The Eagle and the Wolves

'All officers to the legate!' a voice bellowed across the enclosure. 'All officers to the legate!'

Cato turned to his men. 'Wait here!'

A small group of centurions clustered around Vespasian and the legate wasted no time on the usual formalities as he addressed them.

'The scouts report a large force camped a few miles to the west of here. Too many campfires to be the same band having a go at Calleva yesterday. Looks as if Caratacus might have stolen a march on the general after all. Thing is, the scouts also saw the loom of another army's fires in the distance, far beyond Caratacus' lot. It might be Plautius; it might not. I've ordered some scouts to find out who they are. It is possible that Caratacus is moving in two columns, and that the general is still chasing his tail north of the Tamesis. In which case, we're well and truly buggered.'

A few of the officers chuckled nervously before their legate continued, 'If we sit here and try to hold what's left of Calleva's defences we might last a day or two before we're overwhelmed. Then the enemy will turn on the rest of the legion and destroy it in detail. Our best chance is to get out of here as soon as possible, head south and try to swing round the enemy's flank and join up with the other cohorts at the legion's camp. That we can defend, for as long as the food lasts, or Plautius reaches us. We're taking Verica with us, and what's left of his men. They can return to Calleva once the crisis is over. We'll march in a tight column. We'll take as few wagons as possible; just enough for the wounded. The men are to carry nothing but their weapons and armour and food for two days, nothing else. Any questions, gentlemen?'

'Yes, sir.' Heads turned towards Tribune Quintillus. 'What happens if the enemy catches up with us before we link up with the other cohorts?'

Vespasian answered curtly, 'If that happens, Tribune, you'll have to continue your career in another life… Gentlemen! Let's make sure it doesn't happen. Anyone else?… Good. Back to your units. We march as soon as I give the signal… Centurion Macro! A moment, please.'

Macro, a man who favoured the back row of any gathering – a hangover from a very brief period of formal education as a child – waited until the other officers had dispersed before approaching the legate.

'Sir?'

'You know Centurion Gaius Silanus?'

'Yes, sir. Second Cohort.'

'That's him. Or was. He was killed in a skirmish yesterday. I want you to replace him. Take what's left of your garrison with you.'

'Yes, sir. What about Centurion Cato, sir?'

'What about him?'

'Are his men to march with us?'

Vespasian nodded. 'We need every man who can hold a weapon. Cato's cohort – what is it you call them?'

'The Wolves, sir.'

'Wolves? Good name. Anyway, they'll guard the carts.'

'They won't like that, sir,' Macro replied quietly. 'They'll want to fight.'

'Really?' said Vespasian with a trace of irritation. 'Well, they'll do as I tell them.'

'Yes, sir. I'll let Cato know.'

'You do that.'

As the first rays of the sun washed the sky, the dense column of heavy infantry, and the remaining handful of their native allies, emerged from the ruin of Calleva's main gate. A pale blue light hung across the landscape and, looking up, Cato could see that it would be a cloudless day. A hot march lay ahead with the sun beating down on them. As soon as the First Cohort cleared the gate it turned south, towards the legion's camp. The wagons carrying the wounded and King Verica were positioned in the middle of the column and on either side marched Cato's men, and the royal bodyguard under Cadminius. Vespasian had made it quite clear that all the native troops were placed under the command of Centurion Cato, without exception, to the obvious chagrin of Verica and the captain of his personal guard.

As the tail of the column emerged from Calleva, Cato looked back and saw a line of faces along the palisade, watching them depart in silence. The bitter expressions well told of the betrayal and despair felt by the Atrebatans. To one side, where the watchtower had once stood, a tall pole rose up from the charred timbers. Impaled on the top was the head of Tincommius, his features so bruised and swollen that it was barely possible to recognise the once handsome prince.

A small column of refugees hurried from the gate, heading in the opposite direction in a bid to escape the inevitable bloodshed when Caratacus and his army arrived before Calleva. Away to the west the tiny figures of a screen of cavalry appeared on a distant hillside and moved towards Calleva with painstaking slowness. Behind them, crossing the brow of the hill, crawled a thick black column of infantry. The Durotrigans who had withdrawn from Calleva the previous night now marched with their allies. Caratacus, it seemed, had made an early start as well. Nearly five miles separated the two sides, by Cato's estimate. Not much of a margin, but one that the hard-marching legionaries should be able to maintain until they reached the Second Legion's fortified encampment.

Before long the enemy column changed course, moving obliquely away from Calleva and straight towards the Romans. Vespasian's small force crested a low ridge and marched out of sight of the Atrebatan capital. The sun rose and climbed steadily into a clear sky, and not a breath of wind disturbed the air so that the deafening crunch of army boots and the squeaking creak of the wagons' wheels filled the men's ears. Dust was thrown up by the leading cohort and it left grit in the mouths of the men further down the column. By late morning the sun was shining brightly and sweat poured off the men marching without respite, since any stop would close the gap between them and their pursuers.

So it was that at noon, the head of the column was approaching a narrow vale that curved round a small bare hillock. At the head of the column rode Vespasian and Tribune Quintillus, eschewing the normal practice of riding behind the vanguard. The legate was keen to reunite his forces as speedily as possible and did not want to waste any time having the lay of the land ahead relayed to him.

'We're making good time,' Quintillus was saying conversationally.

'Yes… good time,' the legate replied, then he straightened his back and stared ahead.

'What is it, sir?'

Vespasian did not answer, but urged his mount into a trot along the track as he craned his neck to see more. A few moments later he had a clear view round the hillock. Half a mile ahead of the column a dense mass of chariots and cavalry lay across their path.

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Caratacus had sent his light forces on ahead, even though he knew that they could not defeat the Romans by themselves. But then again they didn't have to, Vespasian smiled bitterly. They just had to delay the legionaries long enough for Caratacus and his heavy infantry to arrive and pile into the rear of the Roman column. If the legate moved quickly, he could form his men into a dense wedge and force his way through the enemy blocking the way ahead. But such formations had never been designed for speed and the natives would simply fall back before the wedge and harry the Romans until their comrades could catch up and throw their weight decisively into the fight.

'Sir?' Quintillus was looking at him expectantly. 'Shall I give the order to turn the column round?'

'No. Caratacus will have moved between us and Calleva by now.'

'Well… what shall we do?' Quintillus stared at the enemy waiting ahead of them. 'Sir?'