Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 02] The Horsewarriors

by Griff Hosker

  Maeve, Fainch and Aed stood on a small knoll overlooking the field. There were two kings from the Caledonii with them and they were all unhappy about the battle. “Aed, your men where are they?”

  “They obeyed orders sire. The first cavalry were led off by my men who appeared to retreat then Fachnan did as we ordered he charged the lines. It is just unfortunate that he did not manage to break through.”

  “It does not matter for the Novontae and Pictii will soon overwhelm their men at the back and nothing can stand in their way. They will attack those legions in the rear.”

  “Those legions are killing my men like reapers in a corn field. Can nothing stop them?” The two kings of the Caledonii looked at each other. This was the first time they had seen the Roman war machine. When they had first seen the pitifully small numbers of Romans and the huge army of tribesmen they thought the battle would be over in the blink of an eye and then they had to watch the warriors slaughtered by artillery and missiles. Whatever the outcome of this battle, and both men were already planning their escape and that of their men, they would have to find some other way to defeat the Romans.

  Furius Strabo looked around at his depleted command. His men had done well but all their javelins had been thrown and the ditches were now filled with barbarian bodies. The weight of the enemy had been upon the centre camps and it was here that the most casualties had fallen. Having begun the day with two hundred men in each camp, the two centre ones had less than one hundred and fifty. It mattered not if the two outer ones held, if the centre fell then it would be as a dam breaking and the flood would be a bloody and vengeful wall of weapons wielded by wild warriors. “Hold. We cannot let our brothers down. If we fall it means the end of the legions and the end of our Batavian comrades!” The appeal to their loyalty lifted their spirits and they fought with renewed energy forcing those who were next to the palisade back.

  Marcus saw the parlous state the defences were in. The camps in the middle were almost over-run. The problem was that the ditches made it hard for his men to use their horses. He made a decision; Metellus, Agrippa and Cato keep your turmae harassing them with missile fire. The rest of you dismount. Horse holders take the horses away from the fight. Follow me.”

  Shouting for the Batavians to open the west gate Marcus led his men into the centre camps closer to the river. The other beleaguered camp was looking stronger and Marcus could see why, Furius Strabo was laying about him with an axe to great effect, obviously taken from a barbarian. “Macro take your turma. Kill any who are in the camp; I want it emptied of Brigante. The rest of you to the walls and stop any more warriors coming over!”

  His men need no urging. All the training on foot with Macro and Agrippa in the gyrus at Derventio had paid dividends. They were just as confident on foot as mounted. They had muscles more powerful than their opponents and the tricks given to them gave them an edge over men who only fought for half the year and farmed the rest. The auxilia were professionals. Macro, especially, was in his element and none could stand before him. He used his shield as an extension of his mighty fist and he knocked unconscious the first warrior who he met. He did not even pause and took a second in the throat. Around him his turma were inspired and began chanting Macro as they fell upon the hapless warriors caught in the middle of the camp. In the time it took for the rest of the ala to stand behind the palisade all those who had managed to get inside the fence were dead. The reinforcements brought dismay to the attackers who went from almost certain victory to ejection from the camp they had so nearly captured. Marcus turned to the nearest centurion who was heavily bandaged about the head. “How many men have you left?”

  “Couldn’t say exactly but no more than thirty.”

  “Then we have doubled your defenders.”He shouted above the clash of arms. “Pannonians find any javelins and spears you can let us take the fight to them.” His men looked around and quickly found missile weapons either thrown by the barbarians or dropped from the dead hands of defenders. The barbarians faltered in face of the renewed attack. Soon Cato’s archers began to rain arrows down on them. Marcus shouted to his men, “Drive them from the palisade!” His troopers pushed with their shields and hacked down with their swords. Many of their enemies lacked shield and their fresh energy drove them back as they could not face the relentless wall of blades. As soon as they moved from the walls they became a target for the archers and so a gap of forty paces was cleared around the camp. For the moment the attack was stalled as the war chiefs rallied men and brought in fresh troops.

