Roman Boy, page 8
“By all the Gods…” murmured Alexios. “Who would do such a thing?”
As usual, he was marching beside Lucius. They were in the middle of the column with Optio Quintus nearby. He was looking at the bodies too, his face grim.
“One of Caturigos’s war-bands, probably,” the Optio said with a shrug. “I’d guess he ordered the village to be wiped out because they refused to support him.”
“Why would they do that?” said Lucius. “I thought all the Britons hated us.”
“Not all,” said Optio Quintus. “Some tribes understand it is better to be Rome’s friend than our enemy. And we give our allies gold to keep them sweet.”
He talked more about the tribes as they marched, and Lucius took in everything he said. The biggest, most powerful tribe in the north was the Brigantes. They had been Rome’s ally since the long-ago days of their great Queen, Cartimandua. Now they were ruled by her grand-daughter Queen Belisama. Rumour had it that Caturigos had been trying hard to turn her against Rome, but so far she had resisted him.
Eventually the road led to the top of a ridge, and there, directly ahead of them, was Hadrian’s Wall. It was an awesome sight, running east and west as far as Lucius could see, a tall grey barrier that seemed to hold down the rolling green land, dividing it in two under the enormous sky. Rome’s power made into stone by its Legions, Lucius thought with pride. If only he could tell the others that he had met Hadrian…
As they marched down the ridge, he saw they were approaching a large fort built as part of the Wall. They crossed a wooden bridge over the vallum, the ditch that ran behind the Wall and parallel to it, and entered the fort by the eastern gate. Lucius glanced up at a carved stone figure set into the Wall, and he realized it was Victoria, the Goddess of winning in battle. “Give us victory in any battles to come,” he murmured to her under his breath, “and I promise you a fine sacrifice.”
The fort was called Vercovicium, and it had been built by soldiers of the Second Legion. They had finished the most important parts, the walls and the gatehouses, but there was still plenty of work to be done on the barracks. There were no bunks, just mattresses on the earth floor, and it was difficult to fit everybody in. A full garrison already occupied the fort, so their own arrival had made it very crowded, as Lucius informed Optio Quintus when he went to make his report to him.
“Don’t worry, we’ll only be here a few days,” said Optio Quintus. “I’ve been told we’re being sent on, to an observation fort further north, beyond the Wall.”
Lucius was surprised to hear of Roman forts beyond the Wall, but it seemed there were quite a few. They had been built where small garrisons could keep an eye on the tribes, and send back information about anything unusual happening.
So three days later, Lucius and a column of his fellow soldiers marched out through the north gate, along the track that led across the heathland stretching before them. Lucius’s contubernium was part of a century now, eighty men with Ulpianus as their commander and Optio Quintus as his second-in-command. Their task was simple – they were to relieve the garrison at the northern fort and hold it for a month.
It was a dismal day, more like autumn than summer, Lucius thought. Grey clouds hung low in the sky above their heads, and a cool breeze ruffled the grass on either side of the track. Lucius was uneasy, and he sensed the others were too. They might be trained soldiers of Rome, armed with swords and spears, shields hung on their backs – but they were beyond the frontier now, in the lands where barbarians ruled. He couldn’t help feeling that they were being watched, and that somewhere Caturigos and his warriors were simply lying in wait for them.
“I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I wish we were being made to march faster,” muttered Alexios. “I’d much rather be in a fort than out here.”
“I know what you mean,” said Lucius. He could hear the tension in his own voice. “It can’t be much further.”
He looked ahead, his eyes falling on the Centurion at the head of the column, the tall red crest on his helmet standing out like a flame. They had come to a place where the track dipped between two hills dotted with bushes. Lucius gripped his sword hilt tightly – then he heard a swishing sound, and saw something moving swiftly through the air.
It was an arrow, and it went clean through Centurion Ulpianus’s neck.
