Onslaught_The Centurions II, page 8
Scar laughed.
‘Which has got nothing to do with me, and everything to do with that tribune who’s been sent to take us back south. It seems that the emperor needs the Batavi more than he thought when he sent us home, once we’d done our part to win the battle that gave him the empire on a plate.’
Bairaz nodded.
‘We heard about it. And about the extra verse you added to the paean about what you were going to do to the praetorians. Quite touching …’ He held out his cup for a refill, and waited until Scar had put down the jug before speaking again. ‘And since there’s no gentle way to break the news, here it is told straight. We’re at war with Rome.’
Scar’s mouth opened involuntarily, and it took him several heartbeats to voice a response.
‘We’re … at war … with Rome? Is this some kind of joke? How the fuck can we be at war with Rome, brother, when we’re Rome’s favourite allies? And what kind of madness would lead to our people starting a fight we have no chance of winning?’
‘Who’s the one person you think could persuade the tribe to do such a thing?’
Having asked the question, Bairaz stared at him in silence, and Scar’s face hardened as the first hint of realisation dawned on him.
‘Kiv?’
His brother nodded.
‘Our cousin Prince Kivilaz. You know as well as I do that he was shipped off to Rome last year, accused of treason against the emperor Nero, and that his brother was executed without trial for the same alleged crime. And you know he was released by Nero’s successor Galba, and given command of the German bodyguard when they were dismissed from the emperor’s service and sent back to serve in Germania.’
Scar waved an impatient hand.
‘All this I know. And the fact that he was arrested again by the commander of the army on the lower Rhenus, as a means of gaining favour with his legions’ officers, and that he escaped execution only because Legatus Augusti Vitellius knew that the continued support of the Batavi was worth more to him than the moment’s enjoyment for his centurions. Quite wisely, given the role we played in defeating his rival Otho and putting him on the throne. So, more to the point brother, what don’t I know?’
Bairaz leaned closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial mutter.
‘What you don’t know is that while he was in Rome, Kiv managed to make some powerful new friends. Friends in very high places. And one of those friends visited him in Batavodurum a month or so ago, a former cavalry officer who served in the Old Camp a few years ago, a man by the name of Plinius, come to ask him to lead an uprising against Rome in order to distract Vitellius just as a certain legatus augusti in the east challenges the emperor for the throne. This man Plinius predicted that the Romans would resort to conscription of our youth, and he was soon enough proven right in that expectation.’ He paused, taking another sip of his wine while Scar shook his head in bemusement.
‘Conscription? But that’s—’
‘Against the terms of our treaty with Rome? Of course it is. That didn’t stop them though. And it didn’t stop them from grabbing old men and boys for ransom too, or from forcing themselves onto the boys either.’
Scar frowned into his face, reading the pugnacious set of his brother’s jaw.
‘They … raped our children?’
‘Yes, Scar. They raped our children.’
‘Gods …’ The prefect shook his head in disgusted amazement. ‘But all the same, to go to war?’
His brother nodded.
‘I know. But Kiv did it right, in the Batavi way. He didn’t try to climb aboard the high horse, he called a meeting of the tribal elders and officers and put it to them straight, what the Romans had done in breaking the treaty and the request that this Vespasianus had made of him, to put a dagger into Rome’s back at the very moment when the emperor can least afford to divert men to fight us.’
‘You were invited to this gathering?’
Bairaz grinned at his brother’s disbelief.
‘Of course not. I was just one of the men selected to make sure that the council meeting wasn’t disturbed or overheard. But if my mouth was firmly shut that doesn’t mean that my ears and eyes weren’t open, brother.’
Scar grinned at his knowing smile.
‘You little fucker, you always were the sneaky one of us, so light-footed that you could have bread out of the oven without mother ever noticing it and get the rest of us the blame. So what else did you hear?’
The younger man leaned closer.
‘His argument was that we were damned whether we betrayed the Romans or not. I forgot to tell you that our nephew Hramn ran their recruiting parties off our soil with nothing more than their tunics. He even took their belts, which meant that half a dozen of their centurions had to walk back into the Old Camp looking like women. The legions will be baying for our blood after that, not just his. He told the elders that if we stay true to Vitellius and help him defeat Vespasianus, then his legions will come home with revenge for that humiliation on their minds, and that Vitellius will have no particular interest in protecting us – whereas if Vespasianus wins, then he has a promise direct from the man himself that our tribe would be given the same independence that Tiberius granted the Frisii forty years ago. But if Vespasianus wins without us, he will probably send our cohorts somewhere distant as a punishment for failing to assist his cause and send the German legions home defeated, where they will have nothing better to do than persecute our defenceless families.
‘So we fight for Vitellius and end up with the shitty end of the stick whatever happens, whereas if we get behind Vespasianus he’ll be obliged to protect us from the German legions, if he wins.’
‘And give us back our status as partners of Rome, rather than being their subjects.’
Scar sat back in his chair with a sigh.
‘Let me guess. Kiv sent you, with enough men to bull through anything short of a legion cohort, to come and fetch us back to Batavorum. Trusting that the fact of our family ties to him will ensure that I turn the cohorts around and march to the tribe’s aid.’
