The Iron Hand of Mars

The Iron Hand of Mars by Lindsey Davis Page B

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Authors: Lindsey Davis
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fighting under Vitellius and met up with their legion at Bedriacum, am I right?”
    He savaged the bread again. “You can imagine how before the battle we were all on tenterhooks because the renowned Fourteenth Gemina were supposed to be approaching.”
    â€œIt was a crucial engagement, and the Fourteenth could swing it?”
    â€œWell, they thought so!” Balbillus grinned. “They never showed. The Batavian cohorts did fight on the winning side—they took on a group of gladiators in a clever skirmish on an island in the River Po. Afterwards, of course, they made the most of it. They paraded before the rest of us, jeering that they had put the famous Fourteenth in its place, and that Vitellius owed his entire victory to them .”
    â€œSo the Fourteenth felt obliged to squabble with them as publicly as possible?”
    â€œYou picture the scene, Falco. They were one set of hooligans paired with another, but at Augusta Taurinorum Vitellius quartered them together—even though relations had broken down.”
    â€œThat led to the rumpus? Did you see it?”
    â€œCouldn’t miss it! A Batavian accused a workman of cheating, then a legionary who had been billeted on the workman threw a punch at the Batavian. Running street battles broke out. The whole legion joined the scrap. When we forced them apart and mopped up the blood—”
    â€œCorpses?”
    â€œJust a few! The Fourteenth were ordered back to Britain. As they marched out of the city they left fires alight everywhere—quite deliberate—so Augusta Taurinorum burned to the ground.”
    Inexcusable—in ordinary circumstances. However, even though the XIV behaved like delinquents, they had never mutinied, whereas the Batavian cohorts they hated had defected to Civilis. The XIV themselves served whoever happened to be Emperor that month. Vespasian could well decide that all these buoyant heroes needed now was a commander who could rein them in.
    â€œHe’ll need a fierce grip!” snorted Balbillus, when I suggested it. “On their way home to Britain, after Vitellius got rid of them, they had specific orders to avoid Vienna because of local sensitivities. Half of the idiots wanted to march straight there. Did you know that? They would have done it too, but for others who were thinking about their careers…”
    I noted, in the XIV’s favour, that wiser council had prevailed. But it all confirmed that they were not in a mood to have me turning up to say they should reconcile themselves to a future of sitting in barracks fiddling their ration allowances, instead of boasting and burning towns …
    I gave Balbillus the price of a shave and another wine flask, then left the one-legged soldier tucking into his hot food while I went home like a respectable citizen.
    I should have stayed out drinking. I had forgotten about the Palace barber. He was waiting in my room with a chirpy smile, foul cherry-coloured shoes, and a large wicker basket.
    â€œI promised!”
    â€œYes, you warned me.”
    Cursing, I grabbed a handle and attempted to drag the basket nearer. It stuck. I braced myself against a bench and heaved. The dead weight scraped a floorboard with an earsplitting screech of cane. I unbuckled some heavy-duty straps and we peered in at the XIV’s new standard.
    Xanthus was startled. “Whatever is that?”
    I prefer to travel light (if I have to go at all). The Emperor had selected just the kind of trinket anyone on a long journey hates to have tossing about in his backpack. I was being sent to Germany in charge of a two-foot-high, strongly sculpted human hand. It was gilded—but under the pretentious ornamentation the object which I had to carry across Europe was made of solid iron.
    I groaned at the barber. “Depending whether the expert you ask is an optimist or a realist, this represents an open-palmed gesture of international friendship—or a symbol of

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