The Furies of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  What it was not, however, was a field for cavalry because Paulinus’ strategy was based on infantry standing shoulder to shoulder and killing the man in front of them again and again until there were none left. To that end he had, during the time remaining to him before Boudicca’s arrival, ordered the ground for a couple of hundred paces in front of where the Romans would stand to be strewn with stones and tree branches to disable the Britannic chariotry and their small number of cavalry. This had been done on a cohort by cohort rotation basis so that at any one time most of the army was resting or eating.

  ‘There’s no way that I’m going to fight mounted,’ Magnus said after Titus had told him, Vespasian, Sabinus and Cogidubnus the news that his Batavians and the rest of the cavalry were to act as reinforcements for the infantry line, having come from Paulinus’ briefing the following afternoon.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be fighting at all,’ Vespasian said, ‘considering your age, that is.’

  ‘Now don’t you start mocking me again, sir; there’s plenty of fight and fuck left in me yet.’

  ‘You’re seventy; you should be dead.’

  ‘Well, perhaps tomorrow I’ll get the chance to put that right. Anyway, I wasn’t thinking of getting nice and snug in the front rank; I’ll leave that pleasure to the younger, keener lads. I thought that somewhere near the rear would suit me fine; you know, do some pushing on the back of the man in front of me, a bit of finishing off the wounded as we go forward, give Castor and Pollux a chance for some nice breakfast and all that sort of thing. Nothing too strenuous to start off with as I’m sure there’ll be plenty to go round and I’d rather have my share when they’re a bit less fresh, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll get as many of them as you can manage,’ Sabinus said, pointing to the mouth of the valley.

  Cogidubnus gave a low whistle. ‘More in fact than you might want, my friend.’

  Vespasian, Magnus and Titus looked up to where Sabinus had indicated: there, in the distance, a black shadow was materialising, extending across the complete mile and a half width of the valley’s opening.

  Boudicca had, indeed, travelled fast and had, as she saw it, cornered Paulinus with her speed. She led the Iceni and Trinovantes nations onto the ground of Paulinus’ choosing with thoughts only of victory, never of defeat.

  CHAPTER XVII

  FOR THE LAST two hours of daylight the Romans watched the Britons arrive and, even as the sun fell, there was no sign of an end to the black shadow creeping up towards them.

  Immediately the sighting had been reported to Paulinus the cornu, the horn used for signalling on the field of battle, had sounded and the entire army had formed up across the valley. But Boudicca was not in a position to attack straightaway upon arrival as her army was so spread out; she halted her chariot a half mile from the Roman line and there her army began to build their cooking fires and erect what small amount of tentage they had. As night fell, Paulinus withdrew to his camp and the valley lit up with thousands of points of firelight as if it were a giant mirror reflecting the firmament above.

  An hour before dawn the soldiers of Rome, having slept well and breakfasted on hot food, marched out of their camp and reformed the line. As the light grew, the Britannic warriors saw Paulinus’ army waiting for them, a short thin line compared to their horde’s massive bulk, and they laughed as they smeared their war-patterns over chests and legs and spiked their hair with lime. Those who had to go without breakfast, and there were many due to lack of supplies, did not complain or even mind as they knew that the whole business would be over within the hour as all they had to do was run up the hill and sweep the thin line of wood, flesh and metal away; and none in that immense host doubted their ability to do that.

  ‘I’m starting to think that Caenis might have been right,’ Vespasian said as the sun’s rays revealed the size of the task they faced; his throat had just dried. ‘Perhaps I should have gone back with her to Germania Inferior as this is not my fight.’

  Titus, astride his horse next to him, reached over and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘And let me face my first set-piece battle without the benefit of paternal advice, Father?’

  ‘That was roughly the argument that I used with her.’

  ‘Well, I wish you hadn’t,’ Magnus grumbled, ‘even Germania Magna, let alone Germania Inferior, sounds better than here at the moment.’ He had relented about fighting mounted on account that it may well be less tiring on his knees; Castor and Pollux sat next to his horse, watching the confusing human spectacle with some interest.

