The Rise of Caratacus

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘If it is a woman you want,’ said Madoc, ‘there are slaves in the village available for a mere coin.’

  ‘No it’s not a woman my heart desires,’ laughed Cassus, ‘but retribution. My sword grows dull through lack of use and my knife should be washed with Roman blood, not that of mere lamb. Your hospitality has been better than any man could desire, but I have unfinished business. I need to find fellow warriors with whom I can ride in defence of our country. My kinsmen are long gone but surely there are others like me who strain at the leash to kill the Roman filth.’

  ‘You seek Caratacus?’ said Madoc.

  ‘Eventually, yes,’ said Cassus, ‘but I hear tell he lies in the lands of the Silures, a perilous journey for any man. Despite this, it is a journey I feel I must make. I can fight as well as any man but if I stay here any longer, I fear my skills will rust quicker than my blade.’

  Madoc sighed.

  ‘I knew this day would come,’ he said, ‘yet I hoped you would stay. My daughter has been caught looking your way once too often and though at first I had my doubts, I thought perhaps one day you would make a good son.’

  Cassus smiled.

  ‘I am flattered by your thoughts and indeed by the interest of your daughter. She is a pretty girl and will make a fine wife but I fear it will be for someone else. My fate lies alongside Caratacus or those who share his vision. Tomorrow I will set out to find him or die on the journey.’

  ‘There is another option,’ said Madoc. ‘The Romans are a threat to all clans and the Deceangli are no different. We have a proud and honest king who also hates the invaders with every sinew of his body. He has an army as large as Caratacus and always welcomes men at arms. Why not seek a place in his army and fight alongside us?’

  ‘Who is this king?’ asked Cassus.

  ‘Idwal, King of the Deceangli.’

  ‘I have heard of him,’ said Cassus, ‘and good things were said, but would he welcome a Catuvellauni stranger to his cause?’

  ‘I think you would be welcomed with open arms,’ said Madoc, ‘especially if you can wield that sword half as good as I think you can. Besides, I had dealings with his father as a young man and he knows my name. I will give you reference. Is this a path that will suit your needs?’

  Cassus could hardly believe his luck. After only a few weeks he was on the verge of getting a place deep in the ranks of the enemy forces. It was almost too good to be true.

  ‘Until I meet with Caratacus once more, it will suffice,’ he said. ‘You have my gratitude.’

  ‘Then finish your meal,’ said Madoc, ‘and if this is to be your last night amongst us, we will share a skin of wine.’

  * * *

  Two days later Cassus stood in a field with hundreds of local men, many talking in groups amongst themselves. All had weapons of some description though most were aged due to lack of use. Some even wielded farming implements in place of military weapons as they waited for Idwal to arrive. Cassus stood alongside Madoc, talking quietly. Finally a commotion to one side grabbed everyone’s attention and a column of Deceangli warriors galloped into the field and dismounted before those gathered in the morning light. One man still on his horse stood up in his stirrups and addressed the would-be recruits.

  ‘Men of the Deceangli,’ he called, ‘your presence does you honour. Today you will join thousands of others making a stand against the coming Roman wave. There is a place for all but we need to see your strength. These men will come amongst you and select according to strength and prowess.’

  ‘Is that Idwal?’ asked Cassus.

  ‘No, Idwal is the quiet one next to him,’ said Madoc.

  Cassus stared at the king. His leggings were of leather, as was his tunic. A chain mail jerkin covered his upper body and a longsword was strapped across his back, as was the way of most Celtic warriors.

  ‘He is young for a king,’ observed Cassus.

  ‘He is,’ said Madoc, ‘but his head holds wisdom beyond his years. He and his men have attacked the supply lines of the Romans for the past two years but now the main threat comes closer, he seeks to build his army.’

  ‘Some army,’ said Cassus, looking around. ‘These are but old men and boys. What use would they be against the enemy?’

  ‘The strong men have already joined Idwal’s ranks,’ said Madoc. ‘They lie in and around the Cerrig to the north. These men will be used to strengthen his numbers should we face the Romans on the field of battle. Every man is here of his own free will.’

