Wounds of Honour: Empire I

by Anthony Riches

  He stared at the map spread across the table in front of them, putting a finger on the position where the barbarian warband was reported to be camped.

  ‘They’re here ... ?’

  ‘As reported by the younger Perennis, yes.’

  ‘Hmm. We break camp at dawn, make a swift march to contact ... can’t be more than six or seven miles ... and if they’re in the same place when we arrive it should be a reasonably straightforward fight unless they decide to run away. Our ten thousand men against their ten thousand men, and us with the advantages of at least partial surprise and able to fight on our own terms.’

  ‘Yes. Although you’ve failed to guess one aspect of the plan. He intends splitting his force into two parts, hammer and anvil. We’re not going to let them run away, we’re going for a battle of annihilation.’

  Frontinius’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘And you think that’s wise? Risk them catching and defeating each of our smaller forces in turn?’

  ‘He’s set on it. The fact that Perennis’s scouts have set the whole thing up for him doesn’t leave him with much alternative from his point of view.’

  Frontinius shook his head.

  ‘Well, that goes against the style of warfare that I was taught. If it all goes right we could kill lots of barbarians tomorrow, but if anything goes wrong, if they’ve moved since the last scout report, or if there’s more of them around that we haven’t found, we could both be decorating Calgus’s roof beams in a week or two. I’d better go and treat this tired old body to a few hours’ sleep.’

  The legion and its supporting cohorts snatched a hasty breakfast in the dull grey light of dawn, and were on the march less than thirty minutes after the sun had cleared the horizon. Taking another calculated risk, Sollemnis had decided that they would camp in the same place that evening, and thus avoided the lost time of actually striking camp, leaving their tents standing ready for the legion’s return. The long column of men snaked north, led by a detachment of the Asturian cavalry who had returned from their place watching the warband late the previous night. Only Perennis and a few picked men had remained in place, and they would have pulled out at first light, heading for a prearranged meeting point to provide the legatus with a last-minute briefing on the warband’s dispositions.

  While the Tungrians were far back down the order of march, back behind the 6th’s last cohort, Equitius had ridden away with Sollemnis’s officers to participate in the final orders group that would start once Perennis and his scouts rejoined the column. As the legion moved forward he stopped his horse for a moment to take the sight in, turning in the saddle to stare back down the line of soldiers marching four abreast up the rough track that had been chosen as their approach route for the battle to come. Sollemnis ranged up alongside him, his horse steaming slightly in the chilly dawn air. He recognised a cohort’s senior centurion and saluted gravely, getting a brief nod and hurried salute back from the officer as he passed.

  ‘It isn’t often you’ll see a whole legion bashing along this fast. Even on exercise the centurions have to lay the vine stick on pretty hard to get their boys really sweating, and yet just look at them this morning ...’

  The hard-bitten legionaries were slogging past them at a pace reserved for those times when the legion needed to be somewhere else very quickly indeed, and some of them were clearly already suffering from the exertion. They had been forbidden to sing this morning for fear of making too much noise – any song would in any case have quickly been blown out by their blistering pace. Equitius could already see faces in the ranks that were stretched by the effort of sucking in enough air to keep men and their sixty-pound load of armour and weapons moving so quickly. Another century passed, the officer ranging easily alongside his men with one eye on the road and the other on his people, sparing a quick glance and a sardonic smile for the officers sitting comfortably on their horses. Other glances lacked the hint of humour and were simply surly in the face of such relative luxury.

  ‘My officers were about as happy with the prospect of today’s battle as you were last night. They also asked about our lack of a defined reserve, and some of the senior centurions were quite vocal on the subject. If anything goes wrong, Mars protect us, there’ll be a long queue of them ready to testify that they warned me about the dangers.’

  Equitius nodded sagely.

  ‘Quite possibly including myself, if you have the misfortune to end up with your head on the end of a spear. But if we succeed ...’

