by K. M. Ashman
‘Front rank, ready Pila,’ he shouted and the command was repeated down the lines. Every man in the front raised their throwing spears to shoulder height and as the enemy closed in, Barbatus gave the order to release, sending another hail of death into the screaming hordes. As soon as their spears had been released, every Legionary drew their Gladius and presented their shields forward in an unbroken barrier of laminated wood and bronze. The ranks behind rested their own Pila over the shoulders of the front rank, presenting a hedge of steel as a further line of defence.
Barbatus slotted into the centre of front line and braced himself alongside his men. Behind them, the second and third ranks added their weight to brace the men in the front as everyone knew the initial impact was all important.
Suddenly the front wave of warriors smashed into the forest of Pila and though every spear found a target, the combined power of the assault drove them forward onto the shields of the Romans. The initial clash drove the Romans back a few steps and each man ducked behind their Scutum, offering the enemy no target for their terrifying weapons.
Up above, Vespasian watched the opening moves of the battle with interest, discussing the tactics with the young Tribunus Laticlavius by his side.
‘It never ceases to amaze me,’ said Vespasian, ‘no matter where we encounter these Celts, from Hispana to Germania and right across Gaul, they always seem to think the frontal assault will prevail.’
‘But my lord,’ said the young man, ‘our men go backward and are not striking back.’
‘Patience, Natta,’ said Vespasian, ‘and watch the tactics unveil. Despite the enemy numbers, only the front rank can wield any weapon and while we are in close contact, even they are rendered helpless. Our men, however, have their sword arms free. As soon as the pressure eases, as it will, you will see the benefit of closed shields.’
Down below both armies had ground to a standstill and though the occasional warrior weapon found its way over the wall of Roman shields, they only found more protection above the Roman’s soldiers heads, provided by the shields of the second rank.
Up above, the Cornicines sounded again and as one, the Legion thrust forward taking the initiative against the confused warriors. At the same time, each Legionary thrust their Gladius through the gap between their own Scutum and that of the man to their right. Many found flesh but before the enemy could take advantage of any gap, the ranks closed again denying any blade access to the men behind the shields. Again the Cornicines sounded and again they took a step forward, ensuring any wounded at their feet had their faces caved in beneath their hobnailed Caligae. Over and over again they stepped forward, each time cutting the men before them down with thrusts of their protected Gladii. Slowly the pressure eased and the warrior’s ranks thinned out as they tried to attack seemingly easier areas of the Roman lines. This was exactly what Barbatus was waiting for and the front rank spread out, allowing themselves to wield their weapons to greater effect.
‘Advance!’ screamed Barbatus and the whole line stepped forward once more, though this time using the tactics they had trained for, every day of their military life. Each step forward was delivered alongside a thrust with their shield, smashing into their opponent’s face before the killing blow was administered, with a thrust from their stabbing swords. Men screamed in pain as blades cut through flesh and fountains of blood spurted across Roman and Durotriges alike.
Despite their discipline, the Romans did not have everything their own way and in places, the lines broke under the pressure of the assault. Barbatus led the Legion’s assault like a madman and men fell before him like corn before the scythe. So engrossed was he with the killing, he didn’t notice the problem on one of the flanks.
‘My lord,’ shouted his Optio, ‘Drusus has fallen.’
Barbatus spun around and saw the centurion leading the inexperienced Ninth cohort had been killed by a spear through his chest, but it wasn’t the death of a comrade that concerned him but the chaos that ensued. The lines that were so important to the Legion’s strengths were in disarray and Durotriges warriors were amongst them, finding their inexperienced opponents much easier fodder for their blades. Barbatus could see they were close to breaking and that would allow a substantial part of their enemy to access the rear of the lines and should that happen, it painted a completely different picture. The rear lines would have to turn and their strength would be halved. Reinforcements would be needed from the reserves back in the woods and that would be a shame on his cohort.
‘Optio, carry on here,’ he shouted, ‘first three Centuries follow me, left flank.’
Two hundred and forty men broke off to follow the Primus Pius while the rear ranks ran forward to plug the gap. Barbatus led the men toward the breach, fighting their way through to reinforce the beleaguered cohort. The grizzled veterans fell upon the Durotriges in a frenzy of violence, hacking their way through bone and flesh to relieve the pressure. Barbatus saw a familiar soldier crawling away in the mud, his leg dragging uselessly behind him and blood pouring from an open head wound from the attentions of an enemy axe. He ran over and spun him around onto his back.
‘Optio Galleo,’ he shouted, ‘what the fuck happened here?’
‘The line gave,’ gasped the man.
‘What do you mean gave?’ shouted Barbatus. ‘These soldiers may be green but they are trained Legionaries. Nobody gives ground in my Legion.’
‘The front line fell,’ said the Optio, ‘and the rear line ran in fear.’
‘Ran,’ spat Barbatus, ‘who ran? What units? Name them.’
‘The whole rear rank, my lord,’ gasped the Optio, ‘Centuries five and six. Without their support, the middle ranks gave ground and before we knew it, we had been breached.’
Barbatus looked around. His veterans had made a difference and the battle was swinging back in their favour.
