deep and lasting hatred of Tacfarinas and his rebels, whom they saw as ultimately responsible for their suffering, and they set about the task of subduing them with a savage vigour. Eventually, a few months after we’d done the hard work and left, they trapped the remnants of rebel army in a fortress called Auzera; after a three-month siege it fell and the Third Augusta spared no one, not even good slave stock. Tacfarinas, unfortunately, fell on his sword before they could get to him, but they found his wives and children, who I’m sure made up for it.’
They had reached the top of the hill and Sabinus pulled up his horse and passed the water skin to Vespasian, who sucked on it gratefully.
‘So Lucius Apronius was right to do what he did,’ he said, wiping the excess water from his chin.
‘Absolutely,’ Sabinus replied. ‘A legion cannot fight and win unless every one of its men has confidence in his comrades. By showing that they could execute their own mates they proved that they could kill anyone, and so restored their faith in themselves.’
Vespasian looked at his brother and remembered his father’s words about the principle that bound a legion together; if he had to stand in its ranks someday then he would want men like Sabinus on either side of him.
The brothers stood still for a moment, looking out over the hills of their estate. In the distance, to the northeast, was the peak of mount Tetrica waiting for the winter snows that would crown its summit within the month. Way below them, to the south, ran the Avens, a tributary of which ran through the gully that they had used to trap the runaways the day before. At a right angle to the river they could make out the line of the Via Salaria, threading its way through the valley east to the Adriatic. Where it crossed the river a substantial stone bridge had been built towards which, from the east, sped a large party of horsemen.
‘They look to be in a hurry,’ Vespasian remarked, shading his eyes against the glare.
‘Which is more than can be said for you. Let’s go.’ Sabinus kicked his horse into action and headed off down the hill, resuming his whistling. Vespasian followed wearily, all the time keeping an eye on the horsemen on the road below them. He could count about twenty; they seemed to be armed and, one thing was for sure, they were travelling fast. As the riders reached the bridge they slowed and crossed it at a trot. Once over, the lead horseman pulled his horse off the road to the right, and started to follow the line of the river. The others followed.
‘Where do you think they’re heading?’ Vespasian asked.
‘What?’ Sabinus replied; his mind had been elsewhere.
‘The horsemen, they’ve left the road and are heading along the river, our way.’
Sabinus looked up; although the riders were five or six miles away he could clearly see that they were armed: sunlight glinted off spear tips and helmets.
‘Well, they’re not military, that’s for sure. They’re not in uniform and they’re riding in a ragged formation.’ Sabinus gave his brother a questioning look. ‘If they’re not military but they’re armed and they’re heading in our direction at speed, I think that we should start to assume the worst, don’t you, little brother?’
‘Runaways?’
‘Planning a little revenge for the yesterday, I’d say. We’d better get back fast; drop your pack and get up here behind me.’
With an increasing sense of foreboding Vespasian did as he was told. Sabinus wheeled his mount round and, going as fast as was possible with his brother riding pillion, started to retrace the seven miles they had travelled. Vespasian clung on tightly as he was bounced this way and that by the swift movement of the horse over the rough ground; his broken nose beneath the poultice was jarred with each step causing him to wince in pain.
‘If we can keep up this pace,’ Sabinus called back to his brother, ‘we should arrive back at the farm half an hour or so ahead of them. That will be just enough time to arm and position everyone there. The people way out in the fields will just have to trust to Fortuna and look after themselves.’
‘What do you plan to do?’ Vespasian asked, hoping Sabinus would outline an ingenious plan.
‘I don’t know yet. I’m thinking.’ Not an inspiring reply.
As they raced back Vespasian imagined the fury of the runaways when they found the young lad hanging on a cross and the bodies of their comrades lying rotting in the sun. He wondered why no one had considered the possibility of reprisal and realised that they had all underestimated their opponents. They had been dismissed as a small, ill-equipped bunch of badly led thieves who were capable of nothing more than mule-rustling and highway robbery. Yet here they were attempting an orchestrated attack on the Flavian farm. He realised that it would be a bloody fight; the runaways would neither expect nor give any quarter.
