by James Mace
“We will deal with that mewling bitch in due time,” Togodumnus remarked. “If need be, we will help Venutius overthrow his wife and take their kingdom for himself.”
“He is a worthy ally, even if Cartimandua is not,” Caratacus concurred.
“At any rate, my scouts have confirmed that four legions are massing on the coast of Belgica,” Togodumnus said. “Their standard deployment is to have an equal or greater number of auxiliaries with them. From what we gathered, they are placing a large emphasis on cavalry. I would put their total numbers at forty to forty-five thousand men.”
“We can amass four times that many!” one of the war chiefs spoke up. “Let us meet them on the beaches and drive them back into the sea!”
“If we assemble our entire army too soon,” Togodumnus replied, “then we risk running out of food before we have a chance to face the Romans head on. They may simply wait for us to disperse. And if they see all of our warriors waiting for them on the shores, then what’s to stop them from simply diverting their warships to another landing point? Do you propose we chase them up and down the coastlines?”
“What then?” the war chief asked. “Do we simply let the Romans land?”
“No,” a warrior named Banning replied. “My men will fight them wherever they land! Who is with us?”
“Easy, friend,” Togodumnus said. “Those in the west have the greatest distance to travel, and so I will call upon them only when we are ready for a decisive encounter.”
“Bah!” Banning retorted. “We will meet the Romans on the beaches, and if they push us back, then we will harry them over every inch of ground they take. Every glade, every tree, every blade of grass they claim will come at a fearful price. You called us here to fight the Romans, not sit on our asses and let them march at will across our lands.”
“Agreed,” another man spoke up. “And if we harass them, they will be thoroughly demoralized by the time we face them in open battle. By then those kingdoms who flounder in their allegiance will know who the victors will be!”
“We must be decisive, but not hasty…” Caratacus began.
“And who the fuck appointed you our supreme leader?” Banning interrupted. “Every man here is a king in his own right and not subject to yours or anyone else’s demands. What right have you to decide when and where we fight?”
“It was we who sent word to form this alliance,” Togodumnus retorted, his anger rising at the insult to his brother. He had vainly hoped that the cause of fighting a common enemy would temper the egos of the assembled war leaders. It was not to be. Instead, having so many gathered together only made them more prideful. Several side arguments started to break out about exactly who was in command of this alliance.
“Enough!” Togodumnus boomed, slamming his fist onto the table. “Let those who wish to face the Romans on the beaches do so. If they are successful, then the glory can be theirs alone. I and my brother will focus on observing and harassing the Romans until such time as we are ready to face them in battle, at a time and place of our choosing, not theirs. Those who survive attacking them during the initial landings can join us anytime they wish.”
“Fuck this,” Banning snarled, pushing away from the table and standing. He glared at the two Catuvellauni brothers. “Those who will join me in facing the Romans on the beaches, come!”
“Aye!” several men shouted, rising to their feet.
“I wish you victory and glory,” Togodumnus said, despite Banning’s sneer. “And if you are denied this, those of you who live can rejoin us; hopefully, a little wiser as to the true nature of our enemy.”
It was not the answer Caratacus hoped for, but he knew his brother was right to try and compromise, while still extending the hand of friendship despite the impudence shown. Banning and several other leaders simply nodded and left the table. They were conversing amongst themselves as to where they would await the arrival of the invaders. Deciding to let it be for the moment, Caratacus left the hall, his brother accompanying him.
“Vanity will be there downfall,” he grumbled.
“Every man here leads a host of warriors,” Togodumnus reasoned. “It is only natural that all should be vain to a degree, you included.”
“As I am still your vassal, it should be you who must lead this coalition,” Caratacus observed. “That is if it doesn’t fracture itself before a single Roman sets foot on our lands!”
“Perhaps,” his brother shrugged. “I feel your frustration, believe me. In addition to being prideful, these men have most often been at odds with each other.”
“And yet if they cannot stand together, we’re all damned!” Caratacus cursed, shaking his head. His brother’s continually calm demeanor told him that Togodumnus understood more about the larger political scheme than he did.
“Let Banning and the others bleed for a while. They will come back to us, provided enough of them survive. And if not, then they were never worthy allies in the first place.”
“Togodumnus!” a voice shouted from behind them.
“King Donan,” he replied, acknowledging the man who ruled a loose-knit group of tribes in southwest of Britannia.
“The Durotriges Confederation stands with you,” Donan asserted. “I have many warriors I can bring to the cause, but as you say, we have a great ways to travel. My warlords have already pledged their support. Give us the word, and we will come with all speed.”
“I will have messengers ready to ride to you,” Togodumnus replied. “Before the next harvest we will send for you.”
“You are a worthy ally,” Caratacus added. “I promise you will get what’s due to you before this is over.”
“Twentieth Legion! Forward…march!” Cornicen horns sounded and nearly five thousand legionaries began the slow march out of the fortress. As they reached the gate, where a number of spouses and family members sadly watched their departure, Artorius leaned over in the saddle of his horse and gave his wife a parting kiss.
