Hero of Rome

VI

Three hours later Julius lurched into the cohort’s administrative tent to find Valerius sitting in the lamplight at his collapsible desk with a writing block in front of him and a stylus in his hand.

‘My apologies, tribune, I understood you were staying in the town. If I’d known…’

Valerius looked up. ‘No apologies required, Julius. That’s exactly what I intended to do, but I wanted to see the men settled in, and I rode out to visit the cavalry ala at the auxiliary camp to the south-east. They’re Thracians who’ve been here since just after the invasion and their prefect is a very conscientious young man — Bela, son of one of their tribal chieftains. His troopers showed me some tricks on horseback that would make your hair stand on end. Tomorrow will be time enough to seek out my billet. I’ll be happy in a tent tonight.’

‘Falco…’

‘Falco is an unusual officer.’

‘A good officer. The best.’

Valerius accepted the unspoken reproach. ‘They tell me he has three thousand men under his command?’

Julius shook his head. ‘Perhaps nominally, but he gives the figure as less, nearer two thousand. But two thousand veterans who were once the cream of the legions. The Colonia militia. They don’t look like proper soldiers, I’ll grant you. But that doesn’t make them bad soldiers. I served with many of them. As long as they can walk and carry a sword they can still fight.’

‘As long as you don’t ask them to walk far.’

Julius laughed. ‘Yes, I wouldn’t like to march them much more than a mile. But I’d venture they’re still good, and they’ll stand. You’ll see.’

‘I’ll see?’

‘He — Falco — requests that you inspect them. He’ll have them on parade on Saturday, on the old cavalry exercise ground by the river. Will you agree, sir?’ There was a hint of appeal in Julius’s voice and Valerius realized that Falco was seeking a chance to prove himself and his men. Saturday was five days away: plenty of time to polish armour and sharpen swords.

‘Of course. What was he like… as an officer?’

‘A complete bastard.’ Julius laughed again. ‘But the toughest, hardest-fighting bastard in the entire Roman army. You’d have liked him.’

‘I think I do like him.’

‘Now he’s a wine merchant. Rich. He imports Faustianum wines from Falernia and sells them to the British aristocrats and legionary messes across the south. A good man to know.’ The words came out a little slurred and it was clear Julius had sampled his old friend’s wares while they’d been reminiscing about old times.

‘You should sleep, Julius. I want the men ready for a full inspection at dawn as usual. Then we’ll put them through their paces. No reason why we shouldn’t give old Falco and his militia something to think about over the next few days. It’ll do them good to see real soldiers sweat.’

Julius yawned. ‘You’re right, sir. Perhaps a little too much of the good vintage.’ He turned to leave. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. You are invited to a dinner at the temple tomorrow. Apparently the council is eager to meet you.’

‘I know. Just what I need: four hours of boring provincial gossip and a sore head the next morning. I’d rather storm another hill fort.’

The centurion smiled. ‘For once I’m glad I don’t have your social advantages. Good night, sir.’

Valerius rose before dawn. He detected an unfamiliar chill in the air that hinted at more than autumn, and he shivered as he washed and dressed. By the time he left the tent the men were already turned out in their sections and centuries on the parade ground. Eight hundred legionaries, five double-strength centuries rather than six normal ones because this was the First cohort, twenty eight-man sections to each century, the elite of the legion; the shock troops who would go where the danger was greatest and the fighting hottest.

He gave them a long look. Marius’s Mules they called themselves. Lean and tough: mostly men of only medium height, but strong and hardy. If necessary they could march twenty miles in a day, carrying the sixty-pound loads of their gear, rations and weapons, and be ready to fight a battle within the hour.

But on closer inspection the First was not quite the perfect fighting machine it appeared. He walked along the ranks with Julius at his side, pulling at straps to ensure the armour was tight and pointing out an occasional imperfection on a weapon or a piece of equipment. Not that there was much to point out. As usual, the turnout was exemplary. He knew how difficult it was to keep armour bright in the damp British air and the constant attention required to stop leather from rotting. No, it was the legionaries themselves who were out of condition. The eyes that stared through him as he walked along the lines were red-rimmed and buried deep, like slingshot pellets fired at a mud bank. The rank smell of stale wine assailed his nostrils. He heard the sound of vomiting from one of the rear centuries, but decided not to notice.

