“Very well.” Stiger let out an explosive breath and turned back to Varus. “Bring the wagons up as much as possible. Detail a watch and some men to refill canteens.”
“Thank you, sir,” Varus said, and Stiger noticed a look of relief on the corporal’s face.
“Do we have any scouts with us?” Stiger asked.
“Yes, sir. One with each file.”
“Send them out into the forest to look for evidence of the enemy.” Stiger pulled out one of his own canteens from a saddlebag and unscrewed the top. Taking a deep pull of the warm, stale water, he looked unhappily at the mass of cattle ahead. “Might as well put the scouts to some use.”
Varus was silent, and Stiger looked over at him.
“Anything else, Corporal?”
“No, sir.”
“Good,” Stiger said. “Dismissed.”
Varus saluted and left to pass along Stiger’s orders.
Stiger nudged his horse forward, skirting around the edge of the cattle moving upriver, away from the animals and their stench. The drovers shouted and cursed the animals as they prodded them toward the river crossing. So far, they had managed to get only a handful across. Stiger had a sneaking suspicion he had a long wait ahead. For a fleeting moment, Stiger considered ordering his men to hurry the animals across, but then dismissed the idea. His men had just marched several miles, and it was gods awful hot out. They needed a break, and this was as good a place as any to take one.
The river was shallow, anywhere from two to five feet deep, perhaps a little more, and slow moving. The water was clear. Stiger could see right down to the rock-studded bottom. Any fish that had been about had been driven away by the commotion of the cattle. They made an awful racket.
Stiger dismounted and led Nomad to the water’s edge. Upstream from the crossing, he found a small tree to loop the reins loosely around. Nomad would be able to drink at will. Stiger drained his canteen in one swallow and then refilled it. He drank some of the cool river water and refilled the canteen again before returning it to a saddlebag. He then went and found a rock on the river’s edge that was in the shade and sat down, his back against a tree that grew up right next to it.
Even in the shade it was hot, though the proximity to the water cooled the air somewhat. Stiger closed his eyes and dozed for a bit. After forty-five minutes, Varus reported that the scouts had found no evidence of the enemy. Stiger accepted the report, and then settled back in to wait.
It took over an hour and a half before the last of the cattle were splashing their way across the river. Stiger had impatiently mounted up and called his men to fall in as the last of the animals were driven over. The first wagon had rumbled off, but what should have been quick work turned into a painful nightmare.
The cattle had churned the soft river bottom into a morass of sucking and clinging mud. The wheels of the wagon almost immediately sank deeply into the river bottom and became stuck fast. Stiger considered unloading each wagon and carrying the supplies across, but that would have taken too much time. Instead it proved quicker for the men to push and pull each heavily loaded wagon across, straining with the effort as the river bottom tried its best to keep them from succeeding.
Stiger sat astride Nomad along the edge of the crossing and watched it all as the men worked, becoming muddy and weary. As he waited and fumed impatiently, Stiger glanced down at the dried mud and disturbed grass along the outer edges of the narrow ford. It was heavily marked with evidence of previous crossings. Since he had taken up his post with the Third, Stiger had made this crossing at least a dozen times without incident. Watching his men struggle to work each wagon across, Stiger realized that he had just learned something of importance about river crossings and the time they could suck up. He mentally filed it away.
“All lessons come with a price,” Stiger said wryly as he recalled a saying his father had been fond of using.
TWO
Stiger crossed after the last wagon, Nomad splashing easily through the water and quickly across. The drovers had moved their herd to one of the abandoned farm fields away from the water’s edge, allowing the animals a graze and themselves a well-earned break. The supply train was lined up along the road. The teamsters were clustered in small groups, playing dice or talking.
