'Yes, sir.'
'If you have any doubts about the situation, fall back across the river. Understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And do it quickly. We haven't got much darkness left to hide beneath.' As the Sixth Century filed down the track and into the river, Vespasian passed the word down the column for the men to sit down and rest. They would need all their strength for the day ahead. Turning back to the river, he watched the straggling black mass wading across, seeming to make an inhuman din as they splashed through the gentle current. The tension only eased once the sound faded as Macro and his men reached the far side.
When the men had assembled on the river bank, Macro quietly issued their orders. He split them into sections and each one was assigned an axis of advance. Then section by section the men carefully picked their ways into the trees.
'Cato, you're with me,' Macro whispered. 'Let's go.'
With a last glance at the other river bank, silent and dark against the greying horizon, Cato turned and carefully made his way into the woods. The passage of the other sections was clearly audible at first – the cracking of twigs, the rustling of undergrowth and snagging of equipment. But the sounds gradually died away as the men grew used to the unaccustomed movement, and the sections drew away from each other. Cato did his best to keep up with his centurion without stumbling or making too much noise. He counted off each pace against the half mile Vespasian had ordered. The woods seemed to go on for ever, gently sloping upwards. Suddenly the treacherous undergrowth gave way to much more solid ground, and the trees opened out into a clearing. Macro paused and crouched down, his eyes straining to make out their surroundings.
By the faint light breaking through the tree tops Cato was able to see dim details of the ancient grove they were in. The grove was ringed by ancient gnarled oak trees, upon which had been nailed hundreds of skulls, empty eye sockets and death's-head grins surrounding him on all sides. At the centre of the clearing stood a crude altar made out of monumental slabs of stone, down the sides of which ran dark stains. A grim atmosphere wreathed the grove in its coils and both men shivered, not entirely due to the coolness of the air.
'Shit!' Macro whispered. 'What in Hell is this place?'
'I don't know… ' Cato replied quietly. The grove seemed almost supernaturally silent, even the first notes of the dawn chorus seemed muted somehow. Despite his adherence to a rational view of the world, Cato could not help being frightened by the oppressive atmosphere of the grove. He felt a compulsion to get away from this dreadful scene as soon as possible. This was no place for Romans, or any civilised man. 'Must be something to do with one of their cults. Druids or something. '
'Druids!' Macro's tone betrayed his alarm. 'We'd better get out of here, fast.'
'Yes, sir.'
Keeping to the fringes of the clearing, Macro and Cato crept past the trees with their grisly trophies, and continued through the woods. A palpable wave of relief washed over them as they left the grove behind. Ever since the Romans had first encountered the Druids, dark tales of their dread magic and bloodthirsty rituals had been handed down the generations. Both Macro and Cato felt an icy tension bristle beneath the hairs on the back of their necks as they trod softly through the shadows. For a while they progressed through the undergrowth in silence until, at last, Cato was sure that he could see lighter shades in the trees ahead.
'Sir!' he whispered.
'Yes, I've seen it. We must be close to the far tree line.'
More cautious than ever, they picked their way forward until the trees thinned out and only stunted saplings remained. They were at the top of the ridge that ran behind the river, and had a clear view down the far side and along the ridge in the direction of the British fortifications guarding the ford. Smoke from the campfires of both armies smeared the sky. To the east the sky was washed with pink and a light mist was visible down towards the river. The land to the west was still shrouded in gloomy shadows. There was no sign of any movement and Macro waved his optio back into the trees.
'Get back to the legate and tell him it's all clear, the legion can start crossing. I'll stay here a little while to make sure.'
'Yes, sir.'
'You'd better tell him what the lie of the land is like from up here. We won't be able to approach along the top of the ridge – they'd see us a mile off. We'll have to follow the river bank until we're close to the Britons and then make for the ridge. Got all that? Now go!'
Cato made his way back down the slope more quickly than they had climbed it now that the light was strengthening, revealing all the treacherous roots and brambles. Even though he kept well clear of the grove, Cato reached the river bank far more quickly than he had anticipated. For moment he panicked as he failed to see any sign of the rest of the legion on the far bank. Then a slight movement upstream caught his eye and there was the legate waving an arm from just within the trees. Moments later Cato was making his report.
'March along the river bank?' Vespasian reflected doubtfully as he surveyed the far side. 'That's going to slow us down.'
'Can't be helped, sir. The ridge is too exposed and the woods are too dense.'
'Very well. Return to the centurion, and tell him he's to scout ahead of the main force. Avoid all contact and report back on anything you see.'
'Yes, Sir'
As the column began to file across the ford, the scouting parties of the Sixth Century regrouped on the far bank around Macro. Once Cato had delivered the legate's orders, Macro formed his men up, and sent the optio ahead with the first section. Cato was well aware of the responsibility placed upon him. He was now the eyes and ears of the Second Legion. Upon him depended the success of the general's plan, and the safety of his comrades. If the enemy were warned of the Second's approach, they would have ample time to prepare to receive the attackers. Even worse, they might have time to organise a counterattack. With this on his mind, the young optio crept forward along the bank, straining his senses to their limits. The untroubled river glided past in the pale air as the sun rose above the trees and filled the summer morning with light and warmth. So it continued for the best part of an hour, as Cato picked his way forward – until he came to a place where the river bank had given way, and many years before a mighty oak tree had tumbled into the water. It now lay across the broken ground at the river's edge, dead tangled branches rippling the passing flow. A mass of roots torn up from the earth provided a frame for new growth to cling to.
A sudden splash in the water caused him to freeze, and the men of the scouting party exchanged anxious glances before Cato spotted the kingfisher nesting in a branch that overhung an expanding ripple on the river's surface. He almost laughed at the sudden release of tension before he noticed, not more than fifty feet away, a horse standing at the river's edge. The graceful neck lowered and the beast began to drink. A set of reins tethered the horse to the stump of a tree. Of the rider there was no sign.
The Eagles Conquest
Chapter Eight
'Signal the warships to open fire.'
'Yes, sir.' Vitellius saluted and turned smartly away. This posting to the general's staff was proving to be onerous in the extreme. Plautius sought any excuse to find him lacking and there was not a moment when he did not feel the scrutinising glare of the general resting upon him. Well, let the bastard have his fun for now, thought Vitellius. Time was on his side. With his father nicely ensconced in the Emperor's inner circle, his career would advance smoothly enough. He would bide his time and suffer the slights of old fools like Plautius until the moment was ripe to make his play. Already Vitellius was harbouring an ambition so audacious that the mere thought of it caused him to catch his breath at times. If Claudius could become Emperor, then so might any man with the patience and strength of will to see it through. But, he steadied himself, he must not act until he was sure of success. Until that glorious day he could only chip away at the ruling dynasty of the Claudians, invisibly undermining the Emperor, and his heirs, in any way he could.