Blood of Rome: Caratacus (The Blood of Rome Chronicles Book 1)

by John Salter

  He looked out over the side of the vessel to the white cliffs in the distance, his hands steadying his movement on the rail of the boat as it moved up and down in the swell of the water. They were only a short distance from their destination now as he felt the vessel roll slightly once more. He thought about the days ahead and of how many men, with whom he shared meals, laughed and trained, would be dead or injured during the weeks and months to come.

  “Can’t wait to get amongst the blue faced scum hey Varro?” His friend and second in command of their small reconnaissance group, Optio Gaius Veranius asked as he looked towards the approaching shore just as a fresh spray of salt water lashed their faces and arms. He and Veranius had lived and worked together for the last two years, since Veranius had joined the Second and they had campaigned through Gaul with the others in their company. Together they made up the section of eight their contubernium or tent party. They were primarily used as scouts and would travel in forward positions ahead of the marching columns on horseback and even sometimes on foot depending on the situation, reporting back to the Legate, who commanded the Legion.

  It wasn’t unusual for them to be literally days ahead of the main column, in fact it was routine, so each man had to be reliable, disciplined and be able to look after himself in all manner of circumstances. It was a task that most didn’t envy especially when moving into unknown territory, the majority of soldiers preferred the comfortable tight knit lines of the marching columns and squares, inside main battle formations. Scouting had proven hazardous as casualties had demonstrated previously but Varro and his men wouldn’t be anywhere else. They were the tip of the spear of the greatest force in the army and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “I can’t wait to get off this floating stinking death trap that’s all my friend.” He looked at Veranius, “I don’t like salt water or anything associated with it. It rots everything and you can’t drink it or even bathe in it without drying your skin like ox hide.” He looked down at the water. “They say that if people actually drink the stuff, it causes them to go insane, to attack and kill others, why would anyone choose to live with that when you can have dry land and fresh water?” He replied looking at the ships personnel working around the boat.

  “We’ll be ashore soon enough, with solid ground under our feet. I hope it’s not all white like those cliffs eh,” Varanius said nodding towards the land growing larger with each rowing stroke, “what do you think it is rock, chalk?”

  Varro raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know but it looks in keeping with the stories we’ve been told doesn’t it? I hope those druids aren’t waiting for us or the ballista will be in action before we’ve even landed.” He nodded towards the medium sized torsion catapults located at the front and sides of the ship. Larger machines were onboard other vessels but they would be unloaded and towed by the troops with mules not like their own swifter, more agile animals.

  “At least the gods have been kind and given us a calm sea and the sun.” He looked up to the clear blue sky seeing small white birds circling above them. The first few ships of the fleet were approaching the beaches and the nearest boats were already rowing aground with legionaries jumping ashore. There was no resistance on the shoreline or from the cliffs above. The pebble filled coastlines below the white cliffs were empty for as far as the eye could see in both directions. The sound of the sea was soon drowned out by hob nailed boots splashing and landing in the shallow water and on the stony surface.

  “I would have set up defences on the cliff top, it’s a natural fortification up there just look at it.” Varro said pointing to the huge cliffs whilst removing his sword and checking it again for what must have been the fifth time that day. The slightly longer cavalry sword known as a spatha had become a part of him since he had joined the legion almost ten years before. He had carried it since it had replaced the wooden training sword he had been given during his first weeks in the army and was as familiar to him now as any of his limbs, probably more so. It had saved his life and taken others on the bloody days when his unit had seen action and he couldn’t now live without it.

  The tough brown leather of his bracers against the skin of his wrists had now worn in but occasionally still creaked slightly as he moved his hands. Goose grease had been applied to them so they were pliable enough for comfortable movement, unlike they had been when they were first cut by the military merchant who had sold them to him. The thick leather bands were added protection not only against the elements but also provided a thick natural barrier against attack. The leather helped support the wrist especially when training or using the spatha when the strain on the wrist could become incredible. Not all soldiers wore them but to Varro they were an essential part of his kit, like a second skin.

  As the first of the legionaries walked cautiously along and up the beach, fanning out in all directions, their officers red cloaks flowing in the wind, the ship containing Varro and his men crunched into the stones and onto the shore. Decimus Longinus, another of his squad leapt from the vessel and looked around.

  “I claim this land and all its females on behalf of the Roman Empire.” He laughed as others around him merely smirked because they were more concerned about who maybe watching from the cliffs above.

  “Come on let’s get up to the green areas, there.” Pointing Varro indicated to a patch where the cliff swept down to the beach in a prominent valley shaped configuration, a small stream trickling water down through the ravine and spilling its contents into the sea. The plan was to secure the landing area on foot and once it was established, their mounts would be brought from the other ships that were rapidly approaching the beach.

  Whilst some centuries were forming up, other legionaries were already making their way to the natural sweeping dip with sunlight glinting from the polished iron equipment they carried. To the untrained eye it would look like the soldiers were meandering around and exploring at their leisure but each had his own task within his unit and that unit in turn was attached to another. They were trying to ensure that the Britons weren’t primed to ambush them on the beach and would hold their positions once they reached certain vantage points that allowed them to see the coastline and observe inland as well, the problem in the meantime was getting to them.