The brothers hurtled through the gate and into the courtyard, scattering chickens and small children in all directions. Pallo came running out of the estate office as they dismounted.
‘Pallo, quick,’ Sabinus shouted, ‘arm all the men and as many slaves you can trust and get the women and children locked safely inside, then get all our people from the nearer fields in here as quickly as possible. It looks like we can expect company in about half an hour, twenty or so runaways bent on exacting revenge. They meant to surprise us, so let’s make them think that they have. We’ll leave the gates open with a couple of men hidden behind them. If there’s no one to attack outside, they’ll come charging straight into the courtyard; the two lads behind the gates will shut and block them from the outside, then we’ll have them. We’ll need all the rest of the lads, armed with bows and javelins, on the roofs and in the rooms above the stables. Hieron, fill as many buckets as you can with water and take them up to the roofs; the bastards may try to torch the buildings. Vespasian, go and tell our parents what’s happening.’
Not long later Vespasian returned to the yard with his father. They had left Vespasia and the female slaves barricaded in the main house with Varo, whom Titus had ordered to assist Vespasia in taking her own life should they be overwhelmed. That his mother had acquiesced to this plan brought home the seriousness of the situation to Vespasian.
In the yard the defenders had been busy. A wagon had been placed outside the gate, ready to block it. Swords and daggers had been issued, stacks of javelins, bunches of arrows and buckets of water had been positioned all around the roofs. Access to the roofs was via ladders that could be pulled up after use. Manacled parties of field slaves were being locked into storerooms to prevent them from aiding their attackers, whom they would no doubt wish to join, given half a chance.
Vespasian helped Titus onto the roof of the main house, and then followed him up.
‘I’m looking forward to this,’ he chuckled to Vespasian. ‘I haven’t thrown a javelin in anger in I don’t know how long, and to have such a worthwhile target will make it doubly pleasurable.’
Vespasian looked around the roofs; he could count fifteen men, and another three looking out of the windows of house slaves’ quarters above the stables. Simeon and Ludovicus were hidden behind the gates ready to spring the trap; Lykos and Pallo were stationed above them. Baseos and Ataphanes were heading out of the gate on horses, nonchalantly stringing their bows.
‘Where are they going?’ Vespasian asked Sabinus, who was a little further along the main house’s roof from him; in his hand he had the end of a rope that trailed down across the yard and up through a first-floor window opposite, through which Hieron could be glimpsed.
‘We need to have some people outside otherwise it would look suspiciously quiet. As soon as they’re spotted they’ll race back through the gates, hopefully bringing the raiders with them.’ Sabinus raised his voice so that everyone around the yard could hear him. ‘Now remember, keep down until they’re coming through the gate. We don’t want them seeing any heads on the roofs and becoming suspicious. We want them to charge in here in blissful ignorance of what awaits them. There will be freedom for any slave who acquits himself well today.’ A small cheer went up. ‘Pallo, you keep watch; everyone else get down and stay down now. Don’t start shooting until at least ten of them are in the yard – by that time their momentum will be too great to stop. May Fortuna and Mars look down kindly upon us.’
They settled down to wait with the midday sun burning down on them. Time started to drag; the eerie silence around the yard seemed to slow it even more. Vespasian considered the possibility that it was just his and Sabinus’ over-active imaginations that had caused the panic, and thought of the humiliation they would face when it became apparent that it was a false alarm. He almost let out a sigh of relief when he heard the first faint screams and shouts from far off in the fields. The raiders had evidently come across a work-party that was too far away to be warned and were warming up by butchering them. The men around the yard tensed as they listened to the cries of their fellow estate-workers. Knowing that their chance for vengeance would soon be with them, they checked their weapons and flexed their muscles. The screaming stopped. Silence descended once again on the yard. Then faintly, in the distance, they could hear the rumble of fast-moving horses. As it grew they knew that the runaways were heading in their direction and would be with them imminently.
