‘That’s the first phase,’ he said the following morning, to troops now rested and fed. ‘When our reinforcements arrive, I intend to put one cohort on the top of each hill so that the enemy can’t outflank us. I’ve asked for some cavalry, as well, to use as a mobile reserve.’
Clodius had never served under a commander who took so much trouble to explain his intentions, and no high falutin’ stuff either, just plain speaking. He had been in quite a few battles and the best he had ever had was a ringing declaration of the need to do his duty, usually delivered from the oration platform by a man who would probably be well back from the actual point of fighting.
‘The Dacians are a Celtic tribe, and from what we know of them they lack discipline. Celts are all right if things are going their way, but the chain of command is usually a bit fractured, with various thanes vying for the leadership, so any reverse tends to lead to a lot of internal dissension. Their allies, both Epirote and Illyrian, can’t be anything more than a scratch force of malcontents, not soldiers in the sense we use the term. They will outnumber us heavily, but we have several things in our favour. Training for one plus the fact that we are fighting in a strong defensive position and the knowledge that we only have to hold until Vegetius gets astride their rear.’
Aulus paused for a second, then smiled at the assembled men. ‘And courage, of course, in abundance.’
He had skirmishers set well down the pass, with runners out even further ahead, to keep him informed as to what point the enemy had reached. They were coming on at a steady pace, probably still unaware that the Romans held the pass. If they continued their advance units would be upon him the following day. Aulus had to fight hard not to keep looking to the north. He had deliberately declined to say precisely when he expected reinforcements, so as to avoid a creeping sense of gloom overtaking his men as the day wore on. The nagging fear that misfortune could undo all his plans never left him. Should he have sent a strong party with the centurion? Flaccus, alone, even if he was on the general’s own horse, could easily fall off. Rebels or just plain robbers could ambush him; enough people had been dispossessed by Vegetius’ depredations. The countryside fairly teemed with them, half starving, and willing to kill for a bite to eat. Would they take on a well-armed man?
He had an odd feeling, for no prospective battle before had affected him like this. It was not that he was outnumbered — Romans usually were — nor that he was in an exposed position. It was really the idea of not being totally in control. His men, who spent a good deal of their time looking north, seeking the tell-tale dust clouds that would herald the approach of more troops, also glanced at him constantly, so that they could be reassured by his calm exterior. Cholon watched him carefully too, but he was not fooled, sensing that his master was troubled. Finally he decided to speak, as a way of breaking the growing tension.
‘Might I suggest that we do a little hunting, your honour. It will relieve the boredom and stock up our larder. After all, we don’t know how long we’re going to be here.’
‘If the men see me leave here, carrying my weapons, on your horse, Cholon, I hardly think it will make them feel secure.’
‘Then let me take some of them.’
Aulus shook his head. ‘They have a hard fight ahead, let them rest. Besides, the reinforcements will bring up supplies.’
Cholon paused for a moment, turning his head to look at the barren rocky landscape and the men dotted around it. ‘They’d all like to know the answer to one question. Am I permitted to ask it?’
Aulus gave him a grim smile. ‘If there’s no sign of the men I’ve sent for by dawn tomorrow, I would say we are in trouble.’
‘Dawn tomorrow?’ said Cholon surprised. ‘Surely they’ll be here before that.’
‘The cavalry, yes. The foot soldiers could take longer. I shall be annoyed if Vegetius has instructed them to stay together.’
‘When will the enemy attack?’ asked Cholon.
Aulus spun away, suddenly angered by the interrogation, his reply unusually harsh. ‘Tomorrow, not at first light and before you ask what time, I don’t know.’
He walked around the area, checking on his men, who sat in every patch of shade. One of them was using a stick to draw in the red sandy earth, exposing as he did so the darker crimson soil underneath and Aulus stopped to look. The blood drained from his face as he saw the outline and he stood, rock still, staring at it. The look brought the trooper jumping to attention and the stick dropped from his hand so his fist could crash into his breastplate.
‘General!’
The sound, as well as the crisply delivered acknowledgement, seemed to break whatever spell gripped Aulus. He looked at the trooper, and fought with his tumultuous emotions in an effort to smile. These men needed reassurance, not their commander’s probably groundless superstitions about an old prophecy.
‘Sit down, soldier. Don’t waste your energy saluting me. Save it for the enemy.’
The trooper had to salute again, regulations demanded it. Aulus merely nodded, looked at the ground again thinking that the dark crimson earth that stick had exposed looked very like blood, frowned, then walked away to continue his rounds. The soldier waited till he was gone before he sat down. He then picked up the stick and tried to add the finishing touches to the drawing. It was far from perfect, but it was a fair representation of the eagle charm that Fulmina had taken off Aquila’s foot that day Clodius had found him in the woods.
Vegetius Flaminus, fresh from bathing, sat upright in his Curile chair, reading the despatch. He had a flagon of wine at his elbow and a richly decorated cup in his free hand. Flaccus stood to attention, covered in dust, dying for something to drink. If he had noted the centurion’s condition, the governor had not bothered to offer him any refreshment. Finally he finished reading, took a large swig of wine, then looked at Flaccus.
‘You’ve personally seen the enemy forces, you say?’
‘I have, sir,’ the centurion replied, adding a deliberate lie. ‘I’d reckon that we’re equally matched in numbers.’
Vegetius leant forward, rubbing his puffy cheek with one hand. The senatorial ring on his thick finger, gold instead of iron, flashed in the light. ‘It seems very foolish to place ourselves on the other side of a force that size. They will be between us and our base at Salonae.’
‘The commander, Aulus…’
‘Not commander, Centurion!’ snapped the man behind the table. ‘Senator is the proper title for Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus. I am the commander in this province, by order of the very body he’s supposed to represent.’
Flaccus said nothing for a moment, but his thoughts were in turmoil. Aulus should have come himself. The other senators, who had been part of his commission, were back in Salonae. Vegetius had no one to answer to but himself and he certainly was not going to be awed by a centurion, however senior.
‘Is that clear to you, soldier?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Flaccus crisply, ignoring the insult that Vegetius had delivered by not using his rank.
‘Good,’ Vegetius continued smoothly. ‘Please be so good as to continue. After all, I do need to know what is in the senator’s mind.’
Flaccus outlined what Aulus had told him, trying, as he did so, to diminish the threat the enemy posed, without making them seem like a chimera.
‘No battle? What a strange attitude to take, Centurion. It seems in my humble opinion, a touch over-sanguine to expect the enemy to melt away just because we are close behind them.’ Vegetius dropped the studied languor and his voice took on a harder edge. ‘It also seems to me a very foolish course to let these villains disperse, they’ll only cause trouble at some future date. They have slaughtered a great number of Romans, including Publius Trebonius, so they need to be punished, and visibly so. A heap of bleached bones on the battlefield will do more to keep both provinces quiet than all of the blandishments of soft hearted, semi-retired administrators.’