by John Salter
He watched as the men dismantled the temporary camp below bit by bit, piece by piece. Even the sharpened wooden stakes were hacked from the earth and stored aboard a wagon presumably for use again that night. That meant that they wouldn’t need to fell more trees which also meant that their next camp would be built a lot quicker.
Caratacus had left the rest of his men some miles away, he and this small group would shadow the column watching for an opportunity to attack and their main force would be brought forward when an opportunity arose. The last thing he wanted to do now was lose a large amount of his warriors and for no good reason. He and his men shadowed the column until noon when they stopped for a rest. He saw that scouts were sent out immediately, riding on horseback to positions that gave good vantage points of the surrounding area.
“If their behaviour so far today and yesterday is anything to go by, they will have one large break again later before they stop for the night and build their walls to hide behind. We will hit them before their stakes are in position and can kill our warriors.” Caratacus said to those with him.
Some hours later, once again the weary Roman soldiers came to a halt. They had been marching since sunrise and would have to make the most of this second and last break before their final push moving west. As soon as they stopped some soldiers went to carts to get food, others removed their backpacks, dropped pilums and swords and some walked away from the main body of the column to relieve themselves.
The Britons had got into position in the valley long before the noise of the marching column was within earshot. They had waited at the most likely spot twice before as Caratacus had ordered but the Romans had continued marching but not on this occasion.
As they relaxed, joked, complained and took on food or water, the Britons struck. An Optio had just hitched up his under garments and was reliving himself some twenty feet from a cart and his men. He was day dreaming and listening to the urine splash off the weeds he was watering when his gaze was broken by something that didn’t make sense. A glint of iron caught his eye as he leaned down to see what it was, partially hidden by flowering thorns. He didn’t even have time to move, just to see that it was a sword as it was thrust upward between his legs. The pain was instant and crippling as the sharpened blade was forced upward into his stomach from below as a fierce blue face appeared grimacing beyond it. A brief cry of pain was all that he could muster as he slumped forward, the Briton ripping the blade from him, already moving forward to find another to kill.
As spears, stone shot and arrows were fired and hurled towards the Romans, they desperately sought out their weapons and tried to form defensive perimeters. Chariots raced towards them from both directions along the valley, one occupant steering the speeding vehicles the other throwing large spears into the panicking ranks of the defenders.
Caratacus watched some hundred paces away from the battle as his warriors tore into the enemy flanks from each side of the armour clad soldiers, he had caught them by surprise and totally unaware. They had been unable to organise themselves and most were cut down where they stood. He saw one spear arching downward and a soldier waiting for one of his warriors, seconds from fighting each other for their lives. His man was screaming flailing his sword above his head the Roman stood stock still, as if frozen with his short sword out.
The comparison of the two was stark, the Briton tall, lithe and sinewy, naked from the waist up, his body painted in blue woad, hair sticking out with lime and screaming like a devil; the Roman colourful with his red cloak and shining armour, helmet glistening in the sunlight, standing waiting.
The single act of combat in the midst of the madness was ended swiftly before it could commence. The spear launched seconds before, descended from nowhere and punched a hole through the soldier’s upper chest. The look of astonishment on his face was an image of battle and the reality of war, shock and horror. This invader would never see his home or family again, he would die here on Britannia’s green and fertile land.
The warrior slashed out with his sword as he drew level with the soldier, the weapon slicing into the meat of the man’s bare thigh, blood sprayed out. He saw the spear had pierced the armour and chest of his opponent who fell backwards. Blood spattered the shaft of the spear as the warriors hands fought to pull it free to be used again. It was a moment, a brief moment in a battle and was over virtually before it had begun.
The warriors decimated that part of the column Caratacus had chosen, towards the rear of their line. Any reinforcements were hindered by the valley and the twists and turns of the paths the Romans had used to move along but the Britons knew the terrain well and could slip in and out before becoming trapped using the maize of paths and track ways. A few of their cavalry reached the attackers but were driven back by archers and slingers high above on the valley walls.
The triumphant Britons began to withdraw, hacking and stabbing at their prone opponents who weren’t fortunate to die instantly. Running up the incline towards their leader and their waiting horses, the victorious warriors raised their weapons in salute. Caratacus signalled for his men to withdraw taking one final look at the stricken column. He knew this small encounter wouldn’t stop the advance but it had given the invaders a bloody and broken nose and it would sow a seed of doubt in the minds of others.
The dead and injured were spread across the valley floor below, one Briton was running from each making sure no life blood still coursed through the veins of the men littered helplessly on the ground. When he found one that he suspected still lived, he slashed his dagger across the throat and then ran to the next. Caratacus had ordered this done as he knew that if they didn’t they would be healed and returned to face them another day. His grim task done, the Briton ran up the hill towards his leader.
“How many did you count?” Caratacus asked.
The man answered, “Thirty three Sire.” as he ran past and mounted his horse. Caratacus looked along the ridge and saw at least ten other lone Britons racing up the slope. If they had all done as well he thought, they had slaughtered over three hundred men, it was a good start.
