Sword of Rome (43 page)

Serpentius noticed it first. ‘What in the name of the gods is that?’ he demanded through a throat choked with dust and thirst.
That
was a shelter four times the length of those the legionaries had used for their mining expeditions, and it appeared more sturdily constructed. Valerius followed his gaze and felt a thrill of genuine fear as he watched it carve a route through the legionary ranks.

‘To the gate!’ He ran in the direction of the flanking towers.

When they reached the walkway above the gate the curious structure was close enough for the foremost occupants to be visible. Its size was explained by the fact that, as well as the men who carried it, the interior had to be wide enough to accommodate two lines of legionaries and the massive tree trunk they struggled to carry between them. The clue was in the huge stone carved in the shape of a horned ram that tipped the trunk.

‘Juva? Brace the gates and concentrate the strongest of your men here with as many of the big blocks as they can find.’

By the time he heard the sound of the braces being knocked into position the battering ram was already being manoeuvred towards the gate through a storm of spears and arrows. But the roof of the shelter wasn’t thatched, rather plated with some kind of metal sheets, and the weapons simply bounced off. Sweat ran down Valerius’s back, but it had nothing to do with the warmth of a spring day.

The builders had set the gate back from the line of the wall, so that from above the overhang obscured the front of the shelter. A big legionary staggered up with a stone block, but before he could hurl it an enormous splintering crash froze everyone in place. ‘Jupiter save us,’ someone whispered. It wasn’t until he saw Serpentius staring at him that Valerius realized it had been he himself. Now it was the Vitellian forces who cheered, and they attacked the walls with renewed vigour as the battering ram’s rhythmic, ear-splitting crash echoed across the field.

‘I’ll show those bastards.’ With a roar, the legionary heaved the block up to the parapet and dropped it on to the shelter below with a mighty clatter. For a moment the battering stopped, but when Valerius risked a glance to inspect the damage he saw that although
the metal roof had been badly dented, the occupants were untouched.

‘Try again,’ he snarled, but in his heart he knew the result would be the same.

‘How long?’ Serpentius asked.

Valerius shrugged. The gate was made of a double layer of seasoned oak and barred with three thick beams. It was strong, but unless the ram could be destroyed the result was inevitable. ‘An hour, maybe less.’

The Spaniard nodded solemnly. ‘In that case, we’ll slaughter the bastards when they come through the gate.’

Valerius smiled at his friend’s assurance, but they both knew that if the ram broke through, this would be their last fight.

When he inspected the gate, it was holding up reasonably well, with only a few white splinters showing the damage done so far. Yet every blow had an effect and men flinched with each strike of the ram and the wooden beams shivered at the strain placed on them. Valerius had ordered two centuries of Spurinna’s Praetorians to the gateway, ready for the breakthrough when it came. For the moment, they sat with their backs to the wall darting nervous glances at every thundering crash. The defenders on the walls above were still full of fight and Caecina would be lamenting the loss of his siege
ballistae
, but none of that would matter when the ram breached the gate.

Even as he watched, the pressure on the wooden beams grew, and when he looked closely Valerius saw the first cracks beginning to form in the central bar, which was taking the worst of the pounding. How much longer could it last?

He was still brooding on the question when he heard the sound of snarled orders and tramping feet. Puzzled, he turned to find Juva bearing down on him at the front of a stout pole being carried by six of the marine legionaries, every man cursing the great load they bore and their faces uniform masks of pain and effort. The pole was bent almost to breaking point by the weight of an enormous millstone from one of Placentia’s bakeries; four feet of black granite as broad as a glutton’s waist, transfixed by the pole through a hole at its centre.

Valerius realized in an instant what the big Nubian had in mind. ‘Clear the stairs,’ he shouted.

Grunting with effort and legs straining, Juva and his men hefted the massive stone one agonizing step at a time up the steep stairway to the parapet. Valerius wondered that the millstone didn’t slide back and crush the rearmost carriers until he noticed that someone had jammed cloth into the gap between stone and pole to hold it in place. Eventually the carrying party reached the wall above the gateway and thankfully lowered their burden to the flagstones before collapsing groaning beside it. Valerius looked over the parapet down to where the metal-plated shelter covered the ram. Would it be enough? They were about to find out.

