The Pillars of Rome (38 page)

‘Right,’ he said. ‘It’s a bloody great pine, with a wild rose bush at the base, fourteen paces from the crest. We’ll pace the distance back to the cart track together and compare at the end. Come on.’

Clodius counted silently. He could hear Flaccus talking softly to himself, tallying off the steps, and he fought to block the sound out. In less than a minute they were back amongst the others, still lying flat, still transfixed by the scene before them. A voice spoke out of the darkness.

‘Quick, Flaccus, come and look at this.’

Both Clodius and Flaccus scurried back into their previous positions to see that the whole mass of men in the clearing had now gathered in the middle by the track. It was no longer two lines, more like two heaving crowds with the sandy soil of the roadway running down the centre. At the head of the crowd they saw him, a noble Roman, standing erect, dressed in his senatorial robes, looking neither left nor right. No one made a sound.

‘Publius Trebonius,’ whispered Flaccus. ‘It has to be.’

Without prodding, the man set off down the lane formed by the two files of his enemies. No one touched him, the whips stayed loose at the sides of their owners, as though the sheer presence of this Roman noble awed them too much to strike. He passed on to those who held the clubs, as a few raised their weapons, but none dared use them. Clodius could see the smile on Trebonius’s face, a smile that mocked these men who threatened him. The senator made it to the swordsmen and for a moment it looked as though he was going to get to the end unscathed, until a richly dressed individual jumped out at the very end, blocking Trebonius’s exit. The old man walked right up to him and looked him straight in the eye. Trebonius spoke, his words rising up the hillside, clear to those hidden over the crest.

‘You must stand aside. I represent the Imperium of the Senate of Rome. No man may block my progress.’

The whole place was silent as Trebonius raised his fasces, the bundle of sticks with the small axe inside, the symbol of his authority. In no way did it threaten harm; it was merely being used to gently poke the man’s chest, but it was enough. His sword shot out from his side in an underarm blow that carried it into the senator’s guts, right up to the hilt and Trebonius doubled over. A great cry went up and the crowd on either side surged forward to strike at him. Swords flashed and blood spurted as his enemies literally hacked him to pieces. They could see some of the blood-spattered tribesmen leaving the crowd, their teeth tearing at great chunks of Publius Trebonius’s flesh.

‘Time to get out of here lads,’ said Flaccus softly. ‘They’ve left old Trebonius till last.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Didius Flaccus and his men straggled back, at dawn, into the temporary camp at the pass, filthy, tired and hungry, to find their general had arrived with several wagons and was busy supervising the construction of some defences. Cholon, his servant, had tethered both their horses and was trying to arrange a space where, if he so desired, his master could take his ease. This involved the surreptitious use of some of the troops Aulus was directing. The wagons were being broken up to provide a fighting platform, trees were being felled and dragged into position to form a palisade across the track at the point where the pass narrowed. A few were diverted by the fastidious Greek for use as a bench on which Aulus could sit, the smaller branches going to feed the fire he had started. The servant looked at what he had laid out with something less than satisfaction, for no amount of pleading had ever allowed Cholon to travel on campaign with the
things he insisted he required. Aulus was content to eat a soldier’s rations, if nothing finer was available, a deprivation much resented by his attendant, forced to live off the same food as his master. Now all he had was the contents of two saddlebags, plus the leftovers from the meal they had eaten in the main camp the night before.

Flaccus, giving a crisp salute, noticed that, as the general broke off from his task, he first counted the number of men who had returned. Sure that all were present and showing no signs of combat, he nodded and ordered the centurion to breakfast his men, then get them into the small tents which had been set up, at the temporary camp, just to the north of the pass.

‘Once you’ve done that, report back to me.’