‘They will pay for this,’ he growled, before looking down again at the man before him. He reached out and dragged a discarded shield to place under the dying man’s head. Barbatus located the Optio’s water bottle and poured a trickle between the man’s lips.
‘Galleo,’ he said, ‘I have to go for my men need me. I will not lie to you; your wounds are dire and there is much to do before the Medicus and the orderlies can seek out the wounded. Make peace with your gods, my friend, for I fear your life is done. It has been an honour to serve alongside you.’
‘The honour has been mine, my lord,’ said the Optio.
Barbatus nodded and gripped the dying man’s shoulder momentarily.
‘Until the next world, my friend,’ he said and stood up to re-join the battle, leaving the man to die in the mud.
* * *
The next ten minutes were the bloodiest of the day for Barbatus as he and his men wreaked havoc on the warriors who had broken through the lines. Despite his training he had always preferred battle when it inevitably opened up into individual confrontations and the open nature of the breach meant man faced man over a large area. Ferociously he waded into the melee, flanked on either side by two of his trusted men. Each were fearless and they worked together, covering each other’s backs as they carved their way mercilessly through the enemies ranks, hacking flesh from bone and cleaving skulls apart with their swords. The sounds of battle were deafening and men of both sides screamed in agony as their bodies were torn apart by sharpened steel or were crushed into the mud by the stamping feet of their enemies.
Up above on the hill, Natta turned to Vespasian.
‘My lord, shouldn’t we send in reinforcements?’
‘Not yet,’ said Vespasian. ‘I know Barbatus of old and he is the best there is. He would not thank me for interference.’
‘Surely one man’s pride is secondary to the needs of the Legion,’ said Natta.
‘Ordinarily yes, but this is different. Look to the Phalanx, the day is all but won and the enemy retreat to the fort. The only place to give is the left flank and Barbatus has that under control. Though it may cost a few
extra recruits’ lives, it is essential that Barbatus is allowed to redeem the situation. His pride is worth a thousand recruits and I would gladly trade them for a satisfied Primus Pilus.’
‘What about those who ran?’ asked Natta.
‘There will be time enough for them,’ said Vespasian.
A shout from one of the lookouts echoed across the hill.
‘My lord, enemy chariots.’
Vespasian spun to stare into the distance and sure enough a dust cloud signalled the approach of almost a hundred chariots racing to join the battle.
‘Shit,’ shouted Natta, ‘we have no Ballistae. Shall I send the cavalry?’
‘Hold,’ ordered Vespasian. ‘This brings no surprise. If Tribune Lanatus is worth his salt, these chariots will not even breach the shadow of the fort. Watch and learn the value of intelligence, Natta.’
Every man on the hill looked toward the charging chariots and all felt a nervousness as the cloud got closer. If they reached the battlefield proper, the day would take on a completely different complexion and, without artillery, Vespian’s reserves would have to be deployed in full. Even then the outcome would be messy and many of his men would die before the chariots would be overcome.
‘Come on, Lanatus,’ he said under his breath, ‘don’t let me down.’
* * *
On the rocky hill Tribune Lanatus had seen the threat and his heart beat in anticipation of the responsibility of what lay before him. The thundering chariots were just under a minute away and he knew the consequences if any got through. He had just under a hundred Scorpio operators under his command and every one was an excellent shot but despite this, the distance between them and their intended targets and the fact that the chariots were galloping at full speed, meant there would be a high percentage of misses. On top of that, the chariots were spaced quite far apart which meant that the chances of success were limited.
He had planned carefully, anticipating exactly this scenario. Eighty men stood in two rows of forty on the forward slopes of the hill, and another twenty lay hidden in the bracken at the bottom. Success hinged upon every man carrying out his role exactly and making every barbed metal bolt count. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he looked over at the pole mounted crossbows and the men behind them, each awaiting his orders. They were experts with their weapons and he knew he could rely on them. Finally he called out across the ranks.
‘Listen in,’ he cried. ‘On my command I want the front rank to aim at the first ten chariots, ignoring those at the rear. As soon as the results are clear, the second rank will focus on those who escaped the first volley. Any that escape the first onslaught will be taken by the men below. Aim true and reload quickly. The safety of the Legion lays with us for make no mistake, if even one reaches our lines, many of our comrades will die. Now, look to your weapons.’
Every man leaned into their pole mounted crossbows, aiming at the rapidly approaching chariots.
‘Ignore the warriors,’ screamed Lanatus, ‘take out the horses. On my command, ready, fire.’
Fifty metal pointed bolts flew from the crossbows and moments later, horses screamed in agony as the shafts thudded deep into their flesh. Some fell instantly, dragging down their companions and the trailing chariots on top of them. Behind those that fell, the following chariots were forced to slow down to avoid the carnage and this was exactly the result Lanatus wanted. Despite this, many bolts missed their targets and several broke free to continue the charge.
‘Second rank, fire,’ screamed Lanatus and once again the arrows flew across the sky to continue the slaughter. Horses crashed to the floor again and once more the charge was slowed. At the base of the slope, those Scorpios hidden in the bracken started to pick off the few stragglers who had somehow managed to get through unscathed. Behind the casualties, the majority of the chariots wheeled about in confusion, desperate to find a way through to help their fellow warriors. Lanatus saw his chance and cried out once more.