  Cassus looked around and knew that should they advance against a Roman line, they would all be dead within a minute at the hands of the Sagittaria.

  ‘What’s the Cerrig?’ asked Cassus.

  ‘The stronghold of Idwal,’ said Madoc. ‘It is a hill fort like no other, built from the very rock upon which it stands. No man has ever breached its walls.’

  ‘No fort is impregnable,’ said Cassus.

  ‘This one is different,’ said Madoc. ‘It has its own water source and at night, herds of cattle are corralled within its walls. If necessary, they could live for a year under siege without going hungry.’

  ‘It sounds magnificent,’ said Cassus.

  ‘It is,’ said Madoc, ‘and is the ancestral home of the Deceangli Kings.’

  Both men fell silent as the king’s men worked their way toward them, separating the volunteers into two groups. Soon the split became evident, as the very old and the very young were at one side while those who looked as if they could handle themselves in a fight stood to the other. Finally they reached Cassus and one warrior looked him up and down in interest.

  ‘And who are you, stranger?’ he asked.

  ‘I am Cassus of the Catuvellauni,’ said Cassus.

  ‘Catuvellauni?’ the soldier sneered. ‘I hear they all died at Medway.’

  ‘Not all,’ said the other warrior, ‘some fled for their lives like frightened puppies. I guess you must be one of the second group.’

  Cassus didn’t rise to the bait but waited quietly.

  ‘So did you run, stranger?’ taunted the second man. ‘Or did you fight?’

  ‘I fought alongside Caratacus at both Medway and Tamesas but we were bettered by a stronger foe. There is no shame in that.’

  ‘There is every shame in that,’ spat the man, ‘Idwal would never have run like Caratacus. The Deceangli would have faced them down and driven them back to the sea.’

  ‘Have you ever fought them?’ asked Cassus.

  ‘We have,’ said the man. ‘Our horses tire from pulling the Roman carts stolen from their supply lines. We have not lost one warrior in these attacks.’

  ‘Then you have not fought Romans,’ said Cassus, ‘but their civilian supply chain. I would wager any man on this field would enjoy similar success.’

  ‘You insult us, Catuvellauni,’ snarled the man, ‘guard your words carefully.’

  ‘I mean no insult,’ said Cassus, ‘but I have seen these men fight at close hand and they are a worthy foe.’

  Both men stepped aside as a horse approached and Cassus saw Idwal looking down at him.

  ‘You wear your sword like a warrior, stranger,’ said Idwal, ‘do you have the right?’

  ‘I do, my lord,’ said Cassus, ‘though lack a cause to support its blade.’

  ‘We have a common cause,’ said Idwal, ‘and there is a place here for all men, but some skills are needed more than others. Are you a wolf or a sheep?’

  Cassus looked at the larger group gathered at the far end. It was obvious they were the weaker group and were there to make up the numbers, nothing more.

  ‘I am neither,’ said Cassus.

  Idwal dismounted and walked over to face him.

  ‘You are a strange one,’ he said, ‘but any man can strap a blade to his back and call himself warrior.’ Idwal stepped back and drew his sword. ‘Put meaning behind your words, stranger,’ he said and the surrounding men formed a circle to witness the contest.

  Cassus drew his own sword and held
it above his shoulder. He stared into the king’s eyes and a moment later, swung his sword downward to deflect the lightning quick blow that came at him. Without a pause, Idwal rained blow after blow toward Cassus and the surrounding men gasped in awe at the prowess of the king. Cassus defended himself frantically but even though his hands were working quickly, his mind worked even faster. He had no doubt he could better this man but that would serve no purpose in the greater scheme of things. Yet if he allowed Idwal to defeat him too easily he could easily end up little more than target practise in the front ranks of the farmers.

