‘Go, Cato! Run! I’ll hold ’em!’
For Cato, there was no time for thought, only perceptions: a glimpse of the auxiliaries running towards them, the dust swirling, pink in the slanted light of the setting sun, the grim expression on the agent’s face and the brigands surging forward, weapons raised. He drew his sword and crouched, struggling for breath, as he made ready to fight.
Three men were a few paces ahead of their companions. Two were armed with spears and the third carried a heavy curved sword. This last made for Cato as the others turned on Apollonius with levelled spear points. Cato saw his comrade deftly parry the first thrust with his sword and step inside his opponent’s reach to slash at his arm with the keen edge of his dagger, slicing open the flesh with a precise incision. He continued the fluid attack by swivelling his hip and shoulder, the point of the dagger striking home in the side of the second man, whose impetus had carried him too far to strike with his spear.
The swordsman swung wildly at Cato, the blade sweeping round in a gleaming arc as the edge caught the rays of the dying sun. Cato raised his own sword tip and swept the blade to the side to block the blow. The weapons clashed with a sharp metallic ring and sparks flew as the heavier sword drove Cato back a step. He managed to keep his balance and shot his left hand out to grab his attacker by the wrist and pull him in and down, lowering the point of his weapon and driving it into the man’s stomach, piercing his sheepskin jacket and the flesh beneath. Twisting the blade, he ripped it free, then let go of the man’s wrist and struck his face with the back of his hand. The brigand staggered back, dazed and bleeding from his wound, and was roughly shouldered aside by one of his companions.
This time, the odds were firmly against Cato. Hefting an axe, the brigand shifted his shield to the front and surged forward. Cato slashed at the man’s head, but his foe raised his shield and took the blow near the rim. As Cato’s blade deflected to the side, the brigand swung his axe, the broad edge slicing through the air towards Cato’s midriff. He acted instinctively and threw his body forward, leading with his left shoulder. As he crashed into his enemy, the man’s forearm slapped harmlessly against the small of Cato’s back and the axe blade missed its target. Cato drove on, thrusting the man back, causing him to stumble and keep retreating in an effort to remain on his feet.
With a last powerful thrust, Cato stepped back alongside Apollonius. The agent had downed the two spearmen and now three brigands with shields faced him, forcing the agent to turn and stare down each man in turn, daring them to attack. The axeman had recovered and approached Cato cautiously, then paused, looking past him, and frowned. He barked an order and his men drew back a few paces before turning and trotting towards the entrance of the gorge, leaving their stricken comrades behind. The man Cato had injured sheathed his blade, clamped a hand over the bloody patch on his sheepskin jacket and hurried after his comrades.
Cato and Apollonius stood, chests heaving, blood dripping from their weapons, as the thud of army boots approached from behind. The first of the auxiliaries ran by, chasing after the enemy.
‘Leave them . . .’ Cato rasped, then forced a deeper breath and called out, ‘Let them go!’
The auxiliaries stopped and turned away reluctantly as the rest of their comrades formed a protective line in front of Cato and Apollonius. The latter finished off the two spearmen on the ground with quick thrusts to their throats, then he and Cato wiped their blades clean and sheathed their weapons.
‘Now we know,’ said Apollonius.
Cato nodded. ‘We’ve got them . . .’
As soon as he returned to the site of the camp, Cato gave orders for a ditch and rampart to be constructed to block the entrance to the gorge, sufficiently far back from the crags to ensure that his men were beyond the range of any missiles loosed at them from above. Once the camp was completed, two centuries marched out into the twilight to begin work on the fortification, while Cato conferred with his senior officers in the command tent.
Plancinus and Massimilianus sat on camp stools on the opposite side of the trestle table. The side of the tent had been rolled up to provide what little illumination remained as Cato sketched out what he could recall of the enemy’s defences. Apollonius stood to one side, leaning on a tent post, looking on.
‘There are two choke points,’ Cato indicated his diagram, ‘here at the entrance to the gorge, and here where they have built a wall. Only two of our men at a time can get through the first, and we’ll be vulnerable to rocks, arrows, javelins, slingshot and whatever else they choose to throw down from the cliffs on either side. After that, there’s the question of assaulting the wall and gate.’ He paused to recall the structure. ‘I’d say the wall is at least fifteen feet from ground to palisade. It’s made of undressed rocks and seems substantial. The wooden gatehouse is the only weak point, but we’ll not have the chance to test that with our catapult since it will be impossible to get it close enough to try. So the only means of attack is a frontal assault with scaling ladders. Given the narrow front we’ll be fighting on, I doubt those who survive the gauntlet of missiles in the gorge will be able to take the wall. It looks like we’re going to have to starve the enemy out. Once the forward siege line is constructed and we sow the approaches with caltrops, we’ll have them bottled up. Then we wait until they surrender or attempt to fight their way out.’
Plancinus scratched his jaw as he thought it over. ‘Is there any other entrance to the valley?’
‘Not according to our prisoner. But he could be lying, so I’ll be sending Apollonius and the scouts out at first light.’ Cato turned to the agent. ‘I want you to make a circuit of these hills. Look for any sign of another way into the valley and report back. Be thorough; we can’t afford to miss anything.’
