Hunting the Eagles (14 page)

‘You heard him,’ said Fenestela, using his blade to encourage the other soldier.

The shocked legionaries did as they were told. As those in the immediate vicinity struggled to realise what had happened, Tullus was speaking in Germanicus’ ear, motioning to his escort, and retreating away from Bony Face, Fat Nose and the twins. Pre-warned by Fenestela, Tullus’ twenty men formed a narrow, V-shaped wedge in front of Tullus and his valuable companion. Germanicus’ escort of three were quick to take their places in the formation. The party was twenty paces away before Bony Face and the rest began to hurl abuse after them, and fifty before the lead mutineers were calling for Germanicus to be apprehended.

At this point, Tullus slipped his hooded cloak over a protesting Germanicus, and pulled the cowl low over the governor’s face. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to bear with me,’ he muttered. ‘MOVE!’ he barked at his soldiers.

They were two hundred paces from the platform, and the gathering was thinning, before Bony Face had organised enough men to pursue them. Loud cries trailed over the crowd’s heads. ‘Catch him!’

‘With Germanicus as a prisoner, our demands will be met!’

The legionaries further away weren’t listening, were too pissed, or had no interest in apprehending Germanicus. There were curious stares aplenty, but few even remarked at the group’s passage. Nonetheless, Tullus did not let Germanicus lower his hood until they had reached the principia.

‘By all the gods,’ said Germanicus, recognising Tullus. ‘It’s you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Tullus, concerned at once that there be no mention of their meeting in Rome. Despite Germanicus’ leniency, the fewer people who knew about it, the better. ‘I’m sorry for manhandling you back there.’

‘No apology is necessary, centurion.’ Germanicus dipped his chin. ‘It was fortunate indeed that I acted as I did when last we met.’ Tullus breathed a sigh of relief at the way their encounter had been mentioned, and Germanicus continued, ‘I appear to owe you and your men my life, perhaps. If not that, my freedom.’

‘I was just doing my job, sir.’

‘You risked much, and when things seemed as if they might get out of hand, you acted with real initiative. Take the praise, centurion.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Tullus.

‘It’s good to know that I have men like you behind me. Things are likely to get worse here before they get better.’

‘Blood will flow, sir?’ It was dispiriting to hear his worries given voice by another.

‘I’m sure of it, centurion. Even when the mutineers have been brought to heel, some of their leaders will have to die. The best way to remove canker is with the first cut of the knife, my father used to say.’ Germanicus’ eyes now looked like two chips of flint. ‘If you don’t do that, the rot soon spreads.’

‘As you say, sir,’ agreed Tullus. Inside, he was horrified by the idea of killing his fellow soldiers.

What choice had he, though, other than to obey?

WHILE GERMANICUS CLOSETED
himself in the largest tent with Caecina and the senior centurions, news reached Tullus of Tubero’s arrival while he had been outside the camp. It threw him into a foul humour. Tubero had escaped through the back of his tent, it seemed. Disguised as an ordinary legionary, he had made his way unhindered to the headquarters. ‘Somehow the maggot always comes up as a winner,’ Tullus grumbled to Fenestela.

‘You never spoke a truer word,’ observed Fenestela, spitting.

‘One law for them, and one for us, eh?’

Fenestela grinned. They both spoke the same lines every time. ‘As it has always been, and always will be.’

‘I heard it was bad out there,’ said a voice.

Tullus found Senior Centurion Cordus standing ten paces away, his podgy face pale and strained. I don’t need this now, Tullus thought, remembering their angry exchange in the Net and Trident. ‘Bad enough.’

‘They’re saying that you rescued the governor.’

‘Aye.’ Tullus rolled his eyes at Fenestela, and waited for the sarcastic response.

‘You went into the midst of thousands of unhappy legionaries, men who have murdered centurions, and somehow extricated Germanicus,’ said Cordus. ‘That was well done.’

Tullus gave Cordus a startled glance. What in hell’s name was he playing at?

‘It would have been a terrible thing if the governor had been killed,’ Cordus went on. ‘We are all in your debt.’

