by John Salter
He could understand any people defending their own land but the Catuvellauni were virtually alone, or so they had been assured. Even they had traded freely for many decades and only up until recently had that changed. With the death of their former King Cunobelinus, everything had changed. Togodumnus now ruled one of the largest of the indigenous tribes and wanted equal standing with Rome. As friction had built, trade had slowed and then stopped as the ambitions of the Catuvellauni grew.
Togodumnus ruled the lands north of the two great rivers and Caratacus the lands to the south. Adminius who had always wanted peace with Rome had been banished for what the two older brothers perceived as weakness and it was they who now led the resistance against Rome. With an estimated eighty thousand warriors to call upon they were a real threat and although they had a numerical superiority they lacked military knowledge, weaponry and tactics.
The tribes were used to taking part in small conflicts not large scale battles where opposing armies lined up in formations, their Generals trained in the art of war pitied their wits and knowledge against each from a military education. Like so many barbarian tribes before, irrespective of the odds, facts or past, he knew they would keep coming.
With the light failing Varro decided that they had to find somewhere to stop for the night. He knew that if they kept moving there was more chance of them walking into an ambush and in unfamiliar surroundings the chance of them surviving such an encounter was limited. He made sure that they hadn’t been seen for a while and began to look for somewhere suitable for the night. He decided to try and find high ground and to observe the surroundings for a while, making sure they weren’t being followed. As darkness began to fall he looked for any signs of life, movement or fires, if there were none they would settle down as best they could and try and get some rest. It was a method he had used before and had always worked well. He knew that they were probably a long way behind enemy lines now and would need every ounce of energy if they were to get to a safe area and the Legion.
From a distance on the horizon Caratacus watched the six Roman soldiers slowly walking through his land on horseback. He believed that they were the sole survivors of the enemy advance that he and his warriors had all but destroyed in the marshes and forests earlier that day. They had probably escaped in the chaos of the ambush and had got lost, but now they would be destroyed. One of his hunting parties had alerted him to their location after picking up their scent with dogs.
As he lay watching them from his concealed position on the ground he smiled thanking the gods that he had used the hounds. The big dogs were always an advantage when they were hunting boar and deer and had proved an excellent addition to his warriors against the Romans. Being ripped apart by huge animals was not a fate that he would wish on any man but times had changed and he had to use every advantage available to him.
He pushed himself backwards down the grass bank to where the rest of his war party waited. They had tracked down other small groups who had evaded the ambushes earlier and destroyed them all, he wondered if this were the last of them. The Romans had gained a foothold over the river but they had now been halted and had lost hundreds of men themselves. Caratacus was content with his days’ work but was under no illusion about the days further ahead. He had never faced such a well organised and well-disciplined force before and now knew that facing them as they had, would not work again. He had lost many warriors that day and couldn’t afford to let that continue. At the moment however that was irrelevant, what was important was removing the six Romans within his reach.
He quickly gave his orders and moved out as his men and women split up and went in different directions. He had fifty warriors with him and sent half that number away to skirt around the far side of the small rise that the Romans had paused on. If he could get half his force to the far side or somewhere near the enemy wouldn’t escape.
Some hours later night had fallen and darkness covered the land, it was a cloudy moonless sky and there was little light to see by but the Romans were still in the same position. As Caratacus edged slowly forward he strained his eyes and ears trying to find some evidence of the men he had observed some hours earlier. If they were still there, they were being very quiet, had no fire and had gone to ground, maybe they were sleeping.
The sound of an owl broke the silence of the night it was followed by shuffling from somewhere above. It had to be one of the six men he was hunting. Caratacus knew then that it wasn’t an owl hooting but one of his men from the other party signalling that they were in position at the far side of the hillock.
He knew the ground flattened out on the top of the mound and so wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t seen the horses of the men they sought, they were probably tethered near them over the rise. Before he had time to do anything else, the sound of swords clashing against each other broke the still night. He and his group rose and charged forward screaming their battle cries. Reaching the top of the mound he saw that all six Romans were already surrounded by the other party and were desperately fighting for their lives. He saw one of his men struck down, cleaved through the skull by one of the long cavalry swords, another was run through and fell to the ground. The advantage of extra numbers however took its toll and the enemy began to fall and in seconds there were none left alive.
Caratacus surveyed the scene before him, six dead to his two, they were good odds. He knew that this result would have to be multiplied by many times if they were to succeed in pushing the invaders back. The Britons collected the weapons of the dead men and their horses and rode off shouting in celebration.