  Idwal was a formidable foe but as soon as he over swung by the slightest margin, Cassus launched his own attack and the king retreated, deflecting Cassus’s sword with expert swipes of his own. Both men were well matched and the crowd widened to watch the excellent display of sword play. For several minutes the advantage swung back and fore and finally Cassus felt the smallest of changes in the king’s blows, a sign that he was tiring. Without making it obvious, Cassus started to lighten the strength of his own blows and allowed Idwal to seemingly better him. Idwal grasped the opportunity and forced Cassus back across the clearing until his back was against a tree. Finally, Cassus lowered his sword and yielded to Idwal, gasping as if exhausted. It was a gamble but one he knew he had to take.

  Idwal placed his sword against Cassus’s throat and panted heavily as he stared into Cassus’s eyes. The whole crowd fell silent and waited for the deadly thrust, but the king lowered his sword and held out his arm.

  ‘You are a formidable foe, stranger,’ he said, ‘and for a moment I thought I would be bettered.’

  Cassus grabbed the king’s forearm in mutual respect.

  ‘I also thought I had the day, my lord,’ he said, ‘but now see why you are king.’

  ‘What is your wish, stranger?’ asked Idwal. ‘Why are you here amongst these sheep?’

  ‘I want to fight, my lord,’ said Cassus, ‘and revenge the slaughter of my people.’

  ‘Then fight you shall,’ said Idwal, ‘though not amongst the weak but as part of my warrior fist. Do you have a horse?’

  ‘I can supply a horse, my lord,’ said Madoc.

  Idwal turned to look at the old man.

  ‘Madoc,’ he said, ‘friend of my father, it is good to see you again.’

  ‘And you, my lord,’ said Madoc.

  ‘You can vouch for this man?’ asked Idwal.

  ‘I can, my lord, and will furnish him with a steed.’

  ‘And what about you, Madoc,’ asked Idwal, ‘do you see yourself facing the Roman steel?’

  ‘I’m afraid I am too old to wield a weapon in anger, my lord, but would support you in other ways perhaps.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I can hunt, sharpen weapons, and groom horses. Perhaps my skills could allow your men more time to kill the enemy.’

  ‘Then so be it,’ said Idwal and turned to Cassus. ‘Welcome to the Deceangli, stranger,’ he said, ‘gather your things and be at the Cerrig in two days’ time.’

  Chatper 15

  The Lands of the Durotriges

  49 AD

  The Legion reformed before the Durotriges fort. Though missiles continued to fly over their heads, the sounds of crashing timber had long ago ceased as there were no more walls to demolish and the rocks sailed into the interior of the fort to create havoc amongst any survivors. Huge clouds of smoke swirled high into the sky and the hillside was a tangled mess of timber and bodies, signs of how effective the catapults had been.

  At the base of the hill five hundred engineers crouched behind a wall of shields provided by their Legionary comrades. The engineers were split into fifty groups of ten with each group holding a giant ladder designed to make the assault of the Legion’s infantry up the hill much easier. Behind them, another three rows of shields hid the archers that would cover the assault and even further behind them were the Batavian infantry that had been selected to take the ramparts. But in amongst all these specialists was one frightened group of young men. The hundred or so who ran at the initial battle and were to be the van of the assault. They would be the first men to climb the ladders and though it was a military honour, it was also a sentence of almost certain death. Many made peace with their gods while others stayed silent, accepting their fate as inevitable, accepting their time had come.

  Vespasian gave the order and fifty gaps appeared in the shield wall. Immediately the engineers grabbed their ladders, five on each side, and ran toward the slopes. At first, they managed to get quite far and some were astonished to find they managed to deploy their ladders on the lower slopes without as much as a shout from above. The second wave ran forward and used the first ladders to aid their ascent but as they climbed, a frightened voice from above raised the alarm and arrows started to rain down upon them.

  Vespasian spotted the threat and immediately ordered his own archers to provide cover. Within moments, volley after volley of arrows filled the air and fell among the defenders on the remains of the wall.

  ‘Onagers fire,’ roared Vespasian, and the catapults leapt into action again, this time firing piles of smaller jagged rocks at the wall breach. The giant hole in the defences became indefensible due to the number of missiles and the engineers took the opportunity to lay ladder after ladder on the steep slope, providing easy passage for those who would follow in a few minutes.

  Barbatus stood before the disgraced Centuries and knew their time was almost upon them. He turned to face them and saw the fear in their faces.