‘Your name and rank, soldier?’ he barked at a bleary-eyed specimen who stood out because he was taller than any man in his unit.

‘Decimus Lunaris, duplicarius, front rank, second century, sir.’ The answer was equally brisk. A duplicarius was a double-pay man, a senior legionary with a trade.

‘So, Lunaris. My orders were to return to the camp before sunset. Were those orders obeyed?’

‘Sir!’

‘They were, sir. I counted them in myself,’ Julius said helpfully. Valerius stared at him, but Julius had been as helpful as he was going to be.

‘You don’t look like a man who returned to camp before dark, Lunaris. You look very much like a man who spent the entire night drinking. How do you account for that?’

Lunaris opened his mouth, then hesitated.

‘Speak freely, legionary. You’re among friends here,’ Valerius said smoothly, allowing a note of sympathy to coat his voice. Lunaris grinned. He was among officers here, and he knew an invitation to walk into a trap when he heard one.

‘I look like a man who’s had an entire night’s worth of drink, sir.’

Valerius raised an eyebrow.

‘You specified the time, sir, but not the volume. The second century likes a challenge, sir.’

Valerius stifled a laugh. ‘Six merit points to the second century for enterprise, centurion.’ He watched Julius note the award on his writing tablet. ‘So, Lunaris, the second century likes a challenge?’ The legionary studied him warily. ‘I want the second century to be ready in full battle order in five minutes; scutum and a pair of pila, do you think, Julius? Then the second century will lead the cohort on three full circuits of the outer walls… at double pace.’ He looked up at the sky, which was now a deep, cloudless blue. ‘That should be enough of a challenge before noon.’

Lunaris had barely completed half a circuit at the head of the unit by the time Valerius caught up with him, but sweat was already pouring down the duplicarius ’s face.

‘That must be almost pure wine. You shouldn’t waste it.’

Lunaris looked across, surprised. Most tribunes weren’t prepared to suffer with their men. But then he’d heard this one wasn’t like most tribunes. Valerius wore his full armour and carried his shield on his left arm and a pair of the heavy pila in his right hand. Normally a legionary on the march bore his shield in a leather cover on his back, and, unless there was an imminent threat of danger, a handy mule transported the majority of the unit’s spears. The shield was big and heavy and needed constant adjustment to stop it obstructing its bearer, and the two spears had a habit of crossing so that the lead weights which gave them their accuracy and power wanted to go in different directions. Added to the difficulty of jogging across uneven ground with a large pot on your head, cooking in an iron shell, it made for an interesting exercise.

‘Not wine… vinegar.’

Valerius shot him a puzzled look.

‘The bars here,’ Lunaris grunted. ‘The wine they sell is pure vinegar.’ He grinned and gradually stepped up the pace, but if he thought he would leave the tribune behind he soon found he was mistaken. Valerius’s long, powerful legs covered the ground in a loping stride that never seemed to falter. His armour had been fitted by an expert and allowed him greater ease of movement and less chafing than the segmentata worn by the rank and file. It was lighter too, but just as strong, because the armourer had chosen iron with a greater carbon content. By the second circuit, Lunaris was drawing in the warm air in prolonged, shuddering gasps, and Valerius could hear groans from the ranks behind him. He slowed imperceptibly, allowing the grateful duplicarius to drop back with him. As he ran, he studied Colonia’s walls and defensive ditch.

‘What do you think of the defences, soldier?’

Lunaris spat. ‘What defences?’

‘My feelings entirely,’ Valerius agreed. ‘I think we’ll double the guard tonight, just in case. Second century to supply the first watch.’ He moved away so he wouldn’t hear Lunaris cursing under his breath.