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A Roman Story - Marcus Vinicius
Spatula - Chapter III
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.......All were stunned by the cavalryman's dust-scattering arrival. The fact that he bore important news, however, signally failed to impress the contingent of legionaries presently at Vertis. The appearance of the Tribune--and, more particularly, the caperings of their chief engineer--had convinced them that, before many days had passed, they would be assembling quarters designed for optimum comfort. Now, Marcus, Vectis and Currerus immediately departed for Salinae, taking all construction ideas with them. 'May as well move into these,' said one abandoned legionary, gesturing at the Dobunni huts. 'It's all we'll get in the way of a proper roof, by the looks of it.' 'Should have done just that when we came,' another glumly observed. 'They'll give us more shelter than fancy words from his nibs.' And he jerked a thumb at Vectis's diminishing back. 'One of these days good Firmus will skewer him--or do for himself in despair.' The journey gave time enough for the cavalryman to reveal his news at leisure. From Cambria, the news was generally good, but there was too much uncertainty in the campaign for the Governor's liking. One minute Caratacus was a middling threat; the next, he was a full blown menace. He knew his country well and was ranging around it in an arrogant, proprietorial manner. Abandoning his power centre among the southern Silures, he was on the march northwards, to the Ordovices' territory. Such 'moving target' tactics had compromised Scapula's plans and the length of time envisaged for them. Some of the Legion's campaigns, driving straight into the heart of Cambria, had been rousing successes; others had led to a haemorrhaging of Roman forces. Caratacus's forces, too, were a mixed bag, said the cavalryman; the Governor had freely admitted that, at times, he felt he was up against all the malcontents in southern Britannia. There were also rumours that Caratacus was making overtures to the Brigantes--if not for military support, then at least for a bolt-hole, should the worst occur. 'Not them again,' lamented Vectis. 'That tribe must learn treachery at their mothers' breasts.' 'So is it good Scapula's opinion that we are in the ascendant?' asked Marcus. The cavalryman nodded slightly: 'In a grinding sort of way, sir. There's more attrition involved than anyone had imagined. And this, of course, is where you come in.' Ostorius Scapula, it seemed, had turned his thoughts to the hinterland of his campaigning: principally to the Anglian-Cambrian border. His success, grinding or otherwise, depended on clear lines of communication between Viroconium, which cohorts from the XIV Legion were due to relieve, and the fort at Glevum. Scapula, said the cavalryman, was greatly exercised about the latter's continued security. Glevum stood near a southerly stretch of the river Marcus had bridged; its site, to the north of a strategic bend, was of crucial importance--'and the Silures know it,' said the cavalryman, quoting directly from Scapula's message, 'just as they know so much else.' Vectis was about to leap in, head swimming with images of magnificent forts, shoulder to shoulder from north to south. Marcus checked his interruption: 'How is the Governor's health?' he asked quietly. The cavalryman's look suggested that he'd been awaiting the question: 'Our informants are playing their cards close to the chest on that one, sir--doubtless at the Governor's command.' Marcus nodded--just the kind of answer good Scapula would endorse. The cavalryman looked restive: clearly he was itching to get back to the Governor's message. Marcus waved permission. 'Ostorius Scapula knows, sir, that the Silures will hammer at Glevum day and night, given half a chance; any number of rogue Dobunni, too. The fort must be defended to the hilt, which means getting fresh cohorts in there before the barbarians can blink. And trouble at Viroconium is more than likely, too. Heavy trouble at that: if Caratacus is heading north, the Ordovices will be more inspired than ever. And the Cornovii, who are much nearer. Reinforcements will need to fly in and out of both forts. So, sir . . . .' The cavalryman paused and looked respectfully at Marcus. 'A road?' asked Marcus quietly. 'A road??' squawked Vectis, his vision of the Empire's first superforts evaporating like morning mist. 