must have cut a very impressive figure amongst the natives of this island. But there was something familiar about the delivery, something that Cato couldn’t quite place, and he searched his memory for an echo of the feeling he was experiencing. Then it dawned on him; this was no natural gift, but the application of Greek rhetoric to a different cultural context, and he looked at the king of the Atrebatans with new respect. A man of many talents, and considerable learning.
Verica completed his peroration and wound up his address to his troops in a voice resonating with emotion. Cato was aware that Tincommius, at his side, was just staring at the ground without any expression on his face. Macro had noticed as well, caught Cato’s eye and raised an eyebrow. But Cato had few doubts about the young Atrebatan nobleman; he had been just as nervous before his first battle. Cometh the battle, cometh the man. He was confident that Tincommius would do fine.
As soon as Verica had finished his speech the troops spontaneously roared their approval, drawing their swords and thrusting them up to the sky so that Cato looked upon a thicket of blades shimmering above the two cohorts.
‘And now the standards, if you please,’ Verica called over his shoulder.
‘Give them here!’ Macro snapped, realising how foolish it would look for Tincommius to hand him the standards only for one of them to be handed straight back to him. Tincommius did as he was told and moved to one side as Macro handed the stout shaft with boar’s head to the Atrebatan king with as much formality as he could. Verica grasped the shaft and thrust it into the air, prompting his men to cheer even louder than before. As the cheering subsided Tincommius stepped forward and bowed his head to his uncle, before stretching out his hand. The cheering died away and the men watched expectantly. Then their king solemnly passed the standard to his nephew and, grasping Tincommius by the shoulders, kissed him fondly on each cheek. Holding the standard tightly in both hands Tincommius turned and marched over to take his place in front of the Boar Cohort.
Macro handed the wolf’s head standard to the king as Cato barked out, ‘Bedriacus! To the front!’
There was a moment’s stillness before the man behind Bedriacus gave the hunter a gentle prod. Bedriacus started forward, marching as stiffly as he could as he approached his king. Even so, the moment the standard passed into his care, his face split into a wide smile and the craggy teeth glinted in the sunlight. He turned back to the Wolf Cohort, and impulsively raised the standard high over his head, thrusting it up and down. The air was split with a fresh wave of cheering as Bedriacus capered over to his comrades.
‘Sure he was a wise choice?’ Macro grumbled.
‘As I said, keeps him out of the way. And now he’s got that thing I think someone’s going to have to kill the man before they get it off him.’
‘Fair enough.’
Cato was suddenly aware of a mud-spattered warrior pushing his way through the nobles towards the king. When he reached Verica, he leaned forward to be heard above the cheering. Verica listened intently, and as soon as the man had finished speaking he waved him away. He turned to the two centurions, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
‘Seems you’ll discover the mettle of my men sooner than we thought.’
Macro had guessed the nature of the message and couldn’t conceal his excitement. ‘The Durotrigans are out!’
Verica nodded. ‘That scout saw a column a day’s ride to the south. They’re almost certainly after the next convoy.’
‘You can bet on it.’ The prospect of action instantly erased any sense of decorum. ‘How many?’
‘He says no more than five hundred. Mostly infantry, with horse and a few chariots.’
‘Marvellous!’ Macro smacked his hands together. ‘Bloody marvellous!’
Chapter Eleven
‘Don’t think I’ve ever seen a better spot for an ambush,’
Verica completed his peroration and wound up his address to his troops in a voice resonating with emotion. Cato was aware that Tincommius, at his side, was just staring at the ground without any expression on his face. Macro had noticed as well, caught Cato’s eye and raised an eyebrow. But Cato had few doubts about the young Atrebatan nobleman; he had been just as nervous before his first battle. Cometh the battle, cometh the man. He was confident that Tincommius would do fine.
As soon as Verica had finished his speech the troops spontaneously roared their approval, drawing their swords and thrusting them up to the sky so that Cato looked upon a thicket of blades shimmering above the two cohorts.
‘And now the standards, if you please,’ Verica called over his shoulder.
‘Give them here!’ Macro snapped, realising how foolish it would look for Tincommius to hand him the standards only for one of them to be handed straight back to him. Tincommius did as he was told and moved to one side as Macro handed the stout shaft with boar’s head to the Atrebatan king with as much formality as he could. Verica grasped the shaft and thrust it into the air, prompting his men to cheer even louder than before. As the cheering subsided Tincommius stepped forward and bowed his head to his uncle, before stretching out his hand. The cheering died away and the men watched expectantly. Then their king solemnly passed the standard to his nephew and, grasping Tincommius by the shoulders, kissed him fondly on each cheek. Holding the standard tightly in both hands Tincommius turned and marched over to take his place in front of the Boar Cohort.
Macro handed the wolf’s head standard to the king as Cato barked out, ‘Bedriacus! To the front!’
There was a moment’s stillness before the man behind Bedriacus gave the hunter a gentle prod. Bedriacus started forward, marching as stiffly as he could as he approached his king. Even so, the moment the standard passed into his care, his face split into a wide smile and the craggy teeth glinted in the sunlight. He turned back to the Wolf Cohort, and impulsively raised the standard high over his head, thrusting it up and down. The air was split with a fresh wave of cheering as Bedriacus capered over to his comrades.
‘Sure he was a wise choice?’ Macro grumbled.
‘As I said, keeps him out of the way. And now he’s got that thing I think someone’s going to have to kill the man before they get it off him.’
‘Fair enough.’
Cato was suddenly aware of a mud-spattered warrior pushing his way through the nobles towards the king. When he reached Verica, he leaned forward to be heard above the cheering. Verica listened intently, and as soon as the man had finished speaking he waved him away. He turned to the two centurions, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
‘Seems you’ll discover the mettle of my men sooner than we thought.’
Macro had guessed the nature of the message and couldn’t conceal his excitement. ‘The Durotrigans are out!’
Verica nodded. ‘That scout saw a column a day’s ride to the south. They’re almost certainly after the next convoy.’
‘You can bet on it.’ The prospect of action instantly erased any sense of decorum. ‘How many?’
‘He says no more than five hundred. Mostly infantry, with horse and a few chariots.’
‘Marvellous!’ Macro smacked his hands together. ‘Bloody marvellous!’
Chapter Eleven
‘Don’t think I’ve ever seen a better spot for an ambush,’
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