The others stood silent, thoughtful, pondering this and trying to ignore the cries of agony across the water.
‘Are we,’ Cantex asked, quietly, ‘seriously contemplating the possibility that someone within the empire, or within this army, is supplying the enemy with information, or even using them against us? Telling them what to expect from our forces and where we will be and what we plan to do?’
‘My thoughts do keep sliding in that direction,’ Convocus admitted. ‘I don’t like the idea.’
Bellacon took a deep breath. ‘Lissa, can you consult your gods?’
Convocus flashed him a disapproving look, but he ignored it.
‘There is no guarantee of sight, Tribune,’ the witch reminded him. ‘My visions are at the whim of the world beyond.’ Convocus’ eyes narrowed further. The woman’s tone softened when aimed at Bellacon, but remained sharp when directed at him or Cantex.
Bellacon waved at a soldier nearby. ‘Find someone cooking in the camp and requisition their fire. Bring me a burning brazier.’
The soldier saluted and ran off.
Across the river, the fires were beginning to die down, collapsing in on themselves, and the screaming had stopped. The majority of the timbers had become little more than charcoal, crashing in on themselves. The tribes over the water whooped and began to leap and run across the burning embers of timber and carbonised flesh, daring one another and showing their strength in feats of courage.
One of the men, driven to heights of fury with his blood up, ran towards the river, yelling imprecations in his guttural tongue and waving what could only be a charred bone. He reached the water’s edge and began to caper. A heavy iron bolt caught him mid-dance and threw him back across the grass, a fine mist exploding from his chest at the impact.
Bellacon glanced down at the man below reloading his bolt thrower as the imperial lines cheered this tiny act of revenge for the poor burned captives. The artillerist smiled sheepishly.
‘Not every long shot is a waste of ammunition, sir.’
‘Damn right. Keep that up.’
A short while later three soldiers arrived, carefully ferrying a brazier of glowing coals and a small bag of extra fuel. Lissa moved up to the flames as the soldiers stepped back with an odd mix of deference and suspicion. The witch woman might be something of a fixture in the Vulture Legion, but they still treated her with a kind of nervous awe.
She fished the white powder from her pouches and added the crumbled dried vegetation, mixing it up with her silent prayers, then blew it into the brazier’s small dancing flame. The hiss was accompanied by a green flash. The three tribunes pulled back, blinking, trying to remove the blotch from their vision, but Lissa simply stood there, absent somehow, staring straight forward, and yet seeing something somewhere else through the flare on her retinas.
She shuddered.
‘I see a child’s toy. A toy of an Albante child perhaps. A warrior made of wood and flax. It dances and jigs on strings, flailing and swinging as it is directed. But it is not held by an Albante boy or girl. It is held by a figure in a toga. I cannot see the face, but that…’ she shook her head as if recovering from a daze. ‘No. That is all.’
‘It is enough,’ Bellacon murmured. ‘The meaning is clear.’
‘You trust these native visions?’ Convocus asked his friend uncertainly.
‘Lissa is unerringly accurate, and she has no reason to lie. And you, like me, had already come to this conclusion anyway. It is merely confirmation of our suspicions. Someone is calling the tune for these tribes to dance to. Interference in our campaign. We are not just fighting to control Alba. We are struggling against our own people. Someone either wants to see the island free or the legions fail. Possibly both.’
Cantex ground his teeth. ‘Nothing would suit me better right now than taking these men back to the south, putting them on boats for the crossing and heading back to Velutio to bring charges of treason against whoever is responsible for this. If only we could be certain who is responsible.’
‘I think there’s a good chance we do know who’s responsible,’ Convocus replied ominously. ‘Senator Rufus is the clear choice. But without any proper evidence we would fail dismally to prosecute him back home. And if we do that, he wins. Our enemy is trying to make us fail, and if we give up and return to Velutio, even if it’s because we believe we are being set up, our names will be spat upon for decades. You don’t have to look far to see what future that would hold – just look at the generals who brought us here. Do you really want us to be Crito, Volentius and Quietus ten years from now? No. We have to go on. We have to carry out our duty for Titus and the emperor and take Alba or die trying. And when we do – when we win and this soggy, horrible island pays obeisance to the emperor – then we can go home and rip a new arsehole in the man that tried to stop us.’
There was a moment’s silence as Bellacon and Cantex’s brows rose at the uncharacteristically colourful outburst from their more erudite friend, and then they both nodded.
‘But we need unity,’ Bellacon said firmly. ‘If we are to try and win this war even with all these odds stacked against us, we can only do it as one army. That means that not only do the legions have to work together, and the auxiliaries, and not only do we have to be seen to agree and be working in concert, but also Lissa needs to be considered trustworthy. I recognise that you don’t know her yet, but over these past weeks I have come to trust her implicitly. At no point has she steered us wrong, and her insight and weird visions could prove vital to the future of the campaign.’
The others nodded their understanding and acceptance – grudgingly, in the case of Convocus.
‘Right,’ Bellacon said. ‘One thing remains.’
Beckoning to his friends, he strode across the camp towards the small stand of trees where the unit formed of those men who remained potential spies or saboteurs cut extra trunks to use against further crossings of the river. ‘Captain, call the men to attention,’ Bellacon said as he approached.
