Wounds of Honour

11

The cavalrymen’s horses fretted at their reins, impatient to be away from the plodding infantry column and free to run. The prefect had a dozen horsemen, his escort from the 6th’s camp, to use as swift messengers in the absence of the Petriana’s courier riders. Four were to be loosed now, tasked to ride north-east and find the oncoming legion, to warn them that a second warband was in the field. The headquarters clerks finished coding the message with the day’s cipher and a centurion whisked the tablets out to the waiting horsemen.

Equitius scratched his beard, increasingly itchy as the spartan field regime of cold-water washing took its toll on his cleanliness. He’d manoeuvred the column off the road and into the woods, then dropped his five cohorts into a swift defensive posture while he composed his message to Sollemnis. Another warband on the move gave Calgus much greater ability to threaten any advancing Roman force, manoeuvre to strike at a flank or rear while the first held their attention. Even more than before he knew the critical importance of adding their four thousand spears to those of the legion, for both their sakes. He raised an eyebrow questioningly at Frontinius.

‘And now, First Spear, before I call the other prefects to confer, your advice, please. Do we push forward to our meeting point with the legion, or make a more cautious approach? There could be ten thousand or more spears waiting for us out there.’

Frontinius pondered, rubbing his scalp.

‘I say we hump forward to join with the Sixth as quickly as we can. Better to be part of a combined force than wait about out here for the barbarians to find us. The Ninth can scout forward half a mile in advance, make sure we don’t fall into any nasty little traps.’

Equitius nodded his agreement, turning to walk away.

‘Very well, I’ll get the other cohorts ready to move. You’d better get the Ninth on the job.’ The day’s advance was for the most part a non-event. The 9th went forward at a steady pace while individual tent parties were directed to any feature of the rolling ground capable of concealing an enemy. Every copse, every wrinkle in the ground, was investigated by nervous soldiers, their caution easing as the day grew older and still no sign of the enemy was found. The beaten path left by the warband’s passage had turned gradually away to the north-west, while the cohorts’ meeting point with the 6th lay directly to the west.

By the middle of the afternoon the wind had died away to nothing, and the soldiers were starting to get hot and irritable under the burden of their armour. Helmets were removed and hung around the troops’ necks, allowing the sweat to evaporate from their scalps rather than soak into their helmet liners, and water skins became an increasing source of temptation when a centurion’s back was turned. One of the questing tent parties, investigating a small clump of trees just off the line of march, beckoned Marcus and Dubnus forward with frantically waved hands, the rest of the century deploying to either side in guard positions. In the middle of the copse was a grim scene, already busy with flies and stinking of decay’s onset. Half a dozen men lay dead, one with his throat cut untidily wide open, the others with combat wounds. Dubnus examined the bodies, looking at each one’s blue tattoos with care.

‘They’re from the same tribe, but four of the bodies are from one family group, two from another. They must have quarrelled…’

He moved one of the bodies with his foot, pulling a hunting bow from an indignant cloud of flies, a quiver of a dozen heavy iron-tipped arrows tied to the weapon.

‘… and they must have been in a hurry to leave to have missed this. I’d guess that some of the losers escaped, and the winners headed for the warband, eager to get their version of events in front of their tribal elders first.’

He strapped the bow across his back, having tested the tautness of its string. Frontinius came forward with the runner sent to fetch him, and surveyed the scene unhappily. He looked hard at the bodies, then nodded agreement to Dubnus.

‘You’re right, a family squabble by the look of things. This could have been a scouting party, or just a group of men on their way to join the warband, but either way, it tells us that we’re too close to the main force for my comfort. We’ll push on as planned, but I want extra vigilance from here.’

The rest of the afternoon, however, passed without incident, at least until the 9th spotted a line of horse-drawn carts against the dark green mass of the next line of hills, and a row of machines made tiny by the distance.

‘Legion artillery train,’ Morban grunted. ‘The rest of them’ll be on top of the hills digging out a camp while those lazy bastards sit on their arses.’

They stopped to wait for the cohorts to catch up with them, unwilling to advance out towards the line of bolt throwers and catapults until everyone knew exactly who they were. Legion artillerymen were notoriously quick to fire at almost anything that moved, and their weapons were capable of punching a bolt through a man at four hundred paces. Once the cohorts had advanced to their position Frontinius took the 9th forward at a cautious pace, until a detachment of the legion’s cavalry galloped over to investigate them. Their decurion nodded recognition, saluted Frontinius and pointed up the hillside.

‘The Sixth’s up there digging in, First Spear, and you’re invited to join them as soon as possible. There’s probably twenty thousand enemy spears within a half-day’s march of here, and the legatus’s keen to get everyone into defensive positions for the night.’

They marched past the supply train, eyeing the evil-looking bolt throwers, painted with names like ‘Maneater’ and ‘Ribsplitter’, and their lounging crews, then climbed the hill’s long slope until they reached the crest, where a scene from a hundred field exercises greeted them. The legion’s six thousand men were labouring like slaves, a steady flow of cut turfs flowing to the rampart building gangs. The 6th’s camp prefect strode out to meet them, pointing over the temporary fort’s rising walls to a point on the far side.

‘Glad to see you, prefect, your last message put the wind up everyone. We’d like your cohorts on the eastern face, since that’s the side where the slope’s shallowest.’

Equitius shot a wry smile at Frontinius before replying.

‘I’ll take the fact that you want us to protect the most vulnerable face of the camp as a vote of confidence, Prefect. I presume that if we come under attack you’ll consider yourselves invited to the party?’

Later, dug in and fed, their artillery placed around the camp and their watch fires set twice over to delude enemy scouts as to the size of their force until the camp seemed ablaze, the troops sat uneasily in their tent parties and centuries, mulling over the likelihood of action the next day. The older men passed down their wisdom, such as it was, to the younger troops, while officers and their chosen men circulated their commands, each seeking in his own way to bolster their morale. The circulation of officers was not restricted to the junior ranks either. Late in the evening Legatus Sollemnis walked into the Tungrians’ lines, a dozen-man bodyguard walking about him with jealous eyes. He clasped hands with Equitius, and joined him in the headquarters tent for a cup of wine.

‘So, are your men ready for tomorrow? We’ll get our chance to measure our skills against theirs very soon now if I read the signs correctly.’

‘Signs?’

