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

by John Salter

  As the first wave of chariots returned to their own line and slowed, more spears were passed to those on board, they gratefully accepted them grinning manically, shouting in their joy at killing the men who had come to take their land. The warriors on foot cheered again knowing that the great machine that had come to kill them was at last vulnerable and bleeding.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aulus Plautius watched from his vantage point on the raised platform, even from his position the roar of the enemy was like that of a huge beast as it yelled for the blood of his soldiers. He signalled to the senior centurion again and gave the order for cavalry on the wings to advance. The Cornicen sounded the charge which was repeated by other trumpeters strategically placed amongst the infantry and the cavalry bolted forward, their target the men and horses of the chariots.

  He watched as the leading cavalrymen drew their large swords, dust obscured the view clearly, already thrown up by the barbarian’s chariots and the fastest riders disappeared into the murk in no time. Swords colliding and shouts drowned the screams of the enemy previously heard encouraging their warriors as a trumpet cut the air sounding the infantry to advance once more.

  Plautius was confident of his Legions ability especially on open ground where the enemy had chosen to meet his men. Initially frustrated that the Britons had not come to within range of his ballista, he now smiled looking down as he saw Vespasian draw his sword and start shouting to this men. Plautius felt the blood rush through his veins as he watched them advance wishing he could take to the field.

  The Britons weren’t the only ones to receive reinforcements overnight as the Second Augusta had now been joined by two other legions, the Fourteenth Gemina and Twentieth legions flanked either side of the Vespasian’s Second Augusta as they marched forward. The General felt the hairs rise on the back on his neck and he wondered what it must be like to face this enormous wall of shields, swords and javelins.

  Caratacus looked on through the dust kicked up by the chariots and signalled for them to retreat back to his lines. Rumbling made the ground tremor as the first of them returned closely followed by the pursuing Roman cavalry. He gave a signal and slingers launched their shot as rounded stones flew high into the air. Some of the missiles were naturally rounded rock, others hardened baked clay made for war.

  He saw one of the mounted soldiers hit squarely in the face, blood splattered from his crushed nose and he fell off the back of his horse and hit the ground hard tumbling. He was hit by another horse and then another before he lay still unconscious and no doubt badly wounded. He lost sight of him amongst others horses as other missiles started to land. Horses reared and tried to swerve and turn panicked by the accuracy of the stones as they hit their heads and bodies as well as their riders. Pelting them like rain some animals actually began to turn, those not hit realising the danger as the noise of the speeding stones flew passed them or thudded into the ground or hit those nearby.

  Arrows now joined the avalanche launched by the slingers and more of the enemy fell. One man was pierced through a gap of his chain mail armour near his shoulder and fell backward but somehow managed to stay on his horse as it veered, kicked and turned its eyes wild in panic, nostrils flaring. Britons now ran forward and attacked the cavalrymen who had been knocked from their mounts, they were butchered and their weapons taken, a few soldiers ran back towards their own lines vanishing into the clouds of dust. The cavalry turned and retreated, battered and bruised to tumultuous cheers behind them.

  For a short time a quiet descended over the battlefield but it didn’t last long. As the Roman infantry advanced through the dust the banging of swords on shields became the resounding noise that took over from all other sounds. The blare of trumpets somewhere in the distance was the only other thing that pierced the drumming as orders were given by the unseen ranks.

  The enemy looked like something unearthly as they marched out of the settling dust. Caratacus could see Roman Eagles dispersed at regular intervals behind the rows and gave a signal for his chariots to charge again. Now he knew that they didn’t face just one Roman Legion but his forces were already committed and to retreat would mean certain destruction.

  This time it was the turn of the Dobunni as they rode their chariots as they had been ordered and headed straight into the enemy lines, two thirds along their front on the left. The slingers pebbles rattled off shields as arrows dug into them. Horses smashed into the shield wall and chariots ran over legionaries as more joined them. The men aboard the small two wheeled chariots lashed out with spears at the now stationary startled men trying to deflect blows with their large shields, others leapt clear and individual fights broke out all around.

  Caratacus ordered his infantry forward and the men and women ran howling like banshees as they sprinted to join the battle. The entire Roman line now paused as more trumpets sounded somewhere in the distance. The Britons hit the flat line but didn’t all push into it as they had done before, Caratacus had learned a bitter lesson the previous day. As they tried to hold their ground a column of charging warriors punched into the wall where the chariots had already created a large gap in the previously solid row of shields.

  On the extremities of the main battle the Roman cavalry charged again trying to outflank the Britons and come at them from the rear but were hampered by the sheer numbers and the tree line which abruptly halted their advance. Unable to attack from the back, the cavalry fell onto the sides of the Britons but were hit again by the slingers who targeted them with deadly accurate fire. Man and horse were hit with the projectiles again and again as the lethal missiles took their toll.

