Vespasian: Tribune of Rome (Vespasian 1) Page 3

  Sabinus scoffed. ‘A man has no right to land if he hasn’t fought for it, little brother. How will you hold your head up amongst your peers in Rome if you haven’t fought by their side?’

  ‘Your brother is right, Vespasian,’ his mother argued. ‘They will laugh at you as the man who farms land that he has never defended. It would be an intolerable shame to you and our family name.’

  ‘Then I shan’t go to Rome. This is where I belong and this is where I want to die. Let Sabinus make his way in Rome, I’ll stay here.’

  ‘And always live in your brother’s shadow?’ Vespasia snapped. ‘We have two sons and both will shine. It would be an insufferable insult to the family gods for a son to waste his life on mere agriculture. Sit down, Vespasian; we shall have no more talk like that.’

  His father laughed. ‘Absolutely. You can’t live your life here in the hills like some provincial country bumpkin. You will go to Rome and you will serve in her army, because it is my will.’ He picked up his cup and downed the rest of his wine, and then stood up abruptly. ‘As you know, a man is judged first and foremost by the achievements of his forebears.’ Titus paused and gestured around the funeral masks of their ancestors in their recess on the wall next to the lararium. ‘This being the case, I am a man of little worth, and you two, even less so.

  ‘If we are to improve our family’s standing both of you will have to struggle up the cursus honorum as new men. This is difficult but not impossible, as Gaius Marius and Cicero both proved in the old Republic. However, we now live in different times. To progress we need not only the patronage of people of higher standing than ourselves but also the backing of officials in the imperial household, and to get their attention you will have to impress in the two disciplines that Rome holds in highest esteem: military prowess and administrative ability.

  ‘Sabinus, you have already proved yourself a capable soldier. Vespasian, you will soon follow that path. But you have already shown an aptitude for administration, through your knowledge of the running of our family’s estates, a subject in which you, Sabinus, have shown very little interest.’

  At this Vespasia looked directly at her sons, a faint smile of ambition flickered across her face; she could see where Titus was heading.

  ‘Vespasian’s first step will be to serve in the legions as a military tribune. Sabinus, your next step is an administrative position in Rome with the Vigintiviri as one of the twenty junior magistrates. I propose that for the next two months you share your knowledge and teach each other. Vespasian will show you how the estate is administered. In return you will give him the basic military training received by common legionaries to enable him to not only survive, but also to thrive in the legions.’

  Vespasian and Sabinus both looked at their father, aghast.

  ‘I will have no argument, this is my will and you will comply, however you may feel about each other. It is for the greater good of the family and, as such, takes precedence over any petty squabbles that you two may have. Perhaps it will teach you both to value each other in a way you have been unable to in the past. You will start once you have dealt with the mule-thieves. The first day Sabinus will be the teacher and the following day Vespasian, and so on until I am satisfied that you are both ready to go to Rome.’ Titus looked down at his sons and held their gazes each in turn. ‘Do you accept?’ he demanded in a voice that would only countenance one answer.

  The brothers looked at each other. What choice did they have?

  ‘Yes, Father,’ they each replied.

  ‘Good. Let’s eat.’

  Titus led the family into the triclinium where the couches were set for the evening meal and clapped his hands. The room was suddenly filled with bustling house slaves bringing in plates of food. Varo, the house steward, motioned them to wait whilst the family were made comfortable, by deferential slave girls, on the three large couches arranged around a low square table. The girls removed the men’s sandals and replaced them with slippers, then they laid napkins out on each couch in front of the diners and again wiped their hands. When all was ready Varo ordered the first course, the gustatio, to be laid out on the table.

  Sabinus surveyed the plates of olives, grilled pork and almond sausages, lettuce with leeks, and tuna fish pieces with sliced boiled eggs. Selecting a particularly crispy-looking sausage he broke it in half and then looked at his brother.

  ‘How many bandits are up there in the hills?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ Vespasian confessed.

  Sabinus nodded and placed some sausage into his mouth and started to chew noisily. ‘Then we’d better find out first thing tomorrow morning.’

