Cato spotted Macro and nodded a greeting as he stepped into place beside him. He gestured towards his friend’s leg. ‘How has it been?’
Macro had resumed command of the Fourth Cohort and had marched at its head when they had relieved the men already guarding the valley as night had fallen.
‘Still a bit stiff, but I’ll manage.’
‘No surprises there. You always do. Tough as a horse, you are.’
‘An old horse, maybe. But I’m not ready for the knacker’s yard. Not by a long shot.’
‘Delighted to hear it.’ Cato smiled for a moment and then lowered his voice. ‘I have a mount set aside for you, in case you need it.’
Macro pursed his lips. ‘Thank you. Let’s hope I won’t, eh?’
As they were speaking, Valens looked searchingly towards the scatter of distant fires spread across the valley floor over a mile away that marked the position of the enemy’s army. Then he returned his attention to his officers.
‘It’s time to begin the withdrawal. Prefect Parminius and his archers will go first. Then the first of the legionary cohorts, allowing for a quarter of a mile between units. The Fourth Cohort will be the last of the infantry to leave, once they have carried out their final task.’
Macro could not help a glance towards the carts laden with corpses that stood a short distance away. He was not looking forward to that. But even in death his fallen comrades might yet be of help to those that lived, and he steeled himself for the job at hand.
‘The final element of Quintatus’s plan is that the Blood Crows will remain here to keep the illusion going that we are defending the line in force. Prefect Cato, you and your men will pull out only when the enemy rumble our little deception. Not before. I want you to buy us as much time as possible to rejoin the main column.’
Cato nodded firmly. ‘You can depend on the Blood Crows, sir.’
‘I dare say that was why the legate chose you to command the rearguard, Cato. The same reason why you were given the vanguard during the advance. First into the fight, and last out. You’re earning quite a reputation, eh?’
‘Maybe, sir. But the trick of it will be living long enough to enjoy having a reputation in the first place.’
The comment drew some welcome laughter from the other officers, and the tension over their difficult duty eased a fraction. Then Cato sensed a blur of motion pass his eye and felt something brush his cheek. Glancing up, he saw the swirling veil of snowflakes settling over the mountains. The others were looking at it too, and there was a brief silence before Valens coughed.
‘You have your orders, gentlemen. Prefect Parminius, begin pulling your men out the moment it is safe to do so. Keep your heads, keep your men quiet, and may Fortuna march at your sides. Dismissed!’
The snowfall increased and began to blot out the surrounding terrain, and the light from the enemy’s fires diminished into faint blooms of red. As soon as he was sure that the withdrawal could not be observed, Valens gave the order to the archers, and Parminius led his men down towards the coastal route being pursued by the rest of the army. When they were almost out of sight, the First Cohort of the legion followed, the men wrapped up in their cloaks as they hoisted their yokes on to their shoulders and trudged off quietly through the steady sweep of snow layering the rocks, trees and ground. The legate mounted his horse and rode off with the last of the detachment, leaving the rearguard of the Fourth Cohort and the Blood Crows behind.
As the dim figures of the legionaries dissolved into the gloom, Cato turned to Macro with a grim expression. ‘Time to get started.’
‘Can’t say I’m terribly keen on this,’ said Macro. ‘It’s not the kind of send-off the poor lads expected when they joined up.’
‘They’re dead, Macro. They won’t be aware of any indignity. Besides, if it were me, and I knew that I could still help my mates, then it would please me.’
Macro eyed him doubtfully. ‘I suppose.’
‘Besides, it fooled us when the enemy did something similar earlier in the campaign. To work, then. I’ll get the Thracians forward and let the other side know we’re still here. The Fourth can start work on moving the bodies. No time to waste, Macro. The sooner it’s done, the better. It could stop snowing, and the last thing we want is the enemy to see what we’re up to.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Macro nodded and turned away to gather his men for the job. Half remained under arms, standing to along the thin line of defences facing the valley. The others approached the wagons and began to unload the corpses. The bodies were taken over to the campfires and posed around them, propped up seated or standing as if they were taking advantage of the warmth of the fires. Once they were in position, Macro ordered that the fires be built up so that they would burn until long after the living Romans had left the scene. When the snow did stop, the enemy would see the bodies huddled around the fires clearly enough, and would no doubt wait until dawn, when the field defences would be visible, before preparing to attack. By which time the Romans would have stolen several miles’ march on them. More importantly, they would not be caught between the Druids on Mona and their allies debouching from the mountains.
Cato led his men forward, stopping a short distance from where the ground had been sown with caltrops. The fresh snow had covered the telltale indents where the iron spikes had been placed, and now the unblemished expanse of white neatly concealed the danger lurking beneath, waiting to cripple any man or horse unfortunate enough to step on one of the vicious devices.
‘Miro!’
‘Yes, sir?’
Cato hurriedly considered how to position the hundred mounted men he still had under his command. ‘I want a squadron posted on each flank, with two to patrol the ground between and the last one held in reserve. Don’t go beyond this point, and make sure none of the lads gets it into his head to go tearing after any enemy pickets that venture too close. We can’t afford to get drawn into a fight.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As Cato waited for his orders to be carried out, he watched for the enemy. Occasionally he caught a distant glimpse of a figure as one of their lookouts edged closer to observe the Romans, but they would always draw back out of sight. At length he was satisfied that the enemy was unlikely to mount any attacks, and he moved back to find Macro. He found him overseeing the placing of the last bodies around a fire. It was not an easy task. Some corpses had stiffened in postures that lent themselves to being set up hunched beside a fire. Others had not, and had to be propped in standing positions or laid down on the ground, their capes swaddled about them as if to preserve their body heat. It was an eerie sight. Their faces, some mutilated by their wounds, were lit by the flames, their jaws slack and their eyes blank and unseeing. In life they would have sat round just such a fire sharing wineskins, jokes and comradeship. Now their still, silent bodies seemed to mock the idea of the vibrant existence they had once shared in the army. All their memories, experiences and ambitions – gone.
Macro draped a cloak over the shoulders of the last corpse and stood up to examine his handiwork. Then he patted the head gently and turned away with a sad expression, catching sight of Cato.
‘It’s done, sir. They’re all in position.’
‘Good job, Macro.’
‘Can’t say I am happy about it, even if I understand why it has to be done. These lads deserve a proper funeral.’
‘They’ll be properly honoured when we reach Deva. I swear it.’
Macro chuckled. ‘You mean if we reach Deva?’
Cato cocked his head. ‘What’s this, Macro? Are you losing heart so soon? You haven’t even started to lay into the enemy. Must be a sign of your years.’
Macro frowned. ‘On that subject, with the deepest of respect, sir, I would kindly ask you to just fuck off out of it.’