There was an angry shout and Cato looked round to see a man crouching to his left, axe handle already swinging back to strike. Cato frantically threw himself to the side as the axe head swung through the space where he had been an instant before. Now that he had been detected there was no more advantage to remaining far enough under the cart to strike at the enemy attacking from the side and Cato held back, ready to engage any who thought to emulate the man he had stabbed through the face. A quick glance round revealed that Cristus had just downed a man and was jabbing his blade into the rebel’s guts as he writhed in the gloom.
‘Look!’ Metellus shouted. ‘The bastards are running!’
Sure enough, as Cato watched, the legs of the men along the side of the cart backed away, then turned to flee, racing across the darkened village square. He shuffled back from beneath the cart and wearily rose to his feet, leaning on his spear for support. Around him the Praetorians were breathing hard, scarcely able to believe they had survived. Besides those who had been wounded in the initial ambush another two bodies lay at the other end of the cart Cato had been defending. One man’s helmet was deeply cloven and blood and brains oozed from the rent in the metal. The other was propped up against a wheel, sitting in a pool of his blood as he pressed a hand against the inside of his thigh. Cato swallowed and took a breath so that he could speak calmly.
‘Metellus, Pulcher, how are your men up there?’
‘One wounded,’ Metellus replied.
Pulcher loomed over Cato, spear in hand. ‘One dead here, sir.’
‘What can you see?’
Pulcher turned and scanned the square. ‘They’re on the run. No surprise because here come our lads now.’
The sound of boots echoed off the buildings and swelled as the first of the Praetorians from the camp charged into the square, close behind those they had chased through the streets. Cato pushed his way clear of the Praetorians at the end of the cart and strode out into the open. The ground around the two carts was scattered with dead and wounded rebels, perhaps as many as twenty of them, and Cato felt a professional pride in the performance of his soldiers. He paused, and looked up at Pulcher.
‘Thanks for saving my skin back then.’
The centurion was silent for a moment and then shrugged. ‘You’re one of us, sir. That’s all there is to it. I’d no more let you die than any other Roman.’
‘But I thank you all the same.’ Cato gave a slight bow of his head and turned away.
Petillius was the first of the centurions to reach the square and Cato beckoned to him.
‘Keep after ’em. I want the village cleared of the enemy.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Petillius saluted, then smiled grimly. ‘Glad you’re still with us.’
‘Not as glad as I am. Now go.’
The Praetorians of Petillius’ century surged into the streets where the enemy had fled and shortly afterwards Macro emerged from a gap between the buildings at the head of his men. He paused as he looked round the carnage of the scene, just visible in the dying light.
‘Quite a fucking mess you got yourself into here, sir.’
‘Good to see you too, Centurion. What’s the situation in the camp?’
‘There is no camp, sir. I gave the order to move out shortly after the grass caught fire.’
‘Fire? Bad?’
Macro indicated the red hue above the roofs to the south of the village. ‘Quite a blaze. We’d have cooked if we’d stayed to fight it out.’
‘What about the enemy?’
‘Scarpered, soon as the flames spread. Last we saw of them was when we reached the village. They were heading back to the west. Just have to clear the village and we’ll be safe enough for the night.’
‘Good work,’ Cato gestured towards the carts and the handful of mules still on their feet. ‘But the damage is done. We’ve lost most of our baggage train and supplies. I dare say we’ll have suffered quite a few casualties. And we’ve lost any element of surprise. The rebels know we’re coming, and how many of us there are.’ Cato sighed. ‘Macro, my friend, I fear our troubles are just beginning.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘As far as I see it, we have three options, which I will come to in a moment,’ Cato announced as he addressed his officers and Cimber at the small tavern in the village square, some two hours after night had fallen, as close as he could estimate. The surviving carts had been driven back inside the gate and Porcino’s century had been assigned the first watch as the rest of the cohort rested in the village. Most of the inhabitants had been massacred in their homes by the rebels when they had appeared two nights before. The handful of survivors that had emerged from hiding once the Praetorians had driven the rebels out related what had happened after the initial attack. The survivors had been herded into the square and offered a stark choice: join the revolt or die. And so the ranks of the rebels had increased, as some of them had been forced to fight Cato’s men.
Cato looked round at his officers before he continued. He knew that he could depend on Macro to support him without question. The veterans could also be relied upon. Cato was within his rights to make a decision without having to justify his reasoning, but he had only been in command of the cohort a matter of days and he needed his officers to understand both the situation and his thinking. It would also present a further opportunity to get to know them better by judging their reaction to his briefing. He ordered his thoughts and began.
‘Today’s encounter was proof of just how far the rebellion has spread. Far further than anticipated. And fast enough to catch me by surprise, otherwise I would have given the order to construct the marching camp at the end of each day. I took the view that the need for speed justified the risk. I was wrong, and should have listened to the advice of Centurion Macro in that respect. We all know that Rome shows little pity towards those who fail to stick to procedures when advancing through hostile territory. The responsibility for being surprised by the enemy is mine, gentlemen. I give you my word that I alone will be subject to any reprimand or disciplinary action taken as a consequence of my failure to construct a marching camp in the face of the enemy. Assuming we live to see that day, of course.’
