The Thrice Named Man VII: Illyrian by Miller Hector

Author:Miller, Hector [Miller, Hector]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-08-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20 – Sanguinarian Bridge

Gallienus and his men rode north on the morrow, accompanied by two bodies wrapped in purple cloaks.

We did not join the entourage, but volunteered to ride south to scout out Aemilianus’s movements in anticipation of Valerian’s imminent advance.

“The praetorians sure got their just reward”, Hostilius reflected.

“Do you believe that the praetorians killed Gallus and his son?” Marcus asked.

“That’s what praetorians do”, Hostilius said. “All those bastards care about are themselves and the gold in their purses. How many emperors have they killed?”

“That”, Vibius said, “is certainly true. But Gallienus could just as easily have had his guards kill them. And afterwards blame the praetorians.”

Hostilius waved away their words. “The question is not who killed them, but rather whether Gallus and his son needed killing or not”, he said, “and what’s even more important, is whether Rome is better off with whoever’s going to take over.”

“Gallus was no warrior”, I said, “and he was more concerned about cementing his position with the Senate in Rome rather than defending the Danubian frontier. But, to his credit, he was no usurper. He took over after Decius was killed.”

“Although Decius’s young heir mysteriously passed away from some malady soon after Gallus arrived in Rome”, Marcus added. “Don’t forget that Gallus had a hand in Decius’s downfall.”

“None of the emperors have clean hands”, Hostilius said. “That’s a fact of life. What is important is that Valerian and Gallienus get rid of Aemilianus before he gets to Rome, cowers the Senate and raises an army.”

“There are horsemen on the road”, Gordas said, and gestured to a faraway turn obscured by trees.

To my surprise the Hun did not venture off the track, but rather strung his bow. “There are only five of them”, he said.

All readied their weapons, and when the road descended onto the plain below the hills and straightened out, the riders became aware of our presence and reined in. A heartbeat later we followed suit.

“Officers”, Gordas said, and nocked an arrow. “The pickings will be rich.”

I placed my hand on his arm. “Let us speak with them first”, I said, and slipped my horn bow back into its case. I nudged my horse forward at a walk, the group of riders approaching in a similar fashion.

Hostilius and Gordas were at my side with Marcus and Vibius following close behind, their hands on the hilts of their swords.

We reined in when twenty paces separated us from the usurper’s men. All wore the garb of officers. Three of them I immediately recognized, as they had been part of Aemilianus’s retinue months before when I assisted them to defeat Cannabaudes’s Goths. The fourth man was clearly a Syrian, judging by his dark, curly locks, matching beard and bow case attached to his saddle. The other, who was grinning from ear to ear, was none other than Prefect Adherbal, the Numidian officer.

“Salve, Tribune Domitius”, he said and inclined his head in greeting to my friends.

“Salve, Prefect Adherbal”, I replied and similarly greeted his companions.

Despite

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