'Get back to work!' Macro shouted. 'You keep at it until I tell you otherwise!'
He didn't pause but ran on, puffing up the slope to where his lookout was watching the landscape to the north. By the time that he had reached the man the centurion was exhausted and was fighting for breath as he followed the direction of the lookout's javelin.
'There, sir.'
Macro squinted. Just over two miles away the track led into the dense greenery of a forest. Emerging from the trees was a screen of mounted scouts, and a few chariots. They were fanning out ahead of the line of march and galloping for the high ground to scan the way ahead. A moment later a dense column of infantry began to flow down the track out of the forest.
'Is that Caratacus then, sir?'
Macro glanced at the legionary, recalling that the young man was one of the raw recruits who had only just been posted to the legion. He looked tense and excited. Perhaps too excited, Macro thought.
'Too early to say for certain, lad.'
'Should we get back to the others, sir?'
'It's Lentulus, isn't it?'
'Yes, sir.' The legionary seemed surprised that his centurion knew his name and was mildly flattered to be individually addressed by someone as august as a centurion.
'Keep a cool head, Lentulus. You're supposed to observe and keep track of events, not worry yourself about them. A lookout has to be calm. That's why I picked you for this duty.' It was a bald lie. Macro could have chosen anyone for the job, but the recruit was green enough to take the comment at face value. It helped him to take a firm grip on his nerves and he drew himself up.
'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'
'Just do your job, lad.'
Lentulus nodded and then turned back to keep watch on the enemy. They stood in silence for a while and Macro raised a hand to shade his eyes. More and more men spilled out of the forest. At length he was satisfied that this had to be the main column of the enemy.
'Looks like you're right,' Macro said quietly. 'Looks like Caratacus is making a run for our crossing.'
'Oh, shit…'
'And we're shortly going to be right up to our necks in it.' Macro lowered his hand and punched the recruit on the shoulder. 'Bet you didn't think it would ever be as exciting as this!'
'Well, no, sir.'
'I want you to stay here for as long as it's safe. I'm assuming the enemy will come straight down the track towards us. But if he doesn't, if he turns off and heads away, I want to know at once. And keep an eye out for any sign of General Plautius following them up. Understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Right. Then keep watching them. Stay low; there's no point in attracting attention to yourself.' Macro pointed a finger at him. 'And no heroics. Give yourself plenty of time to get back to the century.'
Lentulus nodded and squatted down, keeping his eyes on the approaching enemy. The centurion turned and walked a few paces back down towards the ford, and stopped to scan the south bank of the Tamesis. There was no sign of life close to the track on the far side and nothing to be seen as he scanned left along the bank. Then a far-off glint caught his eye and Macro stared hard in that direction. He made out a faint shimmering glitter against the green and brown landscape, and a slight haze hanging in the air about it. That had to be the Third Cohort, still a good three miles from the ford.
Caratacus was going to reach the crossing first.
Lentulus was still in earshot and Macro gritted his teeth to avoid any explosive outpouring of expletives as he silently invoked every curse in his repertoire and directed it at the distant – too distant – column of the cohort crawling across the hot shimmering landscape towards the ford. He took a last longing look, and then trotted back down the slope towards the Tamesis.
As he approached the ford Macro slowed down to catch his breath. No sense in making the lads even more anxious, he decided. Best to try to keep a veneer of calmness and confidence.
'That's enough work!' he called out to the men still embedding the stakes in the shingle.'Get back to the island and kit up! We've got company.'
The legionaries abandoned the remaining stakes and let them flow downriver with the current as they splashed along the safe path towards the gap in the barricade.
'Don't run!' Macro bellowed angrily. 'If anyone gets caught on one of the stakes I'll leave them there for the Britons.'
With a great effort of will, bolstered by fear of their centurion's wrath, the legionaries slowed down.
Macro followed them at a more measured pace, keeping a wary eye out for the tips of the stakes they had planted. Glancing ahead he could see more of his men forming up behind the barricade, hurriedly strapping on helmets and hefting their shields and javelins from where they had been left beside the worn and rutted track that crossed over the back of the little island. As Macro emerged dripping from the river, he glanced round at his men and then fixed his gaze on a tall, wiry legionary.
'Fabius!'
'Sir!' The man snapped to attention as Macro strode up to him.
'Get your armour off. I need a runner.'
'Yes, sir.' Fabius quickly undid the leather ties of his segmented armour as Macro explained.
'Centurion Maximius is approaching along the south bank. He's nearly three miles away. You run to him as fast as you can. You tell him that Caratacus is making for this ford. Tell him to send a rider to the legate at once to let him know what's happening. No, wait…' Macro could visualise how that part of the message would be received by the touchy cohort commander. 'Tell him, I respectfully suggest that he sends a rider to the legate. Finally, tell him that Caratacus is closer to the ford than he is and that he must get the cohort here as quick as possible. Quicker!'
'Yes, sir.' Fabius grinned as he struggled out of the armour and laid it down on the track.
'Well, what're you waiting for?' Macro growled. 'Move yourself!'
Fabius turned and ran down to the river, plunging into the ford. Macro watched him for a moment before turning back to the rest of his men. Most had finished arming and stood ready for orders. He waited until the last man had tied his chinstraps; no easy feat under the impatient gaze of all his comrades and commanding officer. At last the legionary looked up with a guilty expression and pulled himself up into a stiff posture of readiness. Macro cleared his throat.
'Stand to!'
The legionaries grounded their shields and spears and gathered in a compact line across the track and under the willows.
'In less than an hour Caratacus and his army are going to come pouring down the track towards the ford. Right behind them should be General Plautius, with his sword right in their backside.'
A few of the men chuckled at the crude image and Macro indulged it a moment before continuing.
'The rest of the cohort is on the way. I saw it from the top of the hill there. I've sent Fabius to hurry them along and they should reach us before the enemy gives us much grief. Not that we're going to need 'em, of course! The Third Century can hold its own with the best of them. It's only a few days that we've served together, but I've lived with the Eagles long enough to know quality when I see it. You'll do. It's those poor bastards on the other side I feel sorry for! They can only attack us on a narrow front, and only then after they've impaled themselves on our stakes and the barricade. If they're really lucky, and I'm feeling generous, I might just spare them a little more bloodshed and accept Caratacus' surrender.'
Macro smiled, and to his relief his men smiled back.
'However, the Britons are a mad lot, and might not see sense. If they really want to cross the river, they will. We can only buy time. I'm not in the business of creating martyrs, so if we've done our bit and it looks like they're going to break through I'll give the order to fall back. If I do, I don't want any heroics. You get over to our side of the ford as fast as you can, then you head downriver towards the cohort. Understand?'