Rome’s Fallen Eagle (20 page)

Before Ansigar could frame the question the captive pulled his horse away to the south, kicking it for all he was worth, urging it into yet more speed; Ansigar made to follow.

‘Let him go!’ Vespasian shouted. ‘We haven’t got time to waste chasing him.’

‘I’ve been here before,’ Magnus told Vespasian as Ansigar pulled his horse back into the column. ‘We sacked that place
twenty-five years ago; they’ve evidently rebuilt it. That’s Mattium, the Chatti’s chief settlement.’

‘I should have guessed; he said it was east along the river and he’s led us right to it.’

‘We could always turn back.’

‘No, if I were the Chatti I would have left enough men to hold the river against us in case that was our plan. At least here we can cross unopposed.’

‘Unopposed apart from by the rest of the Chatti tribe, that is.’

Vespasian was not about to argue with his friend and prayed that they could get across and away before their presence was noted by sharp eyes in the watchtowers of Mattium.

As they drew closer to the river the troopers began to unsling their water-skins and empty them. Vespasian looked over at Paetus who was doing the same. ‘Why are you doing that?’

‘Buoyancy, sir; you’d do well to do the same, we won’t have a moment to lose; we’ll fill them up again once we’re across.’ Paetus began blowing into the skin, inflating it, concentrating on keeping level in the saddle at the same time.

‘Better do as he suggests,’ Magnus said, reaching for his skin. ‘And you too, Ziri.’

The little Marmarides looked in horror at his master as he emptied the contents of his water-skin. ‘No, master! Man must not waste water; it brings bad luck.’

‘In the desert it might, but here? Bollocks. Get on with it.’

Vespasian finished inflating his skin as they slowed, reaching the first trees of the riverbank. Paetus jumped from his horse and laid his shield on the ground. ‘Tie the skin to the central grip of your shields,’ he told the brothers and Magnus as they too dismounted, ‘and make sure that the neck is tightly knotted so the air doesn’t leak out.’

‘Prefect!’ Ansigar shouted, pointing back.

‘Shit! They crossed!’ Paetus exclaimed. ‘Get in the river, now!’

Vespasian looked back up the hill; just over a mile away a line of cavalry thundered towards them, about one hundred in total. The Chatti had split their force.

Vespasian fumbled with his inflated water-skin’s leather
thong, twisting it around the neck and tying it to the shield grip; around him troopers, well practised at this novel drill, were already leading their horses to the river, urging them to swim the fifty paces across. They placed their shields, with the improvised buoyancy bag underneath, on the surface and lay flat on them; the wooden shields with the added bag of air supported their weight, even with the heavy chain mail. Kicking with their feet and holding the horns of their mounts’ saddles as they swam, the Batavians began the crossing.

The Chatti had covered almost half the distance and their shouts could be plainly heard.

Vespasian finally managed to secure the airbag and hurriedly followed Sabinus down to the water’s edge.

‘Fucking hurry up, Ziri,’ Magnus growled, picking up his prepared shield; most of the troopers were already in the water. He looked over to where Ziri was struggling to tie off a knot around his skin’s neck. ‘You stupid brown desert-dweller! You haven’t emptied the water; how the fuck is that going to float?’

‘I won’t throw water away, master, it’s not natural.’

‘Fighting on horseback ain’t natural, wasting water is, now empty it.’

‘No, master.’

Magnus glanced back up the hill; the Chatti were less than half a mile away. ‘Fuck it, we ain’t got the time; you’ll just have to pray that the shield supports your scrawny little brown body by itself. Now get a move on before your arse starts entertaining a Chatti spear.’ He hurried his horse into the river; Ziri followed. The lead troopers were already pulling themselves out on the far bank as Magnus lay on his shield and his horse began to pull him across.

Vespasian looked back from halfway to check his friend was following; the Chatti were little more than four hundred paces from the bank. ‘Hurry, Magnus!’

‘Shout at the horse, not me,’ Magnus retorted, striving to keep balanced on his improvised raft as his mount towed him across. Behind him Ziri was the last man in the river and having very little success in staying on his un-buoyed shield; his struggles were spooking his horse.

