Scaurus nodded, already hard in thought as he stared at the map table.
‘Legatus!’
Albinus swivelled his head to regard Tribune Belletor, standing at the other end of the table from his former colleague and wearing an expression of concern.
‘Tribune?’
‘My command, Legatus, is every bit as powerful as that under Rutilius Scaurus’s leadership, and has the advantage of mustering a powerful force of cavalry. I propose that the Tungrians advance along one bank of the river, while we will manage the other.’
Albinus shared a glance with Niger, but it was the older man who responded to Belletor’s request.
‘Your cavalry, Tribune, if my memory serves, are only recently recruited from the Sarmatae you defeated at Alburnus Major. I wonder, perhaps, if they represent too great a risk to be put into the field against their own tribe.’
Belletor, having clearly anticipated the response, reacted with uncharacteristic understatement.
‘I completely understand your concern, Legatus. Perhaps it would help if I were to tell you that they have already been active in scouting before us as we marched north. On more than one occasion the scouting parties of these horsemen that I sent out to clear our path brought back the bodies of Sarmatae scouts they had managed to kill, along with their mounts. My discussions with them have convinced me that they care little for these other people, owing loyalty only to their own offshoot of the tribe, and in the absence of their kindred, to me as their paymaster. And besides’ — Marcus watched his tribune’s eyes narrow as Belletor advanced his argument one last step — ‘the use of their own horsemen as part of the master plan that undoes this Purta’s invasion of the province will surely play very well in Rome, I would have thought.’
‘Hmmm. I see.’ Niger stroked his bearded chin, looking at Albinus with a calculating expression. ‘Military and political advantages combined, eh? Very well, Tribune Belletor, my colleague and I will give your proposal due consideration and inform you as to our decision in due course. Any more questions? No? Very well gentlemen, go back to your cohorts and ensure that your men are in prime condition and ready to fight. Here’s your vine stick, First Spear Secundus.’
The Tungrian cohorts marched from Porolissum at dawn three days later, heading down the military road that followed the line of the Knife Mountains to the south-west in the company of the Thracian archers who were ordered to reinforce the defence at Stone Fort, while Belletor’s mismatched force bought up the rear. The Sarmatae horsemen rode in a straggling mass at the column’s rear, as immune to any form of marching discipline as had been the case since their enlistment.
‘I presume your tribune’s riding with his new best friends, perched up on that horse of his like some kind of conquering general?’
Julius had dropped back to the rear of his men and by happy chance had found First Spear Sergius marching at the head of his legionaries with a dark and foreboding look. The two men were now marching together with their cloaks wrapped about them to fend off the bitterly cold wind.
‘Indeed he is. Since he managed to persuade Legatus Niger to put him on the right bank of the river for this march down to Lakeside Fort, he’s been puffing and preening like a man preparing to ride through Rome with the rose petals floating down around him.’ Sergius shook his head and spat on the road’s verge. ‘I’ve tried to point out to him that he has no idea as to their real loyalties, but he’s like a man besotted with his new wife. All I get back is “my tribesmen this” and “my tribesmen that”, and no concern at all for his regular soldiers.’ He pointed to Julius’s boots, their new fur linings visible around the ankle. ‘Our boots are stuffed with straw, not rabbit like yours. The storeman told Belletor that your men had already taken everything they had to spare, and since he didn’t have a legatus supporting him he was forced to walk away empty handed. He’s got fur linings in his boots mind you, and a nice fur cloak. He was given them by his bloody Sarmatae.’
The two men marched in silence for a moment, enjoying the crisp autumn air and the constant rattle of hobnails on the road’s cobbled surface.
‘They’re decent enough scouts though?’
Sergius grimaced reluctant agreement.
‘So it seems. You saw just as well as I did what they brought back with them from their patrol over the mountains.’
The deciding factor in Niger’s decision had been a patrol that Belletor had sent over the mountains, with orders to range along their northern slopes in search of enemy scouts. The thirty-man party had returned with two empty saddles, but with the heads of half a dozen dead tribesmen dangling from their saddle horns, and the legatus had been an instant convert to the idea of their being used alongside the First Minervia’s regulars. Julius nodded.
‘Exactly. I may not have very much respect for your tribune, but it does seem as if he’s picked a winner for once.’
The twin detachments ground their way to the south-west at a fast pace, reaching Forest View as the sun was dipping towards the horizon. Ushered into the sizeable marching camp alongside the fort’s walls, more usually used by several legion cohorts at a time, the Tungrians found themselves alongside men from a cohort of auxiliary infantry whose title excited a good deal of comment. Marcus overheard Morban explaining it to one of the younger men of the Fifth Century.
‘First Britannica? You know what that means, don’t you? These are men who’ve descended from the tribesmen who were enlisted in Britannia when the legions were recruiting for the wars in Dacia a hundred years ago. What’s the odds of them having come from somewhere near our old fort at The Hill, eh? I’ll give you five to one. .’
As it turned out the Britons were welcoming enough, but it had seemed that in truth they were no more from Britannia than the majority of the Tungrians were really from the farmland around the city of Tungrorum. A hard-faced veteran stepped forward to greet the standard bearer and his hopeful companion.
‘Yeah, my granddad was from Britannia. My dad told me that his old man volunteered for service at a time when the province was right peaceful, so he and another five hundred bluenoses were shipped out here to keep the locals in order.’
Morban thanked him and turned back to the young soldier, sliding the man’s stake money into his purse with well-practised speed.
‘Grandfathers don’t count, I’m afraid.’
Scaurus and Julius went looking for the Britons’ prefect in company with Belletor and Sergius, and the four of them walked into the fort to where they knew the headquarters building would be, given that its layout was prescribed by army regulations. Scaurus tapped at the wall of a barrack block with his knuckle as they passed.
‘The fort may be built to the standard design, but the materials they’ve put it up with aren’t. These men obviously live under a serious threat; you only have to look at the way their buildings are constructed to see that.’
The barrack was built with walls of stone, and the roof was an expanse of thick slate tiles. Wherever wood was used, in doors and windows, the openings were both recessed and protected as much as possible by overhanging stone lintels, designed to prevent a fire arrow from striking the timber. The four men found the fort’s commander, a harassed-looking veteran centurion, snatching a quick meal in the fort’s headquarters building. He pulled up chairs for them and then called for more food and wine.