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  In not being prepared to take any risks with his army Vetranio ordered that his men must expect to be attacked and instructed his officers accordingly although their lack of any immediate alarm only served to anger him.

  ‘Emperor, there is little to worry about?’ they remarked.

  ‘If we are attacked then Magnentius will only march in the snow of our footsteps. Why would Constantius take such a gamble in risking his men to fight two battles?’

  From the leather saddle of his horse Vetranio reflected on the suddenness of being swept up in this moment entirely of his making. No one else was here to take his place and he had singularly accepted the diadem so easily without thinking of the repercussions. He had released Constantina and now that she was far away there was nobody to support his claim to be an emperor. There were no sons to side with him. Instead, before him marched the men who simply took their orders and who were afraid of the discipline that followed indiscipline. They were his only children and he was responsible for them like he had been all throughout his career. What were they being led towards? What lies would they have to be told in order for him to rule? Now walking his horse slower and slower the self doubt grew at the arranged meeting with Constantius, and so he called the column to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Make all immediate preparations to return to Mursa’ he said to the officer closest to him.

  ‘I don’t understand why I am risking marching my legions this late in the year?’ he muttered, and at which point his military common sense returned.

  ‘This is madness upon my part!’

  Talk quickly spread amongst his generals of the logistics of turning an army about and they feared that the potential to be attacked would only increase if they retreated. So they formed a circle about him and violently disagreed with returning. The consensus was that they continue to fortify themselves with a camp but well outside Naissus. Negotiations could then resume from there without them walking into a trap. Vetranio, after nervously seeing their logic, eventually agreed as the daylight was wearing on and again began to reassert his command as if the idea was born of him.

  ‘Incede’ he shouted and the banners of his insurrection once again fluttered at being raised high and his aspirations at being greeted as a co-emperor now in some doubt in the minds of others as well as his own.

  Regardless, he rode on towards the meeting with his fate.

  Constantius allowed the Illyricum legions adequate time to settle before sending his own personal envoy out to speak with Vetranio. In his message he proposed that to settle the matter of who was the legitimate commander of the armies the two men take it in turns to address all soldiers regardless of their rank. This, to the old general, appealed greatly as he felt assured of his command of oratory and there would be no need for any following bloodshed. He was an experienced military commander; Constantius only a junior of thirty three years of age. What would he know? It was agreed therefore; the two armies would stand shoulder to shoulder and afterwards they would salute the man they chose as the person best suited to take the war to Magnentius. There would naturally be a loser but no-one knew what would become of him afterwards.

  With light flakes of snow twisting in the breeze the two armies met to glare at each other from beneath their hooded cloaks. A few men that recognized other men that they had served with elsewhere quietly dipped their heads in salutation whilst the field they had all assembled in had become greasy and was unsuitable as a battlefield due to the many boots now having marched across it. This wasn’t the season for concluding a war and both commanders knew it although conflict between the two masses may have only been an insulting word or insinuation away. Everyone longed for a conclusion today; a cause to follow and then they wanted to eat.

  However cavalry units were kept out to the sides as if it was a contest and all men ordered to retain a firm grip upon their cold swords in anticipation of failure. In the moments waiting for something to happen, troops fidgeted and whispered of their expectations as others offered a gamble at the outcome for all men could see that Vetranio’s army was far more numerous. There were to be no religious preludes either, no salutations to the ancient deities of Roma but instead a temporary path of reeds led to a solitary dais erected at its end and turned in towards the army.

  Constantius was elected as the first to speak owing to his birthright. Without stopping to acknowledge his rival he strode out from his bodyguard, past the many standard bearers and carefully climbed the steps so that every man could see who he was. Any careless slip or loss of balance now would be seen as unlucky. Vetranio spitefully watched him seeking any signs of trickery that he could quote afterwards if unfairly seen to be deprived of his right to rule. He had more men and numerically that meant that he commanded the greater authority. If he was nervous then he failed to disguise it in playing with his scroll and being unable to remain still. He wasn’t seen as being confident or comfortable in himself. Nevertheless, this was the moment and his heart thumped wildly in his chest as Constantius, the younger man, started to speak.