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ Sabinus assured them with uncharacteristic optimism, ‘at least we’re in the reserve line.’

  Magnus looked left and then right to the only other three small units positioned behind the main line to plug any gaps. ‘What there is of it.’ Paulinus had used his three cavalry units as reserves and the Batavians were one of them; the legionary cavalry and an ala of Gallic cavalry that had been divided into two units were the others. Each had a little over two hundred paces of frontage to cover, or three and a half tightly formed cohorts; the Batavians were to the right of the centre behind the first three cohorts of the XIIII Gemina. ‘Just over two hundred men to act as a relief for almost two thousand including the élite cohort.’ Magnus hawked and spat to illustrate just what he thought of the situation.

  ‘My men have the right wing,’ Cogidubnus, who had ridden over to wish them luck, said. ‘That’s not going to be fun with the Iceni trying to get around our flank.’

  Sabinus looked over to the right-hand hill. ‘The hill’s too steep.’

  ‘Do you think that will stop them trying? You just think yourself lucky, Magnus, that you’re not going to be used until later, if at all.’

  Magnus did not look convinced. ‘My point is that if we are used it will be in a very nasty situation where a breakthrough has occurred through a legionary cohort; and I can tell you that if something punches a gap in the first cohort it’ll take a lot more than a couple of hundred cavalry to stop it.’

  Vespasian had to concede that Magnus had a point and looked nervously at the seemingly limitless body of men that now approached with menacing intent. Deep they were and their limit could only be judged by the multitude of wagons in the distance, halfway down the valley, stretching from one hill to the other, where their families waited to watch their menfolk avenge the insult to the women of the Iceni.

  In the centre of the horde stood Boudicca in her chariot; her daughters, brandishing their long knives, walked next to it with Myrddin and a dozen more of the filthy, matted creatures. There were no other chariots in evidence; scouting parties in the night had evidently found the obstacles deterring them. At two hundred paces out, Boudicca punched her spear, two handed, above her head and they stopped in a shambolic manner and raised a roar to the heavens.

  In silence the Romans watched, each man busy with his own thoughts, envisaging just how he was going to get through this day, as Boudicca’s chariot turned ninety degrees and started to travel along the front of the haphazard Britannic line. The roar stopped and she began to address her people in her harsh and loud masculine voice that carried far over the field.

  ‘What’s she saying?’ Vespasian asked Cogidubnus.

  ‘She’s talking in their uncouth dialect, but from what I can make out she’s saying that it is normal for Britons to fight under the command of a woman but she’s not seeking vengeance for her kingdom or possessions taken from her as a woman descended from great ancestors. No, she seeks it as one of the people, for her liberty lost, for the unjust flogging she received and for the rape of her daughters. If the Romans, in their cupidity, cannot even let our bodies go undefiled, then why should they be expected to display moderation as their rule goes on, when they have behaved towards us in this fashion at the very outset?’ Cogidubnus stopped translating as he cocked an ear.

  ‘Well?’ Vespasian asked.

  Cogidubnus put his hand up signalling that
he was listening.

  Eventually the Queen finished and from beneath her cloak she produced a hare; she set it on the ground and it immediately ran towards the Roman line. There began a series of mighty roars; the omen was good.

  ‘That was very eloquent, what she said,’ Cogidubnus remarked.

  ‘Tell us.’

  ‘It was a good speech and would have got them roused; it was something like this in translation: “But, to speak the plain truth, it is we who have made ourselves responsible for all that has befallen us, in that we allowed Rome to set foot on this island in the first place and didn’t expel them at once as we did their famous Julius Caesar, and in that we did not deal with them while they were still far away as we dealt with Gaius Caligula and made even the attempt to sail here a formidable challenge. As a consequence, although we inhabit so large an island, or rather a continent, one might say, that’s encircled by the sea, and although we possess a world of our own and are separated by the ocean from all the rest of mankind so that we believe we dwell on a different earth and under a different sky, we have, notwithstanding all this, been despised and trampled underfoot by men who know nothing else than how to secure gain. They have brought with them laws that take precedence over our customs, the tax-farmers who bleed us dry and then the odious bankers who pretend to offer wealth with one hand but give poverty with the other in order to enrich themselves without a care for the consequences. However, even at this late day, though we have not done so before, let us, my countrymen and friends and kinsmen – for I consider you all kinsmen, seeing that we inhabit a single island and are called by one common name – let us, I say, do our duty while we still remember what freedom is, that we may leave to our children not only its name but also its reality. For, if we utterly forget the happy state in which we were born and bred, what will they do, reared in bondage to our eternal shame?” Good stuff I’d say; it’s just a pity that it’s so misguided.’

