‘Lomus! Leave ’em. Optio!’
‘Sir?’ Pandarus reined in and turned to his superior.
‘Take the men and drive the rest of the natives off. But that’s all. No pursuit beyond a hundred paces from the wagons. I don’t want them blundering into any trap. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir!’
Pandarus called his men to form on him and trotted towards the three wagons at the front of the convoy, cutting down any tribesmen who tried to stand their ground. Meanwhile Macro turned to the tribune and exchanged a quick salute.
The tribune offered a relieved smile as he stepped forward. ‘And to whom do I owe my thanks for the timely intervention?’
‘Centurion Lucius Cornelius Macro, First Century, Fourth Cohort of the Fourteenth, sir.’
‘Well met, Centurion. I am Tribune Caius Porcinus Glaber. Not attached to any legion, as it happens. Not yet, at least. And who are those men with you? They do not look like any legionaries I have ever encountered. Unless the Fourteenth has decided to go native.’
Macro chuckled. ‘They’re Blood Crows, sir. That’s to say, Second Thracian Cavalry, but known to most as the Blood Crows.’
The tribune arched an eyebrow. ‘Sounds like they’ve earned themselves something of a fierce reputation.’
‘Ask the enemy, sir. There’s not a barbarian in these mountains that has not heard of the Blood Crows, and who doesn’t fear them.’
‘I see.’ The tribune scrutinised him closely before he continued. ‘And what is a legionary centurion doing in command of a handful of auxiliary cavalrymen? If you hadn’t ridden to our rescue, I might think you were deserters. I’d be grateful if you’d explain yourself, Centurion Macro.’
‘I have important intelligence for Legate Quintatus, sir. These men are from the garrison of the fort I command.’
The tribune looked round to see the last of the enemy disappearing into the trees, and nodded with approval. ‘Then I congratulate you on the quality of your men. The Blood Crows are a credit to you.’
‘The cohort is commanded by Prefect Cato, sir. I was left in command of the fort after a wound stopped me marching with him.’ Macro touched his leg gently.
‘Prefect Cato . . .’ Glaber’s brow creased into a frown.
‘We’d better get the convoy moving again, sir. Where is the commander of the escort?’
‘Over there. Poor bastard.’ The tribune gestured towards a corpse face down in the mud a short distance away. His crest had been trodden into the ground and was barely visible.
Macro turned his gaze towards the optio, still standing with the standard at the side of the cart. ‘Then that makes you the new escort commander. Gather your men, see to the wounded and get the wagons ready to move. We need to find an outpost or a patrol before that lot get their balls back and have another crack. Carry on.’
The optio planted the standard firmly in the ground beside the cart before he strode away to round up the survivors of the escort.
‘Do you really think they’ll come back?’ asked Glaber.
Macro puffed his cheeks. ‘I hope not. But with the Druids stirring the shit up, the locals have something of a fanatical edge to them, and they’re hard to predict. Best we don’t stick around and see what happens, eh?’
‘Fair enough.’ Glaber chuckled.
Macro glanced up and down the supply convoy and noted that several of the mules had been injured and were braying in agony as they struggled in their traces. A handful had been killed outright and had collapsed on to the muddy track. The wagon drivers and their assistants had also suffered losses in the attack, and the dazed survivors were quickly set to work by the optio to remove the stricken animals from their harness.
‘We’re going to have to abandon at least one of the wagons,’ Macro decided. ‘And some of the supplies. Of course, we could use a couple of the mules hitched to your cart, sir.’
Glaber stiffened slightly. ‘I think not. As you said, we’re in a hurry. Best to just crack on and not waste time moving my kit to one of the wagons. You’ll need all the space for whatever supplies you can carry from the wagon you leave.’
Macro saw that he would not gain much headway against the tribune and changed tack. ‘Mind my asking why you were here with the convoy, sir? I know that the Fourteenth and the Twentieth already have senior tribunes, so you ain’t a replacement.’
Glaber was quiet for a moment before he responded. ‘Fair enough question, and as I have already put you on the spot, I suppose I owe you an answer. Very well. I am the chief of staff to the new governor of Britannia, Aulus Didius Gallus. I have been sent to inform Legate Quintatus that the governor will reach the province to take up his post before the end of the year. I’m supposed to be liaising with the legate to discuss the handover. However, I had not expected to have to track him down in the depths of these bloody mountains.’
‘Gallus?’ Macro had heard the name. ‘Wasn’t he governor in Sicily a few years back?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Nice quiet spot, I believe. He’s going to find it quite different here.’
Glaber’s brow creased into a frown. ‘He has since been decorated by the emperor following a successful campaign in Bosporus, and after that he campaigned against a brigand army in the mountains of North Africa. I think you will find that he is well placed to take command here in Britannia. The barbarians in these climes are hardly going to present much of a challenge.’
‘No?’ Macro could not help a weary smile. ‘They’ve been keeping our legions at full stretch for the best part of ten years now, sir. And this little tussle you just had is hardly an isolated event. I hope the new governor doesn’t think he’s going to breeze in and sort it all out in a few short years.’
‘Gallus knows what he’s doing, Centurion. And I suspect that he is not going to be too impressed by one of his legates rushing headlong through these mountains to grab some glory for himself while he can.’
Macro quickly reappraised his impression of the tribune. Glaber was no one’s fool and had guessed the real motive behind Quintatus’s decision to launch this campaign. Still, the centurion had learned enough from Cato to be aware of the need to discuss his superiors in as tactful a manner as he could manage. ‘Legate Quintatus is a good enough commander, sir. He saw an opportunity to crush the Druids while the enemy appeared weak and divided, and he took it. But he’s advancing into a trap, sir. That’s what I’ve come to warn him about.’
He briefly filled the tribune in on the details that had been beaten out of the prisoner back at the fort. Glaber listened intently.
‘Then there’s no time to waste. I would suggest that you and your men ride ahead and reach the army as soon as you can, but I dare say this route is being closely watched by the enemy and you’d stand a better chance of getting through if you remained with the convoy.’
‘I agree, sir.’
‘Then we’d better get moving as soon as the wagons are ready. I’ll need a driver for my cart. The previous post-holder thought he’d run for it the moment the enemy pitched up. He was the first man to be cut down.’ Glaber looked up at the leaden sky. ‘I’d say we’re due some rain before night falls.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Frankly, I’d rather be sitting in my study, in front of the fire, back in Rome.’
‘I can imagine.’
They exchanged rueful smiles before Glaber wagged a finger. ‘I remember now. You did say Prefect Cato, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Marcus Quintus Cato, the chap that married the daughter of Senator Sempronius a year or so ago? Julia, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you know Prefect Cato?’
‘Yes, sir. He is a fine officer, and a good man. I’m proud to call him a friend.’
The tribune sucked in a breath and his expression changed, becoming more solemn. ‘Then I have some bad news for you, and the prefect, I’m afraid . . .’
‘Bad news?’ Macro felt a prickle of anxiety ripple across his scalp. He dared not even guess at the nature of the tidings carried by the tribune.