The centurion gave an order to his men, and they paused to form a testudo before plodding slowly towards the defences, where the men inside the formations began to work on clearing the stakes away as best they could as the missiles clattered around them, splintering shields, glancing off armour and striking down any of their comrades who were unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of those weapons that found their way through a gap in the shields.
Macro turned his gaze aside and looked towards the army’s camp, knowing that Cato was most likely in there somewhere. He felt a sickening dread at the prospect of breaking the news about Julia’s death, and made himself resolve to do that the moment he had warned Legate Quintatus about the enemy’s scheme to trap the Roman army.
He dismissed the men who had ridden all the way from the fort with him and sent them to find the Blood Crows’ tent lines in the camp. Then, together with Tribune Glaber, he turned the corner of the fort and rode down the side in the direction of the artillery battery. A screen of legionaries surrounded the legate and his headquarters party, and as the two men approached, an optio stepped into their path and raised his hand.
‘Halt and state your business, sir!’
Macro reined in a short distance away. ‘Centurion Lucius Cornelius Macro, Fourth Cohort, Fourteenth Legion. I have to see Legate Quintatus at once.’
The optio leaned to one side. ‘And who is the other officer?’
Glaber trotted up alongside Macro and looked down at the man. ‘Senior Tribune Gaius Porcinus Glaber, envoy of Governor Aulus Didius Gallus. I also need to speak to the legate.’ He paused and bowed his head towards Macro. ‘Though I’d say the centurion’s case is more pressing. Let us pass.’
The optio stood his ground. ‘Sorry, sir. Standing orders. No one is to interrupt the legate while he is conducting the battle. Not without the say-so of his camp prefect, Silanus.’
‘It’s vital that I speak to him,’ Macro growled. ‘Now get out of my way!’
As the centurion clicked his tongue and urged his mount forward, the optio quickly gestured to the men of his section and they hurried forward to block him, their javelin tips lowered.
‘This is bloody absurd!’ Macro thundered. ‘When I’m done speaking with the legate, I’m going to have your balls for breakfast.’
‘That’s enough of this nonsense!’ Glaber intervened sharply. ‘Optio, send one of your men for the camp prefect at once. Tell him, in my name, that we demand to see the legate. I want permission to pass, or Silanus himself down here at once. Move!’
The optio stepped back a pace, flustered, then turned and shouted an order to one of his men. The legionary left his shield and javelin in the charge of one of his mates and ran off towards the group of horsemen a hundred yards away on a rise that overlooked the battlefield. Macro turned to the tribune and nodded his thanks.
Out on the causeway, the leading century had stalled. Covered in clinging mud and still being battered by missiles, the testudo was starting to fall apart. A long string of casualties was struggling back to the mainland, nursing their injuries as they backed away behind their shields. Some helped their less able comrades, while a handful just lay in the mud, too weak to move. Another signal sounded and a fresh century started forward as the first began to fall back, losing more casualties on the way. They edged aside into the shallows as the new formation struggled past and moved closer to the obstacles they were tasked with clearing, immediately coming under the same deluge of missiles that their predecessors had endured. They stopped and hurriedly formed a testudo before proceeding.
‘The lads are getting a hammering today,’ Macro said quietly.
Glaber had also been following proceedings and clicked his tongue. ‘It does seem to be a profligate waste of men for such limited results. They can’t have removed more than ten of those stakes. With what’s left, you would need to work through more than a few legions to clear the passage at this rate, I should think.’
They watched a little longer, until the legionary who had gone to find Silanus returned and breathlessly reported to his optio. The latter turned to his squad and barked an order. ‘Let them pass!’
The soldiers stepped aside and Macro and Glaber spurred their mounts on, cantering up to the small cluster of officers and the headquarters staff gathered about Legate Quintatus. At the sound of their approach, Quintatus turned his attention away from the battlefield and glared at Macro and Glaber as they dismounted. He cleared his throat.
‘This had better be important, gentlemen . . .’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
‘A trap, you say?’ Quintatus frowned. He had listened to Macro’s report without interruption as they stood a short distance apart from the other officers, at the legate’s insistence. ‘Perhaps you are mistaken.’
‘I don’t think so, sir. We interrogated the prisoner very thoroughly. I would place good money on him telling us the truth. And then there’s the strong force we saw marching north, towards your line of communication with Mediolanum.’
‘You may have overestimated their strength, Centurion.’
‘No, sir. The leader of the patrol who spotted the enemy is a good man. A reliable soldier. I trust his judgement.’
‘Patrol? Then you didn’t see the enemy with your own eyes?’
‘No, sir,’ Macro admitted. ‘The presence of the enemy was reported to me by Optio Pandarus. He had gone forward to observe a village and saw the enemy column. He had estimated their strength when he encountered and captured one of their scouts. He took the man prisoner and returned to the fort to make his report. I grasped the significance of his sighting and had one of my best men interrogate the prisoner for the full story.’
‘Just a moment, Centurion. Your optio was the only witness to the sighting of the column?’
‘Yes, sir. But that’s not the point.’
‘Oh, I think it is. The man was probably tired and may have misjudged the size of the enemy force for any number of reasons.’
‘But what about the prisoner’s story, sir? There were witnesses enough to that.’
‘And how many of you speak the prisoner’s tongue?’
Macro was starting to get a sinking feeling about the legate’s cross-examination of his account and had to compose himself as he continued. ‘I used an auxiliary from the Eighth Illyrian to translate for us, sir. He has some mastery over the local dialects.’
‘An auxiliary. I see . . .’
‘I saw no reason to doubt that he was doing his job as accurately as possible, sir.’
Quintatus sniffed. ‘I’m sure. That’s just one reason why you are a centurion and not a legate. Has it occurred to you that your prisoner might well have been spinning you a story? I can think of nothing the enemy would like better than for you to believe a pack of lies and come racing up here to warn me that the natives are setting a trap for me, and then for me to retreat out of these accursed mountains just as I am on the point of achieving a final victory over the Druid scum and their followers.’ He paused briefly. ‘Can you not see that, Centurion?’