The Thracian sighed. ‘Well I wish we weren’t, sir.’
Cato slipped the thick cloth back over his mouth and nose and paused a moment to catch his breath before continuing. His military cloak whipped around him and he felt his helmet shift on his head as the wind caught the plume. He twitched it straight and set himself to climb one step at a time. According to the merchant who had offered his services to Legate Quintatus, the Deceanglian capital was no more than five miles distant, and would be clearly visible from the top of the mountain. Looking up, Cato doubted it. The sky was leaden, and darker patches of cloud were scudding overhead, threatening more rain on top of the freezing squalls. Nevertheless, it was his duty as commander of the army’s vanguard to scout ahead of the main column and take every opportunity to report the lie of the land, as well as any sightings of the enemy.
There had been precious few of the latter since the incident at the gorge several days earlier. Aside from small parties of riders keeping watch on the Roman advance, the tribesmen and their Druid leaders had refused to give battle or attempt any further delaying actions. Even so, there had been plenty of reminders of their presence: tracks blocked by fallen trees; piles of rocks dislodged from cliffs and crags either side of choke points; reports of harassing raids on the army’s thinly guarded lines of communication. With more men, Quintatus might have been able to establish a chain of well-garrisoned forts to cover the supply route back to Mediolanum. As it was, there were scant few outposts or cavalry patrols, and they were prone to sudden attacks. These were more of a nuisance than a genuine threat, and Cato could not help wondering why the enemy was not making greater efforts to strike at the perennial weak spot of a campaigning army.
A sudden cry interrupted his thoughts, and he stopped and looked back down the slope. One of his men had tumbled off the path and was lying prone beside a large rock that had broken his fall. Two of his comrades were hurrying to his side as Cato turned to Thraxis.
‘Keep the men moving. I’ll catch you up.’
Thraxis climbed on as Cato made his way back to the fallen man. He exchanged a brief nod with Livonius as the tribune and his secretary toiled up the hill behind the auxiliaries.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked as he drew up, breathing heavily.
One of the Blood Crows glanced round. ‘It’s Borminus, sir. Don’t look good.’
‘Let me see.’
They made space for the prefect, and Cato squatted beside the auxiliary. He had already been turned on to his back, and his eyes were fluttering as his mouth opened and closed, struggling for breath. The rest of his body lay inert. Reaching down, Cato’s cold fingers fumbled for the ties under the soldier’s chin, and he undid the leather thongs and eased the helmet off as gently as he could. Borminus’s head lolled back loosely and his lips worked feverishly as if he was gasping for breath, but there was no telltale trail of steam from his mouth.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ one of his comrades asked anxiously.
The stricken soldier’s eyes rolled up as his jaw jerked and then fell slack. Cato hesitated, then leaned forward and turned his ear to the man’s lips, but there was no sound of breath audible above the wind whining over the small cluster of men, nor any feeling of warmth. He eased himself back up and felt for a pulse on the man’s neck, but there was nothing.
‘He’s gone.’
‘Gone? How, sir? He just tripped and fell. He can’t be dead.’
‘Well the bugger ain’t faking it to get off duties,’ the other auxiliary chipped in.
Cato glanced towards the rock and saw that part of it protruded like the edge of a broad axe. He eased the body on to its side and examined the man. Just above the line of the neckcloth he saw a livid bruise on the skin. He clicked his tongue.
‘Broken neck. Must have struck the rock there. There’s nothing that could have been done to save him. Nothing.’
The three of them were still for a moment, buffeted by the wind, before the first man spoke again. ‘Poor bloody sod . . . What a way to go. Borminus was a good man. One of the best.’
There was a pause before his comrade added, ‘Maybe, but he farted in his sleep and cheated at dice, not to mention messing with another man’s wife.’
Cato looked at him and puffed his cheeks. ‘That’s not much of a eulogy.’
The man shrugged. ‘That’s how he was, sir.’
‘Fair enough.’ Cato rose, turning his back into the shrill wind. ‘You two get him back to his horse, then stay with the rest of the column.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the soldiers chorused, before one of them muttered, ‘Great, thanks, Borminus.’
Cato left them to it and set off after the rest of the squadron, increasing his pace to get past them and resume his place at the head of the winding column. Thraxis had almost reached the summit and was bent over as he struggled to remain on his feet. The rain had strengthened from the slight drizzle that had plagued them since they had begun to climb and now lashed the bedraggled line of men panting under the burden of their armour, shields and spears. Only the effort of the climb was providing them with any semblance of warmth, and Cato could feel the numbness in his fingers as he grasped for purchase on the slippery rocks.
Finally, his limbs trembling from the cold and his exertions, he reached the top of the mountain, stooping into the icy wind that howled across the summit. He rested his hands on his knees and breathed deeply as the other men slowly joined him and stood with their backs to the wind, their shields giving them some shelter from the driving rain. One of them stumbled and his legs gave way beneath him. As he tried to rise, he staggered and swayed.
Thraxis shook his head. ‘Bastard’s drunk!’
‘What in Hades is this?’ Cato shouted angrily as he approached the auxiliary. He was about to berate the soldier when he realised it was the terrible cold, not drink, that had numbed the man’s mind and body. He held the soldier steady and shook him until some spark of life glinted in the man’s eyes. ‘Concentrate! Keep your body moving. Stamp your feet and work your hands together. Understand?’
The auxiliary nodded dumbly.
‘I can’t hear you!’ Cato shouted. ‘Do you understand me, Trooper?’
‘Yes . . . Yes, sir.’
‘Then do as you are ordered.’
The auxiliary began to march on the spot and rested his spear against his shoulder as he rubbed his hands together.
‘Keep it going,’ Cato ordered and turned to the rest of the men. ‘You too! Unless you want to freeze to death.’
He moved away and carefully made his way across the uneven plateau of rocks and tussocks of grass. On the far side, he could see down the slope, but a skein of grey mist and rain obscured the view a few hundred feet away. Cato swore under his breath. There was no way of verifying the merchant’s intelligence in these conditions. He might wait for the gale to pass, but the men had already suffered enough, and he had no wish to lose another of them to a careless tumble down the side of the mountain.
Thraxis came across to join him, teeth chattering as he addressed his superior. ‘Sir, with respect, we’re going to die up here soon. Some of the lads are in a bad way.’
‘I know that. But just a little longer.’ Cato glanced up at the sky and thought he discerned a lighter patch of cloud amongst those rolling over the mountains. ‘Look there. The worst of it will pass soon.’
Thraxis squinted as he attempted to pick out the area Cato had indicated. ‘Can’t see anything.’
‘Get back to the others. Keep the men moving. It’ll help them stay warm.’
‘Warm?’ Thraxis arched an eyebrow. ‘You really think so, sir?’
‘That’s enough. Get back to the others and ask Tribune Livonius and his servant to join me. Go.’
As Thraxis trudged away, grumbling, Cato turned his attention back to the terrain at the foot of the mountain. There was definitely more light in the sky, he decided. Sure enough, he began to pick out shapes in the mizzle: the pointed caps of pine trees, and outcrops of rock. The wind and rain began to die down a little as the sky lightened. All the time Cato could make out more detail. Then, at last, far below, beside a meandering river, he saw the vague outline of a rampart stretching around hundreds of huts. A handful of tiny flickers of light indicated the presence of fires. But it was too far away to make out any other signs of life.