‘Our task is complete. Now we must make haste, before their cavalry find us here.’
The leader of the guides nodded respectfully.
‘Then follow me, my lord, and I will lead you as instructed by my lord Calgus.’
The warriors ran for a short time to the west, until they reached the gate through which they had breached the wall hours previously, then spilled through the small opening and headed north in a long column, following the bobbing torches carried by their guides. As the night lightened to reveal a thick blanket of early morning mist, making the direction of their travel almost impossible to discern, Martos ran forward to join the guides. They were jogging easily, he noted, where his own men, their energy nearly exhausted by the harrowing battle for the fort, were staggering along in their wake, barely managing to keep up with the easy pace being set for them.
‘You’re sure you know we’re on the right track? I can’t tell where we are.’
The lead guide nodded confidently.
‘We planned for this, my lord; I’ve left marks to guide our steps. About another fifteen miles, I’d say.’
Satisfied, the young chieftain dropped back to give his men the news, but as the column of men ground their way towards safety he still frequently stared out into the impenetrable murk, visibly unhappy at his lack of control of their situation. At length the guides indicated that the warband should stop for a rest break. The Votadini warriors gratefully fell out of the line of march and sat down in the pale shadows of the trees that lined the rough track they were following, chests heaving for breath as they tipped the last of their drinking water down parched throats. The Selgovae guides stayed on their feet, their leader pacing cautiously forward into the still-thick mist while his comrades stared back down the column’s length with faces set in stoic immobility. One of the tribe’s family chieftains limped tiredly up the column after a few minutes, an older man walking respectfully behind him.
‘My man here reckons we’re off our path, my lord.’
Martos raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the mist around them. Behind him, unnoticed by the resting warriors, the two remaining guides exchanged significant glances and began to step carefully backwards into the mist, keeping their gazes fixed on the tribal leader’s back.
‘And how can he tell, in this?’
The peasant warrior came forward, bowing his respect. His hair was grey, and his features seamed with lines, but his eyes were bright with intelligence.
‘Lord, I grew up on this ground many years ago. I know my own country, lord, and I just sat down by a tree I used to climb as a lad. I know every inch of that tree, and I…’
‘Yes. You know where we are. So where are we?’
‘If we’re heading back to the forest we came from, I’d say we’re too far to the west, my lord, ten miles too far.’
Martos frowned, turning to the place where the guides had stood a moment before, only to find it empty. The sound of mocking laughter sounded from the mist, and his clan leader stared angrily into the mist beside him, a hand clenched on his sword’s hilt.
‘We’re betrayed, my lord. Those Selgovae bastards have led us out to the west, not to the north. They’ve hung us out for the Roman cavalry to find out here. The second this mist lifts we’ll stand out like ticks on an ox’s back, and we’re probably only ten miles from their camp.’
Martos spat his disgust into the dirt.
‘Aye, and our people are exhausted. It will take us all day to reach the forest in this state…’
The older tribesman stepped forward, his head still inclined respectfully.
‘If I may, my lord, I know of somewhere we might find a hiding place, less than a mile from here. If their first sweep misses us, perhaps we’ll be able to reach the forest tonight.’
Martos nodded unhappily.
‘It’s not much of an option, but it’s probably the best chance we’ve got. And if we do reach the forest I’ll hunt Calgus down and carve him to ribbons for this.’
Calgus arrived back in the barbarian camp in the middle of the afternoon, riding in at the head of his bodyguard, having left the rest of the warband marching in his wake. Aed was waiting for him at the camp’s gateway, falling in alongside the barbarian leader as he jumped down from his horse.
‘Success, my lord?’
‘Complete success. As we discussed it, both the Roman garrison and the Votadini dealt with.’
‘King Brennus has been asking for news of his men since sunrise. I think he may have realised just how vulnerable he is with his warriors out of the camp.’
Calgus drew his sword, an angry scowl twisting his face.
‘I’ll bring him news, once my men have ripped through his bodyguard. I’ll take that sour old bastard by the throat and tell him how I’ve left his men for the Romans to make sport with. Then I’ll take my knife and carve out his…’
Aed put a cautionary hand on his master’s arm.
‘It might be better, my lord, if the king were to be unmarked when the remaining nobles see his body? You can claim that his bodyguard attacked you when they realised their king was dead, and if there’s no sign of violence you can argue with a straight face that he died a natural death, and that their attack and subsequent deaths were a tragic misunderstanding. He was an old man, after all…’
Calgus nodded grimly, turning for the short walk uphill to the king’s tent and gesturing for his men to follow him.
‘I’ll smother the old bastard, then. It’s time to make King Brennus regret the day he ever questioned my judgement…’
The 20th Legion returned an hour before dusk, the troops solemn in their unaccustomed silence, and the 6th came through the gates as the sun dipped to kiss the horizon, two auxiliary cohorts in column with them. First Spear Frontinius watched the sullen-faced legionaries march tiredly through the gates.
The two legions had headed north with swift and brutal efficiency just before dawn, the leading cohorts pounding out through the gates at the double march less than half an hour after the arrival of the Tungrians. Ordered to make their maximum speed to the embattled fort, and to engage and destroy any barbarian forces they encountered, the legionaries had sallied without their packs and carrying poles to let them sustain the punishing double march for as long as required, taking their bread and water ration on the move to save precious time. The auxiliaries had been left to guard the fortress for the few hours that the legions were in the field, while the army’s two cavalry wings had ridden out shortly afterwards to scout beyond the wall, and seek any sign of where the barbarian warband might be hiding in the wake of the attack on White Strength.
The first spear watched the returning soldiers for long enough to identify the auxiliaries marching alongside them.
‘The Vangione and Cugerni cohorts. That’s Fine View and Aelian Bridge evacuated, then, but no Frisians… Julius, call a centurions’ conference and brief our brother officers that we’ll be on the road at first light tomorrow. Anyone that needs anything to be ready for war had better get their shit in a pile double quick. If I’m any judge of men those lads have seen something that they didn’t like very much, and I don’t think our new governor’s the type to let an atrocity go unanswered. And send a runner to the prefect. Now that the eagles have come back to roost we’ll be called to a senior officers’ briefing soon enough, I expect.’
They were. As ordered, the auxiliary cohort prefects gathered in the fort’s headquarters, where the grim-faced governor and his legates were waiting for them, both men’s cloaks and boots still spattered with mud. Once the officers were settled in the chairs set out for them the governor stood, his face more stony than usual.
‘You’ll be aware that White Strength was attacked last night, and that both legions went forward at full strength to attempt the garrison’s relief. What you don’t know is what they found when we got to the fort. Legatus Equitius, you were leading, you’d best tell it.’