‘Apart from the Fourteenth’s defensive line this must be one of the few places on the field where more than twenty or so of our lads lie together,’ Plautius reflected as they approached the point where the cavalry had been rescued.
Vespasian surveyed the tangle of troopers and their mounts, nearly forty in all; their comrades were working their way through them looking for any signs of life as the auxiliaries of the VIIII Hispana marched by, acting as the vanguard for their legion. ‘My Batavians also took heavy losses buying us time to form up across the bridge.’
‘Yes, I watched that, it was bravely done; I shall see that Paetus comes to the Emperor’s attention when he gets here. And Civilis of the Batavian Foot, the diversionary action on that hill was the key to the battle. Did you know that he’s the grandson of the last Batavian King?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘His men treat him as if he was the King himself, they’d follow him anywhere.’
‘General!’ a trooper shouted from the midst of the corpses. ‘It’s the legate, he’s still breathing.’
Vespasian and Plautius dismounted and picked their way through the dead to where Geta lay. Blood seeped from under his breastplate; it was pierced just below the ribcage. He was unconscious but definitely breathing.
Plautius looked down at him with a mixture of regretful disapproval and sorrow. ‘Get him to my doctor, trooper, you’ll find him in a tent across the river.’
The trooper saluted; he and three mates began to prise the wounded legate out of the tangle of dead flesh.
Plautius shook his head. ‘He’s a fine soldier but why he made such an elementary mistake is beyond me. Everyone knows that you don’t take cavalry too deep into an enemy rout; it’s asking for trouble.’
‘Perhaps he saw Caratacus, and tried to get to him.’
‘We’ll find out, if my doctor manages to save him. You should get back to your legion now; I want a full report of casualties first thing in the morning. We’ll march west at dawn the following day once I’m sure that Togodumnus’ men are either dead or across the river; I wouldn’t like to have a force that size come and bite my arse. I want your legion to lead the way, seeing as you’ll be the only fit legate left to me.’ He looked at the first cohort of the VIIII Hispana now marching by with its Eagle at its head. ‘It’s their turn now.’ He spotted Corvinus sitting proudly on his horse riding to the side of the column and rode over to him. ‘March your lads hard, legate, it’s down to speed now and you’ve got thirty miles to go; I want you at the Tamesis by tomorrow afternoon.’
‘We’ll be there, general.’
‘I’m sure of it. The fleet will be following you in support once they’ve dealt with the Britons trying to cross the river. And remember, take the north bank and hold it; do not go further.’
Corvinus smiled thinly and saluted. ‘Of course, sir. Goodbye!’
The tone of the last word struck Vespasian as having a finality to it as he watched Corvinus riding away and, thinking of Narcissus’ suspicions, he wondered whether to confide in Plautius. ‘Do you trust him, sir?’
‘Trust him? I have to. Narcissus suggested to me that I should send him forward, just before we left for Britannia. He thought Claudius would appreciate me sending his brother-in-law to be the first Roman to cross the Tamesis since Julius Caesar; it would reflect well on the imperial family and the gesture would not go unnoticed by the Emperor. For once I agreed with that oily freedman.’
‘But he didn’t seem very keen on waiting for Claudius.’
‘He’ll obey his orders.’
‘What if he doesn’t?’
‘He will. Narcissus pointed out that he and his sister both have everything to gain from Claudius’ supposed victory.’
Vespasian stared, incredulous, at Plautius’ profile. ‘Are you sure he said that?’
‘Of course I’m sure, legate! I’m not deaf.’
‘I apologise, sir. I’ll return to my legion now.’ Vespasian gave a salute and turned. Riding away, he looked back up the hill at the VIIII Hispana and, in a moment of clarity, he realised what Narcissus had done and why: he had made his first move towards the removal of Messalina.
CHAPTER XIX
‘What do you mean you can’t warn Plautius?’ Magnus asked, struggling to make sense of what he had just been told.
Sabinus shifted slightly in his campbed, lifting his head and grimacing with pain. ‘My brother’s right, Magnus, Narcissus made us promise that whatever happens we must not go to Plautius.’
‘But why? He could stop Corvinus now; the Ninth are less than a day’s march ahead of us.’
Vespasian held a cup of steaming wine to his brother’s lips and Sabinus sipped from it gratefully. ‘He doesn’t want Corvinus stopped; he knew that this would happen because he set it up. He wants Plautius to see for himself Corvinus’ treachery; that way he’ll have solid evidence to present to Claudius when he arrives, not mere suspicions. Claudius doesn’t believe his freedmen’s warnings about Messalina and her brother but he might just believe the evidence of his own eyes if Plautius presents it to him.’
Magnus looked around the dimly lit tent, evidently exasperated. ‘So what will you do?’
‘Do? Why, nothing for the time being. Narcissus asked us to keep Plautius alive and not to let Corvinus and Geta go too far. We thought that he meant not to let them go further than the Tamesis but he didn’t; he meant not to let them go too far north of the Tamesis. In other words stop them once they’ve damned themselves but before they get all the way to Camulodunum.’
‘Well, Geta’s not going anywhere in a hurry; he’s lucky to be alive according to one of the orderlies, who’s a mate of mine. He says Geta’s put himself out of commission for the foreseeable future, so that’s half the threat gone.’
‘And, more to the point, that’s something that Corvinus won’t know because he was too far away to see Geta being taken from the field. So if Geta was the one who was meant to deal with Plautius whilst Corvinus goes north, it won’t be happening soon.’
Sabinus lay back down with a sigh. ‘True, but Priscus, his thick-stripe, is now in command of the Twentieth, and who knows where his sympathies lie.’
Vespasian placed the cup down, next to the only oil lamp in the tent, on the rough bedside table. ‘We’ve got to keep an eye on Plautius, somehow. Meanwhile we’ll march west tomorrow. The Second Augusta will be the vanguard because I’m the only legate on my feet at the moment, so it’ll be my cavalry scouting.’
Magnus chuckled. ‘And Paetus will only see what he’s told to see.’
‘Something like that.’
‘And how will you stop Corvinus?’
‘That’s where Narcissus’ forward thinking sometimes just leaves me breathless with admiration.’
The severely wounded had been despatched back to Rutupiae in a long train of wagons, disappearing east through the smoky haze issuing from the scores of pyres disposing of the fallen. The battlefield had been partially cleared by the Dobunni but many bodies still remained lying out in the sun and the tribesmen laboured amongst the dead, piling the corpses of their former allies onto the pyres under the supervision of just two auxiliary cohorts; Budvoc had been true to his word and his men worked willingly.
Vespasian turned away from the sombre sight and rode towards his legion, formed up in column on the hill, ready to begin the march west. Apart from a visit to Sabinus the previous evening and a couple of periods of brief but sound sleep, his time had been taken up with the aftermath of battle. He had received the lists of casualties from each cohort and had been relieved by their comparative lightness: just under three hundred dead and twice as many wounded, of which almost a hundred would never serve again. Dead or severely wounded centurions, optiones and standard-bearers had to be replaced and promotions were made under guidance from the surviving officers of each cohort. Finally, the few centuries that had been badly mauled were temporarily disbanded and the survivors used to bring others up to a respectable strength. All this had been achieved in haste on the day after the battle so as to bring the legion and, more importantly, its chain of command, back up to battle readiness.