Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  Artorius surmised that the young chief tribune had not slept in a week.

  “In the morning I’ll send out patrols to establish communications with Vespasian and Plautius,” Cursor said. “Once we accomplish that, we’ll post auxiliaries between each task force, preventing the enemy from flanking us.”

  Sempronius simply nodded in reply, too exhausted as he was to do any more than let his senior officers formulate their plan. “What of our losses?” he asked.

  One of the staff tribunes walked over with a parchment.

  “It could have been much worse,” the young officer replied. “All told, we lost six, with about another twenty wounded.”

  “Regrettable, but acceptable,” Artorius surmised.

  “The burning pyres that still light up the beach can be used to dispose of the dead,” Centurion Tyranus offered.

  “Those wounded who will be unable to continue in the campaign are being carried back to the ships for return to the mainland,” Artorius observed. He then added, “I can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, they are the fortunate ones; being as they thought they’d be gone for years, quite possibly forever, only to be invalided back to Belgica on the first day of the invasion.”

  “I’d feel fortunate just being able to get some sleep right now,” Sempronius mumbled to himself.

  “What of the prisoners?” Artorius asked. “Any of them talking?”

  “Not yet,” the staff tribune replied. “The legion’s interrogators were among the last to come ashore, and that was just before dark. They’ll get to work in the morning.”

  “Alright,” Sempronius said tiredly. “Tribune Cursor, have your patrols sent out by first light. I want to know the status of the other legions as soon as possible. That’s all for now; good work today, everyone.”

  Artorius left the principia and walked over to the edge of the cliff. The day seemed to fly past him, with the entire landing and initial assault becoming little more than a blur. The sky was black, with only a few stars shining through the dense clouds. In the invisible darkness below, he could hear the waves crashing against the jagged rocks. For the first time since they’d left Gesoriacum, his thoughts turned to his wife.

  ‘Maybe for years, maybe forever’, Diana had told him the night before he departed.

  He chuckled to himself when he thought about her last words to him as he left, regarding Spartan women telling their husbands and sons to return with their shields or on them. That strong and beautiful confidence is how he would always remember her. In the days and months ahead, it would provide a beacon that would give him strength during the darkest of times.

  Chapter XII: Shadow Empire

  Camp of the Ninth and Fourteenth Legions

  April, 43 A.D.

  ***

  Plautius was relieved when he received word from both Sempronius and Vespasian. Both task forces had been met by enemy skirmishers on the beaches, though these engagements had been relatively short with only a small number of casualties. The commander-in-chief’s own task force had not been opposed at all as they came ashore. Unlike the massive cliffs to the south, the landing point for the Ninth and Fourteenth Legions was a long sandy beach that ran several miles along the coast that faced east into the sea. Not so much as a single warrior stood in their way as they slogged their way ashore. The following morning, both legions had pressed forward, still without any sign of enemy opposition. By midday they reached a river crossing. Reconnaissance cavalry had gone ahead, reporting back that it was here that a delegation from the Cantiaci kingdom chose to meet them.

  “This spot is good,” Sabinus noted. “The river appears large enough for our smaller transport ships, and the area is relatively flat with ample room to erect a fort.”

  “It is,” Cogidubnus said as he joined the Roman leaders. “This is the River Stour, whose mouth to the sea is but a few miles to the north from where we landed. Securing this position here will give you unfettered naval access back to the continent.”

  “I agree,” Plautius said. He turned to a centurion. “How far have we come today?”

  “About fifteen miles, sir.”

  “Far enough,” the commander-in-chief nodded. “This is where we will establish the first permanent Roman presence in Britannia!”

  “My brother’s stronghold is not far from here,” Verica said. The old man was fatigued by the long trek of the past two days, yet his eyes glowed with renewed determination.

  “Have some of your warriors escort my scouts to him,” Plautius directed. “Let him know that Rome has returned.”

  Verica simply nodded in reply while Cogidubnus shouted the orders to the men of the king’s escort. Plautius then directed that a proper Praetorium be erected with which to meet their tentative allies. A large dais was hastily constructed with a red cover to shield from the sun or inclement weather. The eagles of both legions were posted on either end, with six-foot pillars topped with busts of Roman deities lining the back. At the center of the dais, just behind where Plautius’ chair was placed, was a life sized statue of Emperor Claudius. Like many depictions of Roman nobles, his facial features were correct, though his body highly stylized. Rather than looking frail or in any way infirm, the body of the statue stood erect and was ripped with muscle.

  Soldiers began the construction of field fortifications consisting of entrenchments topped with palisade stakes along the perimeter of the Roman camp, with others constructing an actual wooden gatehouse on the western edge, facing towards the river. This would give the Cantiaci delegation the impression that this would be more than a temporary marching camp. Eppillus had clearly received word of the Romans’ landing, for when the scouts and their Atrebates escorts returned, they informed Plautius that the Cantiaci king was on his way to meet them and was just a couple miles down the road.

