At that point, the sentries who had woken ran on to the road and began hurling their spears. Two legionaries were wounded, one fatally. It was too dangerous to risk having all the men march backwards – they risked breaking their ankles – so Caedicius had only the rearmost soldiers turn to face the enemy. The rest had to march with their shields over their heads for a short time, until the warriors had run out of missiles. Although the tribesmen continued to follow them, jokes about having shelter from the rain at last – from their scuta – broke out, and Tullus’ heart warmed. If men began to think that they might cheat death, their spirits soon rallied.
Some of the legionaries had been issued with bags of caltrops, taken from the stores in the camp. At Caedicius’ order, they began to scatter the spiked devices across the road. More jokes were made, this time about the holes they’d make in the warriors’ feet. Sure enough, there were howls of pain as the unsuspecting enemy walked into the trap. After a quick volley of javelins, the tribesmen fell back.
The Romans marched on for a time without further pursuit. The rain eased, as if it knew that it was no longer needed to obscure their escape. Tullus returned to his men. Caedicius sent orders ahead that if possible the pace should increase, but that the leading cohort was not to lose contact with the civilians and the wounded. Because of the non-combatants, however, there was little change in their speed thereafter. Tullus felt like a cripple trying to outrun a guard dog that has been released on to his trail a mile down the road. The light-armed, running tribesmen would catch them with ease.
He was pleased to be mistaken. A mile marker passed, and then another. By the third, he fell back from his position to confer with Caedicius. ‘Do you think they’re looting the camp, sir?’
‘A shrewd guess. Preferable to chasing after a thousand legionaries in the dark, eh? There’s plenty in Aliso to keep them busy. Wine, food, weapons. Soldiers’ savings, if they think to rip up the floorboards in the barracks.’
‘Gods, let them drink themselves stupid,’ said Tullus, thinking of the enormous barrels he’d seen in one of the storehouses, vessels bound with iron rings, almost as tall as two men, and as broad.
‘Some of them will do their best. What man wouldn’t, if he got the chance?’ Caedicius let out a wicked chuckle.
Their hopes were borne out in the hours that followed, as they marched five miles, and then seven, from Aliso. Tullus’ men, even the injured, managed to keep up with the rest. Dawn arrived, and a watery sun emerged from behind the clouds, lifting the general mood. The soldiers broke out whatever food they had, and shared it out. Sodden or not, the bread that Tullus was handed tasted divine. He washed it down with the neat wine that Fenestela had managed to procure.
HUUUUMMMMMMMM! HUUUUMMMMMMMM!
The outbreak of the barritus was far to their rear, yet it set Tullus’ skin to tingling. His men’s faces changed too. ‘Ignore it, my brothers,’ he cried. ‘Five miles or so, and we’ll reach the next camp. Reinforcements will be on their way from Vetera as soon as the cavalry get there. All we’ll have to do is hold on!’
‘ROMA!’ a man – Piso? – yelled. His call was like the spark that falls into dry summer undergrowth and starts a wild fire. ‘ROMA! ROMA! ROMA!’ Tullus’ soldiers roared. Their chant was taken up by Caedicius’ legionaries, drowning out the barritus.
Tullus’ ploy to rally his men’s spirits had worked, but it would only be a temporary measure. The enemy would catch them before the next camp. He had no idea when their small group of cavalry would reach Vetera – Caedicius had ordered that they ride off at daybreak – and how long after that a force would be despatched to their rescue. Even if they reached the marching camp, would they be able to defend it successfully? When Degmar asked if he should drop off the road and spy on the men following, Tullus agreed with alacrity. Knowing the enemy’s disposition might prove useful.
Next he went to talk to Caedicius, his worries gnawing at his guts like a dog at a juicy bone.
‘Six of my riders remain at the front of the column,’ Caedicius told him, grinning like a madman. ‘They have trumpets.’
Tullus shook his head, confused, a little frustrated. ‘What use are musical instruments, sir?’
Huuuummmmmmmm! Huuuummmmmmmm ! The sound was audible again, even though the legionaries were still chanting. Tullus glanced back along the road, and saw the first figures – berserkers, no doubt – loping ahead of a massed body of warriors. They were perhaps three-quarters of a mile away. Tullus felt more bitter than he had in the midst of the ambush, when his death had seemed inevitable. It had begun to seem possible that he might survive, that one day he might retrieve his legion’s eagle. That Arminius might come under his blade.
Vetera was perhaps thirty-five miles away, but it might as well have been Rome.
Stay calm, Tullus thought. He focused again on Caedicius, wondering how in Hades he managed it.
‘I’m holding back a rider until the enemy are nice and close,’ said Caedicius, indicating the two horsemen alongside their position. ‘When he reaches the trumpeters, they will sound’ – he winked, and added – ‘an advance, at double speed.’
‘Ha!’ cried Tullus with delight. ‘The Germans will think that it is troops marching from Vetera to our rescue.’
‘That’s what I am hoping. It’s a gamble, of course. If there are a few level-headed men among the enemy, who can steady their fellows, we’re done for,’ said Caedicius, looking sombre. ‘On the other hand, most of them could be pissed, thanks to the wine they found inside Aliso.’
Huuuummmmmmmm! Huuuummmmmmmm !
The legionaries’ singing faltered, and died away.
‘Keep marching, brothers,’ shouted Caedicius. ‘I won’t let them hit us from behind. Pass it on.’
The order went rolling up the column, and the soldiers maintained their steady pace.
By rights, Tullus was supposed to be with his men, further up the line, but his pride wouldn’t let him move. If there was to be a fight, he wanted to be part of it. All he’d done for the last seven days and more was run. Even if it meant his death, he was going to face the enemy.
It was as if Caedicius knew – he didn’t say a word.
Huuuummmmmmmm! Huuuummmmmmmm !
Tullus took a look. The berserkers were about half a mile back, and a good distance ahead of their comrades.
Caedicius barked an order at his last rider, who urged his horse forward.
Soon after, Degmar appeared out of the bushes to the side of the road, his chest heaving from the run. Several thousand warriors were following them, he reported, but a sizeable number did appear to be drunk. Clapping Degmar on the shoulder, Tullus relayed the good news to Caedicius, who halted the cohort at once.
‘About turn,’ Caedicius shouted. ‘Rear ten ranks, spread out, twenty wide, three deep. Off the road, if you have to. READY JAVELINS!’
Tullus counted the berserkers. There were a dozen, and his gut twisted. That many naked madmen would smash their formation like hammers striking a pane of glass. Their volley was vital, therefore. ‘Pilum,’ he ordered, raising his hand, and one was handed forward from a man in the rank behind.