  ‘I’d say she’d made a few reasonable points,’ Magnus said, tugging hard on Castor and Pollux’s leads as they reacted enthusiastically to the clamour coming from the Britons. ‘From what I can make out this whole thing has been caused by Seneca’s, the Cloelius Brothers’ and the other Londinium bankers’ greed. Not that greed is a bad thing, mind you, it’s just when you fuck off a whole nation rather than a few rivals it ain’t so clever.’

  Vespasian, despite all the atrocities he had witnessed, was forced to agree. ‘But don’t forget Decianus as well as the bankers.’

  ‘Procurators? Bankers? What the fuck’s the difference? It’s all about getting rich on other people’s wealth, which, as I say, is no bad thing until … well.’ He gestured to everything around. ‘Well, something like this happens and I happen to get caught up in it.’

  Vespasian’s thoughts on the subject were cut off by Paulinus addressing his troops from horseback.

  ‘Soldiers of Rome!’ Paulinus declaimed in the high voice favoured for speeches to large audiences. ‘I know your valour for together we have recently subdued the Isle of Mona. You will not fear this horde, this rabble, made up, as it is, of more women, children and old men rather than fighting-fit warriors; and of those warriors many seem to be young men of a new generation who have never been tried before in battle. You have heard what outrages these savages have committed against us; indeed, you have even witnessed some of them. Choose, then, whether you wish to suffer the same treatment yourselves, as our comrades have suffered, and to be driven out of Britannia entirely; or, by achieving victory here today, avenging those who have perished and, at the same time, display to all others who would take up arms against us an example of the inevitable severity with which we deal with rebellion. For my part, I’m sure that victory will be ours; first, because the gods are our allies; and second, because courage is our heritage, since we Romans have triumphed over all mankind by our valour. And let us not forget we have defeated and subdued these very men who are now arrayed against us so they are not antagonists, but our slaves, whom we conquered even when they were free and independent. Now, one word of warning, soldiers of Rome: if the outcome should prove contrary to our hope – and I will not deny the possibility – it would be better for us to fall fighting bravely than to be captured and impaled, or to look upon our own entrails cut from our bodies, or to be spitted on red-hot skewers, or to perish, screaming in boiling water or any other manner of torments these savages enjoy inflicting on civilised men. Let us, therefore, either win or die on this ground. You all know your places at the sound of the first cornu signal. So, soldiers of Rome, are you ready for war?’

  As the reply was roared back and the question re-asked, Vespasian was relieved that Cogidubnus’ men were right to the far side of the field and would probably not have been able to hear all that well Paulinus implying that they were Rome’s slaves.

  Judging by the shadow that passed over the Britannic King’s face, Cogidubnus was not impressed by Paulinus’ rallying speech. ‘I’ll return to my cohorts, and see if they’re still in the mood for killing their fellow countrymen, as Boudicca put it.’

  ‘It was tactless of Paulinus,’ Vespasian affirmed.

  ‘Tactless? Of course it was tactless; it was pure Roman.’

  Vespasian gripped Cogidubnus’ forearm. ‘May your gods hold their hands over you, my friend.’

  Cogidubnus touched the four-spoked wheel of Taranis that hung on a chain about his neck. ‘My gods will be busy today; they have to answer prayers from both sides.’

  And then the carnyxes blared.

