Britannia, page 29
‘Yes, sir.’
The leather rustled lightly as Glaber pushed through and joined Macro. Cato looked up, and there was the slightest of pauses before he straightened up with a broad smile. ‘Macro! What in the name of the gods are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the fort.’ His smile faded as he noted Macro’s leaden expression. ‘What’s happened? An attack? Is the fort taken?’
‘Nothing like that, sir.’
‘Thank Fortuna. And who is this?’
‘Tribune Glaber. I plucked his arse out of the fire when I came across him and some others who had been ambushed.’
‘We had the situation under control,’ Glaber protested.
‘Anyway,’ Macro continued, ‘I had urgent intelligence I felt obliged to pass on to Legate Quintatus. At least I thought it was urgent.’
‘Tell me.’
Macro explained as briefly as he could, not omitting any detail of the legate’s dismissal of his report. Cato listened with an intense expression, nodding at salient points. As soon as Macro concluded, he sucked his teeth. ‘I think you were right to warn him. Quintatus is grasping at straws. All he cares about is putting an end to the Druids. If the enemy are trying to cut across our communications, then we’re going to be in a sticky position. I’ll send patrols out to investigate at first light. The Blood Crows are not required for anything at present, so there’s no need to put it through headquarters. If asked I’ll say they’re on an exercise.’ He winked at Macro, and when he saw no reaction, he narrowed his eyes a fraction.
‘What’s wrong, Macro? There’s something you’re not telling me.’
‘Yes, lad,’ Macro said softly. ‘There is.’
He cleared his throat to speak, but the words would not come.
Macro swallowed anxiously and gestured to Glaber. ‘Please, sir, if you’d wait outside, in case the prefect wants to speak to you later . . .’
Glaber glanced at both men, then nodded. ‘Of course. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’
Once he had gone, Macro approached Cato and indicated the chair by the campaign desk. ‘Sit down, lad.’
‘What is this?’ Cato demanded, but he did as he was told, even as Macro remained on his feet. ‘What is going on, Macro? Speak up.’
‘All right then . . . After the lads and I pitched into the fight to help Glaber, I asked him where he had come from. He told me he’d been sent from Rome. He said his family knew Senator Sempronius, and Julia. It was shortly before Glaber left that he heard the news.’
‘News?’
‘About your wife.’
The atmosphere in the tent seemed to turn icy around Cato as he leaned forward and stared intently at his friend. ‘Go on.’
‘Lad, I have to tell you something bad. The worst of all things. Julia is dead.’
Cato said nothing and sat quite still.
‘Julia is dead,’ Macro repeated, to break the unbearable silence. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I received a letter from her less than a month ago. She can’t be . . . How? How did she die?’
‘Glaber says she caught a chill. He says she was weak from the birth of your child. Lucius still lives, though. The gods have spared you that loss at least.’
‘Yes. I suppose.’ Cato sat back and ran a hand through his dark curls. ‘She’s dead?’
‘Yes.’
Abruptly Cato rose to his feet and crossed quickly to the gap, addressing the tribune waiting outside. ‘Is this true, Glaber? What exactly do you know about it?’
‘It’s true, sir. I know very little more than what Centurion Macro has already said. I was told by my father, after he had come back from rendering his condolences to Senator Sempronius. It was all over very quickly. By my father’s account, she did not suffer too badly and passed away while she slept. A great pity. She was always well liked by all who knew her. I . . . I . . .’ The tribune dried up uncomfortably.
‘Yes.’ Cato turned away. ‘That will be all, thank you, Tribune Glaber. Please find yourself some shelter and get some rest.’
‘Of course, sir. Is there anything else?’
‘No. Nothing. Go, please.’
Glaber bowed his head respectfully. ‘If I am needed, I will be at army headquarters.’ He turned away and hurried outside, and Macro heard the snort of a horse as the tribune mounted and wheeled the mount around to trot up the thoroughfare towards the heart of the camp.
Cato walked slowly back to his chair and slumped into it, still too numb to react. At length he looked up at Macro. ‘Dead?’
‘I am afraid so, sir. Here, you’re trembling. Let me get your cloak.’ Macro picked it up from where it lay over a chest, splattered with mud and a little damp. He arranged the folds about Cato and then rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘I cannot tell you how it grieves me, lad. The gods should never have taken her at such a young age.’
Cato swallowed and looked up at him. ‘Please give me a moment to myself.’
Macro saw the rawness in the prefect’s eyes and nodded. ‘I’ll be outside, then. If you need me.’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Macro waited a moment to see if there was anything else, and then backed out quietly and joined the clerks in the main part of the tent. He took a last look and saw the prefect lean forward and press his face into his hands, his fingers clenched like claws into his hairline. There was a soft groan, and Cato’s shoulders convulsed.
