Eagles at War (6 page)

‘Are we taking the usual route today, sir?’ asked a soldier from the depths of the ranks.

‘We are. Over the bridge at the vicus to the other side. Out the east road, alongside the River Lupia for about ten miles, and back again.’ Tullus saw the sideways glances of the legionaries, and heard the low grumbling that followed. ‘I make it just over twenty miles. An easy march,’ he added, winking at Fenestela.

Fenestela returned the wink. ‘Without their full kit they’ll want to run it, sir.’

More muttering.

‘That’s an idea,’ said Tullus. ‘Maybe we’ll double-time it back to the camp.’

As he’d expected, someone took the bait. ‘There’s no need for that, sir, surely?’ called a voice from another rank, rendering the speaker invisible.

‘I don’t know,’ declared Tullus, with a glance at Fenestela.

The faceless soldier and several others groaned.

‘Don’t give me reason to insist on it,’ warned Tullus as Fenestela chuckled.

The complaints died away fast.

Tullus wasn’t going to force his men to return to the camp at that pace, but there was no harm in them thinking it
might
happen. The uncertainty kept them on their toes. The last ranks of the century marched past once more, and he conferred with the
tesserarius
, the most junior of his officers. No one was lagging. Content, he and Fenestela trotted back up the patrol, resuming their positions in turn.

The straggling development of houses, businesses and stables that formed the outskirts of the vicus drew near. They harked back to the settlement’s humble beginnings. Nowadays, most wanted to forget those rough times. The council talked of little but knocking the shacks and brothels to the ground, of grand new building projects and of a wall around the settlement’s perimeter. Part of Tullus would be sorry when these inevitable changes came, because any sense that this was the frontier would depart with them. This part of Germania would be no different to anywhere in Italy, or Hispania, and the idea that one day citified dandies might look down their noses at him from the tables of a pricey inn stuck in his throat like a fish bone.

If the damn bridge over the Rhenus had been built in a direct line east of the camp rather than just outside the settlement, thought Tullus, such a thing could never happen. Yet the camp’s position on high ground, back from the vicus, made tactical sense. As a result, soldiers had no option but to pass through it each time they had to venture over the river. And that, despite an officer’s best intentions, meant an inevitable slowing in their pace. The instant that legionaries were spotted, every shop and restaurant owner, every trickster and wild-eyed soothsayer, every whore and vendor of trinkets, thronged to the side of the road, where they harangued the passing business. He could see them gathering already, could hear a red-cheeked woman bellowing about her delicious, fresh-cooked sausages.

Senior centurion and cohort commander Tullus might be, but he didn’t have any legal jurisdiction over civilians. Nevertheless, he readied his vitis. In practice, he could do as he wished. If someone got too enthusiastic, he wouldn’t hesitate to administer a sharp clout.

In they tramped, hobnails clashing on the paving stones, past the miserable shacks in which the poorest of the poor lived. Snot-nosed children in rags watched the armoured legionaries with wide eyes. ‘Spare an
as
?’ shouted the most confident one to no one in particular. The call was like the first drop from a raincloud. The urchins darted forward, yelling, running alongside the soldiers with outstretched hands. ‘Got any bread, sir?’ ‘A coin, sir, a coin!’ ‘Want to screw my sister, sir? She’s beautiful!’

Few men were interested in this first wave. Used to Tullus’ close monitoring, they kept moving, giving as good as they got. ‘I haven’t got two
asses
to rub together,’ Tullus heard Piso say. ‘I wouldn’t waste my money on little tykes like you,’ declared another soldier. ‘Your sister?’ retorted a third. ‘If she’s got your looks, she’s got webbing between her fingers and toes!’

Hurling insults, but quietly – they knew well the pain a kick from a studded sandal could deliver – the urchins withdrew.

As the next flood of hopefuls descended, Tullus sighed, and readied his vitis once more.

‘Fresh bread, hot from the oven! Who’d like some?’ ‘A cup of wine for any of you brave men? I sell only the best vintages!’ ‘Look at you strong, handsome boys! One of you must have time for a little knee-trembler! Three
sestertii
, and I’ll even let you kiss me!’ The whore who’d made that offer wasn’t as raddled as most in the settlement, and Tullus sensed the step of the legionaries nearest her waver. Wheeling out of rank, he was on her in half a dozen strides.