The Centurion staggered to one side, then fell to the ground. For an instant the column froze, nobody able to understand what had happened. Lucius stared at the blood pooling beneath Ulpianus, and felt his stomach churn as if his guts were turning to water. There were more swishing sounds – which must mean more arrows, he thought, his mind strangely calm. Then the arrows rained down on them.
Most of the shafts glanced off helmets and armour, but some men screamed as deadly arrowheads drove into their flesh. Some were trying desperately to pull shields off their backs, while others threw themselves to the ground, or simply remained frozen, their faces masks of terror. One man cast his shield away and ran, but he took an arrow in the back and went down.
“Steady, lads!” someone yelled. It was Optio Quintus. He was striding along the column, grabbing soldiers, pulling them into place, making them form a line.
“Link shields, draw swords, remember your training if you want to stay alive!”
Lucius felt ashamed that he had been doing nothing, so he dumped his pack, pulled his shield off his back, pushed his left arm through the straps, drew his sword and ran over to join the others before Quintus reached his part of the column.
He linked his shield with those of the men on either side of him. Where was Alexios? But now a new noise filled the air, blotting out everything else; a strange yipping sound that seemed to pierce his skull right through to his brain. He looked over his shield and up the hill, and saw a mounted war-band of Britons silhouetted against the pale grey sky.
Then they thundered down the slope and the ground shook beneath him.
FIFTEEN
CHAOS AND CONFUSION
THERE WEREN’T MANY, maybe twenty warriors charging towards them on powerful horses. They were stripped to the waist, their faces and bodies covered in swirling tattoos, the hair on their heads spiked into peaks and stained bright yellow or blood red. The unearthly yipping was their war-cry, intended to terrify their enemies – and it was working. Lucius suddenly realized he was shivering with fear.
The war-band crashed into the Roman line and went through, knocking legionaries clean over as if they were skittles in the games Lucius had seen played in The Two Eagles. Then they wheeled round in perfect formation and came riding back towards the column. Those with bows shot at the legionaries, arrows thunking into shields or whistling over their heads, while the rest brandished swords or spears.
“Keep your shields up!” Optio Quintus yelled. “To me, form a circle…”
Most of the legionaries were obeying Quintus, quickly gathering round him in a tactic they had often practised in training. They had learned to make a circle facing outwards, shields linked, swords and spears sticking out. But the war-band’s charge had split the column into two unequal parts, and Lucius, Alexios and a dozen others had been separated from their comrades.
It was clear they would never make it to the circle, and Lucius could see that the Britons realized that too. The war-band swerved towards his isolated group like a pack of wolves swooping on the stragglers in a flock of sheep, their war-cry now even louder and far more piercing. Lucius could see the savage grins on their tattooed faces – had the Gods decided this was to be his day to die?
Suddenly everything around him seemed to slow down, almost as if time itself was standing still. Lucius closed his eyes and pressed his sword hilt against the armour over his chest, his clenched fingers feeling the bump of his bulla beneath, and he silently prayed to Jupiter. Then it was as if the God spoke to him, the divine voice strong and clear, echoing in his head as it had done in his dream. Not yet, Lucius, said the God. Trust in yourself and you will know what to do.
It was simple, of course – he had to delay the war-band long enough to allow the men with him to make it over to Optio Quintus and the others. But how? He opened his eyes, the world speeding up once more, and he saw that a single warrior on a white horse was out in front of the war-band. Their leader, Lucius thought. Taking him down might be the answer… Even as the thought entered his mind, Lucius felt certain of his instinct.
“Get to the circle!” he yelled at Alexios, who shouted something in reply. But Lucius didn’t hear – he was already running towards the war-band, covering the ground as swiftly as he could, sword raised, the shield heavy on his arm. The war-band’s leader saw him and his grin grew wider, his war-cry more shrill. He jabbed his heels into the horse’s flanks and raced faster towards Lucius, the war-band following – exactly what Lucius had been hoping for.
