The Second Cohort’s senior centurion was slowly but surely gaining confidence in the presence of his tribune, and was now willing to venture an opinion where a month before he had been content to allow his brother officer to do the talking.
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but given that there’s snow on the ground shouldn’t we be setting up for winter quarters? Surely there won’t be any more fighting now until the spring?’
Scaurus smiled ruefully.
‘And so you might think, First Spear, but that would be to underestimate Dacia. This is the land of the wolf, you see, it’s literally the meaning of the name in the natives’ language, and the wolf hunts all year round. The tribes won’t be pulling back from the frontier, and consequently neither shall we. Legatus Albinus has arranged for the legion stores here to issue us with the appropriate cold weather clothing, after which we’ll be declared as fit for duty.’ He raised an eyebrow at the two senior centurions, shaking his head slightly. ‘But whether the gear we’ll be getting will genuinely be fit for the weather we’ll be facing is another question entirely.’
‘Well now, Centurion, do come in. Can I offer you a cup of wine?’
If Tribune Sigilis was surprised by Marcus’s presence at the door of his quarter he managed to hide it well enough, pulling up a chair for his fellow Roman and waiting while the other man shrugged off his cloak and sat down. Waving away the offer of a drink with a smile, noting that the bottle was stoppered and that Sigilis was drinking nothing stronger than water, Marcus took a moment to compose himself before speaking.
‘Thank you for your time, Tribune-’
The younger man raised a hand, shaking his head in gentle rebuke.
‘No. I won’t sit here and allow you to show deference to me when we both know that you’re easily as wellborn as I am. On top of which, you’re the one with the scars and experience I so badly need if I am to make a success of this way of life. When we have the privacy necessary for you to drop your mask, I would be honoured if you would use my first name.’ He gave the centurion an appraising stare. ‘In truth I’d long since decided that you and I would never have this discussion.’
Marcus nodded.
‘And in truth, Lucius, so had I. When you told me about your father’s investigations into my family’s downfall I quickly decided not to pursue the matter. I decided that I would be wiser to be content with the life I have here, and to cherish and protect my family, than to go hunting shadows and risk losing everything.’
Sigilis raised an eyebrow.
‘So I had assumed, when we marched all the way from the Ravenstone valley to this frozen extremity of the empire without exchanging a word on the subject. So what changed your mind?’
Marcus smiled wryly at the question.
‘Not so much what, as who. My wife is adamant on the subject, despite knowing the risks involved for all of us. You see. .’ He shook his head, as if in disbelief at what he was about to say. ‘As I think I told you, my father’s ghost haunts my dreams. He pursues me through my sleeping hours, sometimes accompanied by my family, sometimes alone. Last night I dreamt about a battlefield scattered with bloodied corpses and stinking of blood and faeces. .’ He gave Sigilis a knowing look which the tribune answered with a minute nod. ‘And there, in the corner of my eye, I found him standing waiting for me. His toga was rent and bloodied, and the nails had been torn from his fingers. He raised them for me to see, and told me that this was the torture to which he had been subjected before he was killed, in the expectation that he would betray my hiding place.’
He sighed and put a hand over his eyes, and Sigilis reached for the wine bottle, filling a cup and passing it over.
‘Thank you. In every dream he tells me that I have to seek revenge for their murder, and that I can only exact this vengeance by returning to Rome. But the worst dreams are the ones where my younger brother appears beside him, always silent, always staring at me without expression.’ He took a mouthful of the wine. ‘Felicia tells me that I must resolve this internal conflict if I am to stay sane, and that she fears I will turn to the bottle or kill myself to find peace. She also believes that my customary loss of any sense of self-preservation in battle is rooted in the same problem.’
Sigilis frowned.
‘Your wife does not believe that this is your father’s ghost?’
Marcus smiled, shaking his head.
