The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19)

by Simon Scarrow

  When he spotted a glimmer of red a short distance ahead, bounded by two towering masses of black, he realised the end of the gorge was in sight.

  ‘Almost there, boys! Just a little further. Keep moving.’

  As he closed up on the end of the gorge, he could see the small stretch of open ground in front of the brigands’ wall and gate. Plancinus had wasted no time, and fires lit up the area and the rocks above as flames consumed the tightly bound bundles of sticks that had been heaped up against the gate and the foot of the wall. His men were busy setting fresh fires while their comrades sheltered them as best they could with the wooden frames. The defenders lining the wall were clearly visible in the lurid red glow as they hurled small rocks and loosed arrows and slingshot at the attackers. They had downed several auxiliaries already, and their bodies, the dead motionless and the wounded writhing, were scattered along the route Plancinus and his men had taken.

  The centurion was standing in the open, directing his men’s efforts as they ducked out from the protective screens angled towards the enemy and hurled their faggots onto the growing blaze. The roaring flames grew in intensity and began to force the defenders from the wall so that only those in the two towers and above the gate remained, though even they would not be able to bear the searing heat for much longer. There was still plenty of danger from those on the cliffs above the gorge, who kept hurling rocks and rolling heavy stones onto the attackers.

  Cato picked up a shield lying beside the body of an auxiliary whose head had been crushed as he stood at the end of the gorge. Taking a firm grip, he trotted forward to join Plancinus.

  ‘Good work, Centurion!’

  ‘Sir? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the reserves.’

  ‘Easy there. I’m not taking charge. This is your show.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Plancinus nodded and gestured towards the gates. ‘That’ll go up nicely when the fire spreads to those timbers.’

  Cato regarded the blaze running most of the length of the wall. The stonework would be undamaged by the fire, but the heat would prevent the enemy from occupying the parapet. By the same token, there was no chance of using the assault ladders now. ‘As soon as you’ve used up the last of the faggots, throw the ladders and screens onto the flames and get your men out of here. You can pick up the casualties as you fall back.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cato was mindful of the need to make sure he joined Apollonius and the shepherd to climb the goat track as soon as there was enough light to see their way up the ridge. He patted Plancinus on the shoulder. ‘There’s no need for the reserves. I’ll lead them back to our lines and see you at the fort.’

  As the centurion raised his hand to salute, his head snapped back, his arms went limp and he crashed to the ground on his back. At once Cato crouched, holding the shield up to protect Plancinus and himself. By the light of the flames he saw the gaping wound where the slingshot had smashed through the centurion’s brow above the bridge of his nose. Blood coursed from the wound as Plancinus began to tremble violently. Cato grabbed the leather strap at the top of the centurion’s harness and dragged his body to the base of the nearest cliff, covering them both with the shield as best he could. As he propped him up, he saw that Plancinus had lost consciousness.

  One of the auxiliaries who had added his faggot to the fire and was now heading for the gorge made to move past.

  ‘You!’ Cato stood and blocked his path. ‘Get the centurion to the rear.’

  He helped lift Plancinus onto the auxiliary’s shoulders and steered him towards the opening of the gorge, then turned back and cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Optio Caudus!’

  Behind the screen closest to the blazing gate, a figure turned.

  ‘Caudus!’ Cato waved his arms. ‘Over here!’

  The optio bolted from cover and sprinted across the open ground. Cato knew Caudus only by sight, and the anxious-looking junior officer crouching beside him did not appear up to the task of taking the place of his superior.

  ‘Centurion Plancinus has been wounded. He’s been taken to the rear. You’re in command of the First Century now.’

  Cato repeated the orders he had given to Plancinus only a few moments before, and stared intently into the younger man’s face. ‘Do you understand what you must do?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I think so.’

  ‘Don’t think. Just do it,’ Cato responded harshly, and gave him a shove towards the gate. ‘Go!’

