‘Those wagons you brought in yesterday were the first to reach the army for two days. With this snow, I expect the planned supply convoys are being held up. For that reason, or something more worrying.’
‘Such as?’
Cato hesitated before he replied. ‘What if Macro’s information is right? What if the reason we are not being supplied is because the enemy have cut us off? Either way, we’re going to be on half-rations before we ever get on to the island, and then we’ll have to fight our way across Mona step by step. Who knows how long that will take?’
Glaber considered this briefly. ‘Are you saying the army is in danger?’
Cato gave a short, dry laugh. ‘Tribune, the army is always in danger. The trick of it is to make sure that you are ready to respond to any potential peril that fate throws in your path. As the saying goes: proper planning and preparation prevent piss-poor performance. Our problem is that the legate’s original plan has been scuppered by the storm. That’s why we’re stuck with trying to force a passage across the causeway. Nor are we adequately provisioned to prepare for a siege. So on current form, I’d say that leaves us with the prospect of piss-poor performance. At the very least. My greater worry is that we’re in danger of being caught out on a limb, and Quintatus is refusing to accept that.’
‘Do you really think the enemy is planning to trap us here?’
‘We’ll know soon enough. I sent those patrols out, like I said. Before dawn so that they didn’t attract too much attention. If the enemy are lurking close by, we’ll find them.’
Macro regarded him with concern. The last he had seen of Cato before finding a billet with the Fourteenth Legion the previous night was his friend breaking down in tears. Now it seemed that Cato had permitted himself only a scant few hours of sorrow before taking up his duties again. It was doubtful that he had slept, and more than likely that he had not eaten, neither of which was advisable if there was a day’s soldiering to be done.
‘You should get some rest, sir, while you wait for the patrols to come back. I’ll wake you myself if there’s any news.’
A slight frown creased Cato’s brow. ‘Certainly not. There’s no need for that. I don’t need any rest, thank you, Centurion Macro.’
Macro was about to reply, wounded by the cutting formality. But then he thought better of it. Cato might be his friend, almost a brother or son to him, but he was also a senior officer and had forcefully reminded him of the fact in a way that brooked no informality. He swallowed before he replied tersely, ‘Yes, sir.’
There was an awkward silence as they all regarded the action taking place towards the shore of Mona. A screen of legionaries was doing its best to block the enemy missiles as their colleagues wrestled with the obstacles driven into the seabed. As the three men watched, one of the soldiers was struck down by an arrow piercing his neck. He stumbled back and then fell to his knees in the mud as blood coursed over his shoulder and down his arm. He swayed a moment, dizzy from loss of blood, and then folded on to his side and lay in the mud, writhing fitfully. The leading century’s optio detailed two men to help him, and they dragged the wounded legionary back to the safety of the dressing station on the near shore before rejoining their comrades.
A voice called out from below. ‘Where’s Prefect Cato?’
‘Up there, sir. In the tower.’
Moments later, boots sounded on the floor below, the ladder creaked and Decurion Miro climbed on to the platform to join the others. He hurried across to Cato and saluted.
‘Sir, beg to report, but we’ve had word from one of the patrols. They’ve sighted an enemy force not far from the camp.’
The other officers exchanged anxious looks before Cato responded. ‘How far from the camp?’
‘No more than five miles away, to the east, right across our supply route. In the vale, there, sir.’ Miro indicated the gap between two hills not far from the camp.
‘What’s their strength?’
‘The optio reported seeing thousands of them, sir.’
Cato turned to Macro and raised an eyebrow. ‘It seems your information was right.’
‘Not that you doubted me, of course.’
‘Have I ever?’ He turned back to Miro. ‘Where is the optio now?’
‘Still with his patrol, sir. He’s keeping tabs on the enemy. He sent one of his men back with the information. He’s waiting below. Shall I send him on to headquarters, sir?’
Cato considered for a moment. ‘I’ll go with him. You have the rest of the cohort called to arms and formed up outside the camp. Dismissed.’
As Miro hurried away, Cato turned to Macro and Glaber. ‘Will you join me? I’d appreciate someone witnessing this.’
Macro was surprised. ‘Why? What difference can it make?’
‘No, he’s right,’ said Glaber. ‘If we get out of this, Quintatus may well cast about for a scapegoat. You think ahead, sir. That’s a good quality.’
‘It’s a survival strategy. I’ve enough experience of the senior ranks to know how this works. Let’s go. You going to be able to keep up, Macro?’
The latter grinned. ‘Just try and stop me, sir.’
They descended the tower and emerged in its shadow, where a trooper stood to attention as he saw them.
‘Phalko, isn’t it?’ said Cato.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Follow us, Phalko.’
They marched out of the gate, across the boarded ditch and made for the headquarters party close to the main artillery battery. Macro walked stiffly, pushing himself to keep up and grimacing with the effort of fighting the shooting pain in his leg. They were passed through the outer cordon and approached Quintatus and his staff officers as they watched the latest attempt to breach the lines of defence blocking the tidal crossing to Mona. Cato brushed aside the camp prefect and made his way towards the legate, turning to address Phalko at his side.
‘Just repeat what the optio told you to say. And if Quintatus asks you any questions, make sure you give him as much detail as you can recall, particularly on the number of the enemy. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Quintatus noticed their approach out of the corner of his eye and half turned towards Cato. ‘Prefect Cato, what is it?’
Cato did not hesitate before replying. ‘We’ve been set a trap, sir. Centurion Macro’s information is correct. One of my patrols just reported that they have sighted the enemy.’
‘One of your patrols? What patrols? I never gave any such order.’
‘The men were sent out on my authority, sir.’
‘Your authority?’ Quintatus’s nostrils flared. ‘And unless something has happened that has escaped my notice, have you replaced me as commander of this army, Prefect Cato?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then how is it that you decide to order your men to go looking for the enemy without clearing it with headquarters first?’
Cato knew better than to enter into such an altercation. Besides, there was no time for it. He spoke forcefully, and loud enough for many of the staff officers to hear. ‘Sir, we can deal with the breach of protocol later. The important issue is that the enemy are close at hand and the army is in danger. This man,’ he indicated Phalko, ‘has ridden from the patrol. Tell the legate what you saw, Trooper.’
Phalko stood stiffly as he made his report. ‘We’d ridden perhaps five miles from the camp, sir. We were in this valley and it got a bit misty, like. That’s when the optio orders us up a hill to get an overview of the surrounding terrain. We climbed above the mist but still couldn’t see much, apart from the tops of hills. The sun broke through the clouds for a bit and the mist began to thin out down in the valley. And that’s when we saw ’em, sir. The enemy. Coming out of the mist. A cavalry screen first, then the head of the main column. They was still a few miles off, so the optio says we should wait until we can get a better idea of their strength before we turn back to report. But they kept coming, sir. By the thousand. That’s when the optio sends me back to raise the alarm.’