Cato 02 - The Eagles Conquest (39 page)

‘Now we’ll see how good an engineer you really are,’ said Plautius, keenly watching the bridge for the first signs of collapse. To his side the prefect of engineers looked distraught at the possibility of an imperial drenching finding its way onto his curriculum vitae.

The elephants’ swaying progress looked peculiar after the stiff regularity of the Praetorian cohorts, and to the prefect’s relief the line of huge beasts was totally unsynchronised and the bridge remained stable. Behind the rear elephant a gap opened up. The imperial entourage and their wagons would be travelling with the rest of the baggage train at the rear of the army and would not be setting out for some hours yet.

The last of the standards passed by, and then the Emperor lurched up from the bridge and his elephant driver tapped the elephant on the side of the head to make it stop in front of Plautius and his officers.

‘Good morning, Caesar.’

‘General.’ Claudius nodded. ‘N-no problems with the advance, I trust.’

‘None, Caesar. Your army is formed up and ready to follow you to a glorious victory.’ It was a trite phrase, and Vespasian struggled to keep a mocking expression at bay, but the Emperor seemed to take it at face value.

‘Wonderful! Quite w-wonderful! Can’t wait to get stuck into those BBB-Britons. Let’s give them a stiff dose of R-Roman steel, eh, Plautius!’

‘Well, yes, quite, Caesar.’

The last of the elephants halted, and Narcissus rode up. He was perched on the back of a small pony that flinched nervously as one of the elephants lifted its tail and deposited a small mound directly in its path. The chief secretary quickly negotiated the distasteful obstacle and trotted up to the side of his master’s beast.

‘Ah: There you are, Narcissus. About time. I’ll transfer to my litter now. ‘

‘Are you sure, Caesar? Think of the heroic image you cast up there on such a magnificent beast. A veritable god leading his men into war! How inspiring it’ll look to the men!’

‘Not when this st-st-stupid animal makes me throw up, it won’t. Driver! Get this animal down, right now.’

After his last experience of disembarking from an elephant, Claudius gripped the sides of his throne tightly and leaned back as far as he could when the elephant’s front legs folded. Safely back on terra firma, the Emperor gazed at the elephant with disapproval.

‘Quite how that scoundrel Hannibal coped, I don’t know. Now then, Narcissus. Have my litter fetched at once.’

‘Yes, Caesar. I’ll have it fetched from the baggage train.’

‘What is it doing back there?’

‘You ordered it, Caesar. You may recall that you had intended to lead the advance on the back of an elephant.’

‘Oh?’

‘You wanted to “out-Hannibal Hannibal”. Remember, Caesar?’

‘Hmmm. Yes. Well, that was yesterday. Besides,’ Claudius waved a hand to the south, ‘I don’t fancy being stuck on an e-e-elephant when that lot breaks.’

Narcissus turned to look at the black clouds rolling in towards the Tamesis. A flicker of white light illuminated them from within and moments later a deep rumble echoed towards the Roman camp.

‘The litter please, Narcissus. Quick as you can.’

‘At once, Caesar.’

While the chief secretary hurriedly passed the instruction on, the Emperor stood and watched the approaching storm with a frown, as if his displeasure might ward it off. A jagged white line stabbed down in the marshland a short distance upriver and the air was split by a terrible sound like tearing metal.

Sabinus manoeuvred his horse alongside his brother.

‘Bloody typical,’ he said quietly. ‘We sit on our arses for the best part of two months waiting for the Emperor in glorious sunshine, and the moment we get back on the offensive we’re hit by a storm.’

Vespasian let out a low, bitter chuckle and nodded. ‘And no hope of us sitting the storm out, I suppose.’

‘None, brother. There’s too much riding on this campaign, and Claudius dare not be absent from Rome any longer than absolutely necessary. The advance goes ahead whatever the weather.’

