Hammer of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  He placed a finger on her lips. ‘Of course Gwlym used you as a weapon to keep me on the course he set. Just as he is using my name as a weapon for those who come after us to oppose the Romans. It has always been the trial of kings and queens to be manipulated by clever priests. There is nothing to forgive.’

  After a moment, Olwyn pushed herself away, drawing herself up to her full height and meeting his eyes. ‘Then I will prepare the children.’ She took a deep breath and turned to walk down the rear crest of the hill. What was in that last look? Despair? Fear? Reassurance? His eyes had been too blurred to see. ‘We will meet again, lord king.’

  He moved to follow her, then stopped himself. Let them go. Sending the women and children away, all those who’d somehow found their way to their men after that first season amid the growing knowledge they wouldn’t be returning, had been the hardest decision he’d ever had to make. Yet Gwlym’s description of the aftermath of Boudicca’s last battle left him no choice. The Romans had butchered the aged, the injured and the helpless until their arms were red to the shoulder and could barely lift a sword. Even then, their officers had urged them on to even greater slaughter. Men, women and children. None had been spared.

  It had to be done in the dark, and by ways invisible to the Romans who would be watching him even now. He had deliberately chosen this hill, rather than the higher slopes where the old fort stood, because it offered the potential for a tactical withdrawal. From the front, the distinctive contours concealed the river protecting his left flank and the smaller stream on his right. Both streams coursed through hidden valleys and the southernmost provided a ready-made escape route in case of need. The first two hours of the march would be shielded from the invaders by a lesser range of hills to the south. From there, the escapers could go where they willed.

  King Crinan had offered the women and children shelter until they decided to move on or stay. He had no fear that the Romans would come after them, since they’d shown no previous inclination to penetrate the narrow mountain valleys.

  Reluctantly, Cathal tore himself away from the image of Olwyn’s retreating back and turned his gaze east. On the slope below, campfires had begun to spring up like fireflies as his men gathered together for warmth and companionship in the growing gloom. Cathal did nothing to prevent them. He wanted the Roman scouts to know they were here. Because they were out there, and by now they would have reported his position to Julius Agricola.

  And tomorrow they would come.

  Valerius had posted the remainder of his escort in groups of four along the crest of the hill with orders to alert him to any movement in the enemy lines. He knew it would be impossible to tell for certain in the dark; even the hundreds of fires could be a ruse to mask a withdrawal, but he was reassured by the occasional sign of men moving among them. One group seemed to be having a celebration because he could hear the sound of a whistle and raucous drunken shouts.

  He lay among the bushes wrapped in his cloak, accompanied by Shabolz, Rufus and Hilario. By now Agricola would have alerted his generals. They wouldn’t travel by night, but he’d have them on the move by first light. A brisk march would bring the legions to Mons Graupius at around the third hour, as long as the governor accepted Valerius’s assurance that the route was safe from ambush. The cavalry might be here hours earlier if he was prepared to risk unleashing them.

  Valerius listed the forces that would face Calgacus’s thousands in the morning and he concluded for the hundredth time that, one way or the other, tomorrow would bring Agricola victory. Whether it would be the conclusive victory that would bring him his return to Rome and the triumph he craved was another matter.

  ‘You seem troubled, lord,’ Rufus whispered.

  ‘I still can’t understand why Calgacus has decided to fight. There’s no reason why he couldn’t keep retreating. Even if he chose to retreat into the mountains he’d have the option of emerging where it suited him and we might be fifty miles away. Every day he keeps his army intact is a victory for him. Even if he was forced to disperse them he could wage a war of raid and ambush against us that would keep Agricola occupied for years.’

  ‘Why does any soldier or warrior fight when he has the option to walk away?’ Valerius could hear the scout’s mental shrug. ‘Honour, pride, duty, even vanity. Perhaps Calgacus is as sick of running as we are of chasing him. He’s been on the move for four or five years. Maybe he wants it over and done with?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Valerius acknowledged. ‘But even if he fights tomorrow and loses, he can continue the fight for years if he survives with any part of his army intact.’

