Julius grinned, still elated with their victory.
‘You should have seen it, man, the Bear’s lads just ran wild. They hacked their way to the bridge those Venico bastards had thrown across the river and left a trail of bodies with their heads stove in and arms and legs lopped off. The barbarians tried to put them off, of course, chucked bucket-loads of arrows and spears at us from the other side of the Red, but we put a double line of shields on the riverbank and the Tenth took turns chopping at the trees behind them. Once the tops were off it was easy enough to push the trunks into the river, and that was that, pretty much. If only they hadn’t managed to put a spear into Dubnus I’d be counting this as a right result. As it is…’
Julius’s face darkened. Marcus shook his head sadly.
‘He shouldn’t have been in the front rank. He kicked my backside hard enough when I did it…’
Both men were silent for a moment, staring out across the river at the thousands of Venicone warriors still waiting in silence. The four centuries that Julius had led down the riverbank to deny them their last chance of crossing the river were now back in place at the ford, the two cohorts’ massed spears sufficient to deter any further attempt to force the crossing. The river itself was running slightly lower than had been the case during their first abortive attempt, but still had too much power for the warband’s leaders to seriously consider throwing their men across the river to die on the Roman defences.
‘I heard about Antenoch. He died defending the child?’
Marcus shrugged tiredly.
‘He died defending the supplies. Lupus was an incidental. Our prefect was a bit of a revelation, though…’
Julius raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes. I fought off the first group to come over the hill, but then another group followed them in and took the three of us on, me, Arminius and the prefect. I suggested that he stand back and let the German and me do the fighting, but he just laughed at me and stood his ground.’
‘And…?’
‘And put down three of them without much difficulty, from what I gather. I was too busy while it was happening, but I had a quick word with Arminius after the fight was done, while Scaurus was busy making sure that they were all dead. All this time we’ve been assuming that the bodyguard’s the fighter, but it turns out he’s been taking lessons from the prefect since the day he was taken prisoner.’
Tiberius Rufius walked up with a weary demeanour, squatting down on his haunches opposite the other two, who both stared at him with open curiosity. He shrugged.
‘He’ll live, just as long as the gods keep smiling on him. The prefect’s got half a dozen tents up for the wounded and he’s warm enough, plus his wound’s stopped bleeding for the time being. Got any water left?’
Marcus passed over his water skin, waiting until his friend had drunk his fill before speaking again.
‘We need to get him back to Noisy Valley. That wound needs to be cleaned out before it closes up…’
‘In which case, that’s probably good news.’
Julius pointed up the road away from the ford. Half a mile distant, where the track met the skyline, the distant silhouettes of Roman soldiers were appearing against the bright evening sky. He stood up, looking back over his shoulder at the Venicones still waiting on the other side of the slowly subsiding river.
‘It’s their turn to run now. If that’s one full legion, never mind two, they’ll not want to be anywhere close to hand when that lot cross to the far side. Come on, let’s go and watch them leg it. And remember to put on a brave face for the troops; they need better from us than the despondency we’re feeling to show in our faces. We faced ten times our strength of the nastiest bastards in this whole shitty country and lived. Again. There are few enough men that have done that once, never mind twice in one year.’
11
The Tungrian cohorts marched into Noisy Valley behind the Petriana cavalry wing late the next day, having slogged back down the north road that afternoon. The surviving wounded had been carried on the carts that usually mounted the cohorts’ tents and cooking equipment, the dead left for burial by the soldiers of the 6th and 20th Legions. Scaurus had received his orders from the governor in the quiet of the man’s command tent the previous night, once the Legions had set up camp for the night beside the now quiescent Red River.
‘You’ve done a good job here, Prefect Scaurus, saved us from being ambushed by those ugly tattooed buggers. How many men did you lose?’
Scaurus made a show of consulting his tablet, although in truth the numbers, and their significance, were already burned into his brain.
‘Seventy-three men dead and a hundred and twenty-one wounded, seventy-six of them walking. The medics expect another dozen of the wounded to die before sunrise.’
The governor waited for a long moment.
‘And the Second Cohort…?’
‘Thirteen dead and twenty-five wounded, sir. Only one of their centuries actually saw any real combat.’
The tone of the governor’s reply made clear the frustration that was taking hold of his superior officer.
‘I know. I also know that a makeshift century composed mainly of Arab archers took more than double that number of casualties in the same action and still managed to frustrate an attempt by the Venicones to get over the river. I had Legatus Equitius make discreet enquiries of your first spear, and you’ll be aware of the mutual esteem in which your centurions and their former commander hold each other. Not to mention the off-the-record comments I’ve had from Tribune Licinius after his debriefing of his message riders. It seems you were forced to take control of his cohort for fear that he would panic and scare his men into running?’
‘Governor, I must…’
‘No. I think not, Rutilius Scaurus. I knew you would try to protect that fool Furius, just as you did ten years ago when he panicked in battle against the Quadi, although for the life of me the reason for your doing so still eludes me.’
Scaurus squared his shoulders.
‘I will not condemn a fellow officer, sir, no matter how great the provocation.’
The governor snorted his amusement.
‘Perhaps you won’t, but your fellow officer seems to be carved from less noble material. He was in here not fifteen minutes ago protesting at your behaviour today in the most graphic terms. Apparently I would be well advised to have you relieved of command and sent back to Rome. It would also seem that his father wields great power in Rome… although I’d say he’s mistaking affluence for influence.’
He sniffed dismissively, taking a seat while Scaurus maintained his stiff posture. His next comment was made offhandedly, in an almost dismissive tone, but if the comment was made lightly enough, the words themselves rooted the younger man to the spot.
‘He was also spouting some nonsense about your cohort playing host to a fugitive from imperial justice… He showed me a piece of jewellery, a gold cloak pin with an inscription of some kind. “Irrefutable proof,” he said, but by then my patience with the man was exhausted so I threw him out. It is nonsense, I presume?’
The prefect raised an eyebrow with an apparent lack of concern that he was a long way from feeling.
‘Yes, Governor, Prefect Furius has taken it into his head that one of my officers is this man Valerius Aquila that went missing a few months ago.’
‘Whereas…?’
‘Whereas, Governor, as both Legatus Equitius and Tribune Licinius will stand witness, my man’s simply a patriotic son of Rome doing his duty for the empire, nothing more and nothing less. It seems that every young officer with dark hair and brown eyes on the frontier should now be considered as suspicious.’
Ulpius Marcellus gave him a hard stare, then nodded his agreement.