Read Cato 02 - The Eagles Conquest for Free Online

enjoying the honorific rank of prefect of horse. Almost as garish was the amount of gold being worn by the British exile accompanying Plautius. Adminius had been forced to flee his kingdom by his brother, Caratacus, and had joined the Roman army to act as a guide and negotiator. If Rome triumphed, his title and lands would be restored to him, although he would rule as a client king of Rome, with all the obligations that entailed: a poor reward for betraying his people. Vespasian shifted his scornful gaze from the Briton back to the river.
    The far bank sloped up to a low ridge that ran alongside the river. The crest had been crudely fortified, and even as they watched, the tiny figures of the Britons toiled furiously to improve their initial efforts. Already a substantial ditch had been dug around the crossing point, with the spoil being added to the rampart behind. A crude palisade was being erected on top of the ramp, with the redoubt at each end, beyond which the ground became marsh.
    ‘You may have noticed that this stretch of the river is tidal,’ Plautius continued. ‘And if you look close to the far bank you can see that Caratacus has been laying submerged obstacles on the river bed. Is the tide flooding or ebbing, Tribune Vitellius?”
    The general’s latest staff officer was caught on the hop and Vespasian couldn’t help smiling with satisfaction as Vitellius’ usual smug expression fell prey to doubt and then embarrassment. The tribune was on secondment from the Second Legion as a reward for his recent heroics. This experience on the general’s staff was an opportunity to make a name for himself, and ease the way for any future military career. For a moment it looked as if the tribune would try and bluff it, but then honesty won the day although, in perfect keeping with his character, Vitellius could not resist an attempt at damage limitation through evasion.
    ‘I’ll find out, sir.’
    ‘Is that “I’ll find out, sir” as in “I don’t know, sir”?’ Plautius asked drily.
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Then see to it immediately,’ ordered Plautius. ‘And from now on remember that it’s your job to know these things. There’ll be no excuses in future. Understand?’
    ‘Yes, sir!’ Vitellius snapped as he saluted and fled the scene. ‘You just can’t get the staff these days,’ Plautius muttered.
    The other officers present exchanged knowing smiles. It was unfair to expect a staff officer to be aware of the tidal conditions of a river he had only just encountered. But unless staff officers could be made to worry about each and every possible factor influencing the execution of a campaign, they were useless. A staff advancement might be worth seeking, but the individuals concerned had all manner of crosses to bear.
    Straining his eyes, Vespasian could just make out a series of ominous black tips protruding from the water’s surface. Sharpened wooden stakes, driven into the river bed, and quite capable of impaling an infantryman or disembowelling a horse. The attackers would be forced to negotiate the crossing cautiously under volleys of slingshot and arrows from the enemy even before they emerged from the river and encountered the ditch and rampart.
    ‘We could cover the assault with artillery, sir,’ Vespasian suggested. ‘The bolt-throwers would force them to keep their heads down, while the catapults took down the palisade.’
    Plautius nodded. ‘I have considered that. The prefect of engineers reckons that the range is too great - we’d have to use the smallest calibre of missile, not enough to do the required damage. I think we have to discount the possibility of a direct assault on its own. By the time any heavy infantry could cross the river and form up we’d have too many casualties. Furthermore, the front itself is too narrow for sheer force to carry the day. Our men would be exposed to fire from three sides as they approached the ditch. No, I’m afraid we must be a little more