The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19)

by Simon Scarrow

  The dawn air was blissfully cool as Cato joined Massimilianus and his mounted squadron inside the fort’s gate. The four supply wagons were in place on the other side of the main thoroughfare that bisected the fort, and the mules stood calmly in their traces, long ears twitching lethargically as they stared ahead with the fatalistic ambience of their breed. There had been a brief shower of rain an hour or so earlier, and a thin mist hung in the vales and valleys between the forested hills. The air was still, the quiet broken only by birdsong, the soft chink of the horses’ bridles and the muted chatter of the soldiers as they stood by their mounts.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ Massimilianus greeted him. ‘The men and wagons are ready. Just give the word.’

  Cato slung his sleeping roll, canteen and sidebag over the horns of his saddle and made to pull himself up. His arm muscles failed him at the first attempt and he gritted his teeth and strained every sinew to rise up enough to sling his leg over the horse’s rump. It was shocking to discover he had still not fully recovered from his illness. He sat for a few breaths recovering his composure before he addressed the centurion. ‘Give the order to mount up.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Massimilianus eased his shoulders back as he drew a deep breath. ‘Squadron . . . mount!’

  The centurion and his men climbed into their saddles and steadied their horses. Massimilianus waited until the last of them had his horse under control, then called out to the two sentries beneath the gate tower. ‘Open up!’

  The men removed the locking bar and eased each gate open in turn, standing to the side as Cato walked his horse out of the fort, over the ramp that crossed the defensive ditch and down the track towards the road that led from Augustis to the coast. Massimilianus followed him at the head of his squadron, with the wagons bringing up the rear. When the last of them had rumbled out of the fort, the gates closed and there was a dull rumble as the locking bar was replaced.

  Cato looked up at the sky and saw that the last of the night’s clouds were receding to the south. A fine day lay ahead. That might be a pleasing prospect were he not facing a long day’s march through the forest. The hot air would close in around the men of the small column and they would stew in their thick tunics and heavy armour as the sun blazed down on them. He knew from experience that it was far more comfortable to march under an overcast sky with a light breeze blowing.

  They turned east onto the road, which was little more than a well-worn track that described a gentle series of turns until it reached the foot of the hill. From there they headed into the forest that sprawled across the hilly terrain stretching from Augustis to the sea. On either side the trees, a mixture of oak and pine, closed in right up to the edge of the track; in places the canopy extended across the road and left the riders and the wagons in the dappled shadows beneath. In other provinces of the Empire that Cato had served in, the army’s engineers would have cleared a wide margin either side of the road to make ambushes more difficult. There was no sign that this had happened here. Instead, ancient trees with gnarled and twisted limbs crowded in on them, and the stillness and shadows worked on the nerves of Cato’s men as they stared into the depths of the forest about them.

  Massimilianus edged his horse alongside Cato’s and muttered, ‘I don’t like this terrain, sir. You could hide ten legions in these forests and no one would ever know. How in Hades are we supposed to find the enemy in this wilderness?’

  ‘Is this the first time you have travelled this route?’

  ‘Yes, sir. This region’s been left to the tribes for as long as I can remember. I know that merchants used it until recently, and had to pay the brigands handsomely for the privilege. The forests belong to the enemy.’

  ‘That’s going to end now. Sardinia is a Roman province, every inch of it, and we’re not leaving until the enemy are destroyed. You’d better get used to the sight of trees, Centurion.’

  They rode on in silence for a while before Cato’s hubris gave way to caution and he issued an order. ‘Have ten of your men fall back to cover the rear of the wagons.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And two more can ride fifty paces ahead.’

  Massimilianus nodded and reined in his horse briefly to relay Cato’s instructions.

