Sabinus scoffed. ‘That attitude’s fine for your class but how can a senator avoid getting caught up in politics?’
‘By stopping being a senator or, if his dignitas won’t allow him to resign his place, then at least stopping attending the Senate and stopping trying to get the next prestigious appointment.’
‘Then how can a man rise and gain influence?’
‘I have a lot of influence in my area.’
‘That’s because you’re the patronus of a Crossroads Brotherhood.’
‘Exactly, I am at the top of my, er … trade or sphere, as it were, and I aspire to no more than that. You gentlemen on the other hand run around playing politics in a sphere that you already know you can’t get to the top in because you come from the wrong family, so what’s the point?’
‘I suppose the point is to become consul,’ Vespasian said, ‘which would be a great honour for our family.’
‘It would have been two hundred years ago, but what does it mean now? Nothing apart from being preceded by twelve lictors and having the chance to go and govern a province afterwards, in the arsehole of the Empire, far away from the pleasures of Rome. Face it, sirs, things ain’t what they were in the old Republic and you’re just helping them to get worse.’
‘It’s better than sitting on a farm where the only thing to look forward to is seeing whether this year’s wine is better than the last,’ Sabinus said.
Vespasian did not look so sure. ‘I don’t know, Sabinus, that’s what I wanted to do when I was young and sometimes I wonder now whether it wouldn’t be a good idea to return to it.’
‘Bollocks, you’d be bored.’
‘Would I? I don’t know any more,’ Vespasian said, looking back out to the Roman fleet. Movement on the bank caught his eye; a large party of horsemen were drawing up. At their head was a man in a general’s uniform, his bronze cuirass and helmet glinting in the sun and his red cloak billowing behind him. ‘Shit! That has to be Gabinius, and they look to be the auxiliaries who questioned us. I think that he’s just worked out that he didn’t have any dismounted cavalry in his line.’ As he spoke he could see the general shading his eyes and staring towards them; and then he heard him shout. Instantly the sailors on the biremes nearest to him sprang into action; the ships were being made ready for the chase. ‘Can we go any faster, Ansigar?’
‘Not without risking fouling our oars.’
‘Risk it then, they’ll certainly catch us if we don’t.’
With a shout from Ansigar the Batavians increased their pace and Vespasian felt the ship accelerate slightly but at the same time he noticed the river surface was no longer mirror-flat; the Cherusci had been right, the north wind was freshening. He cast it from his mind, knowing that it would hinder the chasing biremes as much as it would the longboats.
‘That’s one they’ve managed to launch,’ Magnus said through gritted teeth as a bireme slid back into the water pushed by many men. ‘How come we always seem to fall foul of our own navy? I seem to remember being shot at by them in Moesia.’
‘Fucking low-life,’ Sabinus muttered; as with any man who had served under the Eagles, he had a very low opinion of the navy.
Vespasian watched anxiously as five more vessels, whose prows had been grounded on the bank, were pushed back, each spreading its oars as they floated, like geese warning off rivals.
By the time the longboats approached the bend in the river all six biremes were following less than a mile behind.
Ansigar shouted at his men and the fifteen who had not yet rowed relieved some of their comrades. Vespasian did not feel any increase in speed but knew that a constant recycling of the rowers was their only hope of maintaining their speed and perhaps outpacing the biremes, which would not have such a luxury. For the third time that day he offered up a prayer to Mars to hold his hands over them and prevent what they had struggled so hard to get from being stolen at the last.
The bend neared as the Batavians strained at their oars, sweat pouring off them; they had not had time to remove their chain mail tunics in their rush to escape. Ansigar roared encouragement at them, spittle flecked his beard and his blue eyes burned into his men, willing them on. Just a length behind them the other two longboats were keeping up with the, quite literally, blistering pace.
The river started to ease away to the northwest and Vespasian felt a glimmer of hope as he looked back at the biremes; they seemed to be slightly further behind, perhaps they could win this race. A shout from Ansigar as they rounded the bend, blocking their pursuers from view, made him turn suddenly.
‘Juno’s gaping arse!’ Magnus exclaimed. ‘What the fuck are those?’
Vespasian’s mouth fell open. Less than half a mile downriver were ten square sails each bearing the image of a wolf; beneath the sails were the high, carved prows and sleek bellies of longboats. They were crammed with men. Vespasian looked at Ansigar; he did not need to ask the question.
The decurion bit his lip. ‘The Chauci wolf. The Chauci coastal clans have come to the aid of their inland cousins.’
‘Will they let us pass?’ Sabinus asked with more than a hint of desperation in his voice.
‘I doubt it and we can’t outmanoeuvre them because the wind’s in their favour; they will stop us and when they hear from our accents that we’re Batavians they’ll assume that we are part of Gabinius’ army taking prizes back to the Empire and then …’ Ansigar did not need to finish the sentence; they all knew what would happen then.
‘But surely they’ll turn and run when they see the biremes,’ Vespasian said, looking back, ‘they don’t stand a chance against them.’
Ansigar shook his head. ‘Each one of those boats is commanded by a clan chief; if one of them turns without making an honourable contact with the enemy then he wouldn’t be clan chief by the time he got home; if he got home at all.’
‘Then we’ve only got one option, we wait for those biremes. They’ll engage the Chauci and we may have a chance of fighting our way through in the chaos.’ Vespasian turned back to his companions; no one had any better ideas. ‘Back water then, Ansigar.’
As one, the Batavians dipped their oars in the water on Ansigar’s command, slowing the longboat as five of the Chauci fleet peeled off and headed towards them. Paetus’ boat came alongside; Vespasian quickly told him what he planned to do. By the time he had spoken to Kuno in the third boat the stroke had been reversed and the three vessels began moving backwards — and the first of the biremes appeared around the bend.
‘That’s given them a shock,’ Magnus chuckled as warning shouts floated across the water from the Chauci’s boats. The five longboats still out in midstream altered course to join up with those that were heading towards the Batavians.
The Roman flotilla was now level with them, just a hundred paces away, fanning out into battle order; the shrill pipes of the stroke-masters increased in pace as the artillery crews loaded the small ballistae mounted in each of their prows.
Vespasian watched them bear down on the Chauci. ‘They seem to have forgotten about us for the time being. Ansigar, time to go; we’ll fight alongside them.’
The three longboats surged forward at an angle edging closer to their erstwhile pursuers; Vespasian, Sabinus and Magnus grabbed their shields and made their way up to the fighting platform in the bow, pausing to take some javelins from the weapons box beneath the mast, into which Sabinus stowed the Eagle next to the Capricorn. The Batavians recently relieved from rowing joined them, sweating and grim, flexing their muscles and testing the weight of their weapons.
A series of loud cracks from their right announced the opening shots of artillery at extreme range of four hundred paces, and six plumes of water spurted skywards just behind the Chauci line.
‘Get it right, arseholes!’ Sabinus shouted pointlessly at the crews as they reloaded; the groans of exertion from a hundred and twenty rowers on each bireme, the shouts of the marine officers and the pipes of the stroke-masters drowned out his voice.