The Rise of Caratacus

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘If you refer to the armies you sent for, Caratacus,’ he shouted, ‘then they are not even aware we are here. Behold your messengers.’

  The rider emptied the sack on the ground and ten severed heads rolled in the dust.

  ‘You cannot win this, Caratacus,’ called Geta. ‘Show true kingship and enable your men to grow old in their lodges, telling tales of how they once faced a Legion. The decision is yours, Caratacus and the answer is simple, life or death.’

  Caratacus stared at the severed heads on the far bank. His mind raced at the implications, for if Geta was right, they were alone with no chance of reinforcements. If they had to face three Legions then there was indeed no hope, but Geta had made an error; he had let slip that the Legion opposite was still alone and their own reinforcements may still be far off. Caratacus was confident that should battle be joined between just the two forces then the outcome was not guaranteed and he may still win the day, but he could not afford to wait; time was not on his side.

  Quickly he gave an order over his shoulder, before turning once more to face Geta.

  ‘We do not fear your shiny army, Roman,’ he called, ‘and we welcome the chance to greet our ancestors. I have listened to your words and now deliver an answer to mirror my contempt.’ His hand moved slightly, giving a signal to a nearby archer and an arrow flew above the king’s head, piercing the air and heading straight for Geta’s heart.

  Across the river, Rufius reacted first and instinctively swung his shield forward to cover the Legate. The arrow thudded into the laminated wood, piercing through and sending a shower of splinters against Geta’s armour.

  ‘Treachery,’ shouted Rufius as he grabbed the Legate, and immediately hundreds of Roman archers replied with a barrage of their own, covering the four men as they galloped back to the lines. Across the river, the defending army crouched low and hid behind their shields, waiting patiently until the hail of death stopped. Finally they stood up and Caratacus stared after the retreating Legatus. The first success, albeit minor, belonged to Britannia but he knew the real fight was about to begin.

  Chatper 22

  Caer Caradog

  50 AD

  ‘Rufius, deploy all artillery immediately,’ shouted Geta. ‘Spread them across as wide a front as possible, yet out of reach of their archers. Empty every cart of missiles and pour fire upon them until we have nothing else to use. I want every Onager, Ballistae and Scorpio in the front line throwing a hail of death at these barbaric people and their king. I want every wall they have built demolished by midday, and I want to see rivers of blood running down the slopes of that hill before we assault.’

  ‘What about the engineers, my lord?’ asked Rufius. ‘We will need trees to form bridges.’

  ‘We have no time,’ said Geta, ‘the nearest trees large enough to span the river lay an hour away and we need to take this hill before nightfall.’

  ‘Why before nightfall?’ asked Rufius. ‘The enemy is trapped on the hill and are not going anywhere. We can wear them down throughout the day and launch an attack after dark.’

  ‘We can’t,’ said Geta, ‘the Silures hordes could be here at any time and without the swords of Scapula, we would be at their mercy.’

  ‘But I thought you intercepted his messengers,’ said Rufius.

  ‘We captured some,’ said Geta, ‘but five more escaped and will be well on their way to their allies.’

  ‘But I counted ten heads,’ said Rufius.

  ‘Five of their warriors,’ said Geta, ‘and five of our own slaves. It was necessary to cast doubt in the heart of Caratacus.’

  Rufius nodded in agreement, the death of five slaves to meet the needs of the Legion not even registering as an event on his military mind.

  ‘Consider it done,’ he said and turned to ride back to the first cohort.

  * * *

  Five miles away Legate Ostorius Scapula led his Legion out of the wood line and onto the plain. His Legion had been held up by marauding bands of cavalry and though they offered no serious threat to the Legion, they were a problem that had to be dealt with. Finally his scouts had run the last of them down and reported back to him.

  ‘My lord,’ said the Decurion, ‘the enemy are routed and the Gemina is free to advance.’

  ‘About time,’ growled Scapula, and mounted his horse.

  ‘My lord, there is something you should know,’ said the Decurion.

  ‘Spit it out,’ said Scapula.

