Arrows of Fury: Empire Volume Two (28 page)

‘My man here reckons we’re off our path, my lord.’

Martos raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the mist around them. Behind him, unnoticed by the resting warriors, the two remaining
guides exchanged significant glances and began to step carefully backwards into the mist, keeping their gazes fixed on the tribal leader’s back.

‘And how can he tell, in this?’

The peasant warrior came forward, bowing his respect. His hair was grey, and his features seamed with lines, but his eyes were bright with intelligence.

‘Lord, I grew up on this ground many years ago. I know my own country, lord, and I just sat down by a tree I used to climb as a lad. I know every inch of that tree, and I …’

‘Yes. You know where we are. So where are we?’

‘If we’re heading back to the forest we came from, I’d say we’re too far to the west, my lord, ten miles too far.’

Martos frowned, turning to the place where the guides had stood a moment before, only to find it empty. The sound of mocking laughter sounded from the mist, and his clan leader stared angrily into the mist beside him, a hand clenched on his sword’s hilt.

‘We’re betrayed, my lord. Those Selgovae bastards have led us out to the west, not to the north. They’ve hung us out for the Roman cavalry to find out here. The second this mist lifts we’ll stand out like ticks on an ox’s back, and we’re probably only ten miles from their camp.’

Martos spat his disgust into the dirt.

‘Aye, and our people are exhausted. It will take us all day to reach the forest in this state …’

The older tribesman stepped forward, his head still inclined respectfully.

‘If I may, my lord, I know of somewhere we might find a hiding place, less than a mile from here. If their first sweep misses us, perhaps we’ll be able to reach the forest tonight.’

Martos nodded unhappily.

‘It’s not much of an option, but it’s probably the best chance we’ve got. And if we do reach the forest I’ll hunt Calgus down and carve him to ribbons for this.’

* * *

Calgus arrived back in the barbarian camp in the middle of the afternoon, riding in at the head of his bodyguard, having left the rest of the warband marching in his wake. Aed was waiting for him at the camp’s gateway, falling in alongside the barbarian leader as he jumped down from his horse.

‘Success, my lord?’

‘Complete success. As we discussed it, both the Roman garrison and the Votadini dealt with.’

‘King Brennus has been asking for news of his men since sunrise. I think he may have realised just how vulnerable he is with his warriors out of the camp.’

Calgus drew his sword, an angry scowl twisting his face.

‘I’ll bring him
news
, once my men have ripped through his bodyguard. I’ll take that sour old bastard by the throat and tell him how I’ve left his men for the Romans to make sport with. Then I’ll take my knife and carve out his …’

Aed put a cautionary hand on his master’s arm.

‘It
might
be better, my lord, if the king were to be unmarked when the remaining nobles see his body? You can claim that his bodyguard attacked you when they realised their king was dead, and if there’s no sign of violence you can argue with a straight face that he died a natural death, and that their attack and subsequent deaths were a tragic misunderstanding. He was an old man, after all …’

Calgus nodded grimly, turning for the short walk uphill to the king’s tent and gesturing for his men to follow him.

‘I’ll smother the old bastard, then. It’s time to make King Brennus regret the day he ever questioned my judgement …’

The 20th Legion returned an hour before dusk, the troops solemn in their unaccustomed silence, and the 6th came through the gates as the sun dipped to kiss the horizon, two auxiliary cohorts in column with them. First Spear Frontinius watched the sullen-faced legionaries march tiredly through the gates.

The two legions had headed north with swift and brutal efficiency just before dawn, the leading cohorts pounding out through the gates at the double march less than half an hour after the arrival
of the Tungrians. Ordered to make their maximum speed to the embattled fort, and to engage and destroy any barbarian forces they encountered, the legionaries had sallied without their packs and carrying poles to let them sustain the punishing double march for as long as required, taking their bread and water ration on the move to save precious time. The auxiliaries had been left to guard the fortress for the few hours that the legions were in the field, while the army’s two cavalry wings had ridden out shortly afterwards to scout beyond the wall, and seek any sign of where the barbarian warband might be hiding in the wake of the attack on White Strength.