  ‘Imperial legions’ he said choosing to address them fondly as another light snow shower blew across his face.

  ‘Why must I summon you here in your ranks to berate you and not praise you? Why am I required to question your loyalty?’

  A swell of emotion quickly arose at this provocation but he went on regardless and raised his voice higher.

  ‘Legions of Illyrica: You, who were lately accused of supporting the murderous claims of the rebel Magnentius, answer me. What is the military punishment for murder for he murdered my brother Constans in order to falsely assume the purple? Those of you believing to follow his example need to question yourself. Will you join him in illegally taking what isn’t rightfully yours or will you wait to be legally rewarded by myself?’

  The sudden promise of a donative caused excitement and caught their attention. Nobody was expecting to be given anything. Vetranio had given them nothing. There was a rare moment of contemplation from the army. What other bribe was on offer?

  Constantius hadn’t finished.

  ‘You have foolishly and without regard to myself emptied your northern fortresses to parade here and left the frontiers unguarded. That is a weakness that my father Constantine would never have tolerated. You therefore damn his memory!’

  Heads hung low with the feeling of hurt pride.

  Constantius seized the initiative.

  ‘My father fought to establish strength and unity and I see it at peril here. Know that I have worked tirelessly to secure the east whilst you have idly abandoned your fortresses. But I can allow you to redeem yourselves. I can forgive you and allow you to serve me better. You can take pride in my family and share in its fortunes too. Although he is not a murderer see that you are being led by a man of moral weaknesses and self opportunity for himself.’

  He turned to point at Vetranio who embarrassingly and with a dry throat couldn’t find the words with which to answer. As if he was looking into thirty thousand faces, all eyes suddenly fell upon him and he had no defence to the charge.

  ‘He will lead you into oblivion’ Constantius shouted over them and at the height of his oration.

  ‘Fight for me under one god and together we can put an end to Magnentius! Now reject your incompetent leader Vetranio! Fight for me, the surviving son of Constantine, as I am the only legitimate emperor! Will you fight? Will you join with me and fight?’

  There was common agreement sealed with a low slapping sound of hands against shields that grew louder and louder but would Vetranio take the opportunity in replying? Carefully, he too mounted the dais to take his place alongside Constantius who had refused to relinquish the stage and looked out at the multitude that had seemingly decided its course of action. Sympathetic frowns from his officers at the front, who looked away when confronted, said that to proceed any further would be futile. Recognising that he had lost their support he beckoned a man up onto the stage who carried with him an elaborately decorated
wooden box. He opened it and Vetranio carefully took out the diadem that Constantina had given to him. Looking at it for the last time in both hands and stretching his arms fully out towards Constantius the old man gently fell down onto one knee to surrender his claim. On a bitterly cold day at the year’s end Constantius had won the bloodless victory that he desired. He now had more soldiers and more horses. He was sole emperor in the east and now only Magnentius stood in his way.

  ‘Rise up, my brother Vetranio’ he said graciously and unexpectedly to the older man.

  ‘You have proven your true fidelity to me and your personal stature has grown with your troops. You have saved many lives. Address them once more!’ and he led the general towards the edge of the stage but didn’t allow him to speak.

  Turning him around, he then pledged his support in keeping Vetranio safe and away from being incriminated in further palace plots. To him that meant quiet assassination when everybody else was preoccupied but Constantius was more concerned in gleaning personal details about the remaining rebel emperor. Over supper that night they discussed the insurrection and why the west was failing. Then in the morning they separately arose never to meet again: Vetranio going into retirement and Constantius going to war.

  Chapter VII

  AD351

  WIN AND LOSE

  With winter over, the mountain passes required extra vigilance. They were simultaneously the gateways to the east and the west where strategically placed fortlets provided early warning of military columns using the roads that ran across the valley floors.

