by James Mace
“To think none of the barbarians ever thought of building up here!” Vespasian scoffed.
“Who knows,” the master centurion replied, “perhaps one day this humble settlement will rise up to become the seat of a massive empire, one even greater than ours.” His words were partially in jest, though Vespasian did not take them that way.
“Well, Rome herself came from equally humble origins,” he remarked.
A few days later they passed through the Kingdom of the Atrebates, where they were met by a small contingent of mounted Britons. Amongst them was King Cogidubnus, dressed in a mail shirt, flowing red cloak, and carrying a Roman-style cavalry spatha on his hip.
“King Cogidubnus,” Vespasian said as the men approached them. He stopped his horse and extended his hand. “What pleasure is this?”
“We heard Rome was marching to war against the Durotriges,” the king explained. “Seeing as their lands border ours, and we are more familiar with them, I think it only right to serve with those who restored me to my people’s throne. My only regret is I do not have sufficient warriors to spare, especially during the harvest. We’ve also been depleted by the troubles we’ve suffered over the past few years.”
“You are indeed welcome to join us,” Vespasian replied. “Information on the enemy is just as vital as the mightiest legion. Tell me, what is your history with the Durotriges?”
The men continued on their journey with Cogidubnus’ bodyguard falling in behind the legate’s staff.
“As you know, they share our western border,” the king said. “Though like all borders in this land, it is always under dispute, particularly when the land is vitally important, either strategically or economically.”
“And are the western lands of your kingdom important as such?” Vespasian asked.
“More valuable than any gold mines. Our western lands, as well as all of Durotriges, are among the most fertile in all Britannia.”
“And while mines full of precious metals are all well and good,” Artorius noted, “in the end, one cannot eat gold.”
“Well spoken, master centurion,” Vespasian replied. “The key to any conquest is land that is fertile for raising crops. Your people have understood this for millennia.”
“That we have,” Cogidubnus agreed. “The lands of the Atrebates and Durotriges can grow much in the way of wheat and grain, which in the end are of far greater value than anything else you may take from this isle in terms of valuables and slaves. That is why oppida hill forts dominate so much of the region. They allow a safe place to store food without threat of theft or being overwhelmed by any but the strongest of armies. It’s always been a type of bloody stalemate, with the occasional skirmish creating a few more widows and orphaned children. After which, the belligerents go home and nothing is settled.”
“Perhaps we can settle some of the border disputes for you,” Vespasian said, his mouth cocked in a sinister grin.
The Atrebates were Rome’s closest allies, so it made sense to help them annex some of their common enemy’s lands.
“We did get you some of the border territories of the Catuvellauni in reparation for their invasion of your kingdom.”
“And for that I am grateful,” Cogidubnus said. “Right now, I really would like nothing more than to see King Donan brought to his knees. Bastard was almost as much of a bother as Togodumnus was. But since the Catuvellauni have sued for peace and Togodumnus is dead, I suspect we will have no more troubles from them. And with the pacified Cantiaci to the east and nothing but the sea to the south, once the Durotriges are properly subdued, perhaps for the first time in our known history, my people can at last have peace!”
As Alaric rode towards the enormous hill fort, he thought for a moment about simply turning his horse north and fleeing back to Brigantes. He loathed the thought of being used as an emissary for the Romans, but he knew he had little choice. After all, the queen had tasked him with monitoring the Romans, and he was the only one of the Brigantes who knew about the pending assault on Mai Dun. It would be he who would have to tell Cartimandua whether the fort stood or fell.
Evidently the people of Durotriges knew the Romans were coming, for many had already fled to whatever oppida was nearest their farms. Those who were able, were making their way to Mai Dun. It was about ten miles from the fort that Alaric came across a large caravan of wagons, carts, and hundreds of people making for the fort. They were escorted by a number of King Donan’s warriors. As they spotted the young man approaching, one of the mounted escorts turned his horse about and rode towards him.