‘Anyone would have done the same,’ demurred Tullus.

‘Except they wouldn’t.’ With a friendly nod, Cordus walked away.

‘Prick,’ muttered Fenestela. ‘I’d trust him as much as a sewer rat. What was he up to?’

‘No idea,’ replied Tullus. ‘Maybe he’s changed his mind about me.’

Fenestela made a
phhhh
noise of contempt.

‘I need wine,’ said Tullus. Cordus’ comment had driven home the magnitude of the danger that they had been in. ‘See if you can scrounge some from the quartermaster. Enough for the men who came with us too.’

‘The words “blood from a stone” spring to mind.’

‘Tell him it’s for the man who “saved” the governor,’ said Tullus with a wink. He pulled an
aureus
from his purse and handed it over. ‘
That
should move his fingers towards his keys. I want a decent vintage, mind, and lots of it.’

Fenestela winked back. ‘I’ll drive a hard bargain.’

Tullus busied himself for a time by congratulating the twenty legionaries who had come with him and Fenestela. They were good boys, he told them. He was proud of what they had done, and so was Germanicus. ‘It’s quite a thing to have saved the life of the emperor’s heir,’ Tullus said. ‘You’ll only get one chance to do that in this lifetime.’

They gave him the fierce, relieved grins of those who have survived the storm of iron and steel. There had been no combat, but the risk of dying had been as high as it was in the fiercest battle, and every one of them knew it.

‘All centurions, gather round!’

Flanked by Germanicus and Tubero, Caecina stood in the doorway of the main command tent.

Tullus made his way over, and was pleased by the recognition he received from other centurions: nods, muttered congratulations, even a few claps on the back. It was heartening that some of the acknowledgements came from men who had shunned him before. Perhaps the stain on his character – for having survived Arminius’ ambush – wasn’t impossible to wash away. Not everyone was pleased for him: Victor, Cordus’ ox-like henchman, was among those who said not a word. He glowered as Tullus was allowed to take a place at the front.

‘We are honoured by the presence among us of Germanicus Julius Caesar, our governor,’ announced Caecina.

The centurions were well schooled – and relieved that their supreme commander had arrived. A loud cheer went up.

‘I give you the imperial governor,’ said Caecina, half bowing to Germanicus and stepping back.

More cheering erupted.

Tall, imposing, Germanicus stood forward, and raised his hands for calm. ‘The time for celebration is not here yet, I am afraid. Having seen the gravity of the situation with my own eyes’ – and he gave Tullus a nod of appreciation – ‘the only way to placate the legionaries is to agree to their demands, in principle at least. I can see that you like that as little as I do, but there are few options open to me. I propose sending a letter to the mutineers’ leaders.’

Germanicus threw a look at Tubero, who all but preened himself. ‘Legate Tubero came up with the idea: a letter purporting to have Tiberius’ authority. It will grant discharge to legionaries who have served for twenty years and longer. Soldiers with sixteen or more years of service will receive a conditional discharge; their only obligation will be to fight – if there is need – in the four years following their release from the legions. Their official donative will be doubled. Legionaries’ pay will also be increased, by a half.’

Tullus saw his own disbelief mirrored in almost every centurion’s face. The mutineers weren’t stupid, he thought. Tiberius was known for his steady, cautious nature. He wasn’t the type to offer such generous terms, without any fight whatsoever. Was anyone prepared to say so, though?

Germanicus was an observant man. He sensed their unhappiness. ‘What is it? Speak up,’ he ordered, his gaze roaming from face to face. They settled on Tullus. ‘Well?’

Tullus took a deep breath. ‘They won’t fall for it, sir. I have no idea how the emperor thinks, the gods bless him forever, but I doubt that he would capitulate to such demands in the first instance. The mutineers will think the same.’ Tullus could hear no voices agreeing with him, and his guts churned.

Germanicus’ lips tightened, but he uttered no rebuke. Beside him, Caecina was scowling and Tubero’s cheeks were marked by red pinpricks of fury. Germanicus eyed the centurions again. ‘Are any of you of the same opinion?’

