The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19) Page 14

  ‘Your officers, sir?’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve brought some good men with me from the Praetorian Guard. They’re here to kick the garrison troops into shape so we can put an end to the brigands on this island.’

  ‘Good . . .’ Massimilianus grunted. ‘It’s about time.’

  Cato shot him a quick glance and saw the glint in the centurion’s eye. ‘How long have you served with the Sixth Gallic?’

  ‘Two years, sir.’

  ‘And before that?’

  ‘Twentieth Legion, sir. I was an optio. I was wounded on campaign in Britannia and got a promotion to centurion of auxiliaries. Can’t say it turned out to be the best decision I ever made.’

  ‘Britannia, eh?’ Cato smiled at him for the first time. ‘That was where I cut my teeth. Second Legion.’

  ‘You’ll have been one of Vespasian’s lads then? Fine unit that. Saved our arses outside Camulodunum when Caratacus set his trap for us.’ Massimilianus’s brow furrowed as he recalled the close-fought battle. ‘It’s an honour to serve with an officer of the Second Legion, sir.’

  ‘I wasn’t an officer back then. Just a freshly minted optio.’

  Massimilianus gave him a searching look and thought a moment before he continued. ‘You’ve done very well for yourself, sir. From optio to prefect in not much over ten years. Not bad at all.’

  They marched out onto the fort’s main thoroughfare and followed the last of the auxiliaries jogging towards the eastern gate and the parade ground beyond. As they approached the gate, Cato heard the sound of horses’ hooves pounding along the baked earth and turned to see fifty or so riders emerging from the end of the stable block and cantering towards the gate. He waved his companions out of the way and watched as the cohort’s mounted contingent passed by. The beasts were ill-fed and their uneasy gait indicated that they had been poorly exercised. Their hides were dull from lack of grooming and the saddles and bridles looked worn.

  As the dust swirled in their wake, Apollonius covered his mouth with the back of his hand and made a muffled comment. ‘It seems almost cruel to burden those broken-down wrecks with riders. I doubt they’d go more than a mile before they were blown and good for nothing more.’

  Cato nodded grimly and turned to Massimilianus. ‘What’s your explanation for that lot?’

  ‘As I said, I joined a couple of years back, sir. In that time the cohort has not had a single remount added to its strength. Most of those beasts are almost no use any more. The prefect has been too, er, preoccupied to request funds from the governor to purchase fresh ones. It’s not as if the island is short of good mounts. They breed some of the finest horses in the Empire. I put in a request of my own a few months back but heard nothing back from the governor’s office, and then the next time the prefect returned from Carales, he tore a strip off me for exceeding my authority.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s how it goes here. Sardinia’s been a backwater of the Empire for too long, I’m thinking.’

  ‘That is going to change,’ said Cato. ‘Come on.’

  They followed the small column of riders out of the fort and onto the levelled ground beyond. The men of the cohort were formed up in their centuries, with the mounted contingent taking their station on the right flank. Plancinus and the other Praetorians were waiting on the reviewing platform to one side of the parade ground. Cato did not join them immediately, but paced slowly along the front of the formation, pausing occasionally to look more closely at individuals and their kit. What was true of the horses seemed to go for many of the men as well. Some looked ancient, with wizened limbs and sunken eyes and the shrunken mouths of those who had lost all their teeth. Like most auxiliary units, their armour was a mixed bag of scale and iron rings. A few had segmented armour. It was heartening to see that at least some effort had been made to keep helmets polished and weapons and armour free of rust. Their oval shields bore personalised designs, a feature that Cato found less tolerable now that he had grown used to the standardised appearance of the Praetorian Guard.

  As was common with mixed cohorts, the established strength of the Sixth Gallic was supposed to be in the order of a thousand men. But there were always men who were sick, or on detached duties, or who had been given leave. In addition to the six squadrons of the mounted contingent, most of whom were formed up on foot behind those who still had horses, there were ten centuries of infantry, but none of them came close to having the full complement of eighty men. Cato calculated that only about half of the cohort’s usual strength was standing before him.

