The Thracians took up the cry as they spurred their mounts forward and braced themselves in their saddles. The sharp notes of the trumpets cut through the cacophony of hoofs and bellowed war cries. Cato hunched forward, the left of his body covered by the shield, the muscles of his right arm bunched and ready to strike at the first Silurian who stood before him. The distance closed in what seemed an instant and he saw two men leap aside immediately in front of him. He thrust his spear at the nearest of them but the Silurian was too quick and the point found only thin air. Cato snatched the spear back as Hannibal plunged on, into the enemy ranks. Another man, braver this time, stood his ground directly ahead and Cato angled his spear tip round. The Silurian carried a kite shield bearing a swirling design, and he held a long sword above his head. Snatching at his reins with his shield hand, Cato dragged Hannibal’s head round and the horse whinnied as the iron curb bit caught in its mouth. Hannibal swerved and his breast smashed into the warrior’s shield, knocking him back. Cato stabbed his spear and this time the point struck the man in the thigh. A flesh wound, but deep enough to cause him to cry out in agony and stumble away. Cato pressed his heel into the horse’s flank to straighten him and continued forward. On either side the Thracians crashed into and through the enemy line. Cato saw one of his men turn and start to chase after a fleeing tribesman and bellowed, ‘Leave them! On! On!’
He spurred Hannibal forward and continued up the gentle rise to the pass where he could just make out the flicker of weapons and a handful of standards weaving above the grass crest of the slope. The Thracian squadrons had burst through the right of the enemy line and scattered the warriors. Glancing back over his shoulder, Cato was relieved to see that the formation was intact, though less clearly defined than it had been before the impact of the charge. There were no gaps and he could not see any men caught in a fight with the enemy infantry. He felt a surge of elation that they had broken through so easily, then he braced himself for the real fight that was to come.
The wedge pounded up into the pass and the bitter struggle ahead of them was revealed in all its desperate savagery. Thousands of enemy warriors surged around the beleaguered column. There was no sign of any survivors of the squadron that had made their folorn charge a short time before. On a small rise Caratacus and his retinue sat on their horses watching the fight. For an instant Cato was tempted by the idea of leading his men against the enemy general. If he could be killed then the heart, and brains, would be knocked out of the coalition of tribes still opposing Rome. Then, at last, there might be peace in the new province of Britannia. But before he could act on his impulse and issue the order, he saw Caratacus and his followers ride down to join the battle on the opposite side of the hard-pressed Roman perimeter.
Ahead of him the nearest of the enemy warriors had turned towards the sound of the approaching Thracians. The wild appearance that Quertus had encouraged and their reputation for savagery seemed to ride ahead of them and some of the tribesmen fled from their path, leaving only hardened warriors to stand their ground. Looking beyond them Cato saw a seething mass of the enemy he and his men would have to cut through to reach the column. And then what? Escape from the pass seemed impossible. He thrust the thought aside. For him there must only be the here and now. He must lead his men and fight on for as long as possible. If the gods favoured him, he might live through this yet. Otherwise he briefly prayed that his end would be swift and relatively painless.
Hannibal’s flanks heaved from the exertion of the charge but the horse gamely charged on, knocking aside two men before a third slashed a blade at the bronze chamfron guarding the horse’s forehead and eyes. Fortunately it was only a glancing blow but the ringing impact startled the horse into rearing up and lashing out with its hoofs. Cato threw his weight forward and struggled to regain control.
‘Easy, lad! Easy. .’ Cato spoke tenderly and Hannibal dropped forward and Cato urged him on. Around him the wedge formation had been blunted as the Thracians ploughed into the ranks of the enemy infantry, shouting their war cries as they stabbed left and right with their long spears, thrusting into the limbs and bodies of the Silurians. Cato looked round and saw that some of the saddles were empty, and close by, another man was surrounded by warriors stabbing at him as he attempted to keep moving and not present his foes with an easy target. But there were too many of them and as he raised his arm to strike with his spear an axe thudded into his back, not cutting through the chain-link armour but still shattering the bones beneath. The spear tumbled from his fingers and a moment later he was dragged from his saddle and out of Cato’s sight.
