One man tried to escape, feigning death then making a run for the trees. A shout alerted a cavalryman and the trooper swerved his horse and urged the animal after the fleeing Celt. Valerius watched as he closed, the heavy cavalry spatha held easily in his right hand, measuring the strides of his mount. The Ordovice felt his presence and jinked left, but the horseman had been expecting the move. He waited till the animal’s right shoulder was level with the running man’s head before chopping the blade down in a perfectly executed back cut that dropped the warrior like a sack of grain.
Valerius rode up as the auxiliaries finished off the wounded and stripped the dead of anything of value. He allowed his horse to walk to where the body of the fugitive lay just short of the trees. A spatha, longer and heavier than the infantry gladius, was as good a bludgeon as it was a blade. The warrior lay on his back staring at the sky, eyes already growing dull, but a scant hint of life remained judging by the pink bubbles frothing in what was left of his nose. The sword edge had split the front of his skull from crown to upper lip, leaving a ragged scarlet slash edged by slivers of white bone and a gaping crater in his forehead through which Valerius could clearly see brain tissue. His chest and upper arms were covered in blue ink tattoos: mesmeric, swirling patterns, vaguely discernible animals; wolf, boar, deer and odd snakelike creatures with diamond-shaped heads.
He felt a presence beside him and turned his head to find Gaius Rufus, looking almost childlike perched on his full-size horse. ‘He was just a boy,’ Valerius said. ‘Not much more than fifteen or sixteen.’
‘Don’t waste your pity on him.’ The little man slid from his mount, unsheathed his dagger and ran it across the young man’s exposed neck. ‘That double line of dots on his left arm marks the warriors he’s killed. More than man enough to have cut your throat. Aye, and a few other things as well if the stories we heard about Canovium are true.’
Valerius looked to the hillside where the Britons had emerged. ‘You were right. It was a good plan.’
‘All I did was not see them like you told me to. Your Gauls did the rest.’
‘Any news of their main force?’
‘They’re somewhere up ahead is all I know.’ The scout spat to one side. ‘There are plenty of others still out there on both flanks, but after seeing this I’d guess that the occasional sight of the cavalry will keep them honest.’
Valerius nodded. It was what he expected. ‘Have you found somewhere suitable for tonight’s camp?’
‘There’s a small lake with enough flat, reasonably dry ground to the west to build a fort. It’s not ideal,’ he acknowledged Valerius’s look of distaste at siting the marching camp with the lake at his back, ‘but the other options are worse. Of course, Owain knows what you’re looking for, too, and just about where you need it to be.’
‘You think he’ll attack again after losing so many for nothing?’
‘Killing a hundred of his warriors will make him think, but it won’t stop him coming. More likely he’ll keep backing off and hit us at the end of the march when the men are tired and off guard.’
An hour later, Valerius was watching the Ninth ford a small stream when a galloper came in from the scouts and reined in beside the command party. ‘Gaius Rufus sends his compliments,’ the man gasped, ‘and asks you to join him up ahead urgently.’
Valerius called up the young decurion. ‘Felix, we’re crossing the river.’ He turned to his camp prefect. ‘We’ll halt the column here for now, Quintus. Post a strong defensive perimeter and have men from each century fill up their water skins.’
‘Sir.’ Naso called an order to the signaller and a short blast rang out. The marching legionaries came to a grateful halt and rested on their palisade stakes, waiting for orders.
‘How far?’ Valerius asked the scout.
‘A few hundred paces, no more, but the chief thought you should see for yourself, lord.’
The scout led as Valerius, his signaller and the men of his escort trotted through the auxiliaries of the vanguard. Out in open country Felix was wary as a cat and Valerius could hear Hilario muttering to himself in terms that weren’t complimentary but which he chose to ignore. Shabolz and Crescens moved a little closer and he smiled to himself at the change in these men since that first day at Fidenae. If he could hone the Ninth to the same kind of weapon they would be a match for anyone.
