Simon Scarrow - Britannia

‘Over here! On me!’ Cato yelled, as he rushed towards the larger boulders perched on the edge of the rocks overlooking the approach to the crags. He braced his feet and strained to shift the first of the boulders. It began to move, and then one of his men added his strength and it moved easily and rolled over. One more shove was enough to send it tumbling down the slope towards the enemy, knocking the first man aside before crashing into the next and sending him flailing down the slope, then hitting more of the natives and causing others to leap aside as it continued on its way. Cato and his men sent more boulders tumbling down, breaking up the attack, and then readied their shields and spears and stood ready to receive those of the enemy who reached the top of the crags. The stiff climb had exhausted the tribesmen, and they struck out desperately at the Thracians lined up and waiting for them. A score of them fell very quickly to the Blood Crows’ spears, and their bodies added to the obstacles impeding their comrades trying to follow up.

Cato stood to one side, watching. He noted that the enemy had stopped lower down the slope and fallen silent as their courage and determination to defeat the Romans wavered. Now was the time to strike. Drawing his sword, he took up his shield and forced himself into the front rank of his men as he drew a deep breath to issue the order. ‘Blood Crows, with me! Advance!’

He stepped down the slope, shield up and sword pointed forward, his men in line with him. They had the advantage of the high ground and the reach of their spears, as well as being fresher than the enemy, and they drove them back with ease. Some fell to spear thrusts; others tumbled back against their comrades and were caught there, unable to avoid the bloodied points of the spears before they were stabbed in turn. The Blood Crows worked their way down the slope, steadily rolling up the enemy attack until at last the resolve of the native warriors broke and they turned to scramble away, desperate to escape the ruthless Thracians. Cato followed them up for a short distance before halting his men and ordering them to return to the top of the crags. At the same time, he saw the first of the enemy who had gone into the gorge falling back, streaming across the snow until they were a safe distance from the legionaries holding the barricade.

‘Round one to us, lads!’ he called to his men, and they raised a cheer. It was picked up by the men on the crags opposite, and a moment later by those down in the gorge, while the enemy engaged in the first attack retreated in fearful silence.

The natives attacked twice more during the night and were repelled each time with heavy casualties. The second attack exhausted the last of the fire arrows and javelins, and the Romans suffered more casualties as they were faced with fresh troops each time. Having failed to break through on the third occasion, the enemy withdrew to await the coming of dawn. Cato took the opportunity to make his way down to the gorge to see how the Fourth Cohort was faring. Macro greeted him by the embers of one of the fires around which the wounded had been placed. The dead lay in a line further off.

‘How’s it going up above?’

‘We’ve held them well enough,’ Cato replied, ‘though I’m down to ten men. If dawn reveals just how thinly the Blood Crows are spread, then our friends won’t hesitate to take us on, and this time we won’t be able to hold them back. In which case they’ll have the high ground and will be able to force your lads out of the gorge. Once they have us in the open, it’ll be every man for himself. How’s the Fourth coping?’

Macro stretched his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. ‘We were doing fine until that last attack, and then the boys took a hammering. I’ve got no more than sixty men still on their feet, and most of them are carrying a wound, apart from being ready to drop. Looks to me like the next time round it’s going to be over.’

Cato made a non-committal noise. ‘And the legate?’

‘Taken a spear wound to the thigh. It’s been dressed but he’ll not be running anywhere soon. Looks like he’s not going to have any choice in seeing through his decision to make a last stand. That said, he’s been a plucky bugger. Saved my neck once, and has downed several of those bastards. Given time, I might have made a decent legionary of him.’

‘Then it’s a shame he’s a legate rather than a legionary. Would have saved us all a lot of trouble.’

‘True enough. But he’s got guts plain enough. More so than most of his class.’

Cato looked round at the casualties lying in the snow. Some were moaning pitiably; others lay in silence, either staring up at the stars or clamping their eyes shut as they dealt with the pain. He saw the cohort’s surgeon, Pausinus, stopping by one man whose jaw had been cut clean through and was hanging by shreds of flesh as his body trembled violently. Pausinus had a scalpel in his hand, and as Cato watched, he made a nick in the injured man’s throat and blood pulsed from the wound. The legionary began to stir, and the surgeon held him down firmly until he was no longer struggling, then rose to his feet and moved on to the next man.

Macro had seen that his friend was watching. ‘I’ve given him orders to put the worst cases out of their misery. He reckons he can do it with the minimum of pain and they’ll go off quickly. Better that than fall into the hands of the Druids. Those who are capable have been given a sword or dagger and I’ve told them to fight from where they lie, or take care of themselves when the enemy gets through the barricade. They know the score.’

‘Fair enough. It’s for the best.’

The two friends regarded the scene for a moment before Macro turned to Cato. ‘Do you think we’ve bought enough time for the rest of the column?’

‘I should think so. We’ve delayed the enemy until the morning, and they’ll have had a night in the cold as well as many injured to deal with. And they’ll be running short of rations too. I doubt they’ll be keen to set off after what’s left of our lads until they’ve rested. Besides, they’ve defeated us, and driven us out of their land. It would be foolish to lead hungry, tired men too far from any means of supply, as we’ve had to find out the hard way.’ Cato’s exhausted mind struggled to gather his thoughts. ‘We’ve won an extra day for the column. Enough time to get clear of the mountains and reach Mediolanum safely.’

‘Good for them. Though that’s not going to help us much.’

‘Macro, my friend, we’re beyond help. You understand?’

‘Of course! I’m not a bloody fool.’

Cato laughed. ‘I never thought you were. So this is it, then. The end.’ He paused awkwardly, not quite sure how to express his valediction to his closest companion.

‘It’s not the end until it’s the end, lad,’ Macro responded firmly, shrugging aside the comment. ‘I’ll take the bastards on with my bare teeth if I have to. When I go out of this world, I’ll go fighting to the last.’

‘I cannot imagine you doing any different.’

They exchanged a sad look, and then Cato clasped his friend’s hand. ‘Goodbye then, Centurion Macro.’

‘Goodbye, sir.’

Cato turned on his heel and made his way back up to the crags. He climbed slowly, preserving his strength, and as he did so, he saw that the sky was already lightening, with a clear day in prospect. A shame, he thought. This was the weather the Romans could have used many days ago. Fate seemed to have a wonderful sense of humour at times. He reached the top and crossed to where the survivors of the two squadrons posted there stood to greet him, noting that Miro was still amongst them, bloodied but determined-looking.

‘At ease. Save your strength for the enemy, eh?’