The camp prefect had been waiting for the officers to arrive and now went to inform Quintatus. The latter pushed through the flaps that led to his private tent and his subordinates stood to attention.
‘At ease, gentlemen.’
The officers settled down again and there was a stillness as their commander gathered his thoughts. Cato thought for a moment that he saw a haunted look in the man’s face, but then Quintatus cleared his throat and addressed them calmly. ‘I’ll deal with the routine issues first. According to the day’s strength returns, over five hundred men failed to reach their units by dusk. Some may arrive at the camp during the night, but it’ll only be a handful. We lost two hundred the day before. Tomorrow I’d be surprised if we lost any fewer than a thousand men to straggling. Of those in camp, the Twentieth Legion has two thousand five hundred and four effectives, the Fourteenth one thousand one hundred and eighty. Most of the auxiliary units can scarcely muster more than half their men, and we have over six hundred wounded to convey in our wagons and carts. The only cavalry unit we have left that is ready for combat is Prefect Cato’s Second Thracian.’ He paused and pursed his lips as he watched the reaction of his officers. ‘The situation is critical, gentlemen. The army is starving and bone-weary. In another day or so it will be too exhausted to fight. We need to do something if the column is to survive. Any comments?’
There was a pause before Legate Valens spoke. He was sitting with one leg stretched out, splinted and bandaged after a fall from his horse. ‘Could we not attempt to hold out here until Glaber and the relief column turn up with supplies? Failing that, we move on a day’s march and then wait. If need be, we can cut a path through the enemy army to open the way for Glaber.’
Quintatus looked pained, then shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. There is not going to be any relief column, and no food. For the simple reason that Glaber never reached Deva.’
Around Cato the other officers stirred anxiously. Quintatus waited until they had settled again. ‘Glaber was ambushed and killed, along with most of his escort, a day’s march from here. The three men who survived rejoined the column just after dusk. It seems Glaber ran into another native army. Mostly cavalry. Which explains why the force following us has made no attempt to engage us in battle. They have been waiting for their friends to march round our flank and block our retreat. A very neatly worked trap indeed, I think you’ll agree. It seems that my choice is now to either march on another day and engage those who killed Glaber, or remain here and wait for them to come to us. Either way, we’ll be surrounded when the fighting starts.’
Valens took a quick breath. ‘I say we stay put. Let the men shelter from the cold and save their energy for battle. Besides, we’ll not lose any more to straggling that way.’
‘That’s true,’ Quintatus conceded, ‘but they will still be starving and we’ll be another fifteen miles further away from any of our fortresses on the provincial frontier. And the enemy may simply sit on their heels and wait to starve us into submission. I, for one, would prefer to try and cut our way through the blocking force and attempt to reach the frontier. But I am open to suggestions, if anyone has any to offer.’
He paused and looked round at his officers. There was no immediate reply, and then Tribune Livonius stood up. Cato and the others turned towards him, curious to see what wisdom a junior tribune might offer his vastly more experienced comrades.
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but another course of action does occur to me.’
‘I’m all ears, Tribune.’
‘Well, sir, as you know, I’ve been mapping the campaign as thoroughly as I can . . . well, that is, we have.’ He indicated Hieropates standing next to him, who bowed his head modestly as his master continued. ‘That entailed taking reports from patrols sent out to scout the terrain on either side of the line of march. Quite often such patrols covered a lot of ground, so we were able to extend the scope of the map accordingly, depending on their reports and-’
‘Look, this is all very fascinating, Tribune, but we’re in a fix. I need solutions, not presentations to the cartographers’ guild. What is your point?’
Livonius’s face flushed and he swallowed nervously before he continued. ‘I think I recognise this place, sir.’
‘You think? How?’
‘I went out with patrols from time to time, and on one occasion we came to a defile that led through some crags before opening out to the sea quite close to here. We made notes and came back the same way. There was no question of using the route, since it was impassable to wagons and any other wheeled traffic. But men and horses could negotiate it easily enough.’
Quintatus took a step closer to the tribune. ‘Where is this defile? Could you find it again?’
‘Oh yes, sir. It’s no more than a mile from here, between two of the mountains. I could point it out to you easily enough, given the moonlight.’
‘Later. Tell me what’s on the far side of it. Where does it lead?’
Livonius concentrated a moment. ‘There’s a valley between the defile and the route the army took on the way to Mona. No more than fifteen miles’ march. And from there, it’s mostly easy ground back to Mediolanum. Well, it was before the snow began to fall, at any rate.’
Quintatus had been listening intently. Now he thought through his options and turned to the rest of the officers. ‘We have three choices, then. We march and fight. Stay and fight. Or we try to escape the trap and head into the mountains.’
Valens shook his head. ‘I don’t like the sound of the last, sir. The going is bad enough here. It’ll be worse in the mountains. We’d be abandoning the shelter of the camp to take our chances on the word of this youngster. It’s too much of a risk.’
His superior gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘It’s a risk versus the certainty of destruction if we stay here and make a stand, or the likelihood of being annihilated if we march east and try to fight our way through before the main enemy force falls on our rear.’
‘There’s another problem, sir,’ said Cato. ‘Something we would have to consider.’
The legate rounded on him. ‘And that is?’
‘If this defile is not suitable for our wagons and carts, then what do we do with the wounded? We might be able to use the remaining mules and horses, but they’re in a poor state and would not get far with such a burden. Besides, there are too few of them. We might save the walking wounded, but there would still be hundreds who would have to be left behind. And we know what the Druids like to do with their Roman captives . . .’ He let the thought sink in so that none of the other officers could hide from the implications. ‘We can’t leave them behind alone, or at least alive.’
Macro’s eyes widened. ‘Now hang on, sir. What are you saying? We top our lads and do a runner?’
Cato took a deep breath. ‘If we want to save the rest of the column, then what choice do we have? If we stay and try and fight it out, the wounded will die anyway. At least we can give them the chance to make their own decision when the time comes. And for those too badly injured to help themselves, the surgeons can do it as painlessly as possible.’
‘By the gods, sir. That’s no way to treat our comrades. These are men we have fought with-’
‘Prefect Cato is right,’ Quintatus intervened. ‘If we leave the camp, then we have to leave behind those too badly injured to walk.’
Valens coloured as he leaned forward and tapped the thigh of his splinted leg. ‘That’s easy for you to say, sir. I hope you’ll explain your thinking to all the wounded.’