  Marcus turned to his Cornicen. “Sound recall.”The man looked at him as though deranged. “Just do it.”

  The three turmae who had been harassing the warriors suddenly rode into the camp. “Sir?”

  “I know Agrippa you think me mad. But listen we cannot charge across ditches but in front of this gate and palisade there is no ditch for it is filled with bodies. All we need to do is to get a little breathing space and hope the legions can win this battle quickly.” The horse holders arrived. “Pannonians, mount!” The Batavian centurion looked aghast. “Do not worry. We are not deserting you; we are going to charge them.” He pointed at the barbarians. “Open the gate!”

  Superbly trained the column of twos following Marcus leapt the ditch and formed swiftly into two lines. The barbarians stood shocked. They had gone from attack to defence. What was worse was that they were in open formation. To the auxiliaries it was almost like target practice. “Charge!”

  Furius Strabo looked on in admiration as the pitifully small group of cavalry charged forward at what seemed to be a fast walk. His friend was doing all he could to stop the enemy from turning the tide of battle and Strabo was in no doubt, if they held, then the legions would win. The cavalry struck and stalled, the prefect could see that the enemy had surrounded the cavalry who had turned their mounts outward to create a defensive circle. The Pannonians were going to die buying their comrades the time they needed to win the battle. He made a decision, turning to his Cornicen he shouted, “Sound form up! “ The man look confused. “Just do it!” he had seen that the attacks on the camps had stopped as the barbarians took their revenge on the cavalry who had thwarted their attack. “Sound the charge!” The five hundred men moved forward at double time which still enabled them to keep their cohesion. They were not pristine, smart legionaries for most were wounded and many had lost shields and pieces of armour but the prefect was proud of them nonetheless. They might not survive the battle but their sacrifice could win the battle for the Romans.

  The barbarians whose backs were to the Batavians knew nothing of their impending doom. They were so engrossed in getting to these horse warriors that they assumed the movement behind was that of comrades. They were soon disillusioned as the Batavians carved their way through the vulnerable backs of warriors. In the press in the middle Marcus and his decurions were frantically moving around the shrinking circle of death to plug the gaps as men and horses fell.

  Out of the blue Decius shouted, “The Batavians they are attacking! Push forward.” Marcus and the other decurions took heart and repeated the order. It was like a stone beginning an avalanche. The barbarians suddenly found enemies all around them and they began to fall back. Some of the Novontae looked at the Pannonians and remembered the stories of the slaughter they had inflicted last year on a raiding war band. For many it was enough and they began to trickle away. As comrades saw them the trickle became a flood and soon the spent horsemen and weary infantry found themselves left with the dead and dying. The enemy had fled. Decius turned to Marcus, “There’s still more of them than us. Why did they run?”

  “Because we wouldn’t give in and we wanted this more than they did. We were fighting for each other; they were fighting for someone they didn’t know. That is why we will conquer this province Decius; they may have more men but we have better men. Had they been Carvetii or Brigante they might have stood longer but these warriors will just go home. We’ll have to beat these another day.” A
heaving Prefect Furius Strabo, bleeding from minor wounds pushed his way towards Marcus, his arm outstretched. “Well Prefect Strabo I think honours are even.”

  Strabo shook his head, “No my friend we are still very much in your debt. I thought we were insane but that was the maddest charge I have ever seen!” He turned to look towards the sea where the battle still raged. “I wonder how our friends are doing.”

  Over at the main battle the solid line of legionaries was grinding forward. “Come on men we are nearly there. “Cerialis was actually enjoying himself. He had dismounted from his wounded horse and was just behind the front rank. He turned to the nervous aide who felt that they should be much further back. “Ask Prefect Sura to move the remaining bolt throwers to our right flank and see if we can discourage them a little more.” Gratefully the aide ran off eager to be away from the barbarians. Looking over at his fellow general the Governor saw that Agricola’s men were doing just as well as his. They were not moving at a fast speed but the two legions were inexorably driving the barbarians back and the further back they went the nearer they were to a hostile sea and a wide, deep river. The tribes still outnumbered the Romans but the battlefield meant they could not bring all those numbers to bear.