  At noon they came across a clearing at the edge of a shallow gorge, and Cato halted the column for a rest. As the auxiliaries and mule drivers talked quietly, he walked on a short distance and climbed a pile of boulders that had fallen beside the road. From the top he could see a low ridge perhaps five miles off, and his spirits rose as he saw the dark shape of a watchtower peeping above the trees on the ridge. That must be the first of the outposts constructed by Plancinus, a day’s march from the fort at Augustis. If there were no delays, the column would reach the outpost before nightfall, he calculated with satisfaction. He took the stopper out of his canteen and took a quick swig of the lukewarm water. As he put the stopper back and lowered the canteen, he scanned his surroundings again. Apart from the distant watchtower, there was no sign of habitation.

  He climbed down from the rocks and was walking back to the dismounted men and wagons when he was aware of movement to his right. He turned quickly, straining his eyes. All was still. And yet he felt an icy tingling in his scalp as he made himself calmly resume walking back along the road. It had only been the briefest of movements, but he was certain it had been a man, spying on them from the depths of the forest.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘We’re being watched,’ Cato said quietly as he approached Massimilianus. ‘Don’t react, just listen. I saw someone to the left of the road, forty or so feet back in the trees.’

  The centurion kept facing Cato but his eyes turned to the area indicated. ‘How many of them, sir?’

  ‘I only saw one. There could be more.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  Cato thought quickly. They were closer to the outpost than the fort. If the man he had seen was one of the enemy, there could be more of them concealed amongst the trees, possibly preparing an ambush. Or it might just be a scout, shadowing the column before reporting its presence to his leader. If so, it might be possible to take him prisoner. The thought of sending several of his soldiers charging into the forest after a brigand who knew the ground far better than the Roman interlopers filled Cato with dread, and he discounted the idea.

  ‘Who is your best man?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I need someone strong who can move quietly.’

  The centurion glanced over the auxiliaries standing beside their horses and pointed out a thin man standing alone. ‘Lupis. He was a hunter before he joined up.’

  ‘Good. I want you to send him to me in a moment. My plan is for us to make for the outpost. We’ll need to be on our guard. Tell the men to put their feed bags and the rest of their kit on the wagons. I want them unencumbered and ready to fight if we have to. And assign two men to protect each wagon. Make it clear to them they are responsible for its safety. That leaves us six men to cover the front of the column and four to the rear. You take charge at the rear. Whatever happens, we must try to save the wagons and get them through to the outpost.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Massimilianus gave a curt nod and moved through the men, giving his orders quietly. The auxiliaries loaded their feed sacks and saddlebags onto the wagons. The centurion spoke briefly to Lupis and the latter hurried over to Cato and saluted.

  ‘The centurion said you wanted me, sir.’

  ‘I hear you used to be a hunter.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘A good one?’

  ‘Good enough,’ the auxiliary replied warily.

  ‘So why did you join the army?’

  ‘I wanted more from life than tracking down wild boar, sir.’

  ‘Then you should have joined the legions rather than a garrison cohort in an imperial backwater like Sardinia.’

  ‘Hindsight’s a wonderful fucking thing, sir.’

  Cato smiled thinly before his expression became earnest. ‘I
need a good hunter. Someone is watching us. It could be one man. Could be more. That’s what I need you to find out. The column is going to move on in a moment. When it does, I want you to wait at the rear until we are out of the clearing, and then slip into the trees to the left of the road. Find out who is watching us. If there’s only one man, take him prisoner if you can and bring him to me. Otherwise, report to me as soon as you are certain of their numbers.’ He let Lupis digest the orders before he continued. ‘Can you do that without being seen?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be much of a hunter if I couldn’t, sir.’

  ‘Fine, then I’ll see you again later. If the enemy attack us first, make your way back to the fort at Augustis and report what has happened.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘May the gods watch over you, Lupis.’

  The auxiliary flashed a reassuring grin and rejoined his comrades. Cato took a last look around the clearing before calling out calmly to his men. ‘Time to get the column moving again, lads!’