‘I’ll make sure of it, sir. If there’s another entrance, I’ll find it.’
‘You’d better. Rome will not be pleased if we let the brigands slip through our fingers, as they have so many times before. Their resistance ends here, gentlemen. Whatever it takes.’ He paused and cleared his throat. ‘There is another matter we need to be aware of. The enemy have taken Claudia Acte. There may be other hostages as well. I want them recovered alive if possible.’
Massimilianus looked at him. ‘If the enemy run short of supplies, chances are they’ll not be concerned about the hostages. If we try and starve the brigands out, we may cause the hostages to die from hunger, or the enemy may kill them to save having more mouths to feed.’
‘I’m aware of that. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’ll be asking for the brigands’ surrender the moment the forward fortifications are complete.’
‘On what terms, sir?’ asked Plancinus.
‘They hand over their loot. The men are sold into slavery and the rest are settled amongst the coastal tribes. None will be permitted to remain in their traditional lands.’
Massimilianus sighed. ‘They won’t like that, sir.’
‘They don’t have to like it,’ Cato responded curtly. ‘They just have to accept it, or die.’
‘You’re missing my point, sir. I’ve served on this island long enough to know something about these people. They’re as proud as can be. Their ancestors ruled this island long before Rome was even founded. They’d rather die than become slaves and give up their land.’
‘That may be true,’ Cato conceded. ‘But there is no other arrangement I can offer them. Their dominance of the interior must be crushed and their tribes broken up. Nothing else will do. Unless you have a suggestion to make concerning the terms of their surrender?’
Massimilianus paused, then shook his head.
‘Very well,’ Cato concluded. ‘If they don’t surrender, they starve. If they try to break out, they must be stopped. That’s all. Now if there’s anything else anyone has to add—’
The flap leading through to the clerks’ tent was swept aside as one of the headquarters clerks entered and saluted.
‘What is it?’ Cato demanded.
‘T
he surgeon’s here to see you, sir. Says it’s urgent.’
‘Urgent?’ Cato frowned. ‘Oh, bloody hell, send him through.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The clerk stepped aside and waved the cohort’s surgeon through the flap. As soon as he saw the fearful expression on the man’s face, Cato felt his stomach twist with anxiety.
‘Is it the prisoner?’
The surgeon shook his head. ‘He’s fine, sir. I changed his dressings while the camp was under construction. His hands and fingers will heal after a fashion, though he’ll never regain full use of them.’ He glanced at Apollonius before he continued pointedly. ‘Your interrogator made a thorough job of it, sir.’
Apollonius shrugged. ‘If you’re going to do a job it’s best to do it well, eh?’
‘Enough!’ Cato cut in. ‘What have you come here to report?’
The surgeon hesitated before he answered. ‘It’s the sickness, sir. I think it’s caught up with us.’
‘What do you mean? We kept well clear of Augustis when we set off from the fort.’
‘One of the men must have caught it from the town before then, sir. That’s my guess. He turned up at my tent complaining of a headache and weakness. I had him put on a stretcher. That’s when he started vomiting.’
Cato recalled the long days of the sickness he himself had endured, and the lingering weakness it had left in its wake. He could not afford the pestilence to strike down the men of his column. He needed every one of them to maintain the siege or to assault the enemy’s defences if that became necessary.
‘You’ll have to establish a quarantine area inside the fort. Set up a tent in one corner and cordon it off, and place it under guard.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where is the man you saw earlier now?’
‘I ordered him to stay in the hospital tent while I reported to you, sir.’
‘Good. With luck the sickness will run its course with this poor fellow without risking it spreading through the camp.’
‘That’s just it, sir.’ The surgeon ran a hand over his head. ‘Two more men came to see me before I set off to report to you. They had similar symptoms and I told them to wait with the first man. The truth is that I’m concerned the sickness is already spreading through the ranks.’
‘I see . . .’ The weight of another burden of command settled heavily on Cato’s shoulders. It took a moment for the full implications of the news to occur to his tired mind. If his men started falling sick, the ability of the column to maintain the siege would steadily decrease. He would not be able to call on reinforcements from the Fourth Cohort or the marine detachment for fear of putting additional men at risk. The most important thing at that moment was to take stringent precautions to prevent the spread of the sickness.
‘Change of plan. I want the quarantine area to be outside the fort. At least a hundred paces away. Get those who have already reported sick out there at once. Any fresh cases are to report to you there directly. You’ll stay with them until the sickness has passed. Make arrangements with the quartermaster for rations and water to be left a safe distance away. You’ll need a separate latrine ditch. Massimilianus?’
‘Sir?’
‘Assign a work party for that, and for a stockade to be erected around the quarantine area. I don’t want any of the men tempted to pay a visit to their mates. And I don’t want the area left exposed to any brigands who may still be outside the valley. Assign a half-section to guard it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cato regarded the surgeon with an intent expression. ‘It is vital that you do everything you can to contain the sickness. The success of this campaign depends on having enough men to see it through. If half the cohort goes down with the pestilence, all is lost. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir. I know my duty.’