‘Didn’t the camp prefect tell you? Sometimes I wonder how that man ever made it past centurion… Our cavalry scouts have the warband you’ve been following located, and under close watch, about ten thousand men strong. They’ve occupied an old hill fort, but without their own scouts they’re blind, and we have freedom of tactical manoeuvre I never thought I’d enjoy on hostile ground. The original warband, the one Perennis located two days ago, is still thirty miles distant, and not showing any signs of moving yet. It’s a chance to defeat the warbands piecemeal before they join together, and one I intend to take with both hands. We have the bastards that razed every fort on the North Road in our grasp my friend, and in the morning we’ll give them a taste of the hammer and anvil.’

He unrolled a rough hand-drawn map of the area.

‘We’re here, about ten miles from the barbarian camp. Tomorrow I shall send your five cohorts and four of my own, under your command, around their left flank by this route, and send you into their rear. I will take the main body of the legion forward in frontal attack, with an approach to contact across this open area, using these two large woods as cover for as long as possible. Calgus will find spears whichever way he turns, and we shall have them bottled up for the slaughter.’

Equitius frowned.

‘It’s aggressive, that’s clear enough. What about a reserve?’

Sollemnis nodded his understanding.

‘I know, I’ve thought long and hard, but for a start we’ve got the Petriana, and your formation will act as a reserve of sorts. The simple truth is that this thing’s balanced on a knife-edge — we need to get at them before the first warband joins up and makes them too big to tackle without the other legions. If we can exploit their lack of scouting ability to hit them without warning, we can get the job done quickly and efficiently.’

The other man frowned again, uncomfortable at having to tell his friend his misgivings about the plan.

‘And you’re basing all this on the reports of our scouts. Who presumably are still under the command of your senior tribune…?’

‘Yes, and the answer to your unspoken question is just as it was before. Do I trust him not to play a dangerous game once all this is over? Of course not! But he’s proved adept with his Asturians, better than the Petriana since he took over the task to let Licinius rest his men. He’s put me in a position to cripple this revolt with a single decisive blow, and if I fail to take that opportunity I’ll find myself recalled to Rome before you can say “imperial death warrant for failing to put down barbarian uprising”. What would you do?’

Equitius nodded his agreement, although his face lost little of its pensive cast.

‘If you want an honest opinion, Gaius, I’d say it’s risky. There’s no proper reserve, the advance to contact takes your force past two large woods that could hide thousands of men, and it’s all based on reports from a man I wouldn’t trust for a second… but I take your point about the risks of delaying.’

‘And if we catch them in the open, without time to form up, we can grind them to shreds between our shield walls. It’s a risk, but it’s one I have to take. Will you take it with me?’

Equitius put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, looking hard into his eyes.

‘As if you even need to ask…’

Sollemnis nodded, his lips pursed with gratitude and emotion.

‘Thank you. And now, I would appreciate a tour of your unit. You’ll understand that there’s one officer in particular I would appreciate meeting, if only briefly. I haven’t seen the boy since he turned twelve apart from a brief meeting under difficult circumstances…’

The prefect raised an eyebrow.

‘Are you sure that’s wise? It might be better to let that sleeping dog lie.’

‘I understand your concern. Look, it’ll do your boys good to see that I’m out and about, and I’ll only be with each century for a minute or two. I’d just like to see him once more before we confront the barbarians. By this time tomorrow one or both of us could be face down in the dirt — I’d prefer to have seen my son the way I want to remember him, rather than the way circumstances might force upon us. Please.’

Equitius relented, shaking his head slightly.

‘Being too damned persuasive got you that particular problem in the first place, I seem to remember. You always were too good at getting what you wanted. I’ll have Frontinius walk you around the cohort, a brief tour of inspection. Don’t give the lad any reason to suspect the truth, though. The last thing I need on the night before a major action is a centurion wondering whether his dead father really was his father, wouldn’t you agree?’

The First Spear met the legatus outside the cohort’s command tent as bidden a few minutes later. He saluted formally, and then stood to attention.

‘Legatus, I believe you have requested a tour of my cohort?’

Sollemnis smiled at him, waving a dismissive hand.

‘Relax, First Spear, I just want to see what state my troops are in for tomorrow’s fun and games.’

‘We attack tomorrow, sir? Without waiting for the other legions?’

‘Yes, and I’ve just had this conversation with your prefect. There are some aspects of the plan which are less than perfect, but if we destroy this one warband then we can put Calgus on the defensive. And we might well find that a disheartened barbarian army melts away in the face of a successful outcome tomorrow.’

Frontinius kept his mouth shut and Sollemnis, sensing his disquiet, extended a hand to point into the camp.

‘So, shall we have a look at your men?’

They walked into the camp, heading for the closest watch fire. As arranged at their last meeting, before the warband’s rampage to the south, Calgus went to the hill fort’s eastern entrance shortly after dark had fallen. His army was gathered inside the tall earth rampart’s wide perimeter, taking full advantage of the protection afforded by the massive earthwork. He had, with some trepidation, agreed to the Roman traitor’s suggestion that he bring the warband to its fullest possible strength in this ancient place, knowing that his army would be in deep trouble if the three enemy legions took them by surprise. Now he waited in the torchlit darkness with his bodyguard clustered close around him, eager to see if the man was as good as his word.

After a few minutes’ wait a voice called softly out of the darkness.

‘Bring him to me. Don’t damage him.’

Four men walked forward into the night with torches, finding Perennis waiting for them fifty yards down the road, his open hands raised to show that he was unarmed. He walked back to where the barbarian leader waited, seemingly as relaxed as ever despite the spears pointing at him from all angles.

‘Calgus. I see your hunger for victory has overwhelmed the risk that I might be leading you into a trap?’

‘I have more than twenty thousand men at my back, Roman. I doubt there’s a trap you could spring that I couldn’t batter to pieces.’

Perennis smiled, the gesture half hidden in the torchlight.

‘I warned you a week ago that the southern legions were farther advanced in their progress than you believed. Now I can tell you that they’ve reached the Wall, and are hurrying to join with the Sixth Legion. Once they’ve joined your chance to take advantage of my plan will be at an end, and you and I will be firm enemies rather than allies of convenience. I estimate that you have until noon tomorrow in which to strike, and no more time than that. We must conclude our business quickly if you’re not to find yourself rudely interrupted by the Second and Twentieth Legions. So what’s it to be, bloody victory or an ignominious retreat back into the hills? You know you can’t face them in open battle.’

Calgus turned away, staring out into the darkness, his features unreadable.