  Inside one fortlet the low dancing glow from a small fire swept its shadow against a stone faced wall whilst the man on last night’s sentry duty slept in his bunk fully clothed: his sword in its scabbard lying by his side. The door had been left partially open in order that shouting could wake him in alarm and through the small crack a wisp of cool air wafted in to tease the man’s unshaven face. Fast asleep and snoring, he could only dream of this being a permanent posting for there had been no alerts raised in the last few months and therefore no reason to be concerned.

  Outside, his comrades leant cautiously on the ramparts talking amongst themselves and peering into the swirling mist expecting supplies. Through the greyness came the unmistakable bouncing rumble of wooden cart wheels over a cobbled surface and the sound of a mule driver repetitively shouting words of encouragement to his beast in order to help it reach its destination. Intermingled with the groans of equine hard labour came those of the military. A contingent of auxiliaries had also been despatched and breathing laboriously in and out they too made work of the incline before coming to a disorderly halt before their colleagues. A soldier recognising them as friendly and having leant his oval shield against a wall carefully jogged down the steps to meet them.

  ‘Greetings!’ He said as he walked around the cart checking its contents.

  ‘You must be goats to come up here! Is there any news from down there?’ Also I see that you’ve brought too much this time’ he noticed.

  ‘Yes, it’s bad for you’ one replied.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘That’s to feed us all!’

  The remaining troops quickly came down from the wall to see for themselves. The laden cart contained more than adequate barrels of beer, firewood, sacks of wheat, amphora of olive oil and salted meat. This was at least two month’s weight of rations.

  ‘What’s going on?’ the garrison commander wanted to know.

  ‘Our accommodation looks a bit small’ smiled the new arrival.

  ‘As all forts are being reinforced there are double the men in most of them. You won’t know it but all rest in Aquileia has been stopped. You are to stay here until told to do otherwise and I have brought your orders with me’ at which he handed over an official looking tan leather satchel.

  ‘Shall I get my men to unload the cart as it has to return?’

  Keen for the commander to say ‘yes’ the mule driver waited impatiently to be rid of his burden.

  ‘Who’s going to guard him on the way down?’

  Nobody was to. After slowly removing what had been stacked on board and then reloading the old barrels he was then permitted to leave by himself to the sound of the quickening rumble of his cart growing ever fainter and fainter towards the shards of sunlit pierced gloom and the valley floor below.

  The door to the small fort was pushed open and the sleeping man woken. He instinctively went to grab his sword but was reassured that they weren’t being attacked.

  ‘Get up’ he was told.

  With barely open eyes he witnessed the dream like arrival of another twelve soldiers taking their contingent now up to eighteen and rising up the soldier was pushed along his bunk by others keen to share the warmth of the room. Both sitting and standing they stretched the palms of their hands out together for warmth as in an ancient ritual to Vesta and took stock of their accommodation which was meagre. The commander opened the satchel not knowing what orders to expect and having quickly digested the military coded message he disrespectfully cast it down.

  ‘It doesn’t explain what has happened’ he said.

  ‘What is going on?’

  ‘Fetch your guard in from outside and then shut the door afterwards’ said the newcomer.

  ‘Things are changing for the worse.’

  A little of the wood that they had brought up was thrown on the fire and once confident that everybody was comfortable and intent on listening to what he was about to say, he began...

  ‘These are reports you understand, but there is some truth in them. You decide. Nobody has called the army together in order to address it but something has happened.’

  He was backed up by the other eleven men accompanying him all nodding in unison.

  ‘I think that the emperor Vetranio has betrayed Magnentius by rejecting his offers and all his hopes of having an army large enough to crush the eastern legions have now faded. The odds are two to one against us.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  He continued. ‘Magnentius was in a foul drunken mood and shouting. He hasn’t been seen for days. The reports also speak of his brother Decentius having been sent back to Gallia to guard against an attack from the Alemanni whilst we are here. If peace isn’t agreed then it appears that we may be fighting Constantius and seeking to defend our territory at the same time.’