  ‘Ah, if we succeed, the old saying comes into play. You know, “victory is a child with a thousand fathers ...”?’

  ‘So, first father of today’s triumph, where are we holding the orders group before splitting into two forces?’

  ‘Two more miles up the road, if Perennis is at the spot he’s chosen to meet us.’

  They rode on and, as expected, Perennis was indeed waiting for them at the preordained place, a fork in the road. His Asturians tarried a short distance away, an evil-looking decurion and half a dozen horsemen, while he walked forward and saluted Sollemnis with precision. For a man who had spent the night at best rolled in his cloak and sleeping in a ditch, he looked fresh and ready for the day.

  ‘Legatus, I have a report for you from the point of decision.’

  Sollemnis nodded, gesturing his officers to gather round before motioning Perennis to begin.

  ‘Sir, the barbarian warband is still in the same location and apparently suspects nothing. Their strength is estimated at ten thousand men, and when we left they were waking up for the day, with cooking fires lit and no sign of preparation for combat. If you still intend attacking, I would say that our chances of success are almost total.’

  Sollemnis looked at his other officers as he replied.

  ‘Thank you, Tigidius Perennis this is good news. Gentlemen, I have decided to attack as we planned last night. The first six cohorts of the Sixth will advance in column across the open valley to the enemy’s front, using the woods to the right and left as cover for the move. This advance will be carried out at the battle march. On my command we will deploy into battle line and assault the barbarian hill fort. The legion artillery will accompany us, and will provide support from the flanks, if it can be deployed quickly enough.

  ‘At the same time, the Sixth’s remaining four cohorts, plus our five auxiliary cohorts, this force to be commanded by Prefect Equitius, will advance around the right flank. This force will take position ready to strike at the barbarian left and rear once the main force is engaged. The signal for them to attack will be three loud trumpet blasts followed by the advance signal. If the flank force is detected, or sees anything to indicate an alerted enemy, Prefect Equitius will sound three blasts followed by the stand fast signal, and will deploy into line ready for battle. In this case I will judge a response from the tactical situation to hand. My intention is to draw the barbarians into a battle and then close the door behind them. Gentlemen, we’re not just going to defeat this collection of savages masquerading as soldiers, we’re going to rip them limb from limb. Tell your men that this is going to be a victory that they’ll sing about for many years to come. That is all.’

  His officers turned to go back to their places.

  ‘Ah, one more thing.’

  They turned back to face him again, faces expectant.

  ‘I hear there’s talk in the legion about what happened when the North Road forts fell – Roman citizens, soldiers and civilians, tarred and torched, and the gods only know what indignities carried out on them beforehand. I expect that you’ve all heard men calling for equally harsh treatment to be given in return whenever we get the opportunity ... ?’

  They waited expectantly.

  ‘I have to say that I agree wholeheartedly. Tell your commands that there will no mercy shown to any of the enemy attempting to surrender or escape. Any prisoners that are taken will be processed to my headquarters, and will be crucified this evening. Their legs will not be broken and they will be left to
die slowly with no exceptions save one. If we take Calgus alive, he’ll be paraded through Rome before he feels the strangler’s cord tighten at his windpipe. That is all.’

  Equitius saddled up and rode back down the long column of resting legionaries, most of them lying on their backs, recovering from their exertions of the previous hour, until he reached the 7th cohort and called for the senior centurions of the last four cohorts in the column. With the officers gathered around him he confirmed the orders from Sollemnis, and told them to get their men moving. The cohorts got ready to move without any of the shouting and chivvying usual in some legions, their air of quiet determination and competence reassuring Equitius that his temporary command would perform well enough when battle was joined.

  The nine cohorts headed up the track past the remainder of the 6th, past Sollemnis, who watched them pass with a pensive expression, turning right at the fork on to another track. If their scout’s intelligence was correct, this road would take them along the edge of the shallow valley through which the 6th would advance to battle, round the barbarian left flank and into the position from which their attack could be launched. Equitius scanned the horizon until he saw the landmark he’d been told to look for, then reined his horse in alongside the senior centurion of the leading cohort.