‘What do you propose? Even a single legion will cause my people grievous losses if I allow them to face us in line of battle with the support of their auxiliary cohorts. Have you brought my army here just to tell me we’ve no alternative but to run, or give battle in the very way that has always resulted in our defeat? Because if you have…’

The Roman interrupted him impatiently.

‘I propose the ambush that’s been in my mind since the first time I scouted this ground six months ago. I propose your warriors taking the legion by surprise while it’s still deployed for the march. That way you can strike from both sides, and avoid the danger of the cohorts getting into line. There’s a place not far from here that fits the bill perfectly, funnily enough.’ Later on in the evening, with most of the troops bedded down if not actually sleeping, and the legatus safely back among his own men, Equitius invited Frontinius to join him in a cup of wine, as was often their habit in the field. They sat in the flickering lamplight and talked as friends, the artificial restrictions of their ranks temporarily abandoned.

‘So what did Sollemnis say while you were out walking the cohort with him?’

Frontinius took a sip of his wine.

‘After we’d spoken to a couple of the centurions he asked me what I really thought about his intention to attack Calgus tomorrow.’

Equitius grimaced.

‘And you said?’

‘I told him that his role of late seems to consist mainly of putting my cohort in harm’s way.’

Equitius grimaced again.

‘Ouch. And what did he say to that?’

‘He apologised for sending young Marcus to us, explained how he had no option under the circumstances. Then he asked what I thought of the boy. I told him that it was an unfair question under the circumstances, and that he should form his own opinions when he met him. Well, we walked into the Ninth’s area just after that, got challenged very smartly, had a chat with young Two Knives and a few of his men, made our excuses and moved on. We can’t have been there for more than two or three minutes, but it was enough for the legatus. He stopped to wipe his eyes in the shadow of a tent. When he spoke to me again he was obviously choked up by seeing his boy again. And, bearing in mind that he might not get to see him again, that seemed understandable. Now, Prefect, show me exactly what it is that our august leader plans for the morning.’

He stared at the map spread across the table in front of them, putting a finger on the position where the barbarian warband was reported to be camped.

‘They’re here…?’

‘As reported by the younger Perennis, yes.’

‘Hmm. We break camp at dawn, make a swift march to contact… can’t be more than six or seven miles… and if they’re in the same place when we arrive it should be a reasonably straightforward fight unless they decide to run away. Our ten thousand men against their ten thousand men, and us with the advantages of at least partial surprise and able to fight on our own terms.’

‘Yes. Although you’ve failed to guess one aspect of the plan. He intends splitting his force into two parts, hammer and anvil. We’re not going to let them run away, we’re going for a battle of annihilation.’

Frontinius’s eyebrows rose.

‘And you think that’s wise? Risk them catching and defeating each of our smaller forces in turn?’

‘He’s set on it. The fact that Perennis’s scouts have set the whole thing up for him doesn’t leave him with much alternative from his point of view.’

Frontinius shook his head.

‘Well, that goes against the style of warfare that I was taught. If it all goes right we could kill lots of barbarians tomorrow, but if anything goes wrong, if they’ve moved since the last scout report, or if there’s more of them around that we haven’t found, we could both be decorating Calgus’s roof beams in a week or two. I’d better go and treat this tired old body to a few hours’ sleep.’ The legion and its supporting cohorts snatched a hasty breakfast in the dull grey light of dawn, and were on the march less than thirty minutes after the sun had cleared the horizon. Taking another calculated risk, Sollemnis had decided that they would camp in the same place that evening, and thus avoided the lost time of actually striking camp, leaving their tents standing ready for the legion’s return. The long column of men snaked north, led by a detachment of the Asturian cavalry who had returned from their place watching the warband late the previous night. Only Perennis and a few picked men had remained in place, and they would have pulled out at first light, heading for a prearranged meeting point to provide the legatus with a last-minute briefing on the warband’s dispositions.

While the Tungrians were far back down the order of march, back behind the 6th’s last cohort, Equitius had ridden away with Sollemnis’s officers to participate in the final orders group that would start once Perennis and his scouts rejoined the column. As the legion moved forward he stopped his horse for a moment to take the sight in, turning in the saddle to stare back down the line of soldiers marching four abreast up the rough track that had been chosen as their approach route for the battle to come. Sollemnis ranged up alongside him, his horse steaming slightly in the chilly dawn air. He recognised a cohort’s senior centurion and saluted gravely, getting a brief nod and hurried salute back from the officer as he passed.

‘It isn’t often you’ll see a whole legion bashing along this fast. Even on exercise the centurions have to lay the vine stick on pretty hard to get their boys really sweating, and yet just look at them this morning…’

The hard-bitten legionaries were slogging past them at a pace reserved for those times when the legion needed to be somewhere else very quickly indeed, and some of them were clearly already suffering from the exertion. They had been forbidden to sing this morning for fear of making too much noise — any song would in any case have quickly been blown out by their blistering pace. Equitius could already see faces in the ranks that were stretched by the effort of sucking in enough air to keep men and their sixty-pound load of armour and weapons moving so quickly. Another century passed, the officer ranging easily alongside his men with one eye on the road and the other on his people, sparing a quick glance and a sardonic smile for the officers sitting comfortably on their horses. Other glances lacked the hint of humour and were simply surly in the face of such relative luxury.

‘My officers were about as happy with the prospect of today’s battle as you were last night. They also asked about our lack of a defined reserve, and some of the senior centurions were quite vocal on the subject. If anything goes wrong, Mars protect us, there’ll be a long queue of them ready to testify that they warned me about the dangers.’

Equitius nodded sagely.

‘Quite possibly including myself, if you have the misfortune to end up with your head on the end of a spear. But if we succeed…’

‘Ah, if we succeed, the old saying comes into play. You know, “victory is a child with a thousand fathers…”?’

‘So, first father of today’s triumph, where are we holding the orders group before splitting into two forces?’

‘Two more miles up the road, if Perennis is at the spot he’s chosen to meet us.’

They rode on and, as expected, Perennis was indeed waiting for them at the preordained place, a fork in the road. His Asturians tarried a short distance away, an evil-looking decurion and half a dozen horsemen, while he walked forward and saluted Sollemnis with precision. For a man who had spent the night at best rolled in his cloak and sleeping in a ditch, he looked fresh and ready for the day.

‘Legatus, I have a report for you from the point of decision.’

Sollemnis nodded, gesturing his officers to gather round before motioning Perennis to begin.

