‘It’s a nice night for it,’ a voice whispered behind him.
Vespasian turned to see the dim outline of his friend. ‘What are you doing here, Magnus?’
‘I haven’t had a decent fight for a couple of years so I thought that I’d come and join in this one.’
‘Then you’re mad, risking your life when you could be in bed.’
‘Not as mad as them in the fort; if there are really as few as we think then it’s only a matter of time before we get in and they get dead. I don’t understand them; they actually goaded us into attacking them by killing the scouts in front of us.’
‘Yes, they know that they can expect no quarter now.’
‘So why do it, then? They could have just held out for a few days and then negotiated their surrender once honour had been satisfied. It’s almost as if they want us to kill them.’
‘There is something strange about their behaviour; I can’t quite put my finger on it.’ He told Magnus of Hormus’ theory about the lamp lighting itself.
‘A warning, eh? Well, I suppose it’s possible. The question is: what’s the mistake that you’re making? Is it about attacking this place in general? Or about attacking it at night? Or is it something completely different, like something to do with Sabinus, for example?’
‘I don’t know; but something is nagging me.’
The uneasy feeling continued to gnaw at Vespasian as he advanced with the first cohort to the base of the hill below the northeastern gate a hundred uphill paces away. He waited in the dark, running through the events of the last couple of days in his mind, as the other cohorts moved silently into position: Valens with the second away to his left below the southwestern gate, and Maximus with two Gallic auxiliary cohorts and the Hamians filling the ground between them. From the fort there came no sound; but the relief that Vespasian felt at still being in the position to surprise the defenders was tempered by his inability to exactly place his cause for concern. Unable to discuss the matter further with Magnus, standing next to him, owing to his order of complete silence, he was obliged to wait in fretful contemplation of the puzzle until he heard Valens’ signal telling him that the furthest cohort was in place.
A thrice-repeated series of owl hoots echoed through the night; it was the sign that Vespasian had been waiting for. He nodded to Tatius who raised his arm and slowly brought it down; the signal was repeated by his brother centurions and the first cohort, with scaling ladders at the ready, moved off at the double up the slope.
The assault had begun.
Struggling to keep their footing in the near-total darkness, the men of the legion’s élite cohort increased their speed as they passed through the gap in the outermost ditch; it was now imperative to get their ladders up and men onto the palisade before too many of the defenders were roused from their slumber. Vespasian kept pace with them, with Magnus wheezing at his side, as they ascended in virtual silence; he kept his eyes fixed on the dim outline of the defences but no movement was evident nor were any cries of alarm raised. He pressed on, his heart pounding, as the cohort filed through the gaps in the next couple of ditches, and still the alarm had not been raised within the fort. Then he remembered the urgency with which the three prisoners had been shouting before their execution.
Shit.
He swerved away from the cohort and stopped dead.
‘What is it?’ Magnus puffed, pulling up next to him.
‘There’s no one in there! That’s what Cogidubnus’ men were trying to warn us about before they were executed; they weren’t pleading for their lives, they were shouting at us.’
‘What about the men who killed them?’
‘They are the only ones inside; enough men to light all those fires to make it look as if there’s a whole war band in there. They’ve sacrificed themselves to draw us into the trap; the threat’s from the north. I’ve got to get back. Find Tatius, and tell him to form the cohort up on the slope facing north as soon as he can.’
‘Will he take an order from me?’
‘He’d better or we could all end up dead.’ Vespasian pushed his way back against the oncoming surge of legionaries until he reached the optio of the sixth century of the first cohort in his position at the rear of his men. ‘Optio, get a message to Valens to forget the assault and to have the second cohort take up position outside the southern gate, facing west; he’ll get reinforcements and fresh orders soon.’
The man stared at him in incomprehension for a moment.
‘Now!’
The optio saluted and raced off as the cohort came to a halt and ladders were thrown up the wall.
As the first men began the ascent of the palisade to either side of the gate a long booming note rumbled from a cornu; its call was taken up by the cornua of other cohorts. To his right, Vespasian saw the glow of the Hamians’ oil-soaked portable braziers igniting; within a few moments hundreds of fire-arrows were streaking through the dark leaving trails of sparks in their wake as they disappeared over the walls into the hill-fort. No screams came from within as the Romans raised their voices into a battle roar.
Cursing the fact that he had, for silence’s sake, left his legionary cavalry in the camp, Vespasian ran as he had never run before.
Almost tripping over his own feet, he hurtled back down the hill, grateful for the faint light provided by the Hamians’ repeated, but wasted, volleys. After a lung-tearing final burst across the flat ground from the base of the hill, he came to the camp as the third cohort was marching out at the head of the rest of the legion.
Spotting their primus pilus, Vespasian slowed and turned, falling in next to him, catching his breath. ‘Take your men at the double and form up facing north at the base of the slope. The first cohort will arrive on your left flank and the rest of the legion will form up on you; we will be taking a defensive position, understand?’
‘What’s happening, sir?’
Vespasian glanced to his right; and then he saw them coming out of the north. ‘That’s what’s happening. Now go!’
In the distance a dozen or so faintly luminescent, tiny figures were seemingly gliding slowly towards them; behind them was a shadow, darker even than the night. The primus pilus took one look, bellowed an order, a cornu boomed twice and the cohort sped off with a jangling of gear and regular pounding footsteps across the dark ground. The rest of the legion streamed along behind them, orange flickers from the fires now burning up in the fort playing on their burnished iron armour and helmets.
Vespasian ran on to where the legion’s cavalry detachment and his five thin-stripe tribunes were mounting, having walked their horses out of the camp. He pushed the youngest one out of the way. ‘I need this, Marcius.’ Leaping into the saddle he shot a glance at the most senior of the young tribunes. ‘Blassius, now get this right: ride to Maximus and tell him to bring the Hamians and one of the Gallic cohorts to the bottom of the hill and then you take the other Gallic cohort round to the southern gate and link up with Valens and the second cohort; if he’s not there get him out of the fort. Tell him that we’re under attack from the north and he’s to prevent any attempt to outflank us. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘If they don’t try and take our flank, he’s to work his way around the fort and come at the bastards from the west; I’ll send the Batavians to him. Report to me when you’ve done that. Now ride!’
With the briefest of salutes Blassius spun his horse on its hind legs and took off.
Vespasian glanced north over the heads of the legionaries still spilling out of the camp; he shivered. The spectral forms were less than two hundred paces off, their arms raised and waving. Behind them, now dully illuminated by the blazing fires on top of the hill, ran thousands of darkling figures, stretched out to either side and fading into the night.