Caecina stared at him. The earthen walkway along the top of the defences was wide enough for two men to stand abreast, but no more. ‘Just a few of us?’
‘Aye, sir. You, me, the soldier with the eagle and maybe a dozen more. It’s you they need to see, and the standard, not my troops.’
‘If the mob turns, we will die.’
‘That’s right, sir. But if we try to push our way among them, they will panic, and many more will be slain, including us perhaps.’ Tullus held Caecina’s gaze with a stolid one of his own.
After a moment, Caecina nodded. ‘Lead on.’
Fenestela was most unhappy at Tullus’ plan. ‘They’ll cut you to pieces.’
‘They might not,’ said Tullus.
‘Or they might,’ retorted Fenestela with a ferocious scowl. ‘You’re going to do it anyway.’
‘Aye,’ replied Tullus.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You have to stay with the men. If things go wrong, they’ll need someone to lead them out of this shithole.’
‘You’re the one for that, not me.’ Fenestela glowered at Tullus, who returned the look. Several heartbeats fluttered by. ‘I’ll stay,’ muttered Fenestela. ‘You’d best fucking come back, though, d’you hear?’
Tullus gripped his shoulder, and went to talk to the centurion in charge of the second century. If Tullus blew his whistle, both centuries were to drive forwards to the gate, and try to save Caecina and the eagle. The centurion seemed of a mind with Fenestela about the plan’s riskiness, but he nodded reluctant acceptance.
Piso, Vitellius and the ten others picked by Tullus formed up behind him and Caecina without protest. ‘Keep those lights high,’ barked Tullus. ‘I want the eagle to be the first thing they see.’
Heads began to turn from the moment they ascended to the walkway. Raised more than a man’s height from the ground, and illuminated by the flaming torches, the party stood out from the blackness. At Tullus’ suggestion, Caecina had shed his red cloak, allowing his armour to wink and flash in the flickering light.
‘Your general is here!’ roared Tullus. ‘Caecina is here!’
A loud Ahhhhh went up. Some men cheered, but more threw insults.
Tullus reached the end of the walkway. A final ladder at his feet led down to the ground by the gate. There was no sign of the sentries, and the cut branches which had blocked the entrance had been hauled to one side. A number of soldiers had left the camp, Tullus decided, but the ones he could see didn’t appear to be in a hurry to join them. In the end, though, the weight of numbers pressing towards the gate would force them outside.
There was no room to get down from the wall, even if they had wanted to. Hundreds of legionaries packed the space underneath, their pale faces looking up at Tullus, Caecina and their companions with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
‘Piss off back where you came from,’ yelled a voice.
‘Fucking officers,’ shouted another. ‘Good for nothing whoresons!’
A fist was waved, and another. Then it was five, ten, a score. Someone lifted a sword, and the mood, which had been wavering between rebellious and fearful, grew ugly.
It was act now or die, thought Tullus. He drew his blade and clattered it off his greave, bash, bash, bash. The sound wasn’t that loud, but everyone was watching. The shouting died down a little. ‘Sir,’ muttered Tullus to Caecina and, sheathing his weapon, stood aside.
Caecina stepped forward. ‘Brave soldiers of Rome,’ he shouted.
‘To Hades with you, Caecina,’ cried a voice.
‘Brave soldiers of Rome,’ repeated Caecina, louder this time. ‘The enemy has not stormed the camp.’
‘So you say!’ ‘We heard him with our own ears!’
‘It was a horse, I tell you. A horse that had been scared by the thunder,’ yelled Caecina. ‘Centurion Tullus has been to the spot where the enemy is supposed to be attacking. He found nothing out of the ordinary. The savages are not in here with us, but out there!’ he roared with a dramatic gesture at the world beyond the walls. ‘Step outside at your peril, brothers!’
‘I know where I’d rather take my chances, and it ain’t here,’ declared a sour-faced legionary among those closest to the entrance.
‘Will I have to lie in your path to stop you?’ asked Caecina, his frustration evident.
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ warned Sour Face, as an animal sound left the soldiers’ throats.
Sour Face was the first rock in a landslide, Tullus decided. If he left the camp, the rest would follow, and if Caecina got in their way, they’d kill him without thinking, just as they had other senior officers during the previous year’s rebellion.
‘Give me that,’ Tullus hissed, snatching the eagle from a startled Vitellius. Bellowing ‘ROMA!’ Tullus took the steps down two at a time. Shocked, the nearest legionaries gave way a little. Tullus sensed someone follow him – looking back, he was startled to recognise Caecina.
Brandishing the eagle as if it were a weapon, Tullus pushed towards the gate. ‘Make way! MAKE WAY!’ he ordered.
No matter how rebellious the soldier, it was impossible to obliterate the reverence felt towards a legion’s eagle. The embodiment of pride, courage and glory, it demanded respect. The crowd fell back, gazing with awe at the golden bird. Tullus shoved on until he stood in the middle of the entrance. Caecina reached his side an instant later, and Tullus stabbed the standard’s spiked butt into the muddy ground, facing the eagle towards the mob. Sensing what he needed, Piso and the other torch-bearers climbed atop the edge of the rampart to light up the scene.
‘See this magnificent bird?’ shouted Tullus. ‘It belongs to the glorious Fifth!’
As he’d expected, a chorus of voices roared back, ‘The Fifth! The Fifth!’
‘You don’t want to see this fall into enemy hands, do you?’ Tullus shouted, the hairs on his own neck prickling at the idea.
‘NEVER!’ the legionaries roared.
‘Listen to me! I served in the Eighteenth for many years. I see you nod your heads – you knew men in it.’ Tullus acknowledged several of the nearest soldiers. ‘As you know, the Eighteenth was one of the legions destroyed by that sewer rat Arminius. Lucky for me, I got away from the ambush, me and about fifteen of my boys.’ The old guilt stung Tullus: that he should have saved more; that he should somehow have prevented the eagle being taken.
‘You’re the Centurion Tullus?’ It was Sour Face who spoke. ‘Aye.’
Another Ahhhhh went up, surprising Tullus. They know of me, he thought.
‘Men say you rescued more soldiers than anyone else,’ said Sour Face. His angry tone had become respectful.
‘That’s right,’ roared Piso suddenly. ‘Centurion Tullus saved us, when no one else could have.’
Sour Face had glanced up when Piso spoke. Now he regarded Tullus once more. ‘This officer should say his piece,’ he declared. ‘What say you, brothers?’
‘Aye!’ shouted a hundred voices.
Tullus shot a look at Caecina, a little concerned that he was centre-stage rather than the general, but Caecina indicated he should speak. Tullus rolled his tongue around a parched mouth. His next words were of vital importance. Say the right ones, and the unhappy legionaries would go back into the camp. The wrong ones would see him and Caecina murdered, trampled underfoot as a sea of soldiers fled into the darkness, and the next morning, all four legions would be massacred.
Tell them the truth, he thought. Say it like it is.
‘The shame of losing the Eighteenth’s eagle haunts me every day. I dream of it at night. I see it each and every time I look upon this majestic bird, and the ones belonging to the other legions in this camp.’
‘Where’s our eagle?’ demanded a voice. ‘The one belonging to the Twentieth?’
A barrage of cries followed. ‘And the Twenty-First?’ ‘Where’s the First’s eagle?’