The hill forts stretched in a straggling line across the land, each one a solid construction of wood and stone that held the crest of sharply rising land. A river marked on his maps as the ‘Sturr’ ran below them and Julius sent out his water-carriers to begin the lengthy process of refilling the legion supplies. They were not yet in need, but Gaul had taught him never to spurn an opportunity to collect water or food. His maps ended at the river and for all he knew, it might be the last source of fresh water until they reached the Tamesis, the ‘dark river’ sixty miles from the coast. If it even existed.
Julius summoned Brutus and Octavian and detached a cohort of his veteran Tenth to approach the forts. As he gave his orders, Julius saw the powerful figure of Ciro march through the ranks to him. Julius grinned at the big man’s worried expression and answered his question before it could be asked.
‘Very well, Ciro. Join us,’ he called.
Julius watched as relief flooded the features of the giant soldier. Ciro’s loyalty could still touch him. The armour of the Tenth gleamed painfully as Julius looked them over and again he felt himself filled with a powerful excitement. At any moment, the armies of the Britons might appear to strike at them, but there was nothing out of place in the perfect ranks and files. The legions were ready and something of Julius’ own confidence showed in their faces.
In the pure, clean air, Julius heard birds call far above him as he rode slowly up the slope to the largest of the forts. He began listing the defences and planning how to break them if the occupants would not surrender. The walls were well constructed and any attacking force would have to face a barrage of missiles from above as they stormed the gate. Julius imagined the dimensions of the battering ram that would be necessary to breach such heavy timbers and the answer did not please him. He saw dark heads outlined on the high walls and sat straighter in the saddle, aware that he was being observed and judged.
Inside the fort, there were shouts and horn notes blaring. Julius stiffened as the main gates were heaved open. The lines of triarii ahead of him drew their swords without an order as each one of them expected a charge to come screaming out at them. It was what Julius would have done had he been on the hill and he clenched his fists on the reins as the dark interior of the fort was revealed.
No warriors came surging out. Instead, a small group of men stood in its shadow and one of them raised an arm in greeting. Julius ordered the cohort to sheathe their swords to defuse some of the tension. Octavian moved his horse a pace ahead of Julius and looked back at his general.
‘Let me take a fifty inside first, sir. If it’s a trap, we’ll make them show themselves.’
Julius looked at his younger relative with affection, seeing no sign of fear or hesitation in the man’s calm eyes. If it was a trap, those who entered the fort first would be killed and Julius was pleased that one of his blood should show such bravery in front of the men.
‘Very well, Octavian. Enter and hold the gate for me,’ he replied, smiling.
Octavian snapped out orders to the front five ranks and they broke into a run up the last part of the hill. Julius watched the reactions of the Britons and was disappointed to see them stand their ground without a sign of fear.
Octavian kicked his mount into a canter to pass under the gate and Julius could see his armour shining in the main yard as he wheeled and rode back. By the time Julius had brought the rest of the cohort up, Octavian had dismounted and a quick exchange of glances was enough for Julius to grin. It had been an unnecessary caution, but Julius had learned about risk in Gaul. There were times when there was nothing else to do but charge and hope, but those were rare. Julius had found that the more he thought and planned, the fewer were those occasions when he had to depend on the sheer strength and discipline of his men.
Julius dismounted under the shadow line of the gate. The men who waited for him were mostly strangers, but he saw Commius there and embraced him. It was a purely formal gesture for the benefit of the warriors who watched in the fort. Perhaps both men knew that only the size of the Roman army forced the apparent friendship on them, but it did not matter.
‘I’m glad to see you here, Commius,’ Julius said. ‘My scouts thought this was still the land of the Trinovantes, but were not sure.’ He spoke quickly and fluently, making Commius raise his eyebrows in surprise. Julius smiled as if it were nothing and continued.
‘Who are these others?’
Commius introduced the leaders of the tribes and Julius greeted them all, memorizing their names and faces and thoroughly enjoying their discomfort.
‘You are welcome in Trinovantes land,’ Commius said at last. ‘If your men will wait, I will have food and drink brought. Will you step inside?’
Julius looked closely at the man and wondered if Octavian’s suspicions could yet become reality. He sensed he was being tested and finally threw off his caution.
‘Octavian, Brutus … Ciro, with me. Show me the way, Commius, and leave the gates open, if you don’t mind. It is too hot a day to shut out the breeze.’
Commius looked coldly at him and Julius smiled. The centurion Regulus was there and Julius spoke to him last before following the Britons inside.
‘Wait a single watch for me to return. You know what must be done if I am not seen by then.’
Regulus nodded grimly and Julius saw the words were not wasted on Commius as his expression hardened.
The fort seemed larger than it had on the track up the hill. With the other Britons, Commius led the four Romans through the yard and Julius did not look up as he heard the shuffling feet of Trinovantes warriors craning to see them. He would not honour them by showing he heard, though Ciro bristled as he glanced at the upper levels.
