troops I requested.’ There was a grumbling in the ranks at that. He saw Cholon making his way amongst the men, doling out the remaining food. That alone would tell them part of what he intended, but not all. ‘If we stay here we will die, and to no purpose, but to get away, in one piece, will be damned hard unless we can inflict some kind of check on the enemy. We have to achieve two things. The first is to make them think we’re more numerous than we actually are and the second is to give them such a bloody nose, during one of their attacks, that they’ll draw off until daylight.’
The men listened eagerly as Aulus explained his plan. They knew it was desperate, just as he did himself, yet they all accepted the fiction that success would save them. No one articulated the truth that they would not all get away; there would be casualties and even if they were alive they would have to be left behind, but the thought was present and that sent a shiver through the ranks. Those who had not seen the atrocities inflicted on Trebonius and his men had certainly heard about them.
‘Once we’re done, successful or not, those still fit and garbed are to immediately dump their armour. Everyone to take food, water and a single weapon, then head north. Stay together on the road until daylight. As soon as you can see enough to obscure your trail, split up into smaller parties and head inland. Make your way back to the legions as best you can.’
Aulus gave the orders that would split the men into two equal groups, then called on Cholon. Taking him by the arm, he hauled his servant out of earshot.
‘I want you out of here.’ He could see his servant start to protest in the glare from the flickering fire. ‘You’re no soldier, Cholon. Therefore, you are useless in a fight.’
‘I am still your body slave,’ replied the Greek.
‘Do you realise that I cannot leave here?’
‘I suspected as much, master.’
‘Yet you still want to stay?’
‘When they tell stories of the death of Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus, perhaps they will mention that his faithful Greek body slave…’
Aulus cut in. ‘You will be freed in my will.’
Cholon swallowed hard, paused for a moment, then took up exactly where he left off. ‘…his faithful Greek body slave stayed true to his master. Perhaps, in legend, I will become a hero too.’
‘Are you so sure that I will become a hero?’
There was a slight catch in Cholon’s voice as he replied. ‘You are now, and you always have been to me.’
‘We’re not so very different, we Greeks and Romans,’ said Aulus softly. ‘All we crave is the good opinion of posterity.’
Cholon would have loved the right to proffer one distinction. How very different things would have been if they had both been Greek. Aulus, less the upright Roman, would, in a Hellenistic society, have allowed the affection they felt for each other some expression. He had watched this man, whom he loved, suffer, just as he himself had suffered, seeing his love ignored. But at least Aulus had been kind to him, unlike his Claudia, whose coldness after the birth of that child had wounded Aulus cruelly. If only he had turned to Cholon then, he would have found all the solace he required. The Greek slave sighed inwardly. It was not to be.
‘There is something I want you very much to do. It’s important, and you are the only person I can entrust to carry it out.’
Cholon had known Aulus too long to be fooled. Whatever task his master had thought up, it had just this very second germinated in his mind, even if he did try to make it sound as though he had been thinking it all along.
‘Some of these men will die, either here, or before they get back to Salonae. I feel responsible for that. I want you to copy the regimental roll and note the names of all those who don’t return.’
His servant cut in. ‘That assumes I shall survive.’
A hard note crept into Aulus’s voice but Cholon was not fooled by that either. His master would have to order him to leave and he was cranking himself up to it.
‘You might not. You might fall off your horse. If you do, get up and walk. I want you to seek out the dependants of those who fall and make sure that they are provided for. Now be so good as to fetch something to write with, so that I can give you a codicil to add to my will.’
Clodius looked up at the stars. No singing now, but he was talking to his gods nevertheless. Would he survive the night? He would be lucky to make it through the initial attack. All very well for the general to say that slopes too steep to climb were not too steep to run down, but he could break a leg if he failed to find one of the enemy to cushion his fall. A whispered command was passed along the line and Clodius pushed forward to the edge of the steep incline. The torches on the palisade cast a strong light on the area just in front of the wooden stakes, at the same time throwing the stoop itself into darkness so that the spears and helmets lining the wall were barely visible. They didn’t look like much from up here; perhaps, in the gloom, the attackers would think the wall was manned with the full Roman strength. He could not see any of the men crouched below the parapet. They were completely in shadow.
Noise travels upwards, especially in a confined space, so those attackers, coming down the gorge, gave ample notice of their approach. They would have to charge the wall but if Aulus was right it would be a half-hearted assault, designed to keep the defenders on their toes rather than to inflict any real damage. It was up to those left on the wall, if they did attack, to tempt them to a proper fight so that once committed, the men on the hills could drop behind them and hopefully kill the entire force. Clodius grasped his spear as the attackers crept forward; when they reached the circle of light they emitted a fearsome yell and rushed forward. They only made half the distance, threw a few untipped spears wildly, before immediately running back out of range. So far so good, the general had been right, they were trying to draw fire, keep the defenders awake and deplete the Roman stock of javelins. When nothing happened at all, confusion set in and they ran forward again, with still no response from those on the wall.
Would they fall for it? Would they look closely and see that the shields and spears were just that, with nothing behind them. A few minutes passed then suddenly, without any preliminary shout, a body of properly armed spearmen rushed forward. They got much closer, hurling their weapons with some accuracy before turning round and heading back quickly to join their comrades. Most of the spears missed, some flying harmlessly past, while others stuck in the wooden wall. But three or four struck their targets, and the shields and helmets, supported only by a thin piece of wood, fell clattering to the ground.
Someone had command down below. There followed a single shout as he ordered his men to take the palisade and suddenly the well-lit area was full of running, screaming men. The defenders, crouched down behind the wooden stakes, kept their places until the attackers reached the wall and started to climb. Clodius, tensed like a coiled snake, heard Aulus give the command. With his fellow legionaries he launched himself forward and leapt down the sheer side of the gorge, fighting to keep his balance as it steepened, feeling as if he was flying as his feet took what purchase they could on the near perpendicular surface. In a blur, he saw the Romans who had been hiding stand up and engage the attackers climbing the wall and saw the faces raised in panic at the sound and fury of a hundred and fifty men attacking from above. Clodius hurled his spear into one of those faces only a split second before he landed right on top of the man it had struck, his momentum carrying them both down to the ground.
The gorge was full of fighting men, with the original attackers not only cut off, but with a great number of their enemies actually in their midst. Some threw down their weapons, only to die unarmed; this was no time to give quarter. Others fought furiously, against odds that lengthened against them every minute. Clodius was on his feet now. One leg would not support him at all and he wondered if it was broken. His back was to the rocky side of the defile and he hacked and slashed at anyone who came within his reach. Time seemed to stand still and it was impossible to make any sense of the melee before him; what was happening beyond he could not see. Then a space cleared in front of him; the fight was slackening, as the enemy fell, wounded or dead. Those Romans who had dropped down into the gorge were pressing the rebels back against the wooded wall, there to die from overhead spear thrusts. The fight moved past Clodius and he tried to follow but fell flat, into the sandy, blood-soaked soil.
He hauled himself back on to his good foot and leant back on the rocks, cursing under his breath. Clodius had not even felt the sword slash across the back of his knee, but he could feel the pain now, getting steadily worse. His leg was gone; it would not support his weight and regardless of the fact that the general had not actually said it,
