Anthony Riches - Wounds of Honour

He turned to their sand table and sketched in a few swift lines with his vine stick.

‘Here, east to west, coast to coast, is the Wall. Calgus can’t go round it. He has to go through it if he’s going to make any impact other than burning a few outlying forts that we can rebuild before next winter. Here, north to south, is the road from Yew Grove to the northern forts, crossing the Wall at the Rock. There are the outlying forts north of the Wall up the north road, Fort Habitus, Roaring River, Red River, Yew Tree Fort and the tip of the spear, Three Mountains. They’ll be evacuated by the time Calgus can get his warband limbered up, and their cohorts will retreat back to the Wall in good order, leaving the forts to the blue-noses. They’ll steal everything that’s left behind and torch the buildings, but they won’t have the time to destroy the walls and so, to be frank, who cares? Those three cohorts will muster at the Rock, most likely, making a force of about three thousand men when combined with the local half horse cohort.’

Knuckles raised a hand.

‘What about our Dacian mates at Fort Cocidius?’

Frontinius dotted the sand twice with the tip of his vine stick.

‘Good question, Otho, you clearly haven’t had all of your wits beaten out of you. Here’s us at the Hill, on the Wall, and here’s Fort Cocidius five miles to our north-east. The Dacians will also pull back behind the Wall, bringing with them, before you ask, all of their altars to Mars Cocidius. They’re going to squat with the Second Cohort down at Fair Meadow, and we can only hope that they don’t pick up too many bad habits while they’re there. That’s another two thousand men ready to move wherever they’re needed, another reserve force like the one at the Rock. Add to that the ten thousand or so lining the Wall’s length and we’ve half the number of spears we expect Calgus to muster. The difference is that we have to stay spread out for the time being while he can concentrate his power in one place, which means that the trick will be for us to avoid actually fighting the warband until the legions come into play…’

He paused for effect.

‘All I can tell you about the heavy boys is that the Sixth are already somewhere close to hand, and the Second and Twentieth are footslogging up from their fortresses in the south, which means we won’t see them for the best part of a month. The general isn’t going to want to engage in pitched battle without at least two full legions in the line. That way he can face off the tribes and still have a nice big reserve to manoeuvre into their flank or rear if he plays it smartly enough.’

Rufius nodded agreement.

‘So we can expect a month or so of marching round the country avoiding a fight?’

‘Yes, that’s about the size of it. Although it might be closer to the truth to say “avoiding a fight if we’re lucky”. Calgus will be desperate to bring us to battle early, to set his dogs on us before the legions get themselves cranked up ready to fight. If he can destroy the Wall garrison, or better still take Sixth Legion out of the campaign early enough, the southern legions would be severely handicapped, fighting at a numerical disadvantage against fired-up tribesmen on ground they don’t know. Calgus knows that, and he’ll do whatever he can to force an early battle. If we can stay on our toes and avoid a fight for the next month we’ll have done very well, in my opinion. Very well indeed. You’d best be generous making your offerings to Mars Cocidius tonight, we’re going to need all the luck he sees fit to grant us. Now, the cohort assessments…’

He paused to allow the initial muttering to die down.

‘… will still be held, but just to a different timetable. We still need to know who’s going to guard the cohort standard this summer. Given that time is of the essence we’ll dispense with the usual parade-ground tests, I’ve been scoring your men on their sword and spear work over the last few weeks, just in case, but we can’t ignore the main test. So, all units on parade tomorrow morning at first light, last five centuries for the speed march, first five for the ambush force. Dismissed!’ The next morning dawned just as fine, with a warm and dry day in prospect. The First Spear paraded his cohort an hour after dawn, taking pleasure in the cool morning air, and announced the pairings of marching and attacking centuries with a slight smile, delighting Julius by tasking his 5th Century with ambushing Marcus’s 9th Century during their speed march. The veteran centurion strolled across the parade ground to watch the 9th’s departure, standing to one side with his arms folded and his face set impassively, drumming impatiently with his fingers against the iron rings of his mailed shoulder. While some of Marcus’s men cast anxious sidelong glances at the officer, Morban stared back impassively beneath the century’s standard, muttering to the nearest soldiers without taking his eyes off the scowling officer.

‘Rumour says our old friend Julius and the glorious Fifth Century are going to give us a right kicking today, put young Two Knives in his place and take the standard for another year. In fact rumour had us paired with the Fifth long before Uncle Sextus announced it. I had a drink with their silly bastard of a standard-bearer in the vicus last night, and I had twenty denarii with him that we’d come out on top today, so you turd burglars had better wake your ideas up.’

Both Marcus and Dubnus ignored Julius for the most part, by prior agreement as to their tactics for the day. Dubnus, unable to resist the temptation, caught his eye, looked down to his thigh and extended his middle finger down the muscle. If Frontinius spotted the gesture as he strode up to Marcus he gave no sign.

‘Are your men ready, Centurion?’

Marcus saluted, snapping to attention.

‘Ninth Century ready, First Spear.’

The senior officer nodded, beckoning the younger man by eye as he walked slowly away from the century, out of earshot.

‘Well, Centurion Corvus, your time of judgement is nearly upon us. This cohort goes to war tomorrow, and it must have officers that I can trust to lead their men to the gates of Hades if that’s where fate takes us. Every day since your arrival I have asked myself whether you’re that sort of officer, despite your age, despite your alleged treason, and in all those days I’ve never yet found an answer I can trust. You’re quicker with a sword than any man I know, your century seem to love you well enough, and yet…’

Marcus met his eye levelly.

‘And yet, First Spear…?’

‘And yet I am still not convinced that you will be capable of giving this cohort what it needs in time of battle. So this is your day, Centurion, the last day in which that question can be answered. When you take your men out of those gates take one thought with you, and keep it in your mind all the way back here, no matter what happens.’

‘Sir?’

‘The good of the cohort, Centurion, simply that. Dismissed. Go and show your brother officers what you’ve been hiding from them these last two months.’

Marcus frowned at the last comment but had no time to reflect on it. With the trumpeter blowing the command to commence the exercise, and the first hourglass turned, the 9th were out of the fort at the double march. Away to the west they marched, along the military road behind the wall, their iron-studded boots stirring the dust into tiny clouds. The road ran along the northern lip of the vallum, the massive ditch that divided military and civilian ground, and its elevation allowed a cooling breeze to dry the sweat from the marching men’s bodies as they pounded away from the fort in the early morning sunshine. A mile from their starting point a track branched south over a bridging point across the vallum, in the protective shadow of a mile fort, before starting a shallow climb into the hills to the south. It was the route by which they were to cover most of their march. Once he was certain that the century was out of sight of any watcher, Marcus trotted out in front of his men, turning to walk backwards for a moment to be sure that they were no longer observed, before signalling to Dubnus in his usual position at the century’s rear. The big man’s voice boomed across the marching ranks, making heads rise and backs straighten in anticipation of the coming order.