They had struck camp and begun the embarkation immediately — an efficient operation owing to the months of practice — and the first wave had sailed twelve hours later as the tide turned. Vespasian and Sabinus’ wave left an hour after that in the hopes that they would be at the landing area soon after dawn. But the wind had delayed them and it was midday by the time the II Augusta clattered down the ramps onto the beach and formed up on the crunching shingle just as they had done in training, so many times before. Vespasian had allowed his men to eat a cold meal of bread and dried pork whilst remaining in formation as Paetus’ cavalry patrols ranged out. They had returned an hour later to report nothing between the beach and Cantiacum except a few deserted farms with fires still glowing in the hearths; the Britons had pulled back and Plautius ordered the advance.
Sabinus had taken his legion south and Vespasian had led the II Augusta, accompanied by Adminios and his fellow exiles, along a well-used trackway west as the third wave of ships had appeared on the horizon beyond the island now occupied by Corvinus and the VIIII Hispana.
After three hours’ marching, Vespasian had, on Adminios’ advice, called a halt on the last dry ground before entering an area of low-lying marshland between two rivers, to give them time to build the huge marching camp, necessary for so many men, before nightfall. Adminios’ emissaries had continued on to Cantiacum to ascertain the mood of the town and, if possible, negotiate its surrender, whilst Adminios himself went to the meeting with his loyal kinsmen to the north close to the estuary. Vespasian had hoped that the emissaries would be back by nightfall, but now, twelve hours later, they had still not returned; it was the only thing of concern in what had been otherwise a remarkably smooth operation, Vespasian thought, as he headed for the praetorium — that and, of course, the fog.
‘Good morning, sir,’ Mucianus greeted him as he entered the praetorium, which was, naturally, just an area marked out on the ground because their baggage was yet to catch up with them; the legion’s Eagle and cohort standards stood at one end guarded by a contubernium of eight men. ‘I’ve just received the verbal reports from all the senior centurions from each cohort both legionary and auxiliary: we are less than a hundred men down from our full strength and the mood of the lads is good apart from being cold, damp and in need of a hot meal.’
‘And a hot woman, no doubt?’
Mucianus grinned. ‘Well, there’s always that, sir; it seems pointless wasting your time reporting it to you.’
‘Thank you for your consideration, tribune, I shall be sure to mention that in my report to Plautius. Tell Maximus to bring Adminios to me as soon as he returns to camp.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As Mucianus left the praetorium, Vespasian sat down on the moist blanket that had been his only shelter during his brief few hours of sleep, pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and chewed on his hunk of bread as he contemplated his options should Adminios’ men not return.
Maximus, the prefect of the camp, approached what would have been the entrance to the tent with Adminios and snapped to attention, bringing Vespasian out of his thoughts. ‘Permission to enter, sir?’
Vespasian beckoned them through, standing. ‘Did your kin submit, Adminios?’
Adminios waved a dismissive hand. ‘Yes, but they only count for a couple of thousand warriors.’
‘That’s a couple of thousand swords fewer pointing at our backs.’
Adminios grunted a reluctant assent. ‘But it was good to see them after five years of exile.’
‘I’m sure. So, what do you think about your emissaries?’
‘They’ll be back very soon, legate, they would have left shortly after dawn.’
‘What’s taken them so long?’
‘They’ve been drinking.’
‘Drinking?’
‘Yes, they’ve evidently negotiated the town’s surrender with the elders otherwise they would have come back — or been killed; it’s our custom to seal a deal like that with an all-night drinking session.’
‘How do you know they haven’t been murdered?’
‘One would’ve been sent back alive with his tongue cut out if the elders had decided to kill them, to emphasise that negotiations were over.’
‘Then we’re safe to approach the town in column seeing as the marsh prevents us from deploying in battle order?’
The exiled King nodded.
Vespasian’s mind was made up. ‘Maximus, have Paetus send a couple of turmae along the trackway and report back within the hour. The men will strike camp; I want them ready to move as soon as the fog lifts enough to see a hundred paces ahead. We’re already behind schedule; there’s not a moment to lose.’
Maximus turned and barked an order at the bucinator on duty outside the praetorium; he lifted his horn to his lips and blew a call of five notes. The call was taken up by his fellows in each cohort, invisible in the fog, and was then replaced by the shouts of centurions and optiones rousing their men from the remains of their cold breakfast; soon, from all around, Vespasian could hear the fog-dulled sounds of a legion preparing to march. ‘Adminios, come with me back to the gate, I want to talk to your men as soon as they’re here.’
Magnus was still there, chatting with the centurion of the watch, when they arrived. ‘I thought you weren’t going to move until the fog lifts or you knew whether the town was ours or not, sir.’
‘It’s a calculated risk that I have to take; Plautius will tear me apart if I’m not at Cantiacum soon, I’m late enough as it is.’
‘Yeah but that ain’t your fault; we were late landing and couldn’t make it all the way last night, and then this.’ He waved a hand in the swirling air.
Vespasian looked at Magnus with raised eyebrows.
‘Ah, stupid of me. This is the army. Of course it’s your-’
A challenge shouted by one of the sentries cut him off. Twenty paces away along the trackway silhouettes slowly materialised.
‘Is that your men, Adminios?’ Vespasian asked, feeling a deep relief.
‘Yes, legate; I’ll speak to them.’
Adminios walked forward to greet his followers as two turmae of Paetus’ Batavians, led by Ansigar, rode out of the gate; the decurion saluted Vespasian and gave Magnus a cheery wave before disappearing into the fog.
Adminios’ men dismounted and, after a few words with their King, they approached Vespasian with bloodshot eyes and reeking of alcohol.
‘We may walk into the town, legate,’ Adminios informed him, ‘the elders will open the gates.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
‘There’s just one problem.’
Vespasian’s face fell. ‘What?’
‘Yes, a lot of the young warriors didn’t like the elders’ decision. About a thousand slipped away during the night in the fog to join Caratacus in the Atrebates’ main township southwest of the Afon Cantiacii. By tonight he’ll know that we’re here.’
Vespasian closed his eyes. ‘Plautius will crucify me.’
‘Why the fuck didn’t you stop them and kill them, legate?’ Plautius exploded as Vespasian reported the embarrassing news to his general upon the latter’s arrival at Cantiacum, two days later.
Vespasian winced at the ferocity of the question. ‘We didn’t have time to get to the town on the first day, sir. With two hours until sundown I had a choice between making camp or leading my men through three miles of marsh that the tail of the column wouldn’t have cleared until well after dark.’
‘But you would have been on schedule! And you could’ve had the town surrounded and killed any long-hairs that decided they didn’t like us. But instead you do the worst possible combination of things: you leave the town open but send a delegation to announce that we’ll be arriving tomorrow and get the elders to declare for us, leaving time for all the young fire-eaters to piss off west to fill the ranks of Caratacus’ army. Idiot!’