The Blood Crows (Roman Legion 12) (34 page)

‘We’ll ride out along there and skirt round the enemy ambush before we make for the column. Have the horns keep sounding as we advance.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Stellanus saluted.

Cato raised his spear and tilted it forward. ‘Second Thracian! Follow me!’

The mounts rumbled into a gentle trot along the ledge and then followed the line of the slope. As they made their way towards the pass, Cato was relieved to see that the column had halted. Now he could make out a century of legionaries at the front; the rest of the soldiers carried the oval shields of auxiliaries. There was no sign of any deployment. He silently cursed their commander for not being more cautious and urged Hannibal on. A few hundred paces ahead and further down the slope he could see the first of Caratacus’s men gathering themselves for the assault. They, too, had been alerted by the trumpet signals and Cato could see the pale dots of faces looking up the slope. His mind was working through the disposition of the enemy forces and the ground over which the coming battle would be fought. It was already clear that there would be little chance of breaking through to the fort. All that was left was the possibility of a fighting retreat towards Gobannium. If they reached the outpost and Caratacus chose to lay siege to that as well then his force would be stretched to cover both Roman fortifications. To that extent Macro and the rest of the garrison would have a better chance of survival, Cato reflected.

His thoughts were interrupted by the blare of Celtic horns from the group of riders clustered around Caratacus. The note was quickly taken up by the other war bands and then the sound of their wild cheers crashed up the slope towards Cato and his men like the roar of a wave. Warriors erupted from the ground and surged towards the front and flanks of the Roman column. Cato felt his guts tighten with a terrible anxiety as he saw that none of the men was moving.

‘What the fuck are they waiting for?’ Stellanus demanded.

Then, as if in answer to his words, the soldiers in the column began to form up around the baggage train and the escort’s cavalry squadron trotted out to one side to form a line. The men were well drilled, Cato knew, but it was clear that there was little chance of them completing their manoeuvre before the warriors charged in amongst them.

‘Shit,’ he muttered to himself, then turned in his saddle to issue an order. His hand had been forced. There was only one thing to do now. ‘Halt! Deploy in line and make ready to charge!’

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

‘Charge?’ Centurion Stellanus repeated, wheeling his horse round to face his superior. ‘Sir, we cannot charge down the slope. It’s too steep. Half our men would fall before we reached the pass.’

‘I know that, damn you,’ Cato snapped. ‘I’ll thank you not to question my orders, Centurion. Now have the men form up. And watch the pace I set. I will not have any man race ahead, nor lag behind. We will reach the battlefield as one. It’s our best chance of survival. Is that clear?’

Stellanus gritted his teeth and nodded, before turning to repeat the order. ‘Form line!’

The two squadrons wheeled to the left and spread out along the slope. Cato looked down and saw that there were perhaps three hundred paces of steep ground to negotiate before it was sufficiently level to give the order for the charge. There would be no mad scramble across the open ground as with the cavalry charges of less disciplined armies. Roman cavalry were strictly drilled and the charge was a carefully graduated build-up in speed. They would only unleash their mounts and let them gallop the last fifty paces to contact with the enemy. Even so, the advance down the slope would need to be carefully handled to keep the formation together.

Glancing to both sides, Cato saw that the two squadrons were ready, the men clutching their spears and holding their shields close. The tails of their mounts flicked and some of the horses tossed their heads, sensing the tension of the riders. Cato held his spear aloft. ‘Hold the line. When the order is given to charge, don’t stop until you reach the column . . . Blood Crows, forward!’

Hannibal started down the slope at a walk. As they descended, Cato looked ahead to see that the swiftest of the enemy had reached the reinforcements while they were still deploying into a box around the baggage train. The first Silurians were easily dealt with, but as more and more charged home, the legionaries at the front of the column were not able to complete their change of formation and a disordered battle line rapidly fringed the carts and wagons huddled in the middle. The cavalry squadron, a short distance away, spurred forward into the fight and was engulfed by the horde of Silurian warriors closing round the Roman column.

At the foot of the slope the infantry who had been shadowing the Thracians stopped and turned to face their opponents. In amongst them Cato could see some of the dark cloaks of the Druids who shouted encouragement to the warriors and hurled curses and spells at the oncoming horsemen. As the slope began to ease, Cato called over his shoulder, ‘Form wedge on me!’

The squadron commanders relayed the command and the troopers adjusted their pace so that the line quickly transformed into an arrowhead, with ten men riding at the rear, ready to fill any gaps as their comrades fell. They would have to break through the enemy line in order to make for the embattled column and Cato gradually changed the direction and made for the warrior’s right flank. The enemy were now no more than a hundred paces away and the more undisciplined of them were loosing arrows in their direction. The shafts fell well short and Cato tapped his spurs and gave the order, ‘At the canter!’

