‘Yes, that’s it. Our brother officer Marcus has just had a visit from Tertius. They met on the march today, by pure good fortune. Tertius wanted to warn Marcus that the Second Cohort’s prefect is convinced he’s the son of a disgraced Roman senator, and that he’s recruited this Appius to find him and deliver proof of his whereabouts. The Bear told me that he was around our lines at Noisy Valley only a few minutes after I sent the Eighth out on night exercise.’
Julius frowned, shaking his head at the apparent inevitability of the net closing around them.
‘After which Prefect Furius will denounce the fugitive, take the credit for his discovery, and do his level best to have us all nailed up alongside Two Knives?’
Frontinius nodded.
‘Exactly. From what I’ve heard he might even have a go at sticking it to Prefect Scaurus.’
Julius frowned.
‘Why would this Tertius be so keen to tell us this? Surely he’d be better off just keeping his mouth shut?’
Frontinius acknowledged the point, reaching for his helmet and vine stick.
‘It’s a longer story than we’ve got time for now. Suffice to say that Centurion Tertius has quite a good reason not to be all that fond of his new prefect. I’m off to the Sixth Legion’s lines now, there’s a command conference. We’ll finish this discussion later, but for the time being let’s keep Centurion Corvus under as much cover as possible.’
The detachment’s senior officers gathered in the command tent, waiting for Tribune Antonius to make his entrance. The auxiliary cohorts’ prefects and first spears rubbed shoulders with three hard-faced legion senior centurions and a pair of junior tribunes, the latters’ equestrian status clear from the thin purple strip on both men’s tunics. Antonius entered the tent a moment later, and every eye was upon the senior tribune as he walked to the briefing table to announce his intended plan of attack. He stepped up to the table, pointing to the rough map sketched on its surface and speaking in a clear, confident voice.
‘This ought to be straightforward enough, I should think. There are reported to be about fifteen hundred of them camped on that hill. They know we’re here, so they will be ready, but they probably haven’t eaten all day and they’ve already fought one pitched battle. With six cohorts we outnumber them by nearly three to one, so good enough odds for an assault, I’d say. Nothing too fancy, unless anyone’s got any better ideas – we simply break in, we put them to the sword, and Calgus has one less warband to play with.’
He paused, looking around the tent at the gathered officers.
‘I’m reminded that it’s usual for auxiliary cohort commanders to be offered the first crack at the enemy in this sort of situation.’
I’ll bet he’s been reminded of that old tradition, mused Frontinius inwardly. In fact I’ll bet he had a queue of centurions falling over each other to remind him of it. ‘So, gentlemen, it’s up to you. Will the Tungrians and Cugerni lead the line for this action?’
Prefect Furius stepped forward, nodding decisively, to the amazement of the other two prefects and their first spears. Neuto’s face froze into immobility, only his eyes betraying his surprise.
‘Yes, Tribune, I think you’ll find that we’re more than up to the task. I propose that we make up the first wave, and that your legion infantry be kept in close reserve, ready to assist us if the going gets difficult.’
Antonius nodded approvingly, a brief smile twitching his lips.
‘Well said, Prefect Furius, excellent spirit. Very well, I suggest that you take some time between the three of you to lay out your battle plan. The Sixth Legion will back you up in whatever you decide. Thank you, gentlemen.’
Outside the tent a thin-lipped Scaurus put a hand on Furius’s arm, his anger clearly boiling over.
‘Next time you decide to do something that stupid I’d appreciate some bloody warning!’
Furius bristled indignantly, and the Cugerni prefect walked away a few paces, studiously ignoring the two men as the 2nd Tungrians’ prefect pointed a finger at his colleague.
‘Stupid? I think you should explain yourself, Rutilius Scaurus.’
Scaurus held his ground, his voice lowered to avoid the words carrying back into the command tent.
‘When Antonius offered us first place in the line he was simply doing what the legions always do, putting dispensable auxiliaries to his front to soak up the worst of the casualties, but what you offered him went a long way beyond that. You’ve just let him off the hook for this battle’s conduct, and given him a cast-iron excuse for holding his cohorts back as long as he likes. We’re not four thousand men attacking fifteen hundred any more, in fact we’re not much better than evenly matched unless Antonius throws his men in alongside us, and he won’t do that until we’ve already got the barbarians beaten. So we’d better do some quick thinking as to how this battle’s going to be fought, because I don’t think a frontal assault is going to be good enough.’ He caught the lurking Cugerni prefect’s eye and raised his voice. ‘I suggest you both come to my tent in an hour.’
He summoned Frontinius with a jerk of the head and stalked away, his mind working fast, heading back to his own cohort’s lines and talking as he walked.
‘So you’ve got another chance at glory, First Spear Frontinius. We’re to assault the hill fort with the other auxiliary cohorts while the Sixth Legion sits on its backside and watches us go about it. I’d imagine that young Antonius couldn’t have imagined a better result if he’d tried.’
The First Spear shook his head in disbelief.
‘We get to attack a barbarian warband uphill, into prepared defences, while the legion cohorts sit and laugh at us from behind their shields. We might win, but it’ll be a bloody victory. I’d take Lost Eagle over the goat-fuck this could turn into if Cocidius decides we’ve had enough divine favour for one lifetime.’
Scaurus nodded.
‘Unless we can turn their flank, and avoid a frontal attack, I’m forced to agree with you.’
Frontinius snorted.
‘Turn their flank? Unlikely, since they’re defending a circular position.’
They walked into the prefect’s tent, and Scaurus slumped into a chair, gesturing the first spear into the other.
‘I take your point. Talk me through it, then. You’re the leader of this particular warband. How do you go about defending yourself when the Romans come to play?’
Frontinius scratched a circle in the tent’s dirt floor.
‘They’ll assume that we’re coming from the south, since they know well enough that we’re camped here. They’ve not had the time to put up any kind of palisade, so if it was me in command of that rabble I’d line them up behind the southern side of the earth rampart, ready to fight but safe from any artillery we might have with us. Then I’d post a few men on top of the wall, perhaps four or five each to north, south, east and west, to watch for our approach. He knows that a force this size can’t approach silently, so a few men with sharp eyes and ears ought to be enough to warn him of an advance from any direction. After that it’d be simple enough to move his force around the wall to match our point of attack. And, when we do show our hands, he’s got time to get any field defences he’s prepared into place, sharpened stakes, tribuli, that sort of thing. If we had any sense we’d just sit back and wait for them to give up for lack of food and water.’
‘And if we split our forces?’
‘He splits his, and the basic problem remains unchanged.’
Scaurus nodded slowly.
‘So the watchers on the wall are the key. If they fail to give a warning, the warband remains oriented on our most likely line of advance.’
Frontinius glanced across at him sharply.
‘Yes?’
‘Well… I was just thinking about the Eighth Century…’
Frontinius nodded unhappily.
‘So was I. We’ve got a problem with Centurion Corvus’s visibility already, and I suspect your idea’s about to make it worse.’
Five minutes later the two men walked into the 8th Century’s section of the camp and sought out Marcus, quickly outlining the prefect’s idea to the young centurion.
‘Could it work?’
Marcus nodded slowly.
‘I think so, Prefect. There’s a man who’ll have a better judgement than mine, though.’