‘They have other business right now. Clear off.’

She leered and pulled down the neck of her grimy robe, exposing her still pert breasts. ‘A fine centurion like you must have the money to buy a feel of these – and more!’

‘Go on, piss off!’ Tullus’ eyes appraised her chest even as he raised his vitis.

With a knowing pout, she retreated to the door of her hut, where she continued to entreat his men to come inside.

Tullus let her be. Fenestela, who was in the tenth rank, and the tesserarius, at the back, would ensure that no one dared to break formation. If it hadn’t been for his other officers, however, he wouldn’t have put it past one of his men to try and have a ‘quickie’. It had been done by soldiers in other units before, without the centurion noticing, or so the gossip around the fires went in the evenings.

In the event, he didn’t have to use his stick. The swarm of locals eased as they entered the vicus proper, where homes and businesses of a better class were situated. This was where many of the camp’s legionaries, and not a few of the officers, had common-law wives. Invitations to come and eat, to drink wine, to buy weapons or trinkets for their girls, continued to rain down, but their path wasn’t impeded. Laughter broke out among his soldiers when a pair of hefty tribeswomen with braided hair, sisters perhaps, spotted their common-law husbands in the century’s midst and rained a barrage of abuse on both, complaining that neither man had given them as much as a
denarius
for the previous month. The miserable bastards needn’t come back over the Rhenus, the women squawked, or set foot in their houses, until they gave them some money. The soldiers’ muttered excuses that they hadn’t yet been paid brought down further abuse. Hoots and jeers from their comrades added to the clamour.

‘Keep moving!’ roared Tullus, quelling his men’s noise, if not that of their wives. He marched on, grateful to be free of such nagging. At times, he missed having a woman, but running his own soldiers as well as a cohort of six centuries more than filled his time. When the need came upon him, which was less often than it used to, he visited the best whorehouse in the settlement. Upon his retirement, there would be time to find a young bride, to raise a family. Until then, he was wedded to the army.

The buildings close to the vicus’ forum were proud affairs, the homes of merchants who’d grown rich on the trade that flowed to and fro across the Rhenus. Studying a grandiose house, Tullus considered whether he’d have been happier selling wine, pottery and silver platters over the river in return for cattle, slaves and women’s hair – the goods that Rome desired from Germania. He’d have made a fortune – could have owned a large property with central heating, private toilet facilities and a courtyard. Then, from the pavement, a veteran in a faded military tunic gave him a proud salute – with the stump of his right arm. Tullus returned the gesture, ashamed that he might consider anything other than being a soldier. The comradeship granted by a life in the legion was beyond price. Money came second to that – and it always would. Besides, his centurion’s pension would be plenty to live on, and a sight more than the poor bastard with one hand received. He fumbled with the purse at his belt and tossed the man a denarius. Loud blessings followed him down the street.

Jupiter, Greatest and Best, grant that I see my final days out whole in mind and body, Tullus prayed. If that is not to happen, I wish for a swift death. In reflex, he rubbed the phallus amulet that hung from his neck. Why this dark mood? he asked himself as they took the street that ran towards the river. There’s no call for it on this fine day.

‘Off on patrol, sir?’ called the lead sentry, one of eight legionaries outside a small building by the side of the crossing. The position was manned day and night.

‘Yes. Lucius Cominius Tullus, senior centurion, Second Cohort of the Eighteenth.’

‘Today’s password, sir, if you please.’

‘Roma Victrix.’

With a salute, the soldier stood aside.

Tullus led the way on to the stone arched bridge, which was wide enough for two carts or eight legionaries to pass abreast, and which spanned a section of the river that was a hundred and fifty paces wide. Beyond it, in midstream, was a narrow island, dotted with thickets of crab-apple trees. A party of off-duty soldiers joked with one another as they fished from the bank nearest the vicus. Further off, a crane perched by the water’s edge. A paved road led straight across the islet to another island, via another, bigger bridge. Beyond that, a third bridge took the road to the eastern bank. The last one had been a bitch to construct, Tullus remembered. The river there was deep and fast-flowing. A number of men had drowned before the massive wooden piles that formed the foundations had been manoeuvred into place. Halfway across, a plaque commemorated the unit that had built it, and venerated Augustus with the words
Pontem perpetui mansurum in saecula
– ‘I have built a bridge that will last forever’. You didn’t build it, thought Tullus with a trace of anger. We did, with our sweat and blood. The names of the dead legionaries ought to have been inscribed on the stonework, but that was not Rome’s way, or the army’s, worse luck.

