Simon Scarrow - Britannia

‘So what do you think?’

Cato turned to see Glaber standing at his shoulder. ‘I think it’s going to snow again.’

The tribune flashed a smile. ‘Very funny. I mean what do you think he’ll do?’

Cato let the flap slip back into place. ‘We’ll know soon enough.’

‘You’re very reticent about offering an opinion all of a sudden.’

‘The legate has as much information as he needs. The decision is his, not mine. I’m not going to second-guess him. Especially not in front of the man who represents his incoming superior.’

Glaber stroked the stubble on his chin. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not a spy, and I’m not gathering information to dish the dirt on anyone. I’m just an officer like everyone else in this tent, and I’m in the same predicament. I’m just curious to hear your professional opinion on our situation. That’s all.’

‘My professional opinion is that the legate is in command and will take the course of action he decides is most prudent. It is my further opinion that officers below the rank of legate should avoid being embroiled in politics as far as they possibly can, if they know what’s good for them.’ Cato paused, then added, ‘Speaking from personal experience.’

‘Oh?’ Glaber cocked his head to one side. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘No.’ Cato stepped round the tribune. ‘Excuse me.’

He made his way back over to Macro, stifling a yawn. His eyes ached and the thick atmosphere inside the tent was making him feel tired and a little nauseous. Macro folded his thick arms and ground his teeth.

‘By the time he’s finished conferring with his cronies, it’ll be bloody Saturnalia at this rate.’

Before Cato could reply, Silanus appeared through the flaps leading to the legate’s private tent and stood to one side as he announced, ‘Commanding officer present!’

At once all conversation ceased and the officers stood to attention as Quintatus entered, followed by a handful of tribunes and Legate Valens. Quintatus waited until everyone was still and then nodded to the camp prefect.

‘At ease!’

Allowing a brief pause to gather his officers’ attention, Quintatus began his briefing. ‘As you know, a large enemy force has appeared to our rear. No doubt that’s why none of our supply convoys have reached us in the past few days. And that’ll mean we have to manage the supplies we have in camp very carefully. But the immediate danger is that we are caught between the new force and the enemy opposing us on Mona. At the moment we’ve blocked their advance at the mouth of the valley. But we can be sure they will find a way round during the night, or tomorrow morning. At the same time, we can reckon on the Druids and their friends pulling up their obstacles in preparation for attacking us from Mona.

‘Given the new situation, we have little time to decide on the best course of action. We could try to throw our full weight across the channel and take the island. Then we could easily hold the enemy’s main force off for as long as we needed.’ He smiled. ‘It would be pleasing to see them put up with what our lads have endured the last few days. The trouble is, any attempt to force a crossing would be costly, and if the Druids attempt a scorched-earth policy, then we’d be bottled up on Mona without anything to eat over the winter. Not an appealing prospect, gentlemen. So I’ve decided, very reluctantly, to withdraw to Mediolanum.’

The officers stirred a little uneasily, and Cato could well understand why. The army had suffered hundreds of casualties to get to this point, and just when it seemed that the Druids were about to be eliminated once and for all, they would escape destruction.

‘I have no choice,’ Quintatus continued. ‘And believe me, I know that I will have to face the consequences when word of this reaches Rome. But that can’t be helped. If we tried to take the island we would most likely fail and be crushed between the two enemy forces. If Mona cannot be taken, then it is my duty to try and save the army.’ The legate stepped aside and gestured to one of his tribunes. ‘Livonius, the map, if you please.’

The tribune and his scribe, Hieropates, brought forward a wooden frame upon which hung the map they had been drafting each day since the army had begun the campaign. When it was in place, Livonius stood to one side as the legate continued his briefing, indicating the most recent additions to the map.

‘That’s where we are, gentlemen. Over a hundred miles from Mediolanum by the route we took. Now that the enemy has chosen to deny that to us, we face a choice. Our first option is that we attempt to batter our way through them and retrace our steps. Man for man we are better soldiers than they are, but we can expect heavy losses. They outnumber us – substantially once their garrison on Mona tips the scales. If, and more likely when, that happens, they’ll be able to attack us from the front and rear at the same time. Not a happy prospect. Even if we do break through their main army, we’ll have to fight every inch of the way along the route back to Mediolanum, with this snow only making matters worse. We’ll struggle with the baggage train, that’s for certain.’

He paused to let his words sink in and then indicated the coastline. ‘The alternative, which I prefer, is to take this route, towards the fortress at Deva. Not so direct as far as returning to Mediolanum is concerned, but easier going for our wagons. It presents one clear danger, namely that if the enemy hit us from the front, flank and rear, then we’ll have our backs to the shore, and if we are forced to fight a major engagement and lose, we’ll be driven into the sea. In that case, the entire army will be lost.’

Cato knew that the loss of the army would have far-reaching consequences. The destruction of the best part of two legions and their attached auxiliary units would greatly enhance the authority of the Druids and inspire every Celtic warrior who hated Rome to rise up in revolt. There would be too few soldiers left in Britannia to put them down and the stark possibility that the new governor would land on the island with no province left to rule.

‘The trick of it,’ Quintatus continued, ‘is to keep moving as fast as we can along the coast. If we can hold off their army for long enough to get our men on the move, the enemy will not be able to block our line of march and will be forced to follow us, even if their two forces combine. They’ll be snapping at our heels, to be sure, and the rearguard will have its work cut out, but we’ll be able to cover our retreat until we’re clear of the mountains in seven or eight days’ time. As long as we keep the column closed up and maintain the pace, we should be able to withdraw without too much difficulty. Any comments or questions?’

There was a brief pause as the officers reflected on what they had been told. Then Legate Valens raised a hand and Quintatus nodded at him.

‘Whichever route we choose, sir, the men and horses will need feeding. We haven’t been resupplied for some days already. How well provisioned is the army at the moment?’

‘The camp prefect can tell you the answer to that.’

Silanus cleared his throat and glanced round the tent. ‘We have two days’ full rations left for the men and three days’ feed for horses and mules.’

There was some anxious muttering amongst the officers before Quintatus called for silence and addressed them steadily. ‘That is why I have given orders that the men are to go on half-rations as of this moment. You will inform your quartermasters accordingly. There will be some units that carry more than three days’ stock of barley and meat. They will report their excess to Silanus. The same applies to those units with less than two days’ rations. What we have will be shared fairly. That goes for the officers too. Each one of us must accept the same as the men. Any private stocks of food and wine will be surrendered to headquarters. If anyone is caught hoarding, I will treat it the same way I would treat theft – the individual concerned will be beaten by his comrades and denied food or shelter until we reach Mediolanum.’