapping four of the remaining fourteen men with his stick.
‘Return to your centuries! If you can’t keep still for that short a time you won’t manage it when there are barbarian patrols hunting for you in the cold and the dark!’
With the volunteers reduced in numbers to ten he slowly and deliberately unlaced the leather cord that secured the cheek pieces of his helmet and removed it, handing it to Marius with a wink.
‘Right, let’s see who’s fit enough for this little game. Once round the fortress, and I’ll give you a count of twenty before I come after you. Anyone I touch with this …’ he’d raised the vine stick with a hard smile, ‘will be returning to their century. Because, let’s face it, at some point soon you’re all going to need to run faster than you’ve ever had to run before.’ Raising the vine stick he’d pointed in the direction he wanted them to run. ‘Go!’
After a moment’s bemused silence, the first of them had taken off at a fast pace in the indicated direction, followed an instant later by the rest of the group as the realisation dawned on them that they had no option but to take to their heels.
‘You’re taking this very seriously.’
Aquillius had nodded at his comrade.
‘Of course I am. Every man I send back to his century is another man who won’t die screaming with half his skin hanging off. And one or two of them just might have what it takes to get past the Germans, but if—’
‘They can’t run faster than you round the fortress with a count of twenty start then they’ll never outrun the Germans. I did kind of get the idea of what you’re doing. Surely you ought to be …’
But Aquillius had already started running, pursuing the volunteers with an evident relish that put another smile on Marius’s face. After a lengthy wait, the first of them had rounded the final corner and run for the spot where the senior centurion was waiting, a tall and well-muscled legionary who was evidently at the peak of his fitness to judge from the way he stood breathing hard but with no obvious signs of discomfort. Another three men had crossed the line in his wake, each of them a little more exhausted than the last, and when Aquillius had pursued the last surviving soldier around the corner with barely a dozen paces between them he was still running hard, while the soldier had clearly been on his last legs, driven forward only by fear of the stern-faced officer behind him. With twenty paces left to run the man’s fate had seemed sealed as Aquillius, sensing victory over one last victim, closed in with a final spurt of effort that had his vine stick inches from his quarry’s back. Then, in the moment when it seemed the fleeing soldier’s race must be run, he had thrown himself forward onto the road’s cobbled surface, his out-flung legs catching Aquillius’s boots and tumbling him onto the stones alongside him, then rolled swiftly back onto his feet and sprinted for the line while the centurion had regained his own footing with a thoughtful expression. Picking up his vine stick and stalking towards the five-man-group that was all that had remained of the original thirty, he had stared at the last man for a moment.
‘You five have all passed my tests. You’ll go over the wall tomorrow night, when there’s no moon. You’ll cross the open space between the fortress and their siege lines, wriggle through their fence of stakes, get across their ditch and then make a run for it, or just sneak away into the darkness if you’ve not been spotted. And may the gods reward your foolishness in volunteering for this suicide mission with success. That or a quick and painless death.’
Marius had waited until the five remaining legionaries were out of earshot before asking Aquillius the question that was on his mind.
‘He tripped you. I expected you to punch the life out of him at the very least.’
His fellow officer had shaken his head, his expression unperturbed.
‘Why punish him when he’d just displayed exactly the sort of skills they’re going to need if they’re to get through the German patrols?’
Lupercus nodded his agreement with Marius’s opinion.
‘He’s found the best of them, that’s clear. We’ll just have to hope that at least one of them is good enough to get through to the relief force and give them the news that we’ll be forced to surrender unless they do something.’
‘You’re assuming that they’ll actually take some sort of action even if the message does get through.’
The legatus nodded.
‘They’ll have to. Hordeonius Flaccus can’t afford to be the man who allowed the Old Camp to fall. And they’ve had more than long enough to march men up the river from the Winter Camp. Add in the legions from the other fortresses along the Rhenus and even the Batavi would have to think twice before trying to stop them.’
The first of the messengers went over the parapet, climbing down the knotted rope that had been secured onto the bolt thrower’s heavy wooden frame, swiftly followed by his comrades. As the last one went to follow them down into the darkness, the man who had tripped Aquillius the previous day, the senior centurion took him by the arm and whispered something in his ear before gesturing for him to climb over the wall. The big man turned away from the wall with his face set in hard lines.
‘Well, there they go. The next time we see them it’s likely to be an unpleasant experience for all of us.’
Marius and Lupercus both nodded at their colleague’s forthright statement, the former leaning forward to ask the question that was on both their minds.
‘What did you say to the last of them?’
‘I told him to get close to the big lad. The one with the muscles and the speed.’ Aquillius grimaced, his face just visible in the darkness. ‘But I told him to keep just enough distance that he won’t realise he’s being followed. And I told him that when the big lad gets discovered, as he undoubtedly will with all that confidence to lead him into making some mistake or other, to use the noise and excitement to make his own way through the Germans without being noticed.’ Both men stared at him in amazement. ‘I didn’t spare him for tripping me because I liked the look of him, Marius, I let him live because that’s just the sort of devious little shit that knows how to use another man’s misfortune to his own ends. Let’s hope he lives up to my low opinion of him, shall we?’