“Hold!” he said, raising his hand. “You are not of these lands. What is your business here?”
“My name is Alaric of the Brigantes and guardsman of Queen Cartimandua.” He decided it would be best that he not mention his being sent ahead by the advancing Roman Army for the moment.
“Then you are a long ways from home,” the warrior observed. “And your queen has all but subjugated herself to the Romans, so is your business in Durotriges hers or theirs?”
“My queen dispatched me to observe the Romans,” Alaric replied, deciding that candor was his safest strategy. “She also wishes to avoid further bloodshed in these lands. And as you have guessed, judging by this horde of refugees, there is an enormous Roman Army just a few days’ march up that road.”
“Yes, we know of them,” the warrior said dismissively. “We will arrive at Mai Dun by tomorrow, where we will be safe from that army of thieves and murderers.”
Alaric sighed, closed his eyes and shook his head. “You cannot simply hide from them,” he implored. “I ask of you, take me to King Donan and let me parlay with him. The Catuvellauni have surrendered and have been treated with clemency. If you surrender now, the Romans will treat your people fairly, but if you compel them to lay siege, there will be no mercy.”
“Piss on you, Roman lapdog!” the warrior spat. “You know nothing of the plight of our people or our might to stand against your masters!”
“That is where you’re wrong,” Alaric said. “I was not always of the Brigantes. My former people in Germania thought like you did. They have been fighting against the Romans for decades. In the end, we were nearly exterminated, the few of us who survived becoming scattered to the winds. I beg of you, let me speak with your king and not let your people share the fate of mine!”
His eyes were wet with tears born of frustration and sorrow, for his heart went out to the poor and naïve people who thought they would find sanctuary within their hill fort. Alaric looked upon the faces of men, women, children; all would either be dead or enslaved before the week was done. The warrior’s mouth was open. His face betrayed he was moved by the young man’s words. In the end, he had his orders, and he simply shook his head.
“Leave now,” he said quietly, “and never return to Durotriges.”
“That must be the fifth hill fort we’ve passed,” Vespasian noted as he, Artorius, and the officers accompanying them road down the dirt road that led towards the famous hill fort. “They’re too small to bother with right now, with not enough warriors to be of any real threat. Once Mai Dun falls, we’ll deal with them.”
While still chalked full of large forests, most of the region was relatively flat with rolling hills and was mostly open farmland. Artorius slowed his horse a bit and rode beside the Second Legion’s master centurion.
“He has a keen grasp of the overall strategic picture,” Artorius said.
“That he does,” Lyto concurred. “I’ve been in the ranks for thirty-five years; before he was even born! I served under Tiberius, Severus, and even the great Germanicus. Rarely have I seen a man more fitting to lead the armies of Rome than that man up there. He listens to his centurions, rarely making a major decision without at least consulting our opinion. And whether he followed our advice or not, we knew he was making an educated and sound decision.”
“Who knows, perhaps he could become emperor someday,” Artorius chuckled in reply.
“W
ell, emperors aren’t elected,” Lyto remarked, “and as long as the Julio-Claudians hold on to the imperial throne, that will never happen. A pity, though. No disrespect intended to our current Caesar, but you know Claudius is achieving military glory on our backs. He may be a good administrator—I wouldn’t know as I don’t keep up on such things—but he is no soldier. As you saw at the River Medway and the minor sieges we’ve done, Vespasian had made most of the major tactical decisions, even more so than Plautius. He comes up with the plan and we execute, often with him fighting right alongside us. The lads love him for it. I just hope he doesn’t get himself killed!”
“Some of the men call him the Siege Master,” Artorius said, “both your soldiers and mine have referred to him in such terms. I dare say, he’ll get his chance to prove it soon enough. The locals believe that Mai Dun is unconquerable.”