‘You are not finished yet,’ Juva snarled at his comrades. ‘One more effort.’ He picked up one end of the pole and took the strain. Reluctantly, and easing their aching muscles, his tent mates returned to their places so that three men gripped the pole on either side of the great stone. ‘On the count of three. One, two …’

With one convulsive heave they lifted the pole to shoulder height and somehow managed to get the millstone on top of the parapet, where it teetered for a moment before a last effort sent it plunging down on the ram shelter. The massive block instantly caved in six or eight feet of roof, buckling the metal and shattering planks. Animal shrieks of pain and terror testified to the effect on those within. Only the bulk of the ram itself had stopped the roof being crushed to ground level. Inside would be a welter of smashed bodies and shattered limbs. Even those not in the immediate area where the millstone had fallen would not have escaped as the trunk was torn from their hands or the wooden frame battered to the ground. Eventually, a few figures started to crawl out, or were supported from the wreckage, to be scythed down by a merciless hail of arrows and spears, before two centuries of Caecina’s legionaries formed
testudo
to rescue the survivors. In the hours that followed, a few half-hearted attempts were made to salvage the smashed shelter and its ram, but eventually the young legate’s men gave up the unequal battle. In fact, the destruction of the ram had a curiously debilitating effect on the whole attack. The assault against the city walls lost its impetus and
by nightfall the Vitellians were back in their camps, leaving only a few archers to harass the defenders with fire arrows.

That evening Spurinna joined Valerius on the parapet and stared into the darkness. ‘Your men did well today. You should get some sleep.’

‘They’re up to something.’

Spurinna nodded. It was impossible to see anything, but like Valerius he could sense some great effort out there in the darkness. ‘They’ll have some new trick to torment us with in the morning. Even more important that you get some rest.’

But when the sun rose the camps were empty and the only movement on the battlefield was the flapping of wings as the crows fought over the bloating corpses of the dead.

‘What will happen now?’ Domitia asked. The ‘to us’ was unspoken, but there just the same.

‘It depends what the Emperor decides.’ Valerius rode beside the covered wagon Spurinna had provided for his guest as they travelled from Placentia on the Via Aemilia to meet Otho’s advancing forces. It was the same road he and Serpentius had followed north on their journey six weeks earlier. Blue skies and spring sunshine had replaced the glowering clouds, but Valerius only had eyes for Domitia, who wore a blue cloak of fine cotton which set off her dark hair in a way that made the gulf between them seem all the wider. ‘He’ll furnish you with an escort back to Rome, while I …’ He shrugged. ‘He may give me a command, or he may not, but I’m a soldier and if there is a battle I will fight.’

‘So it is finished.’ It wasn’t a question and the pain was clear in her eyes.

‘Only if you want it be so.’ The words fell like stones into a void and each one proclaimed him a coward. His heart cried out to him to make her his; to send her back to stay with Olivia at the villa until he returned. But the Domitia Longina Corbulo who had stood with him on the parapet overlooking the battlefield, the Domitia who had not hidden her love for him, had been replaced by another woman.
He had witnessed before how the bonds created by the shared hardship and racing blood of battle could be sapped by the realities and responsibilities of peace. If he wanted her, he must win her, but this Domitia was again her father’s daughter and that made his task more difficult. Duty was a Corbulo’s watchword and he doubted she would shame his memory by leaving her husband. There was another, equally complicating, factor. In what seemed like another lifetime Valerius had sworn an oath to protect her life
and her honour
. That oath now stuck in his throat, but it had been made to a man who had died for honour and duty and it was an oath he couldn’t break, even for Domitia.

With a last look of frustrated hurt she stared ahead and they continued the journey in silence.

Two days earlier, while the dead were still being cleared from Placentia’s ditch, Spurinna had summoned Valerius while he questioned the commander of a patrol that had just returned from harassing the retreating Vitellians.