'The forts must be linked by the finest road we--you--can pave. You must start on it as soon as Salinae and Vertis are finished.' Marcus pursed his lips. To all outward appearances, he looked exactly like a military servant of Roman accepting a new commission as a matter of course. But bitterness surged through him. The thoughts he'd harboured when riding towards Vertis rose up anew. It seemed as though he was fated to endure an endless stream of diminishing returns. Build a bridge. Find the worth in the task. Convince yourself that it is as crucial as harrying the Silures. Guard some salt. Find worth in the task. Believe that its importance ranks it alongside the routing of Caratacus. Build a road . . . . He could hear his father as clearly as if he were singing out from those looming hills that shadowed every movement thereabouts: So you've turned navvy, Marcus. Our Senate is riven with threats and deceit, and you cannot return to vanquish them because Britannia needs you for a road-mender? Some seasons find more leaf than grape on my vines, and you cannot work with me to secure a prime vintage because pick-wielding holds more charm? The others watched him intently. His lips moved at a curse: sure enough, his wretched optimism was starting to find the good in the commission. He knew what was on Vectis's mind. It was a long stretch from Viroconium to Glevum. The Silures knew their own country like the back of their barbarous hands; they could make a deal of trouble up and down the border, on their own or with others. Who was to say that other forts would not have to be built, other posts and garrisons--and sooner rather than later? Who was to say that the Anglo-Cambrian border would not become the biggest fish in the whole Britannia enterprise? He smiled slowly; some form of words was taking shape in his mind, heartfelt thanks to Scapula for thinking him worthy of such work. The cavalryman killed them before they were uttered. 'Something else, sir. Vectis.' 'What about Vectis?' the engineer himself cut in, aggrieved that he should be treated as though he were absent or invisible. 'Vectis, horseman?' said Marcus. 'He is'--here the cavalryman apologised and turned to the engineer--'you are commanded to join Scapula, sir.' 'What in the heavens for?' demanded Vectis. 'He's got more engineers than legionaries as it is?' 'The Governor did not elaborate, sir,' said the cavalryman in a muted tone. Marcus's optimism vanished. Currerus wondered about Firmus: who would be his sparring-partner now? 'Are you making this up, horseman?' demanded the engineer peevishly. 'Are you a bard in training? Contesting for the bays, eh?' 'Sir, I assure you that the order states it clearly. Your presence is required in the Cambrian force.' Exactly level with the man, Vectis stared hard into his eyes: 'Where precisely is this order, then, horseman? Do you not think it high time that your Tribune had personal sight of it.' 'Sir, it is with Firmus at Salinae, awaiting Marcus Vinicius Spatula's perusal. It was deemed safer to leave it there.' 'By whom?' demanded Vectis. 'Sir, I am only the messenger,' the cavalryman insisted. Though sincere, his humble tone made Vectis wheel his own horse hard right and circle away from him. 'Steady on, engineer!' exclaimed Currerus, whose horse threatened to rear up at the pantomime. 'Enough, gentlemen, enough,' said Marcus. 'No more words till Salinae.' 'But Tribune--!' protested Vectis. 'And only after I've read the order,' Marcus continued. It began to rain. Shivering, the Tribune turned to survey the hills which seemed to move in stealth behind them. There was nothing Cremonese about them now. They were heavy, harsh and sinister. As soon as they reached Salinae, Marcus sought Firmus out and read through Scapula's message. He wandered alone through the near-completed fort. Had he remained in the villa, Vectis would have come knocking, showering him with questions and expostulations before he'd had time to compose himself. Not that he would have minded overmuch: Scapula's demand did seem strange; if Vectis foresaw himself standing about like a spare part in Cambria, while the other engineers swarmed over projects already far advanced, he could well understand. For the first time, he wondered how much importance his Governor actually did attach to these border commissions. Where was the sense, after all, in robbing him of his chief engineer? He practically collided with Vectis at the corner of the armoury: 'That it?' he asked, gesturing at the scroll. 'Here,' said Marcus and handed it over. 'I'll bet Firmus was as pleased as punch, taking charge of my death warrant.' 'Oh, now, Vectis--.' In fact, Firmus had himself been dismayed; but, in deference to the public image he and Vectis had created, he had concealed it under jocularity. 'It's not the fighting, Tribune,' said Vectis at last. 'It's the question of whether I'll get anywhere near it, even with a score of Curreruses. The Silures aren't noted for finely crafted welcome-mats. And anyway'--here a faraway look came into his eyes--'I haven't done a good road in ages. I started with roads, you know. The ground floor, literally.' 