‘Nevertheless,’ Decianus continued, ‘I propose to send a force which I consider proportionate to the threat under the most senior commander available. These are your orders.’ He handed Valerius the scroll he had been reading. Valerius hesitated. His only independent command had been the First cohort on the winter road detail. Still, he could hardly refuse. He studied the orders, which commanded him to march to Colonia with all speed and deal with the situation as he saw fit, which, if he knew the army, was as good an invitation to put his neck in a noose as he’d ever seen. It meant any decision was his and his alone. Any mistake would be his responsibility.
He pointed out the elementary error. ‘This doesn’t say how many cohorts I’ll have under me.’
‘Cohorts? I do not believe we need think in terms of cohorts,’ Decianus sniffed. ‘You will have one hundred and fifty men from the Londinium garrison and such other troops as are on leave or in transit. Enough to provide a stiffening for the militia and stay the panic in the quaestor ’s heart until such time as the governor considers it necessary to move a vexillation of the Ninth legion to Colonia.’ He smiled disdainfully. ‘You see, Verrens, I take no chances. The governor is informed, a solution suggested and a reinforcement sent. What more should I do?’
‘Sir, with respect, two hundred men is-’
‘Appropriate to the threat, and as many as you will receive. Am I to understand that you are refusing this command?’
Valerius shook his head. He could protest that a force of two hundred men was as much use for defending a place like Colonia as two hundred sheep, but the procurator’s mind was made up. If the Iceni came he would have to depend on Falco and his veterans.
‘No sir, I will accept the command. But I’d like to request that the men of the Twentieth who formed my escort accompany me.’ Decianus frowned and Valerius continued quickly: ‘They know the area around Colonia well and have worked with the militia there.’
The procurator nodded reluctantly. ‘Very well. This interview is at an end.’
‘So we’re not going to Mona?’
Valerius shook his head. ‘No, we’re going back to Colonia.’
Lunaris sucked his teeth and looked longingly westwards over the rampart of the Londinium wall. ‘Mona could make a big difference. Those druids are trouble-making bastards.’
‘That’s true enough, but if the Iceni really have risen we’ll be needed in Colonia.’
‘Two hundred of us?’ Lunaris scoffed. ‘If nothing’s happened all we’ll have done is waste caliga leather. And if they’ve really decided to try to kick us out…’
‘Falco will be glad to see us.’
The duplicarius shrugged. ‘I suppose orders are orders. The Mules will miss us in Mona, though.’
‘We’re marching at dawn. Have the men ready.’
‘With these buggers?’ Lunaris nodded gloomily at a pair of garrison rats leaning against the parapet of the nearest watchtower. ‘By the time we get there I’ll be carrying them.’
XXX
Three days later, after a forced march of sixty miles, Valerius recognized the familiar low outline of Camulodunum’s turf walls on the far horizon. They were as impressive as any fortifications he’d seen on the island, yet he knew they’d been given up without a fight when Claudius’s invasion force arrived. He believed he understood why. To properly defend walls of that scale would demand a garrison far beyond the capabilities of the Trinovantes, who had held Camulodunum then, even if they had possessed the will to fight for them. On the way from Londinium he’d given much thought to the problems of defence and he had come to one devastating conclusion. The town of Colonia could not be held against any reasonable-sized force by the veterans whose duty it was to protect it.
That conclusion was reinforced when he rode up the hill towards the familiar arch of the town’s west gate with the two hundred weary men of his tiny command in tight formation behind him. He noted again the enormous gaps in the walls and the warren of streets behind where an enemy could turn a flank or launch an attack from the rear. He saw only one possibility to defend part of the town and it could only be considered as a last resort.
He thought he could rely on Falco. Petronius and his council were likely to be a different matter.
The quaestor stood in the shadow of the arch along with half the town and the cheering began while the legionaries were still a hundred paces away. Valerius bit his lip in frustration. A civic welcome was the last thing he needed. Horns blared and someone had brought out a drum that beat in time to the soldiers’ marching feet. When he reached Petronius and Falco, standing side by side a dozen yards in front of the crowd, Valerius could barely hear their greeting. Relief was written clearly on their faces.
‘You have come at last.’ Petronius’s narrow face wore a wide smile, but it was strained and he had aged since Valerius had last seen him. ‘The council has voted to select a fine bull to be sacrificed in your honour and to thank Divine Claudius for our salvation.’
Valerius exchanged glances with Falco, who had been straining for a glimpse of something in the far distance. He shook his head imperceptibly, and the older man’s eyes widened.
‘I fear you may be premature, sir,’ he told the quaestor quietly. ‘We are all the procurator has seen fit to send you.’
Petronius looked as if he might faint, and Falco took Valerius by the arm and whispered furiously. ‘This is all? But we asked for four cohorts at least, and cavalry. Fifteen hundred men. What good is two hundred against the entire might of the Iceni?’
The cheers gradually subsided to a confused murmur as the crowd realized no legion followed Valerius’s pathetic little band. A male voice demanded to know what was happening and Petronius glanced over his shoulder. Valerius saw that the quaestor was frightened. In Petronius that didn’t surprise him, but it was a shock to see his expression mirrored by Falco, who had fought his way across the Tamesa and led the charge which had brought about Caratacus’s final defeat. ‘I need to know everything,’ he said.
They met five minutes later in an anteroom of the basilica looking out over the Forum. From the open window Valerius could see groups of veterans practising their swordplay, while others watched, shouting advice and laughing at their efforts, and children waved short sticks to mimic their fathers and grandfathers.
Petronius stood talking animatedly to a short, sturdily built Celt whose bristling grey moustache gave him the look of a surly dog otter. ‘This is Celle,’ Petronius introduced the newcomer. ‘He makes what living he can hunting and fishing in the wetlands by the coast. He is one of my informants and was able to approach close to the Iceni camp, where their queen invokes the spirit of the wolf, the hare and the horse to preach painful death to all Romans. Not close enough, he admits, to gain full knowledge of this Boudicca’s thoughts and strategies — he aroused the suspicions of an Iceni scout and was forced to kill him — but close enough to gain worthwhile intelligence upon her strength.’
Valerius studied the man, who looked out of place in a travel-stained cloak and ragged trews against the stark cleanliness of the white walls. ‘Can he be trusted?’
Petronius scowled as if his own loyalty had been questioned. ‘Celle has no reason to love the Iceni,’ he said. ‘Five years ago his children were taken as slaves and his wife killed when they raided his camp in some dispute over fishing rights. He has never failed me.’ He made a sign to Celle, who spat out an unbroken stream of sentences in a dialect Valerius couldn’t understand.
Falco translated, and his words fell into the silence like stones into a tomb. ‘He says you should know that the army of Boudicca is reckoned to be fifty thousand strong — fifty thousand warriors.’
Valerius felt the blood drain from his face. It wasn’t possible. The entire Iceni tribe numbered fewer than forty thousand; even fielding every man and boy and arming them with scythes and hoes there could not be more than twenty-five thousand.
Falco saw the disbelief on his face. ‘This is the message we sent to the procurator. The Catuvellauni and the Trinovantes have rallied to Boudicca’s cause. Kings and princes, chiefs, nobles and warriors, even the workmen from the fields. And more arriving every day, including from the Brigantes in the north. Friendship, apparently, is less binding than the scent of loot. Now do you understand why we are afraid? We asked Catus Decianus to send us enough soldiers to hold off the Iceni until the governor could return to meet the threat. Instead, he sent you.’ The grizzled veteran smiled bitterly. ‘I am happy to see you again, Valerius, but I would have preferred a more substantial gift.’