  Discordant barks filled the air, issuing from the animal heads of the tall, upright horns that sprouted from the Britannic host; bronze wild boar, ram, bull or wolf figures mounted on poles, the standards of individual war bands, were shaken above the heads of their followers, as well as wheels of Taranis, coiled serpents and leaping hares. Boudicca made one more length of the Britannic front, holding out her spear so that it rattled along the tips of the weapons or their shafts held up to her for her blessing in a metallic and wooden clatter that gave percussion to the carnyxes’ cacophony.

  By the time she had returned to her place in the centre, the hundred thousand plus horde of warriors was at fighting pitch, urging each other on to great deeds and stories of valour. Behind them, their families, in similar numbers, roared on their menfolk, eager to see the field running with Roman blood. With one last flourish of her spear above her head, Boudicca brought it down and pointed it at the heart of the Roman line; her warriors took their first steps forward, gradually accelerating, jumping the obstacles, until they were at a run.

  And then the cornu rumbled.

  Suddenly the cohorts all along the line sprang into action.

  ‘What the fuck are they up to?’ Magnus exclaimed.

  Vespasian, Sabinus and Titus were equally nonplussed.

  Files of legionaries from the outsides of each cohort raced to its middle, gradually building it up, evenly, so that protrusions of men appeared, lessening until at the tip there was the primus pilus of the cohort, acting as the biting point of the wedge. The Roman line had transformed itself into a series of sharp teeth in the time it had taken the warriors to cover half the separating distance.

  Each primus pilus, resplendent with transverse horsehair plumes across their helms, raised their sword in the air and looked along the line to their superior at the apex of the first cohort. Down came the legion’s senior centurion’s sword arm; his brother officers followed. In unison, ten thousand shields were struck by pila – just once; sudden. The resulting crack thundered down the valley as if Jupiter himself had cast a mighty bolt along the length of the field. Warriors deep within the crush who could not see its source looked up to the sky as the shock of the noise made them falter in their step. The carnyxes wavered for a couple of beats and almost, for an instant, there was silence.

  And that silence remained on the Roman side; mute and grim were the wedges of legionaries as they watched, with hardened eyes, their foes regain their steel and
their pace and their volume.

  ‘Why weren’t we a party to that little trick?’ Titus asked.

  ‘Spooking the enemy evidently isn’t a privilege extended to reserve formations in Paulinus’ army,’ Vespasian hazarded, his nervousness dissipating, having witnessed more than a hundred thousand men falter.

  Paulinus, seated upon his horse, with his staff, to the rear of the first cohort, nodded to the cornicern stationed near him; the man pressed his lips to the mouthpiece and issued a two-note rumble that, because of its booming depth, carried beneath the clamour approaching. The signal was repeated throughout the army and, as the Britannic mass came to within fifty paces of the Roman teeth, the legionaries in the front four ranks and down the sides of the wedges stamped their left feet forward and pulled their pilum-wielding right arms back, keeping their shields up as the javelin rain started to fall.

  Vespasian watched Paulinus calculating distance in his head, thinking of all the times he had to do the same thing when he had been the legate of the II Augusta. He glanced back at the approaching horde. ‘Three, two, one,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Now.’

  Sure enough the cornu sounded and a black cloud of pila rose from the legionaries. It was not continuous because the rears of the wedges were not yet in range, but it was lethal. Lead-weighted iron shafts tore from the sky; at thirty paces out the warriors facing the thinning parts of the wedges were pounded backwards in explosions of blood, screaming, bodies arched and pierced, arms flailing, to crash into those behind, taking them down to entangle the feet of yet more following.

  Indentations appeared along the Britannic front and, as they were filled, fifteen paces out, another dark hailstorm slammed into them, pulping faces, pinning shields and shield-arms to bellies, slicing into ribcages to explode out through backs in sprays of crimson that splattered the faces and torsos of the men behind the instant before they impaled themselves on the razor-sharp, protruding points. Down went hundreds more in the limb-thrashing agonies of death; many others were tripped or pulled to the ground, there to die trampled by so many feet that their bodies split open and their offal warmed the earth.