The Furies of Rome (25 page)

Cerialis looked nonplussed for a moment and Vespasian wondered whether his son-in-law had what it took to make a good legate; his suitability to the job had not been something that he, Vespasian, had taken into account when manoeuvring to ensure that Cerialis got the position. Vespasian’s only concern had been that his daughter should have a successful husband; he hoped that it too would not prove to be a miscalculation on his part.

‘Yes, you’re right, Father,’ Cerialis agreed as a weather-beaten veteran resplendent in full uniform, topped with a crimson horsehair crest on his bronze helmet, stomped through the door followed by the clerk, ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Prefect Quintus Ogulnius Curius,’ Pasiteles announced causing Curius to crash out a salute. As the camp prefect he was the third most senior man in the legion after the legate and his second in command, the thick-stripe military tribune; both of these men were from the senatorial class and may well have had little or no military experience. The camp prefect, however, would have started his military career as the lowest of the lowest legionary and earned his promotion through the ranks becoming, eventually, the primus pilus, the most senior centurion, commanding the first century of the first cohort of the legion; after that he could become the legion’s prefect of the camp. His knowledge and experience were therefore invaluable to the younger men set above him in rank – should they choose to listen to it; and there were many who were too proud to do so.

‘Prefect,’ Cerialis said, returning the salute without as much of a flurry, ‘I want every tribune and centurion assembled here in half an hour.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And have the quarter-masters get ready to issue seventeen days’ rations to every man at dawn.’

Curius did not so much as blink at this order. ‘Sir!’

‘And have them issue the tents, mules and carts ready for the march tomorrow.’

‘Sir!’ Another salute. ‘Sir, may I ask where we’re going?’

‘You may, Curius. We’re going south; if my father-in-law’s information is correct we have a tribe of savages to put down.’

Curius’ lined face cracked into a lopsided smile. ‘Good, sir!’

‘Good?’

‘Yes, sir, good. The lads haven’t had a decent scrap for a couple of years, not since that Venutius business; they’re getting a bit soft. This should toughen them up.’

Vespasian did not like the sound of that; he would have preferred that they were toughened already.

In unison, an hour before dawn, almost five thousand men stamped to attention, guided by the bellowed commands of their centurions taking their cue from the primus pilus. The resulting crash of thousands of hobnailed sandals hitting the ground echoed around Vespasian’s head clearing any last vestiges of the deep sleep that he had been roused from far too soon after he had fallen into it. He fought to control his horse, spooked by the noise, as he cast his eyes across the lines of grim faces, breath steaming from them, assembled on the torch-washed parade ground just outside the camp’s main gates.

The crash died away leaving only distant barking from the camp’s dogs, startled by the sudden disturbance to their peaceful night, and the flutter of thousands of cloaks moving in the breeze.

‘Men of the Ninth Hispana!’ Cerialis, flanked by the camp prefect and the thick-stripe tribune, declaimed from a dais. ‘We march south to Camulodunum; what we will find when we get there I cannot say but be prepared for war.’ He took a deep breath and then roared: ‘Are you ready for war?’

‘Yes!’ was the thundered reply that further disturbed the dogs.

‘Are you ready for war?’

‘Yesss!’

‘Are you ready for war?’

‘YESSSS!’

Cerialis raised his arms in the air to keep the response going so that the word transformed into a prolonged cheer. Bringing his hands back down again he quietened his men with, what Vespasian considered to be, impressive control.

‘We will march as if we are in hostile territory so there will be a stockaded camp built every night; this will slow our progress so to counter that we will march an hour before dawn every day and take fewer rests. We go to the aid of many of our brothers who served in this legion; we will not let them down! They will not stand alone. Legionaries of the Ninth, ARE – YOU – READY – FOR WAR?’

The resulting cheer to the affirmative beat any sound made that morning and sent the dogs into a renewed frenzy and caused Vespasian’s and his companions’ horses to skitter and snort nervously; behind them their escort of sixty of the legion’s cavalry troopers fought to control their mounts as their infantry comrades started to beat their
pila
on their shields, firstly at random, producing a constant rolling rumble that gradually morphed into a steady, pounding, slow beat. Cerialis indulged his men, punching his fist in the air in time to their rhythm; slow, deliberate and menacing.

