Macro's next line of defence was the small island, on which twenty men toiled to construct a rough barricade at the water's edge. A dense tangle of branches and gorse had been dragged across from the south bank and piled up across the track in a line that extended either side of the shallows. Stout timbers had been pounded into the earth to brace the tangle, and other branches had been trimmed and sharpened and thrust in amongst the gorse to deter any attackers. It wasn't much to look at, Macro decided, but it was the best they could do with the time and materials available.
He had not discovered many trenching tools back in the sacked auxiliary fort. The Britons had been almost as thorough in their destruction of material as they had been of the garrison. A smouldering pyre of shields, slings, javelins and other equipment had been discovered inside the headquarters courtyard. Some of the tools at the periphery of the fire were salvageable, and a quick search through the timber barrack blocks had revealed some more picks and shovels, but Macro had come away with barely enough to equip half his century, let alone the rest of the cohort. Macro hoped that the cohort commander's thirst for revenge had been quickly satisfied. The Third Century would not be able to defend the crossing alone should the enemy appear in force.
Besides, Macro thought angrily, Maximius had no bloody business chasing the small raiding party down in the first place. It was not in his orders. The protection of the ford should have been his priority. The cohort needed to be in position shortly after noon, yet three hours later still only Macro and his century were preparing to defend the crossing. The enemy might appear at any moment, and if they did then the crossing must fall into their hands.
Macro glanced back over his shoulder, scanning the southern bank for any sign of Maximius and the rest of the cohort.
'Come on… come on, you bastard.' Macro slapped his hand against his thigh. 'Where the fuck are you?'
A faint shout from the northern bank drew his attention and Macro turned round. One of the men carrying a bundle of freshly cut stakes was waving to attract his attention.
'What is it?'
'There, sir. Up there!' The man pointed behind him. On the far side of the river the track rose up from the edge of the ford and disappeared over the hill. Standing on the crest was a small figure, waving his javelin to and fro – the signal that the enemy had been sighted.
At once Macro brushed through the gap that had been left in the barricade and splashed down into the ford. He kept to the right, still unseeded with stakes to allow the defenders access to the crossing. The water closed around him, dragging at his legs as Macro thrust his way across to the far bank, throwing up sparkling cascades of spray as he emerged. A number of his men paused in their labours, distracted by the alarm.
'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.