  ‘Massimilianus, I’ll want full strength returns submitted to headquarters after the cohort is dismissed. All leave is cancelled and every man is to be recalled to the fort.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He took one last look at the men formed up before him, then turned towards the reviewing platform and climbed the short flight of steps to join Plancinus and the other Praetorians. The standard-bearers of the cohort were formed up at the rear of the platform, and he was gratified to see decorations attached to the staff showing that the cohort had performed well at some point in its past.

  Plancinus saluted and made his report. ‘All available men on parade, sir. Not that they make for an impressive sight. I don’t know what the brigands are going to make of them, but I’ve seen tougher-looking gangs of street kids back in Rome.’

  ‘That may be.’ Cato sighed. ‘I only hope the other two cohorts are better than this lot.’

  Centurion Massimilianus frowned and opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.

  ‘You have something to say, Centurion?’ Cato prompted.

  ‘Only that the Sixth Gallic is the best cohort in the province, sir.’

  ‘The best, you say?’ He felt his burdened heart sink even further. ‘The gods preserve us . . .’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Apollonius said lightly. ‘In my experience the gods have demonstrated rather more insouciance than any desire to preserve their darlings.’

  Cato turned to face the assembled men and stepped towards the edge of the reviewing platform, drawing a deep breath to begin his address.

  ‘Soldiers of the Sixth Gallic Cohort! You will by now have realised that the garrison of Sardinia is under new management.’

  He heard some chuckles from Plancinus and the others and was gratified to see amusement on the faces of some of the men before him. Better that than sullen expressions or resentful scowls.

  ‘I am Prefect Cato, commander of the garrison. Our emperor has tasked me to lead you men in a campaign to wipe out the brigands who dare to defy the will of Rome. I will be honest with you from the outset. Since I reached the province, I have heard many say that these brigands are more than a match for the soldiers of Rome; that they have more cunning than foxes and cannot be caught. They say that this is the way it has always been and always will be. That kind of talk ends now. Rome will no longer tolerate the defiance of these criminals. They will be hunted down and destroyed. That is our mission, and we will carry it out!’

  He paused for a beat. ‘Doubtless some of you will dismiss my words as mere bravado, and believe that in the end I will be humiliated, like those who have tried to subdue the brigands before me. To those men I say: you had better pray to the gods that you live to see the day we secure a swift victory, because I will not rest until we do. Nor will any man under my command. Until that day I will demand the last ounce of effort and courage from every man here. And the gods have pity on those who fail in their duty, for I will show you no mercy and nor will our enemy. Centurion Massimilianus, dismiss your men.’

  He joined the Praetorian officers as the centurion bellowed the orders that sent the men and horses back to barracks.

  ‘Our new auxiliary friend has a fine set of lungs on him,’ Apollonius observed. ‘Almost as deafening as Macro. I dare say that’s as far as a favourable comparison can go in most respects.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ Cato muttered. ‘But I’ll give him the same chance I give any m
an to prove himself.’

  He turned to Plancinus and the other officers. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘The address was a bit on the short side, sir.’

  ‘I said all that I want to for now. I just needed to see them as a formation and let them know what to expect.’

  Apollonius arched one of his fine eyebrows. ‘And as a formation what do you make of the Sixth Gallic Cohort?’

  ‘I’ve seen better.’

  ‘Have you seen worse?’

