Enemy of Rome (18 page)

The one-handed Roman decided to ignore the implied insult. Every
primus pilus
protected his authority like Cerberus guarding the gates to the abyss. It wasn’t unknown for them to make this clear to a new legate, but he’d never heard of it done quite so blatantly. He guessed word of his dispute with Marcus Antonius Primus had spread and Brocchus believed it gave him some leeway to mark his territory. He halted in front of a dark-featured young legionary. ‘Name and length of service, soldier?’

‘Marcus Ulpius, second rank, first century,’ the man said in heavily accented Latin. ‘Ten months, three weeks and four days, sir.’

Valerius looked the legionary up and down. He noted the
lorica segmentata
plate armour was entirely free of rust, which was unusual, because it took an enormous amount of effort to keep it that way. Each set consisted of thirty-four separate pieces of body-hugging, polished iron bands; breastplates, back plates, rib protectors, shoulder-guard plates, collar plates, hinges and buckles, and every one prone to tarnish at the first hint of damp. Brocchus obviously kept his men busy.

‘Sword.’ Ulpius’s expression didn’t change as he reached across his body to draw the twenty-two-inch blade of the
gladius
free from its scabbard. Again, the iron was spotless and the triangular point honed needle sharp. He nodded, and the legionary replaced the weapon. Valerius could almost feel the glow of Brocchus’s pride. But now he turned to the reason for his choice of this particular legionary. The shade of Ulpius’s tunic of tight-woven wool was still close to the deep red it had been when he’d purchased it from the stores in place of a previous garment.

‘Your tunic has been replaced recently. Tell me,’ he said casually, ‘how much does a new one cost these days?’

Ulpius shot him a look of dismay. ‘Sir?’

‘You must know how much it cost, soldier,’ Valerius said reasonably. ‘When I was in Britannia, it was as much as four
denarii
, a lot for an ordinary ranker. I’m curious to know if it has increased.’ He had gambled that Brocchus would have added a premium to the cost of a new tunic – which would go directly into his pocket – in return for ignoring the extra punishments he could inflict on the unlucky soldier. Ulpius’s reaction confirmed his suspicion.

The young man’s mouth opened and closed and he looked wide-eyed past Valerius’s shoulder to where Brocchus twitched and spluttered. ‘I …’

‘Or perhaps we could talk about leave entitlement?’

‘If the legate doesn’t mind,’ Brocchus said hastily, ‘this man is a little confused. A fine soldier, but … kicked by a mule … proper bang on the head.’

Valerius nodded to the legionary. ‘A fine turnout, Ulpius. You’re a credit to your unit. As for you …’ he turned his attention to the centurion, bringing his face close and lowering his voice, ‘I know all your little tricks and dodges, Brocchus, and they stop now. I will not have my legionaries fleeced of their pay and I don’t want them going into battle worried about losing a knife or a cooking pot.’

‘You can’t touch me, tribune.’ Brocchus shrugged, undismayed by the threat and certain of his leverage with the army commander. ‘I have friends with influence.’

‘You think you’re above military law just because you have twenty years and a vine stick?’ Valerius laughed. ‘From the moment Marcus Antonius Primus seals the warrant that gives me command of the Seventh Galbiana, I am the law in this legion. You will obey my orders or be back digging ditches with your pension in the legion’s hardship fund. Tonight or tomorrow we’ll be going into battle. This is a fighting legion now, not a knocking shop where legionaries get screwed for the pleasure of Gaius Brocchus. Do you understand,
primus pilus
?’

Brocchus snorted so hard that snot sprayed from the ragged remains of his nose, but he smashed his fist into his chest. ‘Sir.’

Valerius laughed. ‘You may think my back needs to be making closer acquaintance with the point of a javelin, centurion. Just remember that when you’re lining me up you’ll need someone watching your own back. Because my pet sword juggler will be watching mine and he’s much, much quicker than you. Now get this legion on the road and I want to hear them singing.’

Brocchus shot him a look of pure murder as he re-joined Serpentius by the side of the road to watch the red-clad formations pass. ‘What was that all about?’ the Spaniard demanded.

Valerius remounted and looked out over the never-ending tide of legionaries as the familiar strains of the March of Marius was struck up by the First cohort. ‘I just wanted to make sure they knew there was more than one proper bastard in charge of this legion now, one worth fighting for.’

