Vespasian: Tribune of Rome (24 page)

‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Better thank you, Magnus, but my leg is stiff as a board.’ He put his hand gingerly on his wounded calf and felt a rough bandage protecting it. ‘How is it?’ he asked.

‘Not too bad; the burning stopped the bleeding and closed it. We’ve been taking it in turns to piss on it. My grandmother always did that if she couldn’t find any vinegar.’

Vespasian’s face wrinkled. ‘I’m sure that with the amount that you all drink the effect would have been the same as vinegar.’

‘More than likely, sir. We should have some breakfast now and be ready to leave at first light.’

Sextus brought some bread and cheese over to them and then started to bury all traces of the fire, whilst Marius struggled to fill the water skins in the stream.

‘Which way should we go?’ Vespasian asked through a mouthful of cheese.

‘My guess is that the Praetorians know you are wounded and will have realised that we’d have had to stop fairly soon after dark to tend to you, which we did. So they would calculate that if they rode on for another two or three hours into the night they would most certainly pass us. Then all they need to do is block the road and maintain patrols on either side to stop us skirting round.’

‘It sounds like they’ll have got us trapped,’ Marius said, still struggling with the water skins. ‘Perhaps we should head east to the Via Aemilia Scaura; it can’t be more than twenty miles away and it ends up in Genua as well.’

‘I thought about that, mate, but they know where we’re heading so I’m sure that they’ll have that road covered too.’

‘So where does that leave us, Magnus?’ Sextus asked. ‘Going back to Rome?’

‘No way, they’ll be checking everyone going into the city for days to come. No, lads, we’ve just got to go forward cross-country, keeping a sharp lookout, and try to slip past them.’ Magnus got to his feet. The first rays of the sun had appeared over the horizon sending long shadows through the wood. ‘Come on, lads, mount up. You’d best not wear that red cloak, sir, it’s a bit of a giveaway, if you take my meaning? Here, take mine.’

Vespasian didn’t argue and wrapped the warm woollen cloak around his shoulders, and then packed his military one in his kit bag. He managed to get back in the saddle unaided but the exertion made his head spin and he had to hold on to his horse’s neck to steady himself.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ Magnus asked, concerned.

‘I’ll be fine, thanks,’ he replied as his vision steadied.

‘At least we’ll be going slowly, as we don’t want to go carelessly blundering into any of their patrols. So you just hang on, sir, and shout if you need to stop.’

Magnus kicked his horse and moved off; Vespasian followed, praying to the gods that he would have the strength to last the day.

Keeping the Via Aurelia a mile or so to their left they picked their way across country. The undulating landscape was mainly farmland criss-crossed by small tracks and dotted with woods and olive groves. Here and there they saw a farmhouse or a country villa and skirted around it, keeping as far away from prying eyes as possible, but always maintaining a north-westerly direction. The occasional glimpses they had of the sea, a few miles to their left, helped them to keep on course, the sun now being visible only intermittently through the steadily thickening clouds. After a couple of hours, during which they’d covered over ten miles, Magnus stopped and turned to his companions.

‘By my reckoning we should be nearly level with the roadblock so watch out for their patrols. From now on we’ll try to keep as much as possible to the woods, olive groves and river beds.’ He looked at Vespasian, who seemed to be very pale. ‘Sextus, get something to eat for the young gentleman.’

A quick rummage through his pack produced some more salted pork that he gave to Vespasian, who ate it thankfully as they pressed on with caution.

By midmorning it had completely clouded over and a light drizzle of rain was falling. They were threading their way through an alder wood when a series of shouts stopped them dead.

‘What was that?’ Vespasian whispered, coming out of the reverie that he had fallen into and now suddenly alert.

‘Fuck knows,’ Magnus replied, looking around. ‘But whatever it was, it was close.’

Another shout, which seemed to come from up ahead of them to the right, echoed around the wood. Suddenly, about fifty paces away to their front, three horsemen dressed in dull travel clothes crashed through the wood from right to left pursued by half a dozen red-cloaked, spear-toting Praetorian troopers.

Vespasian and his escort stayed motionless, hearts pounding, as the Praetorians raced through the wood in pursuit of their quarry. So concentrated were the troopers on navigating their way through the trees and dead undergrowth that they could neither look right nor left. They drove their horses furiously as they sped out of sight, enveloped by the wood.

