Blood and Steel. Harry Sidebottom

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СКАЧАТЬ trunks of trees provided shelter from the north wind there was no snow. The ice was black, shining. A flight of ducks clattered up, wheeled, and flew away.

      ‘There,’ Javolenus said.

      Maximinus looked south once more, to where his bodyguard pointed. A thin smudge of black on the horizon. The Iayzges were a long way off. It would take them an hour or more to reach the stationary Roman forces. They had no reason to hurry.

      His fingers were numb. Maximinus flexed them, rubbed his hands together, before taking up his reins. It was time to inspect the troops again. Indicating that his staff should follow, he turned his hack, dug his heels in its flanks, and set off at a slow canter to the right of the infantry front line. Even though the snow had been trampled, the going was both heavy and uncertain.

      When he was first promoted to high command, a fellow officer had asked why he still worked so hard, now he had attained a rank where a certain leisure was permissible. The greater I become, the harder I shall labour, he had replied. Back then – the reign of the glorious Caracalla – he had joined his men at their wrestling. He had thrown them to the ground, one after another, six or seven at a sweat. Once a tribune of another legion, an insolent young man from a Senatorial house, but big and strong, had mocked him, claiming his soldiers had to let him win. Challenged to a match, Maximinus had knocked him senseless with one blow to the chest, a blow delivered with an open palm. Back then, even Senators had called him Hercules. Now they whispered he was a new Spartacus, or another Antaeus or Sciron. The only imperial secretary he trusted – despite Apsines of Gadara being a Syrian – had told him the stories about the last two.

      As he pulled up by the standards of the 2nd Legion, the Parthian, its commander stepped forward from the other officers and saluted. Clean, well-cared-for armour showed under the Prefect’s fur-lined cloak.

      ‘Are your men ready?’ Maximinus asked.

      ‘We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.’

      From an equestrian family with a long record of military service, Julius Capitolinus was a fine officer. In Germania, at the battle in the marsh and the one at the pass, he had led his men well, fought like a lion. Maximinus knew he should smile, say something affable. Nothing came to mind. His spies told him Capitolinus passed his time off duty writing biographies. That hardly seemed suitable. Maximinus nodded, knowing he was scowling. His adorable half-barbarian scowl, Paulina had called it. Most likely Capitolinus judged it differently.

      With his thighs Maximinus guided his mount a few paces away from the officers. He regarded the legionaries. Where their helmets, scarves and beards revealed anything of their faces, they were pinched with the cold. The front ranks stood to attention, those further back quietly stamped their feet and beat their arms against their sides.

      ‘A long way from the Alban Hills.’ Maximinus pitched his voice to carry.

      Those who could hear grinned. A murmur ran through the formation, like a wave retreating over a shingle beach, as the Emperor’s words were repeated from man to man all the way to both flanks and the rear.

      ‘These barbarians’ – he waved towards the south – ‘stand between us and warmth, between us and hot food, mulled wine, the baths, women and all the other pleasures of the camp. Defeat them today, and we will have broken the Iazyges, as we broke their cousins the Roxolani in the autumn. Defeat them, and the Danube frontier is safe from the Alps to the Black Sea. Defeat them, and we can cross the river, back into the empire, never to return to this empty wilderness.’

      There was a muted noise of approval. Those in the rear had stopped moving, were straining to hear.

      ‘Duty is hard. Those of us raised in the army know that truth. I am no Sophist, no clever speaker from the Forum. I will not lie to you, pretend things are other than they are. This summer we must make one final campaign into Germania. When they too have submitted, when the Rhine also is safe, then, at last, after these long and weary four years, I can lead you home to Italy, to your camp on the Alban Hills, where your wives and children wait for you. Duty is hard, but the end of our labours is in sight.’

      Again, the shouts betrayed less than complete enthusiasm.

      ‘Today, remember my orders, keep quiet in the ranks, listen to your officers. Remember you are Romans, they are barbarians. You have discipline, they do not. Give me victory, and I will reward you well. A year’s pay to every man who fights. A year’s pay to the dependents of any who fall.’

      This time even the reminder of their own mortality did not dampen their spirits. As one, the men cheered.

      Enrich the soldiers, ignore everyone else, Septimius Severus had said. There was much sense in the words of Maximinus’ old commander.

      ‘The 2nd Legion, the Parthian, Eternally Loyal, Faithful and Fortunate. You hold the right of the line, the position of honour. These barbarians’ – this time his gesture was one of contempt – ‘in their ignorance and blind stupidity, believe they have us at a disadvantage. But we know that the gods are delivering them to us. Kill them! Kill them all! Do not spare yourselves!’

      Full-throated, the roar went up. Wheeling his horse, Maximinus rode towards the next body of men. The dark stain on the horizon had widened, filled out. He could not delay, but there was time for a few words to each formation in the infantry front line.

      From the Ides of January, for a month he had quartered the Steppe, from the Danube to the foothills of the Carpathians. There had been several sharp engagements as he pursued and caught three tribal herds. Then, one night, when the army was far out, the main barbarian force had struck. The Iazyges had taken back their herds, had driven off much of the Roman baggage train. For another month the army had marched south, harassed, short of food. At first a thaw had set in, and they had waded through mud. Then a cold north wind had begun to blow again, bringing blizzards. The temperature dropped, as if the gods had reversed the seasons and midwinter had returned. In the mornings some sentries were found dead from the cold, others disembowelled. Finally, just two days’ march north of the Danube, the entire horde of the Iazyges were waiting, drawn up across their path, many thousand horsemen arrayed for battle.

      Maximinus had ordered a camp entrenched. The following morning the Iazyges again spread out across the Steppe ready to fight. Although the soldiers had thronged around him demanding he lead them against the barbarians, and the army had trembled on the edge of mutiny, Maximinus had not been swayed. For six days, as the fresh snow fell, the Iazyges paraded across the plain, and the legionaries and auxiliaries near rioted, he ignored all entreaties and threats, and held the army back behind its ditch and rampart. Food, forage and fuel were almost exhausted. Maximinus had the imperial supplies given to the troops, and had commanded all officers to likewise surrender their personal provisions. Apsines had made some flattering comparison to Alexander the Great, but most officers, unaccustomed to privation of any sort, let alone hunger, had not taken it well.

      On the evening of the sixth day, when the Iazyges had departed to their distant encampment, Maximinus had distributed his orders, quietly without trumpets or commotion. That night, leaving torches burning along the fortifications, he had led the army out. In the strange glare of the snow, with no lights showing, they went east until they came across this unnamed watercourse, then followed it south. In the gloaming of the false dawn, he had selected his position, and drawn up his men.

      The 2nd Legion formed the extreme right of twenty-four thousand heavy infantry stretching back to the frozen stream on the east. Eight thousand were Praetorians and one thousand, at the opposite end, among the trees, German tribesmen. The rest were legionaries, drawn from across the northern frontiers. Flavius Vopiscus had them all waiting in separate blocks, СКАЧАТЬ