Read Online The King's Cavalry by Paul Bannister - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Bannister
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Potius gaping in awe.
Their troop had come over the central spine of Italy , along the worn stones of the Flaminian Way, named for the consul who built it to serve the settlers he’d placed in eastern Italia. The travelers had their first view of the Tiber’s green-grey waters at the ancient Milvian Bridge. This structure alone deeply impressed the weary travelers, a fine, six-arched, humped stone bridge that was defended at the south end by a square, Travertine tiled bastion with double arches and stout oak and iron gates. Its suggestion of power and purpose subdued the group’s spirits as they clattered through, but even this was not yet Rome.
Their first sight of the city proper came two miles later, as they rode into view of the Aurelian Walls, and then their jaws really dropped. This construction of concrete, tile, brick and mortar finished only 37 years before lay as an impregnable-seeming bulwark that enclosed all seven hills of the ancient city as well as the vast Fields of Mars and a Tiber-side residential district.
The walls were overwhelmingly imposing. They stood five times the height of a tall man, were twice as thick as the length of the same man lying down and 12 miles in circumference. The emperors Aurelian and Probus had ordered them built to keep out the invading Germanic barbarians and the walls were reinforced with a square tower at every 30 paces: 383 great towers in all to hold the wall’s defenders, and 18 main gates to allow legitimate passage.
This construction marvel had been hurled up in a scant five years, partly as a defence against the Germanic threat, partly as a demonstration of Roman power and partly as a message of defiant Roman loyalty. They seemed to say: “Rome will never be conquered. You may reach the gates, but they will not open to you.” Here and there existing buildings had been incorporated into the defences: the Castrense Ampitheatre, Cestius’ Pyramid, a part of the aqueduct that stuttering Claudius had built to bring sweet water to Rome, but nowhere did the walls offer weakness.
The Via Flaminia itself pierced the walls at one of the five postern gates, cunningly built to allow defenders to sally out unobserved. There, a brutal-faced centurion accosted Candless. “Your business?” he demanded.
“I have come from Britannia to see the emperor,” said Candless loftily, although he was uncomfortably aware that his dust-covered and travel-stained robes and self were hardly likely to impress.
“You say that, but you could have come from anywhere,” said the centurion rudely. He glanced to one side, to a sentry passage just inside the wall where, discreetly out of view, a contubemium of eight spearmen stood rigid, awaiting orders. Candless realised that his own armed guard made a threatening sight and the centurion was assessing the risk and perhaps the need to call out reinforcements. The bishop coughed to gain a moment and gather his thoughts but before he could speak, Potius had kicked his mount alongside.
“Mervio!” he called. “That you, Mervio?”
The centurion turned at his name and his weathered slab of a face split in a grin. “You dog, Potius! What are you doing here?” Candless relaxed, and sat patiently listening as the two old sweats exchanged news of what they had done since they served together on the Danube. Finally, Candless was able to wave his small procession onwards to clop through the vast arch between the flanking towers and enter the walls, admiring as they did the reliefs to Publius Aelius Calpurnianus whose consular road ended at this spot.
Candless, as ordered by the slab-faced centurion, sent his men to pitch their tents in the military camp inside the wall while he and his personal servants headed on foot for the residence of Bishop Militades, the recently-elected pontiff. The guide supplied by the gate guard led them through the city unerringly, although it was a place of more than a million people, a swarming beehive labyrinthe
Their troop had come over the central spine of Italy , along the worn stones of the Flaminian Way, named for the consul who built it to serve the settlers he’d placed in eastern Italia. The travelers had their first view of the Tiber’s green-grey waters at the ancient Milvian Bridge. This structure alone deeply impressed the weary travelers, a fine, six-arched, humped stone bridge that was defended at the south end by a square, Travertine tiled bastion with double arches and stout oak and iron gates. Its suggestion of power and purpose subdued the group’s spirits as they clattered through, but even this was not yet Rome.
Their first sight of the city proper came two miles later, as they rode into view of the Aurelian Walls, and then their jaws really dropped. This construction of concrete, tile, brick and mortar finished only 37 years before lay as an impregnable-seeming bulwark that enclosed all seven hills of the ancient city as well as the vast Fields of Mars and a Tiber-side residential district.
The walls were overwhelmingly imposing. They stood five times the height of a tall man, were twice as thick as the length of the same man lying down and 12 miles in circumference. The emperors Aurelian and Probus had ordered them built to keep out the invading Germanic barbarians and the walls were reinforced with a square tower at every 30 paces: 383 great towers in all to hold the wall’s defenders, and 18 main gates to allow legitimate passage.
This construction marvel had been hurled up in a scant five years, partly as a defence against the Germanic threat, partly as a demonstration of Roman power and partly as a message of defiant Roman loyalty. They seemed to say: “Rome will never be conquered. You may reach the gates, but they will not open to you.” Here and there existing buildings had been incorporated into the defences: the Castrense Ampitheatre, Cestius’ Pyramid, a part of the aqueduct that stuttering Claudius had built to bring sweet water to Rome, but nowhere did the walls offer weakness.
The Via Flaminia itself pierced the walls at one of the five postern gates, cunningly built to allow defenders to sally out unobserved. There, a brutal-faced centurion accosted Candless. “Your business?” he demanded.
“I have come from Britannia to see the emperor,” said Candless loftily, although he was uncomfortably aware that his dust-covered and travel-stained robes and self were hardly likely to impress.
“You say that, but you could have come from anywhere,” said the centurion rudely. He glanced to one side, to a sentry passage just inside the wall where, discreetly out of view, a contubemium of eight spearmen stood rigid, awaiting orders. Candless realised that his own armed guard made a threatening sight and the centurion was assessing the risk and perhaps the need to call out reinforcements. The bishop coughed to gain a moment and gather his thoughts but before he could speak, Potius had kicked his mount alongside.
“Mervio!” he called. “That you, Mervio?”
The centurion turned at his name and his weathered slab of a face split in a grin. “You dog, Potius! What are you doing here?” Candless relaxed, and sat patiently listening as the two old sweats exchanged news of what they had done since they served together on the Danube. Finally, Candless was able to wave his small procession onwards to clop through the vast arch between the flanking towers and enter the walls, admiring as they did the reliefs to Publius Aelius Calpurnianus whose consular road ended at this spot.
Candless, as ordered by the slab-faced centurion, sent his men to pitch their tents in the military camp inside the wall while he and his personal servants headed on foot for the residence of Bishop Militades, the recently-elected pontiff. The guide supplied by the gate guard led them through the city unerringly, although it was a place of more than a million people, a swarming beehive labyrinthe
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