Simon Scarrow - Britannia

Even though the vanguard had been spared most of the physical effort of the advance over such terrible ground, they still had the strain of scouting ahead of the army and ensuring that Quintatus and his men did not march into any ambushes or suffer the harassing raids that had been a favourite tactic in slowing down the advance of Rome’s legions. For the first five days, there had been only occasional sightings of the enemy: distant groups of horsemen watching the struggling column from the hilltops. They turned and disappeared the moment Cato sent one of his squadrons forward, and their light ponies and knowledge of the hills and forests meant that they slipped away long before any contact could be made.

But this day the enemy had decided to make a stand. The valley along which the army had been advancing had narrowed into a short stretch of gorge between two rocky crags. A crude barricade of boulders had been constructed across its mouth, and a few hundred warriors stood behind the makeshift defences. The Roman outriders had ridden back to make their report the moment they had encountered the tribesmen, and now Cato raised a hand to shield his eyes from the rain as he tried to discern the details of the enemy position.

‘Crispus and his lads should clear them out the way quickly enough,’ Decurion Miro commented as he too surveyed the Deceanglian warriors. He turned in his saddle and looked back. ‘Ah, here he comes, sir.’

The legionary centurion was trying to stride along the side of the column, but the sodden soil sucked at his heavy boots, already weighed down by mud, and he half walked and half slid as he approached. The rain had soaked the crest of his helmet, and the stiff horsehair looked like old palm fronds, spiky and drooping. He stopped a short distance to one side of the glistening coat of Cato’s mount and swallowed in an attempt to control his laboured breathing.

‘You sent for me, sir?’

‘We’ve got company.’ Cato pointed towards the gorge. Crispus squinted into the gloom until he could make out the obstacles blocking their way, and the silent ranks of the warriors beyond.

‘About bloody time. I was wondering when those bastards were going to stand and fight, sir.’

‘It’s only a delaying action, Centurion. They’re merely trying to hold us up and buy time for the main body of their army.’

‘Hold us up?’ Crispus laughed mirthlessly as he raised one of his boots with a clearly audible sucking sound. ‘If we were advancing any slower, we’d be retreating.’

‘Then let’s waste no time about it. This is a job for infantry. Your cohort will clear the gorge. My auxiliaries will form a reserve. We’ll chase them off once you have broken through.’

‘Shouldn’t take us long, sir.’

Cato turned to Miro. ‘Send a man back to the legate to let him know we’ve made contact with a small enemy force and had to halt. Then get the men off the track to make way for the infantry.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Miro saluted and turned aside to pass the order on to one of his riders. Then he sat erect in his saddle and cupped a hand to his mouth to ensure that he was heard above the din of the rain. ‘Second Thracian Cohort . . . dismount! Form line on the side of the track!’

The weary troopers eased themselves out of their saddles and splashed down in to the mud before leading their horses on to the grassy bank that ran along the ancient footpath. Cato waited a moment longer to inspect the enemy position, but there was no movement there. He knew that they must have lookouts on the hills and have been aware of the Roman presence long before they had come in sight of the gorge. The tribesmen seemed ready to fight it out, and he could not help but feel a fleeting admiration for their stolid courage. They had tested themselves against the men of the legions many times before and been soundly beaten, and yet they had not given in. Still they fought on. Was it courage, Cato wondered, or obstinate stupidity? Or more likely the fanaticism whipped up by the Druids. Now that the Romans were marching against the Deceanglians, they would soon threaten the most sacred groves of the Druid cult on the island of Mona. That would inspire them to fight more determinedly than ever before.

Cato dismounted and handed his reins to Thraxis. ‘Tether Hannibal and then bring me my shield.’

His servant shot him a surprised look, the rain running in rivulets down his dark features. But he knew better than to query his superior. ‘Yes, sir. Shall I take your cloak?’

Cato nodded, and reached up to unfasten the enamelled pin at his shoulder. It had been a gift from Julia, and he carefully reattached it to his neckcloth where it would be safe. Handing his cloak to Thraxis, he joined Crispus, a few paces ahead of the column. His awareness of the wet and cold faded as his mind focused on the task at hand. The mouth of the gorge was no more than forty paces across, and the enemy’s barricade was higher than a man. They would have to scale that to get at the defenders, no easy feat in heavy armour, weighed down by the water that had soaked into the men’s clothing.

‘It’s going to be a messy business,’ he said quietly.

Crispus shrugged. ‘When isn’t it? And this fucking rain isn’t going to make matters easy.’

A moment later they were joined by another figure. Livonius eased back the hood of his goatskin cape. It had been well treated with fat to render it waterproof, Cato noted with a touch of envy.

‘You’re supposed to be at the back of the vanguard, Tribune.’

‘I just wanted to see what’s holding us up, sir. I heard Miro’s man say it was the enemy. First time I’ve ever had the chance to see any of the mountain tribes up close. Is that them, over there behind the rocks?’

‘That’s them.’

Livonius squinted at the distant tribesmen before he turned to the other officers. ‘What is your plan for dealing with the enemy, sir? A flanking movement?’

‘Not today, Tribune. Those crags on either side look pretty sheer to me. It would take us hours to get men up and over. We’d lose the rest of the day. So it’s a frontal attack. Crispus and his cohort will soon brush them aside, and then I’ll follow up with my lads and make the pursuit. With luck, we’ll take a few prisoners.’

‘I see.’ The tribune was silent for a moment, his hand resting on the ivory handle of his sword. ‘I don’t suppose I might-’

‘You’re staying right here,’ Cato interrupted him. ‘You’ll get your chance in due course,’ he added gently.

‘Sir, with respect, I have already proved myself in the field, and I was sent here to learn how to become a soldier.’

‘All in good time. For now, your orders are to draw maps for the army. It’s an important job, so we can’t afford to let anything happen to you. How is that going, by the way?’

‘Not as easily as I had hoped, sir. With this rain, it’s been very difficult to investigate the terrain either side of the line of advance. And it’s been hard to record accurately the distance marched. There’s no way of taking a standard pace in these conditions, so we’ve marked it up as best as we can calculate it.’

‘Can’t be helped, Tribune. Consider this an important lesson of soldiering. The first casualty of war is the plan.’

‘Ain’t that the truth?’ Crispus added.

The first century of legionaries came struggling up the track, and Crispus ordered them to deploy a hundred paces forward of the column. The five remaining units followed suit, until the cohort was drawn up in two lines of three centuries. Their officers gave the order to remove their leather shield covers, and the large, decorated curves of the legionary shields gave the mud-streaked soldiers a more uniform appearance. The Thracians formed up behind them in a single line, oval shields and spears at the ready. Cato turned to Thraxis to take his shield and advanced to join the waiting men with Crispus at his side.