  Massimilianus had turned to join them, so Cato ignored the question and delivered his orders instead. ‘Gentlemen, I want you to go over the fort and make a list of work that needs doing. Don’t miss out a single detail. I want this place to bring a tearful gleam of pride to the eye of the most ardent centurion that ever lived. And I want that done within two days. Centurions Plancinus and Massimilianus, you’re coming back to headquarters with me. There are plans to make.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The office of Prefect Vestinus was well appointed, no doubt from the proceeds of the thriving business he ran as a sideline to his role as commander of the cohort. An ebony desk, inlaid with pearl and silver floral designs, sat in front of a large shuttered window that overlooked the courtyard, the fort walls and the port beyond. The sea sparkled brilliantly a mile off, and several cargo ships and fishing boats gracefully rode the gentle swell. One wall had been painted to represent a bucolic scene of a lake surrounded by trees and mountains, with a temple on the shore. A shepherd leaned on his crook as he regarded the splendid vista. It was a fine piece of work, Cato conceded. Worthy of the finest houses in Rome. The other furnishings of the office, cushioned benches and shelves for scrolls and waxed slates, were the work of craftsmen.

  ‘Our host is a man of some taste, not to mention considerable means,’ said Apollonius as he examined his surroundings. ‘Given that he has chosen to spend most of his time elsewhere, I can’t help wondering at the magnificence of his other accommodation.’

  Cato searched the documents on the shelves until he found what he was looking for: a rolled-up map of the island. Opening it out on the desk, he weighted the corners with waxed slates and gestured to the others to gather round.

  ‘You know this place, Massimilianus. Tell me where these brigands are located and where their attacks have been reported.’

  The centurion leaned forward and indicated the centre of the island to the east of Tharros. ‘There is a dense forest in this region that covers most of the plain between the hills that surround it. The Balari tribe control the area. In the winter, the ground is like a bog, but then you’ll be used to that from your time in Britannia, sir.’ He glanced at Cato with a quick smile before he continued. ‘In summer, most of it dries out, but there are places where the marsh conditions persist and the air is thick with mosquitoes. Any patrol or column sent into the area is asking to be struck down by the falling sickness. I know that from experience, as I pursued a band into the forest two summers ago. Half the men from my century were in sickbeds for the best part of a month, and eight of them died.’ He moved his finger over the parchment and tapped an area south of the forested plain. ‘The other tribe causing us trouble are the Ilenses, here. This landscape is quite different. Hilly, almost mountainous in places.’

  ‘There are towns marked there,’ Apollonius intervened. ‘Are they held by the enemy?’

  ‘No. We still control the towns. For the moment. The brigands have started setting ambushes on the roads. That in turn has forced the merchants to travel in convoys of wagons and carts protected by hired men and even some gladiators hired out by the island’s lanistas. There are military outposts along the main routes, manned by men from the three cohorts, which is one of the reasons why the ranks looked thin on the parade ground just now. I’d say a quarter of the province’s total strength is tied down in guarding the roads passing through or close to the territory controlled by the Balari and the Ilenses. It worked well enough until they got more ambitious and started launching raids right across the island. They create havoc in one area just long enough for us to send a column up there to deal with them, then they run back for the forest and the hills. And while we’re dealing with that, they strike somewhere else and we have to send another column to chase them off.’ Massimilianus sucked his teeth in frustration. ‘We’ve been chasing our tails all year, sir, and they’ve been striking at will and laughing their arses off each time we’ve tried to hunt them down.’

  Cato nodded thoughtfully for a moment. ‘We’re not going to be able to do the job with the forces we have. We’ll need more men.’

  ‘Good luck with that, sir. The governor’s shown no interest in paying for any, and I dare say you’ll get the same response if you ask Rome.’

  ‘Then we’ll find the men and the money to pay them from other sources. If the merchants can pay to have their convoys guarded, they can afford to help man the outposts along the roads. That’ll free up our soldiers for other duties.’

  Plancinus scratched his chin. ‘Other duties, sir?’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve been thinking about this problem since I was first given the job. We’re going to do the same as we did in Britannia, when we took on the hill tribes. We march auxiliaries into an area and build a fort to control it, then move on and do the same again. Little by little we’ll box the brigands in and destroy any of their settlements that we find. We’ll also capture those people who are supplying them with food and shelter. They won’t last long when they start getting hungry. Their bands will break up and then we’ll track down the ringleaders and put an end to it.’

