The Rise of Caratacus

by K. M. Ashman

  They could change or be changed, as simple as that, but that was for the future. At the moment he needed their swords and more importantly their reputation, but after the Romans were driven out and the island nation stood together as one, neither would count for anything and he would turn his attention to the fertile slopes of the Silures lands.

  ‘So,’ said Caratacus eventually, ‘how goes the day?’

  ‘The main force are spread throughout the valley, Lord,’ said one of the Catuvellauni chiefs, ‘and impatient to reach our goal.’

  ‘And the food situation?’

  ‘Is good at the moment. Our supply wagons are full and should last until we reach the Cerrig. Messages have been sent to the Cornovii asking for support and we have patrols raiding the villages of the Dobunii. The men eat cold Cawl and bread is being brought in from the local villages.’

  ‘What about your men?’ asked Caratacus to Wolfeye, one of the Silures’ leaders.

  ‘Worry not about our men, Caratacus,’ he said, ‘they are well looked after by our people and they too are impatient for battle.’

  Caratacus nodded silently. It was well known that the Silures were constantly resupplied by their own people and to be fair, they never relied on the supply trains of Caratacus for anything.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘What news of our allies?’

  Gwydion stepped forward.

  ‘Word was sent to Idwal,’ he said, ‘and the riders should be there by now. He has been told to assemble his army and travel east to face the Victrix here.’ Gwydion leaned over and placed a row of pebbles across a drawn valley on the map. ‘He is to take a holding position here until we arrive. Knowing the Romans as we do, they will pause and set up their own defensive lines to the front of Idwal while they assess the situation. That gives us time to join forces and launch an immediate attack before they can send for help. By the time the Gemina are notified, we will be caked in the blood of victory.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Caratacus. ‘So, tomorrow we leave the cloak of the forests behind us and travel the lowlands of the Cornovii. We will move fast but even if we face no challenge, we will not reach the safety of the Wrekin hills for two days and will still have to camp at least one night in the open. Even with the diversion being caused in the east by Cassus and his men, we can’t afford to be complacent.’ He leaned over the map once more. ‘At this point,’ he said, placing two stones on the map, ‘my scouts tell me there is a ridge linking two hills. The ridge dominates the land and you can see in all directions from its peak. One of these has a hill fort used by a local Cornovii clan. It is of no great strength but will offer some protection for our men. Tomorrow night we will take over this hill fort and though it is not big enough for all, the rest of the army can camp on the other peak and the slopes to either side. All are linked by high ground and it affords a good defensive position should the need arise.’

  ‘My men will not sleep like cattle within stone walls,’ said Wolfeye.

  ‘I understand that,’ said Caratacus, ‘but this is the area we are most at risk. There are no great forests nearby to hide an army but the adjacent peaks are open should you wish to use them.’

  ‘Our foot soldiers will use the slopes,’ said Wolfeye, ‘and there is a forest an hour’s ride away big enough for the horsemen. They will camp there and come to fight should the need arise.’

  Caratacus grunted but knew better than to argue with these difficult men.

  ‘So be it,’ he said. ‘Two more nights and we will be alongside Idwal. Get some sleep.’

  The men left the tent while Caratacus stared down at the map, alone with his thoughts, unaware that to the east, a lone rider was about to change the course of history.

  * * *

  Outside the Legionary fort at Viriconium, a line of ten armed cavalry stood patiently either side of a solitary barbarian horseman. It was the middle of the night so a messenger had been sent to wake the Legatus.

  Back in the officer’s barracks, Scapula woke to the sound of someone knocking on the wooden door.

  ‘My lord,’ said a voice, ‘your presence is needed.’

  Scapula shot off his bunk and opened the door immediately.

  ‘What news?’ he asked.

  ‘My lord, our scouts have captured an enemy rider and hold him outside the gates.’

  ‘Why is this of interest to me?’ asked Scapula.

  ‘My lord, he demands audience with you and will speak to no other.’