Serpentius noted the grinning faces as word spread along the column of Brocchus’s humiliation, and looked up at the darkening sky. ‘They know that, but it’s going to be nightfall soon. If some fool decides to fight in the dark, pretty boy up there is going to be less interested in fighting than in making sure the new legate of the Seventh doesn’t survive his first battle.’

Valerius clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well, you’ll just have to make sure he fails.’

He had made a new enemy, but his whole being was filled with pure, heart-pumping joy. Gaius Valerius Verrens had his legion, and he had his eagle, and he was taking them to war.

‘Mars’ arse, I wish we had some of those shield-splitters that did such a good job at the Cepha gap,’ Serpentius complained. In the gathering gloom, Valerius agreed with him, but kept his counsel in front of Ferox and his other aides. Shield-splitter was the name the men gave the wheeled
scorpio
artillery that fired five-foot arrows capable of ripping through a
scutum
as if it were silk. The
scorpio
was a giant bow mounted on a heavy wooden platform; it took two or three men to turn the ratchet to draw back the string – a twisted leather cord an inch in diameter. Shield-splitters had broken the back of the enemy charges when Corbulo defeated the Parthians at Cepha, a narrow valley north of the Tigris. Seventh Galbiana’s complement of ten
scorpiones
for every cohort, plus a
ballista
, had been left behind to speed up the march to Cremona. Valerius’s only consolation was that the Vitellian legions hurrying from Hostilia were likely to be equally unencumbered. Twenty-first Rapax or Fifth Alaudae were the only enemy units close enough to bring up their
ballistae
and
scorpiones
.

Primus had stationed the men of the Seventh Galbiana on the southern side of the Via Postumia with the Seventh Claudia, under Messalla, on their left flank. Aquila’s Thirteenth Gemina held the road in a tight column just three centuries wide and twenty deep, a solid backbone through the centre of the Flavian position. On their right stood the veterans of the Eighth Augusta and, holding the far right flank, the bronzed warriors of the Third Gallica in their outlandish Syrian cloaks. The general had stationed his auxiliaries on both wings, knowing they were out-muscled by the Vitellian legions. Valerius prayed the gamble paid off, because if the enemy commander used
his
auxiliaries to hold the centre and hammered the flanks with his legions there’d be only one outcome. Primus’s sole reserve was the host of three thousand disbanded Praetorians, who made up in enthusiasm and hatred for the enemy what they lacked in organization. Arrius Varus, surprisingly, retained his general’s confidence, scouting ahead with his cavalry to give warning of the enemy’s approach. In battle his squadrons would take up position on either side of the army. From there they could harass the Vitellian flanks, exploit an enemy retreat, or – and all Valerius’s experience told him it was a much more likely event – cover their own.

Valerius studied the western horizon, where the faintest of ochre glows marked the dying of another day. It must be now, or the chance would be lost. He’d borrowed a fine white stallion from one of his aides, the better to be seen as the light faded. Heaving himself into the saddle he rode along the front ranks of the First cohort, which held the position of honour on the right of the legionary line.

He saw Brocchus spit surreptitiously and he had no doubt the
primus pilus
accompanied it with a muttered curse. Atilius, the legion’s
aquilifer
, standing to the centurion’s left in his bearskin and gleaming breastplate, met Valerius’s nod with a grin. Behind them the legionaries stood in long silent lines, resting their arms on their heavy curved shields. An army of faceless strangers, their features hidden in the shadow of their helmet brims.

The first time Valerius heard a legionary commander rallying his troops had been on the crest of a gentle slope that would soon be slick with the blood of Boudicca’s rebels. He’d never thought to be in this position. Yet, when it came to it, he found the words flowed easily. Less than six months ago he’d stood on these damp fields with brave men at his side. Then the trampled crops had been new planted, the green shoots struggling through the dark earth into the spring sunshine. Now it was the stubble of the autumn harvest – for these were fields not yet haunted by the ghosts of battle – that prickled the feet of the men in their hobnailed sandals.

‘Do you fear the enemy?’ His voice sounded loud in his own ears, but he knew it wouldn’t carry to five thousand men. To ensure his message was heard every centurion had orders to relay his words strongly enough to carry to the next century.

‘No!’ The shouted reply rippled through the ranks after a short puzzled silence.

‘Do you fear the darkness?’

‘No!’

