‘Anyone else got a question? Centurion Rufius, is this about the Eighth Century?’
Rufius nodded tensely.
‘Yes, First Spear, I request permission to take a small party back out and look for the Eighth.’
‘Denied, Centurion, and you too, Julius, before you ask. The Eighth will have to take their chances. Get to work! Dubnus, you left here this morning with two centuries’ worth of Votadini but I don’t see them now. I don’t suppose you could enlighten me as to where they are?’
Dubnus grimaced, waving an arm back across the river.
‘Martos wasn’t about to leave the Eighth on their own to be slaughtered, First Spear, he said there were too many good men to leave to the Venicones.’
‘And he wasn’t about to ask me for permission to leave the cohort either, I suppose?’
Dubnus nodded tiredly.
‘For what it’s worth, I think he’ll be back, and hopefully with the Eighth following him.’
‘For what it’s worth, Centurion, I hope you’re right.’
The 2nd Cohort struggled across the ford fifteen minutes later, and Neuto found Frontinius supervising the building of the earth rampart along the ford’s western bank, pointing critically at the way the soldiers were stacking their turfs.
‘Not too close to the water, or it’ll be washed away if there’s much more rainfall farther up the valley. Like this… see? Now carry on, only faster.’
He turned to face Neuto, shaking the mud from his hands.
‘Glad you could join us. All present?’
The other man nodded dourly, shaking droplets off the brim of his helmet.
‘We lost a few that couldn’t take the pace, they’ll be dead by now, but the rest all got here. The last we saw of your boys they were shooting holes in the Venicone horse scouts, but then the rain came down like the sky was falling and we lost any sight of them.’
Frontinius nodded, his expression forcedly neutral.
‘Now you’re in we can close the wall. I doubt we’ll get it more than three feet high before they’re crossing the river but even that should be enough. Now, let’s discuss what your boys can add to the defence…’
Scaurus had greeted Furius as his horse climbed from the river, taking a grip of the animal’s bridle and leading it away from the soldiers toiling to fortify the Red’s treacherously slippery bank in the pounding rain. Arminius followed the two men as Scaurus took his colleague far enough from the troops that their privacy was guaranteed, turning his back on the officers to face the river and ensure that no one tried to interrupt them. Furius climbed stiffly down from the exhausted animal and turned to face Scaurus, but before he had time to say anything the other man forestalled him by raising a hand to silence whatever it was he had been about to say.
‘I’m taking command, Gracilus Furius. I’m sorry, but there’s no way to sugar-coat it so we’re best getting it out of the way here and now.’
Furius’s eyes widened with anger.
‘You’re taking command? By what authority…’
Scaurus smiled grimly, shaking his head in quiet amusement. ‘It’s always about power and rank with you, isn’t it, Furius? By Ulpius Marcellus’s authority, who else could give it to me? I was sent north on a scouting mission before he was even formally appointed, when it was clear to everyone but the last governor that the northern tribes were ready to boil over. Of course, it had all gone to ratshit by the time I got here, but that didn’t make my job any less valid, just a damn sight more dangerous…’
Furius interrupted impatiently.
‘So fucking what?! You’ve no more right to…’
‘Shut up.’
Furius’s head jerked back as if he’d been struck, and before he had any chance to regain his composure he found Scaurus’s face close to his own, his eyes suddenly slitted with anger in a face white with suppressed anger, and his voice a furious monotone.
‘One more word from you and I’ll take my sword to you. I know you, Gracilus Furius, I know what you’re capable of, on and off the battlefield. You’re the big man in camp all right, all spunk and swagger when there’s a condemned man to nail to a cross or some helpless girl to terrorise, but I stood next to you that day at Thunderbolt Gorge and watched you change from a self-assured bully to a snivelling coward in the time it took for you to decide that we were all going to die. If you think I’m going to let you anywhere near those soldiers once there are ten thousand Venicones on the far bank of that river, and all of them screaming for the chance to carve our balls off, you’d best think back to just how much leadership you gave your cohort that day. If you stay here alongside me and keep your mouth shut, then assuming we’re not all dead before nightfall I’ll see that you get a share of whatever good news comes our way before you’re sent home. But if you make one squeak or squeal that might sap these men’s capacity to resist, those tattooed bastards will be practising their knife work on your bloody corpse.’ He raised his voice, ignoring the open-mouthed Furius. ‘Thank you, Arminius, I’ll have the scroll now please.’
Frontinius and Neuto turned to face Scaurus as he walked up to them, the German at his shoulder holding a message cylinder with its wax seal still intact. Scaurus held out his hand and took it from him, gesturing to it as he addressed the two men. Scaurus nodded to both men.
‘Gentlemen, this scroll contains some very explicit instructions from the governor as to the limits of my authority, which, for the avoidance of doubt, are just about non-existent unless and until I’m talking to a legatus. I’m taking command of this defence in order to ensure that there are no unfortunate misunderstandings on my colleague Furius’s behalf. We stand here, gentlemen, and we either hold this position or we go down fighting.’
He stared at his subordinates, waiting for any comment. Neuto scratched under his helmet’s left cheek guard before replying, his face impassive.
‘And about time too, if you were to ask me. Let’s get on with it.’
The Venicones arrived on the far bank half an hour later, at first in a trickle down the eastern slope of the Red River’s valley but soon in greater numbers, until the eastern bank of the river was thronged with warriors. A few were waving heads and Roman helmets at the defenders, but given the rain it was impossible to make out any detail. Julius and Rufius stood and watched them, desperate to know whether Marcus had fallen victim to the barbarians.
‘Could be our boy, but then again…’
Tiberius Rufius turned away, sickened at the sight of what might be his friend’s severed head.
‘If it was him, then at least it was probably quick.’
Rufius nodded, acknowledging Julius’s point.
‘I’ll give you that. If I’d known that those bloody archers would lead to this I’d have…’
‘You’d have what? Stopped him from adopting them? Made sure that the prefect made a point of dumping them on that prick Furius? Nothing you or I, or even the first spear, could have done would have prevented what’s happened, and what is simply is. Now, if you don’t want to make your exit the same way that poor bastard did, whoever he is, then get your shit in a pile and get ready to defend this piece of riverbank.’
Rufius nodded again, breathed deeply and then held a hand out to his friend.
‘I’ll see you when this squalid little fight’s done, either here or in Hades.’
The 1st Cohort were drawn up behind the freshly built wall in battle order, their shields running with water as the rain showed no sign of abating. Each man in the front rank held a spear ready to use, while the men in the rank behind held three apiece, each with the front ranker’s spare and his own pair, ready to hold the soldier to their front in place on the slippery ground with a steady grip on his belt.
‘When they come across the river, the front rank will ready spears for defence. Take your spears to them while they’re climbing out of the water. Do not wait for them to get to the top of the rampart.’
Dubnus was ranging along the rear of the 9th Century, bellowing out his last instructions to the soldiers waiting tensely for the fight to begin.