Soon they saw more troops heading west, centuries marching along in their columns, fresh faces, with new uniforms, moving along neatly, accompanied by the odd bellow from a frustrated centurion or optio keeping them in line. Before dark they took a room rented above a tavern near the centre of the city. It wasn’t the best of places but provided them with a warm meal and stabling for their horses.
They arose early the next morning and made their way to the Governor’s headquarters. After having their identities confirmed by an overzealous guard at the main archway leading to the building, they were allowed access. After waiting some considerable time in an outer office, they were called forward by a clerk.
“The Governor will see you now,” he announced,” Waving them forward, “Come, come, he hasn’t got all day you know, he has a Province to run.” He said as the two soldiers rose from their seats and exchanged angry glances with each other.
“Prick.” Grattius whispered as they approached the large door. The clerk swung it open as if he were performing on a stage and smiled at the two officers as they walked past.
“Cunt.” Grattius said loud enough for him to hear, the clerk screwed up his face as if he had just smelt something foul and stared at the optio.
“Ah Centurion Varro,” Aulus Plautius said rising from his chair, “it’s been a long time, welcome, welcome.” He walked forward and grasped Varro’s hand, “it’s always nice to see proper soldiers again,” he looked at the clerk, “dismissed.”
“May I present Optio Grattius sir?” Varro replied turning, Grattius snapped to attention.
“Pleased to meet you Optio.” Plautius said to Grattius taking his hand and shaking it thoroughly, “Please gentlemen take a seat.” He said, indicating to the two chairs by his desk. The room was decorated with frescoes on the walls, where there weren’t campaign maps showing the locations of various legions, roads, roads under construction, forts and garrisons. Tables at the side of the room were covered with scrolls and writing tablets, clearly the Governor was fully occupied Varro thought.
Plautius took a seat, “So before we get down to business, can I offer you a drink?”
“No thank you sir, we’re fine.” Varro answered. Although he respected the General, he still felt rather uneasy in his presence and wanted to be out of there as quickly as possible.
“Very well centurion, very well.” He said smiling. “I should imagine that you think you’re here to discuss that nasty business back in Isca?” He asked, “Well you’re not, the Legate will take care of that nonsense, I’m sure he’ll make the right decision and whatever that is I’ll support him fully.”
Varro and Grattius exchanged looks of surprise.
“I’ve asked you here today because I wanted to speak to you personally and the less people that are aware of this, the better.” He stood again and walked to one of the larger campaign maps draped over the wall. “This is where we are at the moment.” He picked up a long stick and indicated the areas detailing the positions of the legions progress in the west. “It’s taken us a long time to get this far, far longer than was ever envisaged when we first came to Britannia, too long in other words.” He looked back at the two soldiers. “In simple terms we’re at something of a stalemate, this Caratacus has buried himself like a Syrian tick on a dog’s arse and so far we haven’t been able to dig him out. It’s also given him the opportunity to make punitive raids across the border moving south,” he pointed to the south westerly part of the island, “Where his war bands have destroyed forts and villas,” he pointed to the central belt of operations, “and into the heart of the country, where he’s doing the same and even attacking columns and engineers.” He placed the stick down and returned to his seat, poured himself some water from a jug and continued.
“We could be stuck like this for years gentlemen, unless we do something. We’ve tried to tempt him out to face us in open battle but he’s learnt well from his mistakes of just a few years ago and won’t move. We’ve even tried taking the fight to him,” he looked at Varro, “which you know all too well with the Second Augusta and even that didn’t turn out very well.” He paused, “So now we have him virtually encircled, that’s if you can call it that, as he rules over the entire west of the island in the far west, the trouble is, it’s a vast area and one that won’t be conquered easily even by combining legions from different angles of attack.” He looked at the map again. “Even then, how many men will we lose over that terrain; mountains, hills and valleys, not to mention swamps and bogs? I tell you gentlemen it’s another disaster waiting to happen and I don’t want to be remembered like Varus, my legions butchered, my eagles, and my standards taken, forced to take my own life and beheaded and disgraced for the world to see.”
Varro looked from Grattius to the General, “What do you propose then sir and how can we help you?”
Plautius took his eyes off the maps and looked at the scrolls in front of him on the desk. It’s a problem that’s kept me awake for far too many nights but I now have two solutions, or at least I believe I have. The first of which involves you two, which I will go into in a moment. The alternative involves a co-ordinated intrusion into their territory from the south, north, east and even the west, involving the navy carrying men and equipment to the far shore.” He got to his feet again and walked towards the door, opening it, he shouted out to the clerk, “Bring them in Osterius.” He ordered as Varro heard the clerk’s chair scrape as he stood up.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this sir.” Grattius whispered but before Varro could respond his attention was drawn to the clerk who had re-entered the room. He felt waves of emotion flow through his very being as stood behind him, was Brenna.
It was nearing dawn by the time Valerius and the small group of survivors saw Isca on the horizon. They were hungry, tired and fearful of how their commander would react when he was told that the rest of the engineering party, escorting legionaries and cavalry had been destroyed. Not only that but the centuries’ standards had also been taken, some said it was better to die defending the standards than allow them to fall into the enemies hands. Valerius wasn’t too sure about that, all that mattered now was getting behind the garrison walls to safety.
As they got to within a hundred paces of the rampart, a guard shouted down at them and called for the on duty centurion. The legionary on sentry duty asked for the password but they didn’t know it as it had been changed in their absence.
“We were with the fort building party that went out two days ago.” Valerius shouted up.
“No password, no entry.” The guard shouted down as Valerius saw the plume of a centurion appear above the brick defences and question the sentry.
“Approach the gate and be recognised.” The centurion shouted down. Valerius and the eight others waited by the huge gate until it creaked open. They were quickly identified and taken inside and escorted to the guardroom.
“We’ve had patrols out looking for survivors for days,” the centurion said, “they found the site of the massacre and knew from the body count there were legionaries missing.” He looked at their ragged kit. “You can all get some sleep for a few hours and make your reports later after you’ve had some food.” He pointed to the duty bunks that had all been vacated by the night watch as the sun was about to come up.
“We couldn’t do anything sir, they killed them and took the standards.” Valerius said.
“You can’t change what happened soldier, get some sleep. I’m sure there will be time for questions and answers later.” He turned to the others. “That goes for the rest of you, get your heads down.”
As the sun came up over the mountains, Caradoc left his roundhouse with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and stretched, it was quiet. A mild frost coated the ground and glistening silver shards were everywhere, winter was coming.