  ‘Head for that wood on the horizon, and keep your eyes open for barbarian scouts. If we’re compromised I’d rather have some time to do something about it. I’m going back down the column for a chat with the auxiliaries. If you get to the wood before I’m back up here, break the march for a ten-minute rest.’

  The other man nodded his understanding, and Equitius turned his horse to ride back down the column. He found the Tungrians sweating away in their place behind the last legionary cohort, and rode alongside Frontinius for a moment.

  ‘Is the cohort ready?’

  His bald head beaded with moisture, Frontinius grimaced up at his superior.

  ‘As ready as we’ll ever be. Let’s just hope the scouts have got it right.’

  Turning again, Equitius rode to the column’s rear, stopping to talk to his fellow prefects. Each of them was grimly determined, their men looking much the same as did his own, a combination of warlike posture and underlying nerves. In the distance to their rear he could see the main force column snaking away from its rest position, heading for the side of the nameless shallow valley. Back at the front of the column the wood was drawing closer, and when it was less than half a mile away he spurred his horse forward to investigate before his men arrived.

  The trees were silent and empty, with no hint of an enemy presence, and Equitius climbed down from the horse to take in the scene in the valley below, creeping cautiously to avoid making his silhouette stand out above the steadily brightening skyline. The wood was positioned at the valley’s head, a small stream flowing down through it and across the almost flat expanse below. Two larger woods half filled the space, one to his right half a mile distant down the slight slope, the other half as much again to his left, and he stared intently at them for a long moment. If there were to be any threat to the 6th’s approach march, it would surely come from within the densely packed trees. Nothing moved. Indeed, the landscape was preternaturally still, without even birdsong, and a vague sense of unease permeated his thinking as he watched the shadows imperceptibly shortening under the rising sun’s gaze.

  He turned back to look for the approaching column, and saw the leading troops less than four hundred paces distant. Remounted, he cantered the horse across to them and ordered the senior centurion to rest his men there rather than risk having them appear on the skyline and alerting any zealous barbarian foot scouts. As the first centuries fell out for their breather, a party of horsemen came into view, hurrying up the line of soldiers, pursued by the inevitable obscene catcalls. As the group approached, he realised that it was Perennis and his Asturian escort, headed by the glowering decurion. The legion tribune rode up and, without preamble or greeting, launched into his orders.

  ‘A message from the legatus. He’s received new intelligence and has therefore changed the plan. The Sixth Legion cohorts are detached from your command, as are the Second Tungrian, Raetian, Aquitani and Frisian cohorts. I am to lead these units to form a blocking position to the rear of the main force, while your cohort is to remain here and provide a watch on the woods to the right of the main line of march. You’re to keep the cohort well away from the valley’s edge, at least four hundred paces, and you personally are commanded to watch the valley from cover. Any enemy movement to the rear of these woods, which you will see before the main force, is to be alerted to the legatus by the triple sounding of a trumpet followed by the stand fast signal as previously agreed.’

  Equitius stared at the man in disbelief. To change a battle plan halfway through the approach to contact was downright dangerous, and went against everything that both he and Sollemnis had been taught. Questions flooded his mind.

  ‘What new intelligence? What could have changed so dramatically as to invalidate the original plan?’

  Perennis looked at him with irritation and urgency, pulling a tablet from the tunic beneath his armour.

  ‘Prefect Equitius, I am neither granted the time nor ordered to explain what’s going on. Time is of the essence now, and I must carry out my orders without delay. Read this, and you will see that my orders are lawful.’

  He wheeled his horse away, calling to the 7th Cohort’s senior centurion.

  ‘Decimus, you old bastard, get your grunts ready to march right now. We’re heading to the west to get into position to guard the Sixth’s backside!’

  The officer looked at Equitius and shrugged, entirely used to the legion way of doing business.

  ‘They’re legal orders, right, Prefect?’

