Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (38 page)

“We suffered a bad harvest last year,” Prasutagus explained. “We need to purchase grain and wheat to supplement our food shortages. I also wish to make basic improvements to my people’s lives but cannot with the means we have at this time.”

“This should not be a problem,” Plautius replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Prasutagus looked relieved, though Boudicca continued to glare at the Roman legate.

“The emperor’s representative to your people will be an equite magistrate. You can work out the details with him, once he’s assigned. Meantime, I’m sure we can arrange a preemptive installment to ease your people’s hardships.”

Were he not so anxious to secure Roman loans to aid the Iceni, Prasutagus would have paid closer heed to the tone in Plautius’ voice. It was by no means sinister; however, his queen consort rightly suspected that Roman gener
osity often demanded a heavy toll. It was a price that most paid, due to either desperation to escape whatever their plight may be or out of fear of reprisal wrought by the blades of legionaries.

“As for your final request,” Plautius continued, “you should know that it is customary for client kings to will their kingdoms to the emperor upon their death. This ensures at least a few years of peaceful assimilation before the people become fully immersed within the Roman Empire. You are asking that we allow the Iceni to retain a modicum of autonomy, even after your death.”

“As you can see,” the king replied, looking back at his consort, “my wife is bearing our first child. I ask that both my children and the emperor be my heirs.”

“You make a bold entreaty,” Plautius remarked. He paused for a few moments before reply
ing. “I will grant your request. Your children will be named joint heirs with Caesar after you pass on to the halls of your ancestors.”

Prasutagus looked immensely relieved and somewhat triumphant that he had achieved all he’d hoped for. There was still one last formality to end their meeting.

Plautius then held up his clenched fist with the imperial seal prominently showing on his ring. “Swear your allegiance!” he demanded.

The Iceni king looked back at his wife and despite the look of horror upon her face, he quickly stepped forward, bowed
, and kissed the ring on Plautius’ hand. Though he had failed to get on his knees like the other kings, and the act was rather rushed, it was still enough to satisfy Plautius and the other Romans. He nodded to Prasutagus, who replied in kind before leaving with his queen and escorts in tow.

“Do you think I was too generous with them?” Plautius asked, resting his chin on his hand.

“A touch of good will can have far reaching implications,” Sabinus replied. “Those who opposed us may come to regret their transgressions, and those who rule the lands not yet conquered by Rome may be more amicable to coming to terms with Caesar. Besides, Prasutagus is a young man. I daresay he has many years of rule left and much can change between now and then. Your term as governor will be long past, and we may not even have the same emperor when the time comes.”

“I swear his queen was trying to kill me with her gaze,” Plautius noted. “She either has an insufferable temperament or
, perhaps, she is more cognizant than her husband when it comes to understanding what obedience to Rome will mean.”

“Eh, what’s the worst she can do?” Geta scoffed.

________

Chapter Endnote:

1 – Maiden Castle, Dorset

Chapter XXI
I: An Arduous Trek

***

The first week on the march passed without too much calamity for Vespasian and his task force. August was the driest month of the year for Britannia,
and although they were still subjected to scattered rains every few days, the paths were mostly clear. They soon passed through the region around the camp that was under construction just north of the River Tamesis. Artorius was pleased with the work already being done by his legionaries. Their own fort was a temporary wooden structure, though they were working and building up the roads and infrastructure to allow for a much larger settlement to spring up.

“The great river makes this place an ideal location for a city,” he observed as he and Vespasian sat astride their horses and watched the construction work. Down by the water, the foundations for a series of docks were being emplaced.

“To think none of the barbarians ever thought of building up here!” Vespasian scoffed.

“Who knows,” the master centurion replied, “perhaps one day this humble settlement will rise up to become the seat of a massive empire, one even greater than ours.” His words were partially in jest, though Vespasian did not take them that way.

“Well, Rome herself came from equally humble origins,” he remarked.

A few days later they passed through the Kingdom of the Atrebates, where they were met by a small contingent of mounted Britons. Amongst them was King Cogidubnus, dressed in a mail shirt, flowing red cloak, and carrying a Roman-style cavalry spatha on his hip.

