Traitors of Rome (Eagles of the Empire 18) by Simon Scarrow

Author:Simon Scarrow [Scarrow, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: graogronzo
Published: 2019-11-14T03:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

As they reached the crest of the ridge overlooking the road leading down to the bridge, Macro reined in and surveyed the scene. Most of the men assigned to the engineer detachment were busy driving fresh piles into the riverbed a short distance upriver. The posts had sturdy screens fixed to them, like arrowheads, and were arranged in an overlapping chevron in order to divert any more logs away from the bridge and up against the bank, where they could be hauled out. More legionaries were deployed in forage parties, cutting down pine trees on the slopes either side of the bridge. A handful of men stood guarding the bridge itself. There was no sign of any wagons from the baggage train, nor of the Syrian auxiliaries. Macro had been half hoping that Orfitus might have abandoned his independent advance and returned to the bridge, thereby relieving him of the burden of tracking him down.

His attention shifted to the bridge itself. One of the trestles had been replaced, but the second was still missing, and the gap in the middle span had only been bridged by a narrow strip of boards with a rail on either side. Wide enough for a man or a horse perhaps, but certainly not able to bear the weight of a wagon. He sighed as he realised that it would be many days before the bridge was repaired and supplies could flow across it to reach the column besieging Thapsis.

He clicked his tongue and tapped his heels in to urge his mount to advance, then waved his arm forward to signal Decurion Spathos and his cavalry squadron to follow him. Optio Phocus edged forward to ride at his side as they descended the track to the bridge.

‘I imagine it will take us two or three days to catch up with Prefect Orfitus, sir.’

‘I imagine so,’ Macro replied. ‘Assuming we can get the horses across in one piece.’

Phocus stared at the slender walkway stretching across the current rushing beneath the bridge. ‘That ain’t going to be easy.’

‘You think?’ Macro responded wryly. ‘Thank you for pointing that out, Optio.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

As the slope evened out and they approached the bridge, they were greeted by the centurion commanding the detachment, who had turned away from the camp desk where he had piled the wax tablets bearing his plans and calculations.

‘Centurion Macro, isn’t it?’

‘The same.’ Macro swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground, rubbing his buttocks. ‘How are things going, Munius? You don’t seem to have made much progress here.’

The smile faded as the other man scratched his head. ‘Perhaps not. But things haven’t been helped by those rebel bastards.’

‘Oh? How so?’

‘They’re still sending logs downriver. Not all the time. A day or two can pass, and then they’ll hit us with a steady flow. My guess is that they have a small group working on the job, waiting until they’ve cut enough timber to send a whole load down. Still, we’ve used the intervals to put up the screen to divert the logs away from the bridge.

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