‘Sir, the barbarian warband is still in the same location and apparently suspects nothing. Their strength is estimated at ten thousand men, and when we left they were waking up for the day, with cooking fires lit and no sign of preparation for combat. If you still intend attacking, I would say that our chances of success are almost total.’

Sollemnis looked at his other officers as he replied.

‘Thank you, Tigidius Perennis this is good news. Gentlemen, I have decided to attack as we planned last night. The first six cohorts of the Sixth will advance in column across the open valley to the enemy’s front, using the woods to the right and left as cover for the move. This advance will be carried out at the battle march. On my command we will deploy into battle line and assault the barbarian hill fort. The legion artillery will accompany us, and will provide support from the flanks, if it can be deployed quickly enough.

‘At the same time, the Sixth’s remaining four cohorts, plus our five auxiliary cohorts, this force to be commanded by Prefect Equitius, will advance around the right flank. This force will take position ready to strike at the barbarian left and rear once the main force is engaged. The signal for them to attack will be three loud trumpet blasts followed by the advance signal. If the flank force is detected, or sees anything to indicate an alerted enemy, Prefect Equitius will sound three blasts followed by the stand fast signal, and will deploy into line ready for battle. In this case I will judge a response from the tactical situation to hand. My intention is to draw the barbarians into a battle and then close the door behind them. Gentlemen, we’re not just going to defeat this collection of savages masquerading as soldiers, we’re going to rip them limb from limb. Tell your men that this is going to be a victory that they’ll sing about for many years to come. That is all.’

His officers turned to go back to their places.

‘Ah, one more thing.’

They turned back to face him again, faces expectant.

‘I hear there’s talk in the legion about what happened when the North Road forts fell — Roman citizens, soldiers and civilians, tarred and torched, and the gods only know what indignities carried out on them beforehand. I expect that you’ve all heard men calling for equally harsh treatment to be given in return whenever we get the opportunity…?’

They waited expectantly.

‘I have to say that I agree wholeheartedly. Tell your commands that there will no mercy shown to any of the enemy attempting to surrender or escape. Any prisoners that are taken will be processed to my headquarters, and will be crucified this evening. Their legs will not be broken and they will be left to die slowly with no exceptions save one. If we take Calgus alive, he’ll be paraded through Rome before he feels the strangler’s cord tighten at his windpipe. That is all.’

Equitius saddled up and rode back down the long column of resting legionaries, most of them lying on their backs, recovering from their exertions of the previous hour, until he reached the 7th cohort and called for the senior centurions of the last four cohorts in the column. With the officers gathered around him he confirmed the orders from Sollemnis, and told them to get their men moving. The cohorts got ready to move without any of the shouting and chivvying usual in some legions, their air of quiet determination and competence reassuring Equitius that his temporary command would perform well enough when battle was joined.

The nine cohorts headed up the track past the remainder of the 6th, past Sollemnis, who watched them pass with a pensive expression, turning right at the fork on to another track. If their scout’s intelligence was correct, this road would take them along the edge of the shallow valley through which the 6th would advance to battle, round the barbarian left flank and into the position from which their attack could be launched. Equitius scanned the horizon until he saw the landmark he’d been told to look for, then reined his horse in alongside the senior centurion of the leading cohort.

‘Head for that wood on the horizon, and keep your eyes open for barbarian scouts. If we’re compromised I’d rather have some time to do something about it. I’m going back down the column for a chat with the auxiliaries. If you get to the wood before I’m back up here, break the march for a ten-minute rest.’

The other man nodded his understanding, and Equitius turned his horse to ride back down the column. He found the Tungrians sweating away in their place behind the last legionary cohort, and rode alongside Frontinius for a moment.

‘Is the cohort ready?’

His bald head beaded with moisture, Frontinius grimaced up at his superior.

‘As ready as we’ll ever be. Let’s just hope the scouts have got it right.’

Turning again, Equitius rode to the column’s rear, stopping to talk to his fellow prefects. Each of them was grimly determined, their men looking much the same as did his own, a combination of warlike posture and underlying nerves. In the distance to their rear he could see the main force column snaking away from its rest position, heading for the side of the nameless shallow valley. Back at the front of the column the wood was drawing closer, and when it was less than half a mile away he spurred his horse forward to investigate before his men arrived.

The trees were silent and empty, with no hint of an enemy presence, and Equitius climbed down from the horse to take in the scene in the valley below, creeping cautiously to avoid making his silhouette stand out above the steadily brightening skyline. The wood was positioned at the valley’s head, a small stream flowing down through it and across the almost flat expanse below. Two larger woods half filled the space, one to his right half a mile distant down the slight slope, the other half as much again to his left, and he stared intently at them for a long moment. If there were to be any threat to the 6th’s approach march, it would surely come from within the densely packed trees. Nothing moved. Indeed, the landscape was preternaturally still, without even birdsong, and a vague sense of unease permeated his thinking as he watched the shadows imperceptibly shortening under the rising sun’s gaze.

He turned back to look for the approaching column, and saw the leading troops less than four hundred paces distant. Remounted, he cantered the horse across to them and ordered the senior centurion to rest his men there rather than risk having them appear on the skyline and alerting any zealous barbarian foot scouts. As the first centuries fell out for their breather, a party of horsemen came into view, hurrying up the line of soldiers, pursued by the inevitable obscene catcalls. As the group approached, he realised that it was Perennis and his Asturian escort, headed by the glowering decurion. The legion tribune rode up and, without preamble or greeting, launched into his orders.

‘A message from the legatus. He’s received new intelligence and has therefore changed the plan. The Sixth Legion cohorts are detached from your command, as are the Second Tungrian, Raetian, Aquitani and Frisian cohorts. I am to lead these units to form a blocking position to the rear of the main force, while your cohort is to remain here and provide a watch on the woods to the right of the main line of march. You’re to keep the cohort well away from the valley’s edge, at least four hundred paces, and you personally are commanded to watch the valley from cover. Any enemy movement to the rear of these woods, which you will see before the main force, is to be alerted to the legatus by the triple sounding of a trumpet followed by the stand fast signal as previously agreed.’

Equitius stared at the man in disbelief. To change a battle plan halfway through the approach to contact was downright dangerous, and went against everything that both he and Sollemnis had been taught. Questions flooded his mind.

‘What new intelligence? What could have changed so dramatically as to invalidate the original plan?’

Perennis looked at him with irritation and urgency, pulling a tablet from the tunic beneath his armour.

