auxiliaries to escort the reinforcements to the fort before turning back to Glevum. As it was, the slender hope that he had entertained that they would be strong enough to cut their way through to Bruccium was dashed.
Cato calculated that the reinforcements had been marching for nearly two hours and had covered perhaps five miles from their camp of the previous night. It was as well that they had not attempted to march on into the darkness to reach Bruccium. Otherwise they would have blundered into Caratacus’s army and been wiped out within earshot of the fort. As yet they seemed not to have seen the smoke rising from the fort, or at least they had not reacted to it. Nor had they seen the war bands hidden in the folds of the ground at the edge of the broad saddle, nor those waiting for them across the track leading down into the valley. They were marching blindly into the trap that Caratacus was laying for them.
Stellanus edged his horse forwards alongside the prefect and glanced briefly at the scene spread out before them before turning to Cato.
‘What are your orders, sir?’
‘We have to warn them of the danger.’ Cato twisted in the saddle. ‘Trumpets! Sound the attack! As loudly as you can!’
The men carrying the long hooked cavalry horns drew breath and raised their instruments to their lips. An instant later the short sequence of notes blasted out across the valley, echoing off the rocky crags above the Thracians. Cato pointed along the ledge.
‘We’ll ride out along there and skirt round the enemy ambush before we make for the column. Have the horns keep sounding as we advance.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Stellanus saluted.
Cato raised his spear and tilted it forward. ‘Second Thracian! Follow me!’
The mounts rumbled into a gentle trot along the ledge and then followed the line of the slope. As they made their way towards the pass, Cato was relieved to see that the column had halted. Now he could make out a century of legionaries at the front; the rest of the soldiers carried the oval shields of auxiliaries. There was no sign of any deployment. He silently cursed their commander for not being more cautious and urged Hannibal on. A few hundred paces ahead and further down the slope he could see the first of Caratacus’s men gathering themselves for the assault. They, too, had been alerted by the trumpet signals and Cato could see the pale dots of faces looking up the slope. His mind was working through the disposition of the enemy forces and the ground over which the coming battle would be fought. It was already clear that there would be little chance of breaking through to the fort. All that was left was the possibility of a fighting retreat towards Gobannium. If they reached the outpost and Caratacus chose to lay siege to that as well then his force would be stretched to cover both Roman fortifications. To that extent Macro and the rest of the garrison would have a better chance of survival, Cato reflected.
His thoughts were interrupted by the blare of Celtic horns from the group of riders clustered around Caratacus. The note was quickly taken up by the other war bands and then the sound of their wild cheers crashed up the slope towards Cato and his men like the roar of a wave. Warriors erupted from the ground and surged towards the front and flanks of the Roman column. Cato felt his guts tighten with a terrible anxiety as he saw that none of the men was moving.
‘What the fuck are they waiting for?’ Stellanus demanded.
Then, as if in answer to his words, the soldiers in the column began to form up around the baggage train and the escort’s cavalry squadron trotted out to one side to form a line. The men were well drilled, Cato knew, but it was clear that there was little chance of them completing their manoeuvre before the warriors charged in amongst them.
‘Shit,’ he muttered to himself, then turned in his saddle to issue an order. His hand had been forced. There was only one thing to do now. ‘Halt! Deploy in line and make ready to charge!’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘Charge?’ Centurion Stellanus repeated, wheeling his horse round to face his superior. ‘Sir, we cannot charge down the slope. It’s too steep. Half our men would fall before we reached the pass.’
‘I know that, damn you,’ Cato snapped. ‘I’ll thank you not to question my orders, Centurion. Now have the men form up. And watch the pace I set. I will not have any man race ahead, nor lag behind. We will reach the battlefield as one. It’s our best chance of survival. Is that clear?’
Stellanus gritted his teeth and nodded, before turning to repeat the order. ‘Form line!’
The two squadrons wheeled to the left and spread out along the slope. Cato looked down and saw that there were perhaps three hundred paces of steep ground to negotiate before it was sufficiently level to give the order for the charge. There would be no mad scramble across the open ground as with the cavalry charges of less disciplined armies. Roman cavalry were strictly drilled and the charge was a carefully graduated build-up in speed. They would only unleash their mounts and let them gallop the last fifty paces to contact with the enemy. Even so, the advance down the slope would need to be carefully handled to keep the formation together.
Glancing to both sides, Cato saw that the two squadrons were ready, the men clutching their spears and holding their shields close. The tails of their mounts flicked and some of the horses tossed their heads, sensing the tension of the riders. Cato held his spear aloft. ‘Hold the line. When the order is given to charge, don’t stop until you reach the column. . Blood Crows, forward!’
Hannibal started down the slope at a walk. As they descended, Cato looked ahead to see that the swiftest of the enemy had reached the reinforcements while they were still deploying into a box around the baggage train. The first Silurians were easily dealt with, but as more and more charged home, the legionaries at the front of the column were not able to complete their change of formation and a disordered battle line rapidly fringed the carts and wagons huddled in the middle. The cavalry squadron, a short distance away, spurred forward into the fight and was engulfed by the horde of Silurian warriors closing round the Roman column.
At the foot of the slope the infantry who had been shadowing the Thracians stopped and turned to face their opponents. In amongst them Cato could see some of the dark cloaks of the Druids who shouted encouragement to the warriors and hurled curses and spells at the oncoming horsemen. As the slope began to ease, Cato called over his shoulder, ‘Form wedge on me!’
The squadron commanders relayed the command and the troopers adjusted their pace so that the line quickly transformed into an arrowhead, with ten men riding at the rear, ready to fill any gaps as their comrades fell. They would have to break through the enemy line in order to make for the embattled column and Cato gradually changed the direction and made for the warrior’s right flank. The enemy were now no more than a hundred paces away and the more undisciplined of them were loosing arrows in their direction. The shafts fell well short and Cato tapped his spurs and gave the order, ‘At the canter!’
Hannibal lurched beneath him and surged forward at an easy run. The ground rumbled and the air filled with the chink of bits, the slap and thud of shields and the creak of leather. The gap between the two sides narrowed swiftly and Cato tightened his grip on the handle of his shield and raised his spear over his head, ready to strike down at the enemy. Ahead he could see their faces and read their expressions: fear, excitement and grim determination. He snatched a breath and cried out as loud as he could to be heard above the din, ‘Blood Crows. . Charge!’
The Thracians took up the cry as they spurred their mounts forward and braced themselves in their saddles. The sharp notes of the trumpets cut through the cacophony of hoofs and bellowed war cries. Cato hunched forward, the left of his body covered by the shield, the muscles of his right arm bunched and ready to strike at the first Silurian who stood before him. The distance closed in what seemed an instant and he saw two men leap aside immediately in front of him. He thrust his spear at the nearest of them but the Silurian was too quick and the point found only thin air. Cato snatched the spear back as Hannibal plunged on, into the enemy ranks. Another man, braver this time, stood his ground directly ahead and Cato angled his spear tip round. The Silurian carried a kite shield bearing a swirling design, and he held a long sword above his head. Snatching at his reins with his shield hand, Cato dragged Hannibal’s head round and the horse whinnied as the iron curb bit caught in its mouth. Hannibal swerved and his breast smashed into the warrior’s shield, knocking him back. Cato stabbed his spear and this time the point struck the man in the thigh. A flesh wound, but deep enough to cause him to cry out in agony and stumble away. Cato pressed his heel into the horse’s flank to straighten him and continued forward. On either
