Hero of Rome (22 page)

XXX

Three days later, after a forced march of sixty miles, Valerius recognized the familiar low outline of Camulodunum’s turf walls on the far horizon. They were as impressive as any fortifications he’d seen on the island, yet he knew they’d been given up without a fight when Claudius’s invasion force arrived. He believed he understood why. To properly defend walls of that scale would demand a garrison far beyond the capabilities of the Trinovantes, who had held Camulodunum then, even if they had possessed the will to fight for them. On the way from Londinium he’d given much thought to the problems of defence and he had come to one devastating conclusion. The town of Colonia could not be held against any reasonable-sized force by the veterans whose duty it was to protect it.

That conclusion was reinforced when he rode up the hill towards the familiar arch of the town’s west gate with the two hundred weary men of his tiny command in tight formation behind him. He noted again the enormous gaps in the walls and the warren of streets behind where an enemy could turn a flank or launch an attack from the rear. He saw only one possibility to defend part of the town and it could only be considered as a last resort.

He thought he could rely on Falco. Petronius and his council were likely to be a different matter.

The
quaestor
stood in the shadow of the arch along with half the town and the cheering began while the legionaries were still a hundred paces away. Valerius bit his lip in frustration. A civic welcome was the last thing he needed. Horns blared and someone had brought out a drum that beat in time to the soldiers’ marching feet. When he reached Petronius and Falco, standing side by side a dozen yards in front of the crowd, Valerius could barely hear their greeting. Relief was written clearly on their faces.

‘You have come at last.’ Petronius’s narrow face wore a wide smile, but it was strained and he had aged since Valerius had last seen him. ‘The council has voted to select a fine bull to be sacrificed in your honour and to thank Divine Claudius for our salvation.’

Valerius exchanged glances with Falco, who had been straining for a glimpse of something in the far distance. He shook his head imperceptibly, and the older man’s eyes widened.

‘I fear you may be premature, sir,’ he told the
quaestor
quietly. ‘We are all the procurator has seen fit to send you.’

Petronius looked as if he might faint, and Falco took Valerius by the arm and whispered furiously. ‘This is all? But we asked for four cohorts at least, and cavalry. Fifteen hundred men. What good is two hundred against the entire might of the Iceni?’

The cheers gradually subsided to a confused murmur as the crowd realized no legion followed Valerius’s pathetic little band. A male voice demanded to know what was happening and Petronius glanced over his shoulder. Valerius saw that the
quaestor
was frightened. In Petronius that didn’t surprise him, but it was a shock to see his expression mirrored by Falco, who had fought his way across the Tamesa and led the charge which had brought about Caratacus’s final defeat. ‘I need to know everything,’ he said.

They met five minutes later in an anteroom of the basilica looking out over the Forum. From the open window Valerius could see groups of veterans practising their swordplay, while others watched, shouting advice and laughing at their efforts, and children waved short sticks to mimic their fathers and grandfathers.

Petronius stood talking animatedly to a short, sturdily built Celt whose bristling grey moustache gave him the look of a surly dog otter. ‘This is Celle,’ Petronius introduced the newcomer. ‘He makes what living he can hunting and fishing in the wetlands by the coast. He is one of my informants and was able to approach close to the Iceni camp, where their queen invokes the spirit of the wolf, the hare and the horse to preach painful death to all Romans. Not close enough, he admits, to gain full knowledge of this Boudicca’s thoughts and strategies – he aroused the suspicions of an Iceni scout and was forced to kill him – but close enough to gain worthwhile intelligence upon her strength.’

Valerius studied the man, who looked out of place in a travel-stained cloak and ragged trews against the stark cleanliness of the white walls. ‘Can he be trusted?’

Petronius scowled as if his own loyalty had been questioned. ‘Celle has no reason to love the Iceni,’ he said. ‘Five years ago his children were taken as slaves and his wife killed when they raided his camp in some dispute over fishing rights. He has never failed me.’ He made a sign to Celle, who spat out an unbroken stream of sentences in a dialect Valerius couldn’t understand.

Falco translated, and his words fell into the silence like stones into a tomb. ‘He says you should know that the army of Boudicca is reckoned to be fifty thousand strong – fifty thousand warriors.’