‘Prefect Equitius, I am neither granted the time nor ordered to explain what’s going on. Time is of the essence now, and I must carry out my orders without delay. Read this, and you will see that my orders are lawful.’

He wheeled his horse away, calling to the 7th Cohort’s senior centurion.

‘Decimus, you old bastard, get your grunts ready to march right now. We’re heading to the west to get into position to guard the Sixth’s backside!’

The officer looked at Equitius and shrugged, entirely used to the legion way of doing business.

‘They’re legal orders, right, Prefect?’

Equitius scanned the tablet carefully. While the writing could have been anyone’s, the mark of Sollemnis’s seal was unmistakable.

‘Yes, First Spear, they are.’

‘In that case, sir, we’ll see you later. Seventh cohort, on your feet!’

The long column started moving again, the line of march swinging back to the west as it reached the place where Equitius was sitting unhappily on his horse. The Tungrians fell out of the column as they came up ten minutes later, the other auxiliary prefects stopping briefly to sympathise as they passed, and then the column was gone, marching out of sight behind a small hill.

Frontinius walked up to Equitius with a perplexed expression.

‘All I heard was that we were to stay here. What the fuck’s going on, Prefect?’

Equitius climbed down from his horse, passing the message tablet to his deputy.

‘You tell me. One moment we’re marching to take part in a pitched battle and massacre ten thousand blue-faced savages, the next I’m standing here with my phallus in my hand just in case something that those scouts assured Sollemnis couldn’t happen does happen. Something smells very wrong here. Anyway, you’d better brief your officers, pull the cohort back to four hundred yards from the crest. I’ll stay here to watch the valley.’

He walked unhappily away.

Frontinius took a good look around, taking in their new surroundings, and then called Marcus to him.

‘Right, Centurion, you can take a tent party and scout out that wood for me. I want to be sure there are no nasty little surprises waiting for us in there, and I want to know anything else that’s worth knowing about it. Keep below the skyline and don’t go anywhere near the edge of the trees, I don’t want anyone spotting you. Dismissed.’

Marcus gathered Dubnus and a tent party to him, leading them along the edge of the wood with deliberate care. Dubnus took the hunting bow he’d found the previous day from its place on his back and nocked an arrow, the cruel barbed head glinting in the sunshine. Close to the narrow stream that flowed down into the trees they found a path, two men wide but showing no recent sign of passage by either boot or bare feet. Thorns and branches grew across it at intervals.

‘Hunter’s path…’ Dubnus mused. ‘… there must be a source of game near.’

Marcus took a look down through the archway of trees, down a path that ran arrow straight to the thumbnail-sized speck of daylight at the far end.

‘Chosen, you’re best at this sort of thing, scout forward for us. Cyclops, you come with me to provide the chosen man with support if he needs it. The rest of you squat down here and keep out of sight. If I call, get down this path as fast as you can and be ready to fight. Otherwise, don’t move!’

Dubnus slid into the trees, deep shadow still covering the wood’s floor out of the thin early light. The smell of pine needles filled the air, and insects buzzed lazily at the intrusion. He stepped softly down the path, sweeping the arrow’s head slowly from side to side as if using the point to sense for enemies. Fifty yards down the path the wood was utterly silent, the trees undisturbed by animal or breeze, the exit at the far end of the path a coin-sized arch of light. Something moved off to the right, almost imperceptibly, and the arrow tracked round to cover that arc, holding steady as Dubnus bent the bow back the last inches to its full tension, with only two fingers stopping its explosive release of energy. A hare bolted from cover, weaving across the needle-coated floor, twisted in mid-leap and fell to rest transfixed by three feet of hunting arrow. Marcus and Cyclops, following up ten yards behind, breathed out long sighs of released tension. Dubnus plucked out another arrow and nocked it to the string in one fluid motion.

Five paces from the path’s end he stopped, motioning the other men forward. Marcus squatted behind him, peering over his shoulder. Through the arch of trees he could see most of the valley, but was sure that they would be invisible inside the path’s dark tunnel. The long grass that grew across the valley waved in idle ripples in the gentle breeze, while the trees in the large woods to right and left waved their branches fitfully. Dubnus stared intently at the scene, something as yet unidentified nagging at his sense of what felt right. To their left a sudden movement caught the eye, men coming over the side of the valley and spilling out on to the slope, a column of men moving fast and with purpose.

‘The Sixth.’

Marcus nodded, watching their progress while Dubnus scanned the valley again, his gaze coming back to the woods that were piquing his suspicion without providing a basis for real concern. The legion ground across the valley at a fast pace, almost running now, centurions urging their men on with encouragement and imprecation, desperate to close the distance and get into line, knowing the vulnerability of a column in the face of a determined attack. The woods rippled their branches blamelessly in the breeze, catching his eye again, and as he stared at them the realisation hit him with a force that turned his legs to stone for a long second.

‘The trees.’

Marcus looked over his shoulder, seeing only massed greenery.

‘What?’

‘Look at the branches. They’re in the fucking branches!’

He leapt to his feet and sprinted back up the path, leaving a bemused Marcus looking for something his chosen man had spotted, but he could not work out what it was. Then Cyclops whistled low behind him.

‘The branches, Two Knives, they’re not moving together. The bloody barbarians are in the trees!’ ‘This is the point of decision, sir, these next two or three minutes.’

The 4th Cohort’s First Spear wiped a hand across his sweat-beaded forehead, his legs pounding away on the soft grass to keep up the legion’s pace. Sollemnis nodded gravely, recognising the truth in the panted words. A legion in column in close country was a notoriously vulnerable situation. Varus had proved it at the Battle of the German Forest by advancing three legions into a massive and well-prepared ambush by German tribesmen, red-haired giants not unlike the present enemy, and had paid with his own life and eighteen thousand other men’s besides. Deployed into line, the legion could quickly reorient to meet any threat, could employ its disciplined fighting power against an enemy and exchange lives at a rate of three dead barbarians to one lost legionary. In column, with heavy cover to either side, a clever enemy could attack the legion’s rear no matter which way the marching men turned to fight. As long as Perennis was right, and they could reach the line of attack undetected, all would be well…

He turned back to look down the marching column. The 6th Cohort had cleared the valley side. The head of the column was now level with the wood to their left, and was swinging to take full advantage of the cover of the one to their right.

‘Five minutes, I’d say, then we’ll be out of the cover of that wood and start deploying.’

He’d ordered that the column break out into two three-cohort-long lines four men deep, with the rearmost line ready to feed men into the grinder as barbarian axes and swords progressively ate into the front ranks.

