slope and then take on a surface without the slightest hold for hand or foot. He gazed down towards the meadow, where the thick, sweet grass ended so abruptly against the silver ribbon of the water. That was the key. This was an enemy without climbing ladders and siege towers or the knowledge to manufacture them. An enemy who favoured frontal attack above all else. Yes, it would do. But when he rounded the corner he discovered something that wouldn’t do at all. Along the outer west wall an almost continuous line of crude lean-to shacks had been built, which, on closer inspection, were being used to store building materials. Any of them could make a ready platform for an enemy assault.
He stopped at the gate on his way back to the temple, where Gracilis, the Twentieth’s hard-case wolf hunter from the Campanian mountains, was supervising the strengthening of the defences.
‘Take some men and tear down the huts along the west wall. And while you’re at it, clear everything for a javelin throw in front of this gate. I want a killing ground from there to about there.’
Gracilis grinned and saluted. Like all legionaries, the only thing he liked better than fighting and drinking was destroying someone else’s property. ‘Should we burn them, sir?’ he said hopefully.
Valerius shook his head. No point in creating smoke to warn the enemy. ‘Just break them up and add them to the barriers.’
A line of legionaries passed water jars into the interior of the temple as Lunaris watched the final pieces of the barricade around the pronaos being put into place between the massive pillars. The pronaos formed the outer area of the temple and behind it lay the cella, the inner sanctum of the cult of Claudius. ‘Kind of you to send me the reinforcements,’ the big man said. Valerius was puzzled, until Lunaris pointed to where Fabius peered from behind a padded couch propped against one of the columns. Someone had provided him with a helmet several sizes too large and it sat on his head like a cooking pot.
‘You may thank me for him later.’
Lunaris looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe they won’t come.’
Valerius stood back as one of his men carelessly threw a bust of the Emperor Augustus on to the top of the barricade. ‘In that case you can join me in the sack when they throw me into the Tiber.’ He looked up at the temple above them. ‘Do we have any archers?’
‘Not among our lot that I know of. A few of the veterans may be hunters and I’ve seen some of the auxiliary cavalry practising with bows. Why?’
Valerius pointed to the temple roof. ‘If we can get a dozen men up there they could cover the whole perimeter. I don’t see how the Britons can make a direct assault anywhere but the southern wall, but-’
He was interrupted by a shout from the direction of the gate and turned to see Falco at the head of a line of veteran militia, each with a bundle of pila in his arms. The wine merchant’s round face glowed pink with indignation.
‘Enough to supply an army,’ he fumed. ‘That damned man. Enough spears for every soldier and this is what’s left. Shields and swords too, bright as when they were forged. And for years we have made do with…’
‘And how is our good quaestor?’ Valerius asked mildly. ‘Will he take his place in the line?’
‘Vanished. He hasn’t been seen since the meeting. Just as well. If I could lay my hands on him he’d wish he was with the rebels.’
‘I doubt we’ll miss his presence. Come. We need a stockpile of spears thirty paces behind the south wall, and another by the steps.’
Falco looked at the bustle of preparations going on around him. ‘So, you mean to defend the temple. I thought-’
‘No, we will fight them first beyond the walls. I am sorry,’ Valerius apologized. ‘I should have kept you better informed.’
The wine merchant shook his head. ‘The last of the militia won’t come in from the outlying farms for a few hours yet. Time enough then. We would have heard from the cavalry pickets if there was any immediate threat.’
‘We will place any civilians who are willing to fight here, in the temple, with a stiffening of my men. I want only hardened soldiers in our battle line.’ Valerius imagined the terrified merchants, craftsmen and servants facing battle-crazed British champions, the bloody chaos of a splintered shield wall. ‘I doubt they’d stand for long and who could blame them. If the Britons do not take fright at the sight of us…’
Falco laughed. ‘That was a pretty fantasy you spun for the council. I almost believed it myself.’
They walked from the temple precinct back to where the ground fell away towards the river. Below them was the meadow where Valerius had inspected Falco’s militia during his first week in Colonia. It seemed a lifetime ago. The river encircled it in a long curve, wide and deep enough thanks to the recent rains to provide an effective barrier against an advancing enemy with a need to move fast.
‘I will burn the bridges, all but one.’ He pointed to the main crossing that carried the road from Colonia north to Venta. ‘That will be our bait. They are fighters, the Britons, but not soldiers. They will be drawn to the bridge because behind the bridge is where we will make our stand and their first instinct will be to annihilate us. Utterly.’
‘But what if…’
Valerius understood his plan’s weakness. ‘The cavalry will patrol the near bank to ensure we are informed of any general crossing, but I do not think it will happen. If they want Colonia they must destroy us, Falco. By offering ourselves to Boudicca we can buy enough time for Paulinus to counter-march his legions from Mona. Failing that, the Ninth is only five days away in Lindum; it’s possible they are already on their way to join us. If we cannot save Colonia, at least we may be able to win time for Londinium.’
A shout from one of the legionaries working on the temple defences interrupted them. Valerius instinctively turned to the northeast and saw the flare as a beacon blazed at the signal tower on the ridge. He knew the men in the tower would also be straining their eyes to the north and that twenty miles away on the far horizon they could see a tiny echo of the flame they had just lit. It would only be seconds before it was extinguished, he was sure, but it had done its job. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for the Tungrian auxiliaries at the station on the Venta road who had stayed at their posts to the end.
They would not be the last.
‘She is coming, then,’ Falco said solemnly.
‘Did you ever doubt it?’
The older man shook his head. ‘At least the women and children are safe.’
Bela rode in an hour later slumped over the neck of a blown horse near crippled by the vivid red slash where a sword had sliced its haunches and groaning with the agony of an iron spear point still embedded in his ribs. Two of the Thracians held their commander upright in the saddle long enough for him to make his report to Valerius.
‘Cowards. They ambushed us in a wood.’ Bela’s face shone with sweat and he flinched with the pain of each word. ‘They blocked the way with a felled tree and were on both sides of the road. Spears, arrows and slings out of hiding and we had no reply. At first our women stayed among the wagons, but what could they do when one after the other they saw their little ones spitted by arrows or spears? In their terror they sought any way out of the trap. But there was no way. We…’ His body shuddered at the memory. ‘We could hear the screams from among the trees.’ He raised his head to look Valerius in the eye. ‘They will have spared none.’
Valerius thought of all the escapees he had helped into the wagons less than twelve hours before. The sad, grateful smiles on the faces of mothers torn between the hurt of being separated from their husbands and gratitude that at least their children would be safe. He wondered about the fate of the blind old man and the whores who had given up their places in the cart. Were they picked off one by one by their faceless enemy? Did they rush into the woods to be butchered? It didn’t matter. He had failed them all. This was his fault, in his arrogance and his pride. But there were things he needed to know before he could mourn them.
‘Bela, who were they and how many were there?’ Was it possible Boudicca had already bypassed Colonia and was making for Londinium? The Thracian was on the point of collapse, but this was no time for pity. He had to know. He laid a hand on Bela’s shoulder and felt the two men holding him stiffen protectively. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded.
‘A few hundred, no more.’ The cavalryman coughed, and a thin line of blood ran from the corner of his lip to his chin. ‘Locals, I think, scum taking advantage of the chaos and lured by the prospect of blood and gold.’ His head slumped forward and Valerius released him.