  CHAPTER II

  ‘THEY COME FROM over there,’ Vespasian said to Sabinus, pointing towards the craggy hills opposite. ‘In that direction there is nothing but hills and gullies for miles and miles.’

  It was the third hour of the day; they had dismounted before a hill crest and then, keeping low, crawled the last few feet to the top and were now cautiously peering over. Below them was a large area of grassland that fell away, for about half a mile, down to a gully that divided it from the rocky slopes to the east. To their right was a wood that ran down from the crest of the hill halfway to the gully.

  Sabinus surveyed the terrain for a while, formulating a plan.

  The brothers had left soon after dawn, taking Pallo, half a dozen other freedmen and two dozen mules. Pallo, who had his father to avenge, had selected the men to go with them. They were all freedmen from the estate who worked as overseers of slaves, or foremen, or as skilled artisans. The younger three, Hieron, Lykos and Simeon, had, like Pallo, been born into slavery. The others, Baseos, Ataphanes and Ludovicus, a huge ginger-haired German, had all been taken prisoner in border skirmishes and had, for one reason or another, been spared execution only to be sold into slavery. They all had one thing in common: Titus had manumitted them all after loyal service to his family and they were now Roman citizens bearing the Flavian name and were ready to die for it if necessary. Each of them carried ten javelins in a bundle across their mounts’ backs and, hanging from a belt on their right, a gladius. They all had hunting bows except Baseos, an old, squat, slant-eyed Scythian, and Ataphanes, a tall, fine-boned, middle-aged Parthian; they both carried short, recurved compound bows, the type favoured by the horsemen of the East.

  ‘So, lads, this is where we’ll leave our bait,’ Sabinus said finally. ‘Vespasian, you and Baseos take the mules down the slope and tether them individually between the end of the wood and the gully. Then pitch a tent and build a good fire; use damp stuff, if you can, to make a decent amount of smoke. We want people to know that you are there.

  ‘Pallo, you take Lykos and Simeon and skirt behind this hill and get yourselves into the gully a couple of miles to the north, and then work your way back down it to the far side of the field. Once you’re there get as close to the mules as you can, without revealing your position to any watchful eyes on the hills opposite. Me and the rest of the lads will make our way down to the edge of the wood and get as close to the mules as possible.

  ‘Vespasian, give us an hour to get in position, then you and Baseos ride back up over the hill, as if you’re off hunting, and then double back down through the wood and join us. Then we’ll wait. If we’re lucky and we attract our quarry we’ll let them get to the mules, then charge them. Pallo and his lads will cut off their retreat over the gully and we’ll have them trapped. Right, lads, let’s get to it.’ Sabinus, pleased with himself, looked around the men: they nodded their approval. It seemed a very workable plan.

  Vespasian and Baseos made their way down through the wood, leading their horses. The mules had been securely tethered on long ropes, the tent pitched and a good smoky fire set. Ahead they could see the edge of the wood where Sabinus and his group were waiting, their horses tied to trees. Vespasian sat down next to his brother.

  ‘I saw Pallo’s boys enter the gully about two miles north. I hope they weren’t seen by
anyone else,’ Vespasian whispered.

  ‘Doesn’t matter if they were,’ Sabinus grunted. ‘There’s nothing to connect them to the mules, they could be just another group of runaways out hunting.’

  They settled down to wait. A hundred paces down the hill the mules were grazing peacefully. The day wore on and the fire began to die down until there was just a small wisp of smoke rising from it.

  ‘What happens when it gets dark?’ Vespasian asked, breaking a loaf of bread in two and offering half to Sabinus.

  ‘I’ll send a couple of the lads out to build up the fire and check the mules, but I’m hoping that we won’t have to wait that long,’ Sabinus replied, overcoming his natural antipathy to his brother and taking the proffered bread. ‘So, little brother, I shall teach you to be a legionary and you will teach me how to count mules or whatever it is that you do. You had better make it worth my while.’

  ‘It’s far more than mere stock-taking, Sabinus. The estates are huge; there’s a vast amount to administer. There are the freedmen who work for us: in return for a smallholding of their own they make farming tools in the smithy, shear the sheep, supervise the impregnating of the horse mares by the donkey stallions, look after the weaker new-born mules and lambs, oversee the slaves in the fields and so on.