‘Anyone from the front rank that survives the day will be awarded the assault medal. With ten thousand barbarians to hack through and a hill fort to storm, I’d say they’ll have earned it.’

His senior centurion nodded agreement. The defeated barbarians were likely to fall back into their fort, and even with the bolt throwers set up on the flanks a few hundred yards back, spitting their foot-long bolts into the hill fort to discourage the barbarian archers, it was going to be an unpleasant day for the men going face to face with the warband.

The column’s head was approaching the right-hand wood now, three minutes of vulnerability left, and then he’d take a victory that would stamp out this rebellion and put fear into the barbarians that would keep them quiet north of the Wall for another generation. Calgus, if he were taken alive, would be carried off in chains and paraded in front of the emperor before a staged execution. If not, his head would have to do. He knew of native scouts who understood the art of preserving a dead man’s head for years, and he would have Perennis take it to Commodus with the 6th’s Legion’s badge stamped on to the dead man’s forehead, cement his place in imperial favour and kill the rumours of disloyalty for good. He smiled to himself at the image. Perhaps he ought to have Perennis dealt with too…

From the ridge-line to the north of the advancing legion cohorts a trumpet note sounded, catching the attention of every man in the column, repeated itself, then sounded a third time, the note switching into the stand fast call and making his guts contract. It was the signal that he’d ordered Equitius to give if they were detected, or found an alerted enemy, but it was coming from the wrong place.

With a sudden rattling hammer of iron against armour plate hundreds of arrows ripped into the legion’s ranks, dropping dozens of unprepared legionaries in writhing agony or sudden death. The column dithered for a moment, another rain of arrows striking home, and this time Sollemnis saw what he’d missed in the surprise of the first volley — that they were being fired from above head height, negating the defensive protection of the legionaries’ shields. A legionary near him spun and fell, an arrow lodged deep in his throat, another jerking and then toppling stiffly backwards to the ground with a feathered shaft protruding between the cheek-pieces of his helmet. The hissing passage of an arrow past his left ear warned that he was the archers’ target.

‘They’re in the trees!’

At least one centurion had come to the same conclusion, and several centuries started to form testudos, shields held to side and overhead to frustrate the attacks, getting ready to charge into the trees and dig out the barbarian archers at close quarters. Then, as the situation started to stabilise after the first shock of attack, a thick wave of tribesmen bounded from the woods to either side of the stalled column with a berserk howl that lifted the hairs on the back of the legatus’s neck, pouring out of their cover in an apparently unending stream of rage to charge into the nearest cohorts. Swinging swords and axes with hate-fuelled ferocity, the barbarians smashed into the unformed line, in an instant exploding the legion’s carefully trained fighting tactic of shield wall and stabbing sword into thousands of individual duels. Sollemnis knew only too well that these were fights in which an infantryman armed with a short infantry-pattern sword was at a disadvantage faced with a weapon of twice the length.

He regained his wits, drew his sword and bellowed above the din.

‘Defensive circles! Form defensive circles! The flank force will take them in the rear if we can defend long enough!’

The 4th cohort’s senior centurion, his men suffering under the iron rain of barbarian arrows, but as yet not engaged, bellowed to his officers to follow the order, and Sollemnis walked into the protection of their shields with his bodyguard as the circle closed, looking across the battlefield to see two other cohorts fighting to achieve the same result under a press of barbarian attackers. The rest of the legion was already fighting in broken order, with little hope of regaining any meaningful formation before the battle’s end.

Inside the circle a dozen wounded legionaries were being seen to by the cohort’s medical officer, most with arrows protruding from their throats and faces. The medic looked closely at a stricken chosen man, took gauge of the wound’s severity, shook his head decisively and moved on to the next casualty. The dying man, with an arrow’s shaft sticking out of his neck, and blood jetting from the wound, put a shuddering hand to his sword’s hilt, half drew the weapon, then stopped moving as the life ran out of him. Sollemnis wrenched his eyes from the scene, striding to the First Spear. The veteran soldier was calmly scanning the battle around them with a professional eye, looking for an advantage despite their desperate situation.

‘Situation?’

‘There’s more than ten thousand men out there, more like twenty. We’ve been had! Looks like the last three cohorts are already in pieces. Ourselves, the Fifth and Sixth managed to get into defensive formations, but once the others have been polished off they’ll make short enough work of us, or just stand off and let their archers pepper us until we’re too weak to resist. If the flanking force doesn’t get stuck in soon we’re all going to die…’

The legion’s eagle standard-bearer stood close, his own sword drawn, clearly determined to sell his own life in defence of the emperor’s eagle. An arrow clattered off his helmet, another hitting the standard’s eagle with a hollow thwock, making the man duck reflexively, his eyebrows raised at his legatus in mute comment. Sollemnis nodded grimly, then turned to stare up at the ridge-line where the alarm signal had sounded. A few figures stood silhouetted on the crest, apparently watching the battle below. The standard-bearer, a man of seniority in the legion and well known to the legatus, pushed his way to Sollemnis’s side, disdaining the stream of arrows directed at the eagle.

‘Why don’t they attack, sir? There’s another nine cohorts up there, and in good order.’

The legatus shook his head in puzzlement, hearing the screams of his command’s dismemberment from all around.

‘I don’t know, but how Tigidius Perennis and his Asturians scouted this ground as safe for the approach is…’

A sudden insight gripped his guts hard, testing his sphincter with a sudden push that he barely managed to control. Perennis. Of course. The other warband had clearly never stayed in place as he’d been briefed, the brazen lie tempting him into a move whose audacity would clearly be judged as suicidal with the luxury of hindsight. He drew his sword and picked up a dead man’s shield, tugging down his ornate helmet to be sure the back of his neck was protected.

‘Very well, gentlemen, if we’re going to die today, let’s make sure we give these blue-faced bastards a decent fight to sing about. Wounds of honour, Sixth Legion. Wounds of honour!’ Watching the slaughter below, Equitius shook his head with fascinated horror.

‘There must be something we can do.’

Frontinius replied in tones dulled by resignation to the facts.

‘Yes, we can parade on the crest and in all likelihood the men down there will look up, laugh at us and get on with butchering the Sixth. Or we can advance down the slope into the battle and be dead inside ten minutes. You’re looking at a doomed legion, Prefect, something few men have seen and even fewer have lived to describe. The Sixth’s standard will be carried away into the northern mountains and become an object of wonder for the tribes, most likely with your friend Sollemnis’s head to accompany it. He made the decision to attack across that valley; he changed our role at the critical moment; now he’s paying for those mistakes the hard way…’

Equitius nodded unhappily.

