Cato turned and strolled into the wagon park. Amid the confusion of soldiers, clerks and household slaves, he ran his eyes over the outside of the enclosure surrounding the imperial entourage. A number of the wagons had already been packed and dragged to one side, close to the palisade. One wagon in particular caught his attention: a heavy four-wheeled affair piled high with brightly decorated leather tents, folded and tied down. The load was so high that it stood level with the top of the palisade. Cato made his way round the wagon park so that he could approach the wagons out of sight of the guards. After quickly checking to make sure that no one was watching him, he slipped between the packed wagons and worked his way over to the one carrying the tents. He clambered up and lay flat on the top, only raising his head to peer over the palisade and into the enclosure of the Emperor's travelling companions.
Out of sight of the army, the social elite of Rome made camp with the smallest of concessions to the hardships of campaigning. Huge tents sprawled across the enclosure, and through the openings of those tents facing him Cato could see ornately tiled flooring and expensive furniture within. Some members of the imperial court had awnings erected outside their tents and they reclined on upholstered benches, waited upon by the slaves they had brought with them from the city. The centre of the enclosure had been left open to serve as a social space, but the intensity of the previous night's partying meant it was almost empty. Cato looked carefully at the few figures visible but none of them was Lavinia. So he lay on top of the wagon and waited, sometimes nearly dozing off in the sun's warm glow. Every time a female figure emerged from a tent, Cato raised his head and strained his eyes to see if it was Lavinia.
Then at last, not far from where he lay, a tent flap was flicked open and a slender woman in a diaphanous green gown stepped stiffly into the shadow of the awning. She stretched out her arms and yawned, before moving into the sunlight where Cato could see the jet-black tresses of her hair. He was filled with a heady sense of lightness. For a moment he watched Lavinia, drinking in her every movement as she leaned back against the post supporting the front of the awning, and tipped her face up towards the sun.
Then she scratched her backside and turned to go back into the tent.
Cato began to rise, desperate that she should see him and not disappear after such a tantalisingly brief appearance. If she caught sight of him, he might be able to indicate that they could meet outside the enclosure. Cato raised his hand, and was about to wave when a movement at the periphery of his vision attracted his attention.
Through the gate of the enclosure strode Tribune Vitellius. The chill that Cato always experienced at the sight of the man returned to him instantly, as with sickening inevitability the tribune walked straight towards Lavinia, who had her back to him and was unaware of his approach. Vitellius stalked up to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. She spun round with a start. Cato rose to his knees, ready to rush to her rescue without regard to the impossibility of reaching her in the heavily guarded enclosure. He raised his hands to call out but before he could utter a sound he was suddenly pulled by his feet with great force off the top of the wagon. He tumbled down the side and landed heavily on the ground, the breath driven out of him. A pair of boots thudded down by his face, and in an instant later Cato hauled up,gasping for air like a stranded fish.
'And what the fuck d'you think you're up to, my lad?'
Cato recognised the face of the Praetorian Guardsman from the enclosure gate, He tried to reply, but the lack of breath in his lungs caused him to wheeze instead.
'refusing to answer, eh? Well then, let's see if my centurion can loosen your tongue. and maybe a few teeth while he's at it.'
The guard twisted his fist into Cato's hair and half pulled, half dragged him across the wagon park towards the headquarters tent. The slaves and legionaries packing the remaining wagons paused to watch the unedifying spectacle. Some laughed and Cato felt himself colour at the shame of being seen to be treated like some naughty schoolboy.
Chapter Forty-Five
'All ready?' General Plautius glanced round. The last officers were forming up on one side of the route leading from the bridge into the main camp. 'Right then, give the signal.'
Sabinus nodded to the staff tribune in charge of communications, who shouted a quick order to the assembled bucinas and cornicens to ready their brass instruments. A short pause as air was sucked in and lips pursed, then on the mental count of three an ear-splitting note blared out across the river. Despite being battle-trained, the staff horses shied uneasily at the noise and the carefully ordered ranks of senior officers were momentarily disrupted. On the far side of the bridge the brass instruments of the Praetorian Guard cohorts acknowledged the signal.
'Here we go,' Plautius muttered.
The white figures of the front ranks of Praetorians emerged from the other camp and with perfect parade-ground precision they marched out onto the bridge in military step. Highly polished bronze helmets glittered in the bright morning sunshine, in vivid contrast to the dark clouds creeping up from the south. The air was still and humid before the coming storm.
'I do wish they wouldn't march in step,' grumbled the prefect of engineers. 'It's not good for my bridge. Any fool knows that troops should break step when crossing a bridge.'
'And destroy the aesthetic effect?' Vespasian replied. Narcissus wouldn't stand for it. Just pray that he doesn't require the elephants to march in step. The engineer started in alarm at the prospect, then relaxed as he reaised the legate was being ironic. 'The last thing we need is a truncated campaign,' quipped Vitelius and the senior officers winced.
The long white column extended along the bridge like a huge caterpillar,until at length its head reached the north bank and began marching up the slope towards the main gate.
'Eyes…right!' barked out the senior centurion as he led his men past the general and his staff. With neat timing the Praetorians snapped their heads round, while the right-hand markers kept looking ahead to ensure the line stayed properly dressed. General Plautius solemnly saluted as each century marched smartly by.
On the far side of the main gate the rest of the army was formed up ready to advance on the enemy. The Praetorian cohorts would lead the thmst into enemy territory. Their privileged position at the head of the line of march meant that the dust kicked up by the passage of thousands of nailed boots would not choke their throats or soil their brilliant white tunics and shields. At the far end of the bridge a small gap appeared in the column, and then a rippling hedge of scarlet and gold appeared as the anny's standards marched out. Behind and towering above them came the first of the elephants, richly adorned and carrying the Emperor.
'Now we'll see how good an engineer you really are,' said Plautius, keenly watching the bridge for the first signs of collapse. To his side the prefect of engineers looked distraught at the possibility of an imperial drenching finding its way onto his curriculum vitae.
The elephants' swaying progress looked peculiar after the stiff regularity of the Praetorian cohorts, and to the prefect's relief the line of huge beasts was totally unsynchronised and the bridge remained stable. Behind the rear elephant a gap opened up. The imperial entourage and their wagons would be travelling with the rest of the baggage train at the rear of the army and would not be setting out for some hours yet.