Flaccus was as tired as his men but he knew he would be lucky to get any rest; the general would want to reconnoitre the situation as soon as he heard the news and logic demanded that he take with him the man who had seen the terrain. Not that the centurion was averse to a return; after all, the gold was there. A quick splash of cold water across the face revived him a bit, then he saw his men settled, with all their equipment neatly stacked, before returning to make his report. Aulus listened in silence as Flaccus told him of the fate of Publius Trebonius and those he had sought to bring out of Epirus.

‘Were they Epirote?’ asked Aulus.

‘Can’t rightly say, sir. I didn’t get close enough to have a proper look.’

‘No chance to take a prisoner, then?’

Flaccus had told lies all his life, no more necessarily than other men of his rank. You could not rise in any army without the ability to look a senior officer in the face and tell him a blatant falsehood yet even with all his wealth of experience, the centurion felt uncomfortable under this gaze. Aulus’s eyes, boring into his, caused him to stammer out a reply, rather than answer in the crisp fashion that was required.

‘Your orders, General, not to risk casualties. I couldn’t see how to fetch back a prisoner without risking all our lives.’

The general said nothing; he just kept staring at the centurion. Flaccus tried to take his mind off the gold and the two men he had killed to get it, lest the truth somehow show in his face, feeling even more exposed, there being no god to pray to that dealt with untruths. He could easily have taken one of them prisoner. Damn it, he had failed even to examine their armour to try and find out where they were from.

‘They’re too far north for my liking,’ Aulus said eventually, looking through the narrow pass. ‘Trebonius got away quickly enough and the tribune he sent to inform us said that he had ample
transport. They should have been able to outrun the pursuit.’ The other man stayed rigidly at attention, eyes now focused on his commander’s back, hoping to avoid another searching look. ‘I can’t go back to the main body without some more information.’

Flaccus had been at the original conference and he knew enough of the general’s thinking to be able to essay a comment. ‘There weren’t enough of them to stop you if you want to push the legions south, sir.’

‘But it doesn’t feel right, Didius Flaccus, does it?’ It was not for the likes of a centurion to answer that kind of question and Aulus hardly gave him the opportunity anyway. ‘Ever since that tribune arrived at Salonae the whole thing has had a rank smell. I don’t want to make any final dispositions till I know who it is I’m fighting.’

This sounded like excessive caution to Flaccus, but he could not say so. ‘Then we’d best go an’ have a look, General.’

Aulus glanced at the sky, thinking that the legions to the north would have broken camp by now; that is, if Vegetius had not decided to afford himself a morning in bed. He could send orders for them to stop, though he was reluctant to halt them too early in the day. Yet at the same time he was loath to try and push them through this narrow defile until he was sure what lay ahead.

‘A dozen men, Didius Flaccus. The fittest you’ve
got. No armour and no shields, though they can make up their own minds about swords or spears.’

Aulus turned on his heel and made for the spot that Cholon had chosen as their temporary base. The Greek was heating several items on a hardwood spit. Being covered in leaves, Aulus could not see what they consisted of but he could smell it, which meant that the soldiers toiling with axes and scythes could do likewise. Given that they had breakfasted on a cold and tasteless pulse, washed down with water from a nearby stream, such a smell was likely to start a mutiny.

‘Another few minutes before it’s ready,’ said Cholon cheerfully.

To admonish him would be pointless; his master had been trying to do that for years, with little success. The Greek made no bones about his feelings on the matter; wealthy men should behave as such, to do otherwise smacked of hypocrisy; a false act, designed to win a specious form of favour with the lower orders. They did not respect you for it, rather they despised you. Aulus was never sure if his servant was right or wrong.

‘Get me out of this armour, Cholon,’ he growled

The slave rushed to obey. ‘Can I just loosen the straps, your honour. If I leave those birds too long, without spinning them, they’ll burn.’

Aulus looked at the fire and spoke angrily. ‘How many times have I told you, Cholon?’

‘As many times as I’ve replied, master,’ said the servant, totally unaffected by the tone of voice. ‘It may suit your dignity to be on short commons, but it does mine no good whatsoever. I have the task of caring for you, something I shall do to my utmost.’