  The optio scurried to his position and Cato waited until he saw him issue his orders, sending the first section back through the gorge. Satisfied that Caudus was capable of commanding the withdrawal, he took up the shield again and trotted into the narrow passage with the other men. Rocks continued to crash down from above, killing and wounding more soldiers as they blindly filed back towards their lines. Cato kept pace with them, urging them to keep moving as calmly as he could manage, aware that any panic might cause a stampede in the confined space that would only lead to chaos and more casualties.

  At length he emerged from the gorge and joined the loose throng streaming through the rocks towards the safety of the ditch and rampart that blocked the enemy into their stronghold. Once through the gate, he set his shield down and found Massimilianus to inform him that Plancinus had been wounded.

  ‘You are in command here now.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cato regarded him by the light of the fire in the nearby brazier. There was surprise and anxiety in the auxiliary officer’s expression, but Cato knew the man well enough to be confident in his abilities. ‘You know what to do. If for any reason I have not returned by the time the fire has burned itself out, you must lead the attack into the valley.’

  ‘I understand, sir. I won’t let you down.’

  Apollonius was waiting for him a short distance behind the gate. The shepherd was already in the saddle atop a pony, and looked nervous and uncomfortable. Apollonius handed Cato the reins of his horse without a word being exchanged, and then swung himself up onto his own mount. The sky along the eastern horizon was already evincing the first pale band of the coming dawn. Over in the direction of the gorge, a red hue gleamed against the black cliffs as the fire raged.

  As soon as Cato was in the saddle, the agent grasped the pony’s reins and nodded to the west. ‘This way!’

  They made for the track that ran past the ridge, increasing their pace once they were on firmer ground. While the goat path might not be suitable for a large body of men, Cato prayed the three of them might be able to follow it and determine from the vantage point of the crest of the ridge where Claudia and the other hostages were being held, and if possible, save them.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘Are you certain about this?’ Cato asked as he tilted his head and looked up the face of the cliff. In the thin light of dawn he could see clumps of grass and the odd shrub or small tree clinging precariously amid the rocks. A flicker of movement caught his eye and he made out a goat, hundreds of feet further up, seemingly stuck to the side of the cliff face. ‘I can’t see any bloody path at all, let alone a practicable one like you claimed.’

  ‘It’s there all right,’ said Apollonius, pointing towards a finger of rock close to the base of the cliff. ‘It starts behind that. Show him, Milopus.’

  The shepherd shuffled forward, leading the other two men towards the rock, which Cato had assumed was part of the cliff when they had dismounted shortly before. It was only when he was close that he could see there was a gap behind it. Milopus suddenly ran ahead and then beckoned to them.

  ‘See? See?’

  As they moved round the rock, the start of the path was revealed. It was barely wide enough for a goat to pick its way up the side of the cliff, and sufficiently steep to make the climb exhausting.

  Cato clicked his tongue. ‘No wonder the brigands haven’t come across it. Even if they had, I dare say they’d never believe anyone would try to use this route. It’s impassable.’

&nbs
p; ‘No.’ Milopus shook his head violently. ‘I climb it. Many times. The truth.’

  ‘Fine. You go first then.’ Cato began to unbuckle his sword belt and harness, then stripped off his armour, retaining only his dagger on the belt around his tunic. He piled his kit out of sight behind the rock. ‘I’m ready. Up you go, Milopus.’

  The shepherd needed no further encouragement. His earlier reticence had vanished the moment Cato had promised him a second donkey to seal the deal. Now he moved with a nimbleness that belied his age. Or was it that he was younger than he seemed under the unkempt hair and grime-streaked skin? He moved swiftly, his left hand seeking out one handhold after another as he climbed. Cato followed, doing his best to keep up, while Apollonius took the rear. It was easier going than it had looked from the bottom of the cliff, and soon they had ascended over two hundred feet. Cato paused to catch his breath. From his vantage point he could already see for miles over the forested hills that stretched out from the ridge. Then he made the mistake of looking down, and felt his head swim with nausea as his boot shifted and a shower of grit and tiny stones fell down the side of the cliff.

