Wounds of Honour: Empire I

by Anthony Riches

  The Dumnonii chief nodded reluctantly.

  ‘Where you lead I will follow, Calgus. Just don’t wait too long to bring my tribe some glory, or all the promises of future slaughter I can make to them won’t keep them in hand.’

  Calgus laughed, putting a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

  ‘Caradog, you need wait no longer. I’ve put you and your tribe at the tip of the spear tonight. You’ll be beheading Romans before the sun rises again, even if it’s only the pitiful few that haven’t already run off down the road to the Wall.’

  Brennus snorted.

  ‘And their Sixth Legion will sit idly by and let all this happen?’

  Calgus’s smile broadened.

  ‘Ah yes, the infamous Sixth Legion. I have something special planned for Legatus Sollemnis and his men.’

  One of his retinue approached respectfully, whispered into the tribal leader’s ear and withdrew. Calgus pulled an amused face, raising his hands in apology.

  ‘I must ask you to excuse me. I have a visitor.’

  He left the circle, his bodyguard of picked Votadini warriors clustering around him as he made the short walk back to his tent. At the door he was met by one of his advisers, an elder of proven wisdom who had stood alongside his father in his day.

  ‘It’s a Roman. He rode up to the scouts and asked to be taken to you, said that you would be expecting him. I have him under guard inside, two spears at his throat. If he twitches in the wrong way our men will kill him immediately ... I asked him what he wanted, but he refuses to talk to anyone but you. Shall I have his throat slit?’

  Calgus shook his head quickly.

  ‘Not this one, Aed. This one’s the key to our victory. I knew that he would come to me at this time – in fact I’ve been depending on it all these weeks. So pass the word, the man that so much as looks at him the wrong way will be joining his ancestors after a long session under my knife. This one gets safe passage, and no questions.’

  Nodding his thanks, he entered the tent. The newcomer was standing at the far end, the two warriors tasked with his control watching him down the shafts of unwavering spears. Crossing his arms, Calgus looked the newcomer up and down, taking in his air of complete relaxation.

  ‘I’ve been expecting a visit from a Roman these last few days, but if you’re that man you’ll know I have no way to be sure you’re the same person.’

  The Roman tossed a small object to him. Catching it, Calgus recognised the gold shield brooch that had been taken from him after their first meeting in the forest months before.

  ‘Proof enough. I have to salute your courage. Not only putting yourself in my hands when I might well still be smarting for vengeance for the murder of my companions, but riding into this camp, at this time ... ? Brigantia herself must be smiling on you for you to have got this far without losing your head.’

  The other man smiled confidently.

  ‘Fortuna smiles on the man who knows when to take the right risk. I’ve taken that risk to offer you a bargain we can both profit from. Your gain, you will recall, will be two things you’ll value over any other prize. A legion’s eagle standard, and the head of a Roman general. If you kill me now you’ll never see either, or hear the information I’ve brought to convince you of my sincerity. If you’re still interested.’

  The Briton stared back impassively.

  ‘Interested? If there’s a way that I can be guaranteed you’re not just the high-risk end of a plot to mislead me at this critical time, yes, I’m still interested. But to gain my trust, Roman, you’ll need to give me two things. Firstly, I want some proof that you can deliver me the prizes you offer so blithely. Secondly, and much more importantly, I want to know why. Start talking.’

  The Roman shrugged.

  ‘Proof that I can deliver you what I’ve promised? Where shall we start? Why not with who I am. My name is Titus Tigidius Perennis, and I am a tribune with the Sixth Imperial Legion’s staff. You want proof? I can tell you that the supply depot at Noisy Valley is being emptied out even as we speak. By the time you get there the place will be a collection of bare cupboards, with nothing of value to sustain your army in the field. I can tell you that the other two legions, The Second and Twentieth, have been on the road north for over two weeks, and will be here long before you’re expecting. You see? I can tell you that your options are becoming more and more limited with every day, and you haven’t even made your first move yet. I’m your best hope for victory, probably your only hope.’