Chapter Fourteen
Just before dawn Caratacus moved into position. He had managed to rest a little after returning to the main body of his army. A funeral pyre had been made for his brother and the warrior King’s body had burned for hours. Set on a series of crisscross logs almost the height of a grown man, the square ceremonial block had flamed for a long time as those who were gathered around it watched on. All elements of the tribe attended family, close friends and high ranking members of the Catuvellauni as well as warriors who all watched the solemn ceremony. Tears were shed by those closest to him but others had a determined angry expression on their faces as they watched the flames reach for the sky above. Sadly it wasn’t the only funeral that night but it was the largest, as many others burnt across the landscape.
In times of peace Togodumnus would have been buried and a mound made for celebrating his life and for reflection, remembrance and respect with his sword and other possessions to enable him to carry them into the afterlife. Mead and food, jewels, torcs and perhaps a great war horse for him to ride in eternity. Today however was different, there was no time for such things and Caratacus would not risk his brother’s body becoming a trophy for the enemy and so it was reduced by fire, a true warriors end. Caratacus had been nearest the pyre watching as his brother’s flesh was turned slowly turned to ash. He stood remembering him and their days together growing up, playing, laughing and hunting. Tears burned his eyes as much as the pyre threatened to burn his flesh until they fell and flowed freely down his face. It was the only sign of emotion evident as he saw the pyre burn until eventually the flames got smaller.
Sleep had evaded him after the sight of his brothers mortally wounded flesh and the vision returned again and again every time he closed his eyes and tried to rest. He had finally sat with his wife and children and discussed their fate, what would happen, where would they go, how could they stop the mighty machine of Rome, was it even possible? His younger brothers hadn’t hesitated about their decision, they had to fight and live or fight and die. He knew that honour demanded that as well, now he had to decide how to go about it. They were a proud people whose tribe had ruled for many decades. There had been conflicts with other regions but the Catuvellauni had never encroached into other tribal lands unless there was legitimate reason, they had never invaded other areas unless they had been provoked first. Even when such conflicts had arisen and they had cross
ed borders, they would always go back to their own lands afterward.
It was a major factor in deciding the fate of Adminius when he had crossed the border of others and why he had been punished so severely. They were not driven by conquering other people only ruling what they had and that most precious gift was now threatened as it had never been before. Not only was their entire way of life at stake from an enemy across the water but it was also threatened some who lived within their shores as well. Caratacus vowed to deal with them as he considered their treachery, they were worse than the invaders themselves.
His scouts had reported that the Romans had fortified their positions before dark the night before but as light brushed away the darkness he was surprised by how much. Palisades had been dug all around the encampment and trees cleared to construct a fortification that he barely thought possible given the time available, it was enormous, the landscape had been transformed completely from the day before. If he attacked now he knew it would be suicide so he would have to wait. Patience was something he had in abundance but he would have to employ it wisely. He considered withdrawing his forces completely to the capital but knew that the enemy would follow them there. He decided he would have to fight a tactical withdrawal and demonstrate that patience combined with an ability to fight, was probably as dangerous as head to head conflict.
He lay watching from a hillside, observing the men that had come to his land and taken his brother’s life and those of his people. He could see that guards watched from towers while other men patrolled the wooden walls, fires burned inside where row upon row of tents were laid out in straight symmetrical lines. Their army was so large that he could see another encampment over on the far side of the river and more fires burned for as far as he could see beyond that. He had known before that the task ahead of him was enormous but now that the Legion was laid out before him, he began to believe that it was near impossible.
These soldiers were clearly used to living this way, it was how they existed and worse he knew that other Legion’s had also landed. At that moment Caratacus was shaken to his roots and considered his position and that of his people. If he asked for a truce the lives of his people would be spared but the Romans would still want a heavy price for their nerve at resisting them. He knew that after the defeat of Alesia in Gaul, their leader Vercingetorex had surrendered and his people were enslaved, their chieftains became puppets and their lands robbed of their resources. Vercingetorex himself, who had managed before all others to unite the great Gallic tribes against Rome, had been imprisoned and then ritually strangled, it was not a fate that Caratacus wanted for himself or his people. He would willingly give himself to the Emperor if he knew his people would be free to live their lives but knew that wouldn’t happen. Many would be taken to Rome, others would be scattered around the Empire and used as slaves and the men would even be made to serve in their legions as auxiliaries. He also knew that both men and women were used as sex slaves in the Empire or made to fight to the death. He wondered how such a people who believed that they were so enlightened and so advanced, could be so cruel.
As he lay there looking out on the enemy before him, he knew he had no choice. In his mind’s eye he saw his father, his brothers, his children and his people. He had a duty to protect them and their way of life and knew that he wouldn’t be doing that if he walked forward and gave himself up. With the death of Togodumnus, he was King and with that came responsibility. He would fight and live as a free man or fight and die for his land and his people. His future decided, he thought through his battle plan.