  ‘Then let’s—’

  Rufus froze in mid-sentence and Valerius heard the hiss of a sword being drawn. The little man moved his mouth close to Valerius’s ear. ‘We have company,’ he breathed.

  ‘Where?’

  But Rufus was already on the move, and he must have touched Hilario on the way because a giant shadow blocked the stars then disappeared down the rear slope in the scout’s wake. Shabolz moved in closer to Valerius. ‘They’re on the slope below us,’ he whispered.

  Valerius drew his sword with his left hand and lay with it at his side. ‘How many?’

  ‘Four or five that I can hear, but there could be more.’

  ‘We stay here.’ Valerius had already ruled out returning to the horses. If Rufus thought he needed more help he would have taken Shabolz. They waited, nerves tingling, for what seemed an age, ready for the inevitable howl and rush of swords.

  What came was Hilario, unnervingly silent for a man so large, appearing out of the darkness like a ghost. He carried a large bundle over his shoulders and he stooped to lay it beside Valerius. Valerius ran his hand over the body. Blood stuck to his fingers and the distinctive smell of excrement told him the corpse’s bowels had been pierced. ‘A scout?’ he asked the big man.

  ‘More like a deserter.’ Valerius hadn’t even heard Rufus return. ‘He was carrying a bag full of loot he’d taken from the local farms.’

  ‘The others?’

  ‘The same. They were travelling independently, staying well clear of each other. This one walked into us.’

  ‘All right.’ Valerius sheathed his sword. ‘You and Hilario get some sleep. But first take this carrion somewhere else. He stinks.’

  ‘Not as much as he will tomorrow,’ Hilario snorted. ‘And he’ll have plenty of company.’

  Valerius must have dozed, because he was woken by Shabolz’s nudge and when he opened his eyes the first ash-grey light of the pre-dawn painted the sky. He heard the sound of metal clinking and his hand instinctively went to his sword. Shabolz laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. Rufus and Hilario were already on the alert, but their eyes were fixed on the east. Valerius’s ears picked up a sort of muted, distant thunder. A Roman cavalry trumpet brayed its familiar tune.

  Agricola was here.

  LXII

  Half a mile to his left Valerius watched the first of Agricola’s troops march over the ridge in column. From their loose formation, uniforms and shields he could tell they were a cohort of auxiliaries, probably the Brigantes recruited barely a year earlier when Domitian had withdrawn so many experienced troops to Germania and Dacia.

  Their arrival was greeted with a mighty roar by the massed ranks on the hill opposite. Trumpets blared defiance and banners waved. Valerius expected the new arrivals to turn and take up a position on the left wing as was the normal disposition. Instead, they advanced another two hundred paces and turned to march across the enemy’s front and form a cohort square opposite Calgacus’s left flank. This would normally be the position of honour occupied by the elite First cohort of a legion. He could only guess the legionary troops would be ordered to form up in front of the auxiliaries. Yet there seemed little room between them and the Celtic cavalry who trotted back and forth across their front.

  Roman auxiliary cavalry troopers who’d taken up station on the flanks two hours earlier watched Calgacus’s horsemen warily but made n
o move to stop their enthusiastic but innocuous manoeuvring. The chariots seemed to be operating independently, as was the fashion of the north Britons, and he noted that they kept to the far side of the broad green swathe of marshy ground.

  A unit of Batavians followed the Brigantes and took up station on their flank. Where were the legionaries? Valerius half turned in the saddle and noticed a command group a short distance away observing the units marching into position. He trotted towards them and was surprised to see Metilius Aprilis, his camp prefect, where he would have expected the governor, at the centre of a group of aides.

  ‘Legate.’ The younger man greeted him with a perfunctory salute.

  ‘Metilius,’ Valerius acknowledged. ‘It’s good to see you and our auxiliaries, but where is the Ninth? Where are the legions?’

  ‘The legions will form the second line.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It is not my doing.’ Aprilis shrugged. ‘This is the governor’s express order.’

  ‘He must have misheard the estimate of the enemy numbers I sent. There are fifteen thousand of them on that hill, not fifteen hundred. This is not a detachment – it is Calgacus’s entire army.’