Legate Titus Flavius Vespasian, Commander of the Second Legion Augusta, walked amongst the dead from the third cohort. He had known they would have been vulnerable bringing up the rear but he had never expected this kind of slaughter, especially by tribal rabble. He knelt down to examine a young soldier’s dead face, he couldn’t have been more than twenty years of age but his life had been taken from him by a single puncture wound to the neck. The pierced entry hole blackened with arterial blood was already beginning to thicken and harden.
“I will avenge you young man, I swear by the gods I will avenge you.” He stood, “Centurion,” a man ran forward, “General?”
“I want these men buried before we move forward and I want scouts sent out to find the war band that did this and I want them nailed to trees in retribution for their actions today.”
“Yes General.” The centurion began to rattle out orders to waiting soldiers who quickly hurried off to carry out their tasks. A cavalry cohort approached summoned by the General.
“General Vespasian sir, I’m told you have quarry for us to hunt.” Vespasian looked up to see an Optio on a brown horse, several riders behind the first to arrive.
“Take a good look around. I want the barbarian bastards that did this tracked down as quickly as possible. You are not to engage them but report back to me on their movement, number and position. I want this horde taken alive if possible, just so that we can make an example of them.” He looked at his slaughtered men gripping the handle of his gladius at his side. “Ride out and find these scum and you will witness their deaths.”
“With pleasure General.” He saluted and turned his horse and then galloped away, the other riders following.
The Emperor Claudius himself had appointed Vespasian to command the Second Augusta in Britannia personally knowing his record. Vespasian knew that this would be a bloody campaign and his men would take casualties but
he had hoped he would be able to determine when and where those engagements would take place.
“Macro, he shouted.” The man was a Centurion of the class that could be trusted to perform any and all tasks. Vespasian had used him previously on difficult missions in Gaul and he had always been successful.
“Yes sir?” Macro slammed to attention near his superior, Cato his trusty brother in arms close behind him.
“I have a special task for you two gentlemen if you’re willing?” He raised an eyebrow under his helmet. Vespasian was determined to use every means at his disposal to rid himself of these barbarian rebels and Macro and Cato were just the type of men he needed.
Some distance away, Varro and his men were preparing to say goodbye to the Britons who had welcomed them overnight. He especially was surprised that he was saddened to be leaving Brenna after their brief night together.
“Will I see you again Roman?” She asked smiling and watching him putting his spatha under his saddle and checking his equipment.
“If the gods will it lady then yes we will see each other again. I have a duty to perform for my Emperor, if it were not for that I would be willing to see your face when I awoke every morning.” He smiled as she helped strap the leather to his wrists as he faced her. He kissed her gently on the lips and then mounted his horse.
“We will lay together again I’m sure of it if you are willing.” He smiled and gently kicked Staro’s flanks as the horse took off at a canter, the other men following.
Gaius drew level with him, “Well Centurion Varro, you certainly got more than you bargained for there didn’t you?”
His commander smirked briefly, “Could you have resisted my friend?” He asked.
“Probably not, I just hope she’s not full of the pox and that your old man drops off in a couple of days’ time.” He laughed. “I’d hate to present you to the General all scabby with your balls blistered and ruined.”
Varro didn’t reply but laughed and was merely content to move them in the direction of Quintus and his men for their scheduled rendezvous.
As they began to move east back towards the general area the column was heading along, Varro couldn’t help but think about the image of Brenna’s body and their lovemaking the previous night. She had been more than willing and assertive in their play and although he had experienced that before, there was something else, something different with this woman he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
He shook his thoughts free as he concentrated on the mission to find Quintus. The day was warm and the sky bright blue with small wispy clouds overhead. They had all been warned of the inhospitable weather patterns over Britannia but so far all they had experienced was warm sunny weather which suited them and their horses. Out here free from the rest of the legion, it was different but things would change if they were called back to the ranks and ordered to form battle lines but as things were, they were happy to be away from the Second Augusta’s marching columns and dust.
He imagined that Vespasian was slowly moving westward in their direction and a fast ride overnight would see them back with the column. The countryside they found themselves in was not too dissimilar from that of Gaul. Rich green rolling hills with trees seemed to cover the land almost everywhere. Shallow slow running rivers and streams cut the land in places and with little difficulty they could be crossed quite easily on horseback.
They slowed to walking pace as they approached a small group of roundhouses. They were not as well made as the others they had encountered at Brenna’s settlement and there was no fencing around them. A couple of goats were tied up and a few dogs were walking around loose, it wasn’t as organised or anywhere near as large as Brenna’s village.
As the dogs noticed them and began to bark, a female stooped inside her roundhouse and then appeared at the door. The look on her face was of total surprise as she surveyed the five strange men on horseback. She shouted something unintelligible with a Cantiaci dialect and kept repeating it, more women appeared at their doors peering around the edges of the door frames.
“How about this lot Centurion, would you put your sword into them, as you did last night?” Asked Veranius chuckling to himself.