  ‘Then there are the slaves themselves.’ Vespasian was warming to the theme despite the glazed look on his brother’s face. ‘They need to be put to work at different jobs, depending on the season: ploughing, pruning vines, harvesting wheat or grapes, threshing grain, pressing olive oil, treading grapes, making amphorae. It’s pointless having three hundred pints of wine or olive oil if you can’t store it; so it’s about thinking ahead, making sure that you’re using your work force efficiently and get the most out of each man at any time of the year.

  ‘Then everyone has to be fed, clothed and housed, which entails buying in a large variety of goods. They have to be bought in advance at the cheapest time of the year for each item, so you need to know the local market. Conversely our produce needs to be sold at the most advantageous time of year for us. Think ahead, Sabinus, always think ahead. Do you know what we should be selling at the moment?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I assume that you are going to tell me.’

  Vespasian looked at his brother with a grin. ‘You work it out, and then tell me tomorrow at our first lesson.’

  ‘All right, you smug little shit, I shall, but it won’t be tomorrow, tomorrow it’s my turn.’ Sabinus looked at Vespasian malevolently. ‘And we’re starting with a route march, twenty miles in five hours, followed by sword drill.’

  Vespasian rolled his eyes but didn’t retort. As he tore off some bread and popped it in his mouth he realised that, of the two of them, Sabinus was going to have much more scope for causing pain over the next couple of months than he had. He put that unpleasant thought from his mind and looked around, chewing on his bread.

  The sun, well past its zenith, was now behind them, front-lighting the rocky slope on the other side of the gully. Vespasian peered towards it; as he did so a momentary sparkle caught his eye. He nudged Sabinus.

  ‘Over there, by that fallen tree,’ he whispered, pointing in the direction of the light. ‘I saw something glint.’

  Sabinus followed the direction that his brother was pointing in; there was another flash. Through the heat-haze shimmer he could just make out a group of a dozen or so men leading their horses down a narrow track that wound through rocks and crags down towards the gully. Once they got to the bottom of the slope they quickly mounted up and started to follow the line of the gully a hundred paces south. Here it wasn’t so sheer and they managed to coax their horses down the bank, through the stream, and up the other side on to the Flavian pasture.

  ‘All right, lads, we’ve got company. We’ll wait until they’ve untethered most of the mules before we rush them. That way they’ll have their retreat impeded by loose animals. I want as much noise as you can make when we charge. Those of you who can shoot a bow from a moving horse do so, the rest wait until we’re in javelin range, then let fly, and mind those mules.’

  ‘Don’t worry about them, Sabinus,’ Pallo said darkly. ‘I won’t be wasting any javelins on the mules.’

  The others grinned and went to retrieve their horses.

  ‘You stay close to either me or Pallo, little brother,’ Sabinus growled as they mounted up as quietly as possible. ‘Father wants you back in one piece. No heroics. It makes no difference to us whether we get the bastards dead or alive.’

  The idea that he personally might have to kill a man came as a shock to Vespasian; dealing out summary justice to brigands had not featured in his life thus far – a life that had been relatively sheltered – but he determined to acquit himself well as he pulled his horse up next to Sabinus; he would not give his brother cause to think worse of him than he already did. He gripped his mount hard with his thighs and calves and reached behind him to slip five of the light javelins from his supply. He kept four in his left hand, which also held the reins, the fifth he held in his right. He slipped his forefinger through the leather loop, halfway down the shaft, which acted as a sling on launch, greatly enhancing range and velocity. He was as ready as he would ever be. He glanced at the others, who were also checking their gear but with an air of studied nonchalance; they had all been through this before and he felt very much the novice. His mouth was dry.

  They waited in silence, watching as the runaways advanced up the hill slowly so as not to startle the mules. Two of their number had stayed down at the gully, covering their retreat.

  ‘Pallo and his lads will deal with them,’ Sabinus said, relieved that the odds against them had gone down slightly.