  On the knoll the two Caledonii had left. Only Fainch had noted their departure. She glanced over her shoulder to the small fishing boat pulled up on the beach; should things go awry she had her escape planned. When Maeve and Aed did notice the missing warriors it was because the Caledonii warriors were funnelling and fleeing through a small gap on their left flank. Had they been more aggressive they might have tried to turn the Romans but they knew the battle was over and were bent on escaping across the river on the crude rafts moored on the south bank by the Novontae who had used them. Those same Novontae were now fleeing east to find the nearest ford. They could have walked for Marcus and his men were in no state to pursue.

  Quintus Cerialis saw the departing tribesmen and knew the battle would soon be over. He had two cohorts in reserve and now was the time to use them. He turned to his aide who was already out of breath having delivered his message to Marcus. “I want the reserves to attack on the right flank immediately. Let us end this battle now.” The man sped off his horse already flecked with sweat and saliva. Julius push harder they are breaking.” Without lifting his head Agricola nodded and continued to hack at the enemy warriors who were being slaughtered with ease.

  Many miles to the south the prefect finally ordered the recall. He was exhilarated. He had chased, harried and killed many of the mailed cavalry spoken about in such reverential terms. They had proved to be an insignificant and unworthy foe. He could not believe they had run so easily. If all the enemy were like this in Britannia then his ala alone could destroy them and conquer all of the province. He would only need legions for forts! As his turmae returned he noticed with some pleasure but a stoic face, that both his sons had survived; indeed he could not see any casualties amongst his decurions. They had lost minimal numbers of troopers and that was mainly because they had tripped in the woods or fallen in the difficult terrain. He made a mental note to increase the riding training. It had been the most successful day of the Demetrius family. They had won honour at last; he would be bound to receive a crown. He had his route right back to Rome, he would return a conquering hero.

  “Well boys how was your first battle?”

  “Wonderful! It is a pity there were not more of them,” Fabius had a grin from ear to ear.

  “They seemed very eager to flee father, perhaps we should have returned to the battle. They were running not fighting.”

  “Nonsense Julius. Our task was to eliminate their cavalry and we did. And they only ran because we were so good. You must learn to be as your brother, be less modest. You have done well, you have both done well. You should be proud.”

  Quintus Saenius rode up, “Not all of them ran sir. There seemed to me to be more left on the battlefield than ran.”

  “Ridiculous decurion. There may have been a few isolated groups left on the field but I am sure the other ala dealt with them. Right let us go back and celebrate our victory.” He turned to Fabius. “I will stay with the ala you ride on and inform the Governor of our great victory.”

  Aed was becoming nervous. The Romans were on the point of breaking through. He turned to Fainch. “All is lost.”

  If he expected her to disagree with him he was wrong, she took him to one side, the King still viewing with increasing dismay his diminishing forces. “Take your bodyguard and return to the land of the lakes. Your men can act as a magnet for the survivors of this battle. You are right the battle is lost but we have not lost the war. Leave the king now for he will die on this field and that will leave you as the only legitimate ruler of the Brigante. There will be other survivors and they will come to you”

  “And you?”

  “I will return to Mona and join my sisters. Now that the rebellion has started we can cause more mischief from there.”

  “But how will you get there?”

  She pointed to the waiting fishing boat bobbing in the surf. “Now go!” She turned to the king. “There is one more chance oh mighty king. If you and your bodyguard attack now it will give the men hope and you still have enough men to defeat them. Your men have killed many Romans and you still outnumber them.”

  He did not look convinced. “Do you really think we can still win?”

  “I know so and I can see it; it is written in the earth.”

  He looked around anxiously and saw Aed and his men heading south. “Where is Aed going?”

