Vespasian: Tribune of Rome (31 page)

Some anxious shouts from amongst the men caused him to look to his right.

‘Silence in the ranks,’ Faustus bellowed. ‘Keep your heads forward and concentrate on not tripping over the man in front.’

Across the plain, about two miles away, a small group of horsemen could be seen galloping, hell for leather, towards them.

‘Looks like trouble,’ Magnus muttered. ‘Good news doesn’t tend to travel that fast.’

The cornu sounded out once more, its deep call carrying clearly over the noise of the marching column.

‘That’s “Senior officers to report to commander” again,’ Magnus said. ‘Let’s hope the arsehole keeps his cool.’

‘An arsehole he may be,’ Vespasian said, swinging his horse out of the column, ‘but it seems to me that so far he’s made all the right decisions.’

‘There are still five miles to go and a river to cross; plenty of time to fuck it up.’

At the head of the column Vespasian pulled up beside Corbulo and Mauricius; Gallus and Quintus Caepio, prefect of the rearguard Gallic cavalry, were soon assembled.

‘News of the Thracians’ advance, I expect,’ Corbulo said, grimfaced. ‘Our scouts must have sighted them by now.’

They rode on in silence watching the small party of light cavalry closing in. Vespasian counted six of them and two riderless horses, and felt a chill go down his spine and start to gnaw away at him deep within his bowels: men had started to die. He steeled himself for what he knew would be the most testing day of his short life so far, more so than ambushing runaway slaves or rescuing Caenis,
for this time he was on the defending side: all the initiative lay with the Thracians.

The scouts drew level and, with prodigious skill, wheeled their exhausted horses around, bringing them to the trot next to the group of officers.

‘Sir!’ Their leader, a powerful-looking man with a sunburnt face in his mid-thirties, saluted Corbulo. ‘Alkaios, Thessalian auxiliary light cavalry.’

‘Yes, yes, get on with it.’ Corbulo was anxious to get to the point.

‘We sighted the main body of Thracians half an hour ago about ten miles east. They’re mainly infantry, about three thousand of them. They’re moving quickly and with purpose; they’ve stopped burning as they go. We ran into one of their cavalry patrols but fought them off at the cost of two of my men, one of whom was only wounded and taken prisoner. May the gods ease his suffering.’

‘Indeed.’ Corbulo could guess as well as anyone else what was in store for the unfortunate man. ‘You say you saw no large amount of cavalry?’

‘No, sir, just patrols.’

‘Minerva’s tits, they must have guessed that we’re heading for the river and have sent their cavalry around us to the north to hold it against us. Mauricius, take your four turmae and delay them; they must not be allowed to prevent our crossing. We should reach the river in just over an hour.’

‘Yes, sir, we shall do all that is necessary.’ The cavalry prefect barked an order at his decurion and the 120 Gauls peeled away from the column and raced towards the river.

Corbulo turned to Quintus Caepio. ‘Caepio, take your turmae and keep pace with us half a mile out to the east to shield us from any cavalry threatening our flank.’

Caepio saluted and raced back down the column.

‘Gallus, get some horses for the engineers, I want them to get as many ropes as possible secured across that river. If they don’t have enough men who can swim get volunteers from the ranks.’ Gallus looked pleased with the task allotted him and galloped off to find his temporary command.

Vespasian was impressed at the calm forward thinking of his young superior; it steadied his nerves, feeling that all eventualities were being accounted for. Corbulo turned to him.

‘Vespasian, get the baggage and bring it level with the head of the column fifty paces to the west. With the rearguard gone we can’t leave it unprotected. Tell the handlers to do whatever they must to speed those mules up. I don’t want to abandon it unless absolutely necessary.’

Vespasian smiled inwardly as he saluted and made his way back down the column; it seemed that he was destined to always be around mules, one way or another.

There were less than two miles to go to the river. The baggage train had drawn level with the two cohorts, the mules having been beaten into more speed; very few had refused or bolted. Vespasian took his place next to Corbulo, who was now at the head of the first cohort; Magnus retreated a respectful distance to the left of the column.