Hannibal lurched beneath him and surged forward at an easy run. The ground rumbled and the air filled with the chink of bits, the slap and thud of shields and the creak of leather. The gap between the two sides narrowed swiftly and Cato tightened his grip on the handle of his shield and raised his spear over his head, ready to strike down at the enemy. Ahead he could see their faces and read their expressions: fear, excitement and grim determination. He snatched a breath and cried out as loud as he could to be heard above the din, ‘Blood Crows . . . Charge!’

The Thracians took up the cry as they spurred their mounts forward and braced themselves in their saddles. The sharp notes of the trumpets cut through the cacophony of hoofs and bellowed war cries. Cato hunched forward, the left of his body covered by the shield, the muscles of his right arm bunched and ready to strike at the first Silurian who stood before him. The distance closed in what seemed an instant and he saw two men leap aside immediately in front of him. He thrust his spear at the nearest of them but the Silurian was too quick and the point found only thin air. Cato snatched the spear back as Hannibal plunged on, into the enemy ranks. Another man, braver this time, stood his ground directly ahead and Cato angled his spear tip round. The Silurian carried a kite shield bearing a swirling design, and he held a long sword above his head. Snatching at his reins with his shield hand, Cato dragged Hannibal’s head round and the horse whinnied as the iron curb bit caught in its mouth. Hannibal swerved and his breast smashed into the warrior’s shield, knocking him back. Cato stabbed his spear and this time the point struck the man in the thigh. A flesh wound, but deep enough to cause him to cry out in agony and stumble away. Cato pressed his heel into the horse’s flank to straighten him and continued forward. On either side the Thracians crashed into and through the enemy line. Cato saw one of his men turn and start to chase after a fleeing tribesman and bellowed, ‘Leave them! On! On!’

He spurred Hannibal forward and continued up the gentle rise to the pass where he could just make out the flicker of weapons and a handful of standards weaving above the grass crest of the slope. The Thracian squadrons had burst through the right of the enemy line and scattered the warriors. Glancing back over his shoulder, Cato was relieved to see that the formation was intact, though less clearly defined than it had been before the impact of the charge. There were no gaps and he could not see any men caught in a fight with the enemy infantry. He felt a surge of elation that they had broken through so easily, then he braced himself for the real fight that was to come.

The wedge pounded up into the pass and the bitter struggle ahead of them was revealed in all its desperate savagery. Thousands of enemy warriors surged around the beleaguered column. There was no sign of any survivors of the squadron that had made their folorn charge a short time before. On a small rise Caratacus and his retinue sat on their horses watching the fight. For an instant Cato was tempted by the idea of leading his men against the enemy general. If he could be killed then the heart, and brains, would be knocked out of the coalition of tribes still opposing Rome. Then, at last, there might be peace in the new province of Britannia. But before he could act on his impulse and issue the order, he saw Caratacus and his followers ride down to join the battle on the opposite side of the hard-pressed Roman perimeter.

Ahead of him the nearest of the enemy warriors had turned towards the sound of the approaching Thracians. The wild appearance that Quertus had encouraged and their reputation for savagery seemed to ride ahead of them and some of the tribesmen fled from their path, leaving only hardened warriors to stand their ground. Looking beyond them Cato saw a seething mass of the enemy he and his men would have to cut through to reach the column. And then what? Escape from the pass seemed impossible. He thrust the thought aside. For him there must only be the here and now. He must lead his men and fight on for as long as possible. If the gods favoured him, he might live through this yet. Otherwise he briefly prayed that his end would be swift and relatively painless.

Hannibal’s flanks heaved from the exertion of the charge but the horse gamely charged on, knocking aside two men before a third slashed a blade at the bronze chamfron guarding the horse’s forehead and eyes. Fortunately it was only a glancing blow but the ringing impact startled the horse into rearing up and lashing out with its hoofs. Cato threw his weight forward and struggled to regain control.

‘Easy, lad! Easy . . .’ Cato spoke tenderly and Hannibal dropped forward and Cato urged him on. Around him the wedge formation had been blunted as the Thracians ploughed into the ranks of the enemy infantry, shouting their war cries as they stabbed left and right with their long spears, thrusting into the limbs and bodies of the Silurians. Cato looked round and saw that some of the saddles were empty, and close by, another man was surrounded by warriors stabbing at him as he attempted to keep moving and not present his foes with an easy target. But there were too many of them and as he raised his arm to strike with his spear an axe thudded into his back, not cutting through the chain-link armour but still shattering the bones beneath. The spear tumbled from his fingers and a moment later he was dragged from his saddle and out of Cato’s sight.

Centurion Stellanus’s voice carried above the fighting, raw and strained. ‘Keep on, boys! Keep going forward!’

Cato pressed on, his shield held high as he braced his spear arm. An older warrior, sinewy with matted grey hair, sprang out of the throng wielding an axe, his teeth bared in a savage snarl as he saw the Roman officer and charged. Cato leaned forward and thrust his spear. The point struck true, deep into the man’s groin. He doubled over and dropped his axe and slumped down on to his hands and knees, and then Cato had charged past him and was looking for his next foe. So intent was he on the fighting that he was almost upon the Roman line before he was aware of it. A gap opened between the Silurians and there stood men brandishing the heavy rectangular shields of the legions. Cato drew up sharply and called out, ‘Open ranks! Let us through!’

