‘Well, if they’ve set an ambush here once, they’d be foolish to do it again, where it might be expected. We should be safe.’
The decurion looked at him. ‘I hope you’re right, sir.’
Cato shrugged off the other man’s fears. ‘How much further to Bruccium, do you think?’
‘Half a day’s ride to the last outpost. Then another day should see us over the pass leading down into the valley. A few miles on from there is where you’ll find the fort.’
‘That’s good.’
Trebellius smiled faintly. ‘Good enough for me. I can’t wait to get out of these accursed mountains and back to the arms of my woman in Glevum.’
‘Oh? Lucky man.’
‘I suppose. She’s not some classy bit from Italy. Not even from Gaul. Garwhenna’s a local girl, half Silurian. Not much to look at but strong and loyal. And she’s taught me some of their tongue. Comes in useful when I’m trading with the locals for feed.’
‘I can imagine.’
They fell silent for a moment before the decurion pointed to a bend in the track a quarter of a mile ahead, where a rocky cliff pushed out from the side of the valley. ‘There’s a fortlet just beyond there, sir. We’ll stop to rest the mounts and I’ll pick up the optio’s report on his strength and supply situation.’
‘Very well,’ Cato responded absently. The rain had subsided into a misty drizzle and he was looking forward to enjoying a little shelter and warmth before they resumed their march. Then he heard a muffled noise above the sound of the hoofs clopping over the stony track. He was alert in an instant, straining his ears. For a moment he wondered if he was imagining it. The decurion’s anxiety was starting to rub off on him. But better safe than sorry. Cato tugged on his reins and threw his right hand up.
‘Halt!’
Beside him the decurion reined in and the rest of the column lumbered to a stop and the quiet of the surrounding landscape closed in around them. Macro edged his mount forward to join his friend and the decurion.
‘What is it?’
‘I heard something. Up ahead.’
Macro listened intently then shook his head. ‘I don’t h-’
Then it came again. The long deep blast of a horn, muffled by the drizzle and the mass of the cliff rising up in front of them. It had been a long time since Cato had last heard the sound, but it was quite unmistakable. The brassy blare came from a Celtic war horn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘It’s an ambush!’ Trebellius said, eyes wide with fear as he scrutinised the treeline on either side of the track, well within the throw of a javelin. ‘We have to get out of here!’
‘Wait!’ Cato commanded. ‘Compose yourself! You’re a bloody officer.’ He turned to Macro. ‘Stay here. Have the men drop their packs and prepare to fight. Do it as quietly as you can. The decurion and I are riding ahead to see what’s going on.’
‘We are?’ Trebellius looked shocked. Then, as Cato glared at him, the decurion fought to steady his nerves and nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then let’s go.’ Cato spurred his mount into a canter. After a moment’s hesitation the decurion followed and Macro turned towards the squadron and Decimus and drew a deep breath to bellow his orders. Then he caught himself and spoke in a husky undertone. ‘Now then, lads, let’s do this without too much noise, eh? Packs down. .’
As the track began to bend round the foot of the cliff, Cato slowed his horse to a trot and then stopped. The sound of the horn was clearer now, and he could hear men shouting. He glanced at the cliff and saw that it was less than fifty feet in height at this point. Some rocks had fallen by the side of the road and it should be possible to climb to the top.
‘Take my horse,’ Cato ordered as he slipped from the saddle and began to scramble over the rocks and up the cliff.
The decurion watched his superior in alarm. ‘Where are you going, sir?’
‘To spy out the lie of the land.’ Cato paused and looked down over his shoulder. ‘Just make sure you stay there.’
He did not wait for a reply but continued up, carefully testing his grip on the handholds and the weight on his boots as he made his way towards the top. It was a short climb but he was breathing heavily as he hauled himself over the crumbling edge and slithered far enough away from it to be sure it would not give way beneath him. Then, rising cautiously to his feet, he looked in the direction of the horn as it sounded again. On the far side of the cliff the track continued straight down the valley, towards a small hillock on top of which sat a Roman outpost. Around it, in a loose circle, were a hundred or so figures armed with shields and spears. A handful wore helmets but the rest were bareheaded with long dark hair tied back. As Cato watched, some more emerged from the trees a short distance away, carrying a stout length of timber. They made directly for the fort and their intention was perfectly clear. Cato made sure that there were no more of the enemy visible before he climbed back down to Trebellius and took his reins and swung himself back into the saddle.
‘The enemy are attacking the outpost. There’s no time to lose if we’re to save them!’
Cato turned back towards Macro and beckoned his friend forward. A moment later the men of the squadron had reached the cliff and stood waiting for orders. Freed of the burden of their saddlebags and feed nets the horses were lively and snorted excitedly as their hoofs scraped the ground. Decimus, on his mule, came up last, armed with a buckler and his old army sword hanging from its strap across his shoulder.
‘The enemy are trying to take the outpost up ahead,’ Cato explained, his mind racing ahead to form his plan. ‘Their attention is fixed on our auxiliary comrades so they won’t see us coming until it is too late. They’ll be caught between the garrison and ourselves. When we get round the cliff I want you to form line and follow the pace that I set. We must hit them at the same time so the charge carries as much weight as possible. Anyone tries to overtake me and they’ll be in deep shit. Specifically, latrine duty for a month.’
Some of the men laughed at his feeble joke, the rest, even Trebellius, smiled and Cato knew that they would not let him down. ‘When I give the order to charge home, hit them as hard as you can. Break ’em up and ride ’em down. Show no mercy until it’s clear the fight’s been knocked out of the enemy.’ He glanced over the faces before him to make sure that they understood. The eagerness in their expressions told him all he needed to know. Cato turned his mount round and reached for the handle of his short sword. He intended to draw a longer cavalry blade from stores when he reached Bruccium.
‘Ready weapons!’
Macro, Decimus, Trebellius and Cato drew their swords while the men hefted their spears. Slipping their shield straps from their shoulders they grasped the reins loosely in their left hands as the shields protected that side of their bodies. There would be little chance to use the reins in the fight ahead; the men made sure that they were seated securely between their saddle horns and prepared to control their mounts with their thighs and heels.
Cato lowered the tip of his blade. ‘At the trot! Forwards!’
The column lurched forward with jingling bits, snorts from the horses and curt words of command from their riders. Macro spurred his horse on, until he was at the side of his friend. ‘Here we go again.’
Cato kept his eyes on the track ahead. As they rounded the base of the cliff and the ground opened out he saw the enemy a few hundred paces away, surging towards the ditch surrounding the fort. Some hurled spears, others rocks, while the auxiliaries answered back with light javelins and slingshot. Already several of the enemy were down. But the party with the battering ram had reached the gate and a crash sounded as their weapon struck home against the timbers of the outpost.