The Valentian Campaign Page 8

  “Yes,” Cato smiled, looking down at it, “But it’s going to Deva. We’ll meet the replacements for our losses, we’ll recruit more men, train more horses and make more stapeda!” He looked up again. “We ride to meet Gratianus and give thanks for his own great victory. And then we ride home. The North is safe and in good hands. Thank you for your hospitality, Constantine of the Damnonii.”

  “No, it is my job to thank you,” Constantine smiled. “Without you and your men Alt Clud would still be under siege right now – and Gratianus would be marching, hoping to rescue us in time. Instead we have peace.” He held out his forearm and he and Cato clasped wrists. “Strength and honour.”

  “Strength and honour.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The ride back South was one that Aurelianus the Younger remembered for the rest of his life. Yes there were empty saddles – and he saw how Cato grieved for his lost men, how he fought hard to get the wounded good treatment – but morale was sky high. Every time he rode up and down the column to talk to various Turmae leaders and of course Poplicala and Cato himself (and that could be harder than you might think, as Cato liked to ride around himself quite a bit) he could hear the men talking amongst themselves about what it was like to go home as victors.

  And then there was speculation about the Eagle. Everyone in the Cavalry Legion knew about it now – and their pride was very great. They were proud of Cato, proud of being near him, proud of serving under him.

  The Eagle itself was under wraps most of the time, except for when they were about to pass or go through the larger Dumnonii settlements. Then the cloth that had been reverently wrapped about the Eagle came off and it was given to Cato (who grumbled about this a great deal) as he and the lead Turma (and this always changed, which a gesture that Aurelianus thought was most clever) rode through.

  The reaction of the Damnonii – and the Novantae and Selgovae in their territories – was invariably the same. Great rejoicing, especially when their own men were returning home at the same time. And then astonishment at seeing the Eagle. He’d heard some even talking about the old tales being true and that the Painted People had taken an Eagle after all. But then the Romans, or at least the Southerners, had come and had taken it back.

  As they came South the messengers from Gratianus became a little more frequent as the two forces converged, until, finally, they met just North of Luguvalium. He saw the red cloaks from a distance, denoting the arrival of Gratianus and his senior officers, along with some higher nobility from the Tribes between the Walls, and had warned Cato, who promptly whispered in the ear of Corcorix. The Brigante had ridden off a short way and then returned with the wrapped shape of the Eagle.

  “Cato!” Gratianus shouted as he rode up to them. “Well met! We were hoping to meet you before Luguvalium.” He looked over his shoulder at the infantry, who were approaching at a good orderly march. There were a few men with bandages here and there and all looked a bit hot and tired from the rather hot Autumn sun, but to the admittedly inexperienced eye of Aurelianus they looked seasoned and tough. Gratianus caught his look and he nodded at him. “They’re good lads,” he said cheerfully. “They’ll do – and more besides. They did us proud on the march to Alauna. Even prouder during the battle.”

  He turned his attention to Cato and leant over to clasp forearms with him. “And well done to you and your lads. Alt Clud itself rescued and the Prophet executed! An excellent job.”

  Cato looked at Poplicala and the old soldier smiled broadly. “Better than you think. Cato – show him.”

  Gratianus looked puzzled. “Show me what?”

  “The Painted People,” Cato said quietly as Corcorix passed over the disguised Eagle, “Had something that did not belong to them. They thought of it as a relic. A sign of their power.” He started to unwrap it with swift, forceful movements of his hands that showed that he was labouring under strong emotions. “Something that belongs with us. I took it from one of their holy men at Alt Clud.”

  Gratianus had started off frowning as he looked at the object in Cato’s hands, but then as more and more of it was revealed his eyes were starting to bulge from their sockets whilst his jaw was dropping.

  Cato finally pulled the last of the wrapping off and then held the shining Eagle up. It caught the light of the sun and flashed as if for a moment a piece of the sun itself had come to the Earth.

  “So the rumours were true,” Gratianus said in a choked voice. “They did have the Eagle of the Hispana. Damn them.” He looked at the Eagle and a great smile crossed his face. The infantry had spotted the Eagle now and a great susurration of noise was rising as the men started to talk.

  Looking over at his excited men Gratianus smiled. “Legatus Legionis Lucius Tullius Cato it seems that you have done great things. And given us a new standard – or perhaps returned an old one. So, you should be the one to lead us South. Take us through the North Gate of Luguvalium please. Take us home.”

  “Word from Segontium sir.”

  Aurelianus the Elder looked up from his desk tiredly. It had been a long day of paperwork. Nothing majorly important, just lots of tying bits of string together to make longer pieces that could then be braided together to make rope. That was the theory anyway.

  So – an order for more chainmail. That would mean more people trading for the raw materials to make the metal rings, then more people to loop the rings together… and so on and so on. An order for more helmets as well. Then there was the question of the longer cavalry swords that Cato had requested before he left for the North. That had been a good idea. A more stable riding position in the saddle thanks to the stapeda meant that they could slash and hack harder, which meant that a longer sword was better. He had some people making some now.