‘Scorpios, target the rear chariots,’ he called, ‘they have fallen into our web, let’s keep them there.’
Both ranks changed their aims and bolt after bolt scythed through the air to find their targets. Again, panicking horses bucked and screamed in pain, throwing their carts over. Realising they were trapped, the two men on each of the chariots dismounted to seek what cover they could behind their animals.
Several more volleys of bolts followed but made no impression on the warriors behind their chariots. Lanatus held up his hand.
‘Hold,’ he roared. ‘The gate is closed; our job is done. The rest is down to the Batavians.’
Down below, a Batavian officer looked up at Lanatus, expecting a signal. Suddenly a flaming arrow streaked across the sky and he knew their time had come. As one, almost five hundred Batavian infantry rose up from the bracken and raced across the blood-soaked ground to face the dismounted Durotriges charioteers.
The result was slaughter. The Batavians outnumbered the charioteers five to one and apart from a few prisoners, the elite of Eadric’s army were wiped out. At the treeline, Vespasian breathed a sigh of relief as the outcome became evident.
‘Your gamble seems to have paid off,’ said Natta.
‘What gamble was that?’ asked Vespasian.
‘Focussing your entire Scorpio strength on that one hill.’
‘There was no gamble about it,’ said Vespasian. ‘It was highly probable that they had chariots to call on. The plain before the fort is free of growth and that could only mean chariots or cavalry practised their manoeuvres there.’
‘But what if it had been horses?’
‘These islands are not well known for cavalry,’ said Vespasian, ‘and besides, whichever it was, I knew they had to come in via that hill.’
‘How?’
‘Because the ground to the south is too boggy,’ said Vespasian. ‘Learn from this, Tribune Natta, accurate and relevant intelligence often has a value equal to that of a thousand men.’
The two men stopped talking and watched as the battle below drew to a close. Hundreds of enemy warriors had broken and retreated to the fort, closely pursued by the cavalry. The front-line troops had withdrawn to tend their wounds while their replacements wandered the battlefield despatching wounded warriors with a stab of their Gladii. Severely wounded men were carried to the tents erected at the rear of the field and the Medicus orderlies did what they could to make them comfortable. Vespasian could see centurion Barbatus strutting around the battlefield offering words of comfort to the wounded and praise to those who had fought well.
‘So what now?’ asked Natta.
‘Take charge of the Legion,’ said Vespasian, ‘and form defensive lines around the fort. I want no one entering or leaving that place until the wagons arrive. Deal with our dead but do not burn the enemy fallen, at least not yet. I have other plans for them.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Natta as the Legatus mounted his horse.
‘There is something I must do,’ said Vespasian and turned to face the centurion who had been alongside him throughout the battle.
‘Lucius, are your scouts well rested?’
‘They are, my lord,’ said Lucius.
‘Good, then order them to arms. We have deserters to find.’
Natta watched them go before returning to view the scene below him. This was the first time Vespasian had entrusted him with the Legion and he was determined not to let him down.
Chatper 12
The Lands of the Deceangli
49 AD
Cassus lay hidden beneath a carpet of wet leaves, deep in the forests of the Deceangli. He had lain still like this for almost three days, sustained only by dried meat and any insects that foolishly wandered too close to his mouth. Though they tasted horrible, Terrimus had taught him well and he knew every morsel helped. His water bottle had but a mouthful left so he eked it out by squeezing water from the moss attached to the adjacent log. His shoulder ached from the wound he had demanded his comrade
inflict on him before he left the fort and though it had been dressed, he knew that it demanded attention before it got infected.
Plautius’s orders had been simple. He was to infiltrate the tribes of the Deceangli and establish himself as a displaced warrior from Caratacus’s army. At first he had sneered at the simplicity, but when Plautius had told him the fate of a Legion may well lie in his hands, his viewpoint changed and he focussed totally on the task before him.
Below him in the valley was a small village consisting of three roundhouses and a stable. A flock of sheep was penned in a walled compound and Cassus knew it was probably a family farm linked to one of the local clans. The three days he had watched told him that there were no warriors as such, though there were two young boys who spent much of their time fighting with wooden swords, obviously as keen as other boys of their age to become clan warriors. It was perfect for his needs and he knew it was now or never; he had to make his move. He waited until it got dark before making his way down to the track that led to the farm. He knew the path was well trodden and that the older men used it every night to bring their small flock back to stay in the paddock, safe from wolves and brigands. Cassus found the track easily enough in the dark and sat against a tree as he waited for the flock to arrive. Finally he heard them approach and he quickly arranged himself on the side of the path as if he had passed out and waited to be discovered.
Five minutes later he heard the flock pass by and knew it would be followed by the men. A dog sniffed around his head and moments later he heard a man’s voice in the darkness.
‘Rhun, come here,’ he said, ‘the dog’s found something.’
‘Probably a rat,’ came the answer.
‘No, I think it’s a body. Come and see.’
Cassus heard another set of steps on the rocky path and the second voice spoke again.
