‘Well, good luck, because I can tell you that men like Theron ain’t made fools of easily.’
The shrill blare of a lituus cavalry horn coming from within the camp ended the discussion. Vespasian turned towards the sound and looking up the Via Principalis saw a turma of cavalry dismounting outside the praetorium. Even at that distance he recognised the imposing figure and uniform of his commanding officer. ‘Aulus Plautius! Saturn’s stones, what’s he doing here?’
*
‘We have just a month, gentlemen!’ Aulus Plautius bellowed at Vespasian and Sabinus, drowning out the cries and whip-cracks from outside the praetorium tent. ‘No more than a month before our replacements arrive and we have to spend the winter briefing them and showing them around before we return to Rome. And if we want to come home covered in glory then I suggest that we take Caratacus in chains along with us.’ Plautius fixed the two brothers sitting opposite him across the desk with an indignant, red-faced glare.
Vespasian shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he watched the veins throbbing in his commanding officer’s bull-like neck; since his arrival at the II Augusta’s camp Plautius had not been in the best of moods.
Plautius picked up a scroll and brandished it at the brothers. ‘Narcissus has written to me stating that seeing as after three and a half years Caratacus remains at large, threatening our supply lines, ambushing columns and generally making a nuisance of himself, he feels the time has come to replace me and you two with men who own a degree of military competence. Military competence! The jumped-up little Greek shit! He wouldn’t know military competence if it barged its way up his arse and saluted.’ Plautius paused, breathing deeply through flaring nostrils, contemplating, Vespasian surmised, other more solid objects that he would like to see barging their way up that particular orifice. ‘The trouble is, gentlemen,’ Plautius continued with a degree of calm returning to his voice, ‘that the soft-living bastard has got a point: why the fuck is Caratacus’ head still on his shoulders and not decorating the end of a spike? How can I claim that the southern half of this dung-heap of an island is under Roman control when our lads have to go to the latrines in groups of eight so that they can hold each other’s hands for fear of having their arses wiped by a Britannic spear rather than a decent Roman sponge?’
Vespasian felt it was best not to point out that this was a wild exaggeration. However, he could well appreciate Plautius’ exasperation at the fact that, despite having taken the surrender of all the tribes in the south of Britannia — apart from the Dumnonii in the extreme southwest — he still had Caratacus at large with the ability to pop up with a considerable force and do humiliating damage. Apart from anything else, it was not good for trade and the occupied parts of the island were now swarming with fat merchants eager, like Theron, to squeeze as much cash out of the province as possible, whether it be in tin, lead, slaves, hunting dogs, pearls or any other commodity.
Vespasian glanced sidelong at his brother and now understood why Plautius had ordered him to come in person to pick up his ships, so far from the XIIII Gemina’s camp on the east bank of the Sabrina River: this was a planned meeting to discuss a two legion offensive. The grating of wood on wood followed by a large splash and much shouting signified that another bireme had been launched.
‘We should strike west in conjunction, sir,’ Sabinus stated, having come to the same conclusion as Vespasian, ‘and try to crush Caratacus between us.’
‘No!’ Plautius slammed his fist onto the desk. ‘That’s just what we shouldn’t do, Sabinus; that’s just what he wants us to do. He would dearly love to draw your legions into the wild hills beyond the Sabrina; we don’t even know his whereabouts so we’d be blundering about on his terms. We’ve got to draw him to us.’
Feeling relieved that he had not made the suggestion that had seemed so obvious, Vespasian sat in silence hoping for the benefit of Plautius’ military wisdom. The unmistakable screams of a man being nailed to a cross rode through the air.
Having glared at Sabinus for long enough to communicate his severe displeasure and disappointment, Plautius turned his attention to Vespasian. ‘Well?’
Vespasian opened his mouth and then closed it.
‘Come on, legate, you must have something sensible to say even if your brother hasn’t!’
‘About Caratacus, sir?’
‘Of course about Caratacus; who else do you think we’re talking about? How do we draw Caratacus to us rather than risk doing a Varus and marching a couple of legions into miserable terrain full of valleys, all damp as a whore’s minge, that can only be described as ideal ambush country?’
‘Attack something he values, sir.’
‘Thank you; one of you at least has picked up a bit of soldiering whilst you’ve been here.’
Vespasian was aware of Sabinus bristling next to him. The crucified man’s screaming suddenly stopped but the shifting clamour of massed exertion continued.
‘So what does he value enough to make him risk venturing out of his gods-cursed hole across the Sabrina River?’
Vespasian glanced at his brother to give him a chance to make up for his earlier mistake.
‘Well, we believe that he has his wife and children with him,’ Sabinus ventured, ‘so that’s not an option. The rest of his family are either dead or have surrendered; his lands in the east are occupied and whatever wealth he had is now in our hands. It doesn’t really leave much.’
‘Of course it does, you fool! It leaves the one thing that he values most: his support. That’s the only thing that’s important to him; essential even. If he doesn’t have support he ceases to matter and goes from being a king resisting a conquering army to being a mere brigand.’
‘The druids!’ Vespasian blurted.
‘Precisely. The druids support his resistance because it’s in their interests to do so and their continued backing gives him a legitimacy that transcends tribal loyalties amongst every savage on this island. Now, the policy of cutting down their groves has worked very well in the areas that we occupy and there are very few of those filthy, matted-haired sons of gorgons left; and whenever we do come across one we nail him up pretty sharpish. However, there are a few more nests of these vermin and if we threaten one of them then I believe that Caratacus will have to come to its aid. And we’ve got a month to do it in so that we can say “Fuck you and your military competence” — in the nicest possible way of course — to Narcissus when we get back to Rome.’ Plautius referred to the map lying unrolled on the desk. ‘Now, there are two breeding grounds of this druidical abomination.’ He pointed to a small island just off the west coast, beyond the Roman sphere of influence. ‘This is called Mona; apparently it’s swarming with them. It would be ideal but it’s too far behind their lines.’
‘Not if we go by sea, sir,’ Vespasian pointed out.
‘It’s a long way, the seas are treacherous and the coast is very rocky, according to the only survey ship that has ever come back from up there. Talking of ships: how are they doing, Vespasian?’
‘They’ll all be afloat by nightfall.’
‘Good, because you’re going to need them.’ Plautius brought his finger down south on the map and rested it on the north coast of the southwestern peninsula of the island. ‘Around here somewhere is Durocornavis, the main fortress of the Cornovii. They’re a sub-tribe of the Dumnonii and may or may not be related to the Cornovii in the north of the island who are our buffer between us and the Brigantes. Just close by the fortress is a huge rock, almost an island that juts out into the sea. I’m told that this is a place of deep mysticism for the druids; they have many legends attached to it and it is of great importance to them.
‘Now, it’s too far into unconquered territory to risk a land assault in just a month but if we make Caratacus think that we’re mad enough to try he’ll come to the aid of the Cornovii and the druids, otherwise he’ll lose all credibility. And he won’t be able to resist the chance to cut a whole legion up.