  Massimilianus gave the order to mount, and the men climbed into the saddle and walked their horses to their appointed positions, with pairs of riders interspersed between wagons. When all was ready, Cato casually swept his arm forward and urged his horse down the track at a walk. The riders behind him, two abreast, rippled forward, and then the heavy wooden wheels of the wagons rumbled over the baked earth. The din of hooves and wheels seemed almost deafening, smothering any sounds that might have emanated from the trees as the column left the clearing behind. Cato glanced back to see if Lupis was still with them, but he could see nothing through the haze of dust raised by the leading horses and wagons.

  For the next hour or so, the column continued along the route. The creeping boredom of the first part of the day had given way to a tense watchfulness that seemed to stretch out each heartbeat and breath. The taut atmosphere was made worse by the stillness of the air around them. They rode mostly in the direct glare of the sun, while insects swirled around the heads of the horses and mules and did their best to irritate the freely sweating men in the saddles. Cato’s eyes constantly swept the route ahead of them and the trees on either side, straining to penetrate the shadows. At the same time his ears tried to detect any suspicious sound that might be heard above the noises made by the horses, mules and wagons.

  The strain was wearing on his nerves, and he was aware of the danger of the tricks that a tired mind could play. Occasionally he detected movement, and once a shape crashed out of the trees onto the track a scant twenty feet in front of him. He had snatched out his sword before he realised it was a boar. The beast turned its bristling head towards him briefly before charging off into the trees on the other side of the track. Cato sheathed his weapon sheepishly as his heart pounded. The auxiliary riding behind him clicked his tongue.

  ‘That one would have made a fine meal. Shame.’

  Cato took a deep breath and tapped his heels to make his horse walk on. His thoughts were far from any notion of a roast pork supper. Something had startled the boar and caused it to flee across their path. He glanced into the trees, but there was no sign of movement. A short distance ahead, the route curved round a bare, boulder-strewn hillock. As Cato approached the bend, a man stumbled out of the trees and staggered to a halt. Behind him came Lupis, sword in hand, tip pointed at his captive’s spine.

  Cato halted the column and dismounted, striding ahead to meet Lupis and his prisoner. The latter was wearing a dark woolly pelt belted over a brown tunic. There were tattoos on his cheeks and forehead; strange angular designs quite unlike the elegant swirls that Cato had seen on the skin of the Celts he had faced in Britannia years before. A small fringe of hair grew along his jawline. Blood ran down from his left temple, where the hair was matted with gore. Close to, Cato could see that he was a youth, no more than fifteen or sixteen.

  ‘He was tracking us, like you said, sir,’ Lupis announced as he kicked the lad in the back of the leg, causing him to drop to his knees in front of Cato. ‘I picked up his trail and watched him leapfrogging the column for a while to make sure he was alone before I dealt with him. He needed a clip round the ear with the flat of my sword before he gave in. Seems to have his senses about him, so no real damage done . . . yet.’

  Cato looked at the youth. His face was downcast and his hands were trembling.

  ‘What’s your name, son?’

  The youth did not reply, and Lupis cuffed the back of his head with his spare hand. ‘Answer the prefect, you fucking cur.’

  Cato gave the auxiliary a sharp look and a quick shake of the head before he turned his gaze back to the captive and spoke gently.

  ‘Look at me.’

  The youth raised his head hesitantly.

  ‘Tell me your name.’

  The prisoner licked his lips and muttered something Cato could not catch.

  ‘Speak up.’

  ‘Calgarno.’

  ‘Calgarno,’ Cato repeated. ‘You were caught spying on us. Are there any more of you hiding in the trees? Do you understand me? You speak Latin?’

  The youth did not reply, but Cato could see the fear haunting his expression and decided to play on it. ‘I’m not going to waste time asking you politely for information. If you don’t answer me directly, then I’ll have my man there beat it out of you. You’ll suffer badly, and sooner or later you’ll tell me what I need to know. The choice is about how much agony you want to experience before you speak up. I’ll ask you again, are there any others out there?’