In moments several hundred men were standing in neat rows before him, in varying states of dress and huffing from their labours, but each straight and head held high.
‘Men of the legions, you are no doubt aware that there have been divisions in the early command of this invasion force, as well as suspected interference from politicians back home. Some of you will be entirely innocent of all of this, and if that is the case, while this has been unavoidable, you have my apologies. Some of you may believe you are doing the emperor’s work through his senate. Others still have likely taken extra coin to perform unsavoury deeds at the whim of powerful men back in Velutio or their own province. The truth of such matters cannot possibly be determined until we return and look at the records in each imperial fortress from which you came. If we are required to do that, I’m sure you can appreciate that the career of any man we find to be working against the legions will be over, and that their liberty and even life might be forfeit.’
There was an uncomfortable shuffling of feet among the men, and Bellacon straightened.
‘You took an oath when you joined the army. Whether you serve in an auxiliary unit or a legion, you have taken an oath and pledged yourself to your unit’s standard, to its commander and to your brethren, but above all to the emperor. If you have been involved in any activity not in line with this army and our goal of Alban conquest, then you have dishonoured your oath.’
The shuffling continued.
‘This is your chance to wipe your slate clean. I offer you the chance to retake your oath. You will do so now, to a new unit standard, to your brethren, to the army’s three commanders together, and to the emperor. Make no mistake: you will have to work to regain our trust. You will be at the forefront of the fight from now on. But if you acquit yourselves honourably from this point on, your records will be cleared at home. Are you willing to retake your oath?’
There was a chorus of affirmatives, some more enthusiastic than others. Good. They needed unity. This
lot would now work hard to remove the stigma that had been attached to them. And yes, it was unfair, as some of these men were almost certainly innocent. But it was the best they could do under the circumstances.
‘Nice,’ Cantex muttered under his breath. ‘Now all we need is an answer as to how we break the tribes, and we’re on a winner.’
Chapter 19
Bellacon awoke to a furious shouting outside his tent. He, like the other officers, still had a tent to himself, while the rest of the army, sadly lacking supplies and quarters, were almost at double-occupancy, cramped into their lodgings within the camp. As Bellacon sprang upright and quickly slipped on his boots, leaving the laces trailing, the shouting went on outside: a man calling him urgently, and behind that a general hubbub one did not expect to hear from a camp at night. For speed, he ignored his armour and just strapped on his sword belt before answering the tent’s door.
‘What is it, man?’
‘Watch officer sent me to find you, sir. The enemy have brought up artillery.’
‘Artillery?’ repeated Bellacon in an astonished tone. ‘Lead on.’
The man hurried off through the camp, with Bellacon at his heel. The tribune looked up as they moved. The night was old and dawn almost here, perhaps just an hour off. As they approached the embankment at the edge of the camp, he spotted Convocus already there, armoured and in full tribune’s regalia, damn him. Cantex was approaching from the other direction, led by another runner, also only half dressed.
Bellacon scrambled up the bank as the soldier ran back to his position, and Convocus glanced around to see him fall in at the top.
‘Every day a new surprise on this campaign, eh, Bellacon?’
‘Shock, maybe. Horror, even,’ Bellacon replied. ‘I presume we know of no record of the natives having artillery?’
‘It’s never been mentioned, not even in the records of the last campaign. And I’m almost certain that if any of the native tribes had access to that kind of technology it would be the more civilised, imperial-influenced tribes of the south, and not the Albantes up here, let alone savage barbarians from the northlands, who have filed teeth and burn prisoners to their gods.’
‘Can you see what they are?’ Cantex asked, arriving next to the others. He, like Bellacon, squinted into the gloom at the distant shapes of great timber frames. Bellacon had the best eyesight of them all, and if he couldn’t see in this light, then likely no one could. The constructions had been set up at the rear of the enemy lines.
Convocus nodded. ‘The clouds shifted just now and we got a glare of moonlight, so I got a good look.’
‘They can’t do much good back there?’ Bellacon put in.
Convocus murmured noncommittally. ‘Not too sure. They’re big machines. Proper artillery, rather than the small bolt throwers we have. If I didn’t know that our own artillery was still bogged down way to the south on its way to join us, I might wonder how the enemy got hold of them.’
‘So what are they?’ Bellacon muttered. ‘It’s too dark right now to tell.’
‘A few big bolt throwers that I doubt will reach this far, but also some heavy catapults that will almost certainly be able to hit the camp in due course. And even if the bolt throwers can’t, they’ll certainly make it across the water.’
‘This bloody campaign is just an incessant stream of bad news,’ Cantex grumbled. ‘A stream that passes a latrine and collects all the turds. A latrine full of dysentery,’ he added with a grimace.
‘There is one light in the darkness,’ Convocus replied. ‘A rider arrived about an hour ago. He was a captain I knew back in the fenlands, who I sent south to secure the supply lines. It seems the faster moving wagons are closing on us. Raven Legion and Hawk Legion’s supply lines have now met up and joined, and the first wagons should reach us some time in the early afternoon. There’s no sign as yet of Vulture Legion’s supplies, but if the first wagons are starting to reach us, then probably the artillery is only a few days away now.’