Varro looked at the women, “I’m no eunuch as you know my friend but I do have some standards and I think that these crones are a few levels below my last encounter.” He could see rotten brown teeth in their mouths and dry cracked skin on their faces and necks.
“I reckon you’d know about it the next day if you quenched your desires on them lot eh?” Veranius made a sound of disgust as one of the women snorted up a mouth full of phlegm and spat it towards them.
“Filthy fuckin cunt.” He said pulling his spatha upward out of his scabbard, the sheaving metallic sound enough to make the women scurry back inside their houses.
“Ha-ha, I think they like you Veranius,” Varro said, “maybe when we come back through this way you could spend the night with that beauty eh? But for now stay alert, I don’t want to lose anyone or for someone to get injured by those horrible looking witches.” He moved on, “You wouldn’t think they were part of the same tribal group as Brenna’s would you? They look like rabble in comparison.”
Varro clicked at Staro, “Come on let’s get away from here.” He ordered and they galloped away from the women who had been joined by others outside and were shouting abuse at the strange looking riders. They got onto a path that looked familiar and disappeared from view of the village and entered a shaded wooded area. Suspicious of possible attack they hurried through the tree covered ground and soon came out into the bright sunshine.
Ahead of them about three hundred paces in front, they saw the uniquely recognisable helmets of Roman cavalry riding in their direction. Quintus and his men smiled as they approached waving to the other part of their small detachment of reconnaissance riders.
“Greeting Centurion Varro,” he said, “how has it been out here in the barbarian wasteland where they eat their children and feed the remains to the dogs?”
“Hardly my friend.” Varro answered. “Although we did come across some rather unfriendly crones a few miles back, blistered sputum spewing whores by the look of them and as pox riddled as any slut of Rome by the looks of things. Although Gaius here said he’d give them a run for their money.”
“With all due respect sir, fuck you Centurion.” Gaius protested and laughed.
“Come lets go and water the horses at that ford over there and we can catch up.” Quintus suggested. They all followed him on his brown mare as Staro nudged her as he drew level and shook his head.
“Ah, I see Staro still has a liking for Sevella eh boy?” Quintus said patting the other soldier’s horse’s mane.
“When this is all over, we’ll give you a chance to sire your own sons eh old boy?” Varro said as they got to the water where the horses dipped their heads and drank thirstily as their riders dismounted.
“The column was attacked Varro. Some bastard barbarian war leader called Caratacus apparently. He and his brother Togodumnus have vowed to push us back into the sea or so the story goes.”
“How bad was the attack, how serious?” Marcus asked.
“Bad enough, they ambushed the rear of the legion in a valley. It was well planned and orchestrated. They killed nearly four hundred men, three hundred and seventy eight to be precise. Vespasian has gone through the fucking roof and sent out riders searching for those responsible.”
“Nearly four hundred!” Varro said. “Gods hell, that’s a lot of the legions strength, how the fucking hell did that happen? They’re bastard primitive scum with sling shot against spear, chariot against ballista!
“I’m afraid it’s true my friend, we saw the records from the Tribunes clerk, it’s not good.” Quintus said.
“Just how many warriors do the blue nose bastards have? Does anyone have any idea? It must be quite a lot and more than we were told existed before we crossed the water if they’ve killed that many trained soldiers.” Marcus said.<
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“A well planned and co-ordinated ambush could result in odds of one loss to eight dead enemy warriors by military estimates, they reckon.” Varro put in. “We were told we can expect to meet as many as one hundred and seventy thousand Britons. If that many had descended on the column in a well-planned attack, there wouldn’t be a man left and General Vespasian’s skull would be displayed on a spear by Caratacus’ roundhouse.
An attack of this nature could have been carried out by as few as five hundred of them or as many as two thousand. We know that most of the war chiefs have gone north so the whole hundred odd thousand aren’t engaging us at the moment.”
“Vespasian needs to draw them out into the open all of them and engage them, all at once. We could destroy the Britons resistance in one foul sweep.” Quintus said as he knelt down and started to light a fire. “We’ll have some food with you, before you return to the General, we brought fresh pork with us.” He said gesturing for Sextus to get some out of his bag.
As the soldiers sat together around the fire and ate, they could have been anywhere, Gaul or even Italia. At that moment they could relax somewhat due to the terrain they now found themselves in. They could see to the horizon in most directions, the only blot to disturb the view was that of the wooded area but it was too far away to hide any approaching attacking force that could endanger them. So they sat in peace and took their time relishing the crispy pork Quintus had brought with him.
The first evidence that the light was about to fade was signalled by a cool breeze and a sense of lateness brought on by an owl calling out from somewhere beyond in the forest to their south as the Legion came to a halt. They were in a huge clearing, forests to their north and south but some distance away. It looked like a huge swathe had been cleared with the route west open for passing travellers.
Vespasian knew that if they didn’t start their preparations to fortify their position soon, they would run out of natural light so he had decided to bring them to a halt and had given the order for the men to start the last task of the day, an all-round defensive position.