  ‘There is black smoke above the hills, my lord. It would seem that Caratacus has been engaged.’

  ‘On whose command?’ screamed Scapula. ‘I gave explicit orders that he was not to be faced until we had all three Legions to hand.’

  ‘My men tell me it’s the Victrix, my lord,’ said the Decurion. ‘I am also informed that the Augusta is still two days march from here.’

  ‘That cursed Geta will pay for this,’ growled Scapula. ‘He puts an entire Legion at risk and if Claudius loses a Legion, I will be recalled to Rome before the first snow falls. Decurion, we have wasted too much time. Tell your men they will lead the vanguard across this plain and are responsible for ensuring there are no more hold ups. Use every weapon and man at your disposal to clear the way for your comrades. This Legion will march as they have never marched before. Bring me the Primus Pilus and then set out to clear a path and protect our flanks. Let’s hope we are not too late.’

  The Decurion turned and galloped away while a tribune gave the signal for an entire Legion to get to their feet.

  ‘March us out, Tribune,’ called Scapula, ‘the Victrix may need our help and are still three hours march away. Get us there in two.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ answered the Tribune and the trumpeters rang out the advance. The Fourteenth Gemina were on their way.

  * * *

  The two hills were ablaze from the fire pots launched from the Ballistae and clouds of black smoke swirled amongst the warriors, causing them to cough as the acrid fumes reached into their lungs and burnt their eyes. Huge swathes of bracken caught light and walls of fire leapt hungrily up the hill, causing warriors to flee their defensive positions like frightened hares, eagerly targeted by the Scorpio operators on the far bank.

  Boulders hurled from the Onagers smashed into defending walls built only hours earlier, and men screamed from crush injuries and lacerations caused by the thousands of mini shards from the shattering missiles. Defenders crouched low to avoid the maelstrom and though there were indeed many casualties, their number were few compared to the army’s overall strength.

  Geta watched the bombardment with satisfaction, assuming the enemy’s strength would be devastated by the assault and he ordered his auxiliary infantry cohorts to advance to the river’s edge.

  The wind was blowing from the Victrix toward the hill and Geta ordered dozens of fires to be built on his side of the river. When raging, green foliage was added and even more clouds of smoke encompassed the enemy positions, enabling his forces to approach the river unchallenged.

  ‘On my order,’ he screamed, ‘advance!’

  * * *

  Over a two-mile stretch, a thousand men climbed down the bank and waded toward the centre of the river, each determined to gain the far shore as quickly as possible. For a few moments their approach went unnoticed but suddenly disaster loomed and Geta watched in horror as the assault started to unravel.

  Many of the front rank faltered as the fast-flowing current beat against their bodies and tried to push them over. Unstable soldiers grabbed their comrades instinctively as they tried to stay upright and the ordered advancing line began to break up. The ranks behind added to the confusion as they pushed through the smoke, unaware of the problems to their front and the pressure from behind meant many of the front line stumbled and were washed downstream, crashing into their comrades and adding to the confusion in the river.

  The cries of panic alerted the defenders and hundreds of warriors ran forward, taking advantage of the gaps in the smoke to launch
their spears at the struggling men. Combined with the strong current, the slaughter of the front rank meant the situation descended into chaos and soldiers were stranded in the full view of the enemy, unable to advance or retreat.

  Up above Caratacus saw the confusion and, grasping the opportunity presented to him, sent more spear throwers to the water’s edge. Geta’s cohorts were in disarray and were cut down mercilessly. Some managed to reach the far shore but Caratacus’s men were waiting, cutting them down as they climbed the banks. As the smoke cleared the Roman officers spotted the threat and realising the assault had failed, ordered the retreat; surprise had been lost.

  Archers hurried forward to give covering fire and the opposing warriors retreated to their defences under a hail of arrows.

