‘I’m up, I’m up,’ he growled. Bogu nodded and pulled his head out of Mutt’s tent. ‘Tell the men to break camp,’ Mutt called after him.
‘They’re already doing it, sir,’ came the reply.
Mutt sank back onto the ground with a little groan. Just a moment or two more rest, he thought. Gods, but he wished that he hadn’t had that last drink. It was always the one that seemed to guarantee the headache, the cold sweats and the pounding heart. It was his own fault, he conceded. He should have stopped after a few. That was the rub, though. It was so hard to refuse another drink once that familiar glow had taken hold of his body.
Heaving himself up, he stripped off his tunic and shoved his way out of the tent, stark naked. Icy air caressed his body. He grabbed for the hide bucket that he’d left there for just this purpose. Lifting it high, Mutt emptied the contents — river water — over his head. Ice that had formed on top of the water shattered on his head, and a torrent of freezing liquid followed. The shock and pain was exquisite.
‘Baal Hammon’s balls!’ he shouted.
‘Have a few too many?’
He spun to find Hanno watching him wryly. ‘I might have, sir, yes,’ he mumbled.
‘Any trouble?’
He could tell Hanno about the wrestling match when the opportunity arose, Mutt decided. ‘No, sir.’
‘Good. The sentries reported nothing eventful either.’ Hanno was already turning away. ‘Best get your kit on. We’re moving out soon.’
Suddenly aware that everyone’s eyes were on him and what passed for his manhood, Mutt made a show of stretching his arms wide as if he had just climbed out of a comfortable bed. When things are not normal, he remembered his father saying, act as if they are. After a casual yawn, he re-entered his tent. There was laughter, but not much, and it was stifled. He could live with that.
Once Mutt had got moving, he began to feel more normal. Drinking a skin full of spring water helped as well. He was grateful to feel better, because that meant the impending march would not be a total hell.
Aios and Devorix came out of the village to bid them farewell. Both were clad in fur cloaks. Their reddened eyes and tousled hair was the only evidence of the previous night’s activities.
‘My father asks that you speak with Hannibal of our friendship,’ said Aios. ‘We plan to meet you with our warriors at the walls of Victumulae.’
‘I will tell him,’ Hanno promised. ‘And you have my thanks for your hospitality.’
‘And mine,’ added Mutt in Latin. He saw the astonishment in Hanno’s face. Aios too looked surprised. ‘Your second-in-command is a man of many abilities,’ observed Aios.
‘So I am learning,’ replied Hanno with a long look at Mutt.
‘May we all meet again,’ said Aios.
Clasping hands with each other, they took their leave. Hanno ordered the men to move out.
They took off on a track that traced its way northwards across the fields. Aios had told them it led to Victumulae. Scores of tribesmen waved them off, and Mutt’s spearmen raised a cheer of thanks, then whistled and hurled catcalls at the handful of women who stood waving from the ramparts. Mutt wished that he had rolled one of them in the hay after all. Take your chances when they present themselves, he thought ruefully.
Hanno eyed Mutt sidelong. ‘Quite the dark horse, aren’t you?’
‘We all have a past, sir.’
‘Aye, that’s true.’ Hanno’s face turned pensive.
Mutt didn’t pry. If Hanno wanted to tell him, he would. And if he didn’t, that was fine as well. ‘With your permission, sir, I’ll fall back to the middle of the column.’
Deep in thought, Hanno just nodded.
By mid-afternoon, Mutt’s hangover had worn off. His men had resumed their usual banter, and the wounded were bearing up to the march. Even Ithobaal wasn’t complaining. Best of all, the clouds had lifted, and there had even been a glimpse of the sun from time to time. The general mood was good. Soon after, Mutt was grateful for the high morale. The scouts, who had been sent out much further than previously, brought back word of a Roman patrol setting up camp a mile to their north.
Hanno called Mutt to his side upon hearing the news; together, they grilled the pair of scouts again.
‘How many do you think there were?’ demanded Hanno.
‘Hard to say exactly, sir,’ answered the first, a grey-haired veteran whom Mutt trusted. ‘The treeline ended more than two hundred paces from their defensive ditch. But there were definitely less of them than there are of us.’
The second scout muttered in agreement.
‘I wonder what they’re doing here,’ said Hanno. ‘Maybe they’re looking for more Cenomani villages to punish.’
‘They’re not expecting any of our forces, that’s for sure, sir,’ said Mutt. ‘Otherwise there’d be far more of them.’
Hanno’s reply was a feral grin.
‘And they’ve halted for the day?’ Mutt asked the veteran.
‘Looks like it, sir. They’re still digging the ditch around their camp.’
‘At least half of them will have a spade in their hands, sir. A good time to hit them, if you had a mind to it,’ said Mutt.
‘I do.’ Hanno’s eyes were glinting.
Mutt felt the old familiar feeling of fear and excitement that presaged a fight. He let a small smile tug its way onto his face. ‘We’d best get ready then, sir.’
An hour later, Mutt eyed his surroundings and scowled. The forest that they’d been marching through, and in which the Cenomani village had been, had come to an end for a while at least, and the muddy track that they had followed led straight out of the trees, onto reasonably flat ground. Other than a few bushes, there was no cover between them and the line of the Roman rampart, some two hundred and fifty paces away.
‘Their commander has chosen the site for his camp well, sir,’ said Mutt dourly.
Hanno grunted irritably by way of reply. ‘What do you think? Better not to attack?’
Hanno had never been so frank with him before. It had to have something to do with the fact that they were alone, Mutt decided. The men were secreted further back in the trees, awaiting orders. He and Hanno had crept to the edge of the open ground to assess the situation. But it was also a sign that he was winning his commander’s trust. That felt good.
Mutt studied the Roman camp again. Trails of smoke were rising in a few places, signifying the fires that would allow the Romans to cook their evening meal. He could see sentries pacing to and fro just inside the defences. A score of men were returning from the river with what were probably leather water bags. It didn’t look much different to their own camp after a day’s march had finished. How best to take it, however? If they charged from here, the Romans would see them at once. They would arrive at the rampart with burning muscles, while the enemy would be fresh and prepared. Maybe they should just withdraw, he thought.
‘We would lose too many men if we attacked now,’ said Hanno. The disappointment was thick in his voice.
Sudden inspiration struck Mutt. ‘Wait an hour, sir, until it’s nearly dark. Move then. The sentries won’t see us until we’re too close for their alarm call to make any difference. The legionaries will be snug inside their tents, with full bellies. They’ll have taken off their armour. We’ll smash them!’
‘Hanno gave Mutt a wary look. ‘Attacking at such a time is risky, though. It’s easy to mix friend with foe, to get isolated from one’s comrades.’
‘The men are well able for it, sir. You’ve seen how disciplined they are. Issue them with their orders, and they will follow them.’
They gazed at one another for a long moment, before Hanno nodded. ‘Very well. We’ll do as you suggested.’
The short winter days ensured that darkness was nearly upon them a short time later. All packs and equipment other than weapons and shields had been stacked in heaps just off the track. To reduce the chance of being spotted as they approached, each soldier had blackened his face, right hand and conical helmet with mud. They waited at the edge of the trees in two groups, the first and largest under Hanno, and the second under Mutt. An assault from three or even four sides would have been more effective, but Hanno had decided that would lead to unnecessary deaths. Mutt agreed. Men were less likely to kill one another if they were all moving into the enemy camp in one direction. Hanno was to lead the attack, while Mutt and his party were to lie in wait at the opposite end of the camp, outside the earthen rampart. Their purpose was to fall upon the Romans fleeing the slaughter.