  ‘You all right?’ asked Apollonius.

  ‘Fine.’ Cato swallowed. ‘Let’s keep moving.’

  ‘Come!’ Milopus waved them on. ‘Still far to go. Rest at the top.’

  He continued climbing, pausing now and again to make sure that his less sure-footed companions were keeping up. By the time they were halfway up, as far as Cato could judge it, the sun had risen over the mountains to the west and the ridge cast a long shadow over the forest. Sweat was trickling from his brow and under his tunic, while his heart was beating fast from the exertion of his aching limbs. All thought of using the path as a means to deliver a force of men into the enemy’s stronghold had been dashed. An armoured man carrying weapons would find it impossible to scale the cliff. The only value to Cato was the chance that they would be able to discover the layout of the brigands’ stronghold and the number of men they could call on to defend what remained of the wall when the fire died down. That, and hopefully the location of the prisoners held by the enemy.

  By the time they were two thirds of the way up the cliff, Cato began to wonder if he had the strength to reach the top. But a glance back the way they had come made him realise that it would be almost as tiring when the time came to make the descent. He flattened himself against the rock to take a brief rest. Apollonius joined him, chest heaving as he took several deep breaths.

  ‘Where in Hades does our friend get the strength to climb this path?’

  Cato shrugged. ‘He knows it well and he’s lean enough. Must be a hard living in these mountains. It’s made him as tough as old boots.’

  The shepherd had stopped twenty feet further up and was muttering to himself between tearing off fragments from a strip of dried goat meat that had appeared from within his tunic. He turned towards Cato with a guilty expression and hesitantly extended the snack towards him. ‘Hungry?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ Cato called back. ‘Thirsty.’

  Milopus shook his head. ‘No water. Maybe later.’ He tucked the dried meat away and pointed ahead. ‘Up!’

  Without waiting for a response, he resumed the climb. Cato gritted his teeth and followed.

  By the time the slope inclined towards the ridge and the going became easier and safer, the morning was well advanced and the warm air betokened another hot day. Cato’s throat was parched and his tongue felt like it was sticking to the roof of his mouth. But he could see the ridgeline now, scarcely fifty paces above, and found a reserve of strength to complete the climb at a faster pace. The path gave onto the grassy crest of the ridge, and he saw several goats chewing stunted bushes a quarter of a mile or so away. He pointed them out.

  ‘Yours?’

  The shepherd nodded proudly.

  ‘I thought you said the brigands had stolen your flock,’ Apollonius said accusingly.

  ‘My goats in the forest, yes. Not my mountain goats.’

  ‘Stay here,’ Cato ordered, and gestured to Apollonius to accompany him to the ridgeline.

  They moved warily, unsure of what the position would reveal. As the ground flattened out, Cato slowed his pace and looked round before spying a cluster of rocks to his left.

  ‘Over there, but keep out of sight of the far slope.’

  On the other side of the rocks, the view of the valley below opened up before them. A quarter of a mile at its widest, it extended for a mile from the start of the gorge to the point where the ridges tended towards each other and merged. A dry stream bed ran along the valley and into a natural pool not far from the gorge. It seemed to lie in perpetual shadow, which was why the contents had not evaporated, Cato surmised. A hundred paces below their position, a spur projected into the valley. The enemy’s stronghold extended from the spur to the wall they had constructed inside the end of the gorge. The fire was still burning and smoke billowed into the sky. A chain of tiny figures passed buckets from the pool to the wall, where others were trying to douse the flames that seemed to have all but consumed the gateway. Cato smiled at the irony of the enemy toiling to extinguish the flames that would only hasten the Roman assault. An assault that would have to be led by Massimilianus, he realised. There was no chance of descending the precipitous goat track and returning to the fort before the attack began. It was down to the centurion and his men to do the job, and Cato would be an onlooker.