The first spear watched the returning soldiers for long enough to identify the auxiliaries marching alongside them.

‘The Vangione and Cugerni cohorts. That’s Fine View and Aelian Bridge evacuated, then, but no Frisians … Julius, call a centurions’ conference and brief our brother officers that we’ll be on the road at first light tomorrow. Anyone that needs anything to be ready for war had better get their shit in a pile double quick. If I’m any judge of men those lads have seen something that they didn’t like very much, and I don’t think our new governor’s the type to let an atrocity go unanswered. And send a runner to the prefect. Now that the eagles have come back to roost we’ll be called to a senior officers’ briefing soon enough, I expect.’

They were. As ordered, the auxiliary cohort prefects gathered in the fort’s headquarters, where the grim-faced governor and his legates were waiting for them, both men’s cloaks and boots still spattered with mud. Once the officers were settled in the chairs set out for them the governor stood, his face more stony than usual.

‘You’ll be aware that White Strength was attacked last night, and that both legions went forward at full strength to attempt the garrison’s relief. What you don’t know is what they found when we got to the fort. Legatus Equitius, you were leading, you’d best tell it.’

The Tungrians’ former prefect rose, looking across the gathered prefects and first spears with a bleak stare.

‘We advanced on White Strength in haste, but with three cohorts abreast where possible, a front broad enough to hold the barbarians if they chose to attack us out of the ruins of the fort. We could see the flames from three miles out, probably past their worst but still licking at the sky. We crested the last ridge and I ordered a halt, and a deployment to battle formation. The ground around the fort was teeming with lights, hundreds of torches, which we mistakenly assumed was the warband waiting patiently for us to arrive. Twentieth Legion deployed to support us, and to refuse any attack from either flank, and then I ordered the Sixth forward in a deliberate attack, slow enough to detect any traps or ambush. The way down to face them was clear of anything that might have obstructed our advance, or any sign of hostile intent, and I was soon pretty sure that there were no tribesmen waiting for me at White Strength, although that didn’t explain the torches still burning around the fort …’ He paused for a moment, rubbing his tired face with one hand.

‘I rode forward to join the lead centuries, curious to understand the point of the display. We were perhaps three hundred paces from the fort when I guessed the truth of the matter, and half that when I realised with a sick heart that my suspicion was justified.’

The officers leaned forward to hear his voice as it sank close to the point of inaudibility with the memory’s apparent power. ‘The torches on which we were advancing were not, you might have guessed by now, simple brands left burning to guide us to the scene of the Frisian cohort’s massacre. They were human bodies …’ The legatus shook his head with the memory. ‘… human bodies, stripped and then impaled on wooden stakes, painted with pitch and set on fire. An entire five-hundred-man cohort slaughtered and then used as a demonstration of our enemy’s appalling brutality in victory.’

He fell silent for a moment, staring at his boots, then spoke again, turning to the governor and inclining his head respectfully. ‘Believe me, sir, when I tell you that there’s no desire in my head to tell you how we should fight, but be assured that my legion will be eager for blood when we face these bastards across a battlefield.
Sixth Legion has sworn to Mars Cocidius and Jupiter that we will take these men down whenever and wherever the opportunity presents itself.’

Legatus Macrinus stepped forward, his face dark with a thunderous rage.

‘As has the Twentieth.’

The governor took the floor, looking across his gathered officers and taking stock of their facial expressions and body language.