‘I just don’t see how he could have got it so wrong. The man was a senior tribune in the war against the Marcomani, took command of a legion with a battlefield promotion when his legatus dropped dead in the middle of an action, and fought them brilliantly to rout twice his own strength of barbarians. It isn’t a mistake he ended up running Northern Command… so how the bloody hell do we end up with this?’

The 6th’s remaining three cohorts were creeping together, now under attack by thousands of barbarians and seeking to combine their strengths. A horn sounded, and the attackers drew back from combat, leaving the field clear for their archers to pour arrows into the compressed masses of legionaries. After a dozen volleys from the archers the horn sounded twice more, and the Britons charged in again, swords and axes glinting brightly in the morning sun as they went about their destructive work. Even at that distance the smell of blood and faeces was now reaching the watching soldiers, as the scale of the slaughter mounted. Equitius heard the sound of approaching hoofs, and turned to see Perennis and his escort approaching again. The tribune reined his horse in and took in the view from the valley’s edge for a moment before speaking.

‘Well, well. It would seem that our legatus has got himself into a bit of a pickle.’

Equitius stared up at him with narrowed eyes, seeing the sardonic smile playing about his face.

‘Shouldn’t you be worrying about bringing up the reinforcements, Tribune?’

The other man sat back in his saddle, sharing an amused glance with the decurion.

‘It might have made a difference when the barbarians first attacked, a few thousand armed men piling down into the battle from up here, but not now, thank you, Prefect Equitius. Those six cohorts are all but finished, and I don’t think that tossing another nine after them would be a particularly positive step, do you? At least this way I still have most of a legion’s strength to command until the reinforcements arrive from Gaul.’

‘You? A junior tribune? An equestrian in command of a legion?’

‘Oh yes, didn’t I mention my imperial warrant?’

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a scroll, tossing it down to Equitius. The prefect read it, taking in the imperial seal and the wide range of power it bestowed upon Perennis.

‘I particularly like the sentence that says I should take command of the Sixth Legion should Legatus Sollemnis be found incapable of his task. I’d say he’ll reach a state of incapability some time quite soon, so while I may not be of senatorial class, I will be exercising the power granted to me by the Emperor…’

Frontinius leaned over to Marcus, muttering quietly into his ear.

‘Get yourself back over to the cohort. Be ready to bring your century over here in a hurry.’

‘… And so, from this moment I’m assuming command. I’ll incorporate the auxiliary cohorts into my legion to bolster our strength, but not your cohort, Prefect. You and your people have a special place in my plans. Stay where you are, Marcus Valerius Aquila, no trying to creep away when you think nobody’s looking!’

Marcus stopped, turning slowly to look up at Perennis.

‘Yes, I’ve known that you took refuge with these half-savages and their disloyal prefect for a while now. Your supply officer was very forthcoming one night in the camp at Cauldron Pool, when the decurion here applied the tip of a dagger to his throat. Did you really think that you could hide with these bumpkins for ever? All that you’ve done is bring your own disaster down on this entire cohort. Just as Legatus Sollemnis has paid the ultimate price for his treacherous attempt to hide you, so will this collection of semi-barbarian traitors!’

Dubnus put a hand behind his back, and muttered the word ‘axe’ quietly over his shoulder to Cyclops. The weapon slid from its place in the small of his back, the handle slapping unnoticed on to his palm, its comfortingly familiar wood rubbed smooth by years of handling. Perennis nodded to the stone-faced decurion, who jumped down from his horse and drew his sword. The other cavalrymen watched intently, arrows nocked to their bows, ignoring the single tent party of men standing in a huddle to their left. Perennis leant out of his saddle, pointing towards the wood that Marcus and his men had recently scouted.

‘And now, gentlemen, your orders. The First Tungrians will establish a defensive position on the slope below that wood, and prevent the barbarians from breaking out of the valley by that route for as long as possible. There is to be no retreat from the position, which must be held at all costs and to the last man. You, First Spear, will command the cohort, since I am now declaring a sentence of death on your prefect for his treachery in harbouring an enemy of the emperor and the state. I could be more thorough in my punishment, but the rest of you will obviously be dead soon enough.’

Equitius scowled up at Perennis, full realisation of the true nature of the last hour’s events striking him.

‘You’ve just thrown six legion cohorts into a barbarian trap to get rid of one man that was in your way? And now you’ll casually toss away eight hundred more spears because one innocent victim of Rome’s descent into despotism takes shelter among them?’

Perennis smiled broadly.

‘Your friend Sollemnis is reaping the crop he’s sown, and so will you all, soon enough. The rest is detail. We’ll go on the defensive for a while, Rome will send in a legion or two from Gaul, the Sixth will be reinforced back to full strength, and all will be as it should be. Besides, you’ve got more pressing matters to worry about. Decurion, execute the prefect.’

Frontinius half drew his sword, stopping as half a dozen drawn bows swung in his direction. Equitius put his hands on his hips, and straightened his back in readiness. The decurion took a step forward, raising his long cavalry sword for the executioner’s blow before his eyes widened with shock as Dubnus’s throwing axe smashed into his back. The heavy axe blade’s weight punched through his armour, chopping through his spine and into the organs clustered behind it. A gout of blood spilled from his open mouth in a scarlet flood as he sank forward on to his knees, his hands helplessly seeking the source of the sudden rush of enervating pain. Before any of the cavalrymen could react, Dubnus was among them, his sword flashing as he struck at one and then another. Marcus and Frontinius drew their swords and charged in alongside him.

One of the horsemen loosed an arrow at Frontinius, the missile’s iron head flicking off his helmet just as Marcus hacked at the man’s leg with a fierce downward cut, his sword severing the limb just above the knee and chopping into the horse’s ribs with the force of the blow. The animal reared up, tossing the crippled cavalryman from his horned saddle, then kicked out hard with its back legs in protest at the pain, catapulting another Asturian from his mount with his chest caved in.

