‘Maybe they’re just scared witless by the thought of taking on our boys in a stand-up fight.’
Cato gave him a look. ‘I don’t think for an instant that is a serious suggestion.’
‘If not that, sir, then what?’
Cato shrugged. ‘We’ll find out soon enough, I fear.’
He waited until the last of the stragglers still walking had disappeared over the brow of the next rise, and then dismissed Macro and his cohort. He allowed them a half-mile head start before the Blood Crows followed on. They approached a man hunched in his cloak beside the route. He had abandoned his marching yoke and his helmet, but still wore the heavy lorica armour favoured by the legionaries, and Cato drew aside, waving his men on.
‘Soldier!’
There was no response from the man, who just stared blankly out along the shingle at the bodies and the remains of the ships that had been wrecked there.
‘On your feet!’ Cato said loudly. When there was no response, he slipped down from his saddle and stood directly in front of the man, blocking his line of sight. The legionary blinked and then looked at Cato with a surprised expression. He was an older man, with thick dark hair and a straggly beard. There was grey at his temples, crow’s feet around his eyes and white scar tissue across his brow and on to his cheek. A veteran, then. Someone who had served many years on the frontiers of the empire and taken part in numerous battles and skirmishes in the name of Rome. A man who should know better than to give up and accept death at the hands of his enemies without a murmur.
As soon as he saw that he was confronted by an officer, the man struggled up and stood at attention, swaying slightly with fatigue.
‘That’s better,’ Cato said mildly. ‘What’s your name and unit?’
The soldier frowned, as if struggling to recall, then snapped, ‘Marcus Murenus, Second Century, Eighth Cohort, Fourteenth Legion, sir!’
‘Well then, Marcus Murenus, you have lost contact with the rest of Legate Valens’s lads, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, sir . . . I- I don’t know how. I was with them, marching. Then . . . then here just now. What’s happened?’
‘You’re tired, Murenus, that’s all.’
‘Yes, sir. So tired. So hungry.’
‘As are we all. But there’ll be plenty to eat soon. You’ve heard, I’m sure, that Legate Quintatus has sent men ahead to organise a convoy. It’ll be with us any day. Why, it may well be in camp this very evening. Think about that!’
He saw a desperate gleam in Murenus’s eyes, and the legionary nodded.
‘So come on. Get back on the road and rejoin your unit, eh? Let’s go.’ He gave the man a gentle push.
Murenus lurched forward a step and stopped. ‘I . . . I don’t think I can, sir.’
‘Nonsense. Just put one foot in front of the other.’ Cato hesitated a moment and then reached into his side bag and fished for one of the two slim strips of salted meat he had left. He held it out to the legionary. ‘Here. Eat this and give yourself a little strength.’
The man tried not to take the meat too eagerly. ‘The gods bless you, sir.’
Cato felt slightly embarrassed by the man’s evident gratitude and just nodded in acknowledgment. ‘I’ll see you in the camp later on then, Murenus. Remember, just keep moving and don’t stop.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cato smiled encouragingly and then drew himself back into the saddle, his stomach churning at the thought of food. He clicked his tongue and urged his horse into a trot, riding along the line to resume his place at the head of the Blood Crows. When he glanced back a little later, he was pleased to see that the legionary was walking at a slow but steady pace as he chewed on the end of the strip of meat.
They passed several other men sitting or lying in the snow, quite evidently alive, but Cato realised he could not stop for them all without putting himself, and therefore his men, at risk, and he forced himself to ignore their fate. As they reached the crest, he paused to look back. In the distance, the vanguard of the enemy army appeared, spilling through the gap where the Roman rearguard had stood earlier. His gaze shifted to Murenus, and he saw the legionary turn to look, then shuffle to a halt. For a moment he was still, and then he slowly slumped to his knees and sat hunched over. A heavy sadness settled in Cato’s heart at the sight. Then he steeled himself, turned away and continued forward, to catch up with Macro’s cohort a short distance ahead of him.
As he entered the camp at dusk, Cato was instantly aware of a change in the mood of the men. There were still hundreds of stragglers stretching out behind the rearguard, and most did their best to pick up the pace as the last line of defence between them and the enemy marched by. The work on the ditch and rampart was not as far advanced as it should have been. The soldiers were working lethargically, despite being driven by their officers, while others were slowly erecting their tents. Several lame mules and horses were being butchered outside the headquarters tents, and even the blood was being collected to thicken the thin gruel being prepared for the senior officers.
An optio guided the rearguard to their tent lines, and while Macro’s men downed their yokes and retrieved their tents from their carts, the Blood Crows shared out the last of the remaining oats and then fed and watered their horses. There was a listlessness in the beasts as well, Cato noted, as he watched them standing where they were tethered, heads weighed down by hunger and weariness.
‘This can’t go on much longer,’ Macro observed quietly. ‘Within a day, or two at the most, the column is going to start falling to pieces. Even our lads will be losing the will to go on, whatever I threaten ’em with.’
‘If that happens, we need to be ready for it.’
Macro turned to face him directly. ‘What does that mean?’
Cato glanced round to make sure that they were not overheard. ‘It means that the rearguard needs to stay together and fight our way out, by ourselves if need be. If every man looks to his own safety, then we’re all dead. We’ll have to keep discipline tight for as long as possible.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.’
‘I know you will.’ Cato punched him gently on the shoulder. ‘I will be counting on you.’
Macro rubbed his nose. ‘We’ve watched each other’s backs plenty of times before and been through every shit storm the gods have thrown at us. What makes you think a little bit of snow and a surly mob of Druids is going to cause us any particular trouble?’
Cato laughed. ‘That’s the Macro spirit!’
Macro grimaced. ‘What else am I supposed to say? That we just give up and die? I just hope that Quintatus has enough backbone to see us through this. Him and the rest of the senior officers. Be interesting to hear what they make of things at headquarters tonight.’
Cato silently surveyed the camp before he replied. ‘Yes, it will.’
Once both cohorts were bedded down for the night and the watches set and passwords given, the two officers made their way to headquarters. There was none of the customary sound of small talk and laughter from the tents they passed. Instead, a resigned silence hung over the camp.
‘At least it’s cleared up for a while,’ Cato commented, indicating the sky. Only a few shreds of cloud lingered against the stars, and a full moon hung low over the mountains, bathing the snowy landscape with a silvery glow. ‘The other side won’t be able to give us any nasty surprises during the night.’
Macro looked in the direction of the enemy and saw the dull orange smear along the ridge to the west of the camp. ‘Like you said, they don’t need to come and get us. Just wait around until hunger does the job for them. They don’t have the balls to stand up to us in a fair fight, the bastards.’
Cato considered pointing out that if the positions were reversed, he would adopt exactly the same strategy, now that he had worked out the enemy’s intentions, but he was in no mood to debate the issue. He was too tired. At least the legate’s bodyguard was on form, snapping neatly to attention as they approached the entrance to the largest tent. They were amongst the first officers to arrive for the briefing and stood towards the front, close to the brazier that provided the light and heat inside the tent. The rest filed in in ones and twos, the last a while after the change of watch was sounded. Cato studied their expressions and demeanour and saw the same lethargy he had observed amongst the ranks earlier.