  Verica and Cogidubnus waited just across the river. Though the river crossing was well within sight of the camp, they went out alone. Plautius had rightly assumed that it would make a better impression upon the Cantiaci king if he were greeted by his own kinsmen, rather than the foreign invaders. He watched with interest from the dais, which sat just fifty feet behind the gatehouse that his soldiers were constructing. Twenty or so warriors, armed with long spears and oblong shields, walked on either side of the path. In the middle was what Plautius reckoned were elders of the Cantiaci. At the head of the delegation was a very old man who walked with the aid of a long staff.

  “Welcome home, uncle,” Cogidubnus said quietly to Verica as they watched the approaching delegation make its way along the dirt path across the river. Verica gave a sad smile as he spotted his brother.

  King Eppillus was a few years older than he and, in fact, had been ruler of the Atrebates until acquiring the lands of the Cantiaci by virtue of his marriage and being named his father-in-law’s sole heir. Rather than expanding his lands, he had given Atrebates to his younger brother. He walked upright, but required a large walking stick to steady himself. His long hair was pulled back, with a long mustache running down to his chin on either side. Both were completely gray. His face and eyes betraying the fatigue brought on by old age and a lifetime of war. He wore multicolored robes of red and blue, and a short broadsword on his left hip.

  “My brother,” he said in a strong voice that contrasted his tired appearance, “at last you have returned to us! I welcome you not only as my kin, but as one king to another.”

  “No,” Verica replied, slowly shaking his head after embracing Eppillus. “I return as your brother, but not as king.” He then nodded to Cogidubnus. “Our great-nephew now leads my people. It is he who you will address as your fellow king.”

  “Honored to see you once more, uncle,” Cogidubnus spoke with a respectful bow.

  “Please,” Eppillus said, placing a hand on the young warrior’s shoulder. “You are not required to bow before your peers. Welcome, King of Atrebates!”

  “The question now,” Cogidubnus remarked, “is will you align yourself with the Romans who c
ome to restore our kingdom. They await you there, just across the river.”

  “Even if they weren’t here to offer my kinsmen their lands back,” Eppillus replied, “I doubt they will give me any other option. Living as we do, just a short sail from their empire, I know well their fearsome reputation. I was an invited guest of Germanicus Caesar during his campaigns against Arminius and his alliance. Those who reject their offers of alliance are dealt with brutally. Still, I hope they will offer us better terms than Caratacus did you.”

  Cogidubnus then led the delegation of Eppillus and several of his war chiefs the short distance to the Roman camp. The makeshift Praetorium was just inside the compound, and Plautius had watched the proceedings from his chair on the dais. A chair sat on either side of him, and these were occupied by his legion commanders, Sabinus and Geta. A number of senior officers and centurions were also present, though they stood on the ground around the dais. The path leading from the gatehouse was lined with legionaries not on palisade or gate constructing duty. While Plautius was practical enough to know that soldiers on campaign needed to be concerned more with serviceability, rather than appearance of their uniforms, those legionaries tasked with lining the path had been directed to ensure their armor was highly polished with fresh paint applied to their shields. He wanted to give the first king within Britannia the best impression he could of Roman power. To add to the display, several siege engines were conspicuously placed off to the sides, a short ways behind the Praetorium. Both Plautius and his generals were in their best armor as well.

  “Noble Legate Aulus Plautius of Rome,” Cogidubnus spoke as the delegation approached the dais, “I present to you King Eppillus of the Cantiaci.”

  “Welcome,” Plautius said, remaining in his chair.

  “It is I who welcomes you,” Eppillus replied. Given the proximity of his lands to the Roman Empire, it was little surprise that the king was fluent in Latin.

  “Know that Rome comes in friendship,” Plautius emphasized. “We trust you will join us in the spirit of mutual cooperation, as your brethren have.” Though his words were pleasant enough, the firm tone of his voice let the Cantiaci king know what he suspected, that he really did not have a choice in the matter. Rome would dictate the terms of this meeting.

  “First I must know, what is it you offer our people, and what will you demand in return?”

  Plautius grinned in appreciation of the man’s blunt honesty. “We will restore your brother, or rather your great-nephew, to the throne of Atrebates. You will remain king of the Cantiaci, with a generous donative from the emperor and all the benefits of his friendship. Your people will be given protected status as provincials of the Roman Empire. Any outside tribes who threaten your lands will feel the wrath of the legions.”

  “And in return?” Eppillus persisted.

  “As I said,” Plautius replied, “your personal donative will come from the emperor. Therefore, all taxes once levied to your person will now be rendered unto Caesar. You and your people will subject yourselves to Romanization. Think of this as an added benefit; for Rome will bring civilization, infrastructure, better roads, bathhouses, sewage systems, medicine, and education.”

  “And for all this, you will demand obedience,” the king conjectured.

  “Total obedience,” Plautius emphasized. He stood and reached for a scroll which Geta handed to him. He and Sabinus also rose from their seats. Plautius then read, “In the name of the Emperor Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, and by his divine authority, I hereby claim this land as the Roman province of Britannia. As an establishment of this directive, the people of Cantiaci are hereafter a client-kingdom of the Roman Empire and are to swear fealty to both their king and to Caesar.”

  He paused to assess the effect this would have on the delegation. Cogidubnus closed his eyes for a moment, knowing that his establishment as King of Atrebates would come at a similar price. He would be king, but subservient to Caesar.