‘Caecina is licking his wounds back at Cremona.’ The general didn’t hide his exultation. ‘He will be vulnerable until Valens can reach him. I have had word that the Emperor is on the way to Brixellum and I would ask you to ride there and tell him that I advise an early attack while the traitor’s men are still demoralized by their failure here.’ From somewhere close by came the sound of female laughter and Valerius could smell the scent of cooking meat from the kitchens. Spurinna hesitated as if he were mulling a decision, then nodded as he made it. ‘The lady Domitia will accompany you – I am sure he will see that she is safely taken south. I will give you a squadron of cavalry as escort. Oh, and he will need every man he can get, so I will send him five centuries of the First Adiutrix as soon as I’ve cleaned up this mess.’

Brixellum was a hard day’s ride from Placentia, but Vitellian cavalry patrols still plagued the road and it was late afternoon on the second day by the time they arrived at the settlement thirty miles south-east of Cremona. The town had been heavily fortified and six cohorts of the Praetorian Guard were encamped on the outskirts, but when Valerius
asked for the Emperor he was told Otho had already ridden north to link up with his main force. The officer who gave him the news said there were rumours of a great victory near Cremona the previous day and Valerius wondered aloud if the war was already won.

The man’s mood changed. ‘No, there will be fighting yet. They say the armies of Vitellius have combined, and the false Emperor is on his way with reinforcements drawn from the legions of Britannia.’

‘I should send you south with Serpentius.’ Valerius despised himself for the emotionless formality in his voice. Domitia responded with a shake of the head and a smile marked with weary resignation.

‘My sentence is delayed for another day. Besides, I have never met the Emperor …’ She hesitated and he sensed she wanted to say more, but she turned and walked back to the coach.

They crossed to the east bank and followed the road to the town of Bedriacum where the Emperor’s main force had made their headquarters. The first thing Valerius noticed as they approached the great military encampment outside the walls was the golden lion of the Thirteenth Gemina on the shields of the gate guards. The sight raised his spirits because it meant Otho’s reinforcements had begun to arrive from the East. The second was a curiously unmilitary sprawl of tents with an odd-looking assortment of men lazing around campfires among them. Many wore makeshift bandages and bore signs of recent wounds. It was as he was studying them that one of the reclining figures rose to his feet and hailed him.

‘Still alive, Valerius? And unless I miss my guess, that ugly bastard behind you is a Spanish horse thief of my acquaintance.’

Valerius gaped in disbelief at the man who had spoken. He was grey-haired and stocky and he carried a brass cock’s comb helmet that had seen hard use. The helmet marked him as a gladiator, even if the deep scar that split his right cheek and his missing left ear weren’t familiar enough. ‘Marcus?’ He shook his head at the sight of his old friend, who should be back in Rome, running the
ludus
where he trained the Empire’s most sought-after gladiators. Serpentius leapt from his horse to wrestle with the
lanista
who had coached him for the arena and
whose tricks had kept him alive long enough for Valerius to rescue him from certain death.

‘You’re a long way from the training ground. I thought you never ventured more than a mile from the Argiletum and the Green Horse. Have they retired you?’

The lined face took on a solemn look. ‘Not much need for a beaten-up old
lanista
at the best of times, but when every
ludus
in Rome is closed down and every gladiator signed up to fight for the Emperor, you know the game’s up. I couldn’t let my lads march away on their own, so here I am. A year’s pay for every man who fights and his freedom if he survives.’

‘You already have your freedom, and I doubt you need the money.’ Valerius didn’t hide his puzzlement.

Marcus shrugged. ‘Aye, but these men are fighters – man for man, they are a match for any legionary – but what they are not is leaders.’ His face split in a self-conscious grin. ‘They elected me commander of the second century and here I am.’

‘It looks as if you’ve already been in a fight,’ Serpentius observed.

‘Not a fight.’ Marcus’s face clouded. ‘A massacre. Two nights ago our commander volunteered to destroy a bridge the enemy had built near Cremona. They had already tried with fireships, but the wind drove them ashore. We were to capture an island upstream of the bridge and launch an attack from there. We were betrayed.’ He glanced up and Valerius thought he read a message in the pale eyes. ‘Yes, you’ll find there is much talk of betrayal and cowardice in this camp. When we reached the island it was already crawling with Tungrian auxiliaries. Hundreds were killed in their boats. Some of us managed to reach land and fought, but when our brave leader turned and ran the rest of us followed as fast as we could row. When we started out from Rome there were two thousand of us. Now there are just one thousand. The rest are dead, or have deserted.’