'Yes, sir,' Sabinus muttered, striving to hide his embarrassment at being lectured to as if he was no more than a green tribune.

Plautius turned to address his assembled officers. 'So, gentlemen, I'm open to suggestions.'

The legate of the Ninth Legion looked thoughtfully across the river.

Hosidius Geta was a patrician who had opted to continue his army service rather than pursue a political career, and he had considerable experience of waterborne operations with his legion on the Danube. He turned to his general.

'Sir, if I may?'

'Be my guest, Geta.'

'This calls for a flanking movement, two flanking movements in fact.' Geta turned back towards the river. 'While the main army demonstrates here, we could throw a force across the river further downstream, under covering fire from some warships – provided the water's deep enough at that point.'

'We could use the Batavian auxiliaries for that, sir,' Vespasian suggested, and drew an irritated glance from Geta for his pains.

'I was going to suggest that,' Geta replied coldly. 'They've trained for this sort of duty. They can swim across rivers fully armed. If we can get them across without any significant opposition, we can launch a flank attack on the British positions over there.'

'You mentioned a second flanking attack,' Plautius said.

'Yes, sir. While the Batavians are crossing, a second force can move upriver until they find a ford and then turn the enemy's other flank.' Plautius nodded. 'And if we get the timing right, we should hit them from three directions in a staggered attack. Should be over fairly quickly.'

'That's my belief, sir,' Geta replied. 'The second force need not require too many men, their chief role is to be the final surprise Caratacus cannot deal with. Catch him off balance, and we'll win the day. He'll never be able to cope with all three attacks. You know what these native irregulars are like. Of course, if either of our flanking forces is caught in isolation, then losses will be severe.'

Vespasian felt a cold chill at the nape of his neck as he recognised the chance he had been looking for. The chance to redeem himself and his legion. If the Second could play the decisive role in the coming battle, it would go a long way towards restoring the unit's spirits. Although Togodumnus' recent ambush of the Second Legion had failed, the unit had suffered grievous losses in men and morale was low. A successful attack, pressed home ruthlessly, might yet save the reputation of the Second and its commander. But would the men be up for it?

Plautius was nodding as he went over Geta's proposal. 'There is a risk in a divided assault, as you say, but there's a risk any way we cut it. Right then, we'll go with that plan. All that remains is the allocation of forces. Clearly, the right flank attack across the river will require the Batavians,' he said, with a faint nod towards Vespasian. 'The frontal assault will be carried out by the Ninth.'

This was it, Vespasian realised. Time to reclaim the Second's honour.

He took a step forward and cleared his throat.

'Yes, Vespasian?' Plautius looked towards him. 'You have something to add?'

'Sir, I request the privilege of leading the left flank attack.'

Plautius folded his arms and cocked his head to one side as he considered Vespasian's request. 'Do you really think the Second can handle it? You're under-strength, and I imagine your men wouldn't be too pleased to find themselves in the thick of battle quite so soon after their recent experience.'

Vespasian coloured. 'I beg to differ, sir. I believe I speak for my men as much as for myself.'

'Frankly, Vespasian, a moment ago I had no intention of even considering the Second for this duty. I was going to hold you in reserve, and let a fresh unit do the job. And I don't see any reason why I should change my mind. Do you?'

Unless Vespasian could quickly find reasons to justify the Second Legion's position on the left flank, he would be doomed to live the rest of his tenure as a legate under a shroud of suspicion about his suitability for command. And if the men sensed that they were being denied an equal part in the campaign, and hence an equal share in the spoils, the Second's morale and reputation would never recover. Their reputation had been bought over the years with the blood of thousands of comrades, under an eagle that had led them into battle for decades. If that was to end, then it would be over his dead body. Vespasian needed to be firm with his general.

'Yes I do, sir. You seem to have been misinformed about the fighting spirit of my legion.' And Vespasian guessed that Vitellius was the source of that misinformation. 'The men are ready for it, sir. They're more than ready, they're thirsty for it. We need to avenge the men we've lost.' 'Enough!' Plautius cut in. 'You think that rhetoric will win out over reason? This is the front line, not the forum in Rome. I asked you to give me a good reason why I should give way.'

'All right then, sir. I'll speak straight to the point.' 'Please do.'

'The Second is under-strength. But you don't need a full legion for the attack. If it falls through, then you've only lost a unit that's already been pretty badly cut up rather than a fresh legion.' Vespasian looked at his general shrewdly. 'I dare say that you want to keep as many fresh units to hand as possible, in case you have to fight Caratacus again. You can't afford to face him with under-strength and tired forces across your battle line. Better to risk a more expendable unit now.'

Plautius nodded as he listened approvingly to this altogether more cynical reasoning. It neatly reflected the hard realities of command and, in the same hard way, made the most sense.

'Very well, Vespasian. A reprieve for you and your men then.' Vespasian inclined his head in thanks. His heart jumped with excitement at having won his commander round, and then in anxiety at the dangerous duty for which he had just volunteered his men. He had been less than honest in his request to the general. He had no doubt that many of the men would curse him for it, but then soldiers complained about everything. They needed to fight. They needed a clear cut victory to boast about. To let the men continue in their present state of doubt about themselves would ruin the legion, and blight his career. Now that he had committed them to the attack he felt confident that the majority would share his desire to fight.

'Your orders,' Plautius stated formally, 'are to proceed upriver at dawn. Locate the nearest ford and cross to the far bank. From there you will march downriver, avoiding contact with the Britons. You will wait in hiding until the headquarters trumpets blow your legion's recognition signal, at which point you will join the assault on that hill. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir. Perfectly.'

'Hit them hard, Vespasian. As hard as you can.' 'Yes, sir.'

'Your written orders will be with you later today. You'd best be on your way. I want you moving before daybreak. Now go.'

Vespasian saluted the general, nodded a farewell to Sabinus, and was making his way through the throng of officers back towards the horse line when Vitellius came running up the slope, panting heavily.

'Sir! Sir!'

Plautius turned to him in alarm. 'What is it, Tribune?'

Vitellius stood to attention, gulped in some air and made his report. 'The tide is flooding, sir. I got that from our scouts down there by the river.'

General Aulus Plautius stared at him a moment. 'Well, thank you, Tribune. That's very interesting. Very interesting indeed.'

Then he turned away to view the enemy's defences again and to hide his amused expression from view.

The Eagles Conquest