  Vespasian counted eleven of them. They were mounted on a variety of horses and ponies, all no doubt stolen from their estate or those nearby. They were dressed mainly in shabby clothes; some were wearing the trousers favoured by barbarians from the north and east. A couple had fine cloaks around their shoulders, presumably once the property of wealthy travellers who had fallen victim to their raids. None of the party had shaved in weeks; their ragged beards and long hair gave the group an air of menace that Vespasian imagined would hang over a tribal raiding party on the borders of the Empire.

  They reached the mules. Six of the company dismounted and crept up to the tent. At a signal they stabbed their spears through the leather to skewer anyone hiding inside. Finding it empty they returned to the mules and started to untether them. The rest of their comrades circled slowly, keeping the anxious animals in a group, their javelins and bows ready to fell the mules’ minders should they return.

  Sabinus kicked his horse forward, yelling at the top of his voice as he broke cover. ‘Get the bastards, boys, don’t let any escape.’

  The others followed him at full pelt, in dispersed order, yelling the different war cries of their own people. Within moments they were halfway across the open ground to the confused runaways. Those that had dismounted struggled to find their horses amongst the panicking mules, which dragged their tethers around entangling the legs of men, mules and horses alike.

  Baseos and Ataphanes let fly their first arrows. Vespasian forgot to yell as he watched in awe as they drew, released, reloaded and drew their bows again with such speed that they were able to have two arrows in the air at any one time and still maintain perfect control of their mounts with just their legs.

  The first shafts thumped into the chaotic crowd, felling two runaways and a mule that went down whinnying shrilly, kicking out at everything around it, causing the rest to start rearing and bucking in panic.

  ‘I said watch out for the fucking mules, you cretins,’ Sabinus screamed at Baseos and Ataphanes as they wheeled their horses away to the left to pass around the top of the mêlée.

  The mounted runaways had disentangled themselves from the chaos and turned their horses uphill to face the onslaught, releasing their arrows as they did. Vespasian felt the wind of one buzzing past his left ear an
d felt a wave of panic. He froze as Sabinus, Ludovicus and Hieron hurled their javelins. The momentum of the downhill charge gave added weight to the shots; two slammed into their targets with such force that one passed clean through a horseman’s belly and on into the rump of his mount, leaving him skewered to the beast as it tried, in its agony, to buck its screaming rider off. The other exploded through a horse’s skull; it dropped stone dead, trapping its rider beneath it, spattering him and his colleagues with hot, sticky blood. This was enough for the remaining three, who turned and fled towards the gully that was now devoid of their two companions who had been left there as a rearguard.

  ‘Leave them to Pallo’s lot,’ Sabinus shouted as he and Ludovicus wheeled their horses back round towards the mules. Vespasian, burning with shame for having faltered, followed, leaving Hieron to deal with the unhorsed runaway who had now managed to pull himself free from his horse. He struggled to his feet, wiping the horse blood from his eyes, only to see Hieron’s blade flashing through the air at neck height. His severed head fell to the ground and was left staring, in disbelief, at his twitching, decapitated body as the last of his blood drained from his brain and with it his life.

  Baseos and Ataphanes had been busy. Three more of the runaways lay on the grass, feathered with arrows, and the sixth was making a break for it. Sabinus drew his sword and galloped after him. The slave looked over his shoulder and, although he must have known that he stood no chance of escape, put on another turn of speed – but to no avail. Sabinus was upon him in an instant and, with the flat of his sword, struck him on the back of the head, knocking him cold.

  Vespasian looked down the hill towards the gully to see one of the three fleeing horsemen fall backwards off his mount, pierced by an arrow. His companions, seeing their escape blocked and their two erstwhile comrades lying on the ground with their throats ripped open, immediately wheeled their horses left and headed north, along the line of the gully, at full gallop. Vespasian urged his horse into a gallop, realising that they would escape unless he could cut them off. His desire to prevent the two men avoiding justice, heightened by the urgent necessity to redeem himself, produced a strange new sensation within him: blood-lust. The wind pulled at his horse’s mane as he raced diagonally down the hill, closing in on the two riders. He was aware of Sabinus and Hieron following behind him, shouting at him to wait, but he knew that there was no time.