“I believe it was the Spartan women who used to say ‘return with your shield or on it’,” she said. This brought a broad grin to Artorius’ face. Diana had a way of saying the right thing, and her words reassured him as he led his men through the gate and towards their destiny. He never looked back.
Two weeks later, the Twentieth Legion reached the ever-growing camp at Gesoriacum. Hundreds of warships lined the coast with many more anchored at sea. Merchant traffic had ground to a halt, and every dock in the large harbor was now occupied by a military vessel. Any scrap of land that was not a major road or farm field was now covered in legionary tents. Plautius had acquired a large inn at the center of town to serve as his temporary principia until the invasion force launched. Artorius was impressed by the coordination of even the simplest tasks, such as stabling and maintaining the horses for the officers converging on the large building. Between the legates, chief tribunes, equite tribunes, master centurions, centurion primus ordos, as well as auxiliary regimental commanders, several dozen groomsmen were required to take care of their mounts. These, along with other numerous support staff, had been waiting for the coming soldiers for over a month.
Given their proximity to Gesoriacum, the Twentieth Legion had been the first to arrive at the staging area. The remaining three legions, plus auxiliaries, had been on the march as soon as the frost was off the ground, and within a month the region became a massive army camp. As a testament to Roman efficiency, advance parties from every legion and auxiliary regiment had staked out their unit’s campsites with designated areas for living, mess, and latrines. The latter were especially important, as forty-five thousand men would generate copious amounts of human waste, and its proper disposal was crucial to minimize the threat of disease to both themselves as well as the local population.
“Like cogs in a wheel,” Artorius observed one morning to Sempronius as the two walked down the narrow street leading to the principia.
Most of the work at this stage was done by the logisticians, ensuring that supplies
and rations where staged where they needed to be, ready to ship across the channel as soon as the invasion force established a secure base of operations. For most of the soldiers, there was little to do but wait while their leaders finalized the plans for the pending assault.
The citizens of Gesoriacum resigned themselves to the fact that their town and surrounding areas was occupied by tens-of-thousands of soldiers. And with all seaborne mercantile activity ground to a halt for the time being, they did their best to make the most of the situation. Merchants eagerly plied their wares to unsuspecting legionaries and auxiliary troopers, often at inflated prices. And various forms of entertainment flocked to the city from across the region, hoping to part the soldiers from some of their coin before they left. Indeed, it appeared as if the majority of women walking the streets were prostitutes. Sempronius made a note of this.
“The lads are tense, not to mention extremely bored,” Artorius shrugged. “I’m glad for any form of release they can get, as long as it doesn’t involve fighting with the locals or each other. Hopefully we won’t be here for very long. I suspect that as soon as the weather and seas are even remotely compatible, we will be on our way.”
“I hope so,” Sempronius replied. “If we are forced to delay, they will drink the town dry of its wine and ale, wear out all the prostitutes, and then resort to brawling.”
“Even the most disciplined of armies is prone to lapses if left idle,” the master centurion concurred as they approached the inn. The eagles of the four legions were posted just outside the entrance, guarded by two squads of legionaries, who would also keep curious onlookers at bay. As they walked into the crowded outer foyer, a tribune approached the men.
“Plautius is meeting with all legion commanders upstairs, sir,” he said to Sempronius, who nodded in reply.
“You’d best come with me,” the chief tribune said to Artorius.
Upstairs, the commander-in-chief had procured a large suite normally reserved for passing dignitaries and foreign princes. Gathered at a large round table were Plautius, Sabinus, Vespasian, and Geta, along with Tribune Cursor. Artorius grinned when he saw another familiar face standing over the table. It had been a few years, but there was no mistaking the tall, bald mariner.
“Commander Stoppello,” he said, extending his hand to naval officer.
“Actually it’s Admiral Stoppello,” the sailor replied with a chuckle, clasping his hand firmly. “You saw all those ships in the harbor?”
Artorius nodded.
“Well, they’re all my responsibility now.”
“Tiberius Stoppello was appointed admiral of the fleet by the emperor,” Plautius added. “It is he who will get our invasion forces to Britannia.”
“A far cry from when you had but a single ship,” Artorius noted.
“If I still had any hair, this posting would have caused me to lose it,” the admiral added with a laugh.
Artorius greeted and shook hands with Cursor briefly before Plautius interrupted them.
“You can exchange pleasantries later,” he said curtly before calling their attention to the crudely drawn map. “Gentlemen, as you can see, we are divided into three battle groups. The largest will be on the right, consisting of the Ninth and Fourteenth Legions. I will be with this group and will attempt to establish communications with the Cantiaci as soon as possible. They are our surest allies in the region and most viable at helping us establish our initial base of operations.”
“And I will be on the extreme left with the Second Legion,” Vespasian added. “In addition to driving the enemy further inland, we will see if we can ascertain the demeanor of the Atrebates. Will they welcome the return of their king under a Roman flag or have the past three years been sufficient to assimilate them into Caratacus’ kingdom?”
“Which leaves us in the center,” Sempronius said.
“The Twentieth will establish a beachhead and temporary base of operations for the majority of our cavalry,” Plautius remarked. “Tribune Cursor will accompany your force in the second wave once you’ve cleared any resistance from the beaches.”
