The Valentian Campaign by Marc Jones

Author:Marc Jones [Jones, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marc Jones
Published: 2014-03-22T22:00:00+00:00

Aurelianus hoisted himself into the saddle (he blessed the day that Cato invented the stapeda as he remembered the bad old days of being hoisted on, or worse still climbing on) and paused to adjust his scarlet cloak. They’d been lucky – it was a fine day, not too hot , just pleasantly warm. And Deva was buzzing around him like a hive that had been overturned.

The return of the Army, or at least the local levies led by the Turmae, had gotten the city wound up to a fever pitch. So much worry had been eased by the news of the great victories in the North, so much tension had fallen from the shoulders and backs of those whose sons and husbands and fathers had marched off to the North months ago.

And he knew that his son was alive. He had shed a quiet tear at that news, along with a prayer to the Heavens. Although his son had sent a message that was more than a bit mysterious. This relic they were bringing home sounded a bit strange. The rumour mill had been going berserk as the Army approached Deva.

He was also surprised that Gratianus was with them. Why hadn’t he gone off back to Eboracum? Something was going on. Something had happened in the North. He wondered what it was as he rode into the Forum, his guards next to him on their own horses. People cheered him and he acknowledged their shouts with nods and waves.

When he reached the dais he reined in and then turned old Atticus around so that he faced the main street that stretched from the Forum to the East Gate. The old horse had been a little spooked by the arrival of the stapeda but he had eventually coped. Now he tossed his head and whinnied a bit at the sound of the crowd and Aurelianus patted his neck chidingly. “Calm down, you old trooper you. You’ve always liked being the centre of attention.”

Horns sounded to the East and Atticus pricked up his ears and snorted. Buccina! No wonder the horse thought he was a foal again. The years fell away for a moment and he remembered his first parade. Had it really been 30 years? Had he really been so young once?

Something changed in the nature of the cheering from the East and he tilted his head. It was as if parts of the crowd had stopped for a moment and then started cheering even louder than ever. He could see movement now as horsemen started to trot down the street. The cheering ramped up in volume, louder and then louder.

And then he saw it. The first glint of light from something golden. He frowned. Whatever it was it was being carried by the first man in the column. He peered at it. Was it Cato? The colour of the horse looked right. The column was trotting steadily closer and then it emerged into the Forum.

Marcus Ambrosius Aurelianus did his

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