Centurion Stellanus’s voice carried above the fighting, raw and strained. ‘Keep on, boys! Keep going forward!’
Cato pressed on, his shield held high as he braced his spear arm. An older warrior, sinewy with matted grey hair, sprang out of the throng wielding an axe, his teeth bared in a savage snarl as he saw the Roman officer and charged. Cato leaned forward and thrust his spear. The point struck true, deep into the man’s groin. He doubled over and dropped his axe and slumped down on to his hands and knees, and then Cato had charged past him and was looking for his next foe. So intent was he on the fighting that he was almost upon the Roman line before he was aware of it. A gap opened between the Silurians and there stood men brandishing the heavy rectangular shields of the legions. Cato drew up sharply and called out, ‘Open ranks! Let us through!’
There was no reaction; the narrowed eyes of the legionaries peered suspiciously over the rim of their shields. To one side was the slender crest of an optio and Cato pointed his spear towards the man.
‘You! Tell your men to open ranks!’
The optio regarded him briefly and then bellowed the order to his men. To his relief Cato saw the shields part and he spurred Hannibal through the gap and into the space behind the backs of the Roman soldiers. At once he wheeled round and brandished his spear. ‘Blood Crows! Blood Crows! On me!’
More men surged through the gap, singly and in small groups as they fought their way free of the Silurians. Cato saw that most of the two squadrons had made it through. A handful of individuals had become separated from the formation and he saw the last of them, no more than thirty paces away, savagely hauled off his horse into a swirl of enemy warriors. Their bloodied weapons rose and fell before they turned back to renew their assault on the reinforcement column.
Cato holstered the butt of his spear and called out, ‘Centurion Stellanus! Decurion Kastos! On me!’
‘Here, sir!’ Stellanus thrust his horse through the riders milling in the gap between the legionaries and the wagons.
‘Where’s Kastos?’
‘He took a spear to the chest and went down back there.’
Cato nodded. ‘Then I’ll take direct command of his squadron.’
‘Who in Hades’ name are you?’ a voice interrupted them and Cato turned to see a tribune standing on one of the wagons close by. A tall, broad man, a few years older than himself. Cato turned his horse and edged towards the wagon.
‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, commander at Bruccium.’
The officer nodded a greeting. ‘Tribune Mancinus, sir. Of the Fourteenth. What are you doing here?’
Cato ignored the abrupt tone. ‘I had hoped to help you cut your way through to the fort. But it seems you are somewhat under strength for the job.’
Mancinus shook his head wryly. ‘My thoughts exactly. But the legate said the escort would be adequate. Not his wisest decision.’
‘I’ll say. What is your plan?’
‘Plan?’ The tribune gestured to the fight raging around the wagons. Wounded men were being dragged back from the fighting line and propped up against the wheels of the wagons. ‘What do you think?’ The tribune’s voice was strained. ‘We’re fighting for our lives.’
There was a brief hesitation before he conceded command. ‘What are your orders, sir?’
Cato looked round and saw that for the moment the Roman soldiers were holding their own. H
e turned back to Mancinus. ‘We have to fight our way out of this. We can’t go forward, there’s even more of the enemy in the direction of the fort. We’ll have to make for Gobannium.’
The tribune pursed his lips. ‘Might not be so easy, sir. We were being followed by a war band soon after we left Gobannium. They stayed with us until this morning and then vanished. Or so I thought.’
‘Well, that’s the only direction open to us now.’ Cato winced as an arrow glanced off his shield and deflected into the air over his helmet. ‘I’ll use my men to clear a path. Have the infantry close up and we’ll get moving. Empty three of the wagons for the wounded. The rest will have to be abandoned. The prospect of easy spoils will slow some of the enemy down.’
Mancinus nodded, and turned to shout orders to one of the sections waiting in his small reserve. The men laid down their shields and began to unload the last three wagons, dumping the spare kit and rations on the ground which was slick with churned mud from the heavy wheels, hoofs and boots of the column. The injured men were hauled up and roughly deposited on the bed of the first wagon. Cato knew that the wagon would soon be filled by more of the wounded, and the same would be true of the other vehicles.
