Enemy of Rome

XXXIX

Marcus Antonius Primus looked out over the plain towards the hilltop fortress of Narnia that was the last major obstacle between his army and Rome. He could see the banner of the Praetorian Guard whipping in the breeze over the well-defended entrenchments, and what must be ten thousand spear points glittering in the morning sunlight. He sniffed the air, enjoying the invigorating damp grass scent that followed a rain shower, and the haunting cry of a buzzard made him shiver.

He shrugged off the moment and turned in the saddle to study the massed ranks of his legions. Five now, because he’d decided that with no sign of Mucianus it was safe to bring up the cohorts he’d left at Verona. More than enough to crush Narnia, but they’d suffer casualties, perhaps heavy casualties. He imagined his soldiers marching in open order into the teeth of the Guard’s ballistae and onagri fire. No, it would not do.

‘What was their latest position?’ The question was directed at the young aide who had gone out earlier to negotiate with the Vitellian commander.

‘That Vespasian is a usurper and Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus is the rightful Emperor, as declared by the Senate and people of Rome.’ The tribune prudently neglected to include the filthy insults that had been hurled at Vespasian and his legate. ‘They are his Praetorian Guard and they will fight to the death for him.’

‘You took the prisoner to tell him about the defeat at Cremona? Their commander understands that he is alone now?’

‘Yes,’ the aide said. ‘The legate of the Fifth Alaudae. He was most forthright.’

‘Their reaction?’

‘I … I think they were quite shaken, sir. But they said that General Valens is already on the march from Gallia Narbonnensis and that Emperor Vitellius will prevail.’

Primus sighed. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

‘Arrange another meeting at the fourth hour. Tell them that I wish to meet personally with their commander.’ He turned his mount and rode off to his headquarters pavilion.

An hour later Primus waited between the two armies as the Praetorian commander galloped out with his escort. There was no need of an introduction: Primus had served in the same Senate as Julius Sempronius. Sempronius completed the last few horse lengths alone and Primus nodded a welcome to the grim-faced Praetorian in the dark tunic and sculpted silver breastplate. ‘I salute your courage and your resilience, prefect,’ he said. ‘But I hope you will consider this final opportunity to allow your men to surrender with honour, and to march out with their arms and banners without fear of reprisal.’

The Praetorian prefect took less than a heartbeat to consider the offer. ‘The honour of the Guard can only be satisfied by my continued resistance, general. Aulus Vitellius …’

‘I understand that you are expecting reinforcements from the north?’ Primus interrupted the traditional defiant platitudes.

Sempronius frowned. ‘It is no secret that Valens is on the way with the legions of Germania and Gaul.’

Primus nodded thoughtfully. He turned and waved the young aide forward. Sempronius looked at what he was carrying and his eyes widened. ‘I …’

‘General Gaius Fabius Valens, an honourable man, and a brave soldier, would correct your assumptions if only he were able.’ Primus spoke courteously, but with a coldness that made Sempronius hesitate as the aide handed over the leather water bucket. The Praetorian glanced at the contents and Primus saw his face turn a sickly grey, all the belligerence driven from him in a single shocking instant. ‘Unfortunately, as you see, General Valens has already made the ultimate sacrifice for Rome and his Emperor.’

‘You will allow me to consult with my officers, general?’

Primus nodded his agreement and the Praetorian turned his horse and returned to where his escort waited out of hearing distance. He returned moments later after a short conversation with his aides. ‘I will need an hour.’

‘Of course, prefect.’ Marcus Antonius Primus kept his face solemn so as not to add to the other man’s humiliation, but inside his heart was soaring.

The road to Rome was open.

Olivia’s eyes opened with a snap as she felt a hand shaking her shoulder. Instantly awake, she could have cried out with relief when she recognized Lupergos. He would normally have been sharing her bed, but tonight had been on watch in one of the mini-forts out by the road. Her relief was short-lived.

‘They’re coming.’ Urgency made his voice shake. ‘Armed men on the road and in the trees.’ Olivia tried to still a surge of fear. They had been expecting an attack down the road, but this meant that their carefully prepared defences had been outflanked. Lupergos squeezed her hand in reassurance. There was no time to dwell on what ifs. ‘Here, take this.’ As she slipped into her sandals, he wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and handed her a leather sack containing food and water. ‘We will try to stop them,’ he held her to his body and the strength of it made her want to cry out, ‘but at the very least we will buy you time. Granta and Cronus are waiting.’

She could have argued. She was his woman. This was his child inside her. He should stay with her. But the courage and certainty in his voice left the words unsaid. Instead, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘May Christus be with you,’ she said quietly. But he was gone.

The sight of her father’s ancient freedmen attempting to look warlike might have seemed comical but for the determination on their faces. She nodded gravely and followed them from the villa. Led by two young slaves armed with bows they made their way through the gardens and up into the olive groves behind. The caves Lupergos had provisioned were at the bottom of the south slope by the river. Olivia had planned to take the well-worn path, but if the raiders had come through the trees they were just as likely to approach the house from that direction too. Better to stay under cover in the grove. After the recent rains the ground was treacherously slippery and the going slow. Before they’d travelled two hundred paces they heard confused shouts, barked commands and then the first screams. A moment later one of the barns burst into flame and the earth beneath the olives was transformed into a confusion of unearthly shadows. More screams of mortal agony followed and she flinched because they were much closer now. The two slaves exchanged a glance and without a word dropped their bows and ran off up the hill. Granta and Cronus seemed paralysed by the desertions and she slipped past them.

‘Come,’ she said crossly when they still didn’t move. ‘Enough of this foolishness.’ Granta shot her a look of embarrassment and took the lead, the spear held threateningly in front of him.

Soon the bulky shoulder of the hill sheltered them from the direct light of the flames, but a dull glow allowed them to keep their bearings. Granta increased his pace only to freeze a moment later. As Olivia watched, the old man sank slowly back to merge with one of the olive trunks. Hardly daring to breathe, she and Cronus silently emulated the movement. Three rows of trees separated Olivia from Cronus and a shadowy figure ran between them, only to be catapulted forward with a terrible shriek. Olivia pushed her fist into her mouth to keep from crying out. A second figure appeared and hauled a spear from between his squirming victim’s shoulder blades. The dark silhouette straightened and the head swivelled to study the darkness. Whatever he sensed must have satisfied him because when she looked again he was gone. Granta waved them forward, but Olivia’s legs would barely carry her.

A sudden image of Valerius gave her renewed strength. Lupergos knows what to do, he had said. Keep yourself safe, stay calm and he will join you. If you become separated just follow the contour of the hill until you hear the river. The caves are at the bottom of the slope to your left. Stay quiet and do not move, no matter what you hear.

Granta halted so abruptly that Olivia almost walked into his back. It was a moment before she heard the sound of stealthy movement all around them. The whites of Granta’s eyes shone like ivory as he turned to face the threat. Cronus would be doing the same behind her. Oddly, she felt very calm as she slipped the knife from its sheath. Whoever was making the sounds began to close in and she placed the point firmly against her breast. Her only regret was for the unborn child in her womb. She began to pray, the words soft as the wind whispering through the trees. ‘Our father …’

A stocky figure holding a sword stepped from the shadows.