  “We’ll be up there as soon as the horses are unloaded.” Varro turned to see the animals were already starting to be taken ashore from the first ship. They had received their orders the previous night on-board their vessels, the reconnaissance unit were to follow the shoreline moving east. They would rotate in two teams as they had done so successfully on previous occasions. Whilst half would return to report back to the columns of the following legions and replenish supplies, the others would continue to track ahead and scout the area looking for hostile or friendly forces.

  The same system would happen in other legions as they went forward in different directions as the land became their own. In time the rear party would catch up with the forward element and resume their tracking distances, which would expand as the campaign went on. Dependant on the terrain and the situation, the reconnaissance troops would more than likely have to fend for themselves living off the land at times or if possible, the local tribe’s hospitality.

  Certain chieftains had already agreed to co-operate with the invading force and had received payment in gold and even weapons so the troops knew it wasn’t going to be an entirely bloody campaign. Barbarians however, had a habit of reneging on treaties especially after they had already had the bargaining tool given to them. Previous meetings with spies and local intelligence, had reported that only weeks before, thousands of tribesmen had covered the cliff tops and surrounding lands but they had grown weary of waiting, had began fighting amongst themselves and had gone home once they had heard the Romans were refusing to board their vessels.

  With the horses quickly unloaded, some were already mounted and Varro ordered his men to find their own as they continued to observe the cliffs. He found his own horse Staro amon
gst those coming ashore as he stood out amongst the mainly brown animals because he was dark black in colour.

  “Slow down boy.” Varro whispered, holding onto him by his saddle and reins as his horse snorted, stamping his feet as if to make sure the surface was solid after the rolling journey from Gaul.

  “It’s alright my friend,” he stroked the horse’s mane and neck as he leaned forward and spoke, “today we begin a new adventure in another land far from home. I think you will like it here on this huge rock at the edge of the earth.”

  Climbing onto his mount the horse reared up on his back legs and lashed out with a foreleg, whinnying as if in agreement before settling down and cantering forward a little along the beach. Men from the ship brought water for the animals to drink in large wooden buckets as others anchored vessels to the shoreline.

  “Thank you,” he said to a marine carrying a large bucket, “my horse and his friends will need a little water inside them before the journey ahead.” He looked at Staro twitching his ears, “Only enough to wet your lips though boy, I don’t want you getting ill.”

  The marine from the ship looked along the beach and up at the high white rocks now towering above them, turning back to the horse and rider he said. “They all had some water a while ago on-board so they’ll be fine Centurion.” He looked back to the cliffs that dominated the shore, “I’m glad I joined the marines but I’d like to see what this land has to offer. It’s said to be so different from anything else we’ve seen before. I wish you and your men good fortune, may the gods watch over you.”

  Varro smiled, “Thank you for the good wishes.” He said looking up again at the strange white cliff, “We may need them I fear.” Although Varro wasn’t a zealously religious man, he sometimes prayed to the gods by thought preferring his own private tribute rather than the public displays demonstrated by others.

  His mount reared up again sensing that it was time to move off, neighing loudly, “You see, even Staro is ready to conquer this land.” He patted the animal’s neck as he landed and then he and the others raced forward and up the beach scattering pebbles in their wake. The water carrier watched them go and said a silent prayer as the sound of the waves again dominated the diminishing noise of the hooves as the horses and men on them, moved away from the relative safety of the beach and into unknown territory. Already other ships were grounding themselves ashore as the crews began to secure them to the beach, where they would wait for high tide before their return voyage to Gaul.

  Some distance away, lying in the wispy long grass above the cliffs, five men watched from cover as the large vessels unloaded soldiers and horses onto the beach, more warriors waited behind the bank unseen. Togodumnus had known that the men who had invaded Gaul would soon reach out and be tempted by their lands especially after they had refused to pay the tributes demanded of them, so he had sent men to watch the shores after the others went home. The Catuvellauni were the rulers of this land, not these intruders and they would kill any man or beast that stepped foot on their soil, just like those that had already taken their tokens of corruption and cowardice.

  The men had been sent to watch the sea and they now looked on intently as the Romans scurried around and slowly spread across the beach below. They saw that some but not all wore dark red cloaks and had long spears, the blades glinted in the morning sunlight. Strange helmets were worn on their heads probably for protection, or identification, large ornate colourful plumes decorated a few of the helmets, whilst others were simply plain bronze or silver. They had clearly come ready for war but they would have their teeth and bones shattered by the warriors of Britannia until they were turned and pushed back into the sea or were destroyed where they stood.