11
Germania Inferior, December AD 69
‘Are we ready to march?’
Hramn was standing stock-still as his body slave fastened the ties on his armour, but Alcaeus could see that his eyes were alive with the joy of their impending march south.
‘Completely, Prefect. All cohorts are fully equipped for battle, every man armed with two spears and carrying three days’ rations. All boots have been inspected and worn hobnails replaced with new, all blades sharpened and spearheads reseated if needed. Three thousand five hundred and fifty-four men including one thousand and seventeen horsemen are ready to march.’
The slave stepped away, and Hramn flexed his shoulders to make sure that the scale-covered jacket that would protect him in battle allowed him complete freedom of movement.
‘Perfect. As ever, you have me turned out like a palace guardsman. Dismissed, and here’s a coin to spend on that widow you’ve been seeing.’
Alcaeus caught the wink of gold in the air as the prefect flicked the aureus from his thumbnail to be caught expertly in mid-air by the slave, who was clearly used to the pre-battle ritual. Hramn shrugged at his raised eyebrow, leaning forward to stretch his calves after having stood motionless while being equipped.
‘I do it every time we prepare to fight. After all, who knows what the day holds? And if I fail to return he’ll end up as another man’s property with all the uncertainly of such a change of ownership, so why shouldn’t he enjoy a little pleasure before discovering his fate?’
He waited until the smiling servant had left his tent before speaking again.
‘So they’re ready, I presume? Really ready? I don’t mean hobnails and bread.’
Alcaeus bowed his head.
‘I understand. And yes, they’re ready, Prefect. More than ready. They yearn for an honourable battle, an enemy who isn’t hapless or cowardly.’
Hramn grinned.
‘Or if they are cowardly, at least possessed of the good grace not to have constructed a fortress too strong for us to get at them once they’ve fled inside its walls, eh?’
‘Yes. They see the risk, and they disdain it.’
‘Good. You have them paraded?’
The wolf-priest smiled.
‘Paraded and wondering what’s keeping their prefect from telling them where we strike next, I’d imagine.’
‘Very well. Let’s put them out of their misery.’
The two men strode out onto the broad open field where the cohorts were waiting in perfect silence, their mail’s polished rings a million tiny points of light in the rosy dawn glow. The breath of men and horses steamed in the chill of a winter morning, and Hramn took a moment to gaze across their ranks with the faint smile of a man finding himself married to his perfect woman.
‘Men of the Batavi cohorts!’ He paused for a moment. ‘My brothers! I know that you have been frustrated for the past few months! You had a taste of glory at Cremona, a swift and glorious moment in the favour of Magusanus! But since that day both you and I have been frustrated from tasting the one thing we yearn for the most – the moment when we drive Rome’s legions off their ground, tear into them like the wolves we are and utterly defeat them! But today, my brothers, that all changes! Today we march south with only one intention! Tonight, when the moon is at its darkest for the month, we will assault the Roman legions that have set up camp at Gelduba!’
He paused, allowing the impact of his words to sink in.
‘Three legions, weakened by vexillations sent south to fight for Vitellius, their ranks packed with new recruits barely worthy of the title “legionary” when compared with the men we fought alongside in years gone by! Three eagles for us to capture, equalling the example set by Arminius! The imperial palace still echoes to an emperor’s cries of grief when those three legions were lost, but soon we will give Rome a fresh mountain of bones and broken spears to mourn over! And when those three legions are shattered, scattered and destroyed, the only army north of the Alps worth more than a clipped silver coin will be ours!’
He nodded in satisfaction at the silent ranks of men before him.
‘We may be fewer in number than those three legions, even in their weakened state, but every man here is worth five of Rome’s legionaries on his worst day! And we will fall upon them from the darkness like their worst fear, bringing terror and death to them when they least expect it! Before the sun rises again your spears will have destroyed Rome’s threat to our people forever!’ He looked round at Alcaeus. ‘Do you wish to speak, Priest?’
The centurion stepped forward, studying the men around him in silence for a moment before speaking.
‘The Romans, as those of you who have fought alongside them will know, have a habit of bellowing challenges at their men! Are you ready for war, they ask! They shout the same question again and again, until the legionaries are heartened to fight for their legion’s eagle! But that, warriors of the Batavi, is not our way! Every one of you is ready to fight! Every man here left the Island to join us ready to fight! Every man here knows that our existence as a people is threatened by Rome, and every man here will fight and die to remove that threat, if that death is to be the price of eternal freedom for our families! So when we fight today, when we tear into these legions like the warriors we are, we will not only do so for Magusanus, although I know he will watch us with pride and lend us his strength! We do so for our sons! For our daughters! We do it to ensure that they will never have to fear the loathsome depredations of Rome’s swarming rapists! I tell you all, if we allow them the time to rebuild their strength with the men returning from the south then we will spend the rest of time under their boot, permitted to exist in return for subjugation and despoilment! And no man here can tolerate such an idea! So when our prefect orders us to attack there is only one question that we have to ask ourselves …’
He waited for a moment in silence once more, allowing the tension to rise.
