them might well recall the day we left the Red River clogged with their dead.’
The Tungrian first spear looked down at the map with obvious disgust.
‘Can we rely on any support from the legions based on the wall?’
Castus shook his head with an expression of regret.
‘To be blunt, First Spear, I’m afraid not. The legions’ detachment commanders are all very clear that the first man to stir from his given position without clear orders to do so will be taking a risk with his rank, and that such a loss of status might well be the very least of his problems. There’s not a man among them who will send out anything more aggressive than a party to gather firewood.’ Castus shrugged at them with an apologetic expression. ‘Sorry, but there it is. There’s no point trying to polish this particular turd …’
Marcus cleared his throat as he stepped forward, drawing curious glances from the men around the table.
‘But you do have some assistance to offer us, don’t you, Prefect? Why else would those men standing behind you be privy to the preparations for a mission which needs to be planned with as much secrecy as possible?’
Castus nodded, clearly suppressing a smile.
‘All in good time, Centurion. First we’ll be clear as to exactly what it is that you’ll be faced with.’ He waved a hand at the land around the eagle’s presumed location. ‘The Antonine Wall was built along the line of two rivers, the Clut to the west and the Dirty River to the east. The ground to the north is open, in the main, but there is a range of hills that runs away from the wall to the north-east, and that’s where we think the eagle has come to rest. The range is split in two by the valley of the Dirty River, and where the hills rise again to the north of the stream there’s a particularly steep peak on which the Venicones have built themselves a fortress so strong, and indeed so difficult to even access, that it has never been attacked by our forces, not even during the glory days when Gnaeus Julius Agricola briefly conquered the far north. He was wise enough to leave a pair of cohorts to stop anyone getting in or out of the place, and the tribesmen eventually staggered out half dead from hunger, after which the commander on the spot tore out the fortress’s gates and knocked some good-sized holes in the walls to make it indefensible. While the wall was manned it was kept under close watch, but the Venicones rebuilt it pretty much straightaway once we’d pulled back to the southern wall and left them to their own devices twenty years ago.’
He looked about the gathered officers with a wry smile, tapping at the Venicone fortress’s place on the map.
‘Imagine, a fortress built from stone atop a five-hundred-foot-high hill, a hill with a southern slope so steep that an armoured man would struggle to climb it even if he weren’t being showered with rocks and arrows. It looms over the valley of the Dirty River like a tooth poking out of the hilltop, and the Venicones have long since called it “The Fang” as yet another way to intimidate their enemies. One of their tribesmen we captured a fortnight ago coughed up the news that your old enemy Calgus has taken up residence there, bringing the Sixth’s eagle with him, and has managed by some devious means to install a new king, a man who is therefore well disposed towards him. So, far from lying dead where you left him with his bones scattered by the wolves, the man that sparked this bloody mess of a rebellion is now the controlling influence behind the deadliest of the northern tribes. And the Venicones, should I need to remind you, were never completely smashed. Unlike the Damnonii and the Selgovae they retain much of their strength, and all of their threat. So your task is simple enough, gentlemen. You must cross the valley of the Dirty River, an unmapped morass of swamps and sinkholes that will swallow an armoured man whole in an instant, never to be seen again. That
The Tungrian first spear looked down at the map with obvious disgust.
‘Can we rely on any support from the legions based on the wall?’
Castus shook his head with an expression of regret.
‘To be blunt, First Spear, I’m afraid not. The legions’ detachment commanders are all very clear that the first man to stir from his given position without clear orders to do so will be taking a risk with his rank, and that such a loss of status might well be the very least of his problems. There’s not a man among them who will send out anything more aggressive than a party to gather firewood.’ Castus shrugged at them with an apologetic expression. ‘Sorry, but there it is. There’s no point trying to polish this particular turd …’
Marcus cleared his throat as he stepped forward, drawing curious glances from the men around the table.
‘But you do have some assistance to offer us, don’t you, Prefect? Why else would those men standing behind you be privy to the preparations for a mission which needs to be planned with as much secrecy as possible?’
Castus nodded, clearly suppressing a smile.
‘All in good time, Centurion. First we’ll be clear as to exactly what it is that you’ll be faced with.’ He waved a hand at the land around the eagle’s presumed location. ‘The Antonine Wall was built along the line of two rivers, the Clut to the west and the Dirty River to the east. The ground to the north is open, in the main, but there is a range of hills that runs away from the wall to the north-east, and that’s where we think the eagle has come to rest. The range is split in two by the valley of the Dirty River, and where the hills rise again to the north of the stream there’s a particularly steep peak on which the Venicones have built themselves a fortress so strong, and indeed so difficult to even access, that it has never been attacked by our forces, not even during the glory days when Gnaeus Julius Agricola briefly conquered the far north. He was wise enough to leave a pair of cohorts to stop anyone getting in or out of the place, and the tribesmen eventually staggered out half dead from hunger, after which the commander on the spot tore out the fortress’s gates and knocked some good-sized holes in the walls to make it indefensible. While the wall was manned it was kept under close watch, but the Venicones rebuilt it pretty much straightaway once we’d pulled back to the southern wall and left them to their own devices twenty years ago.’
He looked about the gathered officers with a wry smile, tapping at the Venicone fortress’s place on the map.
‘Imagine, a fortress built from stone atop a five-hundred-foot-high hill, a hill with a southern slope so steep that an armoured man would struggle to climb it even if he weren’t being showered with rocks and arrows. It looms over the valley of the Dirty River like a tooth poking out of the hilltop, and the Venicones have long since called it “The Fang” as yet another way to intimidate their enemies. One of their tribesmen we captured a fortnight ago coughed up the news that your old enemy Calgus has taken up residence there, bringing the Sixth’s eagle with him, and has managed by some devious means to install a new king, a man who is therefore well disposed towards him. So, far from lying dead where you left him with his bones scattered by the wolves, the man that sparked this bloody mess of a rebellion is now the controlling influence behind the deadliest of the northern tribes. And the Venicones, should I need to remind you, were never completely smashed. Unlike the Damnonii and the Selgovae they retain much of their strength, and all of their threat. So your task is simple enough, gentlemen. You must cross the valley of the Dirty River, an unmapped morass of swamps and sinkholes that will swallow an armoured man whole in an instant, never to be seen again. That
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