“King Cogidubnus,” Vespasian said as the men approached them. He stopped his horse and extended his hand.
“What pleasure is this?”

“We heard Rome was marching to war against the Durotriges,” the king explained. “Seeing as their lands border ours, and we are more familiar with them, I think it only right to serve with those who restored me to my people’s throne. My only regret is I do not have sufficient warriors to spare, especially during the harvest
. We’ve also been depleted by the troubles we’ve suffered over the past few years.”

“You are indeed welcome to join us,” Vespasian replied. “Information on the enemy is just as vital as the mightiest legion. Tell me, what is your history with the Durotriges?”

The men continued on their journey with Cogidubnus’ bodyguard falling in behind the legate’s staff.

“
As you know, they share our western border,” the king said. “Though like all borders in this land, it is always under dispute, particularly when the land is vitally important, either strategically or economically.”

“And are the western lands of your kingdom important as such?” Vespasian asked.

“More valuable than any gold mines. Our western lands, as well as all of Durotriges, are among the most fertile in all Britannia.”

“And while mines full of precious metals are all well and good,” Artorius noted, “in the end, one cannot eat gold.”

“Well spoken, master centurion,” Vespasian replied. “The key to any conquest is land that is fertile for raising crops. Your people have understood this for millennia.”

“That we have,” Cogidubnus agreed. “
The lands of the Atrebates and Durotriges can grow much in the way of wheat and grain, which in the end are of far greater value than anything else you may take from this isle in terms of valuables and slaves. That is why oppida hill forts dominate so much of the region. They allow a safe place to store food without threat of theft or being overwhelmed by any but the strongest of armies. It’s always been a type of bloody stalemate, with the occasional skirmish creating a few more widows and orphaned children. After which, the belligerents go home and nothing is settled.”

“Perhaps we can settle some of the border disputes for you,” Vespasian said, his mouth cocked in a sinister grin.

The Atrebates were Rome’s closest allies, so it made sense to help them annex some of their common enemy’s lands.

“We did get you some of the border territories of the Catuvellauni in reparation for their invasion of your kingdom.”

“And for that I am grateful,” Cogidubnus said. “Right now, I really would like nothing more than to see King Donan brought to his knees. Bastard was almost as much of a bother as Togodumnus was. But since the Catuvellauni have sued for peace and Togodumnus is dead, I suspect we will have no more troubles from them. And with the pacified Cantiaci to the east and nothing but the sea to the south, once the Durotriges are properly subdued, perhaps for the first time in our known history, my people can at last have peace!”

As Alaric rode towards the enormous hill fort, he thought for a moment about simply turning his horse north and fleeing back to Brigantes. He loathed the thought of being used as an emissary for the Romans, but he knew he had little choice.
After all, the queen had tasked him with monitoring the Romans, and he was the only one of the Brigantes who knew about the pending assault on Mai Dun. It would be he who would have to tell Cartimandua whether the fort stood or fell.

Evidently the people of Durotriges knew the Romans were coming, for many had already fled to whatever oppida was nearest their farms. Those who were able
, were making their way to Mai Dun. It was about ten miles from the fort that Alaric came across a large caravan of wagons, carts, and hundreds of people making for the fort. They were escorted by a number of King Donan’s warriors. As they spotted the young man approaching, one of the mounted escorts turned his horse about and rode towards him.

“Hold!” he said, raising his hand. “You are not of these lands. What is your business here?”

“My name is Alaric of the Brigantes and guardsman of Queen Cartimandua.” He decided it would be best that he not mention his being sent ahead by the advancing Roman Army for the moment.

“Then you are a long ways from home,” the warrior observed. “And your queen has all but subjugated herself to the Romans, so is your business in Durotriges hers or theirs?”

“My queen dispatched me to observe the Romans,” Alaric replied, deciding that candor was his safest strategy. “She also wishes to avoid further bloodshed in these lands. And as you have guessed, judging by this horde of refugees, there is an enormous Roman Army just a few days’ march up that road.”

“Yes, we know of them,” the warrior said dismissively. “We will arrive at Mai Dun by tomorrow, where we will be safe from that army of thieves and murderers.”

