Cato swallowed. ‘Of course, sir,’ he replied calmly. ‘That goes without saying. I am, and always will be, a soldier.’
‘Good. Then you will appreciate the role I have assigned you. Your column will not be tasked with guarding the army’s baggage train, like last time. It’s time to put your talents to better use. I have decided to place you at the other end of the line of march. Your two cohorts will form the vanguard of the army. You will be my spearhead when we thrust into the heart of these mountains and fall upon the Deceanglian wretches. You will have the honour of making the first strike for Rome.’
‘Why me, sir?’
Quintatus wagged a finger at him. ‘Not because I wish to endanger you, if that’s what you are thinking. No, it’s more to do with the reputation that the Blood Crows have earned for themselves since they began serving in these lands. The sight of their banner is enough to strike fear into the enemy. When they see that red crow fluttering in the breeze, they will know that Rome intends to show them no mercy. I want you to make good on that reputation, Prefect Cato. You and your men are going to create a trail of blood and destruction such that when this campaign is over, there won’t be a tribe in the whole island that will dare to defy us ever again.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘The vanguard?’ Decurion Miro sighed. ‘Why us? Haven’t we been in action enough in recent months?’
Centurion Crispus raised an eyebrow. ‘You join the army, you do as you’re told and that’s the end of it. There is no why, just orders.’
Miro opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and then puffed his cheeks as his shoulders slumped. Watching him, Cato could well understand the decurion’s reaction. The previous year the two cohorts had been sent to an outpost deep in the heart of the mountains, and the unit had been in action almost ever since. The enemy had only eased their attacks in the last months to take in the harvest and store their crops for the coming winter. Now that was over, they intended to resume their war against Rome in earnest. Cato had come to understand that Miro was the kind of man who foresaw only the dangers and difficulties in the tasks he was required to carry out. But once in action, his training and instincts took over and served him well. It was no doubt why he had been promoted to decurion in the first place, but also why he had never been entrusted with any further promotion. He was too open about his anxieties, and that kind of sentiment was easily communicated to those he commanded, affecting their confidence and morale.
There was a brief silence in Cato’s tent as his subordinates took in the implications of their assigned position in the army’s line of advance. For his part, Cato was relieved not to have to trudge at the rear again in the muddy wake of the units marching ahead of him. Moreover, he would not have to contend with the constant need to cajole the baggage train drivers to keep closed up. Of course, there would be different strains to cope with. Those at the front of the column had to have their wits about them in order to avoid ambush. Moreover, they were tasked with scouting ahead to find the best route forward for the rest of the army, following the advice of the traders who Quintatus had questioned regarding the best route to take through the mountains towards the island of Mona. It was also the vanguard’s duty to locate the most suitable ground for the construction of a marching camp at the end of the day. It would be demanding work, but it was more engaging than the drudgery of guarding the baggage train.
Cato cleared his throat. He felt tired. The hour was late and the men had only just finished their main meal of the day and retired to their tents for the night. Miro’s mounted squadrons had settled their horses and tethered them to the lines, and the musty odour of their sweat and dung carried into the tent. The army would march at dawn, and it was important that Crispus and Miro understood the roles their men would play in the days ahead.
‘Apart from being the eyes and ears of the army, Quintatus wants us to be its cutting edge too,’ said Cato. ‘We’re to go in hard whenever and wherever we encounter the enemy. He wants to cut a swathe of destruction through the lands of the Deceanglians, right up to the island of Mona.’
‘But that’s the Druids’ lair,’ Miro interrupted.
Cato quelled his irritation and nodded. ‘I am well aware of that, Decurion. That’s one of the main reasons why the legate is launching this campaign. If we can break the spirit of the tribesmen, and crush the Druid cult, then who will there be to unite the tribes against us in future? You know what the Celts are like. They’re never happier than when they’re knocking their heads together. That’s always been their weakness. But give them a figurehead to rally behind and they will fight like furies. Now that Caratacus is out of the picture, that leaves the Druids as the only force able to unify the tribes against us. Without them, we’ll be able to contain the enemy and finally have the chance to bring peace and order to the new province. The gods know it’s taken long enough already. Once we have that, then there can be discharges for the veterans, and some of us will be able to get home on leave.’
Crispus mused. ‘Been nearly ten years since I last saw my family, back in Lutetia. I have a woman there, and two daughters. Doubt any of them will recognise me any more.’
Cato felt dread at such a prospect. To be so long from home. Not to see his son grow from an infant into a boy. To have never been known by Lucius, and to be forgotten by Julia. That was worst of all. The thought made him more determined than ever to fully play his part in ending the conflict in Britannia. Every enemy he cut down would bring him one step closer to home, and the embrace of his wife and child.
‘But the Druids,’ Miro continued. ‘You know what they’re like. They’re demons in human form. And they have magic. I’ve heard how they can summon the powers of their gods to strike us down with storms and monsters. And now Quintatus wants to lead us into their most sacred realm, where they will be at their most dangerous. I’m telling you, it’s a mistake.’
‘Magic? Fuck that.’ Crispus sniffed with contempt. ‘Hasn’t done them much good as far as I can see. Either their gods are sleeping on the job, or they’re a bunch of milk-livered pansies not fit to kiss the feet of Jupiter and Mars.’
Miro was not persuaded. ‘I’ve seen what they’re capable of. And I’ve seen the effect they have on their followers. They turn ’em into frenzied beasts.’
Cato had had enough. ‘They’re men, just like us. They can be just as easily killed. I’ve done that myself. I can assure you they’re no more dangerous than any other barbarian. So I’ll have no more of that talk, Decurion. Understand?’
Miro clicked his tongue, then nodded. ‘If you say so, sir. I hope you’re right.’
Cato ignored the last remark as he turned his attention to more immediate concerns. ‘Since we’ll be leading the march, there will be no place for baggage in our column. Our carts will travel with the main baggage train. And I don’t want our men laden down with yokes. I’ve managed to get the supplies tribune to allocate us some extra carts for our kit. So we’ll march ready for action. That’ll please the men.’ He smiled, and Crispus responded in kind. The marching yokes were the bane of every infantryman’s life on campaign. Laden down with kit and rations, they weighed half as much as the men carrying them, and as a consequence were roundly cursed.
‘Just armour, shield and javelin will do for the legionaries,’ Cato continued. ‘Same for my foot soldiers. The cavalry will leave their feed bags on the same carts, Miro. Along with their kit. We have to be light on our feet, and not so exhausted that we can’t put up a good fight, or mount a vigorous pursuit. And we shall want prisoners, when we can take them. I must provide headquarters with good intelligence about the lie of the land ahead of us, and the men we are up against. Given that the legate wants to push forward as far as Mona, we’ll need to know precisely what we’re facing at every step.’