  ‘What is the nature of his demand?’ asked Scapula.

  ‘He refuses to say but said to give you this.’ The soldier handed over a Pugio.

  Scapula stared down at the dagger in confusion but suddenly his eyes opened wide in comprehension. A solitary Pugio was the sign of the Exploratores.

  ‘This man,’ he said, ‘describe him.’

  ‘No different to the rest of them,’ said the soldier. ‘We have disarmed him but he insists on speaking to you.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Scapula, ‘when he was caught, did he say anything else?’

  ‘Only to hold and that he was friend not foe,’ said the soldier.

  ‘And in what language did he say this?’

  The soldier paused as he realised he had missed the obvious difference between the warrior and those native to Britannia.

  ‘Latin,’ he said at last.

  ‘Bring him to me,’ shouted Scapula, ‘and alert the garrison. Prepare to move out.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said the soldier and turned away as the door slammed.

  Inside the quarters, Scapula dressed quickly. If this man was who he thought he was then this was it – the message he had been waiting for.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later the door knocked again and this time was answered by one of Scapula’s servants. Outside, an armed guard escorted a solitary man, taking no chances with the native warrior.

  ‘Scapula expects us,’ said the Decurion in charge.

  ‘Bring them in,’ called a voice, and the servant stepped aside to allow the guards to pass.

  Scapula had dressed and now stood in full ceremonial armour. The guards halted and Scapula could see the warrior in their midst.

  ‘Move,’ said Scapula and the front rank opened to allow him full sight of the prisoner. Scapula stepped forward to stare at him.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘My name is Cassus Maecilius,’ came the answer, ‘son of Gaius Pelonius Maecilius of the province of Picenum.’

  The guards turned to stare in confusion. Their prisoner was every inch a Britannic warrior yet he spoke Latin as well as any of them.

  ‘How do I know you are who you say you are?’ asked Scapula.

  ‘You don’t,’ said Cassus. ‘I seek Governor Ostorius Scapula and will share words with him only.’

  ‘Then you have found him,’ said Scapula. ‘The rest of you men, return to your units.’

  ‘My lord, are you sure?’ asked the Decurion guard commander.

  ‘I believe he is who he claims,’ said Scapula. ‘You men are dismissed.’

  Cassus looked over his shoulder as the room cleared and finally he was alone with Scapula. The Legatus stepped forward and offered his forearm.

  ‘Cassus Maecilius,’ he said, ‘I have been waiting for you. Welcome to the XIV Gemina Martia Victrix.’

  Cassus returned the gesture.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ asked Scapula. ‘Or perhaps you would like some wine?’

  ‘Just some water,’ said Cassus.

  ‘So be it,’ said Scapula, ‘take a seat.’

  They both sat at the table as a servant poured a mug of water from a pitcher.

  ‘Leave us,’ said Scapula and soon the two men were alone in the room.

  ‘Well,’ said Scapula, ‘I have to admit your appearance is extraordinary. I suppose I should have expected this.’

  Cassus looked down briefly. The way he was dressed seemed normal to him now and he often forgot the clean-shaven person with short hair he use
d to be.

  ‘So,’ said Scapula, ‘do you have the news I crave?’

  ‘I believe I do, my lord,’ said Cassus, ‘Caratacus has taken the bait and moves north as we speak.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Scapula, ‘do you know which route he intends to take?’

  ‘I do,’ said Cassus, ‘and his army is less than two days march from here as we speak.’

  Scapula stood up and looked at Cassus in disbelief.

  ‘He takes the river route?’ he said in astonishment. ‘But surely he knows we are here; why risk our involvement?’

  ‘Because he believes your cavalry will be too busy dealing with me and my men to take any rumours of his army seriously.’

  ‘Your men?’

  ‘There are a hundred horsemen laying waste to local Dobunii villages as we speak,’ said Cassus. ‘I was supposed to be amongst them but stole away to report here.’

  ‘Won’t you be missed?’