The valley floor had been rising for the last mile, and now it flattened to a plateau. Gaius Rufus waited pensively astride his mount on a mound of tussock grass with two of his scouts at his side looking like giant protectors. In front of him a gentle slope rose to a low whaleback ridge perhaps a mile and a half distant, with mountains soaring to right and left like the walls of a cattle pen.
Valerius ordered the escort to remain and took Felix to join the small man. Gaius kept his eyes fixed on the far horizon. ‘I fear we were both wrong, legate,’ he said with a hint of self-mockery. ‘There will be no ambush and no attack as we make camp. It appears Owain Lawhir intends to fight you here.’
Valerius scanned the rising ground again. Now he could make out the twinkle of the weak sun on polished metal and a deathly still mass of humanity covering the grassy banks and outcrops of grey stone like a rumpled blanket. They filled the valley from wall to wall, thousands of warriors, silent as the tomb, the only movement the distant flutter of banners in the centre of the ridge.
‘Send for the camp prefect,’ Valerius called over his shoulder. ‘How many are they, scout?’
‘Donal here has been closer than I, but between us we came to an estimate of about double our own numbers. Say ten thousand. Those are the ones we can see. Beyond the ridge, only the gods know.’
‘Too soon,’ Valerius whispered to himself. ‘At least two days too soon. Agricola can’t be here until the day after tomorrow at the earliest, perhaps not even then.’
His mount twitched nervously as Naso galloped up accompanied by an aide. Valerius reached down to pat its shoulder, as much to gain himself a little time as to calm it.
‘We tried to—’
‘At last.’ Naso’s jubilant shout cut Gaius Rufus off. ‘Now we’ll show the bastards what the Ninth can do. Shall I form them up, legate?’ He studied the numbers and a grin twisted his handsome features. ‘There’ll be plenty for everyone, but they won’t stand against legionaries. Canovium can be avenged within the hour. I believe the only question is whether we attack in column or in line. Sir,’ he ended deferentially.
Naso’s savage joy was greeted by murmurs of agreement from certain members of Valerius’s escort. Their enthusiasm was reassuring and he had turned to give the order to form line when he caught Gaius Rufus’s eye. A warning? Or had the scout become hesitant with the mass of the enemy in sight?
‘There is plenty of time yet, Quintus,’ he assured Naso. ‘Let us consider a little further.’
He pulled his horse round and moved a little way ahead of the others, again studying the mass of men on the ridge and the banners fluttering in their midst. The banners! ‘Ten thousand, you say, scout?’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘And do the banners tell you Owain is definitely here?’
‘His symbol is a red fire worm against a green background,’ Gaius confirmed. ‘I believe you can see it in the centre.’
‘And how many warriors would gather to the red fire worm in the search for plunder and the sight of Roman blood?’
‘The Ordovices, with the tribes they hold in tribute, can put twenty thousand warriors in the field at need, but after Canovium Owain is a hero who will live for ever in myth and legend in these hills. With the druids’ invocation of Andraste every young hothead in the surrounding tribes has been drawn to his banner. So let us say thirty thousand.’
Valerius nodded slowly, staring at the ridge as if trying to see through it. ‘So the question is where are the others?’
‘Does it matter?’ Naso growled. ‘Ten thousand or twenty, they are no match for Roman legionaries. I would advise you t
o attack, sir, while there is still light. The legion is ready.’
The final words were almost a plea, but a picture was forming in Valerius’s mind. ‘If Owain’s other twenty thousand warriors are advancing to meet Agricola, he will be with them,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘This would be a feint, designed to pin us in place for as long as possible.’
‘All the more reason to sweep them aside now,’ Naso insisted.
‘But would he abandon the banner that won him so much honour and fame? And if they are here, where?’