“Anything can be conquered,” Lyto scoffed. “Still, I suppose we’ll put it to the test soon enough.” He paused and furrowed his brow as he saw three riders approaching them. “Here, isn’t that the messenger you sent forward?”
“I do believe it is,” Artorius replied as he spotted Alaric, accompanied by a pair of troopers from the Indus Horse regiment, who had joined him on his way back. “Let us go see if King Donan has any sense or if he’s determined to face extermination.”
The two men, along with Vespasian and his chief tribune, rode forward to meet the men. The troopers saluted the legate before addressing them.
“The hill fort is barely half a day from here,” one of them reported.
“And what of King Donan?” Vespasian asked Alaric. “We smashed him in battle, we’re set to ravage his kingdom, surely he has to know he’s beaten!”
The saddened expression on the young man’s face told of the king’s differing disposition. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. Clearly Alaric was hoping to save lives, sickened by the slaughter of war. “I was not even allowed to see the king. I told his men that I was sent on behalf of Queen Cartimandua, to plead with him to show reason and spare his people. Donan is convinced that Mai Dun is impenetrable. I was told to tell you that the only way through the gates will be on a ramp made up of slain legionaries.”
“So be it,” Vespasian acknowledged. “Let his people face annihilation for his folly. You will remain with us and bear witness to those in this land who would dare face the power of Rome!”
Alaric simply nodded and walked his horse off to the side of the path, where he watched intently as the huge column of legionaries slowly approached.
“Sir, we also bring word from Tribune Cursor,” one of the troopers spoke up. “We’ve found a good location for staging the army. We’re to escort you there.”
“Excellent!” Vespasian said excitedly. He turned back to the two master centurions and his chief tribune. “We have found our enemy, now we must break him!”
Chapter XXIII: The Siege Master Unleashed
Hill Fort of Mai Dun, Southwest Britannia
September, 43 A.D.
***
The region around Mai Dun was mostly rolling farmland, though there were sufficient woods for Tribune Cursor to keep to as he guided Vespasian and his senior leaders towards the expanse that led to the eastern gate of the massive hill fort.
“We scouted around the entire hill, and the surrounding areas are all open like you see here,” the Tribune reported.
“Good,” Vespasian replied. “Let them see us coming!”
The men dismounted and walked to a small clearing, where Cursor and his men had scrawled out a crude depiction of the hill in the dirt.
“The northern and southern slopes are all very steep,” Cursor explained. “We could not see any palisades or wooden fortifications at the top. From what we could gather, there are two, perhaps three sloping ramparts encircling the fort.”
“An impressive feat of engineering,” Lyto observed. “Is the east gate the only feasible way in?”
“There is one to the west,” Cursor said, pointing to a spot on his makeshift earthen map. “However, the slope is very steep here as well. Something else, though it’s hard to tell from this vantage point, but this hill is huge. We simply do not have the numbers to completely encircle it. To be blunt, I can understand why the locals think this place is impenetrable.”
“And from what we’ve gathered from interrogations,” Artorius added, “An entire town sits atop with supplemental farm fields, livestock, and its own wells. No real chance of starving them out in the short term.”
“Agreed,” Vespasian replied. He was kneeling on the ground, looking back and forth between Cursor’s diagram and what he could see of the hill behind him. “And as our cavalry commander has pointed out, we do not have the numbers for a full encirclement anyway; meaning they could still ferry supplies and food in and out. Besides which, time is not something that is on our side. Plautius wants this hill fort broken quickly, lest a lengthy defense give other nefarious rebels an incentive to continue in their futile struggle against us.”
Shouts and a commotion of men crashing through the trees alerted them. Two barbarians stumbled into the glade, being prodded on by several mounted cavalry troopers with their lances.
“We found these two skulking about off the main road,” one of the soldiers reported. “No doubt they were spying on our advancing columns.”
“Well, of course they were,” Vespasian replied calmly. “We would do the same.”
