The Pillars of Rome (40 page)

Vegetius Flaminus, fresh from bathing, sat upright in his Curile chair, reading the despatch. He had a flagon of wine at his elbow and a richly decorated cup in his free hand. Flaccus stood to attention, covered in dust, dying for something to drink. If he had noted the centurion’s condition, the governor had not bothered to offer him any refreshment. Finally he finished reading, took a large swig of wine, then looked at Flaccus.

‘You’ve personally seen the enemy forces, you say?’

‘I have, sir,’ the centurion replied, adding a deliberate lie. ‘I’d reckon that we’re equally matched in numbers.’

Vegetius leant forward, rubbing his puffy cheek with one hand. The senatorial ring on his thick finger, gold instead of iron, flashed in the light. ‘It seems very foolish to place ourselves on the other side of a force that size. They will be between us and our base at Salonae.’

‘The commander, Aulus…’

‘Not commander, Centurion!’ snapped the man behind the table. ‘Senator is the proper title for Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus. I am the commander in this province, by order of the very body he’s supposed to represent.’

Flaccus said nothing for a moment, but his thoughts were in turmoil. Aulus should have come himself. The other senators, who had been part of
his commission, were back in Salonae. Vegetius had no one to answer to but himself and he certainly was not going to be awed by a centurion, however senior.

‘Is that clear to you, soldier?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Flaccus crisply, ignoring the insult that Vegetius had delivered by not using his rank.

‘Good,’ Vegetius continued smoothly. ‘Please be so good as to continue. After all, I do need to know what is in the senator’s mind.’

Flaccus outlined what Aulus had told him, trying, as he did so, to diminish the threat the enemy posed, without making them seem like a chimera.

‘No battle? What a strange attitude to take, Centurion. It seems in my humble opinion, a touch over-sanguine to expect the enemy to melt away just because we are close behind them.’ Vegetius dropped the studied languor and his voice took on a harder edge. ‘It also seems to me a very foolish course to let these villains disperse, they’ll only cause trouble at some future date. They have slaughtered a great number of Romans, including Publius Trebonius, so they need to be punished, and visibly so. A heap of bleached bones on the battlefield will do more to keep both provinces quiet than all of the blandishments of soft hearted, semi-retired administrators.’

A heap of bleached bones will earn you a triumph too, thought Flaccus, that is, as long as you fight the rebels in Illyricum. But he didn’t say it. Vegetius Flaminus might be a slimy toad, but he had the power to break Didius Flaccus at the wheel. The man was not going to move out of his province, that was certain, since he saw no personal advantage in doing so. In that respect Aulus’s plan was half-dead, but he would still need to be supported at Thralaxas, even if it was only to get away in one piece.

‘It’s not my place to suggest a course of action, sir, I know that.’

‘But you wish to anyway,’ said Vegetius coldly.

The tone made Flaccus change his tack. No point in making too overt a suggestion to this man. ‘I wouldn’t presume, sir, only, having been at the point where the enemy will attack, I feel I can help you come to a proper conclusion if I share what knowledge I have.’

Vegetius yawned, took a sip of wine, then spoke in a bored tone. ‘Do go on.’

‘Well, I doubt that the comm…senator can hold the pass without reinforcements.’

‘I trust he’ll have the good sense to retire in time.’

‘That’s just it, your honour. He doesn’t know that you disagree with his instructions…’

The fist slammed down on the table, causing the flagon to jump in the air and fall over. The wine
spilt out onto the floor. Vegetius, red in the face, ignored it, and shouted at Flaccus. ‘Requests, Centurion. Not instructions.’

Flaccus cursed himself for using the wrong words. He did not like senior officers at all and cared nothing for their fate, and that included Macedonicus, but at least he was a proper soldier, unlike this ball of lard sitting there drinking wine and spitting venom at him.

‘Those are my men up there, sir. The senior class in the legion, the best armed. The enemy will engage my troops long before they know you’re not trying to outflank them by crossing the Lisenius…’

Vegetius adopted a mocking tone. ‘Oh, dear me. Does the great democrat, Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus, tell his men all his plans?’

‘Happen he don’t but they’ll guess the broad outline, your honour. They’ll be well aware they’re only expected to hold the pass for so long. And they’re soldiers, sir, they’ll know, just as I do, that if they are involved in a fight, they can’t get away safely without help.’

‘Your concern for your men is commendable, Centurion.’ He waved the rolled despatch at Flaccus. ‘My fellow senator has proposed a plan of action that I cannot agree with, not that I’m blind to his experience, you understand. I don’t dispute everything he says. For instance, I agree that we must not split our army. I agree that we must fight the enemy at a
place of our choosing. Where we part company is that I reserve the right to choose the place.’

He paused for a moment, as though he had not already made up his mind, but Flaccus knew that Vegetius had done that a long time before. ‘Therefore, Didius Flaccus, I suggest you return to the Pass at Thralaxas. Tell Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus that the Governor of Illyricum declines to endanger his troops on this hair-brained plan. You may further suggest that the wisest course of action for the cohort at the pass would be for them to withdraw. Let the enemy through to the north, let them find a point where we can engage them in strength.’

Flaccus had to fight to stay at attention. His heart felt heavy and, being tired, he wanted nothing more than to let his shoulders slump. Even though he knew the answer, he had to ask the question. ‘Reinforcements, sir? Perhaps some cavalry.’