  Oh and then there was the message from Cato that had arrived ten days ago about modifying the saddles. Apparently he’d talked to a veteran Centurion from the Wall about it and between the two they’d had some ideas. Interesting ones too. Well, Deva now had three leather workers who were rubbing their hands over the new orders and all the work that came with it. He’d sent the message on to Eboracum and Londinium as well. The latter was the beating economic heart of Britannia and they’d be able to do great things with that.

  He shook himself slightly, rousing himself from his reverie and then he gestured his secretary forwards. Tanerix walked over and handed over the message, which Aurelianus opened. Then he frowned. “Odd.”

  “Sir?”

  “Is Quintus Tupilius still around?”

  “I saw him a few minutes ago sir. He was expressing discontent about the repairs to his son’s armour.”

  Ah. That hot-headed old marine. He’d turned up a day after Cato and the others had left for the North, spitting nails at the stupidity of Stilicho and complaining at the way that his men had been effectively abandoned at Bononia .

  “Please ask him to join me.”

  “Yes sir,” Tanerix said and left the room at a brisk stride. Aurelianus watched him go and then went back to his paperwork. Aha. Another request for a magistrate to be appointed. Well, that was easily done. Keeping the law courts running sounded like something that was minor, but it was actually very, very important – far more vital than many people realised. They needed the legal framework in place.

  Hearing a pair of heavy boots on the floor he looked up in time to see Tupilius march into the room and salute. “Sir!”

  “Quintus. Take a seat.”

  Tupilius looked around, spotted a camp chair and then sank into it. “Thank you sir. How can I help you?”

  “You can start by reading this,” Aurelianus said as he tossed the message over to him. “It came this morning from Segontium.”

  Tupilius read it with a deepening frown. Then he looked up. “The Hibernii want to trade? The Hibernii? The people who regard raiding as a different form of trade?”

  “It would seem so. You appear to be as suspicious as I feel.”

  There was a rasping sound as the marine
rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Why do they want to trade and what do they want to trade? And who specifically amongst the Hibernii want to trade? There are many tribes on the other side of the seas between us.”

  “I think we need to find the answers to both those questions. Plus there have been reports of fighting in the north of Hibernia.”

  Tupilius grunted. “Then we need to find out more, as you say. There are two ships building here and three more with crews training. I know that’s not much but they should be sent West to Segontium as soon as possible. They can train there.”

  Aurelianus thought about it and then nodded. “Agreed. And I think that-”

  He was interrupted by the arrival of an excited Tanerix. “Excuse me sir, but I have a despatch from the North.” He darted over and gave it to Aurelianus, who opened it quickly and read it. As he did so he could feel a grin creeping over his face.

  “Sir?”

  He looked at Tupilius. “News indeed. Victory. The Painted People have been smashed in two battles. The Army is coming home.”

  “Ah,” Tupilius said with a smile of his own. “Good. And that will annoy Vitalis.”

  “And word of the capture of a relic held by the Painted People.”

  “Probably something covered in dung.”

  “No… something important, according to this message from Gratianus. Anyway – they’re marching home. At long last.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cato could tell that Gratianus was brooding as they rode south at the head of the great long line of men and horses. For some reason it made him a bit nervous. Poplicala had also noticed it and they exchanged slightly concerned glances. It wasn’t until they were fifty miles south of Brocavum that he finally came out of his reverie.

  “I’ve been thinking about that attempt on the life of the younger Aurelianus,” he said quietly to Cato and Poplicala. He’d sent off the levies from Eboracum and the local Turmae down the road to Cataractonium and then Eboracum the previous day and had announced that he needed to talk to Aurelianus in Deva. “I can only think of one person who would have ordered something like that.”

  “I know,” sighed Poplicala. “Vitalis.”

  “I’ve had my disagreements with Aurelianus, but to try and kill his son? Bad – and beyond bad.”

  “You heard of the attempt on the elder Aurelianus last year?” Cato asked.

  “I did. That was bad enough. This, somehow, is worse.”

  “I don’t like this kind of politics,” Cato grumbled. “We’ve had too much of it these recent years. We’re in enough trouble from our enemies outside that we shouldn’t have to watch out for our enemies inside.” He sighed himself. “I’m being naïve, aren’t I?”

  “I’m sorry Cato,” Poplicala said wryly. “It comes hard to us all.”

  “Well,” said Gratianus with a certain grim set to his chin, “News of that Eagle will change things. Cato – every town we go through, you will lead, with that standard of yours behind you. I think I have an idea what Vitalis is up to and I think I know how to fight him. We need to get to Deva. And then a meeting of the Council in Londinium.”

  Poplicala looked at him, visibly trying to hide his surprise. “That was my thought too.”

  Gratianus glanced at him, his amusement apparent. “Poplicala, I may look and sound like a rough soldier, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few years and also a lot of looking around.” Then his expression sobered again. “We still need to talk to Aurelianus the Elder though. Where is his son?”

  “Marching with the First Turma,” Cato answered. “I have Corcorix looking over him. Giving him a little extra training as well. The boy can fight well, but he needs to learn that being young does not make you invincible.”

