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Prologue

Crastus knew he could wait no longer. He adjusted the close fitting silver breastplate that marked him as a Commander of the Empire. Nodding to his aides he walked through the colonnade to where his coal black stallion stood angrily whickering at the groom that held his reins, as if he was eager to be off.

As he swung his forty-three year old, campaign worn body into the saddle the panorama of the city spread out before him. The city, in the late autumn Mediterranean sun, glistened and gleamed as its stonework terraces sloped down to the river Pescara below. Beyond the city walls he could, from his vantage point, see the fortresses that guarded the approaches to what had been the summer capital of the empire for the last three hundred years. The whole complex known throughout the empire as the ‘Seven Sisters’ was by far the strongest defensive position outside of Rome itself. If he stayed he knew the remnants of the Fifth and Seventh legions could hold it for a considerable time; but the might of the Pretender’s army was bearing down on him along the coast road barely four miles away. 

To preserve this ‘jewel of the empire’ he must give it up; and on orders from the Emperor. Valerian had yesterday issued the proclamation that declared the city of Zampetta an open city. Now, they all hoped the scars of civil war which was tearing the empire apart would at least bypass this beautiful place, and by falling back allow his outnumbered troops to join the Emperor’s and swing the tide back in their favour.

His aides fell in behind him as he nudged the stallion into motion. They clattered through the open and deserted forum and began the winding gentle descent to the south gate. As they exited the gate the remainder of the 1^st cohort of his own Fighting Fifth legion fell in and they picked up speed. The causeways linking the city to its forts were deliberately narrow and doglegged standing at least five feet clear of the fertile soil contained behind the curtain wall. They clattered at a steady canter past the inner gate of the middle fort, AnnMarie, and following the deliberately crooked road, wound their way to the outer gate next to it.  They cantered on through and began the slow and gentle climb up the grassy south side of the river valley. The fortresses all stood with their inward facing gates open forlornly behind them. The city gates were also left open and you could see that there was a steady trickle of refugees leaving by the river road; obviously scared that the oncoming legions would ignore the protective provisions of the proclamation.

Crastus reined in and looked back as he reached the crest of the hillside and vowed silently to return. Then he motioned to his bodyguard and followed his battered legions south and away.

Chapter 1

Rome

He paused in the colonnaded shade at the top of the steps before entering and methodically checked over each detail of his uniform. If one fastening or buckle was out of place he was sure that Valerian or one of his cronies would notice and decide that this was a deliberate insult. Satisfied with his appearance he nodded courteously to the Centurion commanding the Praetorian Guard detachment manning the doors, as the man marked his name off of the list and proceeded inside.

Following the nubile slave in the golden tunic who seemed to glide rather than walk, Crastus could not decide which display impressed the most, the mosaics or this creature’s statuesque legs bared to above mid-thigh. The gossamer tunic hinted at the delights concealed within but like all palace slaves she was beyond reach, to touch would bring disfavour or even death. These guides were pampered slaves true, but slaves nonetheless. Untouchable now, but Crastus had heard stories of what happened to these women when their looks faded or they otherwise displeased the emperor. Handed over to the inner circle of cronies their fate was unenviable. He shuddered and followed obediently, knowing he was unlikely to have the emperor’s favour for having allowed such a large portion of the Pretender’s army to escape the recent battle at Salerno.

He was shown to the entrance of the throne room, and the beautiful apparition bowed and left him. He had not needed such a guide, having been here many times before but to wander unescorted through the palace would have been unthinkable. He pretended not to notice the pair of ubiquitous Praetorian Guards that had followed him at some ten paces or so all the way from the palace entrance.

Crastus had always considered the jewel encrusted golden throne on which the Emperor Valerian, who was not a large man, perched was vulgar and definitely not in good taste. He didn’t let a flicker of such thoughts cross his face as he waited with the others summoned to audience for his turn. He did not have long to wait. Gaius was in control of Valerian’s schedule and as such had orchestrated Crastus’s arrival to perfection.

The current audience victim in front of the emperor was stuttering in an attempt to explain to an increasingly irritated Emperor why the southern grape harvest was falling short in both quantity and quality this year. Eventually the Emperor had had enough. For a small man his voice was powerful and especially loud when angry.

“Enough!” The shout echoed off the walls of the lavish throne room. “Send me a report, and don’t pad it with your feeble blathering man. Just tell me what you intend to do about it, and before you ask, the budget is too tight to throw more money at any esoteric solution - just do it!”

Even the shaken southern citizen, somewhat unused to court etiquette knew a dismissal when he heard it. Giving the required three genuflections he backed fifteen paces away before standing upright, turning and with as much dignity as he had left, walked out.

Aggravating the emperor was not a recommended activity for any functionary but being told to solve the problem or else, was not a good sign. As soon as he reached the doorway his walk quickly sped up and the poor soul almost ran from the palace.

On the throne Valerian sipped from the golden goblet of watered wine and glowered at the back of the retreating man. He looked round the room and Crastus felt the Emperor’s eyes fasten on to him, noting his arrival, and no doubt noting the timing of that arrival too.

“Crastus Titus Galba, Commander of the Empire’s Fifth Legion. Victor of Foggia, Ravenna and Salerno” called the Chamberlain in the stage voice reserved for the occasion. He gave his cousin Crastus a wink as Crastus took his place at the salutation line inlaid in ebony in the marble floor.

