Wounds of Honour: Empire I (36 page)

‘And now, First Spear, before I call the other prefects to confer, your advice, please. Do we push forward to our meeting point with the legion, or make a more cautious approach? There could be ten thousand or more spears waiting for us out there.’

Frontinius pondered, rubbing his scalp.

‘I say we hump forward to join with the Sixth as quickly as we can. Better to be part of a combined force than wait about out here for the barbarians to find us. The Ninth can scout forward half a mile in advance, make sure we don’t fall into any nasty little traps.’

Equitius nodded his agreement, turning to walk away.

‘Very well, I’ll get the other cohorts ready to move. You’d better get the Ninth on the job.’

The day’s advance was for the most part a non-event. The 9th went forward at a steady pace while individual tent parties were directed to any feature of the rolling ground capable of concealing an enemy. Every copse, every wrinkle in the ground, was investigated by nervous soldiers, their caution easing as the day grew older and still no sign of the enemy was found. The beaten path left by the warband’s passage had turned gradually away to the north-west, while the cohorts’ meeting point with the 6th lay directly to the west.

By the middle of the afternoon the wind had died away to nothing, and the soldiers were starting to get hot and irritable under the burden of their armour. Helmets were removed and hung around the troops’ necks, allowing the sweat to evaporate from their scalps rather than soak into their helmet liners, and water skins became an increasing source of temptation when a centurion’s back was turned. One of the questing tent parties, investigating a small clump of trees just off the line of march, beckoned Marcus and Dubnus forward with frantically waved hands, the rest of the century deploying to either side in guard positions. In the middle of the copse was a grim scene, already busy with flies and stinking of decay’s onset. Half a dozen men lay dead, one with his throat cut untidily wide open, the others with combat wounds. Dubnus examined the bodies, looking at each one’s blue tattoos with care.

‘They’re from the same tribe, but four of the bodies are from one family group, two from another. They must have quarrelled …’

He moved one of the bodies with his foot, pulling a hunting bow from an indignant cloud of flies, a quiver of a dozen heavy iron-tipped arrows tied to the weapon.

‘… and they must have been in a hurry to leave to have missed
this
. I’d guess that some of the losers escaped, and the winners headed for the warband, eager to get their version of events in front of their tribal elders first.’

He strapped the bow across his back, having tested the tautness of its string. Frontinius came forward with the runner sent to fetch him, and surveyed the scene unhappily. He looked hard at the bodies, then nodded agreement to Dubnus.

‘You’re right, a family squabble by the look of things. This could have been a scouting party, or just a group of men on their way to join the warband, but either way, it tells us that we’re too close to the main force for my comfort. We’ll push on as planned, but I want extra vigilance from here.’

The rest of the afternoon, however, passed without incident, at least until the 9th spotted a line of horse-drawn carts against the dark green mass of the next line of hills, and a row of machines made tiny by the distance.

‘Legion artillery train,’ Morban grunted. ‘The rest of them’ll be on top of the hills digging out a camp while those lazy bastards sit on their arses.’

They stopped to wait for the cohorts to catch up with them, unwilling to advance out towards the line of bolt throwers and catapults until everyone knew exactly who they were. Legion artillerymen were notoriously quick to fire at almost anything that moved, and their weapons were capable of punching a bolt through a man at four hundred paces. Once the cohorts had advanced to their position Frontinius took the 9th forward at a cautious pace, until a detachment of the legion’s cavalry galloped over to investigate them. Their decurion nodded recognition, saluted Frontinius and pointed up the hillside.

‘The Sixth’s up there digging in, First Spear, and you’re invited to join them as soon as possible. There’s probably twenty thousand enemy spears within a half-day’s march of here, and the legatus’s keen to get everyone into defensive positions for the night.’

They marched past the supply train, eyeing the evil-looking bolt throwers, painted with names like ‘Maneater’ and ‘Ribsplitter’, and their lounging crews, then climbed the hill’s long slope until they reached the crest, where a scene from a hundred field exercises greeted them. The legion’s six thousand men were labouring like slaves, a steady flow of cut turfs flowing to the rampart building gangs. The 6th’s camp prefect strode out to meet them, pointing over the temporary fort’s rising walls to a point on the far side.