  “I have sent him to attack the Romans on this side. He will die so that you and your bodyguard can gain a glorious victory.”

  “I will reward him when we are victorious. Come men. The King goes to war.” With a roar the bodyguard and oathsworn charged forward. His men heard the roar and took heart, perhaps they could still win. Men who had been on the brink of surrender or flight stood their ground and faced these relentless Romans.

  For the Romans the gesture was like taking a beaker to put out a forest fire. They were not going to be stopped. The first centuries of the two legions were determined they would have the victory. They saw the standard of the King of the Brigante and the two centuries renewed their efforts. The men they were fighting were exhausted and in no condition to fight the ruthless killing machine. They fell even faster until the legionaries came face to face with the bodyguard of the King. These men were fresh and these men were oathsworn. They would never run.

  Pontius Glabrio, the first spear of the Twentieth picked out the biggest warrior he could see. He was a huge man with a conical helmet, a war axe and a round shield. His upper body was naked but for the torque and the spirals of silver hanging from his braids. His body was painted and tattooed. Shouting in bad Latin he roared at the centurion, “You die today Roman!” The men behind, pushing to get into the battle looked on in eager anticipation. Craiftin was, as his name suggested, like a fox and very cunning. The contest was an anti-climax but it sucked the heart out of the others for Glabrio punched the man in the stomach with the boss of his scutum and as he reeled forward, winded he sliced across the big warrior’s throat with his razor sharp sword. Until he fought this warrior he had only used the point and the edge was not dulled. The warrior was dead before he hit the ground. The legionaries charged forward and the Brigante fell further back.

  Not to be outdone Rufius Vetus, first spear of the Ninth, began to hack his way towards the king. By now the bodyguards were losing heart; Craiftin was the best that they had and he had been despatched so easily that they knew they could not win. They were still fighting but they did not believe they could win; they were fighting because they had sworn to do so. The last few before the king fell quickly until Rufius stood facing the king. He looked every bit a king; he was totally encased in polished and silvered armour with a fine helmet embossed with gold. His breastplate gleamed with gold and silver and the sword he wielded was decorated with jewel
s. The King kept his shield up and smashed his blade down on Rufius’ scutum. The blow was hard but all the training over the years had made the centurion’s arm like an oaken branch. Heaving forward on his shield the centurion pushed hard and the king toppled over like a tortoise. Had it not been a battle, had it not been momentous, had it not been a pivotal moment it might have been laughable. He did not have any time to get back up nor the strength. The centurion sliced into the abdomen of the king and then moved on to the next man.

  Fainch was on the boat when the king received his wound. Her plan had not totally succeeded but she had achieved her aim; Mona was free and the Romans had been driven from the west. The bigger plan and the bigger picture were more important than one battle. She cared nothing that the north was now firmly under the Roman heel; for her it was all about the mother and all about her beliefs. Mona and the sisterhood were worth more than any man or any kingdom.

  When the king fell and the bodyguard were slaughtered, the Brigante, the Carvetii and the Novontae who remained threw down their weapons.

  Quintus Petilius Cerialis shouted, “Cease!” to prevent further slaughter. This was not altruism but pragmatism; legionaries might die and he needed every legionary to rescue Britannia. He also knew that as slaves they would help to pay for this expensive war. He turned to an aide, “Send for the two Batavian prefects and the Decurion princeps, Marcus Aurelius Maximunius.” He paused, “Oh and when the prefect of cavalry returns have him placed under arrest.”

  Chapter 18

  Aed had barely three hundred men as he sped south. He counted on the fact that some of his diversionary force would have survived and he would find them but he had survived that was the important matter. He had also helped eliminate any other contenders for the succession of the Brigante throne. This was a set back, nothing more. He rested his men in a glade through which the path passed. It provided good shelter from prying eyes and he wanted his men rested. They were far enough from the battlefield to be safe. His only worry was the cavalry unit who had pursued his men. Some of them could be quite close. “Feed your horses but no talking. We need silence.”