‘The bastards must think that was us,’ Magnus said as the last red cloak disappeared.

‘Then they’re not very good at counting, are they?’ Sextus pointed out.

Magnus looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘That’s rich, coming from you. Anyway, who cares? The main thing is that they’re occupied so let’s take advantage of it.’ He moved off quickly; the others followed. As they crossed the line of the chase more shouting came from their left, then a scream.

‘It sounds like they’ve got us,’ Marius said, smiling grimly.

‘Poor buggers; still, they must have been up to no good if they ran when challenged,’ Vespasian observed, feeling much revived by his racing heart.

‘Even if I was as innocent as a Vestal Virgin I think I’d run from a Praetorian patrol that wanted to ask me a few questions; they’re not known for their politeness, you know,’ Magnus said, quickening his pace as the wood thinned out.

On reaching the last of the trees he stopped and looked ahead. In the distance, five miles off, was a line of hills, but before that was
mainly rolling, open grassland used for sheep grazing. Here and there were little stone shepherd’s huts that were connected by paths marked out by lines of trees and bushes.

Magnus dismounted and handed his reins to Sextus. ‘Hold these, mate, I’m going for a little scout around to check whether we’re clear to leave the wood.’

He darted off to the left, leaving his companions wondering how they were going to cross such a large area of open grassland unnoticed by a patrol.

Vespasian took a long slug of water and then another bite from the strip of salt pork. He was feeling stronger than he had first thing, but he still had a long way to go before being fully fit. He wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders in an effort to keep out the rain and shivered slightly. He turned to Marius, who had his reins wrapped around his left forearm whilst he used his right to scratch his back.

‘How did you lose your hand, Marius?’

‘In the navy, sir, I was a deck—’

Magnus came dashing back, interrupting Marius. ‘They killed one of the unlucky sods and three of the guards are taking the other two back towards the road. The other three are a mile off and heading back towards the wood, I assume to look for what they must believe is the missing fourth member of the party.’

‘We’re trapped, then,’ Marius said. ‘If we go forward they’ll see us, and if we try to hide they’ll probably find us.’

‘If you can’t beat them, join them,’ Vespasian said.

The crossroads brothers looked at him quizzically.

‘What?’ Magnus asked, not understanding at all.

‘We’ll join them; we’ll take them out and borrow their cloaks, helmets, shields and spears. That way from a distance we’ll look like just another patrol and we should be able to cross that open ground unchallenged,’ Vespasian explained.

‘But there’s only three of them,’ Magnus said.

‘I’ve got my military cloak and helmet; the plume is longer than a Praetorian’s but from a distance it will do. Marius couldn’t hold a spear or a shield in any case; it’ll work, it’s not as if we’re going to try and go through a roadblock by passing ourselves off as Praetorians, is it?’

‘You’re right, sir,’ Magnus agreed, pleased to have a plan. ‘But before you pluck a chicken you have to wring its neck. So let’s get further back into the wood and find a place to ambush them.’

They retraced their steps to the line of the chase, turned left along its path and followed it for a couple of hundred paces where, to their right, they saw a dell about ten feet deep and thirty paces across.

‘This’ll do us,’ Magnus said, the beginnings of a plan formulating in his head. ‘Now, sir, they’ll be looking for a young military tribune, and you’re the only one of us that fits that description so it has to be you that leads them here. Go back along the track and when they see you race back here, down through the dell and up the other side there.’ He pointed to a gap between two large alders perched at the top of a steep bank on the far side of the dell. ‘As they’re following you up the bank we’ll unhorse them and finish them off.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know, I haven’t got that far yet, but we’ll be on foot so let’s get these horses out of the way, lads. Sextus, do the honours.’ He and Marius dismounted and handed their reins to Sextus, who led the horses away.

‘Good luck, sir,’ Magnus said. ‘We’ll be ready when you get back.’

‘I hope so,’ Vespasian replied with a weak grin. He turned his horse and headed back towards the Praetorian troopers.

