Aelius Brocchus let out a long breath and grinned. ‘Good job we are not still fighting the Silures. I’ll bring up my men.’ He headed down the slope.
There was a cheer as the Tungrians charged up the slope towards the old fort, their slingers tagging along with the main column. Its defenders were running like the other warriors, but going out through another entrance and fleeing along the heights.
Crispinus appeared back on top of the crest, beckoning to them.
Up close Ferox saw that the young aristocrat was flushed with excitement and finding it hard to keep still, so that he kept waving his sword and twitching on the reins with his other hand. His horse fidgeted almost as much as his rider. Down in the big valley there were farms burning and strong formations of Roman soldiers advancing. Ahead of them thousands of warriors retreated, most seeking the safety of the heights, and keeping well ahead of their pursuers. There were a couple of dead warriors lying on the grass around them, men who had stumbled as they tried to escape. ‘We need Brocchus and his cavalry!’ Crispinus was shouting in his enthusiasm. ‘If he moves quickly then we will have them.’
The side of the valley was steep, rocky and broken by plenty of little rivulets and gullies. This was the Selgovae’s own land, and the lightly clad unarmoured warriors bounded across it at great speed and were gaining ground quickly. The Batavians were already flagging, weighed down by their armour and equipment, and by that strange feeling of emptiness when a man had geared himself up to fight only to find that there was no battle. Some of the keenest were still running as fast as they could after the fleeing enemy. More were slackening pace and giving up. There was no trace of formation, just a couple of hundred panting men scattered across a hillside.
Ferox was just about to suggest sounding the recall when Cerialis found a cornicen and ordered the man to blow the signal on his trumpet. Crispinus started in surprise, frightening his horse, so that the animal bucked and kicked out violently. The tribune’s face was angry until he mastered himself.
‘Yes, of course. Order is vital,’ he said, more to himself than those around him. The same sapping disappointment mingled with relief began to do its work and his shoulders sagged. He took a deep breath. ‘Ferox. Ride to my Lord Brocchus and tell him to pursue the enemy as well as he is able, but to make sure that he does it in good order and takes no risks.’
The ala Petriana was already climbing towards the saddle, each turma in column one behind the other, so it did not take long to deliver the order.
‘We shall do our best,’ Brocchus said, and took his men forward. By the time Ferox rejoined the tribune, Titus Annius was there. Crispinus ordered the Tungrians to hold the fort and guard the pass. He expected that the whole column would cross and join up with the main force in the next valley, but would ride to find out the legate’s intentions. Nothing was said, but it was clear everyone expected the combined force to march back to its bases before their supplies ran out.
‘Ferox, come with me.’ Crispinus went to see Cerialis and told him to form his infantry on the slope and remount his cavalry. They were to wait for the rest of the column to catch up and then be ready to move at short notice. In the meantime, he was to send a messenger to Rufinus to bring the baggage and rearguard up.
Ferox was again told to follow – something Vindex did without being asked – and Crispinus headed down into the big valley to search for the Legate Quadratus and further instructions.
‘I cannot help being disappointed in the courage of our opponents,’ the aristocrat said. ‘They had the advantage of ground and could have put up a stern fight.’
‘And been slaughtered when they were trapped by the legate’s column?’ Ferox spoke bluntly. ‘They did what anyone would do. It’s not about courage, but sense.’
Crispinus did not appear to be listening. ‘Even so it was victory, albeit unfashionably bloodless.’
‘Shame we did not attack sooner,’ Flaccus said.
When they found him, the Legate Julius Quadratus evidently felt the same way. ‘You were late,’ he said. He was a squat man with a creased forehead and the belligerent expression of a caged bear. ‘You should have come through that pass three or four hours ago.’
‘We would,’ Crispinus said, as a senator’s son able to speak freely to a man even of such high rank. ‘We would indeed, had we received orders to do so in time.’
Quadratus turned to the tribune from VIIII Hispana and glared at him, his little eyes red-rimmed and angry. ‘What do you have to say, Flaccus? Was it your fault?’
‘I carried the message as fast as was possible. We lost one dead and another trooper wounded getting past the Brittunculi. I cannot carry the responsibility for other delays.’
The legate looked at each man in turn, wondering which was most at fault. ‘Well, then. No matter. What is done is done and the world moves on. We have taught the clans not to despise our power.’ He swept his arm along the valley, showing the burning houses. ‘We will press on for another couple of miles, kill or take any we can find and then camp for the night. You, Crispinus, will bring your men to join us. Tomorrow we can start home happy with what we have achieved.’
Ferox wondered whether the senator was already composing in his mind a heroic – perhaps even a poetic – account of the campaign. The truth was less impressive. They had burned farms, but not fought a major action, so on balance they had given the Selgovae plenty of good reasons to hate Romans and little reason to fear them. Few of the warriors had been taken or killed, and their families were safe as were their livestock. Homes could be rebuilt before the winter arrived. It would be a hard time for the clans, which would only make the tribesmen’s hatred deeper and provide fertile ground for druids preaching vengeance.
Claudius Super was delighted with the operation, and that was yet another reason to doubt that they had achieved very much good.
‘They’ll not despise us again!’ he declared, his mood so ebullient that he was friendly even to Ferox. ‘My dear fellow, it is so good to see you. We must have a drink to celebrate the triumph once the camp is pitched. This is a glorious day!’ From what he said it was clear that the legate’s force had begun laying waste to the farms several days ago. ‘They did not pay their tax so have only themselves to blame. This is justice!’
Ferox was glad to leave him when Crispinus asked him to take Vindex and his men and patrol the lands behind the column to make sure that no one tried to harass their rear as they went through the pass. For the next few hours they covered a wide area and saw plenty of warriors, all keeping their distance and tending to gather on the high ground. In the meantime the Vardulli escorted the baggage train over the saddle and down into the valley. The sun was low in the sky when they followed, so that he was all the more surprised to see the Tungrians still behind the ramparts of the old fort. Looking down from the top of the pass he could see no other Roman troops closer than a mile and a half. The camp was another mile beyond that, a dark rectangle of tents lit by lines of fires.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Ferox said and trotted over to the old rampart.
Titus Annius hailed him from the gateway. ‘Do you have new orders for me, centurion?’
Elderly gateposts stood on either side of the entrance, but the gates themselves had gone long ago. There were cattle pens inside the walls, and the daily movement of the herds to get water and food left the entrance way churned into a mire.
‘Afraid not, sir. To be honest we did not expect to see anyone still up here.’ Ferox was just outside the entrance to the fort, able to lower his voice.
Titus Annius had served for many years, but for most of that time had acted under the orders of someone else. Ferox could see the doubt in his face. ‘We were told to hold up here until we were relieved or got the order to rejoin the column.’