No one offered an immediate opinion, which didn’t surprise Tullus. Caecina’s position as governor was intimidating even to centurions, and the shock of their men’s rebellion would still be fresh.
‘Is there no one who will speak his mind?’ asked Caecina with a frown.
‘It would be best to remain here, sir,’ said Cordus. ‘There are too many of the whoresons for us to do anything else.’
A score of voices rumbled in agreement, and more heads nodded.
Caecina looked troubled. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he began.
‘CAECINA!’ The shout came from outside the principia.
Caecina gave an involuntary start and, like everyone else present, he stared towards the front of the enclosure.
‘SHOW YOURSELF, CAECINA!’
‘CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA!’ roared a hundred, two hundred, innumerable voices.
‘Don’t go out there, sir,’ cried a centurion. ‘They’ll kill you.’
Caecina’s shoulders went back. ‘What kind of man would I be not to respond?’ He called out several names. ‘Come with me. You too, Tullus.’
Stunned to have been chosen – the others were some of the most senior centurions of the four legions – Tullus did as he was told.
‘CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA!’ Outside the command tent, the noise made by the mob beyond the entrance was deafening. Terrifying.
Tullus saw Fenestela’s questioning glance, and shrugged. Maybe his doom was to die here, at the hands of fellow Romans. He hoped not. It wasn’t so much his death that concerned him, but that he’d lose any chance of avenging himself on Arminius and recovering his legion’s eagle.
‘CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA!’
The centurion in charge of the entrance to the principia gaped at Caecina’s order to pull aside the wagon that straddled the opening.
‘Do as I say!’ commanded Caecina.
‘Yes, sir.’ The centurion rapped out an order. A dozen legionaries placed their shoulders against the back of the wagon and shifted it five, ten paces. ‘That’s enough!’ called the centurion. He saluted Caecina. ‘Want me to accompany you, sir, with some of my boys?’
‘My soldiers can come too, sir,’ volunteered Tullus.
‘An honour guard will do,’ said Caecina. ‘A dozen of your men, Tullus.’
Tullus cursed inside. It was one thing for him to die at the hands of a baying mob, but he didn’t want his soldiers to do so. He’d been given a direct order, however. ‘Fenestela! Pick eleven men and get over here.’
‘CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA!’
A moment later, Fenestela trotted over. The soldiers he’d picked were veterans, among them Piso and Vitellius.
‘I’ll go first, sir,’ volunteered Tullus.
‘Very well.’ Caecina adjusted his red sash, and brushed an imaginary speck of dirt from his burnished cuirass. ‘The gods be with us.’
‘CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA! CAE-CINA!’
‘No one should touch his sword, sir, or make any threatening move,’ Tullus advised Caecina. ‘I cannot emphasise that enough.’
‘I understand. You’re to do as Tullus says,’ said Caecina to the other senior officers.
‘Not a fucking twitch of a muscle unless I say so,’ Tullus commanded his men. ‘You hear me?’
‘Aye, sir.’ His soldiers looked scared, but steady.
‘Follow me,’ ordered Tullus. Despite what he’d just said to Caecina, it took all of his self-control not to unsheathe his own gladius. There was every chance that the mob might fall on them as they emerged, but to appear with a drawn weapon would only invite that response.
A wave of catcalls, derisive whistles and insults descended as they filed out. It was impossible not to find the waiting horde intimidating. At least five hundred legionaries, if not more, had assembled before the entrance. They were armoured, and many carried blades in their hands. More than one of those was bloody. To a man, their faces were hard. Expectant. Fierce.
These were the angriest, most determined of the mutineers, thought Tullus, ordering his soldiers to spread out in a line in front of Caecina and the other officers. To confront the governor in this manner took courage. Like as not, every troublemaker from the four legions was here – and they seemed prepared to shed blood.
A bony-faced, sunken-cheeked legionary was in a position of prominence, several steps in front of his fellows. This had to be the man mentioned by Piso. Three others were with him. Tullus recognised two, the twins described by Piso and Vitellius; with them was another man, a slight soldier with thinning hair and a bulbous, sausage-like nose. ‘If things turn to shit,’ he muttered to the nearest of his legionaries, ‘we kill those four first. Pass it on.’ It wouldn’t save their lives, but it might stall the mutineers long enough to allow Caecina to get back inside the principia.
The noise made by the mob redoubled when they saw Caecina. Bony Face and his companions threw each other triumphant looks. It wasn’t surprising, thought Tullus. Ordinary legionaries never spoke to the governor, let alone summoned him forth like a whipped dog from its kennel. This moment turned everything that was normal on its head.
Whatever else Caecina was, he wasn’t short of backbone. Ignoring Tullus’ restraining arm, he stepped forward until there were only a dozen paces between him and the mutineers’ leaders. A hush fell. ‘Here I am,’ cried Caecina. ‘What do you wish of me?’
‘Our demands are simple,’ said Bony Face. ‘We want a raise in pay – a decent one, mind. The period of service is to be cut back to its original sixteen years, and all soldiers who have served twenty years will be allowed their discharge. That’s it.’ He gave his companions a satisfied nod, and folded his arms.
‘Although I am governor, I do not have the authority to make such decisions,’ said Caecina. He tried to continue, but so many insults were being hurled that it was impossible for him to be heard.
When the clamour had died down, Bony Face was first to speak. ‘Is this your final answer?’ he demanded, the contempt dripping from his voice.
‘I am not trying to be difficult. Understand that I cannot implement such far-reaching changes without the emperor’s authority,’ said Caecina.
Again the legionaries roared their displeasure.
‘Don’t pretend that you’re powerless, or without influence!’ Bony Face stabbed a finger towards Caecina. ‘You fucking senators and equestrians! You’re so high and mighty, so superior. You take us for fools, who you can treat no better than slaves. Understand that those days are over! Bring forth the prisoner.’
Four legionaries emerged from the throng, dragging a centurion whose arms and legs were bound. The man raised his head, and Tullus took in a dismayed breath. It was Septimius. Beaten, dazed-looking and with two black eyes, but Septimius nonetheless.
Bony Face drew his sword and stepped to Septimius’ side. ‘Have you anything to say, filth?’ he hissed.
‘Let me go,’ said Septimius. His eyes fixed on Caecina. ‘Don’t let them kill me, sir, please.’
Tullus clenched his fists. Prick though Septimius was, he didn’t deserve to be treated like this.
‘How pathetic,’ said Bony Face with a sneer. ‘What have you to say, governor? Will you meet our demands?’
Caecina’s mouth worked. ‘I told you. Without permission from the emperor, I cannot. I will do my best, however, to see that they are given the consideration that they merit.’
‘Hear him!’ Bony Face turned to the mob behind him and repeated in a mocking tone. ‘The consideration they merit? Is that good enough for us?’
‘Nooooooo!’ Purple-faced, neck veins bulging, and brandishing their swords, the mutineers screamed their disdain. Bony Face and his three cronies swaggered to and fro before them, egging the crowd on.
Tullus moved to Caecina’s side, and spoke into his ear. ‘If we move right now, sir, we might be able to cut down the legionaries holding Septimius and drag him to safety.’
Caecina’s eyes flickered from left to right, over the mob.
‘We have to do it now, sir,’ whispered Tullus.