‘That seems to have got the lads worked up,’ Magnus commented. ‘I wouldn’t worry about Curius’ assessment of their toughness, sir; I’m sure they’ll make up for any deficiency on that front with keenness.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘Yeah, well, so do I; we’ll find out soon enough, I suppose.’

‘Not for at least seven days, which will be the thirteenth day of the Iceni muster.’ Vespasian bit his bottom lip, his strained expression exaggerated as he contemplated the timing. ‘Paulinus won’t receive the message until tomorrow so he cannot be expected to march until the following dawn; he has at least an eight or nine day journey. And as for the Twentieth and the Second Augusta, the gods alone know when we can expect them back in the south.’

‘Then let’s hope the Iceni take their time with their muster.’

Vespasian thought that to be a false hope. ‘Would you?’

Magnus had to admit not. ‘No, I’d fall on the towns as quickly as possible.’

‘That’s what I would do too; I’ve a nasty feeling that the next time we see this legion they could well be the only legion in sight and we’ll have thousands of savages between them and us in Camulodunum.’

‘He’s done nothing, the little runt!’ Vespasian exclaimed, outraged, as he surveyed the defences upon approaching Camulodunum at the seventh hour, three days later after a long, fast and hard ride south. ‘Not one brick has been laid and he must have got our message at least three days ago.’

Sabinus cast a professional eye over the junction of the new brickwork and the old, unmaintained, wooden palisade that surrounded some of the rest of the town. ‘That wouldn’t hold a gaggle of squealing bum-boys for longer than it would take for them to do their make-up.’

‘Four or five hours, then?’ said Magnus, looking, without much hope, for any sign of workmen around the defences; there were none.

‘You know what I mean, Magnus; we’d be lucky to keep a concerted attack out for more than half an hour. Let’s go and find the little shit and kick him into action.’

‘That’s pointless, Sabinus,’ Caenis said, letting her horse have a few tugs at the lush grass before it. ‘Best we do it ourselves otherwise it will remain an open town.’

Vespasian urged his horse forward towards the north gate. ‘You’re right, my love; the sensible thing would be to ignore Paelignus and take command of the place. At least we’ll take the threat seriously even if he won’t.’ He turned in his saddle to the decurion commanding their cavalry escort. ‘Mutilus, leave me sixteen troopers to use as scouts and messengers, and get back to Cerialis. Tell him that there was no sign of the enemy and also there’s no sign of any help, either.’

With a perfunctory salute the officer detailed two tent parties to remain and by the time Vespasian was clattering through the north gate the troopers were heading back towards their legion somewhere along the road north.

Vespasian made straight for the forum, which was operating as if there was nothing amiss; traders shouted their wares and townsfolk made purchases, exchanged gossip and behaved as if there was no possibility that the Iceni nation might appear, intent on their demise, at any moment.

‘Get us some attention, Magnus,’ Vespasian requested, jumping down from his horse and then mounting the steps of the Temple of Divine Claudius; Sabinus followed him up.

As they reached the top, canine anger and avian terror erupted from a stall at the foot of the steps as Castor and Pollux took advantage of Magnus opening the gate to a pen filled with geese. Guttural growls and high-pitched honks cut over the human noise from the forum. Feathers and blood flew as did the few lucky geese that escaped the pen; the rest succumbed to the jaws of the hounds. Outraged, the stallholder screamed abuse at Magnus before attacking him with a club he produced from under the table. Magnus laid him out with a straight right fist to the jaw and then called Castor and Pollux off their lunch. By now half the forum was staring in their direction.

‘People of Camulodunum!’ Vespasian shouted, his voice carrying over the whole crowd. ‘The prefect of this town, your prefect, has put you in grave danger; in a couple of days you may well all be dead.’ This got their full attention and Vespasian found himself being stared at by hundreds of pairs of eyes. ‘Less than a market interval ago the Queen of the Iceni, Boudicca, threatened to rip the heart out of every Roman in the province.’ He raised his hand to show his senatorial ring. ‘I, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, of proconsular rank, and my brother, Titus Flavius Sabinus, also of proconsular rank, know this to be true because we were there when she made that threat. Some of you who served with the Second Augusta in the early years of the conquest will recognise me, as will those of you who served with the Fourteenth Gemina recognise my brother. We were your legates. We have your best interests at heart and we urge you to join with us and strengthen the defences of this town.’