‘Glad to see you, prefect, your last message put the wind up everyone. We’d like your cohorts on the eastern face, since that’s the side where the slope’s shallowest.’

Equitius shot a wry smile at Frontinius before replying.

‘I’ll take the fact that you want us to protect the most vulnerable face of the camp as a vote of confidence, Prefect. I presume that if we come under attack you’ll consider yourselves invited to the party?’

Later, dug in and fed, their artillery placed around the camp and their watch fires set twice over to delude enemy scouts as to the size of their force until the camp seemed ablaze, the troops sat uneasily in their tent parties and centuries, mulling over the likelihood of action the next day. The older men passed down their wisdom, such as it was, to the younger troops, while officers and their chosen men circulated their commands, each seeking in his own way to bolster their morale. The circulation of officers was not restricted to the junior ranks either. Late in the evening Legatus Sollemnis walked into the Tungrians’ lines, a dozen-man bodyguard walking about him with jealous eyes. He clasped hands with Equitius, and joined him in the headquarters tent for a cup of wine.

‘So, are your men ready for tomorrow? We’ll get our chance to measure our skills against theirs very soon now if I read the signs correctly.’

‘Signs?’

‘Didn’t the camp prefect tell you? Sometimes I wonder how that man ever made it past centurion … Our cavalry scouts have the warband you’ve been following located, and under close watch, about ten thousand men strong. They’ve occupied an old hill fort, but without their own scouts they’re blind, and we have freedom of tactical manoeuvre I never thought I’d enjoy on hostile ground. The original warband, the one Perennis located two days ago, is still thirty miles distant, and not showing any signs of moving yet. It’s a chance to defeat the warbands piecemeal before they join together, and one I intend to take with both hands. We have the bastards that razed every fort on the North Road in our grasp my friend, and in the morning we’ll give them a taste of the hammer and anvil.’

He unrolled a rough hand-drawn map of the area.

‘We’re here, about ten miles from the barbarian camp. Tomorrow I shall send your five cohorts and four of my own, under your command, around their left flank by
this
route, and send you into their rear. I will take the main body of the legion forward in frontal attack, with an approach to contact across
this
open area, using these two large woods as cover for as long as possible. Calgus will find spears whichever way he turns, and we shall have them bottled up for the slaughter.’

Equitius frowned.

‘It’s aggressive, that’s clear enough. What about a reserve?’

Sollemnis nodded his understanding.

‘I know, I’ve thought long and hard, but for a start we’ve got the Petriana, and your formation will act as a reserve of sorts. The simple truth is that this thing’s balanced on a knife-edge – we need to get at them before the first warband joins up and makes them too big to tackle without the other legions. If we can exploit their lack of scouting ability to hit them without warning, we can get the job done quickly and efficiently.’

The other man frowned again, uncomfortable at having to tell his friend his misgivings about the plan.

‘And you’re basing all this on the reports of our scouts. Who presumably are still under the command of your senior tribune … ?’

‘Yes, and the answer to your unspoken question is just as it was before. Do I trust him not to play a dangerous game once all this is over? Of course not! But he’s proved adept with his Asturians, better than the Petriana since he took over the task to let Licinius rest his men. He’s put me in a position to cripple this revolt with a single decisive blow, and if I fail to take that opportunity I’ll find myself recalled to Rome before you can say “imperial death warrant for failing to put down barbarian uprising”. What would you do?’

Equitius nodded his agreement, although his face lost little of its pensive cast.

‘If you want an honest opinion, Gaius, I’d say it’s risky. There’s no proper reserve, the advance to contact takes your force past two large woods that could hide thousands of men, and it’s all based on reports from a man I wouldn’t trust for a second … but I take your point about the risks of delaying.’

‘And if we catch them in the open, without time to form up, we can grind them to shreds between our shield walls. It’s a risk, but it’s one I have to take. Will you take it with me?’

Equitius put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, looking hard into his eyes.