His leg was throbbing and his head ached but he felt confident that he had strength enough to stay on his horse and to ride fast
through the wood for a short period of time. He was also sure that they wouldn’t try to bring him down with their spears; Sejanus wanted him alive, which, in the circumstances, he found a comforting thought.

Keeping his eyes peeled he advanced cautiously, making a mental note of any obstacles that he would meet on the way back, until he caught sight of a flash of red through the trees ahead of him. He stopped and waited for them to come on, bracing himself for the dash back. He didn’t have long to wait.

‘There he is!’ a shout came from about fifty paces away.

Vespasian turned his horse and kicked it into a gallop. As he sped back down the now familiar path, dodging trees, jumping logs and ducking under low-hanging branches, he felt an admiration for the horsemanship of the riders behind him who had earlier ridden the same route but without the benefit of a recce. He reached the edge of the dell and slowed. He looked around briefly to make sure his pursuers could see where he was going, then, satisfied, he plunged down the bank and tore across the dell in the direction of the two trees that Magnus had pointed out on the far side.

The Praetorians made it down the first bank as Vespasian’s horse scrambled up the much steeper bank opposite. Its forelegs reached the top; as it tried to pull itself up on to the level ground, its hind legs scrabbled behind it to gain purchase on the loosened earth of the bank. Vespasian clung on as his horse gave an almighty heave and pulled itself clear of the bank, but the speed of its thrashing hind legs hitting the firmer ground of the woodland floor caused it to overbalance and it stumbled, sending Vespasian crashing to the ground.

‘We’ve got him!’ someone called from behind him as he rolled on to his back and drew his sword to defend himself. The first two Praetorians had almost scaled the bank when a couple of dark blurs swept across Vespasian’s vision; two stout branches
crunched into the troopers’ faces, sending them tumbling off their mounts, who in turn reared up and toppled backwards down the slope on to the third trooper behind them. Magnus and Sextus charged down the bank from their ambush positions behind the trees, hurling their branches down at the fallen troopers. They leapt on them, swords drawn, as Marius slid down the bank behind the troopers to cut off any retreat. The horses crushed and kicked their riders as they struggled to get up, leaving the troopers as easy game on the floor. Three swords flashed almost simultaneously, blood spurted from the troopers’ throats and they died beneath their terrified mounts.

‘Quick, lads, try and calm those horses down, then start taking what we need,’ Magnus said as he clambered back up the bank towards Vespasian. ‘Are you all right, sir? That looked like a pretty nasty tumble.’

‘I’m fine. Are they all dead?’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t be standing here chatting with you otherwise, would I?’ Magnus replied helping him up. ‘Come on, let’s get going.’

They hurried down the bank to where Marius was stripping the Praetorians of their cloaks and helmets, whilst Sextus struggled to control the horses.

‘Take the saddles and bridles off the horses, Sextus,’ Vespasian said, ‘then let them go.’

With the bodies, bridles and saddles safely hidden in the long undergrowth away from the track, they donned the Praetorian cloaks and helmets, retrieved their own horses, mounted up and made their way to the edge of the wood. Looking out over the open ground they could see no sign of another patrol.

‘We’ll ride two by two,’ Vespasian said, ‘but not too fast, otherwise if another patrol sees us they may think that we’re chasing someone and come to help us.’

‘You’re right, sir,’ Magnus agreed, ‘nice and easy all the way to those hills. All right lads, let’s go.’

They left the wood and started to cross the grassland at a steady canter. Vespasian struggled for a while trying to control his horse with just his right hand whilst holding a spear and a heavy shield in his left, but after a mile he’d got the hang of it and he was able to offset the extra weight by leaning slightly to his right whilst still keeping his horse going in a straight line.

‘Sir, look, behind us to the right,’ Sextus shouted suddenly.

‘Don’t speed up,’ Vespasian said, looking over his shoulder. Sure enough, heading for the wood that they had just left was another red-cloaked patrol.

‘What do we do?’ Marius asked.

‘Nothing, mate,’ Magnus said staring straight ahead. ‘Don’t look at them; just keep going. Let’s hope that we’re far enough away to fool them.’

Vespasian held his breath as they cantered on. He risked another quick look over his shoulder. The patrol was skirting the wood and making its way towards the Via Aurelia, seemingly taking no notice of their presumed comrades a couple of miles away out on the grassland.