‘Oh shit.’ Vespasian had felt a splash on his hand. Then came a soft pattering of heavy raindrops on helmets and shields. Across the wide surface of the Tamesis a belt of grey swept towards the north bank. Suddenly the downpour began in earnest, hissing through the air and drumming down on every surface. A light breeze picked up with the rain, tossing the branches in nearby copses and stirring the heavy military cloaks of the officers as they hurriedly pulled them round their bodies. Claudius looked up at the sky just as lightning burst upon the world in a dazzling sheet of white light and froze the angry expression on his face for the briefest of moments.

‘Do you think this might be an omen’?’ Sabinus asked half seriously.

‘What kind of an omen’?’

‘A warning from the gods. A warning about the outcome of this campaign perhaps.’

‘Or a warning to Claudius’?’ Vespasian turned to exchange a knowing look with his older brother.

‘Do you really think it is’?’

‘Maybe. Or it might just be a sign from the gods that it’s going to piss down for a few days.’

Sabinus’ disapproval of this casual mocking of superstition was evident in his frown. Vespasian shrugged and turned back to watch the Emperor who was shouting something at the heavens. His words were drowned out by the crash of thunder and the slashing of rain. The elephants were jostling against each other nervously despite the best efforts of their drivers and the agitation of these vast animals was beginning to affect the horses.

‘Get them out of here!’ Plautius shouted out to the drivers. ‘Get them away from the road! Quick! Before you lose control of them!’

The elephant drivers saw the danger and frantically kicked their heels and beat at the grey wrinkled domes of their elephants’ heads until the beasts lumbered off the track and made for the edge of the river, huddled together away from the bridge.

Claudius gave up berating the gods and made his way across the track towards the mounted officers.

‘Where’s my b-bloody litter’?’

‘Coming, Caesar,’ replied Narcissus, pointing back down the bridge to where a dozen slaves were jogging across with a large gilded two-seater. By the time the litter reached the near bank, the track was running with rivulets and the dry, hard surface of moments before had become slippery underfoot. The litter-bearers struggled to keep their footing as they made their way towards the Emperor who was waiting with furious impatience. Once on level ground, they increased their pace and quickly lowered the litter by the Emperor’s side.

‘About time!’ Claudius was drenched, his thinning white hair lay plastered to his head in messy strands and his once bright purple cloak was dark and hung in wet folds about his shoulders. With a last angry look at the skies he dived inside the litter. Through the curtains he called out to General Plautius.

‘Yes, Caesar?’

‘Get things moving! This army’s g-going on the offensive, come rain or sunshine. S-s-see to it!’

‘Caesar!’

With a quick wave Plautius signalled to his assembled officers, who turned their horses and in a rough column headed back to their units to prepare for the advance. Sabinus continued to ride alongside his younger brother, head tucked down into the folds of his cloak. The ceremonial crest of his helmet was soaked and drooped sadly from its holding bracket. Around them the rain thrashed down, accompanied by frequent brilliant flashes followed by darkness and ear-splitting thunder that made the very earth tremble. It was hard not to see the fact that the storm had broken just as the army was breaking camp as a sign from the gods that they disapproved of the advance on Camulodunum. However, the army’s priests had read the entrails at first light, and the ground had freely yielded the standards when the legion’s colour parties had collected them from the standards’ sanctuary. Despite these conflicting signs of divine favour, Claudius had nevertheless ordered the army to advance according to the strategy he had outlined to his senior officers. Sabinus was apprehensive.

‘I mean, even I know that we should be scouting ahead of the line of advance. It’s enemy territory and who knows what traps Caratacus has set for us. The Emperor is no soldier. All he knows about war is what he’s learned from books, not from being in the field. If we just plough blindly into the enemy we’re asking for trouble.’

‘Yes.’

‘Someone has to try and reason with him, set him right. Plautius is too weak to object and the Emperor thinks Hosidius Geta is a fool. It has to be someone else.’

‘Like me, I suppose.’

‘Why not? He seems to like you well enough, and you’ve got Narcissus’ respect. You could try and get him to adopt a safer strategy.’

‘No,’ Vespasian replied firmly. ‘I won’t do it.’

‘Why, brother?’