  Caratacus shouted encouragement again seeing that his plan was working and concentrated his own force at driving through the enemy wall, pushing the wedge in their column ten wide forward and through them. Barely perceptive at first the entire enemy line started to give as their cavalry retreated once more. It was working and he called for others to join the attack as his warriors forced their way through the auxiliary forces. In seconds the entire Roman line was moving slowly backward not willingly but through the sheer brutality and weight of numbers of their attackers.

  With the enemy now in slow retreat and his wedge forcing through, slicing into the once unified ranks of the front line, he pushed his people hard to cut off a huge portion of the auxiliaries. All along the retreating formations the Britons continued to attack but didn’t go beyond that invisible line. They held themselves not hurling their bodies onto the shields or trying to prise them free as they had before. They held off but continued striking shields with their long swords and axes at a distance that prevented the enemy’s short swords from finding their mark. Others massed behind them but at intervals giving them all space.

  Roman javelins were launched from the rear ranks landing unseen into the crowds of their attackers who showed no sign of relenting. More Britons joined those forcing their way into the human path as the entire battle reversed moving back towards the fort. Trumpets sounded again and the lines of the invaders increased their backward retreat.

  The legions were used to advancing in their squares. Behind the large shields they had the advantage as they stabbed out at attackers as they threw themselves on their formed lines. In retreat however, they weren’t so assured and some legionaries tripped walking backwards and others fell over them. It caused others to panic and turn as gaps began to appear.

  Plautius had sounded the retreat as reports came in of the tactics being used by the Britons, his vision was still obscured by the dust. A look of sheer horror was etched over his face as he saw just how far they were being pushed back now. He had intended to call a halt as his men were re-enforced but with some soldiers stumbling and fright clearly spreading, he saw that his battle lines were in danger of failing altogether.

  “Centurion.” He shouted at the man to his left.

  “Sir.” The man turned saluting his General.

  “Have the Ninth Hispana move out and flank right. Those bastards
are trying to cut off the auxiliaries on that side. I want Geta fully aware of what he’s up against and get those fucking ballista racked up and ready to fire they’ll be within range in no time if this carries on.”

  The Centurion saluted again and ran off to convey the orders. Plautius looked back to the fight now only approximately a hundred yards away, his concern growing more every second. The Centurion hurriedly instructed the ballista crews to ready their weapons and then climbed down the ladder to Geta who was held in reserve within the fort.

  Prefect Gnaeus Hosidius Geta stood with his senior officers talking about their experiences of Briton. He didn’t think that his Legion would be called into action but as the trumpets sounded for him to prepare to move and he saw the Centurion running towards his position, he realised that something must have gone badly wrong outside. The Centurion puffing from his run ran straight to him saluted and told him the order from Plautius. After adding a brief description of the battle and what was happening outside, he drew his gladius and began to move forward.

  Geta was a man of proven military experience who had campaigned all over the continent including the eastern lands. He was the longest serving Prefect in the army of Plautius and had completed six years more service than Vespasian had in the army. Plautius had always relied upon him when times were desperate as they now were. Marching ahead of his men, he signalled for them to form into columns to exit the fort and began to trot pulling his shield up, his men followed suit.

  As he got clear of the gate all he could see was row upon row of retreating soldiers. He angled right as his trot became a run, running wide of the far right flank of the auxiliary’s lines. Instantly he saw that the Britons had managed to separate a large block of soldiers from the rest of the army and were systematically cutting them down.

  He ran his men at an angle to the battle still in rows of three in their columns. Shouting he ordered them to stop and ready their javelins, row upon row of pila were readied. They were then quick marched to within throwing distance. The Britons were blood raged and too eager in their havoc to see the danger, too intent on cutting down the auxiliary soldiers who were desperately fighting for their lives.

  “Advance, release and rotate.” Ordered Geta as the men in his front row ran forward and hurled their deadly arsenal into the air. Before the first javelins even landed, the second flight were already airborne as the front ranks were passed by the second and then the third. Hundreds of javelins rose and fell and took lives in their deadly hail instantaneously and wounded others.

  As the first of the Britons fell, Geta reformed his lines and advanced his men, shields up, swords thrust forward beyond the moving shield wall. Britons not killed or injured turned as they realised the danger and attacked them. Blood lust heightened by their success and then the injuries, they fought like possessed maniacs. Gone was the control their leader had asked of them as they threw themselves at the deadly solid wall.

  Heartened by the re-enforcements the retreating columns paused and held firm finding a steely determination now apparent through the men of the legions. Trumpets sounded again ordering the advance as men gripped shields tighter and swords firmer.