‘Then don’t let me down. You’d better see to the arrangements at once. Dismissed.’
As the surgeon left the tent, Cato folded his hands together and chewed his lip.
‘That changes the situation somewhat,’ Apollonius commented.
‘Quite.’
‘The choice is between launching an assault at once while you still have enough men and taking heavy losses, or sticking to your original plan and hoping that the sickness does not spread through the cohort and make it incapable of maintaining a siege, let alone mounting any attack.’ Apollonius arched an eyebrow. ‘I wonder what you will choose to do?’
Cato felt a prickly resentment that the agent was testing him again and trying to get under his skin. He bit back on the urge to snap at the man to be silent. He was saved by Plancinus’s intervention.
‘I say we go in and attack them at dawn, sir. Before they have a chance to improve their defences.’
‘I disagree,’ Massimilianus responded. ‘You heard what the prefect said about the approach to the wall. We’d lose half our men just getting through the gorge. We’ve got them trapped. We can bide our time and starve them out.’
Cato shook his head. ‘We can’t bide our time. We’ve seen what this sickness can do. Whatever precautions the surgeon takes, I think the odds are against us containing it. We have three men down this evening. I’ll wager there will be more at dawn. And those we identify are more than likely to have passed the sickness on to their comrades. We have to assume the worst. That means we must attack as soon as possible. At the same time, we must be certain that there is no way out of the trap they’re caught in. That’s down to Apollonius.’ He turned to the agent. ‘If you and your scouts can find another way into the valley, we may be able to break into their stronghold without having to negotiate the gorge. At the very least, we’ll be able to post men to prevent them escaping.’
He paused for a moment and then yawned. ‘There it is, gentlemen. We have to attack them within the next few days. There’s no more to be said tonight. Keep a close eye on the men. Some may want to avoid quarantine quarters even if they are sick. If you have any doubts, send them to the surgeon at once. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the two centurions replied, then rose to leave the tent. Apollonius eased himself away from the tent pole, stretched his back and shoulders and sat opposite Cato.
‘Tricky choice, but for my money you are right.’
‘Thank you for the vote of confidence,’ Cato said drily.
‘How do you intend to go about it? Apart from quickly?’
Cato considered this for a moment before he replied. ‘With fire . . .’
Chapter Thirty-Two
The fortifications blocking the entrance to the gorge were completed late the following afternoon. By that time, another six of Cato’s men had fallen sick and reported to quarantine quarters. As dusk thickened, he walked the line of the rampart with Plancinus and Massimilianus, pausing every so often to commend good work and give instructions for improvements. The rampart, topped with a palisade, was not continuous but included outcrops of rock to save time in completing the fortifications, which stretched for some four hundred yards before they were bounded by the crags at the end of each ridge. Sharpened stakes had been driven into the base of the rampart, angling down at the ditch. The open ground beyond the ditch had been sown with caltrops. If the enemy attempted to charge the defences in a bid to break out of the trap, they risked impaling their feet on the sharp iron spikes hidden amid the tufts of dry grass. A watchtower had been erected to cover each stretch of the fortifications, and a single gated causeway crossed the ditch. Sentries patrolled between the towers, and two sections manned the gate and the fighting platform above it.
‘Your men have done a good job,’ Cato told Massimilianus. ‘Considering how little practice most garrison units have in fieldcraft.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ the centurion replied with a proud smile. ‘Those brigand bastards aren’t going to get past my lads.’
‘I trust I can hold you to that,’ Cato responded. ‘If the attack fails, we’ll be counting on these fortifications to keep the trap closed long enough for the enemy to run out o
f provisions.’
At mention of the coming assault on the enemy’s defences, all three men turned to the piles of faggots stacked close to the gate. Plancinus had taken a large forage party out to the nearest forest to bring back dry branches and twigs, which had been bound into bundles. If Cato’s plan worked, the follow-up assault should carry the wall and what was left of the gate without too much difficulty.
‘Any sign of the enemy while you were in the forest?’ Cato asked.
‘None,’ Plancinus replied. ‘I thought we might see some scouts, or a war band. But there was no one.’
‘It’s more than likely they had plenty of warning of our approach,’ said Cato. ‘Enough time to call their people into the safety of their lair. And not just their warriors. I’d imagine they moved everyone inside, including such herds of animals as they could take with them. That’s good for us. It’d make the men jumpy if they thought they might be attacked from the rear while they were keeping watch over the approaches to the gorge. In fact, have the message passed to every man in the column to reassure them that the only brigands we have to deal with are trapped in that valley.’
He led the two officers across to the covered wooden frames that lay next to the stacked faggots. Tent leather had been stretched over the sturdy timbers and the latticework of smaller branches that had been cut and closely interwoven across the frames. They would not stand up to being struck by any boulder larger than a watermelon, but they would protect the men beneath from smaller rocks and other missiles. Cato tested his weight on one of the shelters and judged that it was robust enough to protect the men who would be carrying it over the heads of their faggot-laden comrades.
The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19) Page 34