A hundred of the militiamen were also marching with them to aid with the construction work, with ten men being left behind to garrison each outpost that was built. They would be provided with sufficient supplies to feed them for a month. The outposts would consist of a tower surrounded by a stockade and ditch. A beacon would be on the tower with a ready stock of wood and materials to make smoke. The signals were simple enough: an uninterrupted column of smoke if the outpost was attacked, and puffs if the enemy were spotted, plus four further signals to communicate the direction the brigands were headed. The militia units had a wide assortment of weapons and armour and their yokes were laden with an idiosyncratic variety of essentials and items that Cato suspected would be abandoned once the men struggled to keep up with the auxiliaries.
As soon as the inspection and roll call were completed, the first and second centuries of the cohort fetched the mules from the fort’s stables and harnessed the teams to the carts before gathering up their marching yokes and taking their place in the column ahead of the loose formation of the militiamen.
Cato regarded them with an experienced eye and conceded that, auxiliary troops though they were, they turned out well and looked ready for action. Plancinus and the other Praetorians had done a commendable job of training them in the short time available. He walked down the column inspecting the men, and nodded a greeting to Plancinus as he stood with Centurion Cornelius, the auxiliary officers of the two centuries and those in command of the militia contingents.
‘Good morning, gentlemen!’
They exchanged salutes before he turned back to Plancinus.
‘You know what to do. Stick to your orders. Get the forts built, assign the garrisons and then get back here to replenish your equipment and supplies for the next batch of outposts. If the enemy attack, you are not to pursue them, no matter how tempting it might be. I’ll not have my men blundering about in the forests looking for shadows when they should be building forts. You’ll get your chance to get stuck into the brigands soon enough, I promise.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cato switched his attention to the militia officers. Aside from better kit, they looked as unsoldierly as those they commanded. It was as well that he was only depending upon them to keep watch over the landscape around their outposts. He would not have trusted them to take their place in a battle line and hold firm when the fighting began. Nevertheless it was necessary to encourage them to be diligent, and he addressed them in a friendly tone.
‘You men have the most important task of all. You are the eyes and ears of our column, so you must stay alert and give the signal if you see anything of importance. If any merchants or shepherds pass your position, talk to them and see if they have useful intelligence. Anything that isn’t covered by the signal system we went over last night means you’ll have to send one of your men back to the fort. What I said to Plancinus goes for you too. Carry out your orders and do nothing more than that. Is that clear?’
They nodded or mumbled their assent and Cato sighed inwardly at the frustration of being reliant on such men when he was used to the proficiency and confidence of the trained men of the legions and the Praetorian Guard.
‘Good luck to you, gentlemen. Plancinus, I’ll see you back here in a few days. As for you militiamen, I’ll be making the rounds of the outposts once Centurion Massimilianus’s mounted force reaches the fort. Make sure you check carefully when you challenge anyone approaching your outposts. I didn’t survive the pestilence only to be skewered by some javelin-happy sentry.’
The officers laughed and smiled at the warning before Cato cleared his throat. ‘May the gods march with you! Farewell.’
He left Plancinus to bellow the order to stand to and make ready to advance, and made his way back to headquarters. He was still feeling weak. Three days in the saddle and lack of sleep had taken its toll, and he knew he must not strain himself unduly if he was to be fit enough to lead his men into battle when the opportunity came. There were plenty of administrative tasks demanding his attention, but he was determined to rest and build his strength up over the following days while the ground was prepared to contain the enemy.
As he trudged back to headquarters between the barrack blocks, he could not help feeling some concern over the enemy’s quiescence as the column had marched across the island towards the forts. There had been no news of further attacks, nor any attempt to ambush or even harass them, a surprising omission given the lack of mounted men to drive off and chase down any brigand horsemen. That did not bode well. He sensed the enemy was up to something. Quite what their intentions might be, he did not know, but he must be ready to act the moment they revealed themselves.
Chapter Twenty
It had been a long, hot day and Claudia’s exposed skin tingled with sunburn as she eased off her headband, stained with sweat, and regarded the results of her work. The trellis ran along the length of the crumbling storehouse she had chosen to make into her study. It was perched on a terrace amid the olive groves of her small estate. Once used for agricultural tools, it had been neglected since a previous owner had decided to concentrate on breeding horses. It faced west, overlooking the sea a couple of miles in the distance, and provided a spectacular view of the sunset. She had cleared the rusted tools and debris from inside the building and had had a carpenter cut the wood for the trellis, which would provide a frame for a vine to create shade while she lay on a couch and read.
The task of erecting the supports and angled braces and fixing the beams in place to support the trellis had been beyond her, and the decurion had brought two of the Germans with him to provide the necessary manual labour. Claudia had overseen their efforts in between cleaning the interior ready to whitewash the walls inside and out. Now the work was done, she viewed it from every angle. Already she was thinking about the furnishings she would need to complete the place: a table and a spare couch for guests. As soon as she considered the prospect, her thoughts turned to Cato. She felt a stab of concern at his marching off with his men before he had fully recovered. That was foolish of him. He should have given himself time to build up his strength. She smiled at herself. In truth she had hoped he might delay leaving the fort so she could spend more time with him.