  The boy clenched his jaw and stared back with a show of defiance. Cato sighed and addressed Lupis. ‘Soldier, take your dagger out and cut off this fellow’s ears.’

  Lupis grinned as he sheathed his sword and drew his dagger. He grabbed a fistful of the youth’s locks in his left hand, yanked his head savagely to one side and raised his dagger.

  ‘No!’ Calgarno shrieked, struggling to break free. ‘No!’

  Cato raised his hand to stop Lupis. ‘Answer my questions. Truthfully. I know when I’m being lied to. I can smell deceit.’ He made himself sneer. ‘You’ll tell me everything. If not, you’ll lose your ears . . . then your eyes . . . then your balls.’

  The youth let out a pained whine and his shoulders slumped.

  ‘Are you alone?’

  Calgarno nodded.

  ‘Speak up. Alone? Yes or no?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you chance upon us, or were you sent to watch us?’

  ‘I was hunting with my father.’ His accent was guttural, but Cato followed it readily enough.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He told me to follow you while he went to get the others.’

  ‘Others? What others?’

  ‘The rest of the war band.’

  Cato felt his pulse quicken. ‘How many of you are in the war band?’

  Calgarno looked at him blankly, and Cato guessed that he was innumerate. He tried a different approach. ‘As many men as I have? Or more?’

  ‘More. Many more.’

  ‘Where are they? How far away?’ asked Cato, before realising that the question might be meaningless to the captive. ‘A day’s march? Half a day?’

  ‘Less than that.’

  ‘How long ago did your father leave to fetch your friends?’

  ‘As soon as we saw your column.’

  ‘And when was that?’

  ‘After you entered the forest.’

  Lupis cursed softly. ‘That was hours ago, sir. They could be on us at any moment. Or lying in wait ahead.’

  ‘Quiet!’ Cato was thinking. The man was right. He put himself in the place of the enemy and considered their options. Better to get ahead of the convoy and take time to prepare the ambush rather than rush the wagons and their escort at the first opportunity. If the enemy had responded at once to the news of their presence, they might not have reached the track yet. If the convoy moved swiftly, they might get ahead of them.

  ‘Lupis, get the boy’s hands and feet tied up and load him ont
o one of the wagons.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Lupis released Calgarno’s hair and prodded him in the back with the tip of his dagger. ‘On your feet! Move yourself!’ He marched the youth back down the track towards the rear of the column.

  Cato called Massimilianus forward. The centurion trotted up and dismounted, and Cato briefed him quickly and pointed out the hillock he had spotted. ‘I’m riding ahead to see the lie of the land. You take charge here. Get the column moving. Have the mule drivers pick up the pace and we might get ahead of the enemy.’

  ‘And if we don’t?’

  ‘Then we’re going to have to fight our way through to the outpost. Make sure the men are ready for that.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cato returned to his mount and pulled himself up into the saddle, surprised at his new lease of energy. Taking up the reins, he urged the horse into a canter and set off down the track. When he reached the foot of the hillock, he saw that its slopes were littered with boulders and small rocks, with clumps of dry grass and stunted shrubs covering the open ground. He tugged the reins and steered his mount up the slope, making his way to the level ground on the crest, where he stopped and swept his gaze over the surrounding terrain. The top of the hillock afforded him a view of the track ahead for at least two miles, he estimated. Here and there it disappeared beneath the forest canopy, or into a fold in the ground, before it climbed out of the forest towards the ridge upon which the outpost had been constructed a mile beyond. From his vantage point, Cato could see swathes of ground where saplings were growing amid the faded ashes and blackened stumps left behind by forest fires. There was no sign of any people, and he allowed himself a moment’s hope that the column would reach safety before Calgarno’s father and his war band caught up with them. At the foot of the hill, the horsemen and wagons passed by with the mule drivers trotting beside their teams, driving them on with flicks of their slender whips.