Vespasian reached over and grasped the young man’s shoulder. ‘Thank you. Now go.’
Vibius kicked his mount forward, looking dead ahead with blank eyes; the Gallic and legionary cavalry streamed through the gap behind him unaware of what their legate was expecting of them.
‘You look like you’ve just been told of a death in the family,’ Magnus said, walking over to Vespasian as the last of the cavalry sped out into the open; his forearms, chest and face were smeared with blood.
‘Not me,’ Vespasian replied, his face grim as he watched the troopers ride down the hill into the distance. ‘But I’ve just demanded that perhaps five hundred other families will get that news.’
‘Well, sir, it’s a lot better than eight thousand families.’
‘I know that, so I had no choice.’ Vespasian shook himself. He felt sick to his very core but he knew that there had been no alternative if he was to preserve the main body of his command, and also his career, intact. He forced himself to watch as Vibius and his cavalry thundered into the Britons’ centre, just grey silhouettes at that distance but each silhouette was a man whom, in all likelihood, he had sent to die.
Where was Valens?
Cogidubnus’ auxiliaries had cleared the Britons from the hill; the first cohort was now unopposed and the Hamians up on the palisade were too distant to be able to shoot with any effectiveness into the enemy. Still with no sign of Valens’ flanking move, Aulus Plautius’ advice came to Vespasian’s mind: In war you should never wish for what you don’t have, it takes your mind from using what you do have to its best effect. ‘Magnus, run up to the fort and tell Marcius to bring the Hamians down here. I want them to follow up the advance, just behind Cogidubnus’ left flank to ensure that none of the hairy bastards slip round.’
‘Oh, so I’m a messenger-boy still, am I?’
Vespasian looked over his shoulder as he urged his horse away down the slope. ‘Just do it!’ Galloping along the body-strewn frontage of the first cohort he came to Tatius’ position on its extreme right abutting the Gallic auxiliaries whose timely charge had plugged the gap in the Roman line, less than half an hour before. ‘I’m glad to see you still with us, primus pilus.’
‘A good few of my lads aren’t.’ Tatius looked down at the tangled corpses, both Briton and Roman, and spat a blood-tinged gobbet of saliva into the face of a gutted warrior at his feet; a slight twitch indicated that there was still life within. ‘They were fucking relentless; we only managed to rotate the ranks once.’ Tatius slammed his foot onto the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe.
‘Take your cohort and double round to the centre. Maximus is in command there and he needs help.’
Despite his exhaustion, Tatius gave a sharp, veteran’s salute. ‘We’ll be there.’
Fighting off the fatigue he shared with Tatius, Vespasian moved on to find the prefect of the Gallic cohort, now half clear of the fighting as Cogidubnus’ auxiliaries, finally in proper military formation, shoulder to shoulder, swept their countrymen before them; on their flank the slingers maintained a continuous barrage to ease their path through the dead.
Although the screams of battle rose up to the heavens in a multi-octave dissonance and the pounding of metal and leather-clad wood pulsated in manic accompaniment, Vespasian was now inured to all sound; all except one: the sound that he had prayed for. It came from over his left shoulder, faint but to Vespasian plainly audible: the shrill blare of a lituus. He turned in his saddle; the Batavians appeared from behind the hill, flecked with firelight from the inferno above them. Behind them doubled two cohorts, one legionary and one auxiliary; Valens had arrived. Now was the time to take the initiative.
‘Prefect!’ Vespasian called, finally spotting the Gallic cohort’s commander. ‘Pull your men in behind Cogidubnus’ lads; I’ll order him to move aside so that you can take his place and create a broader front. One more effort from you and we’ll be safe.’
The prefect nodded grimly and turned to his primus pilus to sort out the details of the manoeuvre as Vespasian kicked on towards Cogidubnus, his heart feeling lighter than at any time since he had woken to find his lamp mysteriously burning, two nights ago. With the first cohort to reinforce it, the centre could withstand for a while yet and now that Valens had arrived he could take the fight to the Britons rather than just scrambling a defence. They would win through.
As his horse pounded past manoeuvring auxiliaries, Vespasian felt, for the first time in his life, a real closeness to his guardian god, Mars, who had warned him of his oversight. Mars, the god to whom his father had dedicated him at his naming ceremony, nine days after his birth, at which the portents, Vespasian knew from an overheard conversation of his parents, had predicted a destiny, preordained. Yet what that destiny was, he did not know; his mother had sworn all those present to secrecy and no one had ever spoken of it to him. However, now he had witnessed the power of the god, he could believe that, whatever his destiny, Mars truly held his hands over him and would guide him to it.
The lituus blared again as Vespasian drew up next to Cogidubnus and quickly gave him his orders. He looked up; the Batavians had galloped ahead of Valens’ main force; now, perhaps, he could relieve Vibius — if the young lad still lived. With a nod to Cogidubnus, he set out to intercept the Batavians, just two hundred paces away; Ansigar rode at their head with Blassius next to him. Vespasian cursed under his breath: Alienus must have avoided capture.
The gap quickly closed between Vespasian and the oncoming cavalry; to his left the Hamians could be seen jogging down the hill. He swerved his mount around and joined the head of the column next to Blassius. ‘Alienus?’
Blassius shook his head. ‘He just disappeared; we caught sight of him as we went around the hill but he saw us. When we reached Valens there was no sign of him and no one could remember seeing him.’
‘Shit! Well, I’ll worry about him later; get back to Valens and tell him that as soon as he is level with Cogidubnus they’re to swing round and crush the Britons against the legion; Cogidubnus is ready for it but Valens must hurry before the Britons see the trap coming.’
Blassius pulled his horse away and galloped back to the oncoming infantry. Vespasian felt his heart quicken but this time it was not with fear or anxiety, but the scent of victory: victory that just under an hour ago had seemed an impossibility in the face of the horror that had sprung out of the night. Smiling to himself, thinking of how Magnus would have spat and held his thumb to avert the evil-eye if he had shared such premature thoughts with him, he turned to Ansigar, the bearded, senior decurion of the Germanic Batavian cavalry. ‘We head over there.’ He pointed to where Vibius’ depleted command could be seen rallying, making ready for another charge at the deeply packed Britannic centre that had now been forced to fight both to the front and rear.
‘And after they break?’
‘Ride down as many as you can; I want them to remember the Second Augusta.’
‘What about her Batavian auxiliaries?’
‘I want the Britons who come into contact with you to remember nothing — ever again.’
Ansigar grinned beneath his full, blond beard. ‘I pray that your wish will be granted.’ He shouted in his guttural language to the liticen behind him as he swung to the right aiming for the centre of the battle. With a blare of the instrument, his finely trained troopers started to fan out and without losing pace the column began to manoeuvre into a line, four deep.
But then shouts from within the ala disrupted the move. Vespasian turned to his left to see a lone trooper veering away to the north; in the dim light he could see that he was not wearing trousers like the rest of the Batavians, but was dressed in the uniform of the legionary cavalry. ‘Alienus!’ Vespasian pulled his horse left, pointing at a couple of troopers in the front rank. ‘You two with me! Ansigar, you ride on.’ He sped after the fleeing spy, the two Batavians following him, out into the darkness beyond the reach of the twin fires now blazing on the hill and in the camp. He trusted the animal sense of his horse not to stumble but kept as close to Alienus’ track as possible; he would be able to risk more speed than Alienus who would be riding blind. He could just see him and judged that he was about fifty paces ahead. Glancing at his two companions, he counted at least half a dozen javelins in their holsters. ‘We’ve got to bring him down, understand?’