“You may approach”. The emperor did not sound vexed anymore, Crastus noted as he began the ritual abasement followed by five steps and repeat that brought him into the close proximity of his ruler. As ever then the consummate acting skills of Valerian had been in use to the full and perhaps the scurrying dignitary had less to worry about than he thought. Then again perhaps not.

“Five years have passed since we reluctantly ordered you to abandon the Seven Sisters after your unfortunate defeat at Ancona.” intoned Valerian.

Crastus stared impassively back. True, the Pretenders army had roundly defeated him at Ancona, but his victory at Ravenna the following spring had turned the tide. His recent decisive victory at Salerno had subsequently won the war for this man in front of him. The man who ruled the known world and whose influence spread far beyond it.

“With the Pretender dead by his own hand at Salerno it is time we regained what we were forced into giving up.” Valerian was obviously speaking for posterity here. Out of the corner of his eye Crastus could see the team of Imperial scribes copying down every word. “We intend to celebrate the Summer Solstice in the palace in Zampetta. You will facilitate this as a means of atoning for the earlier loss. Do you understand the commission you are being granted”

The rumoured operation was now out in the open. Crastus had been handed the poisoned chalice and the gasps and buzz of whispered comments, caused by the announcement were clearly audible. The chamberlain slammed the end of his staff of office down onto the marble with a loud crash and silence ensued.

Crastus watched the Emperor’s expression with blank faced concentration. As he saw the beginning of frustration at the hesitation start to play on Valerian’s face he judged it was time and moved into action.

As his arm rose and his clenched fist crashed into his chest in military salute he uttered the only response possible in the position he was in.

“At your command, sire!” His own parade ground trained voice boomed out in the room. “The Fifth and its engineers will march within forty-eight hours.”

Quartered in the barracks on the Viminalis hill, his legion was already prepared. He felt sure that Valerian was well aware of this but chose not to reveal his hand completely. 

The thin lipped smile from Valerian awaited the obvious follow up question. Both men knew one legion was not going to be enough. Intelligence and Crastus’s own observations on the field of Salerno showed the bulk of three legions had escaped the slaughter at the end of the battle. Although only two were supposed to be at Zampetta; the location of the third, the Eleventh, was not yet certain and that was a worry.

Crastus didn’t hesitate one iota.

“Sire, I will need more than a single legion to dispossess the remnants of the Pretender’s army at the complex in Zampetta.”

He paused as much for the scribes as to let this sink in. The murmuring began anew and was just as quickly silenced by the crash of the butt plate of the staff hitting the floor.

“May I take it that the Seventh, Twenty-forth and Twenty-Fifth legions are detailed to the campaign as well?”

Valerian and his advisors had obviously considered this question carefully as well. It was impossible that they would denude the defences of Rome to provide Crastus with sufficient force, especially if they became loyal to Crastus first and the Emperor second. Having won one civil war by the skin of his teeth the Emperor was never going to risk another with the commander who had won it for him. He had to provide Crastus with sufficient force to have a chance of winning the campaign without providing him with a platform to launch a campaign for the throne itself. Crastus knew he had to ask for more than he would get and so it would turn out.

“The Seventh is detailed to your command and can march with you. Claudius will lead it as second in command to you.  Schonberg and his Seventeenth are on route from the mountains around Perugia and will meet up with you at L’Aquila. That will provide sufficient force for a competent general to defeat the remnants of an already beaten army.”

Crastus nodded in acceptance, he would have preferred four legions for the mission but was confident that the three legions named would be enough, provided he could keep the casualties down. The Twenty-forth and Twenty-fifth were basically garrison troops – good enough in defence but not first rate in attack. Claudius’s Seventh and Schonberg’s famed Seventeenth were a much better class of legion; almost as good as his own. Within the confines of Italy it certainly looked like he would command an army comprising the best three legions available. The Second and Forth were of equal calibre but were both stationed too far away. The Second was on duty on the Rhine frontier and the Forth was in Palestine. Neither could be brought back in time.

“The remnants of the Pretenders army have retreated to the Pescara valley so you should have no trouble getting your forces there and discharging your commission on time.”

The sly grin was back on his face as Valerian intoned Crastus’ fate. Valerian had put the situation out in the open for the whole court to see. If Crastus won, again, he would be back in favour until the next time the Empire needed its premier fire-fighter. If he didn’t his life, his family and his lands could be forfeit. No real change there then.

Crastus saluted one more time. “By your leave, sire!”

He backed away the required fifteen paces, genuflecting every five paces as protocol dictated. As he turned the chamberlain’s assistant handed him his golden baton of office, which would be fastened onto the front of his breastplate, and his commission. Once the baton was attached to his armour his power would be quite absolute, second only to the Emperor’s as long as he stayed within the bounds of his commission.

He would not be required to salute, or return the salutes, of any officer in the entire empire save for any others similarly accoutred. Then he was outside the door where another golden nymph was waiting to lead him out into the real world again. The ubiquitous guards followed and at the door a sergeant-at-arms returned his sword to him with a flourish. It would have been totally unthinkable to enter the throne room bearing weapons even if he was the premier general of the empire and Valerian’s staunchest supporter.