‘The men are getting tired, Vespasian,’ Corbulo said quietly, glancing nervously at the Thracian dust cloud, now considerably closer. ‘They’ll be in sight soon. We won’t be able to stop after we’ve crossed the river, we’ll need to keep going and hope that the crossing delays the savages longer than it delays us. But what then? They will always move faster than us; they’ll catch us in a day.’

‘Perhaps we should just stand and fight, take our chances,’ Vespasian replied, instantly not liking the idea.

‘With two cohorts of veterans and the cavalry that we have, that would be the sensible course to take, but with this lot of rookies we
wouldn’t stand a chance out here in the open. We need to cross that river, and then find some way to frustrate the enemy.’

With a mile to go the ground had started to fall away gently down into the shallow river valley. Copses of beech and alder populated its sides, breaking up the smooth carpet of grass, which would normally be speckled with small flocks of sheep; but today it was empty. News of the arrival of the Roman column in this peaceful vale had gone before it and the shepherds, anxious not to have their charges requisitioned for the soldiers’ cooking fires, had already hurried them to safety.

At the base of the valley flowed the swift Harpessus. Its icy water, recently released from the snowfields high in the mountains to the west, was channelled over a hard bed of shingle and bounded on either side by broken rocks. Hardy trees clung to the banks; the fast-flowing river had whittled away at the soil beneath them, forming strange archways from their exposed roots.

Ahead of them Vespasian could see the advance guard of engineers struggling chest deep in the water to secure the ropes that would aid the column across the hundred-foot width of the river. Two were already in place and a third was attached to a tree on the near bank and extended to its full length along the bank upstream. Vespasian watched as an engineer tied the loose end around his waist and then launched himself, with a strong breaststroke, against the current, keeping the rope taut. The river pushed him further away from the bank. The tension of the rope swung him across until eventually he reached the slower water near the far bank and was able to strike out for the shore, where a comrade helped him out.

As they neared the crossing point the sun sank behind the high massif of the Rhodope range, and the valley darkened as their shadow ate its way along its length.

The proximity of both the Thracian war band to their rear and a means to escape them, if only for a while, to their front caused a few
of the less steady of the recruits to try to break ranks and run for the ropes. They were mercilessly beaten back into place by the vine canes of their centurions and shamed into remaining there by the reproachful glares of their comrades.

Corbulo called back to Faustus: ‘Any man who tries to push himself forward will be left on this side of the river. Pass that on, centurion, and pass the word for Gallus to report to me.’

As Corbulo’s warning was relayed down the column other shouts and cries could be heard coming from a wood half a mile further down the river to the east.

‘Mauricius has found their cavalry,’ Corbulo guessed. ‘Let us hope that he can hold them for long enough.’

‘How will he get across?’ Vespasian asked. Corbulo didn’t answer.

They were a hundred paces from the river. The third rope had now been secured and the engineers had started work on a fourth. Two hundred paces to their right Caepio had formed up his Gallic auxiliaries to cover any flank attack should the Thracians break through Mauricius’ cavalry.

Gallus brought his horse to the trot next to his commanding officer and saluted. ‘Sir, the river is between four and five feet deep and the current is very strong. We have lost one man swept away already.’ His face betrayed a mixture of nerves and excitement at the promise of his first action.

‘Thank you, tribune. Gentlemen, speed and efficiency are the keys,’ Corbulo said to his two young subordinates. ‘Gallus, the second cohort will cross first with the mule train and then form up on the far bank facing the enemy. Vespasian, your cohort will form up, two centuries deep, here, to cover their crossing and that of the auxiliaries, if there are any left. Have your men pile their packs by the ropes before forming up.’ Corbulo looked towards the wooded area downstream whence the clash of weapons and the screams of
wounded still came. ‘If we are attacked we shall make a fighting withdrawal century by century; Faustus’ century will be the last to cross. Call in the scouts, they’re no use to us out there now, we know what’s coming; then get your freedman to lead the carts into the water upstream of the ropes and keep them there, just the carts, not the pack-mules. Hopefully they’ll slow the speed of the water and fewer men will be swept away.’