Stiger sourly surveyed his men, who, after their backbreaking work of moving the wagons across, looked extremely un-legionary-like. They were caked in mud and grim, and clearly tired. Stiger gazed up the road and was itching to be off. It was the middle of the afternoon, and he knew with certainty there was no way he would make it back to the legionary encampment this evening. The comfort of his cot would just have to wait. They would all be sleeping on their arms tonight. Worse, Stiger’s captain would not be terribly pleased with his tardiness and would take it as another sign of his lieutenant’s lack of competence.
“Varus,” Stiger said when the corporal approached, just as muddy and bedraggled as his men. Varus had lent a hand at the backbreaking work of moving the heavy wagons across the river. “Have the men clean up before we march.”
“Yes, sir,” Varus replied, clearly not surprised by the order. He turned and called out to the men, who began moving back toward the river.
The added delay was unavoidable. The high standards of the legion had to be maintained. If a senior officer happened upon them in such a state, Stiger would find himself in serious trouble. And so, the men cleaned up while the heat of the day burned slowly away, and Stiger stewed about lost time. In the end, it took another forty minutes for the men to bathe in the river and tend to their kit.
By late afternoon, the supply train got back on the road. Stiger continued onward until dusk. He briefly considered pushing on through the darkness, but the road was poor and riddled with potholes. The risk to man, beast, and wagon was just too great.
He recalled a large open field just a few miles beyond the river. This, he felt, was a suitable place to make camp for the night. The field, like all of the others for miles around, had been burned by the enemy some weeks before. Stiger estimated that the campsite was roughly six hours from the main legionary encampment. With luck, he could be there by noon the next day.
Stiger had the wagons circled up just off the road. Fresh tufts of grass poked out from the charred remains of the field, though it no longer stank too badly of smoke. Varus sent men into a stand of trees to chop some wood, enough for several fires, while the rest of the men cleared space to lay their blankets and sleep. Despite the wagons being heaped high with supplies, the legionaries would subsist on their cold, pre-cooked rations. Stiger had made sure that they had left the legionary encampment with two days’ worth of rations. The last two times he had made a supply run, Bruta had delayed him sufficiently so that what should have been a single day run turned into a day and a half.
Stiger tied up Nomad to one of the wagons and threw some hay down in front of his ever-greedy horse. Stiger’s tutors had imparted a responsibility to care for his horse and equipment before he tended to his own needs. He had also been taught to rely upon himself to do the work and not servants or slaves, though many officers preferred to use the men as manservants. Stiger had that option available to him, but the lesson had taken and he was reluctant to rely upon another.
“Sir,” Varus called.
Stiger had removed the horse’s saddle and was brushing the animal down thoroughly. His armor, which he still wore, would come next.
“What is it?” Stiger called back, feeling weary from a long, hot day. Varus was on the other side of the camp, standing on one of the wagons and looking off into the distance.
“Riders emerging from the woods,” Varus called back and pointed away from the road. “That way, sir.”
Tiredness forgotten, Stiger hurried over to where the corporal was, climbed up the wagon, and stood on the driver’s bench. There was a patch of forest around four hundred yards distant. A body of horsemen—of which Stiger quickly counted twenty—was emerging from the trees. The sun was sett
ing in the direction of the riders. It was unclear whether they wore the red of the empire or the blue cloaks of the Rivan. Stiger very much hoped they wore the red.
“Get the men formed up,” Stiger ordered curtly, suddenly feeling nervous and exposed. “Inside the wagon circle.”
“Form up!” Varus roared. “Shields, helmets, and spears.”
The men rapidly scrambled for their shields, protective canvas covers thrown aside as they drew them out. While the men assembled, Stiger glanced around. There was the work detail in the trees about fifty yards away, gathering wood.
“Send a runner to the wood detail,” Stiger ordered Varus. “They are to remain hidden in the trees.”
“What if we are attacked?” Varus asked.
Stiger shrugged, glancing back at the horsemen. “They are on their own then.”
