‘I am, General!’
‘Then go. No heavy equipment, Flaccus! I shall bring that up myself.’
Flaccus said a silent prayer to the Goddess Felicitas, as he always did when he suspected luck might be needed. Those left in the tent heard him shouting as they went over the rest of Aulus’s disposition, then the crashing noise of legionaries falling in and marching off at double pace, Clodius Terentius near the front. The years of discipline and the regular diet of very basic food had made him a much fitter man. Not that he had ever been a slouch, but drinking without working had given him a belly and over-ripe countenance, which humping sacks had left intact. That was gone now. He might be older than most of his fellows, but he had a hard flat stomach and a lean, tanned face.
Once they had left the settled part of the province behind there was no road in the Roman sense, just a cart track that was sometimes good and at other times non-existent. It skirted the coast where the landscape permitted, but the sheer cliffs and deep ravines often drove it inland, forcing them to advance gingerly through dense forest, with Flaccus, superstitious as ever, murmuring incantations to Nemestrinus, skirmishers out in front and everyone’s javelins at the ready. They reached Thralaxas just as the sun went down and Flaccus, in line with his orders, detached two of his maniples to hold the narrow defile and make it as safe as they could while he pressed on, using the moonlight to guide him.
They had set out from Salonae briskly enough but having been on the march all day, and though it had clouded over late in the day, they had spent a long time under the blazing sun. Clodius plodded along wearily, just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, while mentally moaning like the good soldier he was. His tired mind told him he was too old for this sort of thing. Not that the younger men seemed to be faring any better; their steps, too, were punctuated with numerous curses as they slipped and slithered on the treacherous track, especially when the moon slipped behind the clouds. Flaccus was immune to blandishments, refusing to slacken the pace, issuing dire threats of punishment to those whose complaints reached his ears. Clodius was long enough, in both teeth and legions, to know that it was a dangerous course of action, marching along at this pace, in single file, with only the moon and the stars to light your way, for it could not be done in silence, and all Flaccus’s praying to every Roman god he could think of would not change matters. An enemy, if they were close enough to hear, would have ample time to prepare for their arrival. Flaccus might think he was obeying the general’s orders; to Clodius’s mind he was exceeding them. It was hard to keep too many secrets in a legionary camp, and everyone knew that Flaccus had instructions not to risk casualties.
‘Keep moving, you bonehead,’ snapped Clodius, bumping into the man in front of him. The moon had slipped behind a huge cloud, plunging them all into almost total darkness.
‘Quiet there,’ called Flaccus, trying to shout and whisper at the same time and Clodius realised that the column had come to a halt. He heard several curses as legionaries who, like him, had been plodding along head down, crashed into those in front of them until eventually silence fell. Close to the front of the column, Clodius could see Flaccus framed against the clouded sky, which had a faint orange tinge, throwing into sharp relief the pines at the top of the hill they were ascending. The gap, where the cart track cut through, stood out clearly between the trees on either side. Flaccus came back down the line, stopping just behind Clodius, quietly issuing orders to his second-in-command.
‘Deploy your men to one side of the track and stay out of sight. I’m going on ahead to see what’s up. If we come back at a run, kill anyone who’s chasing us.’
‘And then?’ asked the senior legionary, a man half Flaccus’s age and with a tenth of his experience.
The sarcasm in the centurion’s voice was so heavy Clodius could conjure up the hard look that went with it. ‘Then? You must be hungry after a long day’s march, lad. Light a fire and send some men out to hunt down your supper.’ A thick growl followed that. ‘If you’re lucky you might have a few uninvited guests.’ The man mumbled an apology and Flaccus relented enough to explain what should have been obvious. ‘You follow us. We’ll set up another ambush if we can. You keep moving. Don’t stop till you get back to the pass at Thralaxas, even if that means leaving us to our fate.’
Flaccus brushed past Clodius, calling on him, and those in front, to move out. ‘Quietly now.’
As they came near to the top of the hill, the noise, which had been masked by the hill, grew steadily louder. They could hear, clearly, the sound of the laughing, the shouting and most of all the screaming. Flaccus bade them slow down to a crawl as he approached the crest, dropping onto his belly and sliding the last few yards through the trees. The men with him followed suit, spreading out on either side of the cart track. They found themselves looking down into a well-lit glade, full to bursting with enemy soldiers. The fires came from the burning wagons and the heap of possessions that had been built into a bonfire.
Clodius could hear the women scream, see the queues of men waiting to take their turn in raping them. They lay, some held face up and others face down, their pale skins stark in the firelight. Trees off to the right were laden with bodies hanging from ropes. Dead, they swung in the faint breeze and judging by the number of wounds, these poor unfortunates had been used for target practice. The cart track ran straight ahead down the hill in front of them. Clodius, lying right beside Flaccus, could see the two files of men lining either side. Roman soldiers, stripped naked but for their leather helmets were being forced to run between the lines. Those at the far end had whips, those in the middle clubs, but the men at the end had swords. They watched as one unfortunate set off at a run, goaded by a spear in the backside. He tried to shy away from the whips, but with little success, then he came under a steady stream of blows when he reached those of his enemies with clubs, which made him stagger from side to side. His arms were raised around his head in a pathetic attempt to protect himself, and he was nearly down on his knees when he reached the swordsmen. They started by giving him gentle stabs, then one fellow, who had just helped himself to a swig from a wine gourd, slashed at the tendons on the back of his leg. The Roman fell forward, emitting a scream of pain and this seemed to excite the others, who joined in, cutting and stabbing, all the while laughing and taunting their victim who rolled on the ground in a futile attempt to avoid his fate. Clodius closed his eyes, not wishing to see the final agony of the fellow, as he was hacked to death.
‘Over there, look!’ said Flaccus.
Clodius raised his head to follow the pointing finger of his centurion. Flaccus had spotted a solitary wagon, clearly Roman by its design, off to one side of the clearing, well away from those burning in the centre, faintly visible because it still had its white canopy intact. The clouds obscured the moon, so it was far from easy to make out anything else until one of the burning wagons in the centre of the clearing collapsed, sending up a great whoosh of sparks, which illuminated the whole area. The sun-bleached canopy of the wagon now stood out clearly, but his attention was drawn to something else. Just in front of that solitary wagon he saw, like a tableau, two naked men simultaneously assaulting a young girl. You could see by her tiny breasts and gamine figure that she was not yet fully grown. One had her hair in his hands, and was pulling her head ferociously into his groin while the other stood behind her thrusting forward with as much vigour as his companion. Their arms and armour gleamed dully in the grass beside them. The sparks died down, plunging the whole thing back into near darkness.
‘I wonder if we could get down there?’ said Flaccus, peering into the gloom.