  Aprilis sniffed. ‘I believe he is aware of that.’

  ‘We need heavy infantry to storm that hill. Not lightly armed auxiliaries.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to advise the governor that you think his tactics are wrong?’

  ‘Perhaps I will. Where is he?’

  ‘He set up his headquarters on the level ground a mile back.’ Aprilis smirked. ‘He was quite out of sorts until your news arrived, but it cheered him immensely. I doubt he’ll thank you for your advice.’

  ‘Nevertheless …’ Valerius turned his horse and called for his escort. They rode past columns of Nervians, Tungrians and Varduli from northern Hispania. A regiment of Gauls attached to the Ninth gave a great cheer when they recognized their legate and Valerius stopped to salute them as they marched past grinning with pride.

  A few minutes later he approached a group of tents with the governor’s pavilion at the centre. Guards surrounded the compound and a thousand-strong cavalry wing was watering their horses in a nearby river. Valerius recognized their commander as the young Gaulish officer Aulus Atticus. ‘Is the governor giving your lads a rest, prefect?’ Valerius called as he rode up.

  Atticus rose to his feet and saluted, but Valerius waved him back to his seat on a felled tree by the river bank. ‘He is, legate.’ The officer smiled. ‘But he promised we will have our opportunity to cross swords with the enemy.’

  ‘Then may your deeds today and that of the Ala Petriana ring down through history.’

  The young man’s grin widened and Valerius would swear the hardened cavalryman blushed.

  Valerius approached the centurion in charge of the guard. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens, legate Ninth legion Hispana, seeks an audience with the governor.’

  The centurion nodded recognition. ‘If you’ll just wait here, legate.’

  Valerius turned to watch the marching units as he waited. Still no sign of the legions. What did Agricola think he was doing?

  ‘If you’ll come with me, legate.’ The centurion had emerged accompanied by one of Agricola’s soldier clerks, who led Valerius to the pavilion tent and pulled back the curtained doorway.

  ‘Valerius.’ Agricola rose from his desk with a disconcertingly broad smile of welcome. If Valerius was expecting anything it wasn’t this. ‘So you found him for me?’

  ‘I’m not sure whether we found him or he found us.’ He tried to match the governor’s mood.

  ‘Will he attack us, do you think?’

  Valerius had pondered the question through the night. ‘No. If he was going to leave the mountain he would have done it while our auxiliaries were deploying.’

  Agricola caught the emphasis on the word ‘auxiliaries’ and raised an eyebrow. ‘An innovation. One you don’t approve of, I gather? Yet this is the man who used gladiators to break the Twenty-first’s line at Bedriacum?’

  ‘More out of necessity than part of any plan.’ Valerius remembered the idea had been Serpentius’s, and every man who took part had died. ‘The day didn’t end well for us, as you’ll remember.’

  Agricola laughed dismissively. ‘You were fighting legions, not barbarians.’

  ‘I’m sure you have your reasons for using the auxiliaries.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The governor sobered. ‘Your description of the terrain gave me the idea.’

  ‘But you haven’t seen the ground,’ Valerius said quickly.

  ‘No.’ Agricola ushered him to the inevitable sand table. ‘But your young man gave me a great deal of detail. A clever one, that; he has great potential.’ The contours of the sand model were exactly as Valerius visualized the hill in his memory. ‘We know that with his armour and shield a legionary weighs at least a tenth more than an auxiliary. When they reach this bog at the bottom of the dip it would have the same effect as a river. They would slow, and the momentum of the attack would be lost. Calgacus would have his chance to fall on us as we flounder in the swamp. You see?’

  Valerius studied the model. ‘Yes.’ Perhaps it made sense after all. He realized the experiences of the past two years had led him to underestimate Agricola’s abilities as a general. ‘I should have seen it. With the swamp and the hill the situation is perfect for light infantry. I shouldn’t have doubted you, Julius. You have my apologies.’

