The reply was instantaneous, hundreds of voices raised in song which quickly swelled to encompass both cohorts as they yelled out the old favourite at the tops of their voices.
‘. . the cheesy smell,
of a festering bell,
delights those sons of bitches!’
Julius shouted a parting shot at the cavalryman’s back, his voice gleeful despite the exhaustion washing over him.
‘Well done, Silus, you’re just the man we needed! Now lads: The cavalry don’t pay for whores when drinking ’cause of course. .’
The soldiers were ready this time, and most of them were singing the verse well before he’d reached the end of the first line.
‘. . why pay for gash,
when you can smash,
in the back doors of a horse?!’
‘Well they seem to be in very good spirits for men who were fighting off cavalry only an hour or so ago!’
Leontius’s first spear shook his head with an expression of doubt.
‘Take a closer look, Tribune.’
‘The two men stood for a moment looking down from their vantage point above the fort’s gate at the approaching Tungrian cohorts before the prefect spoke again.
‘I see what you mean. They may be singing, but they look all in.’
His senior centurion nodded, turning away.
‘Indeed they do, sir. I’d say that’s a body of men that have seen just about enough fighting for one day. If you’ll excuse me?’
Leontius waved him away, and the first spear hurried down the wall’s wooden steps to ground level, ducking through the small wicket gate and walking briskly down the road to greet Scaurus and Julius at the head of the First Cohort. Saluting the tribune, he thrust out a hand to Julius with a look of awed respect.
‘Welcome back gentlemen! Your Decurion rode back ahead of you and briefed us as to your men’s condition, so I’ve taken the liberty of sending men to light watch fires in your lines. There’ll be a meal of stewed meat ready for you in a while, so all you have to do is get your soldiers into barracks and get them rested and ready for tomorrow morning’s fun. We’ll take the guard duty overnight, if that works for you?’
Julius nodded gratefully, and called his chosen man over.
‘Send a runner down the column, all centuries are to parade into camp, clean and sharpen weapons and prepare for action in the morning. Food will be provided, and guard duty will be conducted by the Britons, so there are no excuses for all men not getting a good night’s sleep. Wounded men and all the bandage carriers are to report to the hospital.’
Scaurus stepped closer to the first spear.
‘And what, exactly, do we believe tomorrow morning’s fun will entail, First Spear?’
The First Britannica’s senior centurion pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly.
‘We’re really not sure, Tribune. Tribune Leontius has called a command conference to be held after the evening meal’s been taken, and I expect he’ll share everything we know with you then. .’ He paused, eyeing the Tungrian column appraisingly. ‘I was about to say what a good state your men seem to be in, sir, given you’ve just fought off a cavalry attack, but you took your fair share of casualties from the look of it?’
The tribune followed his gaze to the column, nodded at the sight of a stream of wounded men, some walking and nursing sword and spear wounds of varying severity to their arms and faces, while others were being supported between their comrades, their legs roughly bandaged with strips of wool obviously cut from barbarian clothing.
‘Sixty-three dead in action and another seven who had to be given the mercy stroke after the battle. Of the hundred or so wounded I expect the usual ratios to apply. Our medical staff will be having a busy time of it this evening.’
‘Indeed, sir. And once your medical staff have done what they can for the poor bastards I’ll have them on a cart and away to the east with an escort of horsemen. There’s no knowing exactly what will come up that valley tomorrow, but I’ll not have your women left at risk of what will happen to them if the barbarians manage to batter their way through our defences.’
Scaurus raised a sceptical eyebrow.
‘I wish you the best of luck with that. The good lady doctor is of a rather fixed attitude when it comes to care of her patients.’
The first spear opened his mouth to retort, then looked harder at the marching column.
‘Are those men prisoners?’
The tribune nodded.
‘Yes, and they’re all yours. I think we’ve seen enough blood for one day.’
The Tungrians were still settling back into their section of the encampment when a trumpet call from the fortress’s battlements announced the arrival of the first enemy scouts. Scaurus and Julius left their men to rest and recover from the day’s fighting and made their way to the walls, finding Tribune Leontius watching the Sarmatae riders picking their way up the valley towards the ditch. The fort’s commander spoke without taking his eyes off the riders.
‘We’ll let them take a while to work out that the valley’s impassable without their coming through us, before we give them something more to think about.’
They waited in silence while the scouts explored the length of the fortification, and Leontius smiled grimly as they discovered the rows of fallen trees whose intertwined spiky branches made the slopes to either side impossible to traverse.
‘They’ll be back for a look at the bridge shortly. Bolt throwers, ready!’
The heavy-weapons crews were already waiting by their equipment, and quickly wound on the last turns of torsion into their powerful bowstrings while iron-headed bolts were ceremoniously loaded onto the weapons. Silence fell as the Sarmatae scouts made their way back across the valley, clustering together as they discussed the lay of the land around the fort.
‘Wait for my command! I want to kill as many of them as possible!’ He turned to the Tungrian officers with an excited grin. ‘Now we’ll see just how good these fellows are with live targets, eh?’
The scouts gathered around the single bridge over the ditch, and in the afternoon’s pale winter sunlight Julius could see one man pointing at the crossing place, then waving his arms across the valley. Leontius turned to the weapon’s commander with a boyish grin.
‘I’d say that’s the man to kill, given the way he’s so busy telling the others his opinion. Let’s see if the other crews share my feelings. Take aim!’ He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed the command his men were waiting for. ‘Bolt throwers, prepare to shoot! He waited for a moment for the crews to take aim. ‘Shoot!’
With a collective concussive thud, the four missile launchers unleashed their bolts, each one the length of a man’s arm and with sufficient power to punch through any armour. One of the bolts flew over the scouts’ heads by a hand’s width, prompting a barrage of cursing from the weapons’ crewmen, but the other three, their aim honed to near perfection by weeks of practice, placed their shots perfectly. The scouts’ apparent leader was punched from his horse like a rag doll tossed aside by a child, a puff of pink spray showing the massive damage done to him by the missile’s impact. Another bolt flew a fraction low, smashing clean through the neck of one of the horses and toppling it to the ground on top of its rider, while the third killed two men in succession as it blew through the first before lodging deep in the second man’s body. The remaining scouts dragged their horses round and fled at the gallop trailed by the riderless horses, while the successful bolt-thrower crews laughed and slapped each other on the back in delight. The prefect called out across the walls while the fallen animal struggled in its death throes.
‘Well done, gentlemen! So now the barbarians know to treat Stone Fort with a little more respect! Bolt-thrower crews, stand down! All we can do now is wait and see exactly what comes up the valley behind them.’