At the last instant his eyes and the leader’s locked together, and the grin on the leader’s face faltered when he realized Lucius was not afraid. Then they smashed into each other, the leader’s spear-blade thumping into Lucius’s shield, the shaft snapping in two. The horse collided with Lucius, knocking him back, but even as he fell he glimpsed the leader flying through the air and hitting the ground head first.
Then it seemed to Lucius that for a long while all was chaos and confusion, horses squealing, blades clashing, men yelling and cursing. He curled into a ball and tried to shelter under his shield, waiting for it to be over, sure that he would soon be dead and starting his journey to the Underworld. But at last he heard the sound of hoofbeats galloping off, and faces were looking down at him – Roman faces.
“He’s alive, thank the Gods!” said Alexios. “Here, let me help you!”
Alexios and a couple of the others reached down and pulled Lucius to his feet. Lucius felt dazed, his head ringing, and he remembered a glancing blow from a hoof.
“Well, that was either very brave or very stupid,” Optio Quintus said, shaking his head. “But you’ll be pleased to know it worked. You’ve won your first fight.”
He stepped to the side, allowing Lucius to see beyond him. The leader of the war-band lay on the ground nearby, clearly dead, his head twisted at a strange angle. He must have broken his neck when he had been thrown from his horse. Three more of his warriors also lay dead, and the rest of the war-band were galloping back up the slope, four riderless horses following in their wake. The Gods had decided it had been their day to die and not his, and Lucius felt a shiver run through him.
Then darkness filled his mind and the world slipped away.
When he finally woke, late in the afternoon of the next day, Lucius found out that Alexios had slung him across his back and carried him to the fort, refusing to let anyone else do it or help him in any way. Once they had arrived at the fort, Alexios had put him to bed in the barracks, then watched over him through the night.
“I owe you my thanks, Alexios,” said Lucius.
He was sitting up in bed, Alexios beside him on a stool. There were twenty beds in the barracks, but nobody else was in the room. Lucius had a hoof-shaped bruise on his forehead, and his body ached deep into his bones.
“You owe me nothing,” said Alexios. “You are my friend, as well as my brother in arms. You would have done the same for me.”
“That is true,” Lucius said quietly. Then he remembered the skirmish, and his smile faded. “So, how many men did we lose?”
“Only two; Centurion Ulpianus and another man, not one of our lot, thanks be to the Gods,” said Alexios. Lucius remembered the legionary who had tried to run away. “We brought the bodies back,” Alexios went on, “and Optio Quintus says we’ll have funerals for them tomorrow. There were some arrow wounds, but nothing serious. Anyway, rest a while longer – I’ll come for you when it’s time to eat.”
Alexios left, and Lucius wondered why he had ever doubted his friend. What was that saying of Arwenna’s? Follow the path if you want to know where it leads. Well, this path had led him to real friendship, something he hadn’t been expecting in the Eagles. Of course it had also led him to dark things, like the image of the dead war-band leader haunting his thoughts. But he was glad he had chosen it. He was truly a soldier now, and he offered up a soldier’s prayer of thanks to the Goddess of victory.
He was still feeling good when Alexios returned to collect him later. Lucius changed into a clean tunic, and they set off for the mess-hall. It was on the other side of the fort, so Lucius got the chance to find out more about his new posting.
It was smaller than the fort in Londinium, a square of stone walls on an earth rampart surrounded by a ditch. There was a single gatehouse, a courtyard, and four barrack rooms built against the insides of two walls. The Principia had two floors and stood against the wall opposite the gatehouse, the mess-hall beside it. Sentries stood watch on the walls, the rays of the setting sun glinting on their iron helmets.
Lucius followed Alexios into the mess-hall, which was much bigger than it had seemed on the outside. It was crowded and noisy, the new arrivals and the old garrison all squeezed together at the long tables, eating, drinking and talking loudly. Optio Quintus was sitting at the far end with a Centurion, the garrison’s commander. But as soon as Quintus caught sight of Lucius, he jumped to his feet.