  ‘You men listen in,’ he said, ‘yours is the disgrace and the penance is yours but now is the time for you to regain your honour. Those who are about to die, do so in the knowledge that your debt is cleared but for those who prevail and provide a secure route for our infantry, return with pride restored and in the knowledge there will be a place for you in the first cohort.’

  The men murmured amongst themselves. The first cohort was the elite of the Legion and led by the Primus Pilus himself. If they survived this assault, they had a chance of a future after all. Buoyed by his words, their will became hardened to the task and hands grasped the hilts of Gladii a little firmer. Their larger oblong shields had been discarded and they carried the smaller round shields favoured by the Batavians.

  ‘Upon my signal,’ shouted Barbatus, ‘you will run straight for the assault ladders. The whole hill is covered and the engineers have laid them right up to the breach. The archers will provide cover as you approach but climb as fast as you can and if the man before you is struck, tip him clear; you cannot afford to stop or every man behind you will die. Today you have a second chance. Do this and your debt is paid. Now, are you ready?’

  The young men roared their commitment and Barbatus nodded in approval. It was the best he could hope for.

  The archers had replaced their steel tipped arrow for those wrapped with wads of wool and soaked in oil. Similarly the Ballista changed their missiles for fire pots and lowered their aim to the slopes. Combined with the thousands of arrows now burning on the forward slope, the hill was covered with black smoke, providing perfect cover for the assault troops. At a signal, archers, Ballistae and Onagers lifted their aim to bombard the defences again and Barbatus screamed the order everyone had been waiting for.

  ‘Assault troops, for your names and for your honour,’ roared Barbatus, ‘advance!’

  The disgraced men stood up and ran toward the hill. Behind them, four cohorts of Batavian infantry waited to follow them up the ladders, over two thousand men specialising in open hand to hand fighting.

  The men hit the ladders running and swarmed up the slopes, driven by adrenaline and fear. At first their approach was covered by the smoke but as it started to thin out, individual defenders stood up from the rubble and roared their defiant challenge to those below.

  ‘Scorpios, target those men for as long as you can,’ shouted a Tribune, and the accurate crossbows unleashed their hail of death for the second time in days. Up above, men fell wit
h crossbow bolts lodged in bodies or heads but despite the devastation, there always seemed to be others to take their place. The rocks ran red with blood but within a minute, the first Legionaries reached the shattered defences. Behind them the hill swarmed with the main body of the assault and thousands of soldiers covered the slopes like ants. The first wave of inexperienced Legionaries crested the ridge only to be met with Celtic steel and man after man fell backward onto their comrades, with their skulls cleaved open.

  The defending warriors fought like madmen, desperate to repel the assault and defend their homes. For what seemed like an age the attack seemed to falter as the bottleneck ground everything to a halt, but suddenly one soldier broke through to stand on the shattered defences, fighting off three defenders with his sword and shield. A roar of approval echoed up the slope and though the man fell under the enemy blades, the fresh impetus pushed upward and this time several men broke through to take on the fight. Having made the breach, albeit small, it gave the assaulting troops the opportunity to pour more men onto the defences and the trickle became a flood. As the defenders were caught up in hand to hand fighting, more ladders were thrown against what few walls remained and the Batavian troops swarmed over the defences like a surging tide.

  The defences were breached and down below Vespasian breathed a sigh of relief, knowing full well that it was now just a formality. One cohort of the Batavians had been tasked to take the gates from the inside and when they did, the third and fifth cohort would march straight into the hill fort via the main entrance, every one equipped with full shields, armour and Pila. Their punch would be unstoppable and the hill fort would fall within hours.

  ‘Will you be going in to take the fort, my lord?’ asked Natta.

  ‘No,’ said Vespasian, ‘I’ve seen it all before. There is nothing up there that interests me. When the message comes that the day is won, bring me the head of Eadric.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said Natta and looked up at the fort. Troops were swarming over the walls unopposed and he knew that on the other side of the hill, any defenders trying to escape would be mopped up by the waiting cavalry. From here on in, it would be slaughter.