Most of the officers smiled wryly, except Macro, who just pursed his lips and shrugged.
‘Culpability aside, we are in a difficult situation. Our orders are to secure the mine and wait for Legate Vitellius to catch up with us. Those orders were given on the assumption that the uprising was still confined to the territory around Asturica. Clearly that is no longer the case. They know we are here. They will also know that we are marching in the direction of Asturica. Therefore they will have ample opportunity to attack us again, possibly in far greater numbers on ground of their own choosing. Our difficulties are made worse by the loss of most of our baggage train. Thanks to the ambush we have enough mules left to draw only three carts. Four if there are men to assist the mules in difficult terrain. That means that we cannot count on much of a reserve with respect to the men’s rations. Then there’s another issue. This evening’s action has cost us a number of casualties. Centurion Macro, you have the strength returns?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Macro took a waxed slate from his sidebag and held it up to the flame of an oil lamp to see the figures clearly. ‘Eighteen dead, twenty-three wounded and twelve missing. Either captured or lost in the grass fire.’
‘Quite.’ Cato tried not to imagine their hideous fate, either way. ‘The problem lies with the wounded. If we take them with us, then they can only slow us down. So, as I said, we are left with three choices. Firstly, we put the wounded into the carts and turn back and march towards Tarraco until we link up with the main column. We can draw supplies along the way from the towns and villages that are not affected by the rebellion. Secondly, we can hold out in the village until Vitellius reaches us. There must be adequate food here to satisfy our needs and w
e can fortify the village to withstand any attack by a much larger force than that which ambushed us this evening.’ Cato paused briefly. ‘Which brings us onto the third course of action. Namely that we proceed with our orders, and march to the mine and secure it until the main column reaches the area.’
He gestured towards the officers. ‘Your thoughts, gentlemen?’
There was a short pause before Pulcher spoke. ‘Orders are orders, sir. If we were told to hold the mine, then that’s what we do, unless we receive new orders. I don’t even know why we are discussing it.’
‘Because I say so,’ Cato replied sharply. ‘Anyone else?’
Porcino glanced at the others, then leaned forward earnestly. ‘Sir, whatever your orders may have been, the situation has changed. Like you said, the enemy knows we are coming. There’s no question of being able to catch them by surprise anymore. There’s every chance of falling into another trap. It’s obvious what we have to do. We have to retreat. We don’t have any choice about it.’
‘You’re right, we don’t have any choice in the matter,’ said Macro. ‘The decision is down to the prefect. We only get to offer an opinion, and even then only when it’s asked for.’
Porcino understood the point well enough, but persisted. ‘Sir, if we continue, then we’ll be marching to our deaths.’
Cato nodded. ‘Very likely. The odds are against us, but then the stakes are high. If Iskerbeles takes the mine, the Emperor will be deprived of the coin he needs to pay his soldiers. We can prevent that.’
‘But it’s more than likely that the rebels have already captured the mine, sir.’
‘We don’t know that. We’ll only find out when we get there.’
‘If we reach the mine,’ Tribune Cristus intervened.
Cato turned to him, stifling his annoyance. ‘Yes, if we reach the mine. And it’s my job to see that we do. And if anything happens to me, then the duty to carry out our orders will fall to you as the senior surviving officer. If you are killed then the job goes to the next man, all the way down the chain of command. That is our duty. That is why we have been entrusted with the rank we hold. Let no man here fail to understand that.’
Cristus chewed his lip. ‘It sounds like you have already made a decision.’
Cato arched an eyebrow and inclined his head meaningfully so that Cristus corrected his mistake.
‘It sounds like you have already made a decision, sir.’
‘I have, yes. But I need all of you to understand why we must go on, in case anything does happen to me. It is imperative that we accept any risks involved in reaching the mine. That goes for every one of us . . .’ Cato let his words sink in before he continued. ‘So, at dawn I want the wounded loaded onto the remaining carts which will return to Tarraco. Together with most of the horses and the cohort’s strongbox. That’s too heavy to take with us and, in any case, I’d rather not take the risk of letting it fall into enemy hands. The carts will need an escort. A half century will do. Centurion Placinus will be in command.’
Placinus nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll give you a report to hand to the legate before you leave. The rest of the cohort will take whatever supplies we can find from the village and continue the advance. Given that our presence here will be reported back to Iskerbeles, we dare not continue with a direct approach towards Asturica.’ Cato paused, as he noticed Cimber had raised his hand, and taken a half step forward to ensure that his intention to speak could not be ignored.
Cato gave an impatient sigh. ‘What is it?’
The guide could not hide his nervousness, nor meet anyone else’s eyes as he spoke. ‘Prefect, I request permission to return to Tarraco with the wounded.’