  Calgus nodded slowly, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

  ‘I see. And as to my second question?’

  ‘Yes, why would I be doing this? That’s simple. There is a cancer at the heart of the Sixth Legion, a seed of disloyalty to the emperor and his closest advisers, and I intend removing it in any way I can. The ends will more than justify the means.’

  Later that evening, well after dark, with the 9th either settled for the night or, in the case of a few lucky men with dependants in the vicus, on a one-night pass out of the fort, Marcus went for a walk up to the Wall. He’d looked for Rufius, hoping to benefit from some measure of the older man’s imperturbability by discussing the situation with him. The veteran officer was nowhere to be found, however, and his chosen man had simply shrugged apologetically at the question. Standing above the north gate, with the wind tugging at his tunic, he drank in the hour’s quiet peace. Away to his right he could just make out the lake by the faint ripples kicked up by the wind’s touch, while the forest wall made a darker line against the landscape. The distant flickers of torches inside the treeline betrayed the presence of some part of the garrison, clearly camping down for the night in barbarian territory. Most likely one of the night familiarisation exercises that Frontinius ran from time to time, he decided without interest, leaning against the parapet to enjoy the moment. The guards below were talking, their words drifting up to him, sometimes audible, other times too low to be discernible.

  He listened for a few minutes, hearing hopes and fears expressed more in the voices themselves than by the words used, taking strength from an uncertainty that seemed to match his own. On the verge of turning to walk back down into the fort, he heard his voice being called from below.

  Leaning over the inner parapet, he saw Caelius standing below.

  ‘There you are! Message from the First Spear, you’re to join him at the treeline as soon as possible.’

  Marcus frowned down at his colleague.

  ‘Why? I was about to go and get some sleep.’

  ‘How the bloody hell would I know? Look, I’m not tired yet, I’ll walk out with you. Come on, you don’t want to keep Uncle Sextus waiting any longer than you have to.’

  They strode down the steep north face of the escarpment, leaving the gate guards nodding knowingly at each other once they had passed, and made their way across the flat plain below the fort’s walls. Away from the fort’s reassuring bulk the darkness seemed deeper, pregnant with uncertain futures. Caelius’s presence at his side was more reassuring than he’d expected.

  ‘War’s coming, Two Knives. Are you ready?’

  Marcus paused for a second.

  ‘We’re ready. They’re fit, good with their swords ...’

  ‘No. Are you ready?’

  The pause was longer than before.

  ‘I think so. I know I can fight, I can take my century where I want it to go, fight the way I want it to fight. Yes, I’m ready.’

  ‘Ready to kill? To drop a man’s guts out of his belly and see the life fade from his eyes?’

  Marcus stopped in the darkness, looking up at the brilliant blaze of stars.

  ‘I fought on the road to Yew Grove, you know, and killed more than one man. All I haven’t done is face a full warband in a battle line. Everyone gives that so much weight. I’ve caught the other officers looking at me, weighing up how I’ll perform when it comes to a real fight. Even Dubnus seems reserved now, part of another world. And all they’ve ever done that I haven’t is fo
ught in a full-scale battle. What’s so difficult about that?’

  Caelius walked back to face him, starlight dimly illuminating the harsh lines of his helmet, its shadows reducing his face to a death mask between the cheek-pieces.

  ‘That depends on the man. I’ve known some who’ve called the odds in barracks but shat themselves at the sight of a half-dozen angry farmers. Others, the sleepy-eyed men that you wouldn’t trust to chase cattle out of a cornfield, go wild in battle and paint themselves black with enemy blood ... You need to be ready for it, you, not just your men. You don’t get a second chance in a real fight – you hesitate for a second and some big blue-nosed bastard with a tenth of your skill will have your guts steaming in the dirt. When we meet the enemy, you remember what I told you, eh? And offer a prayer to Cocidius for me when you come out alive?’