‘My wife is the most rational person I have ever known. Not many women could have dealt with the ordeal she was put through last year, kidnapped by an imperial assassin who was using her as bait to lure me in for the kill. He lowered his guard for a single moment and she stuck a knife through his tongue in defence of our unborn child. She never seems to have lost a moment’s sleep over the matter either. But it makes no difference whether my father speaks to me from the underworld or simply from here,’ — he tapped the back of his head — ‘I must do as he bids, and find the men who murdered my family. Only when they are cold in the ground will I find the peace I crave.’ He raised his gaze to stare levelly at the tribune. ‘So tell me if you will, Lucius, and in as much detail as you can muster, what it was that this investigator told your father and his colleagues about my father’s death.’
Sigilis stirred in his seat, reaching for a cup and filling it with wine.
‘There was much in what he told us that you will find troubling, but one name was woven through the whole sorry story. It seems that there is a group of men who do the emperor’s bidding, or perhaps more accurately that of the man who stands behind his throne, the Praetorian Prefect Perennis. When men without conscience or compunction are needed, these men step forward without regard to the consequences of their actions. They carry out the dirty jobs that require the spilling of innocent blood in pursuit of imperial aims, and if a noble family vanishes from the city, as if they have been expunged from life itself, they are usually at the heart of the matter. He named them, not as individuals but by their collective name, a title that sent a shiver of fear through the men listening in my father’s house that night. He called them “The Emperor’s Knives”.’
‘Atten-shun!’
The gathered officers stiffened their bodies as the two legati entered the room, obeying the legion first spear’s barked command without hesitation.
‘He’s a fearsome old bastard, that Secundus.’
Scaurus nodded fractionally in recognition of Julius’s muttered comment, replying in equally muted terms.
‘Yes, he’s from the old school, a throwback to the days of the republic.’
The veteran senior centurion was apparently well known for his evil temper when his instructions were not followed instantly and to the letter, and wasn’t above publicly berating an errant tribune in the most incendiary of terms without any apparent regard for social status. Cattanius had shared a story with the two men while they had been waiting for the command conference to begin, the payoff to which had been his recounting of the man’s furious beasting of an errant junior tribune for some mistake or other only the previous day. He had looked around to make sure they weren’t overheard before continuing with his recounting of the centurion’s words.
‘All Secundus said was this: “The Thirteenth Legion is the best fucking legion in the empire, young sir. We’re the descendants of the men the Divine Julius Caesar used to conquer the world, and ever since those famous days the Thirteenth has been led by real soldiers, from the legatus down. And if you can’t manage to behave like a real soldier then you, young sir, can fuck right off!” I don’t expect his daddy warned the young man in question to expect treatment like that when he signed the boy up!’
Under the veteran centurion’s gimlet eye the officers stood to attention while the two legati took their places by the map table. Albinus looked about him with a slightly bemused smile, while his colleague Gaius Pescennius Niger’s expression was altogether more dour.
‘Very well, gentlemen, relax, and gather round the map if you will.’
The ass
embled officers obeyed Niger’s command, clustering round the meticulously constructed map table while he waited for them to settle into place. Julius looked down at the plaster replica of the landscape across which the campaign against the Sarmatae would be fought.
‘Lend me your vine stick will you please, First Spear?’
Secundus surrendered his badge of office to his legatus, the look on his face indicating his displeasure at having to allow his commanding officer to make free with his most treasured possession. Oblivious to the centurion’s reproving stare, Niger looked around the circle of men with the stick held up until he was sure he had every man’s full attention.
‘So, gentlemen, here we are, two full legions, or as close as one can get to such a thing these days, and eight auxiliary cohorts, seventeen if we choose to pull in the garrisons of the forts within marching distance, two of them formed of cavalry recruited from Britannia.’ He caught sight of Belletor’s raised eyebrows. ‘Plus, of course, the First Minervia’s Seventh Cohort and a thousand allied barbarian cavalry recently recruited in the south of the province. And as of now we’re all based here, at Porolissum.’