Bellacon frowned. ‘How long have you been up?’
‘Most of the night. Couldn’t sleep. Is anyone here in any doubt as to where those artillery came from?’
The other two shook their heads. ‘Our benighted imperial sponsor again, eh?’
‘Indeed. But the possession of imperial artillery by a tribe from the far north suggests that this whole thing has been set up long in advance of our arrival. These bastards must have taken delivery of these machines even while the legions were back in places like Vengen, assembling everything for the campaign. Anicius Rufus – and it simply has to be Anicius Rufus – must have sent advisors to the north of Alba, as well as equipment, long before he started planting men in the army to ruin the campaign. He is taking absolutely no chances. He cannot afford us to succeed, or the last shreds of respect he maintains in the imperial court will be torn away. If only we had evidence against him.’
‘What do you call those?’ Cantex asked pointedly, gesturing at the distant artillery.
‘But unless he signed them and attached his senatorial seal, they count as little in the way of evidence. We might be able to track how they were shipped to Alba or where they came from, but I would be surprised if Rufus hasn’t covered his tracks well. I doubt there will be any records. Our only real hope is that he did send advisors and that they’re still here. Their evidence would count for more.’
‘That’s a pretty big if,’ Cantex replied.
‘Indeed.’
‘You’ve been active through the night.’
‘I have,’ Convocus agreed. ‘And I think I might have the solution to our tribal problem at least. In fact, I think they might have solved our problem for us. When I was a lad my father used to play me at Towers. He learned from the great Marshal Sabian, and he was a master. He taught me that the best way to bring down the towers in a difficult game was to position your pieces slowly and gradually so that the opposition doesn’t see what you’re planning, and to position them so that you can use the enemy towers against him, blocking his own moves.’
‘You’re talking in riddles more than ever,’ Bellacon chuckled.
‘No. No, I’m not. I’m just not telling you everything, yet. It’s a bit of a gamble, in all honesty. A lot of a gamble, in fact, and I stopped gambling years ago when I learned that Cantex had loaded dice. But I think it’s time to start again. I’m going to disappear for a while and try something. I don’t want to let the rat out of the bag quite yet, but do me a favour and keep the enemy occupied.’
‘That shouldn’t be hard. We’ll be presenting a nice big, fat target shortly.’
‘I’ll be back soon and when I am… well, let’s just say, you’ll understand.’
And with that, Convocus was gone, hurrying down the embankment and into the camp. Bellacon and Cantex looked at one another.
‘Lack of sleep?’
‘Or maybe he’s drunk too much.’
‘Fat chance unless the supply wagons have already arrived,’ Cantex murmured. ‘I’m almost at the point of sucking the moisture out of my own socks for want of a wine jar!’
The two men stood on the rampart watching tensely as the enemy camp, which was a rather higgledy-piggledy thing of tents of a dozen different sizes placed seemingly at random, came to life. By the time the first golden mackerel stripes stained the sky, highlighting an ominous grey cloud on the horizon, men were crawling across those artillery pieces like a swarm of ants and carts of ammunition were arriving.
‘This is it, then. I wonder what Convocus is up to.’
‘Whatever it is, I hope it’s quick.’
A dull, distant clunk announced the first shot. Cantex and Bellacon squinted into the half-light and almost laughed aloud. The first engine to loose had been a huge bolt thrower, designed to throw three foot wooden missiles, tipped with eight inches of iron. The machine, however, had been angled so inexpertly that the bolt had travelled from the groove at head height, where it had struck one of their own warriors just twenty paces i
n front, exploding his head like a melon.
‘It would appear that their traitorous sponsor’s beneficence did not extend to artillery training,’ grinned Cantex.
Bellacon nodded. ‘Might take them a while to work it all out then.’
They watched in fascination as a great catapult was wound to its most extreme torsion. ‘That’s too far,’ Bellacon noted. ‘I’m no expert, but even I can see that. We did something similar back in the west, and I lost a few machines.’
Sure enough, the natives gave the great wooden windlass another turn and the entire machine exploded, sending huge, man-sized timbers scything across the turf, pulverising men left and right. The huge rock they had manhandled into the throwing arm shot straight up into the air, and the surviving personnel around the machine who had not been obliterated in the explosion fled the scene as the massive stone plunged back out of the sky and embedded itself in the turf.
‘This is why they need civilising,’ Cantex grinned. ‘Otherwise they’ll probably just wipe themselves out.’
The second shot from a bolt thrower was more successful than the first, but only in that it did not kill one of their own warriors. The machine had been aimed higher, but they had gone from one extreme to the other and the bolt, when loosed, carved a high arc in the purple sky before coming down still on their side of the river and thudding so heavily into the turf that it vanished from sight.
The next hour went on in much the same vein as the sun finally made its appearance over the eastern hills, flooding the wide valley. The threatening dark grey cloud drifted past on the periphery, heading off to drench some other region, but others began to gather on the horizon too, presaging a wet afternoon.
Invasion (Tales of the Empire Book 5) Page 22