‘If the Emperor isn’t going to listen to Plautius, then he’s hardly going to listen to me. Plautius commands the army. It’s up to him to approach the Emperor. Let’s talk no more about it.’

Sabinus opened his mouth to make another attempt to persuade his brother but the fixed expression on Vespasian’s face, familiar from childhood, stopped him. Once Vespasian decided a subject was closed, there was no shifting him; it would be a waste of time to try. Over the years Sabinus had grown used to being frustrated by his younger brother; moreover, he had come to realise that Vespasian was a more able man than he was. Not that Sabinus would ever admit it, and he continued to act the part of the older, wiser brother as best as he could. Those who came to know the brothers well could not help but draw a telling comparison between the quiet competence and steely determination of the younger Vespasian, and the nervous, edgy, too-willing-to-please superficiality of Sabinus.

Vespasian directed his horse to follow the other officers up the slope towards the main gate. He was glad his brother had fallen silent. It was true that Plautius and his legates had been deeply concerned by the over-bold strategy outlined to them by an excited Emperor. Claudius had run on and on, his stammer worsening as he delivered a long rambling lecture on military history and the genius of the bold, direct offensive. After a while Vespasian had ceased to listen, and brooded on more personal matters instead. As he continued to do now.

Despite Flavia’s protestations, he still could not shake himself free of the suspicion that she was involved with the Liberators. There had been too many coincidences and opportunities for conspiracy in recent months for him simply to dismiss them on the word of his wife. And that made him feel even worse about the whole matter. They had exchanged a private vow of fidelity in all things when they had married, and her word sbould be good enough. Trust was the root of any relationship and it must thrive for a relationship to grow and mature. But his doubts ate away at this root, insidiously gnawing their viay through the bond between man and wife. Before long he knew he must confront her over the threat to the Emperor that Adminius had stumbled upon. Thus it would be again and again between himself and Flavia, until he had driven out every shred of his doubt and uncertainty - or discovered proof of her guilt.

‘I must get back to my legion,’ Vespasian announced. ‘Take care.’

‘May the gods preserve us, brother.’

‘I’d rather we didn’t have to count on them,’ said Vespasian, and gave a thin smile. ‘We’re in the hands of mortals now, Sabinus. Fate is just an onlooker.’

He kicked his heels into his mount and urged it to a trot, passing along the huddled lines oflegionaries squelching towards Camulodunum. Somewhere ahead of them Caratacus would be waiting with a fresh army he had amassed in the month and a half of grace that Claudius had given him. This time the British warrior chief would be fighting in front of his tribal capital, and both armies would be locked in the most bitter and terrible battle of the campaign.

Chapter Forty-Six

The storm continued for the rest of the day. The tracks and trails along which the army advanced quickly turned into greasy morasses of mud that sucked at the boots of the legionaries as they struggled forward under back-breaking loads. Further back the baggage train quickly bogged down and was Jeft behind under the guard of an auxiliary cohort. By the evening the army had covered no more than ten miles and defensive earth works were still being dug as the exhausted rearguard trudged into their tent lines.

Just before the sun set, the storm abated, and through a gap in the clouds a brilliant shaft of orange light lit up the sodden army, gleaming on its wet equipment and glistening on the churned-up mud and puddles. The hot tension in the stormy air had gone, and it now felt cool and fresh. The legionaries quickly set up their tents and removed all their wet clothing. Cloaks and tunics were slung over each section’s tent ridge and the men began to prepare their evening meal, grouching at the lack of any dry firewood. From their packs the soldiers ate their issue of biscuit and strips of dried beef, cursing as they worked sinewy shreds loose and chewed them over and over before they could be swallowed.

The sun went down with a final glittering display of light along the horizon and then the clouds closed in again, thicker and more gloomy, sweeping along as the breeze returned and steadily strengthened. As night drew on, the wind whined shrilly through the guy ropes and the tent canvas boomed and flapped with the strongest gusts. Inside the tents, the legionaries shivered in wet cloaks wound tightly about them, trying to get warm enough to sleep.