‘That question is this: how many Romans will we kill today? There is no need to state any number, because the answer, my brothers, is this – all of them!’
Hramn stepped forward and drew his sword, raising it to point at the dawn sky.
‘We go to kill them all! Centurions, prepare to march!’
Germania Inferior, December AD 69
‘Repeat the message to me.’
The slave who was about to buy his freedom by carrying out an act of treachery on the part of his master, recited the words he had memorised, eager to be away. The two men were mounted, having ridden south from Batavodurum that morning on the pretext that the older of the two, a highly respected man within the tribe, was travelling to inspect the progress of the siege around the Old Camp, but had halted five miles north of the fortress in readiness for their act of treachery.
‘I am to ride to the Roman camp at Gelduba by a route that will avoid the risk of my being taken by our scouts. I am to report to Legatus Augusti Flaccus. I am to tell him that you have sent me with the warning that our cohorts are marching to attack his legions at Gelduba after dark tonight, and that he must immediately prepare to defend his camp or risk losing the war in a single battle.’
‘Because if the cohorts manage to bottle up those legions in their camp, then they will slaughter every last man in that trap!’
The slave nodded.
‘I understand, master.’
His owner waved a hand to dispel the need for servile respect.
‘I am your master no longer. You will never be able to return here, you know that. From the moment you enter the Roman camp you will no longer be safe anywhere in our tribal lands, and neither will I, if your name becomes known, so keep it to yourself along with my own! Go south or west, make a new life for yourself with the gold I have given you, and never even think about returning here unless you wish us both to die. And a man in my position who is deemed to have betrayed the tribe will not be allowed to leave this life in haste, I know that to be a fact. Now, as we discussed, make directly for Gelduba and avoid all patrols, Roman or our own, because you can trust nobody. Nobody!’
The slave rode away to the east, the beginning of a long looping path that would take him around the army besieging the Roman fortress and hopefully to the gates of the relieving army’s camp before nightfall, and his master watched until he was out of sight before resuming his ride south, talking quietly to himself as his horse trotted along the arrow-straight road that Rome had built from the fortress to the Island in happier times.
‘Too many good men have died already, Kivilaz, for you to make matters a thousand times worse than they already are by slaughtering three legions and bringing Rome down upon us with enough vengeance to see our lands salted and our people sold into slavery like Carthage of old. Perhaps my treachery will be punished by the gods, but I cannot stand idly by and watch while you condemn the Batavi to extermination at the hands of a dozen avenging legions as the result of your lust to rule the Germans. Claudius Labeo was right, curse my stupidity for not listening to him when he told us that your chosen path for the tribe would lead to disaster …’
A squadron of horsemen rode into view from the south, and the traitor reined his beast in to wait for them. Their leader saluted respectfully, a man he knew by sight if not by name, and he returned the gesture with a smile of greeting.
‘Twenty men sent to escort one tired old man into camp? Kiv must have a camp the size of a city if he’s sending so many of you out on such a small errand!’
The decurion looked out across the open landscape before replying in respectful tones, using the title that was traditional in formal conversation with a man of the traitor’s age and status.
‘Father of the tribe, we were sent to escort you in from here. The Romans have been attempting to get messengers out, and patrols have been doubled to make sure that nobody gets through to the Romans at Gelduba. And it wouldn’t do to have such a respected elder of the tribe killed for his horse by some desperate legionary, would it, sir? We were told to expect two of you though.’
The older man smiled at the question.
‘My slave was annoying me so I sent him back to Batavodurum. And any Roman who tried to take my horse would soon enough discover that this tired old man has hidden teeth, wouldn’t they?’
The decurion grinned back at him, nodding his agreement.
‘True enough, Father. You stand as an example to us all of how a man should live and be prepared to die.’
Gelduba, Germania Inferior, December AD 69
‘What are we waiting for?’
Egilhard turned his head and stared disbelievingly at Adalwin.
‘Less than an hour ago by my reckoning you were complaining that we’re walking into trouble, and that such a headlong advance into enemy territory could only end in disaster. Now you’re complaining that we’re not advancing into enemy territory. So which is it to be, fear of the unknown or boredom? I only ask because—’
‘Get ready to move! We’ll be on the march again shortly! And stop your bickering, there are men trying to sleep in the Roman camp complaining about the noise you’re making!’
Banon’s whispered command silenced the grumbling soldier momentarily, and Egilhard took his chance to check that each of his men was ready to resume the advance now that the swift meal the prefect had ordered them to take just after dusk, in preparation for the final advance to Gelduba, still ten miles distant, was complete. Lanzo had been posted forward into the darkness that had swiftly fallen across the land, placed thirty paces from the column’s head to listen for any sign of an enemy presence, and the leading man went forward to join him slowly and quietly, but as he took a knee alongside the silent soldier the other man raised a hand to forestall any comment. Egilhard listened, guessing that his comrade was straining his ears to hear something or other, but after a long moment the other man shook his head in frustration.