'I'm sure the Governor has good reason to summon you.' Vectis looked him full in the face: 'Neither am I, Tribune. With respect to him, to you, to Rome. And so on.' His voice trailed off. 'Vectis, I'm sure that as soon--' 'But be all that as it may,' interrupted Vectis, seeming not to hear, 'I'd better make sure all is in order here before I join our Governor, or my ancestors. I give you good night, Tribune.' 'Look,' said Marcus, as the engineer made to turn away. 'Perhaps Scapula has found great fat seams of gold already, and he thinks you're just the man to bring it home.' Vectis turned back, eyes quizzically wide: 'Where exactly is home, Tribune, now, for us?' They lapsed into silence, Spatula thinking of Cremona, Vectis of Livorno--warm places, both, and not only because of the climate. Distant places, too. Vectis had a day to prepare himself: 'Tignum will step into my shoes with no bother, of course,' he assured Marcus. Technically, this was true: the second engineer was indeed able--a little plodding compared to Vectis, but also, perhaps, a touch more systematic. 'I'll brief him thoroughly. Oh, and Tribune, I hadn't forgotten the buildings we need at Vertis. Tignum has some good suggestions for that project. We can't leave our men at the mercy of Dobunni jerry-building.' 'They'll be glad to hear it,' said Marcus. 'All the better for the safety of our bridge.' 'Indeed,' said Vectis. They were hedging about, and both of them knew it. Scapula's decision was a mystery to both of them--and, on a practical level, extremely foolish. Vectis left the following dawn. His route was west from Salinae, and he would be flanked by ten of Marcus's best warrior-horsemen. 'Ten, sir?' whispered Firmus, while Vectis's contingent readied itself. 'Would you have advised more, centurion, or less?' 'Considering available manpower, sir, less. But considering the Silures, and ordinary human decency, I'd have doubled it.' Marcus smiled. He knew some of the Governor's advisors by reputation. They were fond of phrases like 'available manpower,' 'viable risking,' 'testing the toga': they filled whole scrolls with them. It sounded strange to hear such language on the lips of a really useful person. But he had to agree with the centurion's latter estimate: 'I wish I could spare double, Firmus. I wish it fervently.' For a mile or so, Vectis and his escort were accompanied by the Tribune, Currerus, Firmus and Tignum. Vectis insisted that his second engineer ride abreast of him, so that he could advise him up to the last second on all the projects in hand. Finally the party came to a fork in the path; the leftward fork led to distant trees: 'Best avoided, engineer,' said Firmus, gesturing at them. 'Those Silurian types can spring off a tree faster than a gnat off a baboon's--' 'I'd say this is as good a place as any, Vectis,' Marcus cut in. There were valedictions all round, plus heartfelt prayers for the safe passage of Vectis and his company. After the formalities of parting, Vectis clapped each member of the send-off party on the shoulder, reserving two claps and a look of astonishment for Firmus: 'You're advising me to avoid the danger of the woods? You, centurion?' 'Yes, and don't breathe a word of it in Cambria, or I'll take after you and pitch you into the deepest, thickest lumber I can find.' Laughter followed the engineer's company as, taking the safer path, they gradually disappeared from view. But it was muted: the Silures were as handy in open country as they were among twisting trees. On the journey back to Salinae, Marcus's thoughts turned again to the Governor. He wished he'd pressed the cavalryman about Scapula's health, even if it meant a mere repetition of the man's first reply. Was the summons for Vectis an indication of a withering mind? Tignum was good, yes--but Scapula knew how skilled Vectis was, and had even ordered them back to Glevum together. Surely someone, knowing the pointlessness of the order, would have intervened and advised the Governor that Vectis, while surplus to requirements in Cambria, was more than vital between Viriconium and Glevum? Yes, and if so, perhaps that someone had got an Imperially-sanctified flea in his ear. Currerus drew abreast of him: 'I'd say we'll see him again, sir. They're good lads with him--hawk-eyed, every one. Besides, our engineer is as resourceful as the day is long.' 'I'd give anything to have you proved right, good scout,' said Marcus. 'And to know exactly what is on our good Governor's mind.' End of Chapter III |
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| Part III | ||||||||||||
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