By mid-afternoon, under the despairing eye of the legion's legate and his staff officers, the Second Legion had been reduced to small bands hacking their way through to the marsh with little or no sense of where the rest of their comrades were. Mingled in among them were occasional small knots of Britons also trying to make the river in the hope of escape, and faint war cries and the ringing clash of blades wafted up the slope. Vespasian and his staff had dismounted and sat in the shade of a small copse not far from the track, watching the chaotic melee in silent frustration. By late afternoon most of the men of the legion were lost to view and only the legate's guard century stood formed up in a thin line a hundred paces down the slope. Beyond them sat the pathetic huddle of prisoners, surrounded by gorse briars hacked down and piled up in a circle to form a crude stockade. Beyond the briars a scattered line of legionaries stood watch. Tribune Vitellius rode down to inspect the captives. When he had finished interrogating their leader, he gave a last cuff to the man's head and swung himself up onto his mount and spurred it back up the slope.
'Discover anything useful?' asked Vespasian.
'Only that some of the better educated among these savages have a little Latin, sir.'
'But no fords or bridges nearby?'
'No, sir.'
'It was worth a try, I suppose.' Vespasian's gaze flickered back to the legate's guard century baking in the sun.
'Tell them to sit down,' Vespasian muttered to the camp prefect. 'I doubt the Britons will be springing any surprises on us now. No point in keeping the men on their feet in this heat.'
'Yes sir.'
As Sextus bellowed the order down to the guard century, tribune Vitellius caught the legate's eye and nodded back towards the track. A messenger was galloping up. When he spotted the legate's command party he spurred his horse along the ridge towards them.
'What now?' wondered Vespasian.
Breathless, the messenger slid from his horse and ran to the legate, dispatch already to hand.
'From the general, sir,' he panted as he raised his hand in a salute. Vespasian acknowledged him with a curt nod, took the scroll and broke the seal. His staff officers sat impatiently waiting for their legate to read it. The message was brief enough and Vespasian immediately handed it on to Vitellius.
Vitellius frowned as he read it. 'According to this, it appears we should already be down on the river bank and be preparing for a river assault this evening. The navy will be carrying us across and providing fire support.' He looked up. 'But, sir.' He waved a hand down the slope towards the gorse and the marsh which had swallowed up the Second Legion.
'Quite, Tribune. Now read out the last bit.'
Vitellius did so. 'Further to earlier orders it should be noted that the Batavian cohorts have encountered problems dealing with the marsh terrain and you are advised to limit your advance to established tracks and paths only… '
One of the junior tribunes hooted with derision and the rest laughed bitterly. Vespasian held up his hand to quieten them before he turned back to Vitellius.
'Seems the lads back at army headquarters haven't quite grasped the practical difficulties attached to the orders they are so quick to dish out. But with your recent staff experience I'm sure you'd know all about that. '
The other tribunes struggled to hide their grins and Vitellius blushed. 'Still, we can't carry this order out. By the time the legion reassembles on the river it'll be well into the night. And the navy are still some miles downriver. There's no chance of an assault until tomorrow,' concluded Vespasian. 'The general had better be told. Tribune, you know the ropes at headquarters and you know our situation here. Go back to Aulus Plautius with the messenger and let him know our position and tell him that I will not be able to carry out the assault until tomorrow. You might also describe the terrain in some detail so that he understands our position. Now go.'
'Yes, sir.' Vitellius saluted and strode across to his horse, angry at the prospect of a long hot ride, and bitter at the legate's sarcastic treatment of him in front of the junior tribunes.
Vespasian watched in amusement as the tribune snatched the reins from the hands of a horse holder and threw himself onto his horse's back. With a savage kick to the animal's ribs he galloped off in the direction of army headquarters. It had been impossible to resist teasing Vitellius, but any elation he might have derived from deflating the smug tribune quickly evaporated, and he cursed himself for indulging in behaviour that was far below the dignity of his rank. Fortunately, the camp prefect had missed the exchange; as the tough old veteran strode back up the slope from the legate's guard he frowned at the amused expressions on the faces of the young tribunes.
'Fresh orders, sir?'
'Read it.' Vespasian held out the scroll.
Sextus quickly scanned the document. 'Some young gentleman on Plautius' staff is going to get a few harsh words when I catch up with him, sir.'
'Glad to hear it. In the meantime we need to reassemble the legion. There's no point in sounding the recall. They're far enough into the marshes by now to make it easier to continue forward than march back.' 'True enough,' muttered Sextus, stroking his chin.
'I'll take the command party and the guard century down the causeway to that jetty.' Vespasian pointed down the slope. 'Once we get there I'll start sounding the recall. Meanwhile, you and the junior tribunes mount up and find as many of our men as possible and let them know what's going on. We need the main body of the legion gathered on that rise by the jetty before nightfall if we're going to have enough men for the assault in the morning.'
'Fair enough, sir,' said Sextus. He turned to the junior tribunes who had all heard the legate's orders and were not looking forward to the discomfort of their task. 'You heard the legate! Off your arses and on your horses, gentlemen. Quickly now!'
With a barely tolerable display of reluctance the young tribunes dragged themselves to their horses, trotted down the slope and separated along the myriad paths and ways that crisscrossed the dense mass of gorse and marsh. Vespasian watched them disappear from sight. Then he turned to his own mount and led the legate's guard and the rest of the command party towards the track leading down to the causeway.
This was no way to fight a battle, he reflected angrily. No sooner had the Second Legion won back its self-respect than some bloody careless order plunged the men into an unholy mess, dispersed and leaderless across the wretched wilderness of this wretched bloody island. By the time he managed to regroup the legion they would be exhausted, filthy, and hungry, their flesh and clothing torn to shreds by the gorse bushes. It would be a wonder if he managed to get them even to contemplate anything half so dangerous as the general's order for an amphibious assault on the opposite river bank.
The Eagles Conquest
Chapter Twenty-One
'This is a complete fucking nightmare!' Centurion Macro growled as he slapped at a large mosquito feeding on his forearm. No sooner had it become a smear of red and black amid the dark hairs below the hem of his sleeve than several more insects from the swirling cloud hovering above him decided to take their chance, and landed on the nearest patch of exposed skin. Macro slapped away at them with one hand and swiped at their airborne comrades with the other. 'If I ever get my hands on the man responsible for this fucking fiasco he'll never draw another breath.'
'I suspect the order came from the general, sir,' Cato responded as mildly as he could.
'Well then, I'll take up the issue in Hell, where we'll be on a more equal footing.'