Macro turned towards him and made a show of looking him up and down. ‘You don’t look wounded to me. Did you twist an ankle or something while the rest of us were fighting earlier on?’
Cato saw Cimber grimace with shame as he said, ‘You’re coming with us.’
Cimber looked up then, and shook his head. ‘No. You can’t make me. I’m a civilian. A Roman citizen. I know my rights.’
‘You can complain about me directly to the Emperor afterwards, if that is your wish. But you’ll have to join the back of the queue.’
Cimber did not share the amusement of the others in the tavern. ‘You can’t order me to come with you. I’ve given you as much help as I can. I’ve done my bit and I am free to go if I wish. After all, I’m not a soldier. I’m not subject to your authority.’
‘Then I’ll have to do something about that. Centurion Macro.’
‘Sir?’
‘Enter Cimber here onto the strength of your century as a ranker. You can kit him out with the armour and weapons of one of the wounded. He’ll be subject to the usual discipline. Clear?’
Macro grinned. ‘Yes, sir.’
Cato turned back to the guide. ‘Welcome to the Praetorian Guard, Cimber. I’m sure you’ll do us proud.’
Cimber’s jaw sagged, then he shook his head. ‘You can’t do this!’
Cato stepped up to him and looked down into his face. ‘I just did. And as you are a new recruit I’ll forgive you the breach of discipline, on this one occasion. In future you call me “sir” and you do not address a superior officer unless called on to do so.’
Cimber made to protest again but Cato raised a hand to silence him. ‘Any further remark from you will constitute an act of insubordination. And what do we do with insubordinate soldiers, Centurion Macro?’
‘We flog ’em, sir.’
‘We flog them . . .’ Cato repeated, staring directly at Cimber. ‘Do you understand?’
Cimber’s face screwed up into an expression of frustration and anxiety, before he nodded. ‘Yes. Sir.’
‘And don’t think about trying to desert us. What does the army do to deserters, Macro?’
‘They get executed, sir. Stoned to death by their comrades, or worse.’
‘Exactly . . . Now then, Praetorian Cimber, it is clear that it would be dangerous to continue advancing along the present route to Asturica. What I need to know from you is if there is an alternative route. One that will allow us to escape the attention of the enemy and get us to the mine without too much delay. Do you know of such a route?’ It occurred to Cato that the man might be tempted to deny the existence of such an alternative in the faint hope that it might dissuade Cato from continuing the advance. ‘If there isn’t then we’ll have to stay on the same road, regardless of the danger of doing so . . . Speak up, man.’
The new recruit was still dazed by his change of fortune but had enough wits about him to respond before Cato threatened him with further punishments. ‘There is another road, sir. A track, really. Through the hills to the north. It’s not suitable for wheeled traffic, and there are only a handful of small settlements along the way. It passes quite close to the mine.’
Macro eyed him suspiciously. ‘And how did you come to know about it?’
‘I had an uncle in the mule trade, sir. I accompanied him on the annual drive a few times as a boy.’
‘Can you remember it well enough to guide us along the way?’ asked Cato.
‘I think so, sir.’
‘You’re a soldier now, Cimber. Thinking so isn’t good enough. Can you do it or not?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then it sounds like it will suit us well,’ Cato concluded, then turned his attention back to his officers. ‘We’ll march into the hills tomorrow, gentlemen. I want the village scoured for supplies to carry with us. We’ll have to live off the land along the way while we follow Cimber’s road. And this time, I will be sure to give orders to erect a marching camp every night.’
‘What about the enemy, sir?’ asked Petillius. ‘Won’t they be keeping watch on us? They’ll be able to keep Iskerbeles informed of our progress, and
they will be sure to harass us even more effectively in hilly terrain.’
‘We’ll send the mounted men out at first light, and drive off, or kill, their scouts before the cohort makes a move. At the same time, Placinus can attach brushwood drags to the back of the carts to stir up sufficient dust to make it appear as if it is the whole cohort retreating to Tarraco. Let’s hope they buy the deception and we can continue our advance without further harassment.’ Cato looked round the faces of the other men and was relieved to see that even Porcino and Cristus were making no further attempt to object. ‘Good. Then once our mounted patrols report that we’re in the clear, the wounded can go into the carts and Placinus can set off at once. The rest will march north. Any more questions . . . ? No? Then we’re all clear about what lies ahead. Best get as much rest as you can tonight. It’ll be a very hard road ahead of us. Dismissed.’
The officers and Cimber rose from their benches and stools and filed out of the inn into the darkened square. The sky was clear and scattered stars gleamed across the dark mantle of night. Macro paused on the threshold and waited until the others were out of earshot.
‘Do you think we can trust Cimber? What if he misleads us once we’re on this mule-track of his? To take us away from the danger?’
‘If he even thinks about it then I’ll have him flogged to within an inch of his life. I think he knows that.’
‘I hope so. This mission ain’t exactly working out as planned, lad.’
‘When does it ever? You know how it is, Macro. The first casualty of war is always the plan.’
Invictus Page 21