“Son, please…do not give in to this madness,” Lennox said sternly, their gazes locked. “Do not throw away your future for what can only bring suffering and death.”
“If by my suffering and death I can bring freedom to Gaul, that is a price I am willing to pay,” Farquhar replied coldly. “If you are to honor me, and honor our family, you will not try and stop me from doing what I must do. I have seen what the Romans can do. They fight with deceit and trickery. I watched them murder the Turani like cowards, even after they had surrendered. I will not submit myself and my family to such a race.” Lennox shook his head slightly.
“I cannot believe what Sacrovir has done to you,” Lennox said. “I do not doubt your bravery, but listen to me. I do not care what training Sacrovir has tried to give you- boys are not soldiers. Outnumbered or not, the Romans will roll right over you. This army of his is made up of the dregs of society. His gladiators and thugs will run once they face the wrath of the legions.”
“What is this blind fear you have of the Romans? Sacrovir was right, there is no bravery left in the noble fathers of Gaul.” Farquhar stormed down the stairs.
Lennox was on his heels. “The Romans nearly exterminated our people at one time. Since the time of Caesar, we have become part of their society. Our people have prospered! Surely, you cannot forget how well our own family has done over the past few generations. We have acquired much in the way of land and status. You throw that all away, and for what? There is virtue in bravery when it serves a higher purpose. But this. . this is foolhardy, a foolish expedition to sate one man’s lust for glory!”
Farquhar immediately turned to face his father.
“I fight to restore some dignity to our family!” he spat. “The so-called Fathers of Gaul have allowed us to become the Romans’ lapdogs; they sell their souls for scraps of land that were already theirs by ancestral right! Well, I am no lapdog, Father. I will not stand idle and let our people suffer this humiliation and servitude any longer.” He turned and briskly walked away.
Lennox’s heart was in anguish; a deepening sense of sorrow at his son’s determination. He knew Farquhar's mind was made up, but he could not allow things to end between them this way.
“Farquhar, wait!” he shouted.
Farquhar stopped and stooped his shoulders slightly, awaiting yet another chastising from his father, but wouldn’t turn around.
Instead, Lennox walked around to face him and spoke softly. “You have chosen your path. I have done all I can, and now you feel you must accelerate your ascension into manhood. I pray that the gods spare you. But if not, do it with this on you.”
From beneath his cloak, he produced a fine sword, with a long, thin blade and an ornate scabbard covered in etchings depicting men and horses. “At least die with your ancestors’ weapon in your hand.”
Farquhar took the sword and embraced his father hard. “I will make you proud, Father. You will see. It will all be over soon, I promise you.”
As he watched Farquhar walk away, Lennox almost felt something prophetic in his son’s words.
Indeed it will all be over soon, my son.
Calvinus could not help but feel a sense of relief as he strolled out into the night air. Florus had failed to undermine the loyalty of the Treveri cavalry, his forces of Turani rebels had been dispersed, and Florus himself was dead. Two cohorts from city garrisons had arrived with another expected within the next two days. The Third Cohort, along with Indus’ cavalry, was expected on the morrow, as was Silius. He had with him the rest of the Twentieth Legion, along with the entire First Germanica.
The master centurion took a deep breath as he gazed over the fort rampart and into the hills. For over those hills, about fifteen miles away, lay the city of Augustodunum, where Sacrovir was marshaling all of his forces together.
Calvinus started calculating numbers in his head. The losses amongst the Third Cohort and Indus’ cavalry had been less severe than expected, though a full hundred of the cavalry were escorting prisoners and wounded to Augusta Raurica. With the entire First and Twentieth Legions, the garrison cohorts, and Indus’ cavalry, their combined force still numbered less than thirteen thousand men. Sacrovir was said to have more than three times as many under arms, maybe more. His thoughts were disturbed as he saw a rider coming through the gate. It was Agricola, coming to report back to him. Calvinus dismounted the rampart and went to greet the centurion.
“It’s pretty quiet out there, but definitely tense,” Agricola reported as he removed his helmet.
“Do explain.”
Agricola pulled out a rough sketch that he had made of the area his men were observing. “We managed to get within about three miles of the town, but no closer. The ground opens up there, and we could not get any closer without the risk of being spotted. As it is, I think Sacrovir probably knows we are there anyway.
“Traffic coming in and out of the town has come to almost a complete standstill. The enemy knows that he cannot disrupt the lives of the entire city for long, so I think he may be finalizing his preparations to face us.” “Where do you think they intend to muster their forces?” Calvinus asked.
“There is a wide open plain, not too far from here. It’s large enough for him to encamp his entire army, plus it is far enough away from the city. I think they will probably stage there and wait for us to attack. Or, if we don’t have the rest of the army on site, he may decide to sortie against our positions here.”
“He has to know that we’ve got reinforcements coming,” Calvinus remarked, his brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t see why he has not attacked us already. That way he could wipe out a portion of our army before the main force even arrives.”
“He has the men, but they may not be completely armed yet,” Agricola replied. “I said traffic was at a standstill, but that was not entirely correct. There have been wagons going in to the city, but nothing coming out. Those going in were all under armed escort as well. I think they are loaded with arms and armor for his men. Once fully equipped, they will be on the move.”
“Well, there’s no way they can reach us in less than a day, and hopefully Silius will have arrived well before then.”
“Any word from Proculus and the third?” Agricola asked.
Calvinus nodded in reply. “Yes. Florus, happily, is dead, the Turani routed, and the third is on their way back, along with Indus’ cavalry.” Agricola closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods for that,” he muttered. “And now, with your permission, I will leave these diagrams with you and head back to my men.” Calvinus nodded and waved for him to go.
As the Third Cohort drew closer to their outpost, they saw that Silius had arrived. A massive camp had been erected, the eagles of both the Twentieth Valeria and First Germanica posted in the center. Calvinus rode up to meet them.
“Good to have you guys back,” he said as he clasped Proculus’ hand.
“It’s good to be back,” Proculus replied heartily.
The men of the Third Cohort still marched with energy and purpose, though it was clear that their ordeal of the last few days had taken its toll on them.
“I want you to put your men down once they get back to their barracks and cleaned up. They look like hell,” Calvinus observed.
Indeed the men of the Third Cohort were a haggard sight. Even though they had only been gone a total of four days, much had happened to them. They had gotten little if any sleep, none had shaved or bathed, and all were worn from the endless marching, to say nothing of the battle they had waged against a vastly superior force. The men were elated by their victory and spoils, though all were too exhausted to show it.