He did not think the detail could get back in time, should the riders decide to attack. They were safer staying put. Stiger had studied cavalry tactics. If the horsemen turned out to be the enemy, and were armed with lances and swords, Stiger’s men would be relatively safe behind the wagons. After all, he outnumbered them. If, however, they were armed with bows, then it would be a different matter. The enemy horsemen would be able to stand off and pepper him with arrow shot, at least as long as the light lasted.
“Corvus,” Varus called to one of the men. “Run to the wood-gathering detail and tell them to lay low until we know if that bunch are friendly.”
“Yes, Corporal.” Corvus, one of the youngest in the Seventh, set off. He slithered under one of the wagons and moments later was gone, dashing off toward the stand of trees where the detail of men worked, oblivious to the oncoming danger.
“They are moving toward us, sir,” Varus said unnecessarily.
Stiger remained silent. He was frightened more than he cared to admit. He was concerned that, should he speak, he might betray his nerves and disgrace himself. So he said nothing and simply watched.
The riders formed up into a double column and slowly rode toward them. Stiger tried to remember if the Rivan employed horse archers but could not recall. He wished he had paid closer attention to his tutors. Then, Stiger saw the red cloaks of legion cavalry and the distinctive imperial standard being carried by one of the riders. He breathed out in relief as the troop of cavalry rode closer. They were from an allied auxiliary cohort.
“Stand the men down,” Stiger said to Varus, his voice a little shaky.
“Stand down,” Varus called.
“Lieutenant Fulvius,” the commander of the troop introduced himself as he called for a halt some ten paces from the wagons, “of the Third Cogaron Cavalry Cohort.”
“Lieutenant Stiger, of the Seventh Imperial Foot Company.”
The lieutenant’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing. “We’re on patrol from an outpost fifteen miles from here.” Fulvius gestured vaguely back the way he had come.
“Have you found anything?” Stiger asked. The Fulvius family was of the senatorial class. They were not exactly enemies of his house, but were not allies either. It was a gray area, and one of which Stiger was sure they were both well aware.
“We came across a path a few miles back that had evidence of a large body of horsemen moving through the area,” Fulvius said. “The tracks looked fresh, perhaps a day or two old, but were headed north.”
“I see,” Stiger, said and then remembered his manners. “Would you care for a cup of wine?”
“Very kind of you,” Fulvius said, inclining his head. He spared a glance behind him at the setting sun before turning back to Stiger. “Unfortunately, I am afraid I will have to pass. We were due back at sundown. Exploring those tracks took us farther afield than I anticipated.”
“Another time then.”
“Safe travels, Lieutenant,” the cavalry officer said, nodded respectfully, and wheeled his horse around back the way he had come. His troop followed neatly after him. Stiger watched them for a few moments, then turned back to Varus.
“Let’s get some fires going, and I think setting a double watch might be in order.”
“Yes, sir,” Varus said.
With the departure of the friendly cavalry, the men returned to the business of setting up camp. The wood-gathering detail returned with sufficient fuel to keep several fires going. And so, as the light died, the men settled in for the night. Stiger enjoyed some of the wine he had purchased, finding it quite good. It reminded him of the more comfortable life he had known back in Mal’Zeel. He was surprised that he actually felt a little homesick as he laid out his blanket near a fire that had been set for him.
The capital was an exciting place, with a much faster pace of life than the one he had seen with the legions so far. Entertainment was readily available, with the best being the chariot races, seconded only by the gladiatorial games. He had loved those sports.
Stiger took a long breath as he recollected better times. He missed the food, which was a sight better than the slop the legions provided. Most of all, though, Stiger missed his friends. He had a few, but treasured them nonetheless. Now, in service with Third Legion, he had no one else he could count on, save but himself. Stiger finished the wine he had been drinking and decided to turn in.
The night air brought on cooler temperatures, which was a relief, and Stiger wrapped himself up in his blanket. He used a rolled-up tunic for a pillow, shifted around until he found a comfortable position, and then closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep.