  Caratacus couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had been so close to achieving his aim of dividing and isolating a large part of the enemy force ahead of him. He had intended to destroy some of the men and take the rest, the majority he hoped, as hostages having isolated them totally. He’d hoped to force those segregated back to his lines and then seek a treaty with the Roman General but his plan was now in ruins. The Dubonni who made up the majority of the warriors attacking and isolating the Roman auxiliaries were now either dying where they stood or surrendering altogether, throwing their weapons to the ground and their arms in the air. He looked around and then started to fall back as the once retreating Romans now advanced again encouraged by the re-enforcements from the fort. He saw more Dubonni surrendering and couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him.

  He turned and shouted at those nearby. “Fall back, fall back.” Then he began to scream as the warriors around him saw the danger and turned to run.

  “Get back to the trees.” He shouted waving his arms as his pace quickened. A chariot raced towards him and then slowed down turning in a great arc as the driver shouted for him to get aboard. Warriors ran all around as some still fought on trying to cover the retreat trying to slow down the marching men. Those that continued to battle, their number dwindling all the time must have known they were doomed as more and more turned to run leaving those fighting isolated.

  Caratacus held on tightly as the two white horses pulling the chariot accelerated away from the mayhem. Turning his head he saw that it was the Dubonni who were now isolated and cut off as the Romans had managed to create a reverse of his tactic and they were swallowed, totally surrounded. He ground his teeth together in frustration and then shouted at the sky in anger.

  “Keep riding,” he said to the driver, “head for the Tamesa.” He referred to the next great river further north, the last natural defence before his capital of Camulodunum

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid nature of the Dobunni, merely moments before they had been on the verge of a great victory. Even with the enemy re-enforcements coming from the fort they could still have held them off and isolated the targeted men. Now however, it was impossible and so was any hope of any early end to this war.

  They rode on through the forest where their speed was hampered by the trees but they were out of range of the enemy who were now occupied with thousands of Dobunni. He took one look back but couldn’t see beyond the foliage and could only imagine the end that the warriors who had covered their retreat had suffered.

  The Dobunni would be rounded up and in all probability put to the sword or worse, sold as slaves. Caratacus vowed never to let such a fate happen to him again as he fingered the small dagger he always kept concealed inside his trousers. He and Togodumnus had agreed that should they be taken prisoner they wouldn’t allow themselves to be trophies of the Romans to be put on display. They would take their own lives and wouldn’t live under the boots of any enemy like sheep.

  Eventually they got clear of the covering trees and moved along at a better rate on well-worn tracks. Warriors on foot couldn’t keep pace but they all knew where the rallying point was beyond the great river. All the people knew where and when to cross the river safely at low tide, the Romans wouldn’t, maybe that would help the retreat. That was of course providing no traitor had told them. The possibilities were small Caratacus thought as the territory had been their own for decades but then he remembered Adminius, another thorn in his skin.

  Even the thought of his traitorous brother made him grip the hand guard of the chariot tighter as he saw his face in his mind’s eye. His brother had often warned that he believed the tribes only chance against the Romans was if they were all united. There were always conflicts and he knew that the possibility of one unified force was impossible.

  The Roman leader had apparently listened to his brother’s tale with compassion or stupidity, a man who wanted an alliance with the greatest known Empire in the world but was cast out by his own people, his own family. Claudius had pledged that with the help of Adminius his legions would conquer his backward people and return him to his rightful place, the throne of Camulodunum. Caratacus pictured his former brother wearing the clothes of the invader, their robes and spat physically at the thought. He would pay for his treachery he swore again and decided to instruct others to kill him should his own life be taken.

  Those who had survived the counter attack crossed the shallows of the Tamesa at low tide, the great river in their territory was even larger than the Medway. Reports reached Caratacus all the time that the Romans had followed and were close on their trail. He knew they wouldn’t be able to cross the water however, because by the time they reached it, the tide would be high and the river too fast and deep or so he hoped. He had made that mistake on the Medway but t
he Tamesa was broader, deeper and faster moving, it would stop even them surely.

  He considered what he would do if fortunes were reversed in the event that the Romans found themselves stuck on the other side of the river. Part of his territory was already occupied and he was now heading for the lands of his recently departed dead brother. Would the Romans be content to sit there or would they wait for more re-enforcements, would they need them or would they circumnavigate the waters and attack from the rear as they had before?

  He had already sent scouts out to the other tribes both west and north to warn them of the invasion. It wasn’t a fight that threatened just his territory after all but others as well and to stop them, they all had to fight together. He considered again those who had always preferred and had wanted to be a part of the Empire, they would surely side with Claudius now. He thought out his choices and knew that if he surrendered, he would no doubt die as other tribal Chieftains had done, strangled in front of cheering crowds in Rome. As he was bounced along in the chariot he thought through all the options available to him but there was only one real one, to resist. Now more than any time since his brother’s death he wished that Togodumnus was still alive. He doubted his ability to carry the fight against Rome himself but at that moment he realised that he had no other choice and for the first time in a long time, he felt alone.