“As offloading horses from warships is a slow and arduous task,” the cavalry tribune added, “I will need you to secure the landing site before we come ashore. After which, we will link up with the left and right divisions, forming lines of communication for the entire invasion force.”
“It will be crucial that you establish communications with me as soon as practicable,” Vespasian emphasized. “That way both legions can support each other.”
Plautius then continued, “Though our immediate mission is to restore the sovereignty of an allied king, all of you know that our long-term goal is to conquer a new province for the empire. Several tribal kingdoms are known to be openly hostile, particularly the Catuvellauni under King Togodumnus. It is his brother, Caratacus, who now rules Atrebates. Intelligence gathering will be just as important as the actual fighting, for we need to know which tribes are aligned with him, and which ones are indecisive about whom they want as their friends. That is why an overwhelming show of force will be necessary once we land. Allies will be welcomed into the empire as friends. Those who oppose us will be smashed into the earth! Admiral Stoppello has the ship assignments for your legions. We launch in two days.”
During the final days of preparation, Centurion Magnus had quite an unexpected turn of events. It was late morning, and the Norseman had just returned from taking his century on a short run along the coastline when he saw her. His face broke into a broad grin as he saw a beautiful woman walking at the head of what appeared to be a hundred or so Syrian archers. Her light olive skin glowed in the afternoon sun, her long black hair pulled back tight against her head. She wore a light mail shirt, belted around the middle, which seemed to only accentuate her figure even more.
“Dismiss the men,” he said hurriedly to his optio before sprinting away. “Achillia!”
The woman stopped abruptly, startled at first, and then her own smile matching his. She calmly but deliberately made her way over to the centurion and stood before him with her hands on her hips.
“Well, fancy that,” she said with a cocked grin. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
Unsure what to say and despite being sweaty and disheveled from his morning exertions, Magnus took Achillia in her arms and kissed her deeply. She was at first startled by this, her eyes wide in bemusement. She then groaned softly and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back.
“What are you doing here?” Magnus finally asked.
“Allied detachment,” Achillia explained, taking him by the hand. “I decided a while ago to quit fighting for money in the arenas, that my skills could be better used to serve the empire.”
“But you’re not auxiliaries,” Magnus noted.
“No,” Achillia replied with a shake of her head. “And besides, as a woman, I cannot officially join the ranks anyway. I am, however, still a Roman citizen with a sense of duty. And if I may flatter myself, I am a better shot with a bow than any in the entire army. So I formed a company of my own archers and petitioned Plautius to take us on as hired skirmishers.”
“You’re mercenaries then.”
“When you look at it, my dear, we all are,” she replied with a casual shrug. “You and your men get paid to fight, as do mine. Since the invasion force needs all the additional help it can muster, I think the commander-in-chief was glad to add a few more bows to his arsenal. My skirmishers move quickly and can be very useful when it comes to picking off enemy leaders.”
Magnus found all he could do was laugh at the implausibility of it all. Here was the most stunning woman he had ever met in his life, who he’d last seen fighting as a gladiator in Judea, and now she was leading a contingent of volunteer skirmishers that would be accompanying them in the invasion of Britannia.
“The fates must be very kind, to have placed us together again,” he said, turning to face her.
“Or very cruel. After all, it is extremely dang
erous.” The smile on her face contrasted with the coldness of Achillia’s assessment.
“Well, since we do not know where, exactly, Plautius will place you within the army, what say we take the time we do have to reacquaint each other?” Magnus had a deviant grin on his face, which Achillia readily matched. In that moment, he felt like the most fortunate man in the whole of the empire.
As they left the principia, Sempronius went into a private meeting with Vespasian while Artorius hailed Tribune Cursor. The two had only seen each other in passing since their return to the Rhine. This was the first, and possibly last, time they’d have to reminisce before the invasion.
“Who would have thought we’d end up here?” Artorius chuckled. “To think that a few short years ago I was cast out of the legions, and you had long since left the sword behind for a career in politics.”
“It would seem that life has taken us full circle,” Cursor added. “I promised Adela that after Braduhenna I would never more draw a blade in anger.”
“She took your heeding the emperor’s call rather well, I thought.”
“She did not like it, but she understood,” the tribune explained. “In the end, I really had no choice, and not because the emperor personally asked me to command his cavalry. Adela knows me better than any, and I think she saw that I had some important matters left unfinished even before I did. I spent many years away from the army, yet when I returned I knew I was doing the right thing.”
“It was the same with me,” Artorius remarked. He paused, his brow creased in thought.
Cursor could tell there was something that had been troubling his friend for a long time. “Listen, about the letter you sent me when I was in Judea. I’ve always meant to ask you about it, but…”
“I never faulted you for not responding,” the tribune quickly interrupted. “Honestly, I never expected you to. I mean what could you say?” The letter referred to was one that Cursor had written to Artorius twelve years prior, after the fall of Emperor Tiberius’ praetorian prefect, Lucius Aelius Sejanus. It was Cursor, and small handful of others, who discovered the praetorian’s plan to usurp the emperor.
