The refrain was taken up all along the ditch and rampart. ‘Ro-ma Vic-trix! Ro-ma Vic-trix!’
With tears of joy running down his cheeks, Piso roared the words until his voice cracked.
Chapter XXII
Several days had passed, and Tullus was standing in warm, late-afternoon sunshine outside Germanicus’ vast command tent. A summons to attend his general ‘at his earliest pleasure’ – delivered a short time before – had allowed scant opportunity for his servant Ambiorix to polish his helmet, phalerae and belts. For all that they were on campaign, not in barracks, standards had to be maintained.
Tullus cast a critical eye over himself, and sighed. Old Ambiorix, stiff-fingered and still resentful at having to do what Degmar had done for years, was no longer capable of putting a parade-standard shine on equipment, but there was nothing Tullus could do about it now. Putting the state of his kit from his mind, he wondered yet again what Germanicus wanted with him.
The command tent was a busy place – a double century of legionaries stood guard around its perimeter, and there was a constant flow in and out of officers, slaves and messengers. Tullus wasn’t the only one waiting – ahead of him were three others: Tubero, an auxiliary officer and a portly, balding merchant. It was no surprise to Tullus that Tubero ignored everyone else – that was how most high-ranking officers behaved. For Tullus’ own part, he didn’t want to talk to the auxiliary, who looked to be a Ubii warrior. Apart from Degmar and, to some extent, Flavus, Tullus’ view of Germans had been forever tarnished by the ambush in the forest. As for the merchant – he looked like so many of his kind: greasy-smiled, rotten-toothed, and like to sell his own mother if it earned him a coin.
If Tullus were to have a conversation with anyone present, it would be with the more senior officer in charge of the guards – a solid-looking centurion, whom he knew by sight. The centurion was busy checking on his men, however, and dealing with those entering the tent. Tullus shifted the strap of his baldric a fraction so it didn’t pinch the skin at the base of his neck, and thought, I can talk to him later. For now, I can just enjoy the sunshine, and think.
With luck, Germanicus would reveal something of his plans. The campaign had stalled, and Tullus was chafing to get back into action. The recovery of the Nineteenth’s eagle had stoked the old fires inside him – every night, his dreams were of finding his old legion’s golden standard, and of killing Arminius. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to say that the campaign had stalled, Tullus decided. An army the size of Germanicus’ current one – more than forty-five thousand men, together with many hundreds of horses and mules – required the most enormous quantity of food daily. Large raiding parties of legionaries and auxiliaries had stripped the surrounding countryside of livestock and stored grain, and still it was insufficient.
Wary of being attacked by Arminius and his allies without enough supplies for a retreat, Germanicus had had his troops set up a temporary encampment on the banks of the River Lupia. This waterway led west, past the burned-out forts of Aliso and others, to the Rhenus and the empire’s frontier. Messengers had been sent to Vetera ahead of their arrival at the camp, carrying orders to despatch grain barges with all haste. Although some had reached the camp, there were not yet enough supplies for the army to continue its eastward march.
Tullus’ eagerness to move on wasn’t echoed by the ordinary soldiers. He couldn’t blame them. While there hadn’t been much fighting, or many casualties, they were deep in enemy territory. Secure from attack in the huge encampment, the legionaries had been able to let down their guard, even if there weren’t the rations they’d have liked. Strict as ever, Tullus hadn’t let his men get complacent – each century in the cohort had to train or march for at least half of every day. ‘You’re not in barracks, you pieces of shit,’ he told them as they stumbled, yawning, from their tents at dawn. ‘Every man, woman and child for a hundred miles wants us dead. If you’re not at the top of your game every moment of every day, some motherless sheep-humper will nail your head to a tree.’
Huuuummmmmmmm! Huuuummmmmmmm !
Just like that, the barritus sounded in Tullus’ head. His ears rang with his men’s screams, the rushing sound of inward-flying spears and the crack of releasing slingshots. Rain sheeted in from the black clouds lowering overhead, and he could feel the gritty, blood-soaked mud working its way between his toes. Another legionary went down, struck by an enemy spear. Fenestela was bawling orders to close that fucking gap, and Tullus could hear his own voice, cracked and raw-throated, telling his soldiers to stand firm. ‘Hold the line, or we’re all dead men!’
‘Centurion?’
Tullus wiped a hand across his eyes, and was grateful, despite his earlier scorn, to see the merchant, sweaty-faced and tunic-stained, before him rather than a spear-wielding warrior. Yet the man was so repulsive, he couldn’t help barking, ‘What?’
‘Are you well, sir?’
‘I am, curse you. Why?’ Tullus shot a look at Tubero and the auxiliary officer, who were next nearest. They didn’t appear to have noticed anything untoward, which was an immense relief. He could imagine the type of comment Tubero in particular would make.
The merchant stepped back, his smile fading. ‘You were muttering to yourself.’
‘Nonsense.’ Tullus gave the man his best centurion’s stare, and was pleased when he moved further away. Tullus again fell to brooding about the battle. They were so close to where it had taken place. He didn’t have a map, and had only hazy memories of the countryside that Degmar had guided him through on their way to Aliso, but Tullus had recognised a number of landmarks during the previous days’ training marches. The scouts had also reported that the battlefield lay nearby. The close proximity of the bones of so many men Tullus had known wasn’t helping his sleep either, if truth be told. His scalp prickled. Did Germanicus want to hear his account of the ambush again? Perhaps-
‘Senior Centurion Tullus!’ An imperious-faced staff officer stood at the tent’s main entrance. He called again, ‘Senior Centurion Tullus!’
Tullus lifted a hand. ‘That would be me, sir.’
‘The imperial governor is waiting.’
Used to being passed over in favour of citizens, the auxiliary’s expression remained impassive, but the merchant let out a resigned sigh. Passing an irate Tubero, Tullus kept a straight face. Inside, he was roaring with laughter. Screw you, you whoreson, he thought. Reaching the staff officer, Tullus saluted. ‘Ready, sir.’
‘There must be some mistake!’
Tubero’s screech made the staff officer turn. ‘Sir?’
‘I am a legate!’ Tubero cried. ‘This man is only a centurion.’
‘A senior centurion, sir,’ Tullus corrected in the politest of voices, revelling in how his comment made Tubero’s flush deepen.
‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said the staff officer to Tubero. ‘The governor is aware that you are here. He has ordered that Tullus attend him.’
Tubero’s mouth, which had been open, snapped shut.
‘Have you any message for the governor, sir?’ asked the staff officer in a solicitous tone.
‘I-’ began Tubero, and hesitated. A heartbeat later, he muttered, ‘I will wait.’
‘As you wish, sir.’ The staff officer saluted before regarding Tullus, who could have sworn he raised an eyebrow as if to say, ‘These senior officers.’ Then he inclined his head. ‘Follow me, centurion.’
Tullus shot a look at Tubero, but he was glaring into the distance. Tullus’ pleasure wasn’t even a little lessened.
The staff officer led him through a spacious, well-appointed antechamber in which a great number of clerks sat writing at desks. Slaves hovered about in the background, waiting to be given errands. No one paid any notice to Tullus, or his guide. The next two partitioned areas were similar grand workspaces for the staff officer and his colleagues. Here Tullus attracted some curious looks, which made him wonder again what Germanicus had in store for him.