A second sentry post stood some five hundred paces away, over the widest section of the river. Being on the German side, it was a good deal larger than its fellow on the near bank, and held half a century of legionaries. As Tullus drew near to the bridge’s end, an ox-drawn cart hove into view. The pair of beasts pulling it seemed most unhappy, bellowing and refusing to walk in a straight line. His view was obstructed as a trader leading two wagons full of dead-eyed slaves passed by. By the time he could see again, the cart driver – a soldier by his appearance – had been forced to take his vehicle off the road. Some of the men from the sentry post had gathered to watch. Their rude comments reached Tullus’ ears. ‘Call yourself a legionary?’ ‘You can’t even control two damn bullocks!’

‘Piss off!’ retorted the man. ‘It’s not me that has them agitated, it’s the smell of the damn bear.’

Tullus could feel his legionaries’ gaze moving, as his was, to the rough-hewn cage that was tethered to the cart. The soldier and his companions were
ursarii
, whose job was to trap bears that could be used in the wooden amphitheatre which stood outside the camp. Beast hunts were an ever-popular form of entertainment for the garrison. To ensure a regular supply of animals, it had long been the practice to delegate soldiers to catch bears, wolves and deer in the forests east of the river. In Tullus’ mind, hunting was far more enjoyable, but the displays were an easy way to keep the troops happy, and that mattered.

‘Come on, Jupiter, the bear can’t touch you. Easy, Mars!’ said the
ursarius
, rubbing the bullocks’ heads in turn. ‘Nearly there. Just three bridges, and the vicus, and you’ll be back in your pen.’

Tullus forgot the ursarius’ woes as he greeted the officer in charge of the outpost. Their conversation had only just begun, however, before it was interrupted by the bawling of oxen.

‘Excuse me,’ said Tullus. He took a couple of steps towards the cart. ‘Soldier!’

Despite the clamour of his beasts, the sweating ursarius heard him. He threw off a quick salute. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘Name?’

‘Cessorinius Ammausias, sir. Ursarius to the Eighteenth.’

‘Why in Hades’ name are your oxen so panicked?’

‘These are a new pair of oxen, sir. It’s their first time with a bear in the cage. They’ll be all right after a little rest, after I’ve talked to them.’

Several comments were hurled about Ammausias’ relationship with his cattle, and he bunched his fists.

It wasn’t the ursarius’ fault, thought Tullus. ‘Enough,’ he cried, raising his vitis.

The jibes died away.

Ammausias threw him a grateful look. ‘The bear will put on a good spectacle, sir. The brute is half again as big as any I’ve seen.’

‘In that case, it should impress,’ said Tullus, wondering how dangerous it would have been to hunt the bear.

A clatter of hooves on the road announced the arrival of a troop of German horsemen perhaps sixty strong. Cloaked, bearded, armed with shields and spears, they trotted towards the bridge in a disorganised mob. The behaviour wasn’t uncommon, and Tullus rolled his eyes at the guard officer. ‘They can wait until I get my men off the bridge. It’s our road, not theirs.’

‘I’ll stop them, sir,’ said the officer, stepping forward.

Before he could say a word, events took on a life of their own. This time, it wasn’t the oxen that grew alarmed, but the bear. As some of the tribesmen rode up to the side of the cage for a better look, it launched itself at the bars, snapping and growling. Jupiter and Mars took instant fright. The lead rope was ripped from a startled Ammausias’ hands and he was thrown to one side as the oxen barged down the gravelled embankment by the roadside. Their angle of descent forced the cart to take a different path to theirs, which unbalanced it at once. Within a few heartbeats, it had overturned. Wood splintered, oxen bellowed and Ammausias cursed in vain.

For all that he was in full armour, with almost eighty legionaries at his back, Tullus’ heart skipped a beat as the bear burst free from the wreckage of the cage. Ammausias had not been exaggerating. It was a magnificent beast, with dense brown-yellowish fur and a large, rounded head with small ears. Yet for all its size, the bear wanted nothing more than to escape. Ignoring the oxen, and the crowd of watching soldiers, it lumbered down the slope towards the nearest stand of trees.