Frontinius frowned.
‘For us…? What about the rest of the army?’
‘The rest of the army, Sextus Frontinius, has other fish to fry.’
The prefect unrolled the map he kept in his field chest, laid it across his table and weighted the corners with his helmet and weapons. He pointed to a spot on the map north of the wall that spanned the province to separate civilisation from the northern tribes, and a good distance to the east of the road that ran northwards from the wall, bisecting the tribal lands beyond the frontier.
‘That’s us. Battle won, and the Selgovae well and truly put back in their place.’
He tapped the map to the west of the road, indicating the Selgovae’s tribal lands.
‘They’ll have to be kept in their place, of course, but a single cohort could probably manage that, given that we’ve killed most of their fighting strength today. The Cugerni and Vangiones cohorts ought to be more than enough force to keep their heads down. You know how that works…’
Both of the senior centurions nodded with grim faces, and Neuto’s voice was harsh as he spoke.
‘Oh yes, Tribune, we know how that works. Go in hard and do whatever it takes to make sure the stupid blue-nosed bastards are clear that they lost. Burn their villages at any sign of resistance, confiscate anything they’re not clever enough to hide, and give them a winter they won’t forget for a while. There’ll be a skirmish or two, but they’re out of the fight after today. And us?’
‘We drew the more interesting job, I’d say.’ The tribune pointed to the land to the east of the North Road. ‘We’re ordered to head north and east, and liberate the Votadini from whoever it was that Calgus sent north to rule them, once he’d killed King Brennus. Since we don’t know how many warriors Calgus sent north with their new “king”, we’re to advance at full strength and in full battle order, and we’ve been given six squadrons of horsemen from the Petriana wing to scout for us. The governor thinks that Calgus may have run for the safety of the Votadini capital, given that we’ve not found his body on the battlefield, which makes him very keen to liberate it from the last of his men and see what we find.’
First Spear Frontinius frowned again, raising a bemused eyebrow at his superior, his voice acerbic with disapproval.
‘Two cohorts? Sixteen hundred men, even if we were at full strength? We ought to be twice the number, and with a bloody sight more than two hundred horsemen. Not only do we not know how many warriors might be waiting for us, but there’s still the small question of the Venicones. The last I heard on the subject was that some weak-chinned fool in a stripy tunic dithered outside the barbarian camp for long enough that the entire Venicone warband was able to make a sharp exit through the north fence.’
Scaurus nodded sharply, his eyes signalling disapproval of the language his subordinate was using to describe a senior officer, if not the offended sentiment behind them.
‘I know, First Spear, and I won’t bore you with the excitement that little error of judgement has inspired among the great and the good, except to tell you that we’ve had a cohort detached from the Twentieth Legion under the command of the “weak-chinned fool” in question attached to us. Apparently it was either that, or go home in disgrace for letting the Venicones escape from under his nose, so he’s chosen to work under me for a few weeks as punishment.’
‘And the Venicones?’
‘Last seen running hard to the north, after a day spent exchanging iron and insults with the Petriana. Honours even, apparently, according to the first message riders back from the fight, with several hundred of their warriors killed by the cavalry as they fell out of the line of march with exhaustion, but fifty or so of Tribune Licinius’s men torn limb from limb as a result of getting carried away and riding too close to the enemy with the excitement of it all.’
Neuto stared at the map for a moment before speaking, his voice rich with irony.
‘So while the legions get to sit back and count barbarian heads, we go north with three cohorts, one commanded by some custard-livered aristo, and a couple of hundred horsemen, not only charged with taking the Dinpaladyr but potentially having to fend off the entire Venicone warband as well.’
Scaurus nodded, his smile tight.
‘Almost, First Spear. But the legions won’t be getting any time to polish up their armour. The one thing I haven’t mentioned yet is going to keep them very busy until the snow comes.’
Both of the senior centurions’ eyes narrowed. Neuto breathed the question in a hushed tone, his face set in the expectation of bad news.
‘The Brigantes?’
Scaurus nodded.
‘Yes, First Spear, the Brigantes. Calgus has the full-scale revolt he was desperate for, only just too late for it to do him any good. And we, gentlemen, will just have to manage with what we’re given.’
‘Curse this fucking rebellion. Another couple of days would have seen us on the Wall with the Aquila boy in our grasp. Instead of which we’re sat here like spare pricks, waiting for the bloody army to get off their arses and clear these impudent Brits away, only these useless provincial bastards are too scared of a few uppity blue-painted farmers to get out into the countryside and do what needs to be done. The bloody Guard would go through this lot like a hot knife through butter…’
Centurions Rapax and Excingus were standing on the walls of the Waterfall Town fort, forty miles to the north of the legionary fortress at Elm Grove, staring out at the dusk’s purple landscape in frustration. The praetorian was complaining bitterly to his colleague, slapping his palm down on the wall’s stone parapet to emphasise his disgust with the soldiers manning the fort below them.
‘All the way to the edge of the bloody empire in less than a month, changing horses three times a day until my arse feels like it’s made of leather, and now we’re sat here looking at the hills and wondering how the fuck we’re going to get any farther north. A few of the locals get uppity and these cowards all run home to mummy, and wait for someone else to sort it out for them.’
Excingus laughed wryly, shaking his head in mock dismay.
‘Yes, colleague, I have little doubt that your fellow guardsmen would cleave a bloody path through these rebels, were they here. Which nevertheless leaves us with the same question. Do we wait for the legions to finish their business in the frontier zone and turn south to clear out these bandits, or do we make our own way north immediately, in pursuance of Prefect Perennis’s orders? I think you can guess my preference, but I must defer to you in all such military matters.’
Rapax gave him a dirty look, tapping the hilt of his sword thoughtfully.
‘Your preference and mine are one and the same, brother, to get north and find the Aquila brat before he takes flight again. It could be rough, though. Two centurions and a few guardsmen won’t offer much resistance to a decent-sized warband, should we happen across one, even if the soldiers in question are praetorians. And I, unlike you, have fought against barbarians, in the last emperor’s wars against the Quadi and Marcomanni. I’ve heard the screams of men staked out for flaying and disembowelling, men taken in battle or from the camp in the night, and never seen again except for their ruined corpses on the tribes’ sacrificial altars. We can ride north tomorrow morning and hope to make our way through to the Wall without seeing another living soul, trusting that the advantage of surprise will be on our side…’ He grinned darkly at the corn officer. ‘… since only a bunch of madmen would attempt such a thing. I’m sure my guardsmen will think I’ve kissed my marbles goodbye, but they’ll do what I tell them readily enough. So the question isn’t really a military matter, since militarily the idea of riding north from here without enough men to sweep away the tribesmen in our path is quite likely to prove suicidal.’
He raised an eyebrow at his colleague, inviting him to comment. The corn officer stared out into the darkening and silent hills to the north for a long moment before speaking.
‘Agreed. Riding north tomorrow does seem to carry somewhat more risk than waiting here for the army to march south and restore order. If it were that simple the decision would already be made as far as I’m concerned, but I’m afraid it isn’t. If we sit here for the best part of another month, what are the odds that the news of a praetorian and a corn officer coming north will reach the army in the north well in advance of our arrival? Pretty good, I’d say, given what we know of the average soldier’s love of gossip. And if that news reaches either the Aquila boy or the men sheltering him from justice, I’ll wager my balls to a denarius that he’ll be away to another hiding place before we ever reach the Wall, much less find this Tungrian cohort he’s supposed to be hiding with.’
He paused, smiling at his colleague’s sour expression.
