Simon Scarrow - Britannia

‘I couldn’t tell, sir. We saw them in the distance, before they disappeared into the mist on the floor of the valley.’

‘I see.’ Cato scratched his chin. ‘And how many of them?’

‘I’d say . . . at least thirty, sir.’

‘No direct threat, then. All right, return to your post and tell the optio I’ll join him directly.’ Turning to Macro, he shrugged apologetically. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘Don’t worry, sir. I’m not going anywhere, more’s the pity.’

Cato followed the auxiliary out of the hospital block and hurried to his quarters to tell Thraxis to bring his armour, weapons and cloak to the eastern gatehouse. Then he strode across the fort, resisting the temptation to break into a trot. He subscribed to the school of thought that it did the men good to see their commanding officer appear calm and unperturbed at all times. As he reached the steps at the foot of the gatehouse tower, he was gratified to hear the optio give the order to turn out the rest of the unit. A sharp note from a brass trumpet rang out across the fort. Three quick blasts, then a pause, before the signal was repeated. The officers roused the men in their barrack blocks with harsh shouts and curses. The doors of the section rooms crashed open as the men hurried outside, where they helped each other into their mail vests before taking up the rest of their kit and hurrying to their assigned stations along the ramparts.

Cato climbed the ladder to the platform above the gate and joined the duty optio and another sentry at the wooden hoardings. They exchanged a salute before Cato turned his gaze to the track leading away from the fort and down into the floor of the valley. It was a cool morning, and the sun was obscured by the overcast, which presented a gloomy prospect to the wild landscape. As the sentry had said, there was a thick mist lying across the low ground, like an ashen tide that surrounded the hillock on which the fort had been constructed. An enemy could easily get within bowshot of the outer ditch without being detected, Cato estimated. He turned to the duty optio from Miro’s squadron.

‘You did well to order the stand-to.’

The soldier briefly showed his pleasure at the praise. ‘We’ve seen no more of them since I sent for you, sir.’

There was a silence on the tower, against the backdrop of the garrison’s boots pounding along the duckboards on the ramparts as they took up their positions. Then, when the last of them was in place, Cato leaned forward on the wooden rail and strained his ears. At once he heard the distant thud of hooves, and a moment later the chinking of bridles and other kit.

‘We’ll know who they are soon enough,’ he said, and instantly cursed himself for making the unnecessary comment. So much for the imperturbable commander, he castigated himself.

The ladder creaked as Thraxis clambered up on to the platform, Cato’s kit bundled under one arm. The Thracian was breathing hard as he set it down then helped Cato into his scale armour and settled the sword belt across his shoulder. ‘And the cape, sir?’

Cato shook his head, his attention focused on the mist.

‘There!’ The sentry beside the optio pointed down the track from the gate. The prefect and the optio followed the direction indicated and saw the vaguest shimmer of definition of the riders approaching through the mist. Cato picked out the shape of a Roman standard, and a moment later the leading horsemen rose out of the mist on to the open ground in front of the gate. The tension on the watchtower eased, until Cato saw the plumed helmet and gilded breastplate of the rider a short distance behind the standard.

‘It’s Legate Quintatus.’

‘Shall I call for a full honour guard, sir?’ asked the optio.

‘Too late to put on a show. Just get the gate open.’

The optio crossed to the rear of the tower and bellowed down to the section of auxiliaries waiting behind the heavy timbers. Cato hurried down, emerging from the gatehouse as the grunting soldiers drew the groaning gates inwards.

‘Stand to attention!’ he snapped, then stood stiffly to one side as the men took up their shields and spears and formed a line to his left. The thunder of hooves filled the air before the riders reined in a short distance outside the fort and walked their mounts through the gate. A squadron of mounted legionaries from the Fourteenth entered first and moved a short distance down the main thoroughfare, forming a line to one side and edging their horses into dressed ranks. Then came the legate’s personal standard, followed by Quintatus himself, face flushed from the effort of his ride on this chilly morning. Quintatus was the most senior of the four legion commanders in Britannia and had taken control of the province following the death of Ostorius. Cato regarded him as a competent enough soldier, but like many men from his social class, he harboured political ambitions. Sometimes at the expense of the soldiers such men commanded.

Cato filled his lungs. ‘Present!’

The auxiliaries advanced their spears to the acting governor of Britannia. Quintatus swung a leg over his saddle and slid to the ground. While the standard-bearer reached for the reins, the legate approached Cato with an easy smile.

‘Prefect Cato, it’s good to see you again. How go things? Any more sign of enemy activity?’

‘No, sir, though the other side have been sending out parties to harass our patrols and keep them at bay.’

Quintatus nodded. ‘More proof that they’re up to something.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And all the more reason why we must strike at them soon. Before they take the initiative. It’ll be a fine opportunity for your column to win itself some more battle honours, eh?’

Cato did not respond. There were better reasons for going to war than the prospect of garnering such rewards. Quintatus looked round. ‘And where’s that fire-eater Centurion Macro? I am certain he will be champing at the bit to get stuck in to the enemy.’

‘The centurion is recovering from a wound, sir. He’s in the infirmary.’

Quintatus frowned. ‘Oh? Nothing serious, I hope.’

‘Arrow wound, sir. He is making a good recovery. The surgeon says he will be able to return to light duties by the end of next month.’

‘Too bad. He’s going to miss the fun.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato gestured towards the headquarters block at the heart of the fort. ‘Would you care for some refreshment in my quarters?’

‘Indeed. Lead the way. But first, I’d like a quick tour of the fort to inspect your men.’

As they strode up the middle of the thoroughfare, the officer in charge of the escort gave the order for his men to dismount and water their horses, while the signal for the garrison to stand down echoed across the fort. Quintatus passed a professional eye over the troops and the orderly manner in which the fort was maintained.

‘How are your men?’

‘Sir?’

‘Are they in good spirits? They’ve been at the forefront of the action this year and taken some heavy losses. I know most of them are replacements. Can they be relied on?’

Cato collected his thoughts before he made to reply. ‘I have confidence in them, sir. All of them. The veterans are as tough as they come and they set the standard. Centurion Macro and I have been working the new men hard and they’re shaping up well.’

‘Good.’ Quintatus nodded to himself. ‘That’s what I hoped to hear. You might wonder why I am paying you a visit.’

Cato shot him a quick look. ‘It had crossed my mind to ask, sir.’

The legate smiled and then his expression grew serious. ‘I’ve had reports similar to yours from most of the frontier outposts. The enemy are gathering their strength sure enough. I am certain they intend to strike at us before the new governor arrives. So it’s my intention to strike first. But I’ll tell you the rest when we’ve some privacy.’