Valerius felt the blood drain from his face. It wasn’t possible. The entire Iceni tribe numbered fewer than forty thousand; even fielding every man and boy and arming them with scythes and hoes there could not be more than twenty-five thousand.

Falco saw the disbelief on his face. ‘This is the message we sent to the procurator. The Catuvellauni and the Trinovantes have rallied to Boudicca’s cause. Kings and princes, chiefs, nobles and warriors, even the workmen from the fields. And more arriving every day, including from the Brigantes in the north. Friendship, apparently, is less binding than the scent of loot. Now do you understand why we are afraid? We asked Catus Decianus to send us enough soldiers to hold off the Iceni until the governor could return to meet the threat. Instead, he sent you.’ The grizzled veteran smiled bitterly. ‘I am happy to see you again, Valerius, but I would have preferred a more substantial gift.’

‘The governor is not coming. Decianus will not disturb him.’

Falco grimaced, and Petronius’s face went even whiter, if that were possible.

‘But why?’ Petronius asked. ‘My message was plain.’

‘He does not believe you.’

While Petronius called a full meeting of the
ordo
and senior militia officers, Valerius walked a circuit of what remained of the walls with Lunaris. He’d learned that, only days before, the council had belatedly agreed the city defences were more important than the feelings of the property developers who had torn down the walls to make way for their villas and gardens. The
duplicarius
shook his head: ‘Too late. It would take a thousand men months to make this place defensible again. We’d have to tear down houses, rebuild the walls and demolish every hut for two hundred paces to give ourselves a clear field of fire. Even then I don’t think we’d have enough men to defend a perimeter of this size.’

Valerius grunted agreement. ‘Falco reckons he can scrape together two thousand of his veterans and a few hundred able-bodied civilians who will be more trouble than they’re worth. Bela has had his cavalry patrolling the north road, but I’ve told him to pull back and form a screen ten miles north of here. They should give us a reasonable amount of warning of any attack and when they withdraw it will give us five hundred more, but I think they’ll be more useful on horseback than manning a wall.’

‘What about the signal station on the Venta road?’

‘They stay where they are and fight their way out at the first sign of trouble,’ Valerius said decisively.

‘We both know what that means.’

Valerius nodded. He had just sentenced eight men to death. The Iceni would overwhelm them in minutes, but the warning they gave could be decisive. He tried to put the image of the disgruntled Tungrian commander out of his mind but he was haunted by the legate’s words of a few months before:
There will be a day, Valerius
,
when your soldiers are mere coins to be spent
. Well, the day had come sooner than he’d believed possible. ‘How are the men?’

‘Our people – Gracilis, Luca, Paulus, Messor and the rest – are good, and the lads from Londinium are prime soldiers, but … you’ve heard the stories?’

‘That rubbish about the sea turning red?’

‘And the statue on top of the temple falling over.’

‘Pushed over is more likely,’ Valerius said dismissively. ‘Most of the local Trinovantes may have disappeared to hide or join the rebellion, but there are enough left to cause trouble. It wouldn’t have taken more than two men with a couple of ropes.’

Lunaris grinned. ‘You’re right, but you know what soldiers are like. Superstitious.’ His hand rose to touch the amulet at his neck.

‘Tell them what I said, and the next time someone whispers in their ear have them arrested for spreading rumour and dissent.’

‘It’s time,’ Lunaris reminded him.

‘Yes, it’s time.’

They were too many even for the
curia
, so Colonia’s hundred leading citizens and a hundred more packed into the main meeting room of the temple precinct. Corvinus was there, his dark eyes concerned and seeking out Valerius; Didius, the moneylender, sleek and calculating, but nervous for once; and a dozen others he knew. The men who had driven the city’s development since Claudius agreed its foundation and the men who had profited from it since. Perhaps a third of them were in their militia uniforms, the rest in the purple-striped togas that marked their office. Valerius knew his message wouldn’t be palatable for any of them.

‘I am going to give up the city.’

