‘What about the other valleys? Is it possible we can use either of them to work round this position?’
Hieropates shook his head. ‘Not unless you want to lose two days, Prefect. I rode a few miles up each as the army was making camp. One turns to the north and bends back almost in the direction of Mediolanum. The other leads south towards Ordovician territory. But the country there was slightly more open.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘We could use that to bypass the gorge.’
‘Good.’ Cado decided. ‘If we can get round it, Quintatus can always send a small force back to clear the gorge from the other side and open our lines of communication back to Mediolanum by the most direct route. Of course, it’ll mean a delay while the army turns around and takes the southern route tomorrow.’
Livonius clicked his tongue. ‘The legate’s not going to be happy, sir.’
‘I can’t help that. Put the map away, Hieropates.’
As the slave carefully rolled it up and returned it to its leather case, Cato turned to take another look at the gorge. The enemy’s barricade did not look formidable, nor did the body of warriors behind it. It was the men occupying the impregnable crags who presented the real strength of the position. He hissed in frustration and mentally composed the report he would make to the legate advising him to turn the column around and march back the way they had come. The rank and file would feel bitterly resentful about retracing their steps through the mud. But then soldiers were wont to grumble even when things were going well. It was Quintatus who presented the real challenge. He had wanted to make a quick strike into the heart of enemy territory. Instead, the army had crawled forward at a slow pace, and now would have to turn around. The legate was sure to be furious, but Cato could see no way of forcing the gorge without very heavy casualties.
He was about to give Thraxis the details for a verbal report when there was a commotion a short distance back down the track, and over the heads of the men and beasts of the army who had been held up by the action in the gorge appeared Quintatus’s personal standard and that of the Fourteenth Legion.
‘It’s the legate,’ said Livonius. ‘Come forward to see for himself, no doubt.’
‘Then he’s saved me the trouble of finding him.’
They watched as the men on the track, cajoled by their centurions and optios, struggled aside to make way for the army’s commander and his senior officers. As soon as he caught sight of Cato, the legate reined in beside him and glared down.
‘Why has the column stopped? What are those men doing formed up?’
Cato pointed towards the gorge. ‘It’s the enemy, sir.’
Quintatus sat up in his saddle and stared briefly at the barricade and the warriors beyond. ‘That rabble? Just sweep them aside and get the column moving.’
‘We’ve made an attack already, sir. But they’ve got men up there on the crags, ready to bombard us with rocks. I lost a centurion and several legionaries. The position’s too strong to force without risking further losses. I suggest we fall back and find another way round, sir.’
‘What? Are you mad? Are you willing to let a handful of barbarians deflect an entire Roman army? Have you lost your senses? If we retreat from that motley bunch of barbarians, the enemy will ridicule us. Is that what you want, Prefect?’
‘Of course not, sir,’ Cato replied at once. He accepted that the legate had a point. If the army was forced to turn aside, the Deceanglians would score a moral victory over Rome, and the Druids would make sure that news of it spread rapidly across the island. But if confronting the tribesmen resulted in the loss of many Roman lives, they would be able to boast about the handful of their comrades who had defied a vastly greater force. Either way, the enemy would have cause to celebrate their humiliation of Legate Quintatus and his men.
He thought quickly. ‘We could bring forward some of the bolt-throwers and a catapult, sir. Give them a taste of our artillery and I’m sure they’ll turn tail and abandon the gorge.’
Quintatus considered the idea and shook his head. ‘The artillery is at the back of the baggage train, miles away. We couldn’t get it up here before the end of the day. We can’t afford to waste time. I want that gorge dealt with at once. That’s your job, Prefect Cato. You are in command of the vanguard. Your men are supposed to clear the way ahead for the rest of the army. See to it, at once.’
For a moment Cato was still, but inside his mind was seething with objections to the legate’s words. There was no contradicting a direct order, however, and he bowed his head in acknowledgement before turning away and striding back down towards the legionaries, who had re-formed a hundred paces away from the barricade.
‘Officers! On me!’
By the time the last of them had joined the small gathering grouped around Cato, he had already formed a plan in his mind. It was simple enough, since there was no alternative, and dangerous for precisely the same reason. He did not like the thought of losing any more of his men. He looked round at his subordinates and noted their grim expressions as the rain streaked down the polished metal of their helmets and dripped on to their shoulders and chests. They were good soldiers and too valuable to be wasted on another futile attempt to rush the barricade, he decided. He cleared his throat and spat to one side.
‘The legate wants us to kick the enemy out of the gorge without any more delay. I know that means braving those bastards on top of the crags again, and we’re likely to lose many more men before we can get over the barricade and tear into the enemy. Until we can force the barricade, we’ll be sitting ducks. Our best bet is to soften ’em up with javelins before forming the leading centuries into testudos as they enter the gorge.’
‘Testudos?’ Centurion Festinus scratched his nose. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but that’s no bloody good. The men’s shields aren’t going to keep those rocks out. They’ll be knocking us down like skittles.’
‘Perhaps, but we’ll stand a better chance than if we go into the attack with nothing over our heads,’ Cato responded. ‘But let’s do this by the manual. Centurion Festinus, I want you to form the First Century into a skirmish line. The Second is to take all available javelins and feed them forward. Have the men throw them in volleys, and take as much time as you can in expending them.’
‘Sir? I thought we were supposed to do this quickly.’
‘As quickly as we can, but with as few casualties as possible. That’s the way I want it, Centurion. So you take your time with the javelins, and then the same again with forming the testudos and going into the attack. With luck, that should draw the enemy’s attention, as well as buying enough time for some of the Blood Crows to scale the crags and deal with the men above the gorge.’ Cato turned to the auxiliary officers. ‘Harpex, your squadron is going to climb the left side of the valley. Corvinus, your lads are going to the right, with me. Tell your men to leave their spears. They’ll need to sling their shields for the climb and use swords when we reach the top. Once you see us there, Festinus, you can begin the attack. By the time the first testudo reaches the barricade, I hope we’ll be giving the enemy a taste of their own medicine. See how they like rocks raining down on their bloody heads!’
The others growled with satisfaction at the idea. All except Harpex, who was staring up at the crags. ‘Going to be quite a climb, sir. At least two hundred feet.’
‘More than that, I think,’ Cato replied. ‘Be a good chance for them to stop standing around and getting cold in this rain. A little exercise will soon warm them up. All right, gentlemen. We know what we’ve got to do. Let’s make this work and let’s do it well. The legate’s watching us and the rest of the army is depending on us, and we’re not going to let them down. Brief your men and get them into position as soon as you can.’
He exchanged a salute with his officers before they turned to stride back to their units. Then he looked up at the crags again and swallowed nervously. They rose from the valley floor like giant decayed teeth. More like three hundred feet than two, he decided. Every inch of the way the rain would make the going slippery and perilous. And when they reached the top, exhausted by the climb, the enemy would be waiting for them, determined to hold the crags and send their bodies hurtling through the rain down on to the heads of their legionary comrades far below.