and headed back towards the main body.
Aulus Cornelius looked at the small pile of evidence he and his soldiers had accumulated, and saw that everything pointed to the attackers being Illyrians, rather than the Epirotes from the south. Not that there was much; some cloth, a few bits of broken pottery, a buckle from a sword belt. The most telling thing was a decorated wine gourd. The carvings were quite distinctive, but if anything travelled far and wide, it was a flask made to hold wine. He disliked the idea, but he would have to go even further south to look for clues. The people who had left this clearing had gone that way; so must he.
One look at the centurion was enough. Clodius shrugged and opened his mouth to explain, but the general shouting orders for the two of them to join him cut off his words. Flaccus moved down the slope immediately and Clodius spurted to catch him.
‘Gone,’ he said.
‘All of it?’ asked Flaccus with a catch in his throat. ‘That soothsayer…’
‘Later,’ replied Clodius, as they came abreast of their commander. Aulus turned and started to jog south, his men at his heels. They left the clearing and the bodies and as soon as the sound of their presence faded, the vultures came back to feed.
‘That’s not a bunch of rebels, it’s an army.’
Normally sparing in his use of words, this statement from Aulus marked the level of his surprise, since those he had just used were superfluous. The road before them dropped away steeply, twisting left and right as it wound its way down to the plain below. The whole landscape was covered with marching men, all heading in their direction.
‘Where have they all come from?’ asked Flaccus.
‘Dacia!’ replied Aulus emphatically. ‘They’ve been supporting the Illyrian insurrection for years. I knew it didn’t smell right. They probably incited the Epirotes to rebel as well.’
‘What about the lot we saw last night?’
‘Poor Trebonius,’ he sighed. They knew that their general meant ‘poor everybody’. ‘The tribesmen he ran into were Illyrians heading south.’
‘To join up with this lot?’ asked Flaccus.
‘They can’t know we’re at Thralaxas, otherwise they would never have come on. Common sense would have told them to halt and fortify the pass, which means that we’ve moved a lot faster than they think. They expect to get back through there without a fight.’
The Illyrians had no need to come south at all, of course. They could have waited until the promised allies arrived. Did that mean they were prey to doubt, unsure that the promised support would be forthcoming? If so, that indicated a lack of trust, even the possibility of divided loyalties. Aulus did not analyse these thoughts in too great a depth, being experienced enough to know that war was an art most often conducted in a form of mental semi- darkness. He also knew that good generalship, once you had assembled all the available information, was instinctive. Without another word, he spun on his heel and started jogging back to the north. His soldiers dragged themselves to their feet and followed. They passed the heap of bodies again, but there was no time to bury or burn anyone. All they could do as they jogged past was offer a quick prayer for their souls to the Goddess Dea Tactica.
The sun was getting low in the sky; Flaccus stood beside his general studying the map he was tracing in the ground with the stick. ‘Tell Vegetius Flaminus to send me two more cohorts to hold the pass, plus a couple of catapults and half the cavalry. I want him to force-march his army to the east, throw a bridge across the Lisenus river and make for that plain to the south where we saw the enemy today. Once he’s there he’s to fortify a camp and let them know that he’s behind them. If we’ve held them here they will realise that there’s no way forward.’
‘Which means they’ll turn and attack our legions,’ added Flaccus happily, so carried away by the flow of the general’s words that he felt no qualms about speaking.
‘They might,’ replied Aulus, doubtfully. ‘I’m rather hoping they will see that their situation is hopeless and try and disperse.’
The centurion was shocked. ‘No battle, sir?’
Aulus gave him a wry smile. ‘One of the advantages, Didius Flaccus, of serving under a general who’s already had a triumph, is that he has no desire left to sacrifice troops in order to advance his career. I hope for a victory, I can forgo the battle.’
‘What about the Illyrian rebels?’
‘Probably the only thing that’s sustained them is the hope of a general uprising in the whole region. Once this is over, I think their rebellion will finally collapse.’
He handed Flaccus a scroll tied with a red ribbon. ‘Anyway, I’ve had Cholon write out the orders, so there’ll be no chance of an error.’
Having lost one fortune, Flaccus was even more painfully aware than usual of the prospect of booty; it could be that the only fighting would be here at the Pass of Thralaxas. The enemy was coming this way, and they might have his money with them. He pulled himself to attention. ‘With respect, General, could I detail someone else to carry your despatch.’
‘You wish to stay and fight?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Sorry, Flaccus. You’re the most senior man here, apart from me. I can’t go and leave you with such a heavy responsibility, nor can I deliver such a message in the hands of any old ranker. You are one of the senior centurions in the legion. You have enough weight to emphasise the importance of what you carry. However, once you have delivered your despatch, you may return with the reinforcements.’
Clodius had had no chance to talk to Flaccus. Not that either of them had much time now, with the centurion making ready to leave and, really, what was there to say? He told Flaccus what he had found and why he thought the cache had been discovered. The grizzled veteran just grunted, though the look he gave Clodius left the ranker in no doubt that he held him to blame. Stammering slightly, he opened his belt and reached into the cavity holding the gold coins.
‘I did find this in the grass. One of them must have dropped them.’ Clodius held his hand out, with the four gold coins gleaming in his palm, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Not much after what we had, I know. But better than a poke in the eye, eh! He took two coins and offered them to Flaccus. ‘Half each.’
The centurion took the coins, looking at those Clodius still held in his hand, then, with a swift motion he snatched them as well. Clodius made to protest, but Flaccus gave him a very hard look. ‘That’ll go some way to paying off the money you owe me. Let’s hope you have some luck here as well mate, ’cause I retire soon, and I want that lot paid back before I go home. Every sesterces!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Aulus, having sent Flaccus off with his orders, inspected the fortifications, pronounced himself satisfied with the work, then set his tired men to collecting heavy stones for the catapults he hoped would arrive shortly. The part they would play in slowing down the enemy stifled any dissent. Aulus intended to site them so that the stones, thrown against the steep rocks of the pass, would bounce off the enclosing walls and carry on down the narrow defile. If both catapults could be brought to bear at the same time, it would set up a barrage that no troops could withstand.
‘That’s the first phase,’ he said the following morning, to troops now rested and fed. ‘When our reinforcements arrive, I intend to put one cohort on the top of each hill so that the enemy can’t outflank us. I’ve asked for some cavalry, as well, to use as a mobile reserve.’
