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The two centurions made their way down to the gateway leading through the rampart and into Calleva. Although Vespasian had left a mere two centuries of legionaries, under one officer, to defend the depot, the area enclosed by its ramparts was large enough to hold several cohorts. Beyond the parade ground was the hospital and headquarters buildings. To one side of them stood a few rows of timber barracks. Beyond that stretched the granaries and other stores, which the Second Legion needed to draw on as they marched west. The Britons' leader, Caratacus, had laid waste to the land before the advance of Plautius' legions, hence the Roman columns' dependence on long lines of communication leading all the way to the vast supply base at Rutupiae, where the legions had first set foot in Britain.
The contrast between the ordered interior of the depot and the disorganised jumble of huts, barns, cattle byres and narrow, muddy thoroughfares of Calleva struck Cato once again. The tribal capital was home to nearly six thousand people in normal times, but with the enemy raiding supply convoys and farms across the kingdom, the population of Calleva had swelled to nearly twice the size. Packed into the crude hovels inside Calleva's walls, the people grew more hungry and desperate by the day.
Despite its ideal location on top of a gently sloping hill, there had been no attempt to create an adequate drainage system, and the deeply rutted streets, if they could be dignified by such a word, were covered with dung. Foul-smelling puddles formed wherever the ground was so saturated that nothing drained away, and Cato felt a wave of disgust at the sight of two children making 'mud' pies at the side of a waterlogged wagon rut.
By the time the two centurions reached Calleva's main gateway a mixed crowd of natives and Romans was packed on to the turf ramparts to watch the desperate drama on the slope below. Aside from the men from the garrison, the Empire was represented by the first wave of merchants, slave traders and land agents out to make a quick killing before the new province became settled enough for the natives to get wise to their profiteering ways.
Now they jostled with the Atrebatans for the best view as the remnants of the supply column struggled towards the safety of Calleva. Cato caught the eye of the optio in command of the legionaries ma
'Easy there!' Cato shouted above the din, cracking his vine cane down on the nearest legionary's shield. 'Go easy, I said! These people are the allies of Rome! They're not bloody animals. Understand?'
The legionary snapped to attention in front of his superior, and glared at a fixed point over Cato's shoulder. 'Yes, sir!'
'If I catch you, or any others laying into the locals again, I'll have you on latrine cleaning duties for the rest of the year.' Cato leaned closer to the legionary, and continued softly, 'Then you'll really be in the shit, won't you?'
The man tried not to smile and Cato nodded. 'Carry on.'
'Yes, sir.'
As the legionary led the way through the crowd the protests of the natives died away, now that the soldiers' heavy-handedness had been seen to be punished.
Macro nudged Cato. 'What was that all about? The boy was only doing his job.'
'It'll take him a few moments to get over his wounded pride. It takes a lot longer to build good relations between us and the Atrebatans. And almost no time to break them.'
'Maybe,' Macro said grudgingly, then recalled the legionary's smirk at Cato's final remark to him. The touch of humour had eased the man's resentment considerably. 'Anyway, it was neatly done.'
Cato shrugged.
They entered the shaded interior of the gatehouse and climbed the ladder to the deck above the thick timbers of the town gates. Emerging from the narrow hatchway Cato saw Verica and a handful of his bodyguards standing to one side. Cato saluted the king as he crossed the boarded floor towards the palisade and looked down the track that wound its way north, towards the river Tamesis. Half a mile away six large wagons, each drawn by teams of four oxen, crawled along the track. Around them marched a thin screen of auxiliary troops, with a small group of the legion's mounted scouts forming a rearguard. Sunlight glinted off a breastplate and Cato squinted at a figure on horseback, halfway along the column.
'Isn't that the legate?'
'How should I know?' Macro replied. 'Your eyes are better than mine. You tell me.'
Cato stared a little longer. 'Yes! It's him all right.'
'What the hell's he doing here?' Macro was genuinely surprised. 'He's supposed to be with the legion, kicking the stuffing out of those bloody hillforts.'
'I expect,' Cato reflected, 'he's come to find out where his supplies have got to. Must have fallen in with the wagons.'
'That's our bloody Vespasian all right!' Macro laughed. 'Can't help getting himself into a fight.'
Shadowing the column were several knots of enemy troops, accompanied by a number of the fast-moving chariots still favoured by many British tribes. A steady barrage of arrows, slingshot and spears was maintained on the Roman column. As Cato watched, one of the auxiliaries was struck in the leg by a spear and sprawled to the ground, his shield falling to one side. The man behind him, stepped round his wounded comrade, and continued forward, hunched behind his oval shield, without a backward glance.
'That's tough,' said Macro.
'Yes…'
Both men were frustrated by their inability to help their comrades. While they were under medical care, they were mere supernumeraries in the depot. Besides, the centurion in command of the garrison would take a dim view if they interfered with his command in any way.
Before the column had completely passed by the injured man, one of the animal handlers broke away from his pair of oxen and ran over to the auxiliary struggling to free himself of the spear. As the crowd on Calleva's gatehouse watched, the handler grasped the spear and wrenched it free. Then with the handler supporting his wounded comrade the pair staggered towards the rear of the last wagon.
'They won't make it,' said Cato.
The wagons trundled forward towards the safety of the town's ramparts, driven on by desperate lashes from the drivers' whips, and the gap between the rearmost vehicle and the two men steadily widened until they disappeared amid the ranks of the mounted rearguard. Cato strained his eyes for any further sign of them.
'Should have left him,' Macro commented sourly. 'Stupid sod's only wasted another life.'
'There they are!'
Macro looked beyond the legion's scouts and saw the pair still struggling after the supply column. Then he saw the nearest group of Britons racing in towards them for an easy kill. The handler looked over his shoulder and abruptly stopped. Pausing only for a moment, he pulled himself free of the wounded man and sprinted for safety. The auxiliary slumped to his knees and stretched a hand out towards the handler as the enemy closed in on him. He disappeared beneath a wave of woad-painted bodies with white limed hair. Some of the Britons sprinted on, intent on ru
'Too bad.' Macro shook his head.
'Looks like the rest of them are going to make a move.' Cato was watching the largest group of chariots where the tall figure in the lead was waving his spear above his head to attract attention. Then, with a swift stabbing motion he pointed the tip towards the remains of the supply column and the Britons roared their war cry and charged home. The auxiliaries closed ranks, forming a pitifully thin line between the Durotrigans and the wagons. The legate had rejoined his mounted scouts, and they quickly fa