  ‘Then why have you been sent here?’

  ‘To watch.’

  He was quite blunt in saying that.

  ‘Behind us the legions and cavalry want to move forward but Magnentius requires information. We need to say when they can advance. The more men we have here in these passes then the quicker we can send our messages especially when our signals can’t be seen because of the weather. Nobody really cares for us up in these forts alone with the wind and Jupiter’s crying bird but if we see anything we are to respond immediately. If we don’t then it will be deemed safe for them to move forward.’

  The news wasn’t what the small garrison wanted to hear. A few men cautiously spoke of Magnentius wisely accepting terms and returning to Gallia but wouldn’t have said so anywhere else, whilst others favoured the crushing of a rival as to have competing emperors had never proved successful in living memory. The decision wasn’t theirs however, and as the day wore on and strategic decisions taken as to guard duties and rest they interrogated their own consciences for any scrap of salvation that could be gleaned. Would deserting be any better for them than staying to fight? War was unavoidably coming and the small detachment of eighteen men clinging to the side of a mountain pass now became inexorably caught up in another man’s lust for power. If they chose to stay, there couldn’t be any going back in their support for Magnentius.

  Far below and in the valley floor where the cavalry tents were laid out it was cleaning duty. Every man not on patrol in Salvius Castus’ cuneus was required to check his bridle, saddle and reins. Any damage to them was to be repaired immediately and this task wasn’t pop
ular. In the rush to war the military efficiency was faltering and recruits were going without the valuable weapons training that they needed. This hadn’t gone unnoticed by his colleagues who quietly bemoaned their lack of preparation. If a man could say that he could ride a horse then he was taken out of the infantry and enrolled into one of the ranks of foederati instead. There he was expected to know about the care and management of his mount yet it didn’t teach him to kill. Salvius had reluctantly done so before.

  Sometimes he recalled the red haired sea warrior lying prostrate on the ground and boasted about it as a means of intimidating the others for he was still the younger arrogant man amongst the few older men who hadn’t necessarily seen more of life.

  Methodically they all rubbed away at the leather with drops of olive oil to ensure that it wouldn’t split and in their own thoughts dreamt of being elsewhere. In the afternoon they were to continue with practicing vaulting onto a replica mount fully armed so as to be able to do it on their own horse. This often broke the tedium of camp life and provided much needed hilarity at the expense of others.

  He watched as later in the day two men struggled to get the practice mount level in the soil. The grass about it was worn by countless boots having leapt from exactly the same spot and it was becoming a problem. The way that the temporary camp had been laid out meant that all tents faced inwards towards a parade ground that could only take so much use and the fear of spraining one’s ankle in the many divots was real. However, once satisfied that it was correctly positioned, the instructor then called forward the nearest man to demonstrate how easy it could be to execute his leap and with dexterity he did that. Approaching the mount from his left hand side he ran at it freely and twisting swung his right leg high over the saddle horns to land securely in his place facing forward. There were cheers mixed with applause all around the perimeter and especially from those not undergoing training that day. He just as easily swung around to leap off without dropping his shield or spear as another man was instantly called forward. This time there was only dismay as he failed in the task and fell to the ground having not the agility to lift himself together with his chainmail high enough into the air. Picking himself up he was ordered to have a second go which was only partially successful due to him clinging to the saddle for extra support and thereafter falling off. Nevertheless he was pardoned and now it was Salvius Castus’ turn. Eyeing the target up and having seen the pattern left in the grass by the first man’s boots Salvius prepared to run at it. Gripping the shield handle tightly and making sure that his sword was fully secure in its scabbard he gently crouched down so that his worn woollen trousers wouldn’t impede him. Then at hearing the command to go he started his run. The shield swayed in his hand against the breeze bruising his fingers, his helmet thumped on his head, his chainmail bounced off his stomach and his boots twisted across his toes as he ran. Closer and closer he got to having to jump and then he leapt and turned like he had seen the others do to successfully land in the saddle.