  The Britons had lived by the cliff for some days after being sent by Caratacus and his brother from the north. Patiently they had waited after all the others had left weeks before, when word had arrived that the invaders had lost their appetite for battle. They had never seen so many vessels on the water and watched with interest and trepidation as their cargo was brought ashore. Some of the equipment was already packed onto mules as they left the ships, walking unsteadily down large wooden ramps; other kit was carried by men, whilst some of their goods were towed on wagons and carts. Supplies, weapons, men, horses, mules, oxen, empty wagons, carts and other equipment they didn’t even recognise began to grow and spread over the stones between the water and the base of the cliff below. The Britons had never seen anything like it although stories were still told of the last time these men had come and were pushed back into the sea.

  Men with armour, shields and spears were marching in columns as they were overtaken by riders on horses as they began to move away from the sea and take a hold of this part of the shoreline. Had the Britons waited in force for a few more weeks, these men would have never got ashore and would have been met by thousands of warriors but as it was, only five pairs of eyes had watched as the ships had emerged on the horizon.

  “It is as Caratacus warned,” One of the men said in a hushed voice, although no Roman could have heard him from this distance, “two of you ride back,” he nodded at the volunteered pair, “get home as soon as you can. Tell them they are here,” he paused, a look of resignation on his face, “it begins.”

  Two of the warriors pushed themselves back away from the edge of the cliff, getting to their feet they turned and ran to their mounts tethered some distance away. They climbed onto their horses, smaller than those of the invading Romans and galloped away, kicking soil and grass into the air. Togun the leader of the remaining men returned his gaze to the figures below. He could see the shock in his friend’s faces as their eyes moved from figure to figure in the distance, like insects on the beach below, countless hundreds already staining the earth.

  “They are many but a lot of them will not return to their own land, they can bring all the stars and we will bring the sun to wipe them out, we will meet them with force. Even now Caratacus and his brother are forming more alliances with other tribes. Our chariots will cut these invaders down and drive them back into the sea, have faith in them.” The expressions and eyes he saw staring back at him clearly doubted his words.

  “We should have waited with the other warriors and greeted them as they jumped ashore Togun. We could have repelled them and made an end of this madness before it had even begun.” One of the men said.

  “Crops would have spoilt and families gone hungry, they were right to go home when they did, they’d waited long enough. We are far too few at this time to do anything but we can watch and count their numbers. We were assured by our friends in Gaul that the Romans had mutinied and were not going to cross the sea but return to their own lands instead. They were wrong and the Roman curse is here to steal our food and rape our women.” He looked angry, “It is at least a full day’s ride at pace to get word of this back to Caratacus. By then, when they have reached our own territories more will join and will begin to move south. Togodumnus and Caratacus will find a place of their own choosing to fight these demons and force them back, you’ll see. Then they will witness their men cover the ground, dead in their thousands.”

  He looked at the ships and men still flooding ashore and although believed his words, he wondered how exactly the sons of their former King would deal with this immense army. The enemy had equipment that they had not seen before and they carried a lot of hard metal and strange machines such as large bows attached to wooden frames and soldiers wearing full armour. Each man he thought must weigh nearly twice his own weight, weighed down as they were with weapons and tools carried on their backs. Most of the Britons were limited to a spear or maybe a sword or dagger and if they were fortunate, a small shield. Those of a higher class such as noblemen had large ornate rectangular shields but they were not available to every fighter. They were warriors however, who had lived with conflict with other tribes all their lives. Now he knew they must come together and fight a common enemy if they were to meet this threat head on and defeat them as their
forefathers had before them. He and his remaining men would stay close to the Romans and try to discover how many there were and in which direction they were intending to travel. From this high position, he knew that what he saw below was certainly more dangerous than anything he had ever before encountered.

  Chapter Two

  Lucius another of Varro’s men, caught up with him on his own horse a brown mare as they cantered above the stony beach now down below. The grass underfoot instead of pebbles meant they could talk instead of having to shout at each other over the clatter of their mounts hooves.

  “How far will we travel today sir?” He asked.

  Varro raised an eyebrow, “We’ll keep moving while we still have good light.” He said looking up at the sky. “I would say that we’ve only lost a few hours of the day so we should be able to follow the coast for sometime before we have to make camp.”

  He looked at the sun, the sky was still clear and blue and a warm breeze passed over his muscled arms and legs as he guided Staro with his hips. Roman cavalry had learned decades before to determine the direction of travel of a horse by purely using their legs and hips if required. They would use their thighs to grip onto a large four pronged wooden pommel on the saddle that was covered in leather. It enabled the riders to have free hands primarily so they could wield their swords in battle or throw javelins. Now however, it also enabled them to drink from water skins as Lucius did. His sword was stored under his leg on the saddle on the horse’s right flank so that he could get to it quickly if required.

  They were now a few hundred feet above sea level and slowed their animals to walking pace as they took in their surroundings, the area before them was covered in trees and rolling woodland, it was so dense they couldn’t see through or beyond it. Instinctively Varro and his men viewed the obstacles with suspicion and caution as they knew enclosed areas meant that there was always a possibility of ambush. A few small tracks lay at the base of some of the trees running parallel to them which meant that either people or animals used them regularly to travel in the area.