‘Of course they will. There’s plenty in the fort’s cistern. And there’s plenty in the well.’
Quertus shook his head. ‘They’ll drain the cistern in a couple of days. And they’ll run the well dry in even less time.’
‘I see. Then we’ll have to ration their water and their feed.’
‘That’s not possible, sir. The food we can restrict, but they can’t do without water. Not if we want them in a fit state to ride.’
‘What do you suggest?’
Quertus gestured towards the rear of the fort. ‘There’s a narrow track that winds down the cliff there. Wide enough for a man to lead a horse. My lads can take ’em down there to the river to be watered.’
Cato considered the suggestion. ‘Best do it under cover of darkness.’
‘Too dangerous, sir. If they put a foot wrong on the path they’ll fall into the river. We can only use the path in daylight.’
Cato sighed in exasperation. ‘Then see to it. Make sure you give the handlers an escort in case the Silurians try to spring a trap.’
He considered the exchange concluded, but Quertus did not move away.
‘Is there something else, Centurion?’
‘Just the question of what you intend to do next. . sir.’
‘Do?’
‘I’m next in the chain of command. If you fall, then I will need to carry out your intentions.’
Cato smiled thinly. ‘I intend to defend the fort.’
Quertus nodded in the direction of the enemy camp, his earlier bluster gone. ‘We’ve beaten them off once, but we can’t do it indefinitely. If we lose men at the rate we did earlier then it’s only a question of a few more attacks before we’re spread so thinly they’ll overwhelm us.’
‘I thank you for that assessment,’ Cato responded curtly.
‘We can’t stay trapped in here. We have to get out.’
‘That’s not possible. We’re surrounded, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Then we’ll have to break out. While we still have enough men to do it.’ Quertus glanced up. ‘If this weather holds, it’ll be dark tonight. Dark enough to cover our escape.’
‘And dark enough to have us blundering into each other, if not the enemy.’
‘What if we use our prisoners as a shield? Caratacus would hardly let his men attack us if there was any danger to his brother and the others.’
Cato shook his head. ‘He might not. But given the suffering you’ve visited on the local people in recent months, I dare say Caratacus will have trouble restraining his allies. They want nothing more than to butcher us all and take our heads as trophies. It’s too dangerous. We’ve been over this, Quertus. Our best chance is to sit it out until we are relieved. That’s my decision.’
The Thracian gave him a frosty look. ‘It’s the wrong decision.’ Before Cato could respond, he turned and strode away, back towards his men resting on the slope leading up to the wall.
Macro glared after him. ‘The enemy would be doing us a favour if they knocked that gobshite on the head.’
Cato was too tired to comment. He finished the last of his stew and drained his cup. Then he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully for a moment.
‘I think it’s time we brought Maridius and the other prisoners into play.’
It had started to rain again as scores of men stood along the wall looking on curiously as two legionaries lowered a ladder to the ground close to the causeway. Beside them Macro regarded Cato with concern.
‘This ain’t a good idea, lad.’
Cato gestured towards the prisoners pressed together behind the gatehouse under the watchful eyes of several legionaries. ‘I think it might buy us a little more time.’
‘What makes you think Caratacus will agree?’
‘It’s more than likely that he won’t, but he will think it over. And every hour that he wastes pondering the problem improves our chances of getting through this alive.’
‘Not by much. You said it yourself. We’re out on a limb here and as long as this cloud stays above us then no one’s the wiser in the rest of the army.’ Macro hawked up some phlegm and spat over the wall. ‘Fucking weather in this island is unbelievable. You’d have to be a mad dog or a Celt to venture out into the noonday gales in this dump, I tell you.’
Cato smiled as his friend continued in a more earnest tone.
‘Watch yourself. If there’s a hint of treachery then you turn and bolt back to the ladder. I’ll have a party of men on hand with javelins to cover you.’
Cato was silent for a moment before he nodded. ‘Fair enough. But keep them out of sight. This cuts both ways. If Caratacus suspects we might be trying to lure him into a trap we’ll lose any chance of talking our way out of this. Right, I’d better get going.’
Cato nodded to the trumpeter and the Thracian lifted his curved instrument and blew a deep note out across the valley. As soon as Cato saw that some of the enemy had turned to look at the fort, he swung his leg over the wall and felt for the nearest rung. When he had a solid footing he began to descend. At the bottom he stepped back and raised his hands towards the parapet. Macro dropped the spare standard shaft down. A broad red pennant had been attached to it and Cato held it aloft and wafted it from side to side over his head. He would be spotted easily, and the red of the pennant and his military cloak would stand out against the tawny grass and heather of the slope. He climbed carefully down into the ditch, picking his way past the bodies lying there. Some still lived, groaning feebly and reaching out an imploring hand as he passed by. There was nothing he could do for them and he steeled himself to ignore their plight as he climbed the far side of the ditch and slowly descended the slope, waving his banner as the notes of the bucina continued to ring out. Around him the desultory hiss of the rain added to the gloom of the day.
‘That’s far enough, sir!’ Macro called out. ‘Stay in javelin range!’
Cato stopped. He continued to wave the pennant, in easy circles as it became soaked by the rain. Below him, only the nearest of the enemy were clearly visible, the rest becoming grey and indistinct in the mizzle that filled the valley. He watched as one of the screen of men guarding the camp turned and ran towards a large makeshift hut made from cut branches and heather that sat in the midst of those struggling to take shelter in the open. A moment later a handful of figures emerged from the hut and regarded the lone Roman officer a quarter of a mile away. After what seemed to be a swift exchange, Cato saw one of the men stride across to a horse line nearby and untether a white mount and vault on to its back. He turned the beast towards Cato and stirred it into a gentle canter. His army stood and some offered a cheer as he rode by and then through the line of sentries towards the fort. He slowed down as he approached Cato and walked his horse up to within ten paces before he reined in, casting a wary eye across the surrounding ground and the fort lined with soldiers.
Cato grounded his standard.
‘You wish to speak, Roman?’ Caratacus asked in his accented Latin.
‘I do.’ Cato gestured towards the nearest bodies lying on the slope. ‘Last night’s assault cost you dearly. I wish to discourage you from wasting any more of your men’s lives in such futile attacks.’
‘I thank you for your concern,’ Caratacus responded flatly. ‘But I have every intention of taking your fort and burning it to the ground.’ He gestured towards the sky and a smile flickered across his lips. ‘Weather permitting.’
‘You cannot take the fort. It is too strong a position and you have no siege train, nor the expertise to make the weapons you require to batter down our defences.’
‘All we need is a decent ram. Even an uncivilised barbarian has the wit to construct one of those, as you have seen.’
‘Yes, I admired the rudimentary handiwork of the ram we captured. The gate has now been blocked up, so any more rams you decide to make will be useless. All that’s left is to mount frontal assaults. And we have seen how that ends.’
‘We took our losses,’ Caratacus admitted. ‘But so did you, and I rather suspect that I can afford to lose more men than you can. Besides, many of my followers have kin in these valleys and their hearts burn with desire to avenge themselves on those you have slaughtered. It is my intention to keep attacking Bruccium until it is