  ‘They will think that I fell in battle but will continue with the assaults in the hope of attracting your attention. The plan is that while you are dealing with them, Caratacus will steal by under your very nose.’

  ‘The plan has merit,’ said Scapula, ‘he knows we can’t ignore the assaults on the Dobunii; we have pledged our protection and if we fall short, then future client kings will be more reluctant to bend their knee. We will have to deploy at least a cohort on their trail.’

  ‘There is no need to split your forces, my lord,’ said Cassus. ‘Tomorrow night their target will be the village at the base of the black hill. Hide a century of archers within the village and the attackers will ride into the trap leaving you to concentrate on Caratacus.’

  ‘I thought you rode with these men,’ said Scapula, ‘why do you offer them up for sacrifice?’

  ‘They are Deceangli, my lord, and despite my similar attire, I am Roman. There is no conflict of allegiance.’

  ‘Then it will be so,’ said Scapula. ‘Come, we will go to the map room and you can show me Caratacus’s route. I want my cavalry to be gone within the hour and the Legion marching by dawn.’

  For the next half hour Cassus showed Scapula the intended route and potential sites for confrontation. They soon worked out that even if they marched at double time, by the time they caught him up he would be well past the fort.

  ‘Perhaps it’s not a bad thing,’ said Scapula. ‘By approaching from the rear we can squeeze him between us and the Victrix. The only thing is by the time we reach him he will be clear of this open ground and amongst the mountains of the Wrekin on the northern edge of the Cornovii territory. Once there we may never get him out.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help,’ said Cassus. ‘I may be able to get him to catch breath.’

  ‘How?’ asked Scapula.

  ‘By telling him the truth,’ said Cassus. ‘Let him know he is walking into a trap and he will have no option but to form a defence. All we need to do is convince him the Victrix is closer than they actually are.’

  ‘And you think he will believe you?’

  ‘I have an idea that will make him believe me,’ said Cassus, ‘but I will need a hundred of your best cavalry on the fastest horses.’

  ‘Consider it done,’ said Scapula, ‘I will place two centuries of scouts under your command. You do what you have to do and I will march the Legion north. If you can hold him up for one day, we have every chance of facing him in open ground here.’ He pointed at a blank area of the map.

  Cassus stood to leave.

  ‘What about all this?’ said Scapula, indicating Cassus’s appearance. ‘Don’t you want to assume your true persona?’

  ‘I don’t have the time,’ said Cassus, ‘I’ll just have to hope my fellow riders don’t mistake me for the enemy and place an arrow in my back. In the meantime, the cover may well suit my needs one more time.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘To administer a long overdue retribution,’ said Cassus, with a cold look in his eyes.

  Scapula paused and considered asking him the nature but decided to let it go. As long as Cassus carried out his task, Scapula had no interest in petty squabbles of lesser men.

  ‘Then leave as soon as you can,’ said Scapula. ‘You will have to ride like the wind to overtake Caratacus but the outcome of this campaign lies in your hands. Don’t let me down.’

  Cassus saluted, an act that felt strange in the guise of a Deceangli. He left the wooden building and an hour later he was riding north through the forests of the Dobunii along with a hundred and sixty scouts, hell bent on overtaking the army of Caratacus. Behind him he knew there were other patrols galloping in other directions to send word to Geta in the north and Vespasian in the south. They were to close in at double time with immediate effect and trap Caratacus between all three Legions. It was time to close the net.

  Chatper 19

  The Lands of the Cornovii

  50 AD

  Caratacus led his army across the plains of the Cornovii. Behind him, his warriors were spread out as far as the eye could see in case of attack. His mounted warriors covered his right flank to give warning of any unexpected assault from the Gemina but the longer the day went, the more confident Caratacus became.

  Before him he could see the ridge that split the plains in two, the place where he and his men would stay overnight. His scouts had already secured the two peaks and the local clan had been pre-warned to make the king welcome.

  As they approached the hills, a delegation from the local clan met them at a bridge across a fast-flowing river and gave him tribute of a pair of beautiful horses.