The announcement was greeted with uproar. Men clamoured to be allowed to speak, demanding precedence from Petronius who sat slumped in his seat looking bewildered and defeated. Even the veterans, conditioned to a lifetime of authority, appeared close to mutiny and Falco stood among them as grim-faced as any.

Valerius raised his voice above the dissent. ‘There is no choice,’ he said. ‘We cannot defend this city against fifty thousand warriors, or even half that. If the walls were unbroken I would not attempt it with the force we have. You must prepare the old, the sick, and the women and children to leave at dawn tomorrow for Londinium. Provide them with enough food and water for four days. Requisition every cart and carriage in the city, but keep the baggage to a minimum. Lives are more valuable than treasure.’

‘Are we cowards that we flee before a rabble of Celts whose arses we kicked twenty years ago?’ The voice came from the far end of the room and Valerius had to crane his neck to see who had spoken: a gnarled, grey-bearded farmer who had been a legionary officer and was now centurion of the Second cohort of the militia.

‘Not cowards, Marcus Saecularis, and I for one will not flee. If we run they will be on our necks like a pack of jackals. If we try to defend the city they will cut our little army into a hundred pieces and hunt us through the streets like rats.’

‘What, then?’ It was Falco.

Valerius nodded acknowledgement. He needed this man’s help more than any other. Without Falco’s cooperation Colonia was doomed.

‘There is a chance we can convince them to bypass Colonia. If we make a show of force in the right place and appear to have enough strength they will be wary. The rebellion is in its infancy and its leaders need a quick victory to cement the loyalty of their followers. They won’t relish attacking what they believe is a full legion.’

‘And if that doesn’t work?’

Valerius allowed his eyes to wander over the crowd of faces, so each man would believe he was speaking to him and him alone.

‘We will do what a legion does best,’ he said and he saw Falco’s eyes flash with comprehension. ‘We will fight them on our ground and our terms. When we receive word of the barbarians’ approach we will march out to meet them. I intend to use the river in place of the walls we do not have. Our greatest strength is our unity and our discipline. We will remind them of the price that must be paid for defying Rome.’

‘Are there enough of us?’ the militia commander asked. ‘Less than three thousand against fifty thousand?’

Valerius hesitated, unsure of his next words. Then a familiar hard-edged voice from a few short weeks earlier gave him his answer. ‘If the militia cannot hold Colonia its people do not deserve to keep it.’

The words were met with a disbelieving silence. He saw the shock on Falco’s face and a moment later a roar of fury filled the room. A militia centurion surged towards him and was only held back from physical assault by two of his compatriots. They hated him now. But that was good. If he could only channel that hatred against the Iceni, then, perhaps, they had a chance.

Petronius called for order. They did not like it, but no one wanted a debate. Valerius carried the procurator’s authority and to disobey him meant mutiny.

Still some argued against evacuation, those who wanted to stay with their wives and children and defend what was theirs, but they were in a minority. Everyone in the room knew of Celts no longer in Colonia who were now in the north, sharpening their swords. They remembered the humiliations that had been meted out to their neighbours; fear of their return and Valerius’s calm authority did the rest. When the issue was settled, he explained how the exodus must be organized, who would lead the convoy, who would command the escort, how much baggage would be allowed. When he had their agreement, Petronius issued his orders and they filed silently out of the room, each man considering how he would tell his wife, how much she would be able to carry and where he would bury what she could not.

As they were leaving, Valerius drew Falco aside. ‘You were right,’ he apologized. ‘We do not have enough men. But that wasn’t what they needed to hear.’

Falco studied him, his expression thoughtful. ‘I’ve heard many calls to arms, Valerius, but none quite so direct. Caligula could have learned much from you.’

Valerius smiled. A double-edged compliment, if it was a compliment at all. But he sensed no lasting damage had been done.

‘There is one thing you should know, Primus Pilus,’ he said formally. ‘When we have fought them, and fought them again, when their bodies lie in heaps before our swords, but still they come at us, then I will retire here, to this temple precinct, to make a last stand. The priests will complain that it is sacrilege, but I am a practical man, and I believe I have the support of the gods. We will stock the temple with what supplies and water we can. If you or any of your men are isolated in the fighting make for the temple. You will be among friends. Now, we have much to do.’