Commius led them all into a long, low room constructed of heavy honey-coloured beams. Julius looked around him at the spears and swords that adorned the walls and knew he was in Commius’ council chamber. A table and benches showed where Commius sat with his people and at the far end was a shrine and a thread of silver smoke that lifted past a stone face set in the wall.
Commius took his seat at the head of the table and Julius moved to the far end without a thought. It was natural enough for the Romans to take one side and the Britons the other, and when they were seated Julius waited patiently for Commius to speak. The sense of danger had lifted. Commius knew as well as anyone that the legions outside would trample the forts into ash and blood if Julius did not come out and Julius was sure the threat would prevent any attempt to hold or kill him. If it did not, he thought the Britons would be surprised at the savagery that would follow. Brutus and Octavian alone were so far from common swordsmen that their speed and skill seemed almost magical, while a single blow from Ciro could snap the neck of all but the strongest men.
Commius cleared his throat.
‘The Trinovantes have not forgotten the alliance of last year. The Cenimagni, Ancalites, Bibroci and Segontiaci have agreed to respect that peace. Will you honour your word?’
‘I will,’ Julius replied. ‘If these men will declare themselves my allies, I will not trouble them past the taking of hostages and a level of tribute. The other tribes will see they have nothing to fear from me if they are civilised. You will be my example to them.’
As he spoke, Julius glanced around the table, but the Britons gave nothing away. Commius looked relieved and Julius settled back into his seat for the negotiations.
When Julius finally came out again, the Britons gathered along the high walls of the fort to see him go, the tension clear on their pale faces. Regulus watched closely as his general raised an arm in salute. The cohort turned in place and began the march down the hill to the waiting legions. From that height, the extent of the invasion force could be seen and Regulus smiled at the thought of every battle going as easily.
As the cohort was absorbed back into the main body of men, Julius sent a rider to fetch Mark Antony to him. It took an hour for the general to arrive and Julius strode through the silent, waiting lines of
soldiers to greet him.
‘I am going north, but I cannot leave these forts at my back,’ Julius said as Mark Antony dismounted and saluted. ‘You will stay here with your legion and accept the hostages they send. You will not provoke them into battle, but if they arm, you will destroy them utterly. Do you understand my orders?’
Mark Antony glanced up at the forts that loomed over their position. The breeze seemed to be increasing in strength and he shivered suddenly. It was not an easy task, but he could do no more than salute.
‘I understand, sir.’
Mark Antony watched as the great legions of his homeland moved off with a tramp and thunder that shook the ground. The breeze continued to strengthen and dark clouds swept in from the west. By the time the first walls of the camp were going up, a driving rain had begun to turn the earth into heavy clay. As he saw his tent being assembled, Mark Antony wondered how long he would be left to guard the allies in their dry, warm forts.
That night, a summer storm struck the coast. Forty of the Roman galleys had their oars and masts torn out and were driven onto the cliffs and smashed. Many more lost their anchors and were driven out to sea, tossed and battered in the darkness. The sheer number of them made it a night of terror, with the desperate crews hanging out over the sides with poles to fend away the others before they were crushed.
Hundreds lost their lives in collision or drowning and as the wind softened once more just before dawn, it was a bedraggled fleet that limped its way back to the shingle beach. Those who had seen the bloody savagery of the first landings moaned in terror as they saw a dark crust of bodies and wood along the shore.
With dawn, the remaining officers began to restore order. Galleys were lashed together and the metal spars of siege machines were dropped as makeshift anchors to hold them. Scores of landing boats had been ripped overboard, but those that survived spent the morning travelling from ship to ship, sharing the supplies of fresh water and tools. The dark holds of three galleys were filled with the wounded and their cries could be heard over the wind.
When they had eaten and the Roman captains had discussed the position, some voted for an immediate return to Gaul. Those who knew Julius well refused to listen to the idea and would not put a single oar in water until they had his orders. In the face of their resistance, messengers for Julius were sent ashore and the fleet waited.
Mark Antony received them first as they came inland. The great force of the gales had been lost a few miles from the coast and he had experienced no more than a bad storm, though flickering lightning had woken him from sleep more than once. He read the damage reports in dawning horror, before he mastered his spinning thoughts. Julius had not foreseen another storm to damage the fleet, but if he had been there, he would have given the same order. The galleys could not be left exposed to be hammered into driftwood over the course of the campaign.
Mark Antony opened his mouth to order a return to Gaul, but the thought of Julius’ fury prevented the words.
‘I have five thousand men here,’ he said, an idea forming. ‘With ropes and teams, we could bring the galleys in one by one and build an inland port for them. I hardly felt the storm, but we would not need to go so far from the coast. Half a mile and a wall to protect them would keep the fleet safe and ready for when Caesar returns.’
The messengers looked blankly at him.
‘Sir, there are hundreds of ships. Even if we brought the slave crews out as labour, it would take months to move so many.’
Mark Antony smiled tightly.
‘The slave crews will be responsible for their own ships. We have ropes and men to do it. I would think two weeks would be enough and after that, the storms can blow as they will.’