Aulus just sighed and lifted off his own breastplate as Cholon ran back to his roasting birds. ‘I’m taking a dozen men out to scout the area south of here. Since they’re unlikely to eat again today, we’ll split the food amongst them.’

Cholon, leaning over his spit, sighed unhappily. There would be none left for him.

Deep, dreamless sleep. The kick brought him round quick enough and Clodius cursed and forced his eyes open, only to see Flaccus standing above him.

‘On your feet, old lad. We’re off to war again.’

Clodius groaned. ‘I’ve only just got my head down.’

Flaccus sat down on his haunches and spoke quietly. ‘You’ll get no sympathy from me. I haven’t had a chance to close my eyes, at all, so you best get up if you don’t want another boot in the ribs. The general wants to take us back to the spot we visited last night. Now I’ve told him you’re one of my best men and that I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without you.’

‘You must think I’m dreaming if you expect me to believe that,’ said Clodius, pulling himself up.

Flaccus was smiling, which was rare. ‘Bit of luck really, when you think on it. Tunic only, no helmet or armour. Take a spear or sword, but not both. Seems we’re set to run back.’

The vultures wheeled overhead, and carrion crow filled the trees, squawking noisily, angry at being disturbed and the ashes of the fire were still hot. Aulus looked at the pile of bodies, rigid now and drained of blood. All their weapons and armour had been taken and as a final insult the bodies of the women had been thrown on top of the men, arranged so that they seemed to be indulging in grotesque sexual couplings. Trebonius was in there somewhere; that is if enough of him had survived to be identified. They would need a proper pyre, of course, but that would have to wait. Aulus started to walk about the place, looking for clues as to the identity of the men who had done this. Flaccus stayed on the crest of the hill with Clodius, looking south, ostensibly keeping a lookout.

‘Slip along the ridge and see if our loot’s still there,’ he said softly.

‘What if the general sees me?’

‘Then I’ll tell him you’ve been caught short. Perhaps all that rich food he gave us didn’t agree with you.’

Clodius dropped back out of sight and headed to his left, sword out in front, counting the paces as he
walked. The disturbed state of the ground around the base of the pine tree told him all he needed to know but he went to have a proper look anyway. The hole that Flaccus had dug was empty, the earth scattered all around and the thorn bush had been hacked back to make access easier. He swore under his breath, not only for the loss of the money but for the fact that he would have to go back and tell Flaccus they were still poor.

‘So much for all his damned prayers.’

Clodius turned and went up to the crest to look down into the clearing, with the charred frame of the wagon that he had set alight just below. He could see, in the long grass on the hillside, that those searching had left an impression and no doubt that was how they found the cache. Flaccus had not thought of that. Clodius had gone up and down from the wagon more than a dozen times. They could not see the result in the dark, but in daylight the flattened grass that marked his journey must have looked damn near like a proper path. It would have led those searching right to the spot and that made him curse under his breath again. Clodius would have been content to have what he could have carried in his belt; now, thanks to Flaccus’s greed in trying to steal the lot, they had nothing at all.

His foot kicked the small pile of coins as he turned, causing them to clink. Someone had
dropped them in the grass, and had either been unable to find them, or too laden to care. He bent and picked them up, gold, four of them in all, enough for a few good nights out, but a far cry from what they could have had. He put them in his belt and headed back towards the main body.

Aulus Cornelius looked at the small pile of evidence he and his soldiers had accumulated, and saw that everything pointed to the attackers being Illyrians, rather than the Epirotes from the south. Not that there was much; some cloth, a few bits of broken pottery, a buckle from a sword belt. The most telling thing was a decorated wine gourd. The carvings were quite distinctive, but if anything travelled far and wide, it was a flask made to hold wine. He disliked the idea, but he would have to go even further south to look for clues. The people who had left this clearing had gone that way; so must he.