‘What for?’ a voice from the crowd shouted. ‘We could just leave and seek shelter in Londinium.’

‘What’s your name, soldier?’ Sabinus asked.

‘Former centurion Verrucosus, sir.’

‘Well, Verrucosus, at least here you have some walls; Londinium has none at all. If the Iceni are not stopped by the time they come there they will sweep through the town like floodwater.’

There were discussions in the crowd that by their tone seemed to suggest that Vespasian’s point had been taken.

‘Nor will you stand a chance hiding from them in open country,’ Vespasian continued, noticing that some of the native members of his audience had started to slip away. ‘They will scour the whole land. Our only chance is to barricade ourselves in here. As I speak, the Ninth Hispana is coming south and should arrive in three or four days. Messages have gone to Governor Paulinus in the northwest with the Fourteenth. They could be here in six days as could the Twentieth and Second. If Paulinus can consolidate his forces in this area then he will crush this rebellion but he needs time; and you, former legionaries of Rome, you can give him that time. You can give your Governor what he needs to ensure victory if you can keep the Iceni out of this town and camped beyond the repaired walls whilst their destruction, in the form of four legions, makes their way
to this place
.’ He emphasised the last three words, punching his fist into the palm of his hand as he did.

Silence greeted the end of the speech as all stared at him, open-mouthed.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ An all-too-familiar voice screeched. ‘How dare you sow panic amongst these people?’ Paelignus pushed his way to the front of the crowd and mounted the steps. ‘The Iceni would never dare attack us; they haven’t got any weapons since they were disarmed.’

‘Disarmed did you say, procurator?’ Sabinus sneered. ‘Any man who hunts with a spear or a bow can kill a Roman. Did you not get our warning?’

‘I had some rambling message from an imperial courier whom I assumed had been drinking so I had him thrown in a cell to sober up.’

Vespasian stared at Paelignus, unable to believe the man’s stupidity. It seemed pointless saying anything, so, with a casualness that belied the sense of urgency he felt at commencing the work, he kicked the procurator between the legs and then kneed him in the face as his hunched form doubled over, laying him out on his back, unconscious. Turning back to the crowd, he asked: ‘So what is it to be? Are you with me and my brother; will you help us strengthen the defences? Or are you as dismissive of the threat as this … this …’ He pointed down at Paelignus. ‘As this worthless piece of shit who is blinded by his own unwarranted arrogance?’

There was no immediate reaction either for or against but, rather, a mass outbreak of urgent chatter; groups formed and arguments broke out and it soon became obvious to Vespasian and Sabinus that a decision was not going to be reached by talking even though Verrucosus seemed to be arguing for them. In silent, mutual agreement they both descended the steps and, with Magnus, Caenis and their escort following, pushed their way through the crowd, heading back towards the north gate to the works on the wall so that they could lead by example.

Gradually the townsfolk, mainly veterans and colonists but also some Britons, joined them and by mid-afternoon there were over two thousand men and boys labouring to restore the original palisade in the many places that it was down as well as securing its segue with the new, and very incomplete, brick wall. Parties went out to cut down trees; others stripped them of branches; some dug holes and others raised the logs into position whilst their womenfolk gathered what food and drink could be found in the surrounding area and brought it back within the walls.

‘So, Verrucosus,’ Vespasian said as he and the former centurion packed the earth around the base of a newly raised section of the palisade, ‘can we leave you in charge of this work while my brother and I put our minds to other matters?’

Verrucosus, stocky and bow-legged in his late fifties, grinned, exposing broken teeth. ‘I’ll keep them at it, sir; along with my brother former officers in the town. The lads respect us so don’t you worry; we’ve already organised them into centuries.’

‘What about if it comes to defending the walls?’

‘We’ve all still got our swords and some still have shields and a few even have helmets. Some of us have slings and bows but it’s javelins we need and they’re scarce.’