‘I am, sir.’ Surprising Tullus yet again, it was Cordus who had spoken. ‘They’ll be expecting to haggle over their demands, not just have them agreed to straight away.’

There were some rumbles of agreement, but few centurions would meet Germanicus’ eyes. It wasn’t surprising, thought Tullus, hoping that he hadn’t done the wrong thing. Only fools disagreed with high-ranking officials, let alone the emperor’s heir.

‘Can you offer me any other immediate choices?’ asked Germanicus.

A resounding silence followed, broken only by the drunken shouts of legionaries outside the principia.

We could sit and wait, thought Tullus. Send for the legions upriver, in Germania Superior. The local auxiliaries could even be used to put down the rebellion. He had had enough, however, of speaking up, of offering himself as the sacrificial sheep. While Germanicus held Tullus in some regard, Tubero still had it in for him, and was more than capable of turning Caecina, and perhaps even Germanicus himself, against him. Tullus had spent too long in the wilderness to risk losing the regard of his newfound, powerful benefactor, so he stitched his lip.

‘In that case, we shall proceed with the letter,’ declared Germanicus. ‘May the gods ensure that it puts an end to this madness.’

The divine help that Germanicus had wished for did not materialise. Some hours after the letter had been delivered to the mutineers’ leaders under a flag of truce, a vast crowd of legionaries assembled outside the principia. Many were drunk, and all were irate. Shouting that Germanicus should come forth – he did, with Tullus and his full century as protection – they destroyed his letter, calling it a forgery. Their demands were repeated, and this time, the legionaries threatened, they were ‘to be looked at with the respect they deserve’. In other words, Bony Face shouted, a settlement had better be forthcoming within a day, or Germanicus could expect to have the principia burned down around his noble ears. With him inside, the twins added, to a swelling roar of approval.

The furious mutineers didn’t wait for a reply. Their intimidating threats hung in the air as they marched off.

‘Curse them to Hades! Their insolence is unforgivable,’ snarled Germanicus. He glanced at Tullus, who was quick to keep his expression blank. There could be no ‘I told you so’ attitude with someone so high-ranking.

‘You were right,’ admitted Germanicus after a long moment. ‘They’re no fools.’

‘As you say, sir,’ replied Tullus in a neutral tone. ‘We’ll make them pay in the end.’

‘Indeed, but other matters are more pressing,’ muttered Germanicus. ‘What to do now?’

Tullus wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical, and discretion was the more prudent choice. He said nothing.

‘I could promise them an increase in pay, to be given on their return to barracks,’ said Germanicus. He shot a look at Tullus. ‘Would that work?’

Caught by Germanicus’ penetrating stare, Tullus
had
to answer. Hating the fact that he was a poor liar, he answered, ‘Men like to feel coin in their hands, sir, not listen to the promise of it days into the future.’

‘I am the imperial governor,’ said Germanicus, his jaw hardening. ‘I’ll not roll over to them, d’you hear?’

‘I understand, sir,’ said Tullus, thinking: you
have
to give them something tangible, or more blood will be spilled.

‘Take me inside,’ ordered Germanicus. ‘I must reflect on the best course of action.’

‘Sir.’ Tullus led the way, hoping that inspiration of a better kind would strike Germanicus before the mutineers’ patience ran out.

Tullus’ hopes were in vain. Whether through pride or inability to come up with a better option, Germanicus went ahead with his suggestion to the soldiers that an increase in pay would be paid when they marched back to their camps. Tullus was ordered to deliver the offer to the mutineers the following morning. He wasn’t surprised when Bony Face and his fellows rejected it out of hand. Red-faced with fury, Bony Face whipped his followers into a frenzy. Insults and then stones were thrown. In a calm voice, Tullus had his men close up and draw their swords. A stand-off developed, with both sides nervous and ready to fight, but neither quite prepared to begin the bloodletting. Tullus wanted to pull his soldiers back into the safety of the headquarters, but he had to get an answer for Germanicus first. ‘Will you accept the terms?’ he called out.