  ‘Help them out,’ screamed Rufius, and the reserve Legionaries still in their cohorts broke ranks to run forward and haul the survivors from the river. Hundreds of dead bodies floated downstream, many amidst slicks of their own blood and mingling with the struggling wounded without the strength to swim back. Some of those still able managed to crawl to the far bank only to be picked off by the enemy, but many more managed to hide amongst the reeds at the water’s edge, unable to make it back but stranded on the enemy side of the river.

  For the next hour they expended time and effort saving those they could but by the time they had rescued everyone possible, they could see that hundreds more were stranded on the far side, many of them wounded.

  Geta was shocked. Not only had his very first assault been totally devastated but it had left him with an impossible problem. Hundreds of his men were stranded on the far side and though the enemy were being kept back by the Legion’s archers, when night fell, he knew Caratacus’s men would trawl along the riverbank picking them off with ease.

  He paced back and forth, turning the problem over and over in his mind. If he sent over any more of the Legion to help them, the same thing could happen, yet if he left them there, it would have a terrible demoralising effect on his Legion and besides, every man under his command had trained together and had vowed never to abandon a comrade in need. This was bordering on a disaster yet had been entirely unforeseen. Nobody had judged the river’s current correctly and it had been a terrible lesson costing the lives of hundreds.

  In the distance he heard the sound of a Cornicine and a rider galloped up, coming to a halt before him.

  ‘My lord, a Legion approaches,’ he called, ‘it looks like it’s the Gemina.’

  ‘Shit,’ cursed Geta under his breath. Despite his need for more men, the last thing he needed was another Legatus witnessing his failure.

  ‘Maintain the archers on station,’ he ordered, ‘and form up the ranks. This is but a setback and we are still Romans. Ensure we greet Scapula as befits a governor.’

  Geta sent a slave for his horse and tidied up his uniform before riding out to meet Scapula. Ten minutes later, the two men rode side by side toward the mountain. As they approached, Geta filled him in on the disastrous events of the day and Scapula looked on with concern as they passed the hundreds of wounded auxiliaries now being tended by their bedraggled comrades and medical orderlies.

  Scapula ordered his army to halt while he rode forward with Geta to survey the battlefield. They rode close to the river yet remained out of range of the enemy bows.

  ‘Why wasn’t this river taken into consideration?’ asked Scapula, looking at the fast-flowing water before him.

  ‘It was,’ said Geta, ‘and was deemed crossable but the heavy rain in the far mountains increased the flow. There are fordable points but they are few and narrow.’

  ‘Why weren’t these used?’

  ‘They provide bottlenecks that are easily defended and I judged the cost would be too high. We had no idea where you were and there is a risk that the king may receive reinforcements at any moment. We have to take these hills as soon as possible or this whole thing may explode into something we can’t handle.’

  Scapula nodded but did not comment. They rode together for a mile or so up the riverbank, all the while being jeered by the enemy on the far bank and subject to hails of arrows that fell far short of their targets. Finally, Scapula had seen enough and they turned to return downstream.

  ‘Geta, the outcome of this assault is indeed unfortunate and a conversation needs to be had but now is not the time. What is the mettle of your men?’

  ‘They froth at the mouth for retribution, my lord,’ said Geta.

  ‘Then retribution is what they shall have,’ said Scapula and kicked his horse to gallop back to the command post, closely followed by Geta. They summoned the Tribunes of the Victrix as well as the senior centurions for a briefing and when everyone was present, they stood in a wide circle as Scapula outlined his plan.

  ‘Men of the Victrix,’ he said, ‘today you have suffered a setback but it is no defeat. In battle, both sides suffer losses; it is the nature of the beast. This Caratacus has selected his positions well and our machines are all but useless against mountainous slopes. Legatus Geta read the situation well and I concur with his actions. The fact that the river had risen was unforeseen and it is a formidable barrier to equal the strongest palisade. With time, we would cross it on a hundred bridges but time is something we do not have. What we do have is men, horses and a discipline these barbarians have never seen. I promise you that before this day is out, there will be ten thousand Legionaries on that far bank, and many more to either side. By nightfall this hill will be red with barbarian blood and our fallen will be avenged.’