He pointed with the vine stick at the map table’s lovingly constructed replica of the local geography, and Marcus stared with interest at the contours of the ground across which the campaign to come would be fought.
‘Our opponent is a Sarmatae chieftain called Purta, who we are informed is fielding approximately twelve thousand cavalry and another ten thousand light infantry. Against our heavy infantry the foot soldiers represent a negligible threat. First Spear Secundus and his colleagues would tear through them in an hour or two of butchery and slave-taking. The enemy horse, however, represent an entirely different and more serious proposition. Gentlemen, to be very clear, that strength of barbarian cavalry, if used decisively and in mass, would without doubt represent a very serious threat, even to a force as strong as ours.’
He paused, looking about him again.
‘Some of you, those who haven’t ever faced barbarian cavalry of this type, will be wondering if I might perhaps be a little overcautious in that assessment. I can see it in your faces. Gentlemen, our military history is littered with cautionary tales of otherwise distinguished commanders who underestimated the capabilities of the Sarmatae, and before them the Parthians, and paid a heavy price for doing so. These Sarmatae are men raised on the great grasslands beyond these mountains, taught to ride at an age when most children in the empire are still considered infants. They do not need to use their hands to control their mounts, learning to do so purely by means of the pressure they exert with their knees. That leaves their hands free to use a bow on the move, and they are expert at hitting a target from a moving horse time after time, whether advancing, retreating or just riding round in a damned circle. As if that isn’t enough of a threat, they carry a long lance which they call the kontos, capable of spitting a man without having to get close enough that he can use his own spear in return.’
Niger shook his head.
‘So call me a pessimist behind my back if you like, but I will not risk my legion in battle with that strong a force of their horsemen on open ground. My colleague here and I’ — he gestured to Albinus, who inclined his head in grave agreement — ‘have decided that this is a battle that we will win by tempting a headstrong enemy onto well-defended and carefully prepared positions. Once we have the enemy horse nicely bogged down then we will unleash our legionaries to conduct their slaughter. .’ He raised a warning finger and looked around the assembled officers with a stern glare. ‘But until then, gentlemen, be warned that I am determined not to give them the chance to wreak the havoc they are all too capable of inflicting upon us, if we are unwise enough to let them do so. Colleague, will you explain our plan?’
Albinus nodded, taking the vine stick with a wink to its grizzled owner.
‘As you newcomers to Porolissum can see, we’re here, on top of this ridge which runs south-west to north-east. These are the Knife Mountains, gentlemen, and they are well named. They are largely impassable to any sort of military formation other than the most lightly equipped scouts, and crossed by passes at a very few points, most of which are laughably simple to defend due to their narrow nature. Our forts to the mountains’ rear are perfectly placed not only to resist any direct attack, but also to allow the cohorts that occupy them to move quickly in defence of these passes.’
He looked around the group of officers with a knowing smile.
‘Which means that nature has provided us with a very handy rampart against any barbarian attack from the north-west. However,’ — he pointed with the stick to the southern end of the ridge — ‘all good things will naturally come to their end, and so it is with this line of defence. As you can see, the mountains are split by a valley, here, which provides a natural point which an aggressive enemy commander would undoubtedly consider as the key that will unlock this particular door. For that reason there are three forts positioned along the length of the valley in a line from south-east to north-west.’ He pointed with the stick. ‘Lakeside Fort here, Stone Fort here, and lastly Two Rivers Fort, here.Two of them are not very much more than glorified lookout posts, but Stone Fort is a far tougher nut to crack and represents the heart of the valley’s defence. We’ve sent two cohorts of Britons, First Britannica and Second Britannorum to man the forts, since they seem to be bloodthirsty maniacs to a man, and given command of the valley’s defence to one of our more energetic young tribunes. By now I would expect him to have the place as tightly defended as the praetorian fortress in Rome.’
He pointed at the valley with the borrowed vine stick.