He aimed the question at Gaius and the little man returned his look with a humourless grin. ‘We lost three men trying to get through those hills,’ he pointed to the right flank, ‘and another two on the left. Ambush parties as thick as fleas on a hedgepig’s arse.’
‘Which means there’s something they don’t want us to know.’
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ the scout said.
Valerius made his decision. He nudged his horse towards Naso. ‘I believe they want us to attack now, prefect, and that Owain Lawhir fancies he can annihilate us. But I will not oblige him. Instead, you will return and order camp to be set up on the far side of the river.’ He could see the other man’s jaw working with suppressed fury, but he continued relentlessly. ‘We will need a strong line of pickets between ourselves and the enemy. Rufus’s scouts will stay here to act as our early warning.’
‘But if they attack? Canovium.’
‘There will be no second Canovium. This is a legion, or close enough to it, on full alert. Owain’s warriors have marched as far as we have, probably further, and I doubt they’re as used to it. No, he’s made his plan. He’ll rest them and in the morning he’ll tell them they’ll soon be drinking Roman blood and presenting their wives with necklaces of Roman fingers. But while he’s telling them that, we’ll be attacking with the low winter sun at our back and shining directly in their faces.’
Naso knew better than to protest further. He saluted and set off back to the river.
Valerius called Gaius Rufus to him. ‘Leave what men you think necessary here to make sure there are no surprises in the night, but I want you with me.’
‘You want me to try to scout the hills tonight?’ Gaius asked, his voice betraying that he knew it was a death sentence.
‘No. I want you to find a way around the hills tonight for the auxiliary cavalry and get them there,’ Valerius pointed to the centre of the ridge. ‘An hour after dawn. Because that’s where we’ll be and if I know anything about soldiering we’ll be fighting for our existence.’
‘We hit them from the rear.’ Gaius’s face creased into a grin.
‘Exactly.’
The little man sobered. ‘Better if we go back a mile or two and take a wide loop outside their guard posts.’ He rubbed his hand through his beard, his mind working through the pitfalls. ‘We can move faster that way. It’s all a matter of timing. I will do my best, lord.’
‘That’s all I ask.’
‘May I make an observation, lord?’
‘Of course.’
‘At daylight, if Owain sees there are no horse lines he will be suspicious.’
‘I will take care of that,’ Valerius assured him. ‘Your job is to get them into position and make sure those crazy Gauls charge in the right direction.’
Cadwal sat his horse and waited for the sun to rise. He’d chosen the east gate because his men would be silhouetted against the light with their faces in the shade. The druid had instructed him to attack at night, but unlike his patron, King Owain, Cadwal wasn’t in thrall to Gwlym. He’d scouted the fort for three days counting the men on the walls, marking each one until he was certain the garrison couldn’t number more than fifty men. He had fifty of his own, but he preferred better odds. Dried blood clotted the rings of the patched mail he wore and his helmet had a slingshot dent in it. He’d probably watched the man who wore it last being killed. The thought made him smile. Today he would kill Romans again. It was what he did best.
The darkness faded to a silvery gloom. Still not enough light to see and he wanted the Roman sentries to see him. But not too soon. Only ten men would accompany him to the gate because he didn’t want to alarm the guards. ‘Remember, you’re exhausted and you’re wounded. Hold each other up. Stagger, but don’t overdo it. Keep your heads down.’ Like him they were dressed in bloodstained tunics and armour stripped from the dead at Canovium, but they were on foot. ‘Now.’ He nudged his horse forward on to the roadway.
The sentry squinted his eyes against the low winter sun. Men, coming up the Venonis road. Were they expecting a shipment of supplies? But there were no wagons. He let them come closer, his hand edging towards the alarm bell. Roman uniforms, led by an officer on horseback. Still, there was something about them. The officer rode slumped in the saddle and his horse was clearly exhausted. As they approached he could see the bloodied bandages on the men behind the officer and the way they stumbled and had to support each other. He reached for the bell rope.