Bairaz nodded seriously.
‘Of course. Without the cohorts all he has is the militia, a single mounted cohort of pissed off former members of the Bodyguard, and a horde of German tribesmen who are flocking across the river to join us. Perhaps too many of them for the tribe’s safety. Whereas—’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why are the German tribes suddenly so interested? I thought they learned their lesson after Arminius’s uprising, and the way the Romans slowly but surely tightened the noose around their necks until they could hardly breathe?’ His brother smirked, and Scar raised a jaundiced eyebrow. ‘I see. What else is it that you know and I don’t?’
‘There’s a priestess …’
Scar tipped his head on one side.
‘A priestess? So fucking what?’
Bairaz shook his head at his brother in mock sympathy.
‘How quickly we forget the old ways, eh? In days gone by we worshipped the older gods, not those the Romans have “encouraged” us to adopt alongside our own. Hercules Magusanus? What was wrong with Magusanus that he needed to have Hercules forced upon him? The Romans took a god of raiding and plunder, a god suited to our tribe, and they turned him into something from Greek legend instead.’
‘And your point is?’
‘And my point, brother, is that the tribes on the other side of the great river still worship Magusanus, and Thunraz, and all the other gods. And this priestess, this woman Veleda, she truly seems to have the power of those gods running through her veins. Men travel hundreds of miles just to hear her words, from both sides of the river, and she has so great an influence on Romans and Germans alike that she settled a dispute between the Ubii on the Roman side of the river and the Tencteri on the German side simply by sending them her answer to their dispute, which satisfied neither side completely and therefore allowed honour to be served for both.’
Scar shrugged.
‘And?’
‘And how does this bear upon the Batavi? It’s simple, brother. Veleda has declared that the Batavi will be at the heart of an uprising that will result in their freedom, perpetual and unchallenged, leading the free German tribes and those conquered by Rome in a revolt that will break their power over us forever.’
‘And the people of the tribes believe this nonsense?’
Bairaz regarded his brother steadily for a moment before speaking again.
‘It is the curse of the soldier that he more than any other man will inevitably come to doubt in the reality of the gods, and their ability or even their willingness to intervene in our affairs, seeing as he does so much blood and death. Yes, Scar, the people of the tribe believe it. What you call nonsense they see as the voice of their real god speaking to them through a holy woman. The elders listened to arguments from Kiv for an uprising against Rome, and from Labeo against the idea, and their votes were given to—’
‘Labeo?’ Scar leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in an almost predatory stare. ‘Claudius Labeo? I’d imagine that his contribution very nearly had our cousin reaching for his knife.’
Bairaz chuckled.
‘You know Kiv just as well as I do. As a prince of the royal blood, he sees himself as the leader of the Julians, Augustans and Tiberians, now that his father’s too old to do much more than sit in the kitchen of their farmhouse and curse the families granted citizenship under Claudius and Nero, and their ambitions to take power.’
‘What happened between them?’
The younger man shrugged.
‘It didn’t come to violence, if that’s what you’re wondering. When the lots were cast and it was clear we were going to war, then the two of them went off into a corner, apparently to resolve their differences. But soon after that Labeo left without saying a word to anyone, and at dawn the next morning he led his entire cohort away to the east, and joined forces with the Romans.’
Scar shrugged.
‘What else did Kiv expect? That two-faced bastard will put himself on the side he expects to win, we all know that, hoping to be the man the Romans show favour to when we’ve inevitably been ground into the mud by half a dozen legions. So then what happened?’
‘He put the plan he had agreed with the elders into action. He persuaded the Cananefates to rise up and attack the westernmost border forts, which were only manned by a single cohort of frightened auxiliaries, then petitioned the Romans to be allowed to put our militia into the field against the rebels.’
Scar nodded knowingly.
‘His plan actually being to combine with the Cananefates and roll up the border forts one at a time, right, to prevent their garrisons being pulled out?’
‘Yes, but they didn’t fall for it, since Labeo was clearly telling them our true intentions. They sent their fleet downriver and pulled most of the Frisii troops out of their forts and back to safety, while they sent more auxiliary cohorts west from further up the river to form a force they felt would be able to deal with us, under the command of some centurion called Aquillius.’
‘And?’
Bairaz shrugged.
‘I wouldn’t have known very much more than that, because I was selected to come and give you this message the night before Kiv planned to give them battle, but we were overtaken by a messenger on the road. He made the mistake of stopping to water his horse where we were taking a midday breather, and the bigger mistake of not working out who we were before sharing the news he was carrying.’
‘That explains the somewhat dour-looking rider your men were gathered around to keep him out of plain view.’
‘Yes. We took his message, and it makes interesting reading.’ He took a scroll from his belt, handing it to his brother. ‘It’s from the legatus augusti commanding the German legions, Hordeonius Flaccus, to his master Vitellius in Rome.’
Scar read the message aloud, smiling grimly at the twist of fate that had put a scroll intended for the emperor he had helped put onto the throne into his hands.
