‘The boy’s keen to get back to his wife,’ Macro chuckled. ‘Not that I’m the marrying kind, but I can see the advantages of having your wife with you on campaign. Saves a fortune,’ he added with a sly wink.
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Cato. ‘She looks like the kind of woman who is expensive to keep.’
‘Your good lady excepted, name one artistocratic bit who isn’t.’
Cato smiled. ‘And that, my friend, is just one reason why I married her. As for the other reasons — don’t ask.’
‘As if.’ Macro rode a short distance in silence before he added, ‘Had any news lately?’
‘Not since we landed.’
‘That was nearly five months ago.’
Cato shrugged. ‘We’re fighting a war on the very fringes of the known world. It could take several months for a letter to reach me from Rome.’
‘True. But I’m sure she’s fine. Julia’s a healthy girl. And loyal as veteran. Not that I’m suggesting there’s any question. .’
‘Well, yes. Quite,’ Cato responded tersely. ‘But I can’t be thinking about that. Not now. Not until we’ve defeated Caratacus.’
Macro nodded but glanced sidelong at his friend, not fooled for an instant by Cato’s dismissive response. The lad had found his love, and it was typical of life in the army that he should be forced to leave her behind a mere month or so after their marriage. It was likely to be some years before Cato saw her again. Anything could happen in that time, Macro mused sadly as they reached the tent lines of the baggage escort detachment.
As the light faded in the evening and there was no sign of any imminent assault, most of the enemy warriors began to filter away from their barricades, climbing the slope to their encampment at the top of the hill. Fires were lit as the sun set and the glow of the flames lined the ridge. The Roman soldiers along the riverbank could just make out their opposite numbers on the far side. While most held their tongues, every now and then insults were traded across the water until an optio, without any irony, bellowed to his men to keep watch in silence. Faint snatches of singing and laughter carried down the slope as Caratacus and his warriors worked themselves up into drunken fervour ahead of the battle they expected the next day.
In the Roman camp the mood was more subdued, more purposeful, as the soldiers went through the daily routines of military life. Once the tents were erected, they prepared their simple evening meals before those assigned to the first watch put on armour, took up weapons and marched to their posts. Their comrades sat around cooking fires, cleaning kit and sharpening weapons for the coming fight. In the main they talked quietly and those soldiers who had not yet put their hard training into bloody practice sat in silence, nurturing their courage and trying to put aside their fears: fear of death, fear of a crippling wound, fear of the terrible cold thrust of an enemy spear, sword or arrow, or the crushing blow of slingshot; and worst of all, fear of not being able to hide their terror in front of their comrades. Others sat with the veterans, earnestly seeking advice and guidance about how best to face what was to come. The advice was always the same. To trust their training, put their faith in the gods and kill every living thing that stood in their path.
In the headquarters tent the mood was equally sombre as General Ostorius and his senior officers also contemplated the morrow’s events. His subordinates were sitting on stools and benches around the edge of the tent. The pale light of oil lamps added to the sense of gloom as the general addressed them.
‘The cavalry patrols followed the river for ten miles in either direction. There seem to be no viable crossing places for the army. If we break camp and follow the river until we can turn Caratacus’s position then he will of course be forced to abandon the hill and continue retreating. However, while he is retreating on his lines of supply into Ordovician territory we are extending ours, so the logistical advantage now belongs to the enemy. We’ve already seen how easily he has managed to elude us in previous campaigns.’ Ostorius paused, before continuing with feeling, ‘I do not want to spend another year in these wretched mountains chasing shadows. I do not want to see our legions and auxiliary cohorts slowly bleed to death in endless skirmishes and raids. The gods have placed Caratacus in front of us and we will fight him here. I will not give him any excuse to break contact and escape. He has offered us battle on his terms, and like it or not, that is what we must accept, gentlemen.’
He looked round the tent to make sure that his intent was understood. ‘Since that is the situation, we are obliged to make a frontal attack across the river. I have decided that the first wave will go forward at noon tomorrow. That will give us time to site our artillery to bombard their barricades. Once we have opened some breaches we will be able to break through and take the hill. . Any questions?’
‘Plenty,’ Macro whispered to Cato. ‘But I know better than to ask.’
‘Then I’ll have to,’ Cato said quietly. He leaned forward on his stool and raised a hand to draw the general’s attention.
Ostorius faced him and clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Prefect Cato, what do you have to say?’
‘Sir, the first line of barricades are just about in range of our artillery. But not the second line. We will not be able to batter those down.’
‘I realise that. Our men will have to fight their way over the defences.’
‘But in order to do that, they are going to have to cross the river, find a way through the stakes in the river bed, climb on to the far bank, and up the hill in full armour. Then fight their way through the breaches in the first line and climb the rest of the way up the slope to the second line. No doubt they will be subjected to the enemy’s missiles as they climb. Sir, I’d wager that by the time they reach the second line they will be too exhausted to fight.’
‘Nevertheless, they will fight. And they will break through and win the day.’
‘But the casualties are bound to be heavy, sir. Very heavy.’
‘That may be so. If that is the price of finally defeating Caratacus then it is a price worth paying. But that need not concern you unduly, Prefect Cato. After all, you and your men will be guarding the baggage train and will not be playing any part in the battle. You will come to no harm.’
Some of the officers could not help smiling at the comment and Cato felt a surge of anger pulse through his veins. They might take offence at his swift promotion through the ranks but they had no right to sneer at his courage. He had to force himself to speak calmly. ‘In view of the challenge facing the army tomorrow, I respectfully submit that my men join in the attack, sir. They have already proved themselves against the enemy.’
‘That will not be necessary. I think you overestimate the difficulties we face. Besides, your men are needed here. It would put my mind at rest knowing that the camp is being protected by men who are used to facing their enemy with a wall and rampart between them, as you proved so adeptly at Bruccium.’
This time the general had gone too far and for all his good judgement Cato’s pride would not let the slur pass unanswered. He made to reply but Macro nudged him sharply and hissed under his breath, ‘Leave it, Cato.’
For an instant Cato was on the verge of open confrontation with his commanding officer. Then he bit down on his injured pride and anger and eased himself back on to his stool. Ostorius regarded him haughtily, then shifted his gaze round the tent. ‘Anyone else?’