‘Cocceidus said not to wake him unless there was a definite threat this time. He wasn’t happy when we pulled him away from that little whore of his because of the dog barking.’
‘But these …’
‘Do they look like a threat?’
‘Well …’
‘Who goes, and what’s the watchword,’ the other man called as the ragged little column approached the gate.
‘Survivors from Canovium,’ the officer croaked in the guttural dog Latin the auxiliaries used. ‘I don’t know what day it is, never mind the watchword. Help us.’ He slipped from the saddle and might have fallen, but he caught himself on the pommel. ‘For pity’s sake. We’ve been in hiding or running away from the Celts for a month. They killed half of us and Pastor is like to die if he doesn’t see a medicus soon. We haven’t eaten in a week or had a drink for three days. Please …’
He staggered towards the gateway. The two guards looked at each other before the more senior nodded. They ran down the stairs and unbarred the gateway. The officer stumbled inside, clutching at the youngest sentry, who’d barely been in the Twentieth a month. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. He seemed to grow bigger and the young legionary felt a terrible burning sensation beneath his left arm. The world turned upside down and all the strength went out of his legs. As Cadwal laid him to the ground the boy saw the bloodied knife in his hand. A few feet away his comrade had grown a ragged smile beneath his chin.
Cadwal’s other men sprinted for the fort as soon as the gate opened. ‘Find them,’ Cadwal hissed. ‘Find the woman and the boy. But anyone who harms a hair on their heads will answer to me.’
XL
An hour of daylight remained, but Valerius had never felt so tired as he waited for his officers to gather in the command tent. Fool not to sleep the previous night, and no chance of getting any tonight the way things were going. A bowl of water appeared on the portable campaign desk in front of him. He looked up. Didius Gallus was fast becoming a mind-reader. ‘Thank you.’ Valerius sluiced the icy liquid over his face, gasping at the shock to his flesh but feeling much better for it. Didius handed him a towel and brought him a cup of wine while he was drying his face.
When Valerius was finished the young cavalryman picked up the basin and towel, but he hesitated before leaving the tent.
‘Yes?’ Valerius said.
‘We are to do battle tomorrow, lord?’
‘That is my hope, yes, Didius. Does the prospect concern you?’
‘Oh no, lord.’ The younger man grinned. ‘I was with the governor on campaign against the Brigantes. He commended me for killing two of their warriors.’ Yes, Valerius thought, war was a great adventure for the young, although he remembered his own first campaign as a combination of long periods of boredom and countless miles in the saddle, punctuated by islands of bloody action and mind-numbing fear. ‘We will win a great victory, lord,’ Didius added. ‘Everyone says so. The lady Tabitha and Lucius will be proud.’
He knew the glib dismissal made him sound pompous, but that was the thing about love. You didn’t control it, it controlled you. Valerius only wished he was as confident of victory as his soldiers. Everything depended on the little man currently leading his entire cavalry force away from the chosen field of battle on a trek of unknown distance or duration. Naso’s head appeared through the curtained doorway to announce that the officers were filing into the outer room.
Didius bowed and would have left, but Valerius called him back. ‘I have a job for you and it may take all night, so best if you start now.’ He explained what he wanted and the younger man’s brow creased in a puzzled frown. ‘Do you think you can do it?’
‘Of course, lord.’ Didius considered the potential complications. ‘We can get them into position, but from my experience the problem is getting them to stay there.’
‘You’ll think of something,’ Valerius assured him. ‘Now send in the others.’
‘You know what the situation is.’ He addressed the cohort commanders of the Ninth Hispana and the prefects of the attached auxiliary units. ‘The enemy is drawn up before us in a position of strength and in superior numbers.’
‘Then we have them where we want them,’ a voice laughed from the back, to murmurs of approval from the other centurions, young, confident replacements of the crooks now in the ranks.
Glory of Rome: (Gaius Valerius Verrens 8) Page 33