Alaric sighed, closed his eyes and shook his head. “You cannot simply hide from them,” he implored. “I ask of you, take me to King Donan and let me parlay with him. The Catuvellauni have surrendered and have been treated with clemency. If you surrender now, the Romans will treat your people fairly, but if you compel them to lay siege, there will be no mercy.”

“Piss on you, Roman lapdog!” the warrior spat. “You know nothing of the plight of our people or our might to stand against your masters!”

“That is where you’re wrong,” Alaric said. “I was not always of the Brigantes. My former people in Germania thought like you did. They have been fighting against the Romans for decades. In the end, we were nearly exterminated, the few of us who survived becoming scattered to the winds. I
beg
of you, let me speak with your king and not let your people share the fate of mine!”

His eyes were wet with tears born of frustration and sorrow, for his heart went out to the poor and naïve people who thought they would find sanctuary within their hill fort.
Alaric looked upon the faces of men, women, children; all would either be dead or enslaved before the week was done. The warrior’s mouth was open. His face betrayed he was moved by the young man’s words. In the end, he had his orders, and he simply shook his head.

“Leave now,” he said quietly, “and never return to Durotriges.”

“That must be the fifth hill fort we’ve passed,” Vespasian noted as he, Artorius, and the officers accompanying them road down the dirt road that led towards the famous hill fort. “They’re too small to bother with right now, with not enough warriors to be of any real threat. Once Mai Dun falls, we’ll deal with them.”

While still chalked full of large forests, most of the region was relatively flat with rolling hills
and was mostly open farmland. Artorius slowed his horse a bit and rode beside the Second Legion’s master centurion.

“He has a keen grasp of the overall strategic picture,”
Artorius said.

“
That he does,” Lyto concurred. “I’ve been in the ranks for thirty-five years; before he was even born! I served under Tiberius, Severus, and even the great Germanicus. Rarely have I seen a man more fitting to lead the armies of Rome than that man up there. He listens to his centurions, rarely making a major decision without at least consulting our opinion. And whether he followed our advice or not, we knew he was making an educated and sound decision.”

“Who knows, perhaps he could become emperor someday,” Artorius chuckled in reply.

“Well, emperors aren’t elected,” Lyto remarked, “and as long as the Julio-Claudians hold on to the imperial throne, that will never happen. A pity, though. No disrespect intended to our current Caesar, but you know Claudius is achieving military glory on our backs. He may be a good administrator—I wouldn’t know as I don’t keep up on such things—but he is no soldier. As you saw at the River Medway and the minor sieges we’ve done, Vespasian had made most of the major tactical decisions, even more so than Plautius. He comes up with the plan and we execute, often with him fighting right alongside us. The lads love him for it. I just hope he doesn’t get himself killed!”

“Some of the men call him
the Siege Master
,” Artorius said, “both your soldiers and mine have referred to him in such terms. I dare say, he’ll get his chance to prove it soon enough. The locals believe that Mai Dun is unconquerable.”

“Anything can be conquered,” Lyto scoffed. “Still, I suppose we’ll put it to the test soon enough.” He paused and furrowed his brow as he saw three riders approaching them. “Here, isn’t that the messenger you sent forward?”

“I do believe it is,” Artorius replied as he spotted Alaric, accompanied by a pair of troopers from the Indus Horse regiment, who had joined him on his way back. “Let us go see if King Donan has any sense or if he’s determined to face extermination.”

The two men, along with Vespasian and his chief tribune, rode forward to meet the men. The troopers saluted the legate before addressing them.

“The hill fort is barely half a day from here,” one of them reported.

“And what of King Donan?” Vespasian asked Alaric.
“We smashed him in battle, we’re set to ravage his kingdom, surely he has to know he’s beaten!”

The saddened expression on the young man’s face told of the king’s differing disposition.
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. Clearly Alaric was hoping to save lives, sickened by the slaughter of war. “I was not even allowed to see the king. I told his men that I was sent on behalf of Queen Cartimandua, to plead with him to show reason and spare his people. Donan is convinced that Mai Dun is impenetrable. I was told to tell you that the only way through the gates will be on a ramp made up of slain legionaries.”

“So be it,” Vespasian acknowledged. “Let his people face annihilation for his folly. You will remain with us and bear witness to those in this land who would dare face the power of Rome!”