‘“Unpleasant duty to report to the emperor … revolt of the Batavi and their allies … direct response to the conscription ordered by Rome … treachery of our allies …”’ He looked up at his brother. ‘This reads more like a list of excuses than a military despatch. Ah, here’s the detail. “I sent forward two full-strength infantry cohorts and a cavalry wing to join the single cohort remaining in the frontier area after the earlier reallocation of the other three cohorts to join the emperor’s own army, under the command of Centurion Aquillius, an officer previously recommended to me by the emperor’s praetorian prefect.” There’s a lot of you and your in there for a man writing to tell his master bad news.’ He returned his attention to the scroll. ‘“It was my intention to show the German tribes that Rome’s legions would not be required in the suppression of this revolt, but it seems that the Batavi prince the emperor saw fit to release in January …”’ he shook his head in amusement. ‘There he goes again with the you. “… not only managed to subvert a cohort of Tungrians, but also persuaded the crews of the Rhenus fleet to mutiny against their officers, and turn their weapons on the rear of the loyal cohorts. The result seems to have been a total defeat.”’
Scar looked at his brother with raised eyebrows.
‘Seems? A defeat so complete that he doesn’t even know how bad it was?’
The younger man pointed to the scroll.
‘Read the rest of it.’
‘“Under the circumstances I have immediately mobilised the remaining cohorts of the Fifth and Fifteenth Legions to move forward into Batavi territory, and I am bolstering their strength with the support of the remaining auxiliary cohorts and our allied Batavi cavalry …” That’ll be Labeo, no doubt. “I have issued Quintus Munius Lupercus who commands these two legions with orders to eliminate this rebellion before it has the time to gather strength from the German tribes on the eastern bank of the Rhenus, and to act with both speed and decisiveness in attacking the Batavi capital, defeating the rebel army and bringing this man Civilis to justice. Under these circumstances I am obviously unable to offer any further support to the army the emperor is raising to confront Titus Flavius Vespasianus, as was doubtless the intention of the usurper’s agents in fomenting this uprising. I will provide the emperor with regular dispatches detailing our progress in this critical matter as and when I have news worthy of relating.” And the rest of it is the usual paying of empty respects.’
Scar looked up at his brother.
‘Well, isn’t that just perfect? Every other bastard in the four thousand men I command gets to follow the order I’ll have to give on the back of this … this …’
He fell silent, looking up at the tent’s ceiling for a moment before raising his voice in a bellow that made his brother start.
‘Alcaeus!’
The tent’s door flap opened and a uniformed centurion stepped through, his helmet topped not by a crest but instead by the snarling head of a wolf, the badge of a priest in the service of the cohort’s god Hercules.
‘Prefect.’
Scar looked at him with a jaundiced expression.
‘I thought you’d be waiting somewhere nearby, close enough to hear me shout but suitably distant so as not to be seen to be eavesdropping.’
His deputy shrugged.
‘I didn’t need to eavesdrop. Your brother turns up at the head of a full century of cavalry with a Roman messenger as their prisoner and takes you off into a corner for a quiet chat? You can tell me the details later, but I don’t have to be a genius to work out that there’s something wrong with the state of affairs between us and Rome, given the not-so-subtle hints your brother’s men are dropping. And if it’s obvious to me, then I’d imagine it’s pretty much clear to another man who’ll have an opinion on the matter …’
‘Tribune Verus?’
‘I took the liberty of having a couple of my more subtle men follow him when he went off to find his tent, including young Achilles just in case the tribune fancied his chances with his blade—’
‘Young Achilles?’
Scar shot Bairaz an amused glance.
‘We have a new hero, brother, a young lad who only joined us at Saturnalia last year.’ He turned back to Alcaeus.
‘And?’
‘And he walked straight to where his horse was tethered, as cool as you like, and was on the point of making a swift exit when my men persuaded him to stay a while longer.’
‘Good. He can take a message back to Rome for us.’
The Island, August AD 69
‘’They’re across the river.’
Hramn wearily placed his sword and helmet on a chair, picked up a cup and filled it with wine from the jug waiting on the broad wooden table, stretching his powerful frame with a grunt.
‘Are you slowing down, Decurion? Starting to feel the toll of a day in the saddle in your back and thighs? The man who went to Rome three years ago could have ridden all day and still had the energy to spar with his best swordsmen for an hour, whereas it seems the man who came back might be happier going for a sleep.’
‘Fuck you too, Kiv.’ The cavalryman shot his royal uncle a disgusted glance and tossed the wine down his throat, reaching for the jug to refill it before sinking into the other chair. ‘I’d like to see you after spending most of the day in the saddle, not to mention seeing to your beast’s needs and getting your armour cleaned and back on its tree.’
Kivilaz raised his cup in salute.
‘Just let me know when it gets too much for you and I’ll find you a nice soft job on my staff. Draco could do with some help keeping the elders from panicking, now they’ve realised that we’re properly at war with Rome, so perhaps your diplomatic skills would be well employed persuading them not to walk around proclaiming our doom?’
Hramn laughed darkly at the thought.
‘My diplomatic skills would probably be nothing much more than an offer to put someone’s teeth down their throat.’
The older man dipped his head in acceptance of his cavalry commander’s sentiment.