Vespasian neared the far bank; most of the troopers were already out and hastily refilling their water-skins before mounting up. His horse pricked back its ears as it worked its powerful limbs against the water for the last few strokes; then its hooves hit the river bed and it surged up the bank, churning the brown-green water and splashing it into Vespasian’s eyes. Releasing the saddle and grabbing his shield, Vespasian found his footing and pushed himself forward, struggling to find purchase on the slimy bed. Sabinus stretched out a hand to him; he clasped it and was hauled clear. ‘Thanks, brother,’ he gasped, panting from the exertion. He immediately turned to check on Magnus and Ziri’s progress as the last couple of troopers made it out of the water; Ansigar and his fellow decurions were urging their men to mount up. Magnus was ten paces out but Ziri was still mid-stream; he had lost his shield and was floundering, clinging desperately to his horse’s saddle. The beast snorted and shook its head in protest as it powered itself across.

The Chatti were approaching the trees lining the south bank, hollering and brandishing javelins.

‘Hold on, Ziri, and kick with your feet,’ Vespasian yelled, swinging up into the saddle as the first javelins hissed into the water around the struggling Marmarides.

‘We move out now,’ Paetus shouted, ‘there’s no time to wait for him.’

Magnus stumbled out of the water. ‘You go, I’ll wait for him.’

‘They’ll catch you. We can put a mile between us and the river whilst they cross.’

Magnus’ face was set firm. ‘I said I’ll wait for him!’

Paetus turned his mount and urged it on through the trees, following his men.

Vespasian looked at Sabinus. ‘You get on, Sabinus, I’ll bring him.’

Out in the river, Ziri’s horse let out a bestial screech as a javelin embedded itself in its rump; its back legs thrashed. A moment later another skewered into its neck, forcing an even shriller cry from the stricken animal; it bucked savagely, churning the bloody water around it and dislodging its floundering passenger.

‘Master!’ Ziri cried, splashing his arms in an attempt to keep his head above water.

‘There’s nothing you can do for him,’ Vespasian urged Magnus, who was watching open-mouthed, clenching and re-clenching his fists impotently, ‘unless you want to keep him company.’

Ziri’s head dipped below the surface as his horse wallowed weakly next to him. His arms lashed at the water with enough force to bring his face back out. With his head tilted back he stared with wild eyes down his nose at Magnus. ‘Master! Mas—’ He juddered as a javelin slammed into the crown of his head and exploded through his palate; it punched out his front teeth as it wedged itself in his lower jaw, its bloodied point protruding like a reverse dimple from the middle of his chin.

Magnus let out a bellow of grief-stricken rage as Ziri sank, his arms trailing above his head as it slipped beneath the surface. His fingers disappeared, leaving only the shaft of the javelin poking out of the water to mark his position in the element so alien to his parched homeland.

‘The stupid little brown sod,’ Magnus hissed through gritted teeth as he jumped up onto his horse. ‘I told him to empty the water from his skin but the idiot thought it would bring him bad luck to waste it.’ He kicked his horse up the bank.

Vespasian followed as the first of the Chatti made it into the river. ‘Now he’s going to be drinking water for eternity just because he wouldn’t throw a few drops away.’

‘That’s what I call a fucking irony.’

Vespasian and Magnus drove their mounts as fast as they would go as they strove to catch the Batavians now a quarter of a mile ahead of them. With the looming, smoke-oozing, fortified hilltop settlement of Mattium blocking their way east and the knowledge that the other half of the Chatti cavalry were in front of them following the river to the north, they were heading in the only viable direction: northeast.

So close to the Chatti’s major settlement the farmland was well cultivated and they were forced to hurdle low stone walls and hedgerows.

‘My horse ain’t going to last much longer,’ Magnus called over to Vespasian as he landed ungracefully after another leap.

Vespasian did not reply, he knew that his own mount was gradually fading, although not as quickly as some of the Batavians in front of them. In an effort to stay together the column was travelling at the speed of their slowest animal and they were now less than one hundred paces ahead; Vespasian and Magnus were gaining all the time. Glancing behind, Vespasian saw the chasing Chatti starting to swarm through the trees on the north bank, just over a mile away.

‘Shit, I don’t like the look of that!’ Magnus exclaimed, pointing up to Mattium.

The gates had opened and horsemen were making their way along the winding track leading down to the plain.

