The younger man’s nostrils flared with remembered anger.
‘I would probably have died with a bloody sword in my hand, and a carpet of dead and dying men around me.’
‘Exactly. And that, friend Marcus, is the love we need to get into the hearts of our lads. When one of your tent parties is in trouble, whether it’s a punch-up in a vicus beer shop or a desperate fight against hordes of blue-nosed bastards, their mates to either side have a choice, to look to their front and ignore their mates’ peril, or to dive in to the rescue. Orders don’t make that happen, and you can’t teach it on the parade ground, but if you get them to love each other, they do the rest for you, without even thinking about it. When you get it right a man will use his shield to protect the man next to him when he falls, and ignore the risk he runs in doing so, knowing with complete certainty that his mate would do the same for him without a second’s thought.’
He smiled conspiratorially at his friend.
‘And, to be honest, when me and my lads are knee deep in guts and shit, with the spears all thrown and our shields splintering under blue-nose axes, I want your boys to be straining at their collars, to be looking to you for the command to take their iron to our enemy, just for the love of my lads. If we can achieve that, we’ll both have a better chance of seeing next winter…’
The 9th’s tent parties exercised and practised against each other, each time striving to win for some inconsequential reward or other, their bonds growing stronger with each victory or defeat, vowing to do better in the next contest, the weaker helped and cajoled by the stronger. The trick was repeated with multiples of tent parties, the groupings changed each time and soldiers judiciously exchanged to equalise their relative strengths, until each octuple was used to fighting alongside every other, and knew their abilities. In the evening, watching their men down in the vicus, Dubnus and Morban reported back a new spirit, the other centuries quickly coming to recognise that taking on a single man from the 9th was offering a fist to every one of them, no matter what the odds. The respect in which they were held rapidly increased, to the point where it was rare for fights involving the 9th’s men to be anything other than between themselves, combat quickly over and insult swiftly forgotten as they closed ranks.
Marcus and Rufius, who had played exactly the same game he had preached with his own men, repeated the trick with their centuries, again exchanging soldiers, ostensibly to add strength or skills where they were needed, but in truth to build the same spirit of comradeship between the two units. At length, one night in early May, a tent party from Rufius’s 6th waded into an unfair fight on behalf of a pair of beleaguered 9th Century soldiers. It was the first sign for the two friends that they had achieved the breakthrough they were looking for. Prefect Equitius returned to the Hill from a senior officer’s conference in Cauldron Pool that same evening. He called for the First Spear to join him in his office shortly thereafter.
‘It’s war, Sextus, there’s no longer any doubt. Sollemnis’s spies tell us that the call has gone out for the tribes to mass north of the Wall, probably within a short march of Three Mountains Fort. From there it’s only about two days’ march to the Wall, and the blue-noses can knock over two more single cohort forts on the way just to get their spirits up. He’s not interested in defending the outlying forts against a force of between twenty and thirty thousand men, since that’s clearly what Calgus will be hoping for. Our defence will focus on holding the Wall while the legions from Fortress Deva and the far south slog their way up the country to join us.’
Frontinius nodded reflectively.
‘So the outlier cohorts march back behind the Wall in good order rather than being slaughtered to no purpose. At least our leader seems to be taking a practical approach to the situation. Does that mean we get the Dacians from Fort Cocidius joining us?’
‘Not this time, despite the fact it seemed to work well enough in last summer’s exercises. No, the Dacians will make a temporary camp down at Fair Meadow and form a two-cohort force with the Second Tungrians, ready to reinforce any of the western Wall forts that get into trouble.’
‘Perhaps some of their professionalism will rub off on the Second. And how long does the legate reckon it will take for the Second and Twentieth Legions to reach us?’
‘That depends who’s asking. To anyone else in this cohort, up to and including the officers, the answer’s fifteen to twenty days. For your information only, I happen to know that Sollemnis called them north nearly two weeks ago, and asked his brother officers not to spare the boot leather, so they ought to show up within a week. With any luck that will give Calgus a nasty shock and put Fortuna on our side rather sooner than he might have expected. Sixth Legion is already deployed, of course, although he was pretty tight lipped as to exactly where they are. Whether it’s accurate or not, the rumour in Cauldron Pool is that he’s got them camped fifty miles back at Waterfall Fort to give him the flexibility to move to the north or west as the situation develops.’
The First Spear shook his head in exasperation.
‘West? Calgus isn’t going to make a push for Fortress Deva. The legion should already be in position to defend our supplies at Noisy Valley. Mind you, rather them than us, if there really are thirty thousand men massing under Calgus.’
Equitius nodded silently, reaching for his cup.
‘We’ll be moving inside the week, I’d guess. There’s no point leaving the Wall units all divided up into cohorts when we can form a legion-sized battle group with two or three days’ marching. So, First Spear, are we ready?’
Frontinius nodded.
‘Ready enough. There’s still the question of completing the assessments, but I think we’ll have time enough for that if I pull the schedule forward.’
‘And our new centurions?’
Frontinius stretched out his legs, pursing his lips in consideration.
‘A timely question. Rufius is everything I expected, tough, professional, more than up to his task. A gift from Cocidius. As for the Corvus boy…’
The prefect took another sip of wine, raising an eyebrow.
‘Yes?’
‘To be honest, he’s surprised me in the last few weeks. He seems to have an excellent grip on his century, Prince Dubnus is backing him to the hilt, he’s converted more than one complete waste of good rations into an effective soldier, and his reputation in the cohort seems to be stronger than I could ever have imagined. He’s a cunning young bastard too.’
‘Cunning? Not quite what I’d expected.’
‘Nor I, but I can’t find any other way to describe a man who hides his men’s abilities from his brother officers. His men run faster than any other century in the cohort, certainly faster than I can keep up with. He hides this, however, with overlong rest breaks to hold down their average speed, or else he takes them on detours to make their performance look slower than it is. I find that very interesting.’
‘And so do I. I wonder what else he has hidden away from view?’
The First Spear reached for his helmet.
‘Exactly. I think it’s time to give him a chance to show us.’
Ordering the guard centurion to assemble the officers, Frontinius installed himself in the principia to wait their arrival, mulling over his thoughts on the subject of his youngest officer while the two men standing guard over the cohort’s treasury stared uneasily at the wall above his head. He was still brooding when the officers started to enter the praetorium in ones and twos, the first arrivals dragging him back to the moment at hand. Rufius arrived in the company of Caelius and Clodius while Marcus and Julius made predictably solitary entrances. When all nine men were gathered in front of him, Frontinius roused himself to their briefing, sending the duty guards out to stand watch at the door.