  He swept his hand past Marcus’s face, as if catching a delicate butterfly from out of the air, holding the closed fist up in front of him.

  ‘That’s life, grabbed from nowhere, easily lost. Don’t throw yours away.’

  Marcus put up his own fist, tapping Caelius’s gently in the gesture of respect common between the cohort’s soldiers. They walked on in silence, drawing closer to the torches moving in the trees, until Marcus saw that they were held by soldiers standing facing into the forest, as if on guard duty. A figure materialised out of the darkness, with a walk that was familiar even in the near-darkness, pure arrogant power in the strides.

  ‘Julius?’

  ‘Two Knives.’

  ‘What ... ?’

  ‘There’s no time. Come. And whatever Sextus asks of you, you just say “Yes, First Spear”.’

  Both men took an arm, propelling the mystified Marcus towards a darker shape that loomed large in the gloom, until its unseen bulk blocked all view of the lights in the trees. Julius abruptly put a hand on Marcus’s chest to stop him, giving a soft whistle to signal his presence. Another voice spoke out of the darkness.

  ‘It is time. Light the fire.’

  For a moment nothing seemed to be happening, although Marcus sensed the presence of men around him, one or two darker spots against the darkness. Then, the flames creeping round the sides of the massive pile of brushwood and branches, fire applied on its far side took hold, gradually illuminating the scene. Almost a dozen men stood around him, all of the cohort’s centurions, all with faces set in solemnity, although Rufius did manage a crafty wink of greeting. Frontinius stepped forward, speaking clearly so that all could hear him above the fire’s growing crackle.

  ‘Welcome, Centurion. Until today you were probationary, under the assessment of these men, your brothers-to-be. For all our initial doubts, it is our belief that you will make an excellent addition to our number, and provide leadership for your century that will be sorely needed in the coming days. This is your moment to renounce your past and join your brother officers in our chosen duty ...’

  He paused significantly, giving Marcus an interrogatory stare.

  ‘Do you wish to become a part of the cohort’s brotherhood, in spite of the heavy weight of responsibility that the position brings, renouncing all that has gone before in your life?’

  Julius nudged his arm.

  ‘... Yes, First Spear.’

  ‘Do you swear to uphold the traditions of the cohort, even at cost of your life?’

  ‘Yes, First Spear.’

  ‘Will you give faithful service to the cohort until death or the end of your service?’

  ‘Yes, First Spear.’

  ‘Will you fight and die as commanded by your superiors?’

  ‘Yes, First Spear.’

  ‘Will you demand the same of your men if required?’

  ‘Yes, First Spear.’

  ‘And will you pay appropriate respect to the cohort’s chosen god, mighty Cocidius the warrior?’

  ‘Yes, First Spear.’

  ‘Very well, Marcus Tribulus Corvus, I formally and irrevocably appoint you a centurion of the First Tungrian Cohort. Your previous life ends in this place, purged in the fire. Your new life begins here, forged in the fire. Remember your vows well, youngest brother, for the time for you to fulfil them will come when you least expect it. Be true to your words.’

  He walked forward, offering Marcus his hand, and the other officers crowded round with congratulations and slaps on his back.

  ‘Now, brothers, there is one last matter with our new brother officer before we give thanks to Cocidius for his meeting our high standards. Within a week we’ll be camping alongside the other Wall units, some of them cohorts of doubtful honour and with many sharp ears besides. If it becomes obvious that we have a Roman officer serving with the cohort, that information might reach the wrong people. The men who destroyed our brother’s family and made him outlaw for no good reason would come for him, and that would most likely bring death and dishonour on all of us, and our families, and upon the prefect for that matter. Understand me clearly, we have taken a calculated risk in accepting this man into our family. From this moment he is to be referred to only as “Centurion” or by the unofficial title that his century has seen fit to give him. Make sure that your deputies are all aware of the rule, and their soldiers. From now, this man is to be known only by the name of Two Knives.’

