Vespasian: Tribune of Rome by Robert Fabbri Read Free Book Online Page B

have been his best mate; someone he’d known for years, someone he’d shared a tent with, meals, battles, women. Or maybe he was a complete stranger, a young lad who had just joined up. It didn’t matter; if you hesitated then you were for the chop as well.’
    Sabinus paused and reached into a bag that hung from his saddle and pulled out a floppy straw sun hat, the Thessalian type popularised by Augustus during his reign. Placing it on his head he carried on, indifferent to Vespasian’s rising discomfort.
    ‘One of the Third’s tribunes told me about it soon after I arrived. He said that it was the most terrible thing he had ever seen; a whole legion covered with the blood of their comrades, standing to attention, in front of a pile of more than four hundred severed heads, begging the Governor to forgive them. However, after that they had a 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 usedto 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