There was no reaction; the narrowed eyes of the legionaries peered suspiciously over the rim of their shields. To one side was the slender crest of an optio and Cato pointed his spear towards the man.

‘You! Tell your men to open ranks!’

The optio regarded him briefly and then bellowed the order to his men. To his relief Cato saw the shields part and he spurred Hannibal through the gap and into the space behind the backs of the Roman soldiers. At once he wheeled round and brandished his spear. ‘Blood Crows! Blood Crows! On me!’

More men surged through the gap, singly and in small groups as they fought their way free of the Silurians. Cato saw that most of the two squadrons had made it through. A handful of individuals had become separated from the formation and he saw the last of them, no more than thirty paces away, savagely hauled off his horse into a swirl of enemy warriors. Their bloodied weapons rose and fell before they turned back to renew their assault on the reinforcement column.

Cato holstered the butt of his spear and called out, ‘Centurion Stellanus! Decurion Kastos! On me!’

‘Here, sir!’ Stellanus thrust his horse through the riders milling in the gap between the legionaries and the wagons.

‘Where’s Kastos?’

‘He took a spear to the chest and went down back there.’

Cato nodded. ‘Then I’ll take direct command of his squadron.’

‘Who in Hades’ name are you?’ a voice interrupted them and Cato turned to see a tribune standing on one of the wagons close by. A tall, broad man, a few years older than himself. Cato turned his horse and edged towards the wagon.

‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, commander at Bruccium.’

The officer nodded a greeting. ‘Tribune Mancinus, sir. Of the Fourteenth. What are you doing here?’

Cato ignored the abrupt tone. ‘I had hoped to help you cut your way through to the fort. But it seems you are somewhat under strength for the job.’

Mancinus shook his head wryly. ‘My thoughts exactly. But the legate said the escort would be adequate. Not his wisest decision.’

‘I’ll say. What is your plan?’

‘Plan?’ The tribune gestured to the fight raging around the wagons. Wounded men were being dragged back from the fighting line and propped up against the wheels of the wagons. ‘What do you think?’ The tribune’s voice was strained. ‘We’re fighting for our lives.’

There was a brief hesitation before he conceded command. ‘What are your orders, sir?’

Cato looked round and saw that for the moment the Roman soldiers were holding their own. He turned back to Mancinus. ‘We have to fight our way out of this. We can’t go forward, there’s even more of the enemy in the direction of the fort. We’ll have to make for Gobannium.’

The tribune pursed his lips. ‘Might not be so easy, sir. We were being followed by a war band soon after we left Gobannium. They stayed with us until this morning and then vanished. Or so I thought.’

‘Well, that’s the only direction open to us now.’ Cato winced as an arrow glanced off his shield and deflected into the air over his helmet. ‘I’ll use my men to clear a path. Have the infantry close up and we’ll get moving. Empty three of the wagons for the wounded. The rest will have to be abandoned. The prospect of easy spoils will slow some of the enemy down.’

Mancinus nodded, and turned to shout orders to one of the sections waiting in his small reserve. The men laid down their shields and began to unload the last three wagons, dumping the spare kit and rations on the ground which was slick with churned mud from the heavy wheels, hoofs and boots of the column. The injured men were hauled up and roughly deposited on the bed of the first wagon. Cato knew that the wagon would soon be filled by more of the wounded, and the same would be true of the other vehicles.

While the legionaries prepared the wagons, Cato ordered Stellanus to form the Thracians across the track towards the rear of the perimeter.

The optio in charge of the reserve approached and saluted. ‘Sir, what about the draught animals? Do we take ’em with us or kill ’em?’

Cato glanced at the mules and oxen harnessed to the wagons that were being left behind. There was no sense in letting the enemy make use of them. It was standard practice to destroy them rather than let them be captured. Yet they might serve a useful purpose. He refined his plan a moment and then addressed the optio.

‘Have them taken out of harness and placed in front of the Thracians. You have feed nets?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then fix one to the harness of each animal.’

‘Sir?’ The optio looked surprised and then nodded obediently. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘See to it. Quick as you can.’

The optio hurried off to carry out his orders and Cato paused to take stock of the battle. He had lost a third of his men. No more than forty Thracians remained. The reinforcement column was faring better, thanks to the shield wall they were able to present to the enemy. They would take far fewer losses than the lightly armed Silurians, but that would not last. The price of heavy armour was the exhaustion that it inflicted on the soldiers. That was why the legionaries fought in relays in great set-piece battles. There would be no respite for them on the road back to Gobannium, Cato realised. A few hours from now, they would be worn out and become easy pickings for their nimble enemy.