‘Don’t thank me until the job is done, young man. The rest of you, brief your officers and prepare your men for the attack. I suggest you feed ’em at dawn, and let ’em rest as much as they can before then. You’ll have your orders as soon they’re ready.’
‘What about me?’ Otho asked quietly.
Horatius regarded him for an instant before he shrugged. ‘Do as you will, sir. Join us, or stay here in the camp with the unit left on watch, and your wife. It’s your decision.’
‘I see.’
‘That’s all. I’ll be at headquarters if I’m needed.’ Horatius turned to the Brigantian. ‘You come with me. I need to know the layout of the fort, and anything else that might cause us a nasty surprise.’
He strode off and Vellocatus hurried to catch up with the new commander. The rest stood and watched in an uncomfortable silence, refusing to turn and meet the tribune’s eyes. Otho cleared his throat and made to speak. Then thought better of it and turned away and slowly paced off into the night, in Horatius’s footsteps, as he made for the tent he shared with his wife.
‘Poor bastard,’ said Macro. ‘He’ll never live this down.’
‘Maybe.’ Cato scratched his jaw. ‘Or he may yet be proved right. It could all go wrong, and we’d be better off having retreated like he wants.’
Macro sucked his teeth and then shrugged. ‘Look on the bright side.’
‘The bright side?’
‘Sure.’ Macro nodded. ‘If the tribune is proved right and it all goes tits up, he’s not going to be around to say I told you so.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
By the time the Roman soldiers began to enter the settlement most of the inhabitants had already fled. Once word reached them that Venutius had seized power many had feared that the Romans in the nearby camp would intervene. Hurriedly packing their few valuables into bundles, they herded their families out of the settlement and made for the safety of the surrounding hills from where they could watch events unfold. Only a few still remained, silently hiding behind closed doors and praying to their gods that they were overlooked or ignored.
Prefect Horatius had left the mounted contingent of his cohort to protect the camp, under the command of Tribune Otho, while he led the rest of the soldiers out to attack the fort. He rode at the head of his troops, sitting stiff-backed in his saddle. Ahead of him a screen of legionaries warily entered the settlement, watching for signs of ambush as they pushed forward along the narrow lanes towards the track leading up to the fort. The sun had only just risen and shadows lurked between the huts and pens of the natives. Horatius halted the main column outside the settlement and summoned the unit commanders. It was still cool enough to warrant wearing a cloak, but Cato had to suppress a shudder as he craned his neck to look up the slope towards the palisade far above.
‘There’s only one way to do this,’ Horatius began. ‘And that’s to attack the main gate.’
A party of men had been sent out during the night to fell a suitable tree for use as a ram and now two sections of legionaries were carrying the heavy burden towards the settlement.
‘Centurion Statillus, your cohort will launch the first assault up the track. A covering century in the vanguard. Then the ram, and the rest of your men.’
Statillus nodded.
‘You will, of course, ensure that the men carrying the ram are screened by their comrades. I don’t want any unnecessary casualties. Climb the track as quick as you can and batter through the main gate. Your cohort should be sufficient to take the fort, but Centurion Acer’s men will be on hand if you need reinforcing. Unfortunately we cannot deploy our ballistas to cover your attack because the angle of the slope is too great.’
‘A pity, that,’ Macro commented. ‘The natives really don’t like being on the receiving end of our artillery.’
‘It can’t be helped. We’ll just have to take the fort head on. Roman courage and Roman steel will be enough to crush Venutius and his supporters.’ Horatius turned to Cato. ‘The only remaining task will be to ensure that no one escapes. If Vellocatus can get out over the wall, you can be sure others will give it a try. We don’t want the ringleaders to escape, or Caratacus. That’s your responsibility, Prefect Cato. The Blood Crows are to surround the hill and round up anyone who gets down the slope. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Then everyone knows what they have to do. We’ll commence the attack as soon as the Seventh Cohort is formed up at the foot of the hill.’ He glanced round and concluded confidently, ‘Good luck, gentlemen. Do your job and this will all be over by noon. Dismissed.’
The other officers saluted and turned away to rejoin their commands. Cato walked with Macro as they paced down the side of the column of legionaries. Macro’s cohort was at the end, just before the contingent of auxiliary infantry from Horatius’s unit. The Blood Crows stood by their horses at the very rear of the column.
‘What do you think?’ Cato asked.
‘About?’
‘The prefect’s plan?’
Macro pursed his lips. ‘It’s simple enough.’
‘That’s the problem.’
Macro sighed. ‘You know, sometimes simple is best.’
‘True,’ Cato conceded. ‘But not in this case. A frontal assault is going to be costly. There’s no avoiding heavy losses if we go directly for the main gate.’ He paused and pointed up at the outlying bastion round which the track curved in its final approach to the ditch and gate of the fort. Already there were scores of warriors lining the palisade, watching the approach of the Roman forces. ‘That’s what we should go for first, before we bring the ram up.’
Macro stared up at the formidable earthwork. ‘That would take too long. Horatius is right, we need to get this over with as soon as possible, even if it means we have to accept a few extra casualties.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Hills. . Taking ’em seems to be our speciality these days.’
Cato was still for a moment as he envisaged the perils of the coming assault. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have a repeat of that bloodbath we got ourselves into with the Silurians.’
‘Amen to that, brother.’
They resumed their march down the column until they reached the standard at the head of Macro’s cohort. Cato held out his hand and they clasped arms.
‘Watch yourself, Macro. If you get sent up the hill then it’ll be sticky.’
‘If I get sent up the hill, Horatius will have fucked it up spectacularly. That ain’t going to happen. Just make sure you let none of those bastards slip away.’
‘There’s no way Caratacus is going to do that again. I swear it, by all the gods.’
‘I wouldn’t tempt them if I were you. The gods like to have their fun with the pair of us. That much I’ve learned.’
Cato laughed. ‘Very well. I’ll see you later, in the fort.’
They released their grip and Cato continued down the column towards the waiting horsemen. By the time he had swung himself up into the saddle and given the command to mount he could see the glint of the early morning sun on the helmets of the Seventh Cohort as they emerged from the settlement and formed up in their centuries on the track leading up the slope. Above them, in the outer bastion, thin trails of smoke were rising into the clear sky as the defenders made their preparations to drive off the coming assault.
‘Decurion Miro!’
‘Sir!’
Cato pointed to the hill. ‘I want our men positioned a short distance out from the bottom of the slope. Two men every fifty paces should cover it. I’ll keep one squadron in reserve to the right of the settlement. We’re not to let one man get past us. And we want prisoners. Only kill if we have to. We must take Caratacus alive.’ Cato wheeled his horse round and raised his voice so that all of his men would hear. ‘You all know what Caratacus looks like. He won’t escape us this time. If you see him, I promise a hundred denariians for the man who captures him. And ten for every other prisoner.’