Tullus was talking with the Fifth Century’s centurion when, without warning, trumpets blared from the front. There was no mistaking the signal for ‘enemy in sight’.
‘See to your men!’ ordered Tullus, riding off. He repeated the command as he cantered along the column. ‘Yokes to the side. Shield covers off. Javelins ready.’
Fenestela was waiting as Tullus neared the First Century – and he’d already had the soldiers stand to. It was as Tullus would have expected, but he still gave Fenestela a pleased nod. ‘Any word from the front?’
‘Not a thing.’ Fenestela hawked, then saved his spit. ‘What do you think?’
‘Who fucking knows? It could be just a few tribal hotheads, or a major attack.’ Tullus peered ahead. Sunlight flashed off armour, helmet crests bobbed about as officers conferred, but the column wasn’t moving. ‘I’ve a mind to ride up the line. The senior officers will know more.’
‘I’ll keep the men in order.’
Fenestela’s reliability dispelled the last of Tullus’ doubt about leaving his command. ‘I won’t be long.’
He hadn’t gone far when he spied a messenger galloping in his direction. The soldiers of the cohort in front – the Sixth – were already discarding their yokes and extra equipment on both sides of the road. Uneasy, Tullus reined in and waited until the messenger drew near.
The rider brought his mount to a juddering halt and saluted. ‘There’s been an ambush, sir, on the scouts and the cavalry outriders. For whatever reason, the cavalry panicked and fled back down the track – straight into the vanguard.’
Tullus didn’t like the sound of this one bit. ‘What did the Twenty-First do?’
‘It seems they too were startled, sir. They’ve broken formation. The tribesmen have pressed home their attack, causing a good number of casualties. The Twenty-First is retreating to the right, away from the army.’
Tullus digested this with alarm. Units were supposed never to break off from the main force without express orders to do so. ‘Why would they do that?’
The messenger was quick to adopt a blank face.
‘What are our orders?’ demanded Tullus.
‘The entire Fifth is to move at once, sir, on either side of the column, up as far as Germanicus’ position. He will lead the legion towards the fighting. With your permission, sir? I have to pass on the command.’
‘On you go.’ Tullus spun his horse. It was fortunate that the ground around them was flat, he thought. He and his cohort could march parallel to the track. Speed was vital.
Reaching Fenestela, he had Germanicus’ order relayed into the next century and onward. His men formed up, half on the left and half on the right of the track, outside the position of those in front who would not be advancing. Then they began to march slowly, following the Sixth Cohort, and those before it. Chafing with impatience, Tullus kept rising up on his saddle blanket, but he could determine nothing about what was happening further along the column. He ground his teeth and tried to be patient.
Confusion reigned as Tullus and his men continued past each section of the army positioned in front of their own location. First were the senior officers, who were arguing among themselves, with legates shouting at each other and the tribunes bickering in the background. Tullus spied Tubero in the midst of it all, holding forth with his theory about what had gone wrong. Few men seemed interested.
They passed the artillerymen next. Trees were growing close to the track by their position, forcing Tullus and his soldiers to edge around the wagons loaded with dismantled ballistae and other catapults. Their speed slowed to a crawl, allowing Tullus to eavesdrop on the artillery crews, who were blaming the legion in the vanguard for being fools, and lamenting the fact that they almost never got to use their heavy weaponry. Even their mules were irritable, biting at each other’s necks and kicking out at legionaries who strayed too close.
What Tullus liked least was the lack of attention paid by the artillerymen to their surroundings. For all any of them knew, another attack could be sprung right here. He advised the officers in charge to set some guards. There was no time to see if his suggestion was followed, for his cohort had to keep moving. It was imperative that they didn’t fall behind the Sixth Cohort.
The next units – the cavalry – were in no better mood, laying the blame for the panic on the scouts whose job it had been to ride in front of the army. As with the artillerymen, no one appeared to be watching the trees. Again Tullus said something to the officers. There had never been much love lost between infantry and cavalry, and most met his comments with poorly concealed disdain.
The trees closed in on either side once more as, in the distance, familiar sounds became audible: shouts, trumpets, the clash of arms. The Sixth Cohort’s pace picked up, and Tullus had ordered his men to do the same. They began to pass nervous-faced engineers and camp surveyors, who urged them onwards with loud shouts of encouragement. ‘Well they might cheer,’ Tullus heard Piso say. ‘Pickaxes and hammers aren’t much fucking use in a fight.’
‘Spin a surveyor’s measuring tool fast enough around your head and you’d knock down a warrior or two,’ quipped another soldier, raising a brief laugh.
Despite the chaos, Tullus hungered to meet the enemy again. ‘We’ll carve Arminius and his men new arseholes, brothers,’ he cried. ‘Won’t we?’
‘Aye!’
Their roar rose into the burning blue sky and disappeared.
Soon the trees gave way to scrubby grass and gorse; on the left, a low hill rose, its slopes covered in oaks. Whether there was anyone hiding among them, it was impossible to tell. In the centre and on the right, Tullus could see Roman units, which were in some disarray. He was afforded no chance to work out why, though, as waiting officers directed the cohorts to break up. Rank by rank, the Sixth wheeled off to the right, and Tullus was directed to follow. When he asked what the plan was, he was told further orders would be given out soon.
Tullus was far from happy as the noise of battle grew louder. Now he could hear screams, and the frenzied whinnies of injured horses. He’d experienced combat a hundred times before, but that didn’t stop his stomach from clenching tight. Soon men would begin to die – not just the enemy, but good Romans. Some of them would be his soldiers. If Arminius had his way, they would all be face down in the mud by sunset.
That cannot happen, Tullus thought, worry gnawing at him. It must not happen.
And then, from somewhere off to their right, the retreat was sounded.
Chapter XXVI
Piso peered into the distance. He was unhappy that the retreat had been ordered before they’d seen a single warrior, and when Tullus had just directed the cohort to form up, ready for battle. Piso and his comrades were in the first rank, which afforded some vision of the ground in front. They could make out little more than the mass of legionaries to their right, which appeared to be in complete confusion. Their ranks were wavering, and small groups of men had broken away at the rear. Piso was confused and unsettled by this; so too were his friends. ‘What in Hades is going on?’ he asked Vitellius.
‘Your guess is as good as anyone’s,’ muttered Vitellius, his voice even sourer than usual.
Fifteen paces to their front, Tullus sat astride his horse, a hand to his eyes as he too gazed at the chaos. Everyone watched him.
‘Tullus hasn’t got a clue,’ said a man in the rank behind after a time. The fear in his voice was palpable. The muttering among his companions, which had been muted, grew louder.
Piso knew how fast panic could spread. Ignoring regulations, he wheeled around. Pinning the man who’d spoken – an ex-conscript – with a hard stare, he snapped, ‘Shut your mouth, filth. Tullus always knows what to do.’