Paetus too had obviously seen them because the column veered slightly more to the north; then after a few moments on the new course it changed back to its original direction. Vespasian knew immediately what that meant without having to look: the Chatti who had followed the river had left its course and were heading across country to cut them off. They were surrounded.

Paetus brought the column to a halt and Vespasian and Magnus finally caught up. ‘We’ve got no choices but to fight or surrender,’ he said to the brothers as they halted next to him.

‘Then I’d say that we have no choice,’ Vespasian replied. ‘If we fight we’ll all die. Gisbert offered to escort our men back to the Rhenus if we surrender, at least that way they’ll survive.’

‘Batavians do not surrender,’ Ansigar spat, ‘and especially not to Chatti; we would never be able to return home again if we did, such would be the shame.’

Paetus smiled without mirth. ‘Well, gentlemen, it looks like a bloody death in the middle of Germania Magna for us, however you look at it. I have to say that I’d much rather go down fighting than be executed by some barbarian who calls himself king just because his great-grandfather came down from the hills and chopped everybody else’s head off. Ansigar, form the men up to the north, we’ll try to break through that way.’

The decurion saluted and rode away growling orders; the turmae started to form line with the Chatti no more than five hundred paces away on three sides.

‘I’m sorry, Vespasian,’ Sabinus said with a surprising dose of sincerity in his tone, ‘it was my fault that got you into this.’

Vespasian smiled at his brother. ‘No, it was Claudius’ freedmen playing politics with each other.’

‘Bastards.’

‘So it looks like the prophecy made at my birth was false; unless of course it said that I was to die at the age of thirty-one butchered by Germans?’

‘What? Oh yes, I see what you mean. No, it didn’t predict that so it was all bollocks; I never believed it anyway, but Mother insisted that that was what the marks on each of the three livers meant.’

‘Meant what?’

Sabinus shrugged, looking around at the three oncoming Chatti units, which had slowed and also formed a line.

‘Come on, Sabinus, you might as well tell me now seeing as it was rubbish.’

Sabinus looked at his brother appraisingly. ‘Very well. Father sacrificed the normal ox, pig and ram at your naming ceremony. When he took out the livers for examination they all had blemishes on. I can remember being very excited about that because I was sure that meant that Mars was not going to accept you; I hated you, you see?’

‘Why? What had I done?’

‘I’d heard Father promise Mars to nurture you well, to take great care of you, even over me; I was seethingly jealous of you. But the blemishes did not mean that Mars was rejecting you, far from it. Each liver had a different mark, they were all recognisable, uncannily so, but now what seemed like a blatant pictorial message turns out to be no more than—’

‘Romans!’

The brothers looked behind them; the Chatti who had come from Mattium had stopped fifty paces away. One man came forward.

‘Shit! That’s the bastard that led us here,’ Vespasian exclaimed, recognising their erstwhile guide instantly. ‘He must have crossed the bridge.’

He shouted a couple of sentences in German.

‘Perhaps this is not the end, brother,’ Sabinus mused. ‘Thank my Lord Mithras I didn’t break my oath.’

Vespasian looked at Sabinus, enraged, as Ansigar rode over to them and translated. ‘They do not ask for our surrender but they do ask that we come with them to avoid any more bloodshed. We may keep our weapons and our honour. It’s a fair deal.’

‘What do they want from us?’ Sabinus asked, ignoring his brother’s frustration.

‘Their King wants to talk with the officers; you are invited to the hall of Adgandestrius.’

The gates of Mattium swung open to reveal a mass of rectangular wooden huts of varying sizes, jumbled together without any thought of civic planning. Constructed with thick poles hammered into the earth, there were no windows in the walls, and the doors were no more than sheets of leather; smoke spiralled out of holes in the centre of each hut’s thatched roof.

The guide led the column along the main street of compacted earth that twisted and turned as it climbed higher. Narrow alleys ran off into smoky gloom on either side; the tang of wood smoke and reek of human waste filled Vespasian’s nostrils. Women and old men peered curiously from doorways at the strangers as they passed and flaxen-haired children stopped their play and scuttled out of the road, away from the horses’ hooves.

‘Uncle Gaius would like it here,’ Vespasian mused, looking at a couple of particularly beautiful, if rather grubby, young boys.

Sabinus laughed. ‘Perhaps we should see if we can buy a couple to take home for him.’