  The other two men laughed softly as they continued down the paved road that led to Deva.

  Aurelianus hoisted himself into the saddle (he blessed the day that Cato invented the stapeda as he remembered the bad old days of being hoisted on, or worse still climbing on) and paused to adjust his scarlet cloak. They’d been lucky – it was a fine day, not too hot , just pleasantly warm. And Deva was buzzing around him like a hive that had been overturned.

  The return of the Army, or at least the local levies led by the Turmae, had gotten the city wound up to a fever pitch. So much worry had been eased by the news of the great victories in the North, so much tension had fallen from the shoulders and backs of those whose sons and husbands and fathers had marched off to the North months ago.

  And he knew that his son was alive. He had shed a quiet tear at that news, along with a prayer to the Heavens. Although his son had sent a message that was more than a bit mysterious. This relic they were bringing home sounded a bit strange. The rumour mill had been going berserk as the Army approached Deva.

  He was also surprised that Gratianus was with them. Why hadn’t he gone off back to Eboracum? Something was going on. Something had happened in the North. He wondered what it was as he rode into the Forum, his guards next to him on their own horses. People cheered him and he acknowledged their shouts with nods and waves.

  When he reached the dais he reined in and then turned old Atticus around so that he faced the main street that stretched from the Forum to the East Gate. The old horse had been a little spooked by the arrival of the stapeda but he had eventually coped. Now he tossed his head and whinnied a bit at the sound of the crowd and Aurelianus patted his neck chidingly. “Calm down, you old trooper you. You’ve always liked being the centre of attention.”

  Horns sounded to the East and Atticus pricked up his ears and snorted. Buccina! No wonder the horse thought he was a foal again. The years fell away for a moment and he remembered his first parade. Had it really been 30 years? Had he really been so young once?

  Something changed in the nature of the cheering from the East and he tilted his head. It was as if parts of the crowd had stopped for a moment and then started cheering even louder than ever. He could see movement now as horsemen started to trot down the street. The cheering ramped up in volume, louder and then louder.

  And then he saw it. The first glint of light from something golden. He frowned. Whatever it was it was being carried by the first man in the column. He peered at it. Was it Cato? The colour of the horse looked right. The column was trotting steadily closer and then it emerged into the Forum.

  Marcus Ambrosius Aurelianus did his best not to gape at the gold object that was approaching him, being carried by a solemn-faced Legatus Legionis Lucius Tullius Cato. The astonishment and then frenzy of excitement from the crowd in the Forum blew past him. Nothing mattered at the moment but that Eagle. That Eagle. The rumours... The rumours had been right.

  Cato, with Poplicala on his left and Gratianus to his right, reined in and faced him. Slowly, oh so slowly, the crowd quietened. When it was quiet enough for him to be heard Cato held the pole with the Eagle towards Aurelianus. “Marcus Ambrosius Aurelianus - the Army has returned from the North. The Painted People have been defeated and Valentia is safe. And the Eagle of the IX Hispana has been reclaimed from those who had captured it. We are victorious!”

  As Cato lifted the Eagle into the air so that the sun caught it the crowd erupted again – and Aurelianus found his mind racing. This was the moment, he thought, this was the point around which their fates would revolve. This moment of crystalline brilliance.

  Oh they could build on this. They could build on this!

  Chapter Twenty

  The Danubius was showing the signs of a lot of rain in the mountains. Stilicho looked at its leaden murky waters as it rushed under the bridge. There must have been a storm somewhere. There were always storms somewhere, almost everywhere these days. He looked up from the river and urged his horse on. It felt odd to be riding without stapeda again. He’d gotten used to using them the past year or so and he knew why the cavalry loved them so much. But he’d ordered an old saddle to be placed on his horse for this crossing.

  Around him the men bustled. Infantry o
nly. The new cohorts that he’d been building quietly and with such agonising slowness due to the lack of money were doing well. The cavalry was growing as well – again, slowly. Everything was proceeding at a snail’s pace and it was frustrating. So much needed to be done, so much needed to be reformed. Money. It all came down to the money.

  He rode on and then glared at the banners on the small hill close to the bridge. Lauriacum lay behind him. “Centurion!”

  “Sir?”

  “Are we ready?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then let’s begin.”

  The centurion nodded sharply and then turned to the signaller who was standing to one side and who had been watching them. He nodded in turn and then lifted the cornu to his lips and then blew a loud blast to the North. After a long moment a horn answered him. The centurion looked back at Stilicho. “They’re ready for us sir.”

  “Very well.” The honour guard formed up around his horse and they started to march up towards the small tent that had been set up midway between the two camps. As he moved up the hill a horseman escorted by men with a variety of helmets started to march down to meet them.

  By fortunate chance they both arrived at the tent at the same time. Stilicho dismounted with a sigh. This meeting had taken far, far too long to arrange. He wanted to be back in Rome, watching the vipers as they writhed around the feet of the Emperor, or in Ravenna, where the heart of the Empire now really lay.