The night passed peacefully. Despite that, Stiger slept poorly, worrying about a possible attack and arriving overly late at the encampment next morning. He had left orders that he be woken well before dawn. After a quick, cold breakfast of precooked rations, Stiger had the supply train back on the road, creaking and clattering away as the first streaks of light brightened the sky. He was eager to return to the encampment, despite the dressing down that was surely waiting.
“Sir.” A legionary drew his attention, pointing behind them. Stiger had been riding at the head of the column, alongside Varus’s file. He turned in the saddle and looked backwards. The road was straight at this point, cutting through a small scrub forest that was beginning to encroach closely on the road.
Looking back, Stiger saw, to his consternation, that his wagons, one after another, were pulling off to the side and coming to a stop. Before stopping, the teamsters were driving their wagons into the scrub brush, at which the mules balked, leading to additional cracks of the whips interlaced with curses until they complied.
Stiger saw the reason a moment later. A double column of cavalry was coming up, with a carriage following closely behind. The cavalry and carriage were forced to wait for each wagon to slowly move aside.
“Get the men out of the road,” Stiger snapped to Varus and also moved his horse aside as the troop and carriage approached.
“About bloody time,” a cavalry lieutenant Stiger did not know barked angrily at him.
“Excuse me, sir?” Stiger asked, surprised at the open hostility. Though after the weeks of abuse from his peers, he knew he should not be too shocked at such treatment. Perhaps the other officer simply knew who he was and felt free to heap on the abuse.
“You heard me,” the lieutenant said, drawing his horse up. The cavalry troop continued to ride by, horses hanging their heads in the heat. “You could have gotten off the road a little faster.”
Stiger ground his teeth but said nothing. He turned to look as the carriage rattled by, catching a brief glance of an older man and a woman looking out at him. Then the carriage was past them, bouncing up the road, following after the escort troop of cavalry.
“Sir,” Stiger directed himself to the cavalry lieutenant, who had remained behind. “If you would kindly get a move on, I would like to get my wagons back on the road and rolling.”
The cavalry lieutenant shot Stiger a furious glance, dug his heels into his horse, and galloped off after the carriage. Stiger watched for a moment, thoroughly irritated, and then turned on Va
rus.
“Get the men bloody moving,” Stiger fairly shouted at the corporal. He was angry, and embarrassed. Though he knew it was unfair, he was taking it out on Varus anyway.
“Yes, sir.” Varus snapped to attention and saluted. He began to shout at the men to reform into a marching column.
Word was passed back down the supply train to move. Slowly, almost painfully, they got back on the road, crawling toward the main encampment of Third Legion.
Stiger kept his horse still as the supply train moved by him. He was in a thoroughly unpleasant mood and did not feel like sharing the road with anyone. Besides, none of the men were fit company for a nobleman. Before the end of the train reached him, he nudged Nomad into a walk and rode slightly behind, off to the side of one of the wagons.
An hour later, the road emerged into a rolling set of hills, the wagons slowly climbing and descending under the mounting heat of the day. The sun was almost directly overhead, and it was quite oppressive. Stiger took a quick drink from his canteen and then replaced it in his saddlebag as Nomad dutifully continued to plod along. The heat was so brutal that his horse hung its head as it clopped along, mile after mile. Stiger was considering calling for a break when a shout ahead drew his attention. The wagon he had been riding next to rumbled to an unexpected stop.
“Sir,” the teamster called, having had word passed back to him. “You are needed up at the front.”
Stiger kicked his horse into a trot and quickly made his way to the front of the supply train. Nomad did not seem terribly pleased at the increased pace and whinnied in protest. The lead wagon had stopped just short of the crest of another small hill. To the front of the wagon, Stiger found Varus organizing his file into a line of battle. The men had also discarded the canvas covers of their shields, an ominous sign that set Stiger’s heart beating a little faster.
“What’s going on?” Stiger demanded of Varus, who simply gestured to their front.
The Tiger’s Wrath (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 5) Page 47