Then Macro pulled the leather section dividers together and closed the gap to afford his closest friend in the world a little privacy to grieve for his lost love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘Here we go again.’ Macro leaned on the parapet of the camp’s corner tower and looked down towards the crossing. It was late the following morning, and there had been a further fall of snow during the night. The camp, the artillery platforms, the earthworks on both sides of the river and the decks of the warships and transports lay under a gleaming blanket of white. Down by the water’s edge, the legionaries were formed up again, waiting for the order to advance across the mud to continue removing the obstacles blocking the route. Overhead whirred the bolts unleashed by the Roman artillery – the ‘morning hate’, as the common soldiers referred to the barrage of missiles raining down on the enemy positions. Not that it seemed to have any particular effect on the natives, Macro mused, watching the small puffs of dirt and splinters as the missiles struck the defences. The Deceanglians and their Druid leaders were keeping well under cover, waiting for the bombardment to cease before they took their turn against the legionaries attempting to remove the stakes from the crossing. Macro could see that they had used the cover of darkness to replace many of those obstacles removed the previous day.
‘Looks like it’s going to snow again,’ said Glaber as he stood beside Macro, watching proceedings.
Macro glanced up, then round at the band of dark clouds gathering over the mountains. ‘Just to add to our woes.’
Both officers turned their attention back to the tidal crossing point and watched quietly for a while before the tribune commented, ‘I find it hard to believe there isn’t an alternative way of going about this.’
‘Oh, there are a few alternatives all right, sir,’ Macro responded. ‘But since the storm destroyed almost all the transports and most of the fleet, an assault directly across the channel is off the menu. As is any question of making a landing elsewhere along the coast of Mona to get round their defences. I dare say the Druids have stockpiled plenty of supplies and we’d go hungry long before we could starve them out. If you want my opinion, the best thing the legate can do now is give up and withdraw to Mediolanum and have another crack at Mona in the spring, when he’s had a chance to replace the ships that were lost. But we know he won’t be doing that, thanks to the imminent arrival of the new governor. So that’s why he’ll stick with this approach, blunt as it is.’
‘Blunt is the word.’
They both looked down towards the raised and flattened ground of the artillery battery, where Quintatus was surveying the enemy positions stolidly while his officers clustered round a freshly lit brazier in which flames crackled fiercely and bright sparks flew a short distance into the air before dying away against the grey of the distant landscape of Mona. The legate waited until the tide had ebbed sufficiently to uncover enough ground for the leading century to advance on an eight-man front, then turned and gave an order. The headquarters trumpeters raised their brass instruments, puffed their cheeks and sounded the advance.
Just as had happened the previous day, the leading century tramped across the snow and down on to the stretch of mud leading towards Mona. And just as before, they were pelted with arrows and slingshot as they approached the stakes.
‘Good morning.’
Macro turned to see Cato climbing into the tower. His friend looked drawn and exhausted. Even so, he forced a bleak smile on to his lips as he approached Macro and Glaber.
‘Good morning, sir.’ Macro greeted him evenly, unsure of the tone he should adopt. He had lived with death for so long that it had become almost part of everyday life and there had been comrades he had grieved for, but nothing seemed to have prepared him for the pain he felt for his best friend’s loss. If there had been any way he could have traded his life for Julia’s, he would have freely done so. There was a haunted expression in Cato’s eyes that cut him to the quick, and he looked away towards the channel and cleared his throat as he struggled to find something to say.
‘The legate’s going straight at it again.’
Cato nodded. ‘Third day running, and we’re still not likely to gain the far shore for another three days, at least. It’s too slow.’
Glaber glanced at him. ‘Too slow for what, exactly?’
‘Those wagons you brought in yesterday were the first to reach the army for two days. With this snow, I expect the planned supply convoys are being held up. For that reason, or something more worrying.’
‘Such as?’
Cato hesitated before he replied. ‘What if Macro’s information is right? What if the reason we are not being supplied is because the enemy have cut us off? Either way, we’re going to be on half-rations before we ever get on to the island, and then we’ll have to fight our way across Mona step by step. Who knows how long that will take?’
Glaber considered this briefly. ‘Are you saying the army is in danger?’
Cato gave a short, dry laugh. ‘Tribune, the army is always in danger. The trick of it is to make sure that you are ready to respond to any potential peril that fate throws in your path. As the saying goes: proper planning and preparation prevent piss-poor performance. Our problem is that the legate’s original plan has been scuppered by the storm. That’s why we’re stuck with trying to force a passage across the causeway. Nor are we adequately provisioned to prepare for a siege. So on current form, I’d say that leaves us with the prospect of piss-poor performance. At the very least. My greater worry is that we’re in danger of being caught out on a limb, and Quintatus is refusing to accept that.’
‘Do you really think the enemy is planning to trap us here?’
‘We’ll know soon enough. I sent those patrols out, like I said. Before dawn so that they didn’t attract too much attention. If the enemy are lurking close by, we’ll find them.’
Macro regarded him with concern. The last he had seen of Cato before finding a billet with the Fourteenth Legion the previous night was his friend breaking down in tears. Now it seemed that Cato had permitted himself only a scant few hours of sorrow before taking up his duties again. It was doubtful that he had slept, and more than likely that he had not eaten, neither of which was advisable if there was a day’s soldiering to be done.
‘You should get some rest, sir, while you wait for the patrols to come back. I’ll wake you myself if there’s any news.’
