For a moment he considered taking the blame and showing that he had more pride and dignity than this general, with his long noble lineage. There was satisfaction to be gained in that. A highly selfish satisfaction, he reflected. In any case, the only real achievement of his sacrifice would be the saving of Plautius' reputation. When it came down to it Vespasian felt that he had more to offer Rome in the long run than this aged and worn out general. Then, in a moment of clarity he was aware that, however one dressed it up, the real issue was self-preservation. It always was. He'd be damned before he let a bunch of smug aristocrats throw him to the dogs to preserve one of their own. He cleared his throat and made sure that his tone was free of any emotion that would betray his bitterness, or fear.
'The enemy was never supposed to have reached this ford. The plan – the general's plan, as I understood it – was that the other three legions and auxiliary cohorts were to close with the enemy quickly enough to force Caratacus against the main crossings, where I would be waiting with the main strength of my legion. The third ford was an afterthought. It was only supposed to be defended against those of the enemy who escaped the battle in front of the first two crossings. It was never expected that they would bear the full weight of Caratacus and his army.'
'It was always a marginal possibility,' Plautius cut in. 'The orders were clear enough. Your men were told to hold the crossings in all circumstances.'
'That was in my orders?' Vespasian raised his eyebrows.
'I'm sure it will be,' Narcissus muttered.'Legate, I take it that you are inferring that the general failed to move with sufficient speed to close the trap?'
'Yes.'
Plautius leaned forward angrily. 'We marched as fast as we could, damn it! Our heavy infantry cannot be expected to outpace native troops. The speed of our troops is not the issue. We had them in a trap and if the Second Legion had done its job properly the trap would have worked perfectly. Vespasian should have made sure that the ford was adequately protected. One cohort was not enough. Any fool could see that.'
'One cohort was ample, for the job it was actually given,' Vespasian snapped back.
For a moment the two senior officers glared at each other, eyes glinting with the wavering reflection of the lamp flames. Then the general eased himself back in his seat and turned to Narcissus.
'I want this man out of my army. He is not competent to command a legion in the field and his insubordination cannot be tolerated.' He turned back towards the legate. 'Vespasian, I want your resignation. I want you out of here, on the first ship back to Gaul.'
'I bet you do,' Vespasian replied coldly.'If I'm not around to defend myself against any charges you bring, it doesn't take a genius to work out the consequences. I refuse to resign my command, and I'll put that in writing.'
Before Plautius could respond Narcissus coughed. 'Gentlemen! That's enough of this. I'm sure the fault is not wholly on one side or the other.'
Both officers turned on him angrily to protest but the Imperial Secretary quickly raised a hand and continued speaking before they could interrupt him. 'Since you are both adamant that the blame lies with the other I fear your testimonies in front of the senate would only serve to destroy you both. Therefore, it seems to me that the best solution is to have an immediate inquiry and find some culpable character lower down the chain of command. If you can make a swift decision and deliver a suitably draconian punishment then I'm sure we can satisfy those back in Rome who demand action in response to your failure.'
Plautius visibly winced at the last word but immediately accepted the lifeline being handed to him and the legate.
'Very well.' Plautius nodded. 'A court of inquiry, then. The legate and I will act as presiding magistrates. At least you'll agree to that, Vespasian?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then I'll issue the orders at first light. Statements will be taken by all the relevant officers at once. If we move quickly the matter can be solved in a few days. Will that satisfy the Emperor?'
'It will,' Narcissus smiled. 'Trust me. Now, I think we have settled the issue satisfactorily. Neither of you need lose any sleep over this matter. The blame will rest on other shoulders, in place of their heads.' He chuckled at the quip. 'Have your inquiry. Find some plausible men to blame and as soon as judgement has been made I can return to Rome and make my report. Are we in agreement, gentlemen?'
Plautius nodded, and a moment later, his stomach twisted by cold, bitter contempt for the other men, but mostly for himself, Vespasian lowered his head, stared at the silver decanter on the tray, and nodded slowly.
05 The Eagles Prey
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The men of the Second Legion had spent the night in the open, curled up by their equipment. They slept deeply, exhausted by the rapid marching of the day before, and by the construction of the marching camp. Since their entrenching equipment had been left with the baggage train the men had dug the ditches with their swords and piled up the inner rampart by hand. Roughly cut wooden stakes projected from the outer face of the rampart, and sentries patrolled along each side of the camp.
The men of the Third Cohort were the most exhausted of them all, having had to fight a battle on top of everything else. Yet a handful of them were denied sleep and tossed restlessly on the flattened grass. Some because they could not forget the terrible sights and sensations that had been etched into their minds, others mourned the loss of close friends, cut down in front of their eyes. But for Cato the cause of sleeplessness was anxiety about the days to come, rather than the eventful day that had passed.
The escape of a significant number of the enemy practically guaranteed that the exhausting struggle would continue. Even if Caratacus was not amongst them, then one of his lieutenants was bound to swear the survivors to further resistance to Rome, spurred on by the need to exact revenge for the loss of so many of their comrades. They would ensure that more blood was spilled, and Cato wondered how much more the soil of this land could absorb before it sank into a sea of gore. The image was fanciful and he smiled mirthlessly and turned over, pulling his cloak round his shoulders and resting his head on his greaves.
But worse than the escape of the enemy was the failure of the cohort to do its duty. Centurion Maximius had fouled up badly. He should never have diverted from his mission to chase down the small band that had sacked the supply fort and slaughtered its garrison. He should have made straight for the ford.
Maximius well knew that he would be called to account for this costly error in judgement, and before the cohort had bedded down for the night he had summoned his officers for a quiet meeting, out of earshot of the men.
'There'll be questions asked about today's events,' he had begun, staring intently into the moonlit faces of his centurions. 'I'm counting on you to stick together on this. I'll speak for us, and take whatever blame the legate tries to pin on the Third Cohort.'
His expression had been sincere and Cato had felt a simultaneous wave of relief that the blame would not attach to him, and then a shameful sense of empathy for the cohort commander who could expect to be harshly disciplined. Maximius' career was over. He would be lucky if he was only broken back to the ranks. That in itself was a bad fall from grace. His pay, pension and the privileges due to his present post would all be lost and the men who had suffered punishment at his hands would be seeking to exact a painful revenge when he became their equal.