  ‘My lord, we are honoured you have chosen our lands to rest,’ said the old chief. ‘Our homes are your homes.’

  ‘We don’t need your lodges, old man,’ said Caratacus, ‘though would make use of these two hills and the fort upon the summit.’

  ‘Then they are yours, my lord,’ said the man, ‘and henceforth will be known as Caer Caradog in honour of your name.’

  Caratacus nodded and accepted the horses.

  ‘I am honoured,’ he said, ‘and your allegiance will be remembered.’ Without further ado, he rode off and headed up the steep slopes to the fort on the summit. Over the next few hours the rest of the army crossed the bridge and spread out over the two hills. The only defences were those around the small fort, so patrols were deployed further afield to prevent any sneak attacks. By the time everyone was over the bridge, night was almost upon them and his men spread out to get some much-needed rest.

  Up in the fort, Caratacus and his warlords made use of the few huts still standing and enjoyed the luxury of hot food from the fires of the locals. Overall it had been a successful campaign so far, with little attention from any enemy and they were on target to join with the Deceangli in days. Caratacus was exhausted and made his excuses before retiring to get some sleep in the corner of one of the huts. He knew that over the next few days there would be little chance to rest, let alone sleep.

  * * *

  Five miles to the North, Cassus and the two centuries of scouts sat waiting for night to fall. They had bypassed Caratacus’s army the previous night and had been on the forward slopes of the Wrekin hills, frantically preparing the subterfuge they hoped would gain Scapula the much-needed time to catch them up. One of the centurions came up to Cassus and stood beside him, looking across the plains to the hills where they had watched Caratacus go to ground earlier in the day.

  ‘He has got further than we thought,’ said the centurion.

  ‘He has,’ said Cassus, ‘but there is still hope. If we can fool him into staying there tomorrow, then at least two of the Legions can be here by daybreak the following day and if they can hold him until the Augusta arrive, we can close the trap.’

  ‘But he will have the advantage of the high ground,’ said the centurion.

  ‘But we will have three Legions,’ said Cassus. ‘There is no way he can hold out against such a force.’

  ‘So,’ said the centurion, ‘when do you want
us to start?’

  ‘Wait until midnight,’ said Cassus, ‘then tell the men to proceed as quickly as possible. We will have but one chance to get this right.’

  * * *

  Several hours later, a warrior on sentry duty stared in disbelief across the plain toward the Wrekin hills. At first, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but soon realised the seriousness of what he was witnessing. He sent a runner to the fort to wake Caratacus and ten minutes later, the king came to the lookout post, accompanied by two of his men.

  ‘What is so important that it drags me from my sleep?’ he asked. ‘Are we under attack?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ said the warrior, ‘but I thought you should see this.’ He pointed across the plain toward the Wrekin hills.

  Caratacus stared and as the realisation sunk in, his heart fell. In the distance, he could see hundreds of pinpricks of light, littering the forward slopes of the distant mountains. Though they were too far away to count, he knew that each was a campfire for resting men.

  ‘Where did they come from?’ he shouted. ‘Where are my scouts? Why wasn’t I warned about this?’

  ‘My lord, they only appeared over the last hour, so whoever they are must have arrived after dark. Our scouts wouldn’t have seen them.’

  ‘Who do you think they are?’ asked Gwydion.

  ‘Who knows?’ said Caratacus. ‘It could be Cornovii, Deceangli or even the damned Victrix.’

  ‘But they are in the north,’ said Gwydion, ‘over two days march from here.’

  ‘They could have turned south,’ said Caratacus. ‘Perhaps they got wind of our advance and decided to face us.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Gwydion. ‘The thing is, whoever they are, there seems to be more fires than stars on that hill. I don’t know much about the structure of the Legions but I have spent much time with Prydain and know their units are built around groups of eight men called Contubernia. If each unit has a fire, there are close to ten thousand men waiting for us across that valley.’