“Quiet, everybody!” he called out, his voice booming above the hubbub. The mess-hall instantly fell silent and the soldiers all turned to look at him. His attention was fixed on Lucius, however. He smiled, and beckoned Lucius forwards.
“Go on, you’d better do as you’re told,” said Alexios. He was smiling too.
Lucius glanced at his friend uneasily, not sure what was going on. Yet he dare not disobey Quintus, so he began walking through the mess-hall, all eyes switching to him now. He had a strong urge to reach for his bulla, but he couldn’t do that, not in front of all these men. Eventually he came to Quintus’s table and stopped. Quintus turned him round so he was facing the packed mess-hall.
“Fellow soldiers of Rome!” Optio Quintus said. “We lost two comrades yesterday, but we found a hero. Raise your cups in praise to … Didius Silvanus Nasica!”
They did as he bade them, and chanted the name until it filled the hall.
But it is not my name, thought Lucius; and the smile on his face was a false one.
SIXTEEN
SURROUNDED BY BARBARIANS
THIS SHOULD HAVE been a wonderful moment, but it was as if Lucius had bitten into something he expected to taste sweet only to find it was sour instead. After a while Optio Quintus sent him off to get his food, and the mess-hall settled down again, swelling with the same hubbub as before. Lucius sat on a bench beside Alexios, who chattered away. Lucius, however, was too busy brooding to listen.
Changing his name had made sense when he was trying to escape from Gaius and stay alive, but it was starting to feel like a bad idea now. Hearing his new name chanted by so many people had been a shock. He wasn’t exactly avoiding attention, was he? If he kept this up, people would talk about him – and that might come to the notice of Gaius. It could all end with him being punished by the Army for using a false name, or murdered by Sicarius. Or maybe both.
Suddenly he felt angry as well. He knew he had been brave in the fight with the war-band, and it had felt good to be praised. But it would have been so much better to be honoured in his own true name: Lucius Caecina Placidus. Yet because of Gaius that was impossible. What then was he to do? Should he stop being brave? What kind of life would that be for a Roman soldier? One that might not last very long…
“Is something wrong, Didius?” said Alexios, breaking into his anxious thoughts. “You’ve been quiet, and you’ve hardly eaten. Perhaps you need more rest.”
Lucius turned to his friend, saw the concern in his face, and felt guilty. It seemed shameful to keep the truth from such a friend, and at that moment Lucius nearly let the secret out. It would be a relief to have someone to confide in, another person to share the burden of his secret. But then he realized it might become a burden for Alexios too, and the words died in his mouth. It would be just as wrong to get Alexios involved.
“Don’t worry, Alexios, I’m fine,” Lucius said instead. “You heard Optio Quintus – I’m a hero, and we heroes don’t need food or rest, not like you poor mortals.”
“Very funny,” said Alexios, grinning. “You’re clearly big-headed too, but I can put up with that. Now if you’re not going to eat your stew, hand me your bowl.”
Lucius passed him the bowl and they sat in the noisy mess-hall without talking, as good friends sometimes do. But Lucius still felt uneasy, the worry gnawing at him. He silently prayed to Jupiter, hoping for a sign, some kind of reassurance about the future.
But the God did not speak to him that night, not even in his dreams.
The old garrison left at dawn the next morning, marching out of the fort in full battle order, heading south to Vercovicium. Lucius was on sentry duty and watched them from the walls, half-expecting the war-band to appear suddenly and attack. But the column just grew smaller until it finally vanished in the distance. We’re on our own now, Lucius thought, here in this little fort surrounded by barbarians.
Later that day they held the funerals for Centurion Ulpianus and the other dead soldier, burying them in the small cemetery outside the fort. There was an honour guard of a dozen legionaries, including Lucius and Alexios. Optio Quintus – who was now in command – said the prayers and made the sacrifice to the Gods. No animals were kept in the fort, so he poured wine on the ground, emptying a flask from the stores.
“I pray to the Gods that we won’t have to bury anyone else while we’re here,” Alexios muttered as the graves were filled in. “Especially not you and me.”
