Sword of Rome(100)
Valerius, Serpentius and Metto installed the legionaries in a secluded square behind the market with instructions to keep their mouths shut and set off to find the cavalry headquarters. Valerius had no illusions that it would be easy. This would be no bored functionary like Nepos who could be bullied into doing what he wanted. They were in a war zone now, and in a war zone men tended to be wary and suspicious. As it turned out, though, he was wrong. The prefect in charge of remounts was a harassed fat man fit only for garrison duty. His red face and hoarse breathing hinted at an early seizure and he was having to deal with twenty similar requests an hour. With a single glance at Valerius’s warrant, he gasped an order to an equally stressed clerk, and Valerius walked out with a docket for saddlery and cavalry horses for eight men. He sent Metto off to search out supplies for the journey, while he and Serpentius located the horses.
‘Have you noticed that we’re as popular around here as a turd in a fruit bowl?’ Serpentius asked quietly as they walked across the town forum.
Valerius didn’t reply immediately. He too had noticed the angry stares and muttered insults from the off-duty soldiers they passed. At first he’d feared that Claudius Victor had somehow got word to Valentia, but gradually he realized the loathing wasn’t aimed at them in particular, but Batavian auxiliaries in general. He studied his companion and laughed as he realized they probably looked more dangerous than the troopers whose disguise they’d taken on. Serpentius’s cloak looked as if the wolf it had come from had been dead for a month before he skinned it, and smelled as bad. The plaid bracae he wore were ripped at the knees and the arse. His helmet was ill-fitting and rusty and beneath it the menace of the savage eyes and rat-trap mouth was magnified by a week’s growth of stubbled beard that covered his upper lip and lower jaw. ‘It seems Vitellius’s legions and their provincial allies aren’t on friendly terms. Remember what Metto said about the auxiliaries at Moguntiacum? Give the Batavians a battle to fight and they’re happy, but they’re proud and arrogant and they’ve never been that fond of us. They’ve come back from Britannia to find legionaries having their way with their women and robbing their villages blind. If they didn’t like each other at the start of the march, who’s to say what the relationship is like now? A civil war isn’t like a war against barbarians. For most of his march, Valens has been in the lands of tribes who support Vitellius, or at least won’t oppose him. That means little fighting and less loot. The Batavians won’t have liked that. Maybe they’ve been doing a little raiding on their own. That could help us. The more chaos the better. Claudius Victor is a day or so behind. That should be enough of a breathing space to get through to Otho’s lines.’
‘Maybe so,’ the Spaniard spat. ‘But I don’t like the feel of this place. The sooner we’re out of here, the happier I’ll be.’
Valerius agreed, and when they’d gathered up the men and horses they left Valentia by the east gate, towards a land that would soon be filled with the stink of blood and death and war.
XXXVII
The men shivered around the meagre campfire Valerius had allowed in the damp gully that was their refuge. Refuge, not camp. A place to hide from enemies who by now would be sharpening their blades in anticipation of a painful and hideous revenge for the deaths of their comrades.
A dark shape appeared from the shadows and seven hands dropped to their swords in alarm.
‘Like a cork in a wineskin.’ Serpentius shook the rain from his cloak. ‘A camp or a patrol guarding every road and no way past that I could find.’
Valerius cursed under his breath. Things had gone so well for the first three days after they’d left Valentia. They had followed the trail of Valens’ army through the mountains from marching camp to marching camp, staying just far enough back to avoid his rearguard. But on the fourth day they found themselves almost colliding with his baggage train and Valerius had been forced to waste precious hours in hiding, waiting for the invasion force to reach open country where there would be ample space to bypass them. But it seemed Valens was in no hurry to reach the plains, because he had halted his army in the mountains west of Augusta Taurinorum, where the hills opened out on to the flatlands of northern Italia.
‘Why is he holding back?’ Valerius directed the question at Serpentius and Metto, but he knew there were a hundred possible answers. Perhaps some kind of negotiation had begun between Otho and Vitellius and they’d agreed to halt their forces until it was complete. Maybe, somewhere beyond the hills, Otho had put together an army that had bottled Valens up in the passes. Or Caecina could be stuck in the Alps and his rival was wary of taking on Otho’s forces alone. He felt the eyes of the others on him and knew the reason didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were looking for a decision from their leader because they knew that Claudius Victor and his skinning knife were somewhere close. Very well. ‘There is no other option. We have to go back.’ He heard a sharp intake of breath and sensed the men’s dismay at the prospect of retracing their steps through the narrow, steep-sided valleys where they might meet Victor’s Batavians round every corner. ‘We’ll find a way south and another route home.’