Quintatus looked doubtful as he considered the man’s report. ‘How many men exactly?’
The trooper hesitated. ‘The optio told me to say at least ten thousand, sir.’
‘And what did you think?’
‘I ain’t good at numbers, sir. But I’d say there’s at least as many of the bastards as we’ve got. Maybe more.’
‘Sounds just like Centurion Macro said, sir,’ said Cato. ‘In which case, there is every reason to accept the rest of the intelligence he brought you.’
The legate took a deep breath and gritted his teeth as he considered the situation. Then he let out an explosive sigh and turned to his staff officers. ‘Silanus! Call off the attack. Post a cohort to guard our side of the tidal crossing. Then I want five cohorts of the Fourteenth, together with Iberian archers, up to cover the mouth of that valley. At the double. We could do with some cavalry as well.’
Silanus bowed his head as Cato cleared his throat. ‘I’ve given orders for the Blood Crows to prepare for action, sir.’
Quintatus stared hard at him. ‘It seems you are a step ahead of me, Prefect.’
Cato kept quiet.
‘Very well, send your men ahead to cover the lads of the Fourteenth. But you stay here. I’ll need to hold a full briefing for all unit commanders, once I’ve considered our options.’
‘What about the artillery, sir?’ asked Silanus. ‘Shall I have the carts brought up and the bolt-throwers broken down?’
‘No. If the Druids see that, they’ll know for sure we plan a retreat. Besides, if they try to break out from Mona, then we can cut ’em down the moment they venture out of their earthworks.’ Quintatus took one last, longing look at the far shore and turned away. ‘All senior officers to headquarters at once!’
By the time Cato joined the others in the largest of the headquarters tents, the rest of the patrols had returned with news of more sightings of the enemy. Small mounted bands for the most part, scouting ahead and along the flanks of the main force. The patrols were sent to join the rest of the force sent to block the mouth of the valley. Fortunately, it was narrow, and steep rocky slopes and crags looming up on either side restricted the frontage. The legionaries had carried some field fortifications with them, and baskets of iron caltrops to swiftly scatter before their lines to break up any charges by the rapidly approaching native army. Despite the continued presence of the artillery batteries and the troops along the shore of the mainland, the Druids and their followers had already guessed the significance of the cancellation of the attack and the movement of men towards the mountains. The sound of cheering carried across the waters of the channel, and clusters of figures lined the high ground behind the defences as they looked for the first sign of their allies’ arrival to close the trap on the Roman army.
The mood in the tent was grim, and the only warmth came from a brazier at one end. Constant footfall and the heat of bodies had melted the snow and ice and rendered the ground muddy and slick, and the officers waited for the legate to appear from his private quarters, where he had been conferring with the camp prefect and his closest staff officers. Cato crossed to the tent flap and ducked his head outside. The scattered breaks in the cloud that had flitted across the sea and mountains at noon had given way to an uninterrupted overcast that was the colour of grimy linen. More snow was on the way, then, he mused. It would hinder the enemy as much as the Roman army, but the critical difference was that the legionaries and auxiliaries were a long way from their base and their supply line had been severed, whereas the enemy were on their own soil and could draw on the supplies of grain and meat that had been stockpiled by the natives of these mountains.
‘So what do you think?’
Cato turned to see Glaber standing at his shoulder. ‘I think it’s going to snow again.’
The tribune flashed a smile. ‘Very funny. I mean what do you think he’ll do?’
Cato let the flap slip back into place. ‘We’ll know soon enough.’
‘You’re very reticent about offering an opinion all of a sudden.’
‘The legate has as much information as he needs. The decision is his, not mine. I’m not going to second-guess him. Especially not in front of the man who represents his incoming superior.’
Glaber stroked the stubble on his chin. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not a spy, and I’m not gathering information to dish the dirt on anyone. I’m just an officer like everyone else in this tent, and I’m in the same predicament. I’m just curious to hear your professional opinion on our situation. That’s all.’
‘My professional opinion is that the legate is in command and will take the course of action he decides is most prudent. It is my further opinion that officers below the rank of legate should avoid being embroiled in politics as far as they possibly can, if they know what’s good for them.’ Cato paused, then added, ‘Speaking from personal experience.’
‘Oh?’ Glaber cocked his head to one side. ‘Care to elaborate?’
‘No.’ Cato stepped round the tribune. ‘Excuse me.’
He made his way back over to Macro, stifling a yawn. His eyes ached and the thick atmosphere inside the tent was making him feel tired and a little nauseous. Macro folded his thick arms and ground his teeth.
‘By the time he’s finished conferring with his cronies, it’ll be bloody Saturnalia at this rate.’
Before Cato could reply, Silanus appeared through the flaps leading to the legate’s private tent and stood to one side as he announced, ‘Commanding officer present!’
At once all conversation ceased and the officers stood to attention as Quintatus entered, followed by a handful of tribunes and Legate Valens. Quintatus waited until everyone was still and then nodded to the camp prefect.
‘At ease!’
Allowing a brief pause to gather his officers’ attention, Quintatus began his briefing. ‘As you know, a large enemy force has appeared to our rear. No doubt that’s why none of our supply convoys have reached us in the past few days. And that’ll mean we have to manage the supplies we have in camp very carefully. But the immediate danger is that we are caught between the new force and the enemy opposing us on Mona. At the moment we’ve blocked their advance at the mouth of the valley. But we can be sure they will find a way round during the night, or tomorrow morning. At the same time, we can reckon on the Druids and their friends pulling up their obstacles in preparation for attacking us from Mona.
‘Given the new situation, we have little time to decide on the best course of action. We could try to throw our full weight across the channel and take the island. Then we could easily hold the enemy’s main force off for as long as we needed.’ He smiled. ‘It would be pleasing to see them put up with what our lads have endured the last few days. The trouble is, any attempt to force a crossing would be costly, and if the Druids attempt a scorched-earth policy, then we’d be bottled up on Mona without anything to eat over the winter. Not an appealing prospect, gentlemen. So I’ve decided, very reluctantly, to withdraw to Mediolanum.’
The officers stirred a little uneasily, and Cato could well understand why. The army had suffered hundreds of casualties to get to this point, and just when it seemed that the Druids were about to be eliminated once and for all, they would escape destruction.
‘I have no choice,’ Quintatus continued. ‘And believe me, I know that I will have to face the consequences when word of this reaches Rome. But that can’t be helped. If we tried to take the island we would most likely fail and be crushed between the two enemy forces. If Mona cannot be taken, then it is my duty to try and save the army.’ The legate stepped aside and gestured to one of his tribunes. ‘Livonius, the map, if you please.’
The tribune and his scribe, Hieropates, brought forward a wooden frame upon which hung the map they had been drafting each day since the army had begun the campaign. When it was in place, Livonius stood to one side as the legate continued his briefing, indicating the most recent additions to the map.