What Cato did not recall, but must surely suspect, was that she had seen every detail of his body while she had nursed him through his illness in the tower in the harbour. After she had gently stripped and washed him, she had stroked his skin as he slept or rested fitfully. Now and again she traced her fingers over his scars, wondering how he had come by them and what sights he must have seen in the years he had campaigned across the Empire. She herself had travelled very little, having been raised in Rome and kept there first by Seneca and then by Nero. Aside from two trips to the imperial palace at Baiae, crossing the sea to Sardinia was the furthest she had ever been. Given the strict terms of her exile, it was likely she would live the rest of her days on the island. She had known a handful of men’s bodies as intimately as she knew Cato’s, and it had only added to her attraction to him. If the gods were kind, he might spend some time at Tharros once his campaign was concluded and she could get to know him better. She had sensed that her feelings were reciprocated, and it gave her a warm thrill of pleasure to anticipate showing him her lodge and entertaining him there as they watched the sun set amid the scent of the flowers she would plant around the terrace.
‘Is good?’ one of the German bodyguards grunted.
Claudia turned to them. The decurion and his two men had stripped to the waist to work on the construction of the trellis, and their muscled torsos gleamed with perspiration in the honeyed glow of the late-afternoon sunshine. The Germans, larger than their decurion, had tied their long blond hair back with strips of cloth and regarded her with wide grins as they awaited her verdict.
‘Is good, yes.’
‘We finish now. Go . . .’ The German paused and frowned with frustration before miming putting something in his mouth. ‘Go and eat. Ha!’
>
Claudia laughed happily. ‘Yes, we’ve all earned a good supper tonight. I’ll have the cook make us something special.’
The Germans looked at her blankly, so she nodded to the decurion and he translated. Their eyes lit up at the prospect of food.
‘Have your men put their tunics back on and pick up their weapons and tools and we’ll head to the villa.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Claudia went inside the lodge and picked up the brushes and the bucket she had brought with her. A sudden chill caused her to shiver, and she draped a shawl around her shoulders. She decided she needed a good night’s sleep to recover from her exertions. She took a last look around the interior. The only inconvenience associated with the building was the lack of water. There was no well nearby and any water needed would have to be carried up from the villa to fill the trough at the back of the lodge. That would be work for one of the house slaves, she decided. That reminded her to ask after the slave who had gone missing from the villa the previous day. One of the kitchen boys. He had been sent to pick wild herbs in the morning and had not been seen since. It was possible he had run away, although it was unlikely given the harsh beating he could expect for that if and when he was captured and returned. Claudia was more concerned that he might have fallen and injured himself, so she had sent three men from the stables to look for him. She made a mental note to ask for news the moment they reached the villa.
As she emerged with the bucket and brush, she saw that the men had put their tunics on and slung their sword belts over their shoulders. One of them carried the box with the hammers and nails while the other was holding the ladder across his broad shoulders. The decurion approached her and held out his hand.
‘I’ll take that for you, my lady.’
‘Thank you,’ Claudia replied. She handed it over, then turned to inspect their work one last time before setting off along the path that led through the olive trees towards the villa, no more than half a mile away.
The sun was low in the sky, and its slanted light bathed the tree trunks and boughs in a golden hue. The pleasant sense of well-being that came from a satisfactory day’s labour filled her with a contentment she had not known in a long time. A short distance ahead, beside the track, grew a clump of magydaris, the mass of tiny white flowers glowing brilliantly in the angled light. She paused to reach down and pick some for her sleeping chamber in the villa. As she straightened up, she saw a face watching her over the top of the wall that ran around the estate. Her eyes moved on for an instant and then swept back to where she had seen it, but it was no longer visible.
The decurion and the Germans caught up and stopped a short distance behind her.
‘What is it, my lady?’
‘I . . .’ She hesitated. There was nothing to be seen now and she might look foolish raising concern over seeing the face. More than likely it was a passing shepherd or some such. It certainly wasn’t the boy who had disappeared the day before. As she tried to recall the brief glimpse in more detail, she realised there was something not quite right about it. Something not quite . . . human. She felt the first tingling apprehension at the back of her neck.
The decurion was scanning the olive trees in the direction he had seen her looking a moment earlier.
‘What did you see, my lady?’
‘I thought I saw a face. But it was probably just an animal of some kind. The evening light can play tricks sometimes.’
‘Where did you see it?’
‘Behind that wall over there, beyond the trees.’
The decurion strained his eyes as he stared at the spot. ‘I see nothing.’
‘Like I said, it was probably just a wild animal. Let’s go. I want to be back at the villa before dusk.’ Claudia was unsettled, and wanted to feel the security of having walls around her before it got dark. Having spent so much time in the city, she sometimes found the open country around her new home alien, even if it was beautiful and uncontaminated by the miasmic stench of Rome’s streets.