‘Then you are either liars or fools.’ He paused and after a moment they laughed as he’d hoped they would. ‘For together they may combine to destroy us. Our enemy is confusion. Our friend is discipline. The watchword for tonight is Tolosa.’ The Gallic city was Primus’s birthplace and an unlikely word for the Vitellian commander to choose for that reason alone. ‘Your
tesserarius
will remind you, but etch it on your soul. Remember it. Trust the men beside you and in front of you, and stay in contact. In the darkness, cohesion is your friend. Division is your enemy. You are a young legion; you have never fought the legions of Vitellius. That is no shame, and no fault of yours. An emperor gave you your eagle, but he was foolish enough to send you away, and paid the price. Another called for your aid, but that call came too late. Now is your chance to show your quality. Atilius?’ The standard-bearer marched forward, led by a soldier with a torch. He held the eagle aloft on its wooden pole and the spread wings glittered in the flickering golden light as if it were a living thing. Valerius could almost feel the legion hold its collective breath at the sight of their sacred charge. He waited until the
aquilifer
reached his side. ‘I promised a dying man I would save his legion’s eagle or die in the attempt.’ He allowed the image to make its impact. ‘I failed him. I … will … not … lose … another.’ The words emerged as if from a slingshot, hurled by the strength of his emotion, and the legionaries caught his mood and roared their approval.

‘Galbiana! Galbiana! Galbiana!’ A great swelling storm of defiance hung over the battlefield like a banner.

Valerius raised his hand for quiet and waited for the hubbub to cease. ‘That eagle belonged to a young legion too,’ he continued. ‘And I watched that legion charge to glory. I watched it tear the enemy ranks apart. I watched Juva, of the
Waverider
,
optio
of the first century of the Fifth cohort, destroy an enemy square and rip an eagle from the dying grasp of its
aquilifer
. I watched him carry it to his legate and I watched him promoted to centurion and become a Hero of Rome.’ He paused again, his mouth dry with the memory. In the silence he sensed the waves of emotion ripple through the long ranks of armoured men behind the brightly painted
scuta
. Battle madness, they called it, the madness that would carry a man through a shield wall to the gates of Hades. It was an elusive quality, unreliable, often untrustworthy and rare as a phoenix egg. Yet in the right hands it could be as fearsome a weapon as was ever forged in an armourer’s fire. The night air seemed to throb with its power, and Valerius marvelled that he, and he alone, had called it up. He smiled, and would have been surprised if he could have seen the elemental savagery etched in the lines of his face. ‘I was wrong.’ His voice shook with the passion that welled inside him. ‘You need not fear the enemy, because the enemy is a leaderless rabble and fodder for your swords. You need not fear the night because the spirit of Juva is with you, and Mars and Jupiter watch over you. If you forget the name Tolosa, then let Juva be the unit watchword of the Seventh Galbiana.’ This time it was the big Nubian’s name they roared, and again he raised his hands for silence. ‘We will fight on the defensive, a wall of iron that kills anyone who dares come against us. But if an opportunity arises, we must be ready to exploit it. Be ready for the command and do not hesitate. Now,’ he bowed his head, exhausted by emotions he struggled to keep under control, ‘make your peace with your gods.’

In the hush that followed, Ferox walked his horse forward to Valerius’s side, pride shining in his eyes. ‘The Senate has lost a great politician by your presence here,’ the second in command said quietly. ‘But I for one am glad of it.’

Valerius felt as drained as if he’d already fought the battle, but he shrugged off the feeling and clapped his deputy on the shoulder. ‘Who would have thought it, Claudius? An orator. Cicero reborn.’ He lowered his head, so no other man heard. ‘Can I count on you?’

The tribune raised his chin. ‘To the death.’

‘I never doubted it. Make sure our best men are with the eagle. Take no argument from Brocchus if you have to put his placemen back in the ranks.’

Ferox nodded and rode off, to be replaced by Serpentius. ‘When you were telling them about Juva’s heroics you forgot to mention watching him being chopped into little pieces along with the rest of First Adiutrix.’

‘Sometimes a speech is as much about what you leave out as what you put in.’ The Spaniard heard the smile in Valerius’s voice before the tone changed. ‘If they attack in the night it’s going to be bloody and confused. Noise and distraction on every side,
pila
coming out of the darkness and no way of knowing whose hand threw them. If the Seventh stays together we’ll be safe enough, but if they break … At the start, I want you to stay by me and listen.’