The fight the day before had taught him many valuable lessons, lessons that he had paid for with the blood of his people, today would be different. If his tactics worked, they would smash the enemy but he believed that there may be a possibility that even if they didn’t, they may be able to force the Romans into a truce and to leave their lands.
Varro was shaken awake by Decimus on the mound where they had tried to rest the night before. He had watched through clenched teeth as another group of his countrymen had been wiped out some distance away. He knew that it could have been him and the men around him and also knew that they could have tried to save those who were butchered but he had decided against it for good reasons. The attack had happened without warning, seemingly coming from nowhere and with speed, so even if they had tried to go to the aid of the other isolated group, they wouldn’t have got there in time and would have died as well, outnumbered as they were. He had made the correct decision but that didn’t give him any conciliation as he thought about the men who had found themselves in the same position as himself and his own men.
Almost whispering he instructed Decimus to wake the others and to prepare to move. He stood up stiff and cold from the nights chill and looked to where they had tethered their horses who at least had eaten well on the long grass. He surveyed their surroundings looking for any sign of the enemy but nothing moved. Before leaving the mound they ate their meagre rations sharing what they could with the two auxiliaries.
The direction they travelled in took them towards the hillock where the brief fight had taken place the night before. He knew there was very little chance that any of them had survived but he felt that he had to go and check, maybe one of them had managed to hide or had been left injured. He called Decimus forward as they approached leaving the others where they were, telling them to keep their eyes open for any movement nearby.
It was slightly higher than where they had camped at their own resting place but narrower at the brow. As soon as they got to the top they saw the corpses of the auxiliaries, they had been decapitated their heads left on crude sticks in the ground. Varro looked at the expressions of the men who had given their lives. One head had a large slash wound either from an axe or sword that split his skull from the top of the forehead to the bridge of his nose. Another caught the moment of battle and death, his features contorted in agony his mouth still screaming but silently now.
He considered burning what was left of the men, they didn’t deserve this end but knew to do so would risk attracting unwanted attention and being found. Burying them would mean losing time and while they were stationery they would be vulnerable. The Britons had stripped the bodies of their weapons, water and food and taken the horses. There was nothing he could do for them now, as hard as the decision was, they would be left, their own priority now was to get back to the Second.
They trotted down the hill and headed in a southerly direction, all the time scanning the countryside around them, expecting to see the enemy. He hoped that they would be concentrating on the main army and not looking for stragglers as the new day got under way. They passed more Britons in family groups in time all of whom stared at them but not saying a word or lifting a weapon in anger. Varro assumed they were farmers or just people from the local area, he couldn’t determine that they were part of the war band and so ignored them.
By midday just as he was beginning to think they would never find the army, they ran into Quintus and his men from the other scouting party. They exchanged information and Quintus gave them the route back to the Legion through a valley, they found they were not too far away.
Varro was relieved to see the sight of the encampment as they approached the pickets on sentry duty. It was a welcome sight seeing familiar structures even if they were newly constructed and hadn’t been there the day before. He kicked his horse eager to get behind the barricade and the relative safety of the new fort and its palisades. He instructed Valius to report to the Adjutant and to give him his report as he sought out the command tent in order to report his own findings.
Arriving at the large tent Varro had his identity verified by the guards and was allowed access. Senior officers and various commanders were on the verge of leaving, when Vespasian saw him he called Varro over to give his report.
“The Batavian’s were routed sir, destroyed virtually to a man, we managed to bring back two survivors.” Vespasian stared at him shocked but not surpr
ised by his words. Nothing had been seen of the cohort from the day before.
“But there were four hundred men that went into the marsh. Are you telling me that we lost nearly all of them?” Another officer a Prefect asked Varro. Vespasian turned and introduced Varro to his brother Sabinus. “It was he who masterminded the idea of crossing the river yesterday, Vespasian said.
“Yes sir,” Varro reported, “we found the bodies of many auxiliaries in the marshland and then in the forest beyond. We eventually caught up with Valius their commander and one soldier but by that time we were far behind their lines. They were the only men we found alive.” He decided to leave out the information about the other group that were killed during the night.
A voice from the rear said, “We’ve had some men coming in throughout the night and still some this morning but their number is less than thirty. Over twenty of those are wounded and not fit for duty.” It was the force commander Aulus Plautius, everyone stiffened coming to attention when they realised he had slipped into the briefing.
“Relax gentlemen.” He said as they came to attention, he walked directly to the table where various maps were laid out.
“It seems our friendly Britons underestimated the Catuvellauni resistance and their ability to fight.” He looked at the faces around him. “We were assured that Togodumnus and Caratacus were backward thugs who relied merely on brute strength to dominate other tribes, it seems we were ill informed.” He turned to Sabinus, “Bring Adminius to me would you Prefect?”
Sabinus acknowledged the order, “Sir.”