‘No, Centurion. I am sorry.’ The insincere tone of solicitation in Vegetius’s voice made Flaccus seriously harbour the thought of killing him. ‘You look tired, my man. I think you should get some rest before you start back.’

‘There’s no time,’ snapped Flaccus.

Vegetius smiled and spoke softly. ‘You’re very likely correct.’

Aulus could not sleep; that drawing, the eagle in the sand, haunted him, preying on the nagging doubts and making them worse. The words the Sybil had used, her rasping voice in that dank smelly cave rang in his ears.

‘Look aloft if you dare, though what you fear cannot fly, both will face it before you die.’

There was no sign of the men he needed yet he had no idea if they were on the way. All his instincts told him that something had gone wrong and he now had to decide what to do about it. He had called in his runners and skirmishers at twilight so everyone was safe for the moment, but if they stayed here, without support, they would not last very long. Now it was dark the men had been fed and told to rest, though they had not been told how perilous was their situation, but Aulus suspected they had been in the legions long enough to have worked that out for themselves, especially since he had ordered them to sleep in their armour. He paced up and down the stoop at the rear of the palisade, perspiring slightly in the warm night air, exchanging the odd word with the sentries, mulling over his options.

There were really only two, without substantially more troops; to stay here and die, or to make a run for it at first light. Even that was a bit of a forlorn hope given some of the Dacian forces were mounted on swift ponies. Really, he had reached the point of
decision; if he wanted to get away in safety, he had to go now, even if that meant a forced march in darkness. It was that eagle, drawn in the sand which decided him. If the prophecy was correct, he was endangering the lives of all these men for a curse that applied only to him. He turned to issue the orders, but the chink of metal against rock stopped him, just as it alerted all the sentries on the palisade. The men in the defile must have realised that further subterfuge was useless for whoever led them gave a loud, blood-curdling yell. This was taken up by the others, their war cries echoed off the narrow gorge, as a whole wave of attackers seemed to emerge from the gloom to assault the wooden wall. Aulus, sword out, yelled at the top of his voice, calling his men to arms. He switched the sword to his left hand and grabbed a spear from the pile stacked on the step.

A helmeted head appeared over the palisade, ahead of the man who was struggling to get up, his foot scraping the rough trunks as he sought a foothold. The butt of Aulus’s spear took him full in the face, sending him spinning back onto those trying to follow him. The air was full of sound, metal striking metal, the thud of axes cutting toeholds in the wood, all overlaid with shouting and cursing and the occasional screech as a man was wounded. Aulus shouted at the top of his voice to hurry the soldiers who had been asleep, then leant
over the spiked top of the wall and jabbed furiously into the mass of attackers at the base. Dimly he heard the pounding feet, as the rest of the cohort rushed to arms.

‘Secure the ends, men,’ he shouted, knowing the insurgents would concentrate on the two points where the palisade joined the rocky sides of the defile. The spear was hauled out of his hand, the force his opponent exerted nearly toppling him over the edge and as the spikes raked his breastplate he felt himself falling forward. Aulus stabbed downwards with his sword and he heard the cries as he made contact, felt the jarring feeling, in his arm, as his weapon pierced soft flesh, to break the solid bone beneath. He was off balance and set to fall into the crowd of attackers until hands grabbed his legs and hauled him upright. Backing off, he looked along the stoop to see that all his men were now engaged, with no visible sign that the attackers were making any progress. Dimly, in his mind, he registered that the enemy had surprised him; they had come on at night when he had expected them to stop. Reinforced properly, it would make little difference, this first assault could probably be contained by the small number of men he commanded.

The other thought that followed was less pleasant. For some reason his mind turned to Leonidas and his Spartans, holding the pass at
Thermopyle. They had died there, seeking to hold the might of the Persian Army at bay. Leonidas could probably have got away, melting into the mountains to make his escape, but he declined to withdraw, and Aulus knew that was now the only course open to him and the men he commanded. He wondered if he had the courage to take it for this would be no paced withdrawal. Aulus Macedonicus would be forced to run away like a hunted fox, but there was no time for speculation.

First things first; once he had beaten off this assault he could look at the possibilities with more clarity. He leapt forward to the palisade, struck out again and again at his enemies, using the noise of battle to cover the shouts he issued to
Mars
and
Jupiter
, praying to them to send help. Combat, and the need to solve a constant stream of pressing problems, had driven all thoughts of that sand-drawn eagle from his mind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The image of that eagle drawn in the sand returned to Aulus soon enough, though not to haunt him. The battle was over with few casualties and the enemy, judging by the bodies at the bottom of the wooden wall, had suffered badly. Aulus was surprised, himself, at the feeling of inner peace; he felt like a traveller who had come to a safe haven, after a difficult, dangerous journey. His fate was in the hands of the gods now and that one fact seemed to release him from all his cares and there was no time, before he called his men together, in which to review his life, to examine his soul. He would meet his destiny without that luxury, simply because there was too much to do.

‘They’ll come again during darkness, if only to keep us awake.’

Aulus paused because he disliked the words forming in his mind and was reluctant to use them, never having been comfortable with character
assassination, especially with a member of his own class. Not that his opinion of their titular commander was a secret and these men had served under Vegetius for years, so any implied criticism of the governor would barely affect the deep contempt in which his soldiers already held the man.