Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

Ferox was about to suggest the obvious alternative, when another fierce stare from Enica warned him off. On the enemy right the ground rose steeply up towards the hills, which meant that the Romans could not try to envelop them. On their left was a wood, straggling on for miles away from the road. Plenty of men could be waiting there in concealment. More could be behind the low crest of the ridge.

Crassus had deployed his own men to match the frontage of the enemy. The turmae sent on the cattle raid had not returned, and with so few horsemen left, there were around ninety on each flank and a turma of twenty-eight stationed near the commander. These, along with the veterans, were his only reserve. The legionaries of VIIII Hispana stood as two improvised cohorts in the centre, the men standing in three ranks. That was fine for steady, confident troops, but Ferox wondered whether it was deep enough. One cohort was led by only two centurions, the other by three, and there were barely more optiones and other leaders standing behind the formation to keep the men in ranks. The auxiliary infantry on either side of the legionaries were six deep, a far more prudent formation that made it easier to control the men. A tenth of all the infantry were still at the camp, some four and half miles to the rear, guarding the baggage.

‘Time to temper the steel,’ Crassus announced, and rode towards the battle line. ‘Soldiers!’ His voice surged to the power of a trained orator. ‘Before us we see traitors to the lord Trajan. He is our emperor! To him you swore your sacramentum! To him we look to steer the res publica onwards to peace and prosperity!’

Ovidius had said he thought Claudia Enica to be a great actress. For Ferox, all that meant was that she was a wealthy and educated Roman, for they all performed at every opportunity. Crassus must have read in histories of the great orations delivered by famous commanders before a victory. He could sense the man revelling in the occasion, perhaps imagining how a writer would phrase what he said. Enica shrugged and trotted her horse after the commander, and Ferox followed.

‘Arviragus who leads that rabble over there took the same oath! He has broken it! None but the vilest of worms would commit such an impiety. The gods will punish him and all who follow him and we are their instruments.’

Ferox lagged behind, so that he heard muttered comments from the legionaries.

‘Hear that, we’re gods!’

‘Can’t be, gods don’t fart! You might be a humping goddess.’

‘Promises, promises.’

At least they sounded in good spirits. A soldier with the energy to moan was not too worried to do his job.

‘Traitors will suffer eternal torment in the Underworld. Think of Sisyphus…’ Crassus seemed to have forgotten his audience and began to invoke a schoolboy’s list of famous traitors and others suffering punishment in Hades. The legionaries lost interest and began to joke and bitch about other things. It was better than thinking.

‘Buggers had to be uphill, didn’t they’, ‘You’re a lazy bastard, Servius’, and so on and so on. Crassus was walking his horse further and further away, right arm flailing in all the gestures of an orator.

‘Look, lads!’ Ferox raised his voice so that he got their attention. ‘Brigantes can’t fight, but they’re all rich. So go up there and slaughter the bastards and shag their women!’

Someone laughed and then started to cheer, and the shout rippled along the line. Crassus spun his horse around on a denarius, delighted at the enthusiasm his words had provoked. Enica flicked her hand against his thigh in reproof.

He shrugged. ‘Best to keep it simple,’ he whispered.

Sadly, that also appeared to be Crassus’ approach to tactics. ‘The army is to advance!’ he shouted. ‘Keep in your ranks, follow your orders, and the day is ours!’ He drew a sword with an ornate handle shaped like an eagle’s head and pointed it towards the centre of the ridge. ‘Forward!’

Officers repeated the order and the line stepped out. The enemy were half a mile away, and for the moment the ground was flat. Part of Hispana had the same problem with the ditches as the royal cohort, but they coped well and kept the separate sections of the cohort in line. The enemy watched, the warriors shuffling and pushing into a closer formation so that soon they had a front rank of men standing in line, shields ready. Most of the boards were painted blue, the favourite colour of the tribe when it went to war.

Crassus came back and they fell in with his staff.

Ferox knew he had to speak and did his best to find the right words. ‘My lord, barbarians are naturally devious, and the Brigantes worse than most.’ He suspected Enica’s eyes were boring holes into his back. ‘That wood on their left is a likely place for a treacherous ambush.’

Crassus was still buoyed up by the cheering. ‘Yes, I have thought the same thing,’ he replied, ‘and wondered whether anyone else would spot the danger.’

‘Perhaps if we refused our right, my lord? Then if they come at us from the wood, we can hit them hard once they are in the open.’

‘Serve ’em right too.’ Crassus smiled. ‘That is exactly what I was planning. Send orders for the cavalry and auxilia to hold back a little.’ A galloper rushed off with the message.

The Brigantes were singing, the sound still too faint to make out the words. Ferox did not recognise the tune, but beside him Enica stiffened. She reached out, clasping his wrist tightly. ‘Oh the raven! Oh the wolf.’ The words were in the language of the tribes. ‘Come to me and I will give you flesh!’ Her eyes were glassy. ‘It is the old battle song of my people. I never thought that I would hear it. Still less from an enemy.’

Ferox leaned over and kissed her, and wrapping his arm around her back held her for a little while. He was as surprised as she was, and when the moment passed they pulled apart, embarrassed.

Crassus laughed. ‘Time for that later! Ah, good, they are obeying.’ On the Roman right the cavalry halted. The auxiliary infantry went a little further and then stopped. Ferox saw an optio on the far right of Hispana’s line stand and stare at them. Crassus had not explained his plan to the rest of his force. The far end of the legionary cohort seemed to stagger, men confused and nervous, before shouts and blows got them back moving again. A moment later, the auxiliary horse and foot started advancing again, so that the right flank of the army was stepped back.

‘Come to me and I will give you flesh!’ Ferox caught the words now, for they were less than a quarter of a mile away. The Carvetii were kin to the Brigantes, but he had never heard Vindex or any of his warriors raise this chant. The tune was gentle, almost mournful, and yet the words held a deep menace. He saw a lone figure on a grey riding up and down in front of the Brigantian line. At this distance the face was unclear, and he could not hear the lone voice shouting, so imagined Arviragus bellowing at his warriors to keep in line. There were always youngsters eager to show off or too scared to wait, let alone the men drunk to the fill and brimming over with the courage it sometimes gave. If a few surged forward, more would follow, and the prince was doing everything to control his men and make them fight as one.

A narrow ditch, unseen until the last moment because of the long grass, caused confusion among the left cohort of Hispana. Some men jumped it, others slipped in or chose to wade through the foot or so of water in the bottom, and there was much shouting and jostling before the ranks were restored. The Romans marched on in silence, until some of the auxiliary infantry began their own chant. It sounded like an angry grunt, repeated over and over again.