The Eagle and the Wolves

Cato shook his head. 'Isn't going to happen. Premature suicide isn't the legate's style. The tribune's wasting his breath.'

'He's proved to be a real asset for our cause all right,' said Macro. 'Things dropped in the shit the moment he arrived.'

'Yes… yes, they did.'

'It's almost as if the twat was trying to make a mess of the situation in Calleva.'

'Well, why not?' Cato replied quietly. 'There was a lot at stake for him. If Verica managed to keep on top of events the tribune would just have had to go back to the general and make a report. I imagine he's been stirring things up as much as he can behind the scenes. Anything to upset the situation, and give him an excuse to use his procurator's powers. Not that he was very successful there. I think he must have assumed that Celtic aristocrats played to the same bent rules as Roman aristocrats. Didn't account for their sense of honour.'

'Honour?' Macro raised his eyebrows. 'Tincommius didn't seem to know much about honour.'

'Oh, he did, in his own way. The man wanted his tribe to remain free, almost as much as he wanted to rule it. And he must have been an eager enough student of Roman political techniques while he was in exile.'

'You've got to hand it to us,' Macro smiled, 'there's not much we can't teach these barbarians.'

'True. Very true… As it is, the Atrebatans are finished. Plautius will have to annex their kingdom and turn it into a military province.'

Macro looked at him. 'You think so?'

'What else can he do? Assuming the general can recover from this balls-up. The loss of a legion is going to stall the campaign for quite a while. And it won't play well in Rome.'

'No…'

'But look on the bright side,' Cato smiled bleakly, 'at least Quintillus is going to have to live, or die, with the consequences of his actions.' He waved his hand towards the enemy.

'I suppose.'

As they watched, the column started to split in two as Caratacus' forces moved to surround the hillock. The chariots and cavalry in the vale advanced to complete the encirclement and with a last glance towards the distant haze above the still unidentified column closing in from north-west of Calleva, Macro jumped down from the wagon.

'I'll see you afterwards,' he nodded to Cato.

'Yes, sir. Until then.'

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Forty

As Macro strode off to his century the headquarters trumpeters blasted out the signal to stand to. All across the crest of the hillock men rose wearily to their feet and shuffled into the tight defensive formation that Vespasian hoped would hold off the Britons' assault when it came. The legionaries closed ranks and grounded their javelins and shields in an unbroken ring four ranks deep. Centurions paced along their men, bawling out insults and threats to any man who had committed even the smallest infraction of the rules. An untied helmet or bootstrap, poorly slung sword or dagger – all provided the centurions with an excuse to charge in and give the miscreant the fright of his life. Which was very much to the point. With an enemy massing for the attack, any diversion from thoughts of the coming battle would help steady the legionaries.

Shortly after noon the enemy made their move. Dense blocks of native warriors surrounded the hill, and worked themselves up into a frenzy of excitement around their gaudy serpent banners as they waited for the order to attack the hated Romans. The deafening war cries and braying of long war horns carried up the slope and assaulted the ears of the legionaries waiting silently on the crest. Then, without a discernible word of command, the Britons rippled forward, walking fast, then breaking into a slow trot as they reached the foot of the slope. Vespasian gauged the distance between his men and the enemy carefully, to judge the best moment to issue his first order. As the gradient increased the Britons slowed down, bunching together as they struggled up the hill to close with the legionaries. When they were no more than a hundred paces away, and some of the men began to look round anxiously at their legate, Vespasian cupped a hand to his mouth and filled his lungs with air.

'Shields up!' bellowed the legate, and all round the hilltop the red shields with their ornately painted surfaces rose up; metal trims and polished bronze shield bosses glittering in the sunlight. For a brief moment the shields shimmered as each man aligned himself with his neighbour and then the defensive wall was complete and the Romans peered over the rims with grim expressions.

'Prepare javelins!'

The men in the front rank took a pace forward and braced themselves, right arm drawn back along the length of their javelin shafts.

'Ready!…' Vespasian raised his arm in case the order could not be heard above the din of the enemy.

'Ready!' The centurions relayed the order to their men, and turned back to watch for the legate's next order. Below them, the Britons, howling their war cries and straining every muscle to make sure they smashed into the Roman shields at full pelt, surged forward in a writhing mass of helmets, spiked hair, tattooed bodies and flashing and glinting blades.

'Release!' roared Vespasian, sweeping his arm down. At once the centurions repeated the order and the men hurled their right arms forward; their effort filling the air with a chorus of strained grunts. The dark shafts of the javelins rose up and out like a thin curtain of water thrown up from a rock cast into a pond. Already the centurions were bellowing out orders for the second rank to pass their weapons forward to replenish the front rank. The iron tips of the first volley passed the apex of their trajectory and dipped down towards the Britons. The foremost ranks of the enemy charge faltered as they beheld the peril. Some sprinted forward, hoping to run in under the volley, others covered themselves with their shields and prepared for the impact. The rest – light spearmen and swordsmen with no armour – either went to ground, or gazed upwards, hoping to duck, or dodge any javelin that fell towards them.

The volley crashed down in a rolling clatter and thudding that turned to grunts and screams as the javelins found their targets. Then, as if an invisible hand of some giant god had swept through the front ranks of the Britons, scores of them were bowled over and fell to the ground. Other men tumbled over their fallen comrades and sprawled amid the tangle of limbs, shields and the long shafts of the javelins. Then the men behind them forced a way through and charged on up the hill.

'Javelins!… Ready!… Release!'

Again, a wave of the Britons was taken down, adding to the confusion of those already lying stricken on the slope. Then the third and the fourth volleys swept into the enemy massing about the crest of the hill and added to the ruin of the Britons' first attack. No longer were they screaming out their war cries. Instead, a deep murmur of shock rippled back down the slope, and at that moment the legate decided to press home his temporary advantage. 'Swords out!'

'Swords out!' the centurions shouted, and a sharp metallic rasping echoed round the hilltop.

'Advance!' Vespasian called out, clearly audible in the sudden expectant hush. As the centurions relayed the order the cohorts marched down the slope, shields to the front and swords held at the hip, ready to thrust forward. Before the Britons could recover the legionaries fell upon them, finishing off the enemy injured and then battering their way into the mass of troops milling beyond the carnage caused by the javelins. At first some of the Britons tried to resist, but they were too disorganised to stop the Roman advance. And as soon as they were cut down, or fell back, any spirit to carry the charge up the hill crumbled. The initiative had passed wholly to the defenders, and now it was their turn to attack. The legate ordered his trumpeter to sound the charge. Urged on by the curses and cries of encouragement from the centurions the legionaries threw themselves at their foes, using their broad shields to smash the tribesmen down, and thrusting their short swords into the packed ranks before them.