Hoarse shouts of command alerted Valerius to the position of the Praetorians, still in their defensive circle on the edge of the road. The trapped sailors had identified them as the next threat, but they had come here to talk, not fight, and there was no concerted attempt to attack the guardsmen. In the midst of the formation, Valerius recognized the stocky figure of Helius. He saw a chance, just the slimmest chance, of avoiding a total massacre, and turned to Milo. ‘Can you still control these people?’
Milo looked at the chaos of desperate men around him. ‘I can try.’
‘Trying isn’t good enough,’ Valerius snarled. ‘You must succeed or you are all dead. We only have minutes, maybe less.’
The marine centurion glared at him. ‘I will succeed.’
In short, urgent sentences, Valerius explained what he needed. The marine swallowed and looked frantically from the line of cavalry towards the Praetorians. ‘I will do my part, but can you do yours?’
‘Juva?’
The big Nubian nodded and used his huge bulk to carve a path through to where the circle of Praetorian shields protected their bearers from the fury of the sailors. Determined eyes glared out from below helmet rims and short swords were held ready to dart out at the nearest threat. Valerius positioned himself in front of Helius and walked forward with his arms raised and the distinctive wooden first clearly visible. He knew the terror of the shield line and the way the eye and hand worked outwith the brain’s control. As he came within gladius range his heart beat against his ribs. All it would take was a single jab from the snarling, wild-eyed figure behind the curved scutum and his guts would be spilled on the earth.
‘I greet you, Helius of Mutina.’ He kept his voice calm, but pitched loud enough to be heard above the chaos all around. ‘I am Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, honorary tribune of the Guard.’ The appointment had been made by Nero and was purely temporary, but as far as Valerius knew it had never been rescinded. What mattered was that Helius believed him. ‘This is a terrible mistake, Helius, but it is within our power to avoid an even greater disaster. We must talk, but it cannot be with a sword at my throat. Put aside your shield and allow me through.’
He saw the Praetorian blink, the moment recognition dawned, and the disbelief at what he was being asked to do. Helius’s eyes flicked to Valerius’s shoulder, where Juva’s commanding presence protected his back.
‘He will make sure I and I alone enter, Helius. You must trust me.’
Helius shook his head at his own foolishness, but he stepped back and allowed Valerius to pass. The sword point followed him all the way. ‘One sign of a trick and I’ll personally deliver your head to the Emperor.’
The centre of the Praetorian circle was an oasis of calm at the eye of the tempest. For the first time Valerius was able to lower his voice to less than a shout. ‘It is the Emperor who has caused this, Helius, and if we do not do something it will blacken his name throughout history. You heard these men. They are not traitors, or mutineers. They came here to show him their loyalty and this is how they are repaid.’
The Praetorian scanned the uproar around him, his eyes flickering between the immediate threat of the marines surrounding him and the area where the Batavian swords still rose and fell and stained the very air scarlet. ‘Why should I do anything? I have a responsibility to my men and we are safe enough here.’
‘You are safe enough as long as they don’t attack you, but unless you act soon they know the only way they can stay alive is by taking your shields and weapons. I have already told my Nubian friend here that.’ Helius’s gaze flicked to Juva, who waited outside the circle, and his hand tightened on his sword. Valerius shrugged. ‘Yes, you can kill me, but that won’t change anything. Do as I say and you can save thousands of lives.’
The certainty in Helius’s eyes faded. ‘What can I do that will change this?’
Valerius told him his plan.
‘You’re mad. Either you’ll get us all killed or I’ll end up in the carcer.’
‘I will take full responsibility, Helius, but we need to do it now.’
Helius closed his eyes and for a moment Valerius thought he had failed. Then: ‘Oh, shit. Disengage!’ he roared. ‘Form column on me. First century to the front.’
The near-suicidal command was greeted with confusion in the Praetorian ranks before the ingrained discipline of decades brought obedience. Juva’s shipmates from the Waverider had created enough space for the manoeuvre and in four quick movements the Guard were advancing unhindered through the sailors towards the narrowing gap between the Vascones and the Batavian cavalry. Valerius marched beside Helius and he thought he could see confusion in the cavalry ranks and a hint that perhaps their attack was being pressed less forcefully. Instinct told him that someone on the Emperor’s staff would be trying just as hard as he to stop this turning into a massacre. Still, he couldn’t take that chance. Helius roared out his orders. ‘Single rank. Form line. Third century oblique left.’ The Praetorians spread out in a thin defensive line across the Spanish front, with the third century angled to face the Germans.