A slight frown creased Cato’s brow. ‘Certainly not. There’s no need for that. I don’t need any rest, thank you, Centurion Macro.’
Macro was about to reply, wounded by the cutting formality. But then he thought better of it. Cato might be his friend, almost a brother or son to him, but he was also a senior officer and had forcefully reminded him of the fact in a way that brooked no informality. He swallowed before he replied tersely, ‘Yes, sir.’
There was an awkward silence as they all regarded the action taking place towards the shore of Mona. A screen of legionaries was doing its best to block the enemy missiles as their colleagues wrestled with the obstacles driven into the seabed. As the three men watched, one of the soldiers was struck down by an arrow piercing his neck. He stumbled back and then fell to his knees in the mud as blood coursed over his shoulder and down his arm. He swayed a moment, dizzy from loss of blood, and then folded on to his side and lay in the mud, writhing fitfully. The leading century’s optio detailed two men to help him, and they dragged the wounded legionary back to the safety of the dressing station on the near shore before rejoining their comrades.
A voice called out from below. ‘Where’s Prefect Cato?’
‘Up there, sir. In the tower.’
Moments later, boots sounded on the floor below, the ladder creaked and Decurion Miro climbed on to the platform to join the others. He hurried across to Cato and saluted.
‘Sir, beg to report, but we’ve had word from one of the patrols. They’ve sighted an enemy force not far from the camp.’
The other officers exchanged anxious looks before Cato responded. ‘How far from the camp?’
‘No more than five miles away, to the east, right across our supply route. In the vale, there, sir.’ Miro indicated the gap between two hills not far from the camp.
‘What’s their strength?’
‘The optio reported seeing thousands of them, sir.’
Cato turned to Macro and raised an eyebrow. ‘It seems your information was right.’
‘Not that you doubted me, of course.’
‘Have I ever?’ He turned back to Miro. ‘Where is the optio now?’
‘Still with his patrol, sir. He’s keeping tabs on the enemy. He sent one of his men back with the information. He’s waiting below. Shall I send him on to headquarters, sir?’
Cato considered for a moment. ‘I’ll go with him. You have the rest of the cohort called to arms and formed up outside the camp. Dismissed.’
As Miro hurried away, Cato turned to Macro and Glaber. ‘Will you join me? I’d appreciate someone witnessing this.’
Macro was surprised. ‘Why? What difference can it make?’
‘No, he’s right,’ said Glaber. ‘If we get out of this, Quintatus may well cast about for a scapegoat. You think ahead, sir. That’s a good quality.’
‘It’s a survival strategy. I’ve enough experience of the senior ranks to know how this works. Let’s go. You going to be able to keep up, Macro?’
The latter grinned. ‘Just try and stop me, sir.’
They descended the tower and emerged in its shadow, where a trooper stood to attention as he saw them.
‘Phalko, isn’t it?’ said Cato.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Follow us, Phalko.’
They marched out of the gate, across the boarded ditch and made for the headquarters party close to the main artillery battery. Macro walked stiffly, pushing himself to keep up and grimacing with the effort of fighting the shooting pain in his leg. They were passed through the outer cordon and approached Quintatus and his staff officers as they watched the latest attempt to breach the lines of defence blocking the tidal crossing to Mona. Cato brushed aside the camp prefect and made his way towards the legate, turning to address Phalko at his side.
‘Just repeat what the optio told you to say. And if Quintatus asks you any questions, make sure you give him as much detail as you can recall, particularly on the number of the enemy. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Quintatus noticed their approach out of the corner of his eye and half turned towards Cato. ‘Prefect Cato, what is it?’
Cato did not hesitate before replying. ‘We’ve been set a trap, sir. Centurion Macro’s information is correct. One of my patrols just reported that they have sighted the enemy.’
‘One of your patrols? What patrols? I never gave any such order.’
‘The men were sent out on my authority, sir.’
‘Your authority?’ Quintatus’s nostrils flared. ‘And unless something has happened that has escaped my notice, have you replaced me as commander of this army, Prefect Cato?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then how is it that you decide to order your men to go looking for the enemy without clearing it with headquarters first?’
Cato knew better than to enter into such an altercation. Besides, there was no time for it. He spoke forcefully, and loud enough for many of the staff officers to hear. ‘Sir, we can deal with the breach of protocol later. The important issue is that the enemy are close at hand and the army is in danger. This man,’ he indicated Phalko, ‘has ridden from the patrol. Tell the legate what you saw, Trooper.’
Phalko stood stiffly as he made his report. ‘We’d ridden perhaps five miles from the camp, sir. We were in this valley and it got a bit misty, like. That’s when the optio orders us up a hill to get an overview of the surrounding terrain. We climbed above the mist but still couldn’t see much, apart from the tops of hills. The sun broke through the clouds for a bit and the mist began to thin out down in the valley. And that’s when we saw ’em, sir. The enemy. Coming out of the mist. A cavalry screen first, then the head of the main column. They was still a few miles off, so the optio says we should wait until we can get a better idea of their strength before we turn back to report. But they kept coming, sir. By the thousand. That’s when the optio sends me back to raise the alarm.’
