Read Enemy of Rome for Free Online

towards the doorway. ‘And we follow a fat fool who will be counting wine barrels while we do the fighting and dying for him.’
    Valens watched him go. He knew he should protest, would even be justified in shouting ‘Traitor’, but he was tired. In any case, Caecina was right.

V
    Valerius woke to the distinctive bustle of a legion preparing for the march: the sound of centurions roaring at heavy-handed recruits as they struggled with the stakes that had protected the camp overnight, the flap of leather tents being dismantled in a light breeze, the clatter of cooking pots and spears piled for transport on the cohort’s mules. He had seen the signs over the past few days. Instead of the customary exercises with
gladius
and
scutum
the men had been allowed to sit outside their tents sharpening their short swords, mending uniforms, polishing their armour and replacing the iron hobnails in
caligae
. A legionary’s footwear was as important as his sword. He had to be able to march twenty miles a day and fight a battle at the end of it. A single nail out of place could leave the century a fighting man short, and they would need every man when they met Vitellius’s legions.
    Serpentius appeared in the doorway of the tent. ‘It’s happening,’ the Spaniard confirmed with a shark’s smile of anticipation. ‘You’ve been called to a conference in the
principia
tent at the second hour.’
    ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Valerius grumbled. He reached for the small leather bottle that was always within reach of his bedding and oiled the mottled purple stump of his right arm before slipping over it the cowhide socket that held his wooden fist. Serpentius watched as, with teeth and fingers made nimble from habit, he tightened and knotted the leather bindings that fixed it in place.
    The former gladiator shrugged. ‘I didn’t reckon a few more minutes would make much difference. Full dress uniform.’ He hefted the scuffed leather tribune’s breastplate Primus had grudgingly provided and waited while Valerius drew his tunic over his head and belted it in place. Serpentius helped the younger man strap on the armour, then the belt with its apron of studded straps that was designed to protect his groin and upper legs. Over Valerius’s left shoulder he draped the leather sling that would hold the decorated metal scabbard on his right hip, the sword ready to be cross-drawn. Only then did he slip into place the
gladius
he had spent an hour sharpening while the other man was asleep. Satisfied, he helped the one-handed Roman with the straps of his studded leather boots and finally handed him the polished iron helmet that had also belonged to the breastplate’s previous owner, an over-enthusiastic young officer who had died on the end of a Dacian spear.
    Serpentius stepped back and nodded approvingly. ‘You’ll do.’
    ‘I specified full uniform.’ Marcus Antonius Primus looked up from the document he had been studying as Valerius entered. All the other senior legionary commanders were already assembled. Aquila, legate of the Thirteenth Gemina, sniffed disapprovingly when he recognized the newcomer. Valerius nodded to Vipstanus Messalla, the only other military tribune to attend, a scarred veteran who had fought his way up through the ranks to become temporary commander of the famous Seventh Claudia Pia Fidelis. Messalla met his look with a sardonic half-smile that didn’t bode well for the rest of the proceedings. A hollow-cheeked man at the far side of the table where Primus was seated nodded a greeting.
    ‘Numisius Lupus, Eighth Augusta,’ Primus grudgingly introduced his fellow commander. ‘And this is Aurelius Fulvus, Third Gallica.’ Fulvus needed no introduction. An old comrade, he had been one of Corbulo’s commanders and Valerius remembered him as a steady, intelligent soldier steeped, like his men, in the traditions of the East. ‘Arrius Varus, who commands our cavalry.’ All the men apart from Messalla and