The Roman general ushered the seamen out of his tent and summoned his officers. He could not help but wonder if anyone had ever attempted such a thing before. He had never heard of it, though any port had one or two hulks out of water. Surely this was just an extension of the same task? With that thought, his doubts faded away as he lost himself in calculation. By the time his officers were ready to be briefed, Mark Antony had a string of orders for them.
CHAPTER FORTY
The resemblance to the Gauls was striking as Julius ordered his legions into the attack. The British tribes of the interior did not affect the blue skin, but they shared some of the ancient names Julius had first heard in Gaul. His scouts had reported a tribe calling themselves the Belgae in the west, perhaps from the very same line he had destroyed across the sea.
A long crest of hills formed a ridge over the land that the legions climbed in the face of arrows and spears. The Roman shields were proof against them and the advance was inexorable. The legions had sweated to pull the heavy ballistae up the hills, but they had proved their worth as the Britons tried to hold the plateau and were taught respect for the great machines. They had nothing to match the sheer power of the scorpion bows and their charges were shattered in disarray as the legions moved on to the slopes beyond. Julius had known that part of their advantage lay in speed across open land and the tribes gathered under Cassivellaunus fell back as each position was taken and the Roman lines moved on.
Despite the resistance, Julius could not escape the suspicion that the tribes were drawing them in to a place of their choosing. All he could do was maintain the pace, always on the edge of routing them. He had the extraordinarii harry the retreating enemy in darting raids under Octavian and Brutus. The ground the legions walked was littered with spent spears and arrows, but few had found flesh and the advance did not falter during the long days.
Twice on the second morning, they were attacked in the flank by men left behind by the main British force. The maniples had not panicked as they held them back and the extraordinarii had charged them down as they had been trained, smashing through the desperate tribesmen at full speed.
At night, Julius had the cornicens sound for camps to be built and the baggage trains brought up food and water for the men. The nights were harder as the tribes kept up a din of shouting that made sleep almost impossible. The extraordinarii rode shifts around the camps to repel attacks and more of them fell in darkness from unseen arrows than at any other time. Yet even in that hostile land, the routines continued. The metalworkers repaired weapons and shields and the doctors did their best with those who had taken wounds. Julius was thankful for those Cabera had trained, though he missed the presence of his old friend. The illness that had struck him after healing Domitius was a terrible thing, a thief that stole away his mind in subtle stages. Cabera had not been well enough to make the second crossing and Julius only hoped he would live long enough to see them all return.
Julius had thought at first that he would crush the tribes against the river as he had done years before with the Suebi, against the Rhine. But the King of the Catuvellauni had fired the bridges before the legions could reach them and then spent the days reinforcing his army with warriors from all the surrounding regions.
Under heavy arrow fire from the opposite bank, Julius had sent scouts to find a place for fording, but only one looked suitable for the legions and even then, he was forced to leave behind the heavy weapons that had crushed the first attacks of the Britons and begun their long retreat.
Reluctantly, Julius arranged his ballistae, onagers and scorpion bows all along the bank to cover the attack. It occurred to him then that the best of tactics could be defeated by difficult terrain. His legions formed a column as wide as the flags his scouts had jammed in the soft mud of the Tamesis, marking the drop into deeper water. There could be no subterfuge in such a place. A barrage from the ballistae set the range across the river and gave the legions a clear landing ground of almost a hundred feet. After that, the head of the column would be engulfed by the Britons. The tribesmen had all the advantages and Julius knew that would be the turning point in the battle. If his men stalled on the opposite bank, the rest of the legions would not be able to cross. Everything they had gained from the coast could be wasted.
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br /> There was something eerie in preparing for war with the enemy so close yet unable to do more than watch. Julius could hear his officers bark out orders as the lines and files formed and in the distance he could hear echoes of similar shouts. He looked over the dark Tamesis and sent runners to his generals as he noted different aspects of the ground and the formations of the Britons. They looked confident enough as they hooted at the Romans and Julius saw a group of them bare their buttocks and slap them in his direction, to the general merriment of their friends.
He understood their confidence and felt nervous sweat drip into his eyes as he gave orders. The legions would be vulnerable to bow fire and spears as they crossed the river and the death toll would be high. Julius had sent scouts up and down the Tamesis to look for other fords he could use to land flanking forces, but if they existed, they were too far away to make it worthwhile. Even the best generals were forced on occasion to rely on the skill and sheer ferocity of the men they led.
Julius would not be amongst the first to cross. Octavian had volunteered to lead the extraordinarii over, with the Tenth close behind. The young Roman would be lucky to survive the charge, but Julius had given way to him, knowing it had to be his choice. The Tenth would smash their way in behind the cavalry and establish a clear area for the others to follow on their heels. Julius would come in with the Third Gallica and Brutus, with Domitius following them over.
The sun was clear in the sky as Julius pulled on his full-face helmet, turning the cold iron features towards the Catuvellauni. He raised his sword and some of them saw the gesture, beckoning him on.
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 130