‘So, gentlemen, our enemy has raised the stakes quite dramatically. In the space of a day he has confirmed that his army is still in the field, he has destroyed an entire cohort and burned out yet another wall fort. He has our men desperate for the chance to slip their collars and run wild at his warriors. As a statement of intent it’s dramatic enough, but as a device to tempt us off our own ground, and away from the strengths that will win us this war, it’s masterful.’ He looked around the briefing, seeing thoughtful looks start to take hold among his subordinates. ‘We will find that warband, and we will take their heads and leave the remainder for the crows, that I promise you, but we’ll do these things in our usual disciplined manner. There will be no rash gestures, not by our soldiers and most certainly not by anyone in this room. Any man here that breaks this rule, or even connives at its circumvention, will be stripped of his rank and sent back to Rome for punishment. Are we clear?’

The officers nodded soberly, recognising the truth in Ulpius Marcellus’s harsh words.

‘Good. Make sure that message reaches all corners of your commands, along with this. I will sacrifice to the gods alongside them in thanks for bloody revenge when we find and flatten this gang of savages under our hobnailed boots, but that victory will be gained in the tried and tested way, fighting in line and taking our enemies’ lives while offering none of our own in return. That’s all …’

A flurry of activity in the headquarters’ entrance hall turned the assembled officers’ heads. A familiar figure strode into the room, his ornate helmet held under one arm. His age-lined, hawkish features were alive with the joy of the moment, a man
in his prime doing what he loved most. He walked quickly to the front of the room, snapping off a salute to the governor and nodding to his friend Equitius.

‘Tribune Licinius? I presume the Petriana wing has news for us, given your unexpected entrance?’

Licinius nodded confidently.

‘Governor, my men remain in the field, standing guard around a detachment of the enemy who seem to have lost their way. There are fifteen hundred of them, more or less, camped in an old hill fort less then ten miles away from here as the crow flies. We came upon them in the late afternoon, as we patrolled back towards the wall. We must have been in too much of a hurry when we passed them on the way out, but they’re bottled up well enough for now, I had the horns blown long and hard enough to bring the Augustan wing to join us, so we ought to be able to keep them there overnight.’

The governor looked to his legates.

‘Well, gentlemen, perhaps our prayers are answered.’

Equitius frowned.

‘I can see no good reason for any barbarian to be anywhere other than tucked up safely in whatever hide they’ve built in the deep forest, well to the north. Taking up a position so close to the wall is tantamount to suicide … or sacrifice.’

‘You suspect a trap?’

Equitius nodded, looking to his fellow legatus for support.

‘There’s something not right with this. No leader in his right mind would choose to put his men in such a trap unless he expected to have his chestnuts pulled out of the fire. My instinct is to take this gift, but to make very sure that we screen the attacking force with overwhelming strength, just in case these trapped men are bait in a larger plan.’

Ulpius Marcellus nodded decisively.

‘I agree. Let’s grind these unfortunates into mince, gentlemen, and give our men something to cheer about.’

Frontinius walked back to the Tungrians’ section of the camp deep in thought, his mind dwelling on the slaughter inflicted on the
Frisian cohort, men he had soldiered alongside for half of his life. The mood in the cohort’s lines was more anger than sorrow, attitudes hardening as the manner of their comrades’ slaughter and the defilement of their corpses sank in. The news that a woman had been killed in the fort’s vicus the previous evening, raped and then strangled in the opinion of Clodia Drusilla, barely merited a mention in their conversations alongside the enormity of this latest barbarian atrocity. Julius was waiting for him in the command tent, pacing impatiently around the small space with a hand on his sword.

‘We’re marching in the morning, yes?’

The first spear nodded, dropping his helmet on the table.

‘Yes. We’ve got an appointment to destroy a warband that the Petriana have bottled up north of the wall, unless they’ve allowed the barbarians to slip away in the meantime. We’ll not be back in camp until we’ve found Calgus and taken our iron to him and his murdering savages, I’d say. The next few days are going to be more than exciting enough for a pair of old soldiers like you and me. And now I’d better go and make sure that Morban’s found someone to look after his grandson. The last thing we want is for the poor sod to be worrying about the boy when things are getting hectic.’