He winked at Morban, who gave the trumpeter a significant glance. The younger man started to protest, but swiftly closed his mouth again as Morban raised an eyebrow at him.
‘I wouldn’t, if I were you. Just make do with starting a conversation about something that can’t be turned against you.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as the weather. See, when we set out this morning the sun was all bright and shiny, and you were thinking about a lovely warm day for marching, but now the sky’s the same colour as…’
The trumpeter opened his mouth to suggest something that matched the western sky’s dull grey, but was beaten to it by the soldier behind him.
‘… as his face when he’d done puking all over his boots the other night?’
‘That’s it, just the same colour!’ Morban smirked at the younger man for a moment before taking pity on his expression of bemused fury. ‘Now, now, don’t you go getting all hot and bothered. Look, there’s trees on the horizon; that’s the forest we’re marching to conquer!’
‘So that’s this Arduenna the locals all worship, is it?’
Tribune Scaurus looked across the farmland that stretched out before them to the forested hills in the distance, their dark slopes blending with the overcast sky.
Frontinius was marching beside him with a slight limp, the legacy of a sharp-eyed barbarian archer’s arrow at the battle of Lost Eagle the previous year. He nodded without breaking step.
‘Yes, Tribune, that’s the Arduenna. If the maps are right we’re only a couple of miles from the forest edge, although that might as well be twenty given the river that runs between here and the hills. A hundred paces wide and more, and apparently deep enough to be unfordable, other than across the shallows at Mosa Ford. If Dubnus has it wrong then we’ll have to go all the way west to the river bridge on the road to the Treveri capital, then march back to the east along the river bank.’
He stopped talking, raising an eyebrow at the tribune, who was gently shaking his head.
‘We’ll just have to hope that your centurion’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, then, won’t we? Ah, here come the mounted scouts now. You can stop the column for a rest, First Spear; let’s see what your man Silus has to say for himself.’
The decurion rode up and dismounted, saluting smartly to the tribune and the two first spears, who had gathered to hear his report.
‘We went all the way to the bridge, Tribune, without any sign of movement. There’s a couple of carts a few miles down the road, but nothing to interest us. Prefect Caninus took his men away to the west, as agreed.’
Scaurus nodded to Frontinius, who returned his gaze with a questioning look.
‘As we discussed it, Tribune?’
Opening his mouth to confirm the order, Scaurus was silenced by a voice from behind him.
‘As you discussed what?’
Scaurus turned to find Belletor, still mounted on his horse, close behind him. He looked up at the bemused tribune with a tight smile and pointed in the direction of the river.
‘We’re leaving the road and marching south for the Mosa. Once we’re off the road we’ll deploy into formation for an approach march, and your men can bring up the rear.’
Belletor frowned down at him.
‘But I thought…’
‘… that we were heading for the road bridge over the Mosa another ten miles to the west? Indeed, you did, along with the entire population of Tungrorum, I’d imagine. But one of my centurions has discovered a little secret, a piece of tactical intelligence I personally rate as pure gold, so we’re going to try something else, something not even Caninus and his men know about.’ He turned away from the baffled tribune, gesturing to Frontinius. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Sextus.’
Frontinius limped away, shouting for his centurions and quickly gathering the officers around him in a tight group. First Spear Sergius tipped Belletor a quick salute and sidled across to join them, while soldiers on all sides stared at the gathering with undisguised curiosity. Scarface stared at the cluster of armoured men for a moment and then turned away, shaking his head and reaching for his shield and helmet.
‘Best get your gear on, lads. The last time I seen Uncle Sextus looking that serious was before the battle where the Sixth Legion lost their eagle, and I ended up fighting off the fucking bluenoses for the rest of the afternoon. Got a nasty gash down one arm and lost both my best mates, one dead before he hit the ground, the other one coughing up blood for half a day before his eyes closed. This’ll end up with us out in front, if my guess is right. And it looks set to fucking rain.’
In the heart of his gathered officers, Frontinius looked around the intent faces that surrounded him, nodding his recognition of their solemnity.
‘Yes, you’ve all guessed it; we’ve got a direct route to the enemy camp and we’re going straight in. Dubnus found what looks like a way across the river while he was out scouting with Centurions Julius and Corvus, so we’re marching south to the Mosa at speed. We’ll get deployed over the river as fast and as quietly as possible, and then go for an encirclement of the rebel camp before they even know they’re under attack, never mind who’s behind the spears. And if we put this lot in the bag then our job here really will be done, and we can enjoy some well-earned peace and quiet. Once we leave this rest halt we’ll deploy into approach march formation.’ He looked around the group again. ‘I’ll have the Ninth Century out in front in extended order looking for trouble all the way to the river, fast and light-footed. Try to keep it inconspicuous, Centurion Corvus. I don’t want them to know we’re coming until we’re across the river at the very earliest, and preferably not until we’ve got their camp surrounded by enough spears that they’ll just go straight to the bit where they throw down their iron without even considering a fight. Think you can manage that?’
Marcus nodded silently, already rehearsing the orders he would issue to his men. Frontinius recognised his preoccupation and moved the briefing on.
‘Good. Dubnus, you’ll be out in front with the Ninth. I need you to take us straight to the place in question without any risk of it turning into the scenic route, your chosen man can look after your men in your absence. Following up behind the scouts I want a three-century front, one solid wall of shields if the need arises, so keep the formation as tight as you like. Centurions Clodius, Caelius and Otho, your lads ought to find that well enough to their liking.’
Julius snorted his laughter into the intent silence.
‘The Badger, the Hedgehog and Knuckles all in a row. You really do mean business.’
Marcus winked at Caelius, watching as his brother officer rubbed self-consciously at the spiky, brush-like hair that had led to his nickname, smiling to himself at Julius’s praise. While Clodius and Otho were brutal, bombastic leaders, continually goading their men in competition for the unofficial title of the cohort’s most dangerous century, Caelius was a quieter man by comparison, until, that was, the enemy were within spear throw. Then, and only then, did he seem to swell beyond his usual size, and become a leader whose simple example could encourage bravery from his men where words might fail.
Frontinius nodded at Julius with a determined expression.
‘If by some chance we’re in action before we reach the river I want to be up and in their faces the instant they show themselves. So you three had better be ready for anything.’
Julius nodded knowingly.
‘And since the Ninth will all be dead or dying, you want these three to overrun them and rescue that pretty sword, eh First Spear?’
His superior smiled grimly.
‘Well, you won’t be in with any chance of recovering it, Julius, because you’ll be leading one of the wings. We’ll have three centuries on your side of the line, ready for an envelopment once the front three have got the enemy fixed, when and if we bump into them. The left wing will be commanded by you, Julius, and will consist of your Fifth Century with the Eighth and Second behind you, and the right will consist of the First and Tenth Centuries, led by Titus.’