It felt strange to Cato to be once again commanding the men he had led into battle at the crossing on the Tamesis. Last time they had failed to hold the enemy back and Cato had suffered decimation as a result. This time failure would lead to the death of them all. And if they survived the coming hours? Cato smiled grimly to himself. However things turned out, he was still a condemned man and faced execution, or, if he was spared, it was most likely that he would still be disgraced and dismissed from the army. With a stab of anger he cast thought of the future aside. He must keep his mind on the present.
The men's surprise at Cato's temporary reprieve was all the more heightened because it had been on the orders of the cohort commander, so ruthless and fanatic in his hunt for the condemned men in recent days. As Cato had appeared at the assembly area, most had looked at him in wonder, but a few faces conveyed resentment and – worse – suspicion. Certainly, his grimy visage, matted hair and straggly beard sat poorly upon the face of a man with the rank of centurion. He had recovered his scaled armour and harness from the cohort's quartermaster, a source of yet more resentment, since the man had been hoping to sell the equipment for a tidy sum. But the ill feeling of others was no more than a faint shadow cast across the sense of contentment that Cato felt. To be back in his armour, with a good sword at his side and a stout shield on his arm felt natural and comforting. Almost as if the previous weeks of misery, hardship and peril had been washed away like a layer of dust in a summer shower.
Almost.
'Sir!'
Cato looked up and saw a runner approaching from the head of the column, which had just started to cross the crest of a small hill. The centurion stepped out to one side as the runner drew up by the Sixth Century.
'Sir, Centurion Tullius sends his compliments, and says that Cordus and his men are in sight.'
Cato could not help smiling at the thinly veiled warning, and then he nodded to the messenger.'Thank him for me, and let Tullius know I am aware of the situation.'
The messenger frowned at the oddness of Cato's reply.'Sir?'
'Just tell him exactly what I said.'
'Yes, sir.' The legionary saluted and turned away, running alongside the cohort back towards Centurion Tullius at the head of the column. Cato felt a stab of anxiety over the need to leave the cohort in the hands of the old officer. There had been no other way of handling things. It was risky enough removing Maximius from the scene. Any attempt by Macro or Cato to take charge of the cohort was doomed to failure, so Tullius it must be, if the men were not to have their credulity stretched too far.
As the tail end of the cohort crossed the brow of the hill Cato glanced ahead and saw the distant figures of Cordus and his men toiling away as they widened the ditch across the path that led right through the heart of the marsh. The acting centurion was wearing a red cloak to distinguish himself from his men, and Cato idly wondered if he had pilfered it from Macro's stores, slipping into the centurion's clothes as readily as he had assumed Macro's command. It was an unworthy thought and Cato was angry at himself for giving it expression. Cordus was merely obeying orders. The fact that he took great satisfaction in obeying the cohort commander was immaterial, Cato told himself.
The newly arrived centuries were deployed either side of the track before they were ordered to down shields and javelins and head over to the cart to be issued with picks and shovels.
Their officers set them to work at once on the ditch and rampart.
'Not your men, Cato,' Tullius called out as the Sixth Century marched up. 'I want you to advance ahead of the cohort. Take up position half a mile along the track. You may need to buy us time to finish the defences. As soon as you see the enemy, send a runner back to let me know.'
'Yes, sir. How long should we hold them for?'
'As long as you can. If we complete the work before Caratacus arrives I'll send a runner to recall you. Then just leave a small picket and fall back here with the rest of your men. Understand?'
Cato nodded. Behind Tullius' shoulder he saw Cordus striding over towards them. As soon as the acting centurion recognised Cato he faltered for an instant.
'What the hell is he doing here?'
Tullius glanced round angrily. 'Is that question addressed to me?'
Cordus tore his gaze away from Cato and then noticed Macro beyond, as his former centurion began to bellow orders to the legionaries of the Fourth Century. Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Cordus turned back to Tullius. 'What's going on here? Where's Centurion Maximius, sir?'
Tullius nodded back in the direction of the fort.'He sent us ahead. Said he'd be along directly.'
'Oh really?' Cordus looked round at the other officers and caught the eye of Antonius. 'Where's Maximius?'
Antonius glanced at Tullius, for reassurance, before he replied. 'Like he said, back at the fort.'
'The fort…I see. So while we're about to take on a force many times our size, the commander of the cohort is attending to a few details back in the fort. Is that about it… sir?'
Cato could see that Antonius would help them no further, and that Tullius could not carry it off for much longer. So he stepped in front of Cordus, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
'You've got your orders, Cordus. Get back to work.'
The acting centurion eyed him with open contempt. 'I don't take orders from condemned men, let alone condemned boys.'
Cato stepped closer, drawing his sword at the same time, pressing the point into the armpit of the other man – all of it hidden from the surrounding legionaries by the folds of the two officers' capes. Cato's face was no more than a few inches from the pockmarked flesh of Cordus, and he could smell the rank acid stink of cheap wine on the older man's breath.
'Never speak that way to a superior officer again,' Cato said softly through clenched teeth, and prodded with the point of his sword. Cordus flinched and bit down on his pain as the blade pierced his flesh. Cato smiled, and whispered,'Next time you give me, or any of the other centurions, one word of insolence, I swear by all the gods, that I will gut you. Do you understand me? Don't talk, just nod.'
Cordus stared back, eyes burning with cold fury, then he dipped his head, once.
'Good.' Cato slowly withdrew his blade and gently pushed the other man back with his spare hand.'Now get back to your unit, and carry out your orders.'
Cordus reached under his armpit and winced as he glared at the young centurion. Cato stared back, then nodded his head towards the defences. Cordus took the hint.
'Very well, sir.'
'That's better. Now go.'
Cordus retreated a few paces before he turned and strode quickly towards the men of the Third Century. He did not look back, and Cato watched him long enough to make sure that Cordus did as he was told. Tense and trembling Cato turned towards Tullius and Antonius.
'Well done, lad.' A smile flickered across Tullius' worn features. 'That's him dealt with.'
'Only for now, sir,' Cato replied. 'We'll have to keep an eye on him. He could cause us problems. Which reminds me, where are Maximius' guards?'
'By the supply cart.'
Cato glanced over to the cart and saw the six men standing beside it, shields grounded and spears leaning against their shoulders. 'I'll take them with me, if you don't mind, sir.'
'What for?' Tullius frowned. 'We need every man here.'
'They've sworn an oath to protect the cohort commander. If Cordus gets close to them, he might persuade them to back him, next time he tries to confront us.'