  Apart from the men fighting the fire, there was little movement in the rest of the camp, which comprised stone-walled huts and storerooms covered with wooden shingle roofs. There were over a hundred such structures, Cato estimated, along with a number of animal pens and small terraces where modest crops grew. A hundred paces from the huts was a large pit with what appeared to be a row of logs arranged across the bottom. As he watched, two men emerged from the brigands’ settlement carrying some burden between them. When they reached the edge of the pit, they climbed down and laid out what Cato could now discern was a body wrapped in a dark cloth. Then they scrambled up and hurried away.

  ‘Do you see?’ He pointed out the pit to Apollonius. ‘Must be a mass grave.’

  The agent nodded before scrutinising the rest of the enemy position. There were people slumped or sprawled outside many of the huts, unmoving.

  ‘Sweet Jupiter, it must be the sickness. They’ve got it bad. Worse than us.’

  Cato nodded. Now the reason for other unusual aspects of the scene was clear. The lack of smoke from cooking fires. The untended goats picking their way through the terraced crops, and the sense of quiet and stillness about the buildings. ‘One of their raiding parties must have brought it back with them. If we’d tried to starve them out, that’s what the fort would have looked like before too long.’

  ‘Seems the real victor of the campaign is going to be the pestilence,’ Apollonius said. ‘It will end up having killed far more on both sides than any combat. If we’d known in time, we could have let it do the job for us and saved Rome the trouble of this campaign.’

  ‘The brigands aren’t finished off yet.’ Cato gazed towards the figures in the firefighting chain, and the groups of armed men waiting in the shade close to the wall. ‘There are at least two hundred of them still capable of fighting. It could go either way.’

  He scanned the settlement again and spotted two men standing outside an animal pen close to the largest building, as if guarding something within. When he strained his eyes, he could make out a handful of figures sitting inside the pen, and he felt his heart give a lurch. ‘I can see prisoners. There, in the pen by the big hut.’

  ‘I see them . . .’

  ‘Can you make any of them out?’

  Apollonius shook his head. ‘Too far. If she’s still alive, that’s where we’re likely to find her.’ He leaned against a rock as he regarded the prefect speculatively. ‘What do you intend to do?’

  ‘Since we can’t get back to the fort in time for the attack, we must try and rescue Claudia Acte and the
other hostages.’

  ‘I see. How do you propose we do that? All we have between us is a pair of daggers. Not going to give us much of an edge, if you’ll pardon the pun, when we go down there and try to set them free.’

  ‘The enemy’s attention will be on Massimilianus and his lads. It’ll be the best chance we get. If we leave it too late, they may kill the hostages before the fighting is over.’ Cato regarded his companion coolly. ‘You don’t have to come with me if you’re not prepared to take the risk. I can manage by myself while you and the shepherd go back down the cliff.’

  ‘What? Stay here with that wizened derelict and miss all the fun? I don’t think so, Prefect. In any case, I baulk at the prospect of letting a half-blind romantic blunder about in the heart of the enemy stronghold armed only with a dagger. I’m coming with you.’

  Cato was relieved, but was damned if he would betray it to the agent. He shrugged dismissively. ‘As you wish. But you’ll do as I say.’

  ‘Yes . . . sir.’

  He looked over the enemy settlement and the surrounding terrain once more before he made his decision. ‘We’ll make our way down the far side of that spur and approach from the rear the moment Massimilianus launches the attack.’

  ‘What about the shepherd?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘It would be dangerous to take him with us. You’ve seen what he’s like. Half mad, I’d say. He could give us away.’

  ‘Then he stays here until it’s all over. I’ll send someone up to fetch him.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t stay put? What if he gets curious and moves into the open and someone sees him?’

  Cato did not like the conclusion to which Apollonius was steering him and addressed the agent firmly. ‘He showed us the path. We’ll honour our side of the deal.’