‘Yes, sir!’ They both saluted.

‘And, Gallus,’ Corbulo continued, ‘if we are attacked and I don’t make it over, cut the ropes, stay formed up on that side and oppose their crossing, that’s the best chance that you’ll have. If you try to run they’ll catch you and cut you to pieces.’

M
AGNUS HAD BEEN
less than pleased with his role, but, grumbling, had taken the carts to their position in the river. As the mules struggled to keep their heads above the flow one of teams panicked. The animals broke their harnesses, and they, the load and their driver had been swept away in the freezing torrent, almost taking one of the ropes with them. The rest, perhaps chastened by the fate of their fellows, resigned themselves to their task and held their positions.

Vespasian sat on his horse to the rear of the second century of his cohort, at the centre of the Roman line; next to him waited the cohort’s cornicen. Each century stood four men deep and twenty men across. Caepio’s four turmae of Gauls covered their left flank and the Thessalian light cavalry their right. Spread out in skirmish order in front of them was the fifty-strong unit of light archers.

Behind him Corbulo and Gallus marshalled the second cohort in front of the two upstream ropes and the pack-mules by the two downstream. The crossing began. The men, eager to have the river between them and the enemy, ignored the freezing temperature of the water and, with shields slung across their backs, began to haul themselves across, one hand holding on to the ropes, a foot above the surface, the other clutching their pack-poles and pila.

The first two centuries crossed without mishap and were forming up, sodden, on the far bank, when from up the slope in front of Vespasian, audible even over the rush of the water, came a
great shout. The Thracian war band appeared over the crest of the hill and stood silhouetted against the late-afternoon sky. They gave another huge roar, clashed their javelins against their oval shields, and then started to jog steadily down the slope.

A wave of fear rippled through the cohort of new legionaries.

‘Steady, lads,’ Faustus called from his position in the front rank next to the
signifer
, ‘remember your training. Hold the line, listen for the cornu signals, release your pila when ordered and then shields together, weight on your left legs and stab through the gaps. You’ll break their mothers’ hearts.’

A nervous cheer went up from the ranks.

‘That’s not a cheer,’ Faustus roared. ‘That sounded to me like the squealing of a gaggle of Mesopotamian bum-boys getting it up the arse for the first time. Now give me a cheer worthy of the Fourth Scythica.’

Their confidence boosted by the redoubtable Faustus, the legionaries raised a mighty cheer and began to bang their shields rhythmically with their pila. The noise was deafening, but still the Thracians came on.

Vespasian looked back to the river; the pace of the crossing had quickened with the now-visible threat of the Thracians only a half a mile away. Four centuries were over and the last two were in the water. They would be able to start withdrawing his cohort soon, but not without first engaging the enemy. It would be, as Corbulo had said, a fighting withdrawal; he hoped that his men would have the discipline for such a manoeuvre.

Then disaster struck. The mule team nearest the far bank, unable to take the noise and the rushing water any more, bolted for dry land. Caught unawares by the sudden lurch their driver was hauled off his seat on the cart and swept downstream, the reins still around his wrists. The power of the current caused the reins to yank the terrified beasts to their right, toppling them and their wagon. The
whole lot swept into the first line of legionaries, plucking eight from the rope as it crashed through them and on into the second line. The men on the second rope had time to see it coming. They dropped their packs and pila in order to hold on with both hands. The cart, the thrashing mules and their comrades cascaded into the legionaries, entangling them in a mesh of limbs, reins and wheel spokes. They held on for dear life and for a moment the whole avalanche slowed, straining the rope. The men to the front of the mess scrambled as fast as they could for the safety of the bank, whilst those behind shouted at their comrades to let go, but to no avail. With a sickening inevitability the weight on the rope wrenched the tree to which it was tied on the far bank from the ground, its roots already loosened by years of erosion. The rope with its cargo of men and debris arced out into the current towards the last of the pack-mules on the third rope. The unfortunate creatures were knocked off balance and away downstream taking those from the fourth rope with them, their handlers saving themselves by dropping their leads and clinging with both hands to the still secure ropes.