Marcus was knocked to one side as Cyclops jumped in front of him, raising his shield to block an arrow from a horseman the young centurion had failed to notice in the melee. At less than twenty paces’ range the missile punched through his shield’s layered wood and leather, the iron head transfixing his shield arm and drawing an agonised grimace from the one-eyed soldier. Pivoting on his left leg with a swelling bellow of rage, Cyclops slung his spear with deadly accuracy into the horseman’s chest as he reached back for another arrow. The throw’s huge power punched through a weak point in the cavalryman’s mail shirt, scattering a handful of broken rings from the point of impact and thrusting the spear’s steel point deep into the horseman’s lungs. Eyes rolling upwards, he fell backwards over the side of his horse and vanished under the hoofs of the horses surrounding him. Cyclops pointed to his one good eye, shouting over the fight’s swelling volume.

‘Less stabbing and more looking, young sir.’

He drew his sword, nodding to Marcus before charging into the whirling melee in search of another target for his wrath. Perennis kicked his horse’s sides hard, galloping out of the knot of infantrymen which was growing bigger and nastier by the second as the rest of the tent party took on the Asturians with their spears. He was thirty paces distant when Dubnus’s arrow slammed through the back of his neck an inch above the top of his cuirass’s protection, and stayed in the saddle for another five seconds before collapsing stiffly over its hindquarters to land in a heap on the turf. The few remaining Asturians bolted, thrashing their horses to escape as the fastest of the 9th Century’s men arrived on the scene seeking targets for their unblooded spears. Marcus was the first man to reach Perennis, coming up short when he saw the arrowhead protruding from the tribune’s throat, and the man’s desperate attempts to breathe. Frontinius ran up a moment later, took one look and turned away with a grim smile.

‘He’s got two minutes, five at the best. Say hello to the ferryman for us, Perennis, you’ll be across the river a while before we get there.’

Equitius walked up to them, a haunted look on his face. Frontinius slapped him on the arm.

‘Cheer up, Prefect, it isn’t every day that you’re condemned to death and then reprieved inside a minute.’

‘Not such a reprieve, First Spear. I…’

His head lifted as he spotted a movement in the middle distance, horsemen moving through the waving grass, a long white banner twisting proudly in the breeze. He smiled wanly at the sight.

‘I see Licinius retains his impeccable sense of timing…’

A single decurius of the Petriana rode up to them, Prefect Licinius dismounting before his horse had stopped moving. Grim faced, he stared down at the fighting below for a moment before turning back to speak, taking in the scene in front of him as he did.

‘Gentlemen, I…’

The sight of the slowly choking Perennis left him speechless for a moment.

‘Who shot him?’

Frontinius shook his head imperceptibly at his prefect before speaking.

‘We did, sir, or rather one of my men who’s a finer shot than I’ll ever be did, and at my command. Tribune Perennis had just admitted to an act of stupidity and treason whose result you can see down there, and was attempting to murder Prefect Equitius.’

Licinius looked around him carefully, fully digesting the scene.

‘Which would explain the dead Asturians scattered around? Not to mention the fact that several of your own men seem to have arrow wounds?’

‘Sir.’

‘You can imagine how that’s going to look if it’s reported back to Rome. Where is the legatus, by the way?’

Equitius stepped forward, pointing down the slope.

‘He’s down there, Licinius. That young bastard suborned the Asturians, or at least enough of them to be able to carry out his plan. He must have passed a message to Calgus in some way while he was supposed to be shadowing the warband. They let the Sixth get into the open and then rushed them while the legion was still in column. He’s got some sort of warrant straight from the imperial palace, empowers him to take command of the Sixth if necessary, so the bastard wanted to make sure Sollemnis wouldn’t survive.’

Licinius leaned in close and half whispered his next question, glancing significantly at the unsuspecting Marcus, who was busy with his wounded.

‘Does he know yet?’

Equitius shook his head.

‘No. Nor should he, under the circumstances.’

‘Agreed. What a fucking mess. So apart from the fact that half a legion is being taken apart under our gaze, what’s the local situation?’

Equitius pointed in the direction that Perennis had taken his command.

‘Four cohorts of the Sixth, the Second Tungrians, Raetians, Frisians and the Aquitani are somewhere over in that direction. They were supposed to be the other half of a plan to attack the warband, but bloody Perennis took them away to where they’d be no use when this happened.’

Licinius pursed his lips.

‘My boys are half an hour’s ride back that way, and I met a messenger a while back who said the Second and the Twentieth are ten miles down the main road. The only problem is that that lot will have gutted the Sixth and buggered off into the hills long before we can bring them into the action…’

He walked to the edge of the slope and stared down for a long moment. Equitius sighed deeply and followed him.

‘Licinius, before my tame Brigantian prince demonstrated his marksmanship with the hunting bow on Perennis, the little shit ordered us to make a stand on the slope here, just in front of this wood. He wanted to destroy us for harbouring the boy, you understand, but in his desire to see us all dead he actually issued the only order appropriate under the circumstances. An order that I and my men will follow if you ask it of us.’

Licinius turned to face him.

‘You’ll likely all be dead within the hour, unless I get lucky and find the other legions a lot closer than they ought to be.’

Equitius returned his gaze.

‘And you think that these men don’t know the meaning of a Roman soldier’s honour?’

Licinius looked him straight in the eye, seeing the other man’s resolve in his steady stare.

‘My apologies to your command. Very well.’

He walked quickly across to where Perennis lay panting his last few breaths, searching his body with swift efficiency until he found the imperial warrant scroll, then leant over to speak into the dying man’s eyes.

‘Listen to me, Titus Tigidius Perennis. You thought what you were doing was clever, that the emperor would thank you for removing a traitor from imperial service. You might well have been right. Your father, however, may not be so sanguine at the loss of his family’s honour. I will make it my sworn task to make sure the full story reaches Rome, to tell him how you connived to destroy half a legion, and how, when the time came, another full cohort volunteered to face the same barbarians and give me a fighting chance to take revenge for those betrayed men. And how I executed you to avoid your suffering anything that might be said to resemble an honourable death…’

He drew his dagger and slit the dying tribune’s throat wide open, watching with satisfaction as life ebbed away from Perennis’s amazed eyes.

‘Well, that at least feels a little better. Prefect, I’m off to find the other two legions. Best of luck.’

He stood up and saluted Equitius, who gravely returned the gesture, then vaulted back on to his horse and rode furiously away, barking orders at his men. The prefect watched him go for a moment, then turned to address Frontinius.

‘Well, Sextus, now it’s our turn to earn our corn.’

The First Spear smiled grimly.

‘Don’t think I’m immune to the irony of our situation, Prefect. Young Perennis should be laughing now, wherever he is.’

Equitius put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Wherever he is, First Spear, we’re quite likely to see at first hand soon enough.’