They set off again, but now all four of them were more subdued, and watched the ground around them warily as they passed through the olive plantation and emerged at the foot of the hill upon which the villa stood. The grass grew sparsely on the slope, which was studded with shrubs, save for a small wooded area of sweet chestnuts a hundred paces to the side of the narrow track leading up to the villa. Claudia did not slow her pace as she began the climb. Her heart beat faster with the effort, and fresh beads of sweat broke out on her brow as they approached the crest of the hill. Behind them, out to sea, the sun had set over the horizon and the light had started to fade.
There was a sudden guttural comment, and Claudia stopped and looked back at the three men of her escort. One of the Germans was pointing towards the trees, and as he spoke hurriedly, the anxiety in his tone was palpable. She saw the decurion’s hand slip to the pommel of his sword and his fingers clench slightly. That was the moment her unease crystallised into fear.
‘What do you see?’
The decurion did not respond, and all three men stood still as they stared towards the trees. A moment later, there was a shrill warble, as if from the throat of a bird, and Claudia’s gaze swept away from her escort, across the slope towards the wood, as several dark figures rose up from the grass in front of the chestnuts. They were clad in thick cloaks that seemed to cover their heads, where small horns protruded.
‘Run!’ the decurion shouted as he tossed the bucket into the grass.
There was no need to repeat the order in the tongue of his comrades, who dropped the ladder and tool box and surged up the path. Claudia hesitated, transfixed by the men breaking from cover and rushing up the hill at an angle to cut them off from the villa. More men were rising to their feet some distance to the other side of the track; there was no escape in that direction.
The decurion surged forward, grasping her by the wrist as he overtook her. ‘Faster, miss! Run for your life!’
Claudia did as she was told, spurred on by the terror that gripped her heart as she glanced round and saw the strangely dressed men closing from either side. Apart from the scrabble of loose pebbles and laboured breathing, she heard nothing from them as they swept over the grass in silence. The top of the slope was no more than a hundred paces away, and she ran as hard as she could, drawn on by the decurion, the Germans following hard on her heels. She heard the dull thunder of hooves and saw a party of horsemen emerge from behind the chestnut trees and make for the crest of the hill. Ahead, she could see the top of the wall that surrounded the villa and its outbuildings, but a glance either side was enough to reveal that their pursuers were going to catch them before they gained the side gate at the end of the path.
The decurion snapped an order, and at once the two Germans stopped, drew their swords and strode out each side of the path to intercept the men rushing towards them. Now that they were closer, Claudia could see that they were wearing animal skins cut to cover their torsos and stretching up their necks to act as hoods. There was clearly some form of helmet beneath the hood to support the horns that protruded like small sets of antlers. Where their skin was exposed, it was covered in tattoos of animals with exaggerated claws, teeth, eyes and horns. They looked more like monsters from nightmares than human beings, and her blood ran cold with terror at the sight of them.
Still they made no noise, not even in response to the two Germans as they bellowed their war cries and challenges to their enemy.
‘Keep going!’ The decurion ran on, pulling her after him. The incline began to ease as they reached the brow of the hill, and the gate in the wall lay ahead. Claudia looked over her shoulder and saw one of the Germans charge forward, cutting down the first of the enemy with a savage blow to his shoulder. Pausing to wrench his sword free, he was set upon by three more men, who hacked at him as he raised his arm to shield his head. A flurry of blows drove him to his knees, and he collapsed out of sight in the grass. The other German was holding off two men, and was parrying their att
acks when a spearman got behind him and thrust his weapon between the warrior’s shoulder blades. It was all over in a few heartbeats, and then she and the decurion were at the side gate. It crashed back on its hinges as he burst through into the enclosure and thrust her towards the villa.
‘Get inside and barricade the windows and doors. I’ll deal with the main entrance. Go!’
She ran across the open ground as the decurion shut the side gate and slid the locking bar home then turned to shout, ‘To arms! To arms! We’re under attack!’
The other Germans in the enclosure instantly grasped the danger and ran to snatch up their shields and draw their weapons, while the villa’s slaves and servants took up pitchforks and staves to defend themselves. The main gate to the enclosure was wide open, and the decurion had started running towards it to help the two servants who had recovered their wits enough to go to the assistance of the German guard on duty there. Before they could swing the heavy gates into position, however, the first of the enemy horsemen had galloped through the opening and reined in, spinning his mount around and striking down the nearest servant. He lived one heartbeat longer to celebrate his kill, as the guard grasped his spear in both hands and drove it upwards, under the rider’s ribcage and deep into his chest, ripping the point free as his foe toppled from his saddle.
As more riders charged into the enclosure, the decurion realised that the first line of defence was lost. He turned and ran towards the main entrance of the villa, calling out to the surviving Germans and then to all the others of the household. ‘On me! On me! Get back to the villa!’
The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19) Page 21