  ‘You make it sound very simple,’ said Apollonius.

  ‘It is simple,’ Cato agreed. ‘It worked well enough in Britannia, on a bigger scale.’ He indicated the map. ‘Our main effort will come from the west, using the Sixth Gallic. The other two cohorts will push forward from the north and south, while I’ll order the naval squadron to arm its sailors, and with the marines they can move in from the eastern coast. We’ll hem the enemy in on all sides and slowly close in for the kill. Any questions?’

  Massimilianus nodded. ‘One thing. I’ve been dealing with those bastards long enough to know that they can outpace our men easily. On foot and on horseback. That’ll come as no surprise now that you’ve seen the quality of the nags we have on our strength.’

  ‘Then we’ll need better horses,’ said Cato. ‘The best that we can find in the province.’

  ‘Horses we can’t afford, sir. Like I said, the governor’s not going to open the coffers of the province’s treasury. He wants as much of that as he can get his hands on for when his term of office is up and he returns to Rome.’

  ‘The solution’s obvious,’ said Apollonius. ‘We don’t pay for the horses.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Cato folded his arms. ‘If we can’t count on the governor, or the officials back in Rome, we’ll have to take what we need from the resources available on the island. That means we’ll need to requisition mounts from the horse breeders. We’ll also need to make the merchants cough up money to hire men and pay for their kit. There will be local militia in the larger towns and ports. We’ll rope them in too. They can man the forts and free up men to fill out the ranks of the pursuit columns. With good horses, we’ll be able to match the pace our enemies move at.’

  The others nodded their approval, before Plancinus spoke up. ‘The plan’s sound enough, sir, but it’s only as good as the men used to put it into effect. Many of those we rousted out and got on parade are in no condition to be running down brigands through forests and over hills.’

  Cato nodded. ‘So the first task is to weed out those too old or unfit to march with the pursuit columns. Massimilianus, I want the strength returns for the cohorts, then I want you to go through each century, man by man, and pick out the best. Same goes for the horses. I only want the fittest. Get rid of the rest. Sell ’em in the local market and get what you can for them. We’ll make up the numbers from the horse breeders in the c
ountry around Tharros. But don’t breathe a word about the way we’re going to set about it. Is that clear?’

  ‘Perfectly, sir.’ Massimilianus grinned. ‘I can’t wait to see their faces when we come for their beasts.’

  ‘Something occurs to me,’ Apollonius intervened. ‘I doubt the local landowners are going to take kindly to having their mounts commandeered. They will make their complaints known in Rome. I doubt the emperor will be happy to have dealt with the brigands only for a fresh problem to arise. I’d advise you to soften the blow by giving them a receipt for every horse and the promise of its safe return or fair compensation in the case of its loss. They might grumble, but that’s as far as they will take it for the present. And when it’s all over and you return to Rome, well, then it’ll be someone else’s problem.’

  The two centurions stared at him with disdain before Massimilianus spoke. ‘Can I ask where you found this one, sir? He’s got a touch too much of the politician about him for my taste.’

  Cato laughed. ‘Just be grateful he’s on our side. I’m sure you will value his particular talents as much as I do in the days to come.’

  ‘If you say so, sir,’ Massimilianus responded doubtfully.

  Removing the waxed slates, Cato rolled up the map and replaced it on the shelf. ‘You know how I plan to deal with the brigands. But first we need to get this cohort kicked into shape and ready to march against the enemy. I’m leaving that job in the hands of Plancinus and the other Praetorians. No offence to you, Massimilianus, but I want the men pushed hard, and they’ll take it better from outsiders than from those officers who have been content to let standards slip. And I’ll need you here at headquarters to advise me on the lie of the land.’

  It was difficult to hand the training over to Plancinus and the other volunteers without impugning the professionalism of the cohort’s senior centurion and the other officers, but they needed to be shaken up as much as the rank and file. Cato decided to move on to other matters before any objection could be made, and rejected, thereby adding to the umbrage of the local officers.