  Equitius scanned the tablet carefully. While the writing could have been anyone’s, the mark of Sollemnis’s seal was unmistakable.

  ‘Yes, First Spear, they are.’

  ‘In that case, sir, we’ll see you later. Seventh cohort, on your feet!’

  The long column started moving again, the line of march swinging back to the west as it reached the place where Equitius was sitting unhappily on his horse. The Tungrians fell out of the column as they came up ten minutes later, the other auxiliary prefects stopping briefly to sympathise as they passed, and then the column was gone, marching out of sight behind a small hill.

  Frontinius walked up to Equitius with a perplexed expression.

  ‘All I heard was that we were to stay here. What the fuck’s going on, Prefect?’

  Equitius climbed down from his horse, passing the message tablet to his deputy.

  ‘You tell me. One moment we’re marching to take part in a pitched battle and massacre ten thousand blue-faced savages, the next I’m standing here with my phallus in my hand just in case something that those scouts assured Sollemnis couldn’t happen does happen. Something smells very wrong here. Anyway, you’d better brief your officers, pull the cohort back to four hundred yards from the crest. I’ll stay here to watch the valley.’

  He walked unhappily away.

  Frontinius took a good look around, taking in their new surroundings, and then called Marcus to him.

  ‘Right, Centurion, you can take a tent party and scout out that wood for me. I want to be sure there are no nasty little surprises waiting for us in there, and I want to know anything else that’s worth knowing about it. Keep below the skyline and don’t go anywhere near the edge of the trees, I don’t want anyone spotting you. Dismissed.’

  Marcus gathered Dubnus and a tent party to him, leading them along the edge of the wood with deliberate care. Dubnus took the hunting bow he’d found the previous day from its place on his back and nocked an arrow, the cruel barbed head glinting in the sunshine. Close to the narrow stream that flowed down into the trees they found a path, two men wide but showing no recent sign of passage by either boot or bare feet. Thorns and branches grew across it at intervals.

  ‘Hunter’s
path ...’ Dubnus mused. ‘... there must be a source of game near.’

  Marcus took a look down through the archway of trees, down a path that ran arrow straight to the thumbnail-sized speck of daylight at the far end.

  ‘Chosen, you’re best at this sort of thing, scout forward for us. Cyclops, you come with me to provide the chosen man with support if he needs it. The rest of you squat down here and keep out of sight. If I call, get down this path as fast as you can and be ready to fight. Otherwise, don’t move!’

  Dubnus slid into the trees, deep shadow still covering the wood’s floor out of the thin early light. The smell of pine needles filled the air, and insects buzzed lazily at the intrusion. He stepped softly down the path, sweeping the arrow’s head slowly from side to side as if using the point to sense for enemies. Fifty yards down the path the wood was utterly silent, the trees undisturbed by animal or breeze, the exit at the far end of the path a coin-sized arch of light. Something moved off to the right, almost imperceptibly, and the arrow tracked round to cover that arc, holding steady as Dubnus bent the bow back the last inches to its full tension, with only two fingers stopping its explosive release of energy. A hare bolted from cover, weaving across the needle-coated floor, twisted in mid-leap and fell to rest transfixed by three feet of hunting arrow. Marcus and Cyclops, following up ten yards behind, breathed out long sighs of released tension. Dubnus plucked out another arrow and nocked it to the string in one fluid motion.

  Five paces from the path’s end he stopped, motioning the other men forward. Marcus squatted behind him, peering over his shoulder. Through the arch of trees he could see most of the valley, but was sure that they would be invisible inside the path’s dark tunnel. The long grass that grew across the valley waved in idle ripples in the gentle breeze, while the trees in the large woods to right and left waved their branches fitfully. Dubnus stared intently at the scene, something as yet unidentified nagging at his sense of what felt right. To their left a sudden movement caught the eye, men coming over the side of the valley and spilling out on to the slope, a column of men moving fast and with purpose.