While the legionaries prepared the wagons, Cato ordered Stellanus to form the Thracians across the track towards the rear of the perimeter.
The optio in charge of the reserve approached and saluted. ‘Sir, what about the draught animals? Do we take ’em with us or kill ’em?’
Cato glanced at the mules and oxen harnessed to the wagons that were being left behind. There was no sense in letting the enemy make use of them. It was standard practice to destroy them rather than let them be captured. Yet they might serve a useful purpose. He refined his plan a moment and then addressed the optio.
‘Have them taken out of harness and placed in front of the Thracians. You have feed nets?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then fix one to the harness of each animal.’
‘Sir?’ The optio looked surprised and then nodded obediently. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘See to it. Quick as you can.’
The optio hurried off to carry out his orders and Cato paused to take stock of the battle. He had lost a third of his men. No more than forty Thracians remained. The reinforcement column was faring better, thanks to the shield wall they were able to present to the enemy. They would take far fewer losses than the lightly armed Silurians, but that would not last. The price of heavy armour was the exhaustion that it inflicted on the soldiers. That was why the legionaries fought in relays in great set-piece battles. There would be no respite for them on the road back to Gobannium, Cato realised. A few hours from now, they would be worn out and become easy pickings for their nimble enemy.
As he waited for his orders to be carried out, Cato mentally retraced the route out of the valley. The track led through the pass and descended into another valley beyond. There the pass narrowed and was lined with a thick forest of pine trees. If they could reach that then a rearguard might hold the enemy off long enough for the rest of the column to get away. Or at least gain enough of a lead to reach Gobannium.
Over the heads of the men fighting he could see Caratacus and his escort, urging their warriors on. For a brief instant Cato sensed that the enemy commander was looking straight at him, still as resolutely determined to obliterate every last man of the garrison of Bruccium and every other Roman who stood in his path. Then Caratacus spurred his horse and moved to another section of his army and dismounted to wade into the fight.
Tribune Mancinus approached and stood at his side to watch the progress of the uneven struggle raging about them.
‘What do you want the draught animals for?’ Mancinus asked.
‘If you’ve read your Livy, then you should be able to guess.’
‘Livy?’ Mancinus shrugged. ‘Not on my syllabus, I regret to say, sir.’
‘Too bad. He has his uses.’ Cato saw that the animals and the Thracians were in position and the last of the three wagons had been turned about and was ready to move off. ‘We’re ready, Tribune. When I give the word the animals will cause something of a diversion. My cavalry will follow them up and try to open the way for the column. Get your men moving at once. Keep ’em closed up and their shields presented to the enemy. If you can save the wounded, do so. But if they fall out of line and can’t be rescued, leave them. Is that clear?’
‘Clear, but hard to stomach, sir.’
‘That’s too bad. We can’t afford to slow the column down for anything. Not if there’s going to be any chance of saving some of the men at least.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘Good. Then let’s be about our business.’ Cato clicked his tongue and steered Hannibal past the abandoned wagons to the front of the tightly packed ranks of the Thracians. He saw the optio overseeing the tying of the last feed bags to the nervous mules and oxen herded together behind the line of auxiliaries holding the rear of the perimeter.
‘Optio, you have your tinderbox with you?’
The man patted the leather pouch hanging from a strap across his shoulder. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then get a flame going at once. Soon as you have, get your men to light some twists of straw and set the feed bags alight.’
The optio raised his eyebrows in surprise but nodded obediently and got to work. Cato made his way towards the centurion in command of the rearguard.
‘What’s your unit, Centurion?’
The officer, tough-looking and swarthy, saluted. ‘Fourth Hispanic Cohort, sir.’
‘And you?’
‘Centurion Fernandus, sir.’
‘When I give the word, I want your men to draw aside to let the animals pass. They’ll need to move quickly if they want to avoid being trampled.’
‘Yes, sir.’