  Eppillus nodded in understanding, not necessarily liking the proposal, but in no way was he surprised.

  Plautius then descended the dais. “If you find the terms agreeable, there is one more thing you must do.” He looked to the warriors who accompanied the king. “These men are leaders within your kingdom?”

  “They are,” Eppillus replied.

  “Then they can bear witness.” Plautius clenched his left fist and held it out, showing the imperial seal on the ring he wore. “Swear your allegiance to Caesar and be welcomed as a friend of Rome.”

  Letting out a quiet sigh, but knowing there was nothing else for it, Eppillus nodded to his brother and great-nephew. Cogidubnus helped him down onto his knees. He then looked up at the Roman general for the last time as the ruler of an independent kingdom. He closed his eyes and kissed the ring, causing some stifled grumblings from his accompanying chiefs.

  “Rise,” Plautius directed. He turned to his assembled officers. “The Cantiaci are now our provisional and under Roman protection. And this place is hereby named Durovernum Cantiacorum1, and its garrison tasked with the defense of this district.”

  With the formalities complete, Plautius directed that chairs be brought for their guests. A table was also carried over, with servants bringing wine and other refreshments.

  “And what is Rome’s first directive to my people?” Eppillus asked after accepting a cup of water.

  “Administrators will arrive in the coming weeks to assess property and tribute requirements,” Plautius replied, “as well as laying the foundation for the buildup of Roman infrastructure. But for now, we shall require scouts to accompany my men as guides.”

  “Our lands go as far as the River Medway,” the king explained. “Beyond that you are in the kingdom of the Atrebates, though it is now populated by Catuvellauni warriors and some of their allies.”

  “And who are their allies?” Sabinus asked.

  “We don’t know who all of them are,” Eppillus replied. “I heard talk of dark-skinned warriors accompanying Caratacus.”

  “That would be the Silures,” Cogidubnus observed. He then explained to Plautius, “They are a brutal and extremely violent-prone race of people from the mountains on the western coast of the isle. Their lands are hundreds of miles from here, so it is intriguing to know that they have men riding with Caratacus so far from home.”

  “There numbers will be thankfully few,” Eppillus said. “No one in these lands can venture away from their homes for months on end, lest their crops falter and their people starve.”

  “Who else do you know of?” Plautius persisted.

  “The Durotriges are a confederation of tribes in the southwest,” Eppillus answered. “Their king has openly expressed hostility towards Rome and offered, at least vocally, his support to the Catuvellauni.”

  “I know King Donan,” Cogidubnus spoke up. “Their territory borders ours, and we have had numerous disputes with him in the past, sometimes bloody ones. His brashness is likely due to his distance from here, and also because his lands possess some of the strongest hill forts in all the land.”

  “We’ll deal with him in due time,” Plautius said. He then looked to Eppillus. “When you return to your people, inform them that Rome comes as both master and friend. My men are under strict orders not to steal from or abuse your people in any way. In due time, they will not even notice the presence of our legionaries.”

  “Very well,” the king replied as warriors helped him to his feet. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” Plautius answered. “Send a message to Atrebates that their king has returned.”

  As Eppillus and his delegation left, Cogidubnus spoke up. “It is time I returned to my people,” he said as he watched his great-uncle cross the bridge.

  “Agreed,” Plautius replied. “I will have an escort of cavalry accompany you. You will join up with Vespasian and accompany him into the lands of the Atrebates. You understand, of course, the terms for using Roman soldiers to drive the Catuvellauni from your lands.”


  Alaric, Landon, and their men had watched the imperial armies come ashore to the south of the mouth of River Stour.

  “So many,” Landon said, his mouth open in awe as columns of legionaries began their march in the distance, small numbers of cavalry riding ahead of them and along their flanks. Innumerable warships still lay at anchor just off the coast, adding to the formidable spectacle.

  “And this is but a portion of their total force,” Alaric surmised. “The queen asked us to find the Romans, and we’ve found them. Should we return and inform her?”

  “Inform her of what?” Landon asked. “We found the Romans, but we do not know their dispositions, total numbers, or even where exactly they are headed. And since we do not have a mandate from the queen to parlay with them on her behalf, we cannot exactly just ride up and talk to them, now can we? Besides, even the most direct route home will still take us at least ten days to return by. No, we’ll follow the Romans for now, see if we can better ascertain their intents, and then return and let the queen know what we have found.”

  Alaric did not like the idea of, essentially, leaving Cartimandua blind as to the information about the arrival of the Roman invasion force. However, he knew his friend was correct. There was every likelihood that maritime merchants would have spotted the imperial fleet and informed the Brigantes upon reaching their docks. They also knew that from the small groups of unknown horsemen they had seen scattered about, they were not the only ones watching the Romans.

  To the north, word had, in fact, reached Queen Cartimandua and the Brigantes of the Roman landing. Not only had passing merchant ships informed them of the massed Roman fleet that lined the southeastern coast, but as Caratacus and Togodumnus were embroiled in trying to rally their allies for a cohesive strike against the invaders, they sent several emissaries to once more try and compel the queen to send warriors to their aid.