‘As if you even need to ask …’

Sollemnis nodded, his lips pursed with gratitude and emotion.

‘Thank you. And now, I would appreciate a tour of your unit. You’ll understand that there’s one officer in particular I would appreciate meeting, if only briefly. I haven’t seen the boy since he turned twelve apart from a brief meeting under difficult circumstances …’

The prefect raised an eyebrow.

‘Are you sure that’s wise? It might be better to let that sleeping dog lie.’

‘I understand your concern. Look, it’ll do your boys good to see that I’m out and about, and I’ll only be with each century for a minute or two. I’d just like to see him once more before we confront the barbarians. By this time tomorrow one or both of us could be face down in the dirt – I’d prefer to have seen my son the way I want to remember him, rather than the way circumstances might force upon us. Please.’

Equitius relented, shaking his head slightly.

‘Being too damned persuasive got you that particular problem in the first place, I seem to remember. You always were too good at getting what you wanted. I’ll have Frontinius walk you around the cohort, a brief tour of inspection. Don’t give the lad any reason to suspect the truth, though. The last thing I need on the night before a major action is a centurion wondering whether his dead father really was his father, wouldn’t you agree?’

The First Spear met the legatus outside the cohort’s command tent as bidden a few minutes later. He saluted formally, and then stood to attention.

‘Legatus, I believe you have requested a tour of my cohort?’

Sollemnis smiled at him, waving a dismissive hand.

‘Relax, First Spear, I just want to see what state my troops are in for tomorrow’s fun and games.’

‘We attack tomorrow, sir? Without waiting for the other legions?’

‘Yes, and I’ve just had this conversation with your prefect. There are some aspects of the plan which are less than perfect, but if we destroy this one warband then we can put Calgus on the defensive. And we might well find that a disheartened barbarian army melts away in the face of a successful outcome tomorrow.’

Frontinius kept his mouth shut and Sollemnis, sensing his disquiet, extended a hand to point into the camp.

‘So, shall we have a look at your men?’

They walked into the camp, heading for the closest watch fire.

As arranged at their last meeting, before the warband’s rampage to the south, Calgus went to the hill fort’s eastern entrance shortly after dark had fallen. His army was gathered inside the tall earth rampart’s wide perimeter, taking full advantage of the protection afforded by the massive earthwork. He had, with some trepidation, agreed to the Roman traitor’s suggestion that he bring the warband to its fullest possible strength in this ancient place, knowing that his army would be in deep trouble if the three enemy legions took them by surprise. Now he waited in the torchlit darkness with his bodyguard clustered close around him, eager to see if the man was as good as his word.

After a few minutes’ wait a voice called softly out of the darkness.

‘Bring him to me. Don’t damage him.’

Four men walked forward into the night with torches, finding Perennis waiting for them fifty yards down the road, his open hands raised to show that he was unarmed. He walked back to where the barbarian leader waited, seemingly as relaxed as ever despite the spears pointing at him from all angles.

‘Calgus. I see your hunger for victory has overwhelmed the risk that I might be leading you into a trap?’

‘I have more than twenty thousand men at my back, Roman. I doubt there’s a trap you could spring that I couldn’t batter to pieces.’

Perennis smiled, the gesture half hidden in the torchlight.

‘I warned you a week ago that the southern legions were farther advanced in their progress than you believed. Now I can tell you that they’ve reached the Wall, and are hurrying to join with the Sixth Legion. Once they’ve joined your chance to take advantage of my plan will be at an end, and you and I will be firm enemies rather than allies of convenience. I estimate that you have until noon tomorrow in which to strike, and no more time than that. We must conclude our business quickly if you’re not to find yourself rudely interrupted by the Second and Twentieth Legions. So what’s it to be, bloody victory or an ignominious retreat back into the hills? You know you can’t face them in open battle.’

Calgus turned away, staring out into the darkness, his features unreadable.

‘What do you propose? Even a single legion will cause my people grievous losses if I allow them to face us in line of battle with the support of their auxiliary cohorts. Have you brought my army here just to tell me we’ve no alternative but to run, or give battle in the very way that has always resulted in our defeat? Because if you have …’