All was set and Cato returned to his position at the head of the Thracians. In front of him the optio had lit a small fire, fed with handfuls of dry feed. As soon as the flames had taken he waved his men forward and they lit their tightly twisted lengths of straw and hurried to their places behind the animals, where they waited for the order. Cato settled himself in his saddle and took hold of his spear.
‘Light them up!’
At his command the legionaries thrust their makeshift torches into the feed nets and at once the dry, combustible material was set alight. Thin trails of smoke curled into the air and the flames spread rapidly. The heat and the glare alarmed the animals and they began to jostle against each other. Cato held off a moment longer, to ensure that they were agitated enough to rush forward when the opening was made for them. One of the oxen let out a loud bellow of fear and pain and stamped a foreleg.
‘Now, Fernandus!’
The auxiliary centurion snatched a breath and yelled, ‘Fourth Hispanic! Open ranks!’
The fighting line parted as the men in the centre section fell back and drew aside. They moved quickly enough to surprise the enemy who stood facing the gap, weapons raised and eyes staring. The ox bellowed again and the flames from the feed bag began to scorch its hide. With a snort it charged for the gap, trying to escape the burning hay on its rump. The other animals began to rush forward to get away from the same torment, straight at the closely packed ranks of the Silurians. There was no chance to get out of the path of the stampeding animals and the men were borne back by the impetus of the terrified brutes. With a scream the first of them fell under the hoofs and then more were trampled as the draught animals surged out of the Roman formation. Nothing could stand in the path of the panicked mules and oxen. Their bellows and braying filled the air as the flames, fanned by their frantic efforts to flee, flared behind them, adding to their terror.
Cato waited until the last of the animals had stampeded away and then advanced his spear. ‘Blood Crows! Stick it to ’em!’
Not the formal command, he knew, but one that would be unmistakable, and his men spurred their mounts and charged out of the square, through the gap. Cato and the squadron of
the late Kastos charged to the left, Stellanus and the others to the right, bursting through the scattered and terrified Silures, thrusting their spears again and again, cutting down the routing enemy. As the last of the cavalry cleared the column, Tribune Mancinus gave the command to advance and the men behind the wall of shields steadily began to move back along the track leading over the pass towards Gobannium. The Silurians kept pace, wildly hacking at the shields and risking an occasional lunge at an exposed leg or gap that opened between the shields. For their part the Romans stabbed their swords at the enemy. There were still some who retained their javelins and used their greater reach to good effect, skewering any tribesmen who ventured too close to the line of shields. The men of the column left a trail of bodies, dead and dying, in their wake, mostly tribesmen but some Romans among them, who were butchered as they fell behind.
The animals had scattered, running blindly on in a futile effort to get away from the flames that scorched their backs, and it was then left to Cato and the Thracians to keep the line of march open. They charged to and fro across the track, breaking up any groups of enemy warriors attempting to make a stand in front of the box formation crawling through the pass. As Cato had hoped, the enemy fell on the abandoned wagons and ransacked them looking for valuables, armour and weapons. It was not until Caratacus rode down on his followers and drove them forwards again that the battle was renewed in earnest.
They had covered nearly a mile with little loss when they approached the slight rise before the valley narrowed. Cato was rallying his men for another rush at the enemy when Centurion Stellanus, who had ridden a short distance further ahead, suddenly reined in and stood staring down the far slope. He turned and beckoned frantically to Cato.
‘Sir! Over here!’
The enemy war bands had drawn back and were watching the Thracians warily, so in the brief lull before they came on again Cato spurred his horse ahead to join Stellanus. As he drew up beside the centurion the reason for the latter’s consternation was immediately apparent. The track was blocked by a hastily thrown up breastwork of rocks and felled trees. A line of roughly sharpened stakes angled out of the ground in front of the barricade and the trees on either side, which spread across the narrow width of the valley, right up to the crags. Behind the defences stood the enemy, weapons held ready, hurling challenges. As Cato and then a handful of Thracians joined the centurion, their jeering increased until it echoed mockingly off the mountains on either side.
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