  Agricola stared at him, discomfited for a moment. ‘Nor I you. Let us not forget that we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t disobeyed my orders and continued to hound the Celts last summer and starve them of their supplies.’ The two men stared at each other and a wry smile flickered across Agricola’s lips. ‘We will never be friends, Valerius. But I hope we can be trusted comrades.’

  ‘Of course, proconsul.’

  ‘So no legionaries floundering in the mud.’ The governor’s voice quickened as he continued. ‘Instead the auxiliaries will skip across it, more or less, and take the attack to the enemy. While Calgacus is pinned, the legions in the second line will swing round the flank of the auxiliaries, here and here, to smash into his outlying units, and once they are engaged the cavalry will make a wider flanking movement to hit the rear enemy ranks. What is his army’s condition?’

  ‘Many of them are hungry and their morale is low,’ Valerius admitted. ‘But I believe the core of Calgacus’s force is capable of causing us heavy casualties.’ He watched for Agricola’s reaction, but the governor only nodded. ‘He has also chosen his position with care. If he faces defeat he has the option to withdraw north or south, or even conceivably fade away into the mountains.’ Agricola grimaced with distaste. ‘If he does that it might take years of campaigning to finally hunt him down.’

  ‘We must finish it here and now.’ The governor’s sudden anger betrayed the pressure being imposed on him from Rome. ‘I have moved Polio and his Second legion north of Calgacus’s position. There is no escape for him by that route.’

  ‘Calgacus is the key.’ Valerius saw his opportunity. ‘We know from our prisoners that without him his allies won’t continue the fight.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Let me try to negotiate his surrender.’ He waited for the inevitable explosion, but it never came. ‘He and his warriors have been fighting us for four long years. His harvests have gone uncollected and his people starve. It is the same with the Venicones and the Caledonians. They have been fighting for so long they have forgotten why they are fighting. They are tired of war. Offer them an honourable way out and they will take it. I have met Calgacus; I believe he would accept their decision. If I succeed you will have destroyed the power of the northern tribes for ever and brought them under Rome’s control without losing another man. Even if I fail, the very fact of the offer will widen the cracks between the allies.’

  Agricola stared at him. ‘You could be signing your own death warrant.’

  Now it was Valerius’s turn to smile. ‘From wha
t I understand it is you who holds my life in your hands.’

  Agricola’s expression didn’t alter, but the long silence that followed told Valerius that Domitian’s execution order was a reality. ‘I must have Calgacus,’ the governor said eventually. ‘And the tribes must accept Roman rule.’

  ‘Of course.’ Valerius head spun at this unlikely victory.

  ‘Then I agree. I will give you an hour before I leave for the field. If you have not persuaded him by the time I arrive, we will attack. Do you understand, Valerius? You have an hour. No more.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Leave a good man to act as a messenger in case I need to contact you.’

  ‘Shabolz is the best I have.’

  ‘The Pannonian? Excellent. And take the Ala Petriana with you. Atticus has his instructions.’ Agricola rose to his feet and grasped Valerius by the wooden hand. ‘May Fortuna favour your efforts, legate.’

  Valerius could only nod his thanks. He strode out, calling for his escort.

  Julius Agricola settled back into his chair. He tapped his stylus on his desk, contemplating the conversation that had just occurred. Had he made the right decision? In a way it didn’t matter. He had nothing to lose except the life of Gaius Valerius Verrens.

  LXIII

  From his place on the hill, Cathal watched the Roman cohorts moving into position. The sun had risen on a fine morning. He could smell the faint scent of crushed grass on the breeze and the song of plover, lark and curlew welcomed the day on the moorland to his rear. Outwardly, he appeared untroubled, but his heart thundered in his chest at the sight of his enemies and part of his mind was with Olwyn and the children making their long journey south.

  He forced himself back to the present. He knew he had chosen his position well. His army occupied a half circle of hillside overlooking the plain where the Romans marched in their frighteningly disciplined squares. Donacha, Rurid and the recently returned Vodenos were with their tribes, the Caledonians and the Brigantes on the left of Cathal’s Selgovae, and the Venicones and Taexali to the right, where the ground fell away to the river. In the early stages of the coming battle they had one order and one only.