  8

  Legatus Sollemnis arrived on the Wall at the Rock with the Sixth Legion’s cavalry detachment shortly after darkness fell two nights later. The rest of the legion was more than thirty miles back down the road to Yew Grove, encamped after a day slogging their way north at the forced march, and still a day away. He had raced forward to take control of the Wall forces on receiving word from his Asturian scouts, ranging across the frontier zone under Perennis’s command, reports that the barbarian warband was already in the field. Their latest dispatches had Calgus poised to strike down the North Road towards his main eastern strength, and a much greater prize besides. Once past the Rock, the Wall’s eastern gateway, it was less than a five-mile march south to Noisy Valley, his main supply base for the Wall units. This, he suspected, was the prize for which Calgus would commit his strength.

  Jumping down from his horse, he hurried into the fort’s headquarters, acknowledging the sentries’ salutes with a distracted wave of his hand. As he’d hoped, not only the cohort’s grim-faced prefect but also his own senior tribune Appius were waiting for him in the lamplight, a map of the area spread across the table in front of them.

  ‘Gentlemen, I suspect we haven’t much time so I’ll forgo the usual formalities. What’s the situation?’

  Appius swiftly painted a picture for him, pointing to the key points on the map.

  ‘Calgus has thrown at least two-thirds of his force straight down the main road, with no attempt at concealment whatsoever. They’re about ten miles out right now and coming straight on. They’ve already burnt out the fort at Three Mountains, Yew Tree and Red River, and we expect them to do the same to Roaring River very shortly.’

  ‘What about the garrisons?’

  ‘The cavalry detachment attached to the Three Mountains garrison seems to have attempted a defence of the fort. A few survivors have straggled in, but from their reports we shouldn’t expect to recover the unit. The Brits seem to have a substantial cavalry force in the field, perhaps five hundred horses.’

  ‘Fools! Of all the times that we can least afford to lose horsemen ... and the detachments at the other forts?’

  ‘Falling back in good order, sir. It would seem that the sight of burning forts on the horizon got their attention.’

  ‘At least we can count them into our covering force. What about the Twentieth?’

  ‘A messenger arrived three hours ago, with bad news, I’m afraid sir. Twentieth Legion won’t arrive for another five days; they’ve had problems of their own with the local tribes. The Second has caught up with them as planned, but they’ve still only got as far as Veterans’ Hill.’

  Sollemnis frowned at the news.

  ‘Still several days out, then, yet how I
long for their arrival. Until they join us Calgus has the initiative, and from the way he’s acting I’d say he knows it. I should have put the Sixth in play three days ago, instead of which they’ll arrive footsore and in need of rest late tomorrow.’

  He rubbed at tired eyes, shaking his head wryly.

  ‘I gambled that the delay was compensated by my flexibility to move either side of the mountains if Calgus’s move down the North Road were a feint to distract me from the west. It was a poor guess, despite the strategic sense it made, and so here we are scrambling to catch up with the game.’

  He rubbed at his weary eyes again before slapping the table with decision.

  ‘We shall have to manage with what we have. Prefect Galen, have your men ready to pull out within the hour, and burn everything that will burn. Calgus won’t stop at Roaring River; he needs to keep his men on the move if he’s going to try what I think he intends, so I expect the warband to be knocking at your gates before daybreak. You’re to pull back to the east and link up with the auxiliary battlegroup forming at Cauldron Pool. Appius ...’

  ‘Legatus.’

  ‘Send riders to the Sixth, I want them moving up the road at first light and no later, forced march. Send riders to the prefects at White Strength and Cauldron Pool; warn them that the Rock and Noisy Valley are being abandoned, and that they’re on their own for the time being. They’re authorised to pull cohorts from the Wall units farther down the line in both directions if they see fit to form larger formations, but I don’t want fighting men thrown away defending ground needlessly. As far as I’m concerned Calgus can mess about on the Wall as much as he wants – the forts are just wooden walls for the most part. We built them once, we can build them again. Men are more important than ground at this point, make that very clear.’