‘So, if the Sarmatae look to turn our line by attacking up this valley, aiming to get behind the mountain ridge and into our rear area, they must first deal with the garrisons of these forts. This man Purta’s dilemma is that he must either break into each fort in turn and destroy the garrison, or bypass them and tolerate the risk presented by their presence in his rear. Either choice is problematic, of course, since he either accepts a significant delay to his advance, and allows time for stronger forces to be moved into position to block his way up the valley, or else finds himself with our spears to both front and rear.
‘Now we have it on very good authority that Purta believes the defences arrayed against him in the valley are too strong. He fears that by the time his army has smashed a path through them, and cleared a route out onto the open ground his horsemen need, he’ll find a legion blocking his way. He therefore plans, we are informed, to turn just such a plan against us. He will make a feint up the valley, with the intention of drawing a legion into exactly such a blocking position, and then sending his full strength at a point somewhere else along the ridge. He’s going to roll the dice, colleagues, and gamble that he can weaken the province’s main line of defence enough to walk through the front door while the bouncers’ attention is distracted by a scuffle in the corner.’
The legatus smiled around at his officers, his eyes bright with the prospect of action.
‘Whereas we, armed with this inside information, are going to give every indication that we’ve fallen for his ploy whilst keeping our main strength concentrated, and ready to land the one blow that will end this war in a single battle. Whichever pass through the mountains Purta sends his main force at, he’ll find two legions massed and ready to meet him, and on ground that’s been well prepared. Questions?’
Scaurus raised a hand.
‘Tribune?’
‘Legatus, if you’re going to keep the Thirteenth Gemina and the Fifth Macedonica concentrated for the main battle, how are you going to convince this Purta that you’ve taken his bait?’
The legatus grinned back at him.
‘Perceptive, Rutilius Scaurus, very perceptive indeed. We’ll have mounted scouts out, of course, and once we know that the Sarmatae are making their move on the valley I propose to send an initial relief force from the south-western end of the line. Any enemy scouts sent forward p
ast the river forts will see the movement and take it for the advance guard of the blocking force. The report will go back to Purta that we’ve taken his bait, and he’ll make his move on the main line in blessed ignorance of what’s waiting for him. On top of that, this apparent relief force will also serve to sweep the valley clear of scouts, and prevent them from getting so far up the valley that they realise there’s no legion moving up in support. Quite an elegant solution, I’d say. And now that you mention it, given that your Tungrians have rather more battle experience than most of our forces, I’d say they’ll make the ideal units for a task which is, of course, likely to result in an action of some kind. Do you think you can handle such a mission?’
Scaurus nodded, already hard in thought as he stared at the map table.
‘Legatus!’
Albinus swivelled his head to regard Tribune Belletor, standing at the other end of the table from his former colleague and wearing an expression of concern.
‘Tribune?’
‘My command, Legatus, is every bit as powerful as that under Rutilius Scaurus’s leadership, and has the advantage of mustering a powerful force of cavalry. I propose that the Tungrians advance along one bank of the river, while we will manage the other.’
Albinus shared a glance with Niger, but it was the older man who responded to Belletor’s request.
‘Your cavalry, Tribune, if my memory serves, are only recently recruited from the Sarmatae you defeated at Alburnus Major. I wonder, perhaps, if they represent too great a risk to be put into the field against their own tribe.’
Belletor, having clearly anticipated the response, reacted with uncharacteristic understatement.
‘I completely understand your concern, Legatus. Perhaps it would help if I were to tell you that they have already been active in scouting before us as we marched north. On more than one occasion the scouting parties of these horsemen that I sent out to clear our path brought back the bodies of Sarmatae scouts they had managed to kill, along with their mounts. My discussions with them have convinced me that they care little for these other people, owing loyalty only to their own offshoot of the tribe, and in the absence of their kindred, to me as their paymaster. And besides’ — Marcus watched his tribune’s eyes narrow as Belletor advanced his argument one last step — ‘the use of their own horsemen as part of the master plan that undoes this Purta’s invasion of the province will surely play very well in Rome, I would have thought.’
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