  The assembled officers shouted their approval and Scapula allowed them to continue. For this to succeed, he needed every man’s complete approval including the officers and ordinary men. Finally the noise subsided and he spoke again.

  ‘The plan is this,’ he said, and stepped out into the centre of the circle of men. He drew his Gladius and scratched a snakelike line in the dust.

  ‘This is the river,’ he said, ‘and these are the two hills. A mile upstream, there is a narrow ford, able to take two riders abreast, however it is heavily defended. The Gemina will concentrate all their artillery on these defences and at a signal, a cohort of cavalry will gallop at full speed across the ford and smash into whatever remains of their strength.’

  ‘My lord, cavalry are no use on the steep slopes,’ said a voice.

  ‘I know,’ said Scapula, ‘but their purpose is to gain time for the auxiliary cohorts of the Gemina to cross in strength behind them. At the same time, every archer from both Legions will assemble here and here.’ He indicated two points further downstream on the map. ‘These two points are two hundred paces apart and will be the main thrust of the assault. It is here that the Victrix will lead the assault across the river and into the heart of the enemy.’

  ‘That is where we lost a lot of men this morning,’ said one of the Tribunes.

  ‘I am aware of that,’ said Scapula, ‘but the slopes beyond still present the best route for an assault on the hill. The main problem is the force of the current so we will take that problem away.’

  ‘How?’ asked Geta.

  ‘With our cavalry,’ said Scapula. ‘We will place a hundred horses across the river both upstream and downstream of the crossing point, covered by archers. The size and strength of the horses will withstand the flow and disrupt the current enough for our men to get across without being washed away. However, it is important that the men at the front know this. If they lose their footing, they are not to try and fight it but allow the current to take them. If they struggle, they will affect those behind and the advance will falter. For those that do lose their footing, the cavalry downstream will pluck them from the water as they pass.’

  The officers nodded in appreciation. It was an effective use of resources and a way of getting the main force across as quickly as possible.

  ‘I won’t insult you by explaining what protective measures you need to take once across,’ said Scapula, ‘that is your job. The initial landing on the far side w
ill be the most dangerous but once there, I see no reason why we can’t mop this up by night fall. Now, are there any questions? No? Good, make your preparations, we move immediately.’

  The officers and centurions dispersed to their units and Scapula rode to brief his Legion. Rufius walked over to Geta.

  ‘My lord, I would have word.’

  ‘Speak,’ said Geta.

  ‘My lord, despite his fine words, I detect a cynicism in his voice about the ability of our men and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.’

  ‘You noticed too?’ said Geta.

  ‘I did and I would request the opportunity to prove the governor wrong.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By allowing me to lead the assault with the first cohort,’ said Rufius.

  ‘Rufius,’ said Geta, ‘this is no ordinary battle. Out on the field the first cohort will always lead us into the fray, but they are my most valuable men and despite the plan of Scapula, I fear they could suffer the same fate as the men this morning.’

  ‘My men are veterans, my lord, and have a discipline of iron. Give me this opportunity and not only will we secure the far bank, but will wipe out any threat to those following behind.’

  Geta thought for a moment before nodding.

  ‘So be it,’ he said. ‘Pass the word.’

  The next hour flew by as everyone found their places, and gradually the commotion died down as the Legions faced the two hills Caratacus had chosen to defend. Siege engines were primed, ready for covering fire, quivers were packed with arrows ready to pick off defenders and slingers were deployed within the foliage of the riverbank. Riders talked quietly to their horses, anticipating the frenzy of battle they knew was imminent. To the front of them all, Rufius stood alone before his cohort of veterans, waiting for the command to come.

  * * *

  Across the river, Caratacus and his warlords had seen the deployment and knew a big push was coming. Frantically they strode between their men, encouraging each group to fight to the last and reminding them for every man who fell, ten thousand would live in freedom. Skins of ale and wine were handed from man to man adding fuel to the growing confidence. In contrast to the silence of the Romans, the hill was a wall of sound with every man screaming their defiance at the enemy across the river.