He then dismissed the troopers and had a couple of on-hand legionaries drag the two men to their feet. They were grubby and disheveled, looking like they hadn’t slept in a couple days. One of them, who appeared to be much older, spoke quickly, in a language the Romans could not understand.
“What is he saying?” Vespasian asked Alaric.
“He’s speaking awfully fast,” the young man replied. “Something about meeting your doom on the bloody slopes.”
“Oh, fuck this!” Master Centurion Lyto snapped before kicking the man hard in the stomach.
“Easy there,” Vespasian said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He then turned to Alaric. “Tell the older one that he is to return to Donan and inform him that if he does not surrender immediately, everyone inside Mai Dun will meet this man’s fate.” He then nodded to Lyto, who drew his gladius and stabbed the younger man in the stomach.
The lad gave a piteous cry through clenched teeth as his bowels were run through. The older man gave a scream of sorrow, which was met by the brutal stomping of several legionary sandals.
“Get him out of my sight,” Vespasian ordered. The soldiers drug the screaming man along with the twitching corpse of what they guessed might have been his son.
“This is going to take careful timing,” Vespasian observed as he continued to scan the hill as if nothing had happened.
“Sir,” Artorius spoke up. “I request that my three cohorts lead the attack on the east gate.”
“Very well,” Vespasian nodded. He looked out ahead and pointed. “Those rolling mounds by the gate are not very large, and if they have all their warriors massed there, it could turn into a bloody grind even with artillery support. Once your men are committed, I’ll give the order for the supplemental assaults on the flanks. However, given the steepness of those slopes, the main task of taking this hill falls on you. Well, gentlemen, that does it. We’ll camp here for tonight, get the men a good, hearty breakfast in the morning, and then send those impudent bastards to oblivion!”
“All units are in position, sir,” the chief tribune reported the next morning as he rode up on his horse.
Vespasian simply nodded and made one final mental assessment of the task at hand.
The commanding legate was on foot, electing to advance with the primary assault elements who would attack the east gate. With him was a pair of equite tribunes, his aquilifer, cornicen, and a single squad of legionaries. His master centurion was with his cohort, which Vespasian had placed on the extreme right of the huge formation. Part of Lyto’s mission was to rei
nforce the Batavian auxiliaries who came to support them, as well as to make certain no Durotriges escaped from the western entrance.
Centered on Vespasian were not his own soldiers, but those of the Twentieth Legion’s First Cohort. Their Fifth and Eighth Cohorts positioned on their immediate flanks. Artorius stood to Vespasian’s left, also eyeing the ground to their front and envisioning what had to happen within the next couple hours. Behind him stood his cohort’s signifier, along with another soldier bearing the square red vexilation flag of the Twentieth Legion, something that legionary cohorts carried whenever they were attached out from their parent legion.
Just behind the command group, and standing directly in front of the First Cohort were the skirmishers of Achillia’s allied detachment; the archers of the Second Legion dispersed to cover their own soldiers when they moved against the northern and southern ramparts. The Syrian woman looked over her shoulder and saw Magnus staring at her, his face full of worry. She simply smiled and winked at him reassuringly.
“Ready to write the pages of history?” Vespasian asked Artorius, a sinister and determined gleam in his eye.
“Yes, sir,” the master centurion replied confidently. The fear and uneasiness that came before every battle he’d fought in over the last twenty-eight years suddenly vanished. The wait was always the worst part for Artorius and, now that it was over, training and discipline took over.
“Then take up your position,” the legate directed.
Artorius saluted sharply and quickly walked to his position at the extreme right of the First Cohort’s front rank. Vespasian then dismissed the legionaries who had been acting as his bodyguards, releasing them back to their respective units. The Siege Master would advance alone at the head of his army with just his cornicen marching behind his right shoulder. It was not a matter of grandstanding or ego, but was, in fact, a practicality, since from there he could observe the advancing of his entire force, while directing maneuver as much as possible before all units converged for the assault.
