In the Shadow of the Wall

by Gordon Anthony

  They crouched, hushed to silence, in a stand of ash trees. Colm and Brude, both now stripped to the waist, squatted beside Brude’s father near the front of their group. They looked up the steep hill and there, in the shadowy half-light, Brude saw the wall.

  Suddenly he realised why the Selgovae referred to it as The Wall. It was not just a wall; it was immense. It snaked along from left to right as far as he could see, always on the highest ground, following the contours of the land regardless of how steep the slope was. Ahead of where they lay, just off to their left, was a small tower rising above the crenellated parapet of the Wall itself, a darker patch against the lightening sky. Peering anxiously at the tower Brude thought he saw a dark shadow move on its summit.

  Without warning, the Selgovae were on the move, bursting from where they had hidden at the foot of the slope. They ran up the hill, carrying their long tree trunks, several men to each one. Others carried long lengths of coiled rope over their shoulders. There were no war cries, no cheers, just men and women running as fast as they could up the steep slope, but the Roman guards must have been alert. Before the Selgovae had got half way to the Wall Brude saw a fame leap from the top of the tower, It began to wave backwards and forwards and he heard the shouts of alarm. He realised that someone was holding a burning brand, making an unmistakeable signal.

  All at once Nechtan’s voice boomed along the tree line. “Boresti! Come on!” They yelled in response, jumped to their feet and charged up the hill towards the Wall.

  Brude was tired before they got to the Wall but he was still one of the first to reach it, his young legs driving him up the slope ahead of the others. In the gloom, he tumbled into a deep ditch, coming to rest in a heap at the foot of the Wall. He clambered to his feet as other men blundered after him. The cheering from the Boresti had subsided as men saved their breath for the run up the steep slope but Brude could hear others still shouting away to the left. He flung himself at the Wall but quickly realised he would not be able to climb it carrying his spear and shield. He wondered what he was supposed to do with them, then he discovered that he could not climb the Wall anyway. In the growing light he saw that it was not built of dry stones like the walls he was used to. The way Broch Tava had been built required the careful balancing and interlocking of many stones, using their own weight to hold them in place, larger stones at the base, using gradually smaller ones as the height increased. But this wall was made of carved blocks of stone, smooth and regular, with no gaps for fingers or toes to help him climb. There seemed to be some sort of mortar between the blocks, holding them firmly in place. Frustrated, he slapped his palm against the sheer stonework, helpless with rage. He recalled the Selgovae laughing at his ignorance as he realised with a pang of disappointment that his father and Nechtan, men he looked up to, knew as little of the Romans as he did.

  The rest of the Boresti reached the foot of the Wall where they stopped, bemused and uncertain. To their left, the Selgovae were attacking the gateway in the tower but here in the ditch where they were clustered there was no gateway to attack and no way to climb the smooth stones. Away to the left, some of the Selgovae were scrambling up their makeshift ladder poles and Brude, looking to the west, saw that the Damnonii were doing the same. Only the Boresti had no way of getting over the Wall.

  There was no point in waiting for the other tribes to get over, for the ladders could only hold one person at a time. Even then, they had to be held in place by other men at the foot, to prevent them twisting and throwing the climber.

  Nechtan yelled, “Form a human hill!” He began pushing men into place, half a dozen against the Wall, facing outwards, another row in front of them to lift their comrades up to form a second tier. Brude looked hesitatingly at the idea. It would take at least three men standing on the shoulders of those below before the fourth could even hope to reach the parapet. He, for one, did not want to be at the bottom of that weight.

  Colm, looking helpless and confused, asked him, “What do we do?”

  “We get a rope,” Brude decided. He pushed his way through the crowd and ran towards the Selgovae. As he ran, the thought came to him that it was just as well the Romans were not on top of the Wall because the Boresti would have had no option but to retreat. Fortunately, apart from the man in the watchtower, there did not seem to be any sentries at this bit of the Wall.

  He reached the back of the crowd of Selgovae warriors who were still waiting their turn to climb. There were only six ladders, so scaling the Wall was a slow business. He looked for men with ropes but they had been among the first to clamber up and even now they were tying one end of each rope round the crenellations of the parapet, dropping the loose end over the Wall to let their comrades haul themselves up. Brude shouted up to one of the warriors on top of the Wall who had not yet tied his rope, yelling at him to take the rope along to the Boresti. The man laughed and began tying it to the parapet where he stood. One of the men standing next to Brude also laughed. “Get your own bloody rope,” he snarled.

  “All right, I will,” Brude retorted. Slinging his shield over his back, he barged forwards, pushing through to grab the end of the falling rope. There were shouts of protest and someone grabbed his shoulder but he shrugged it off and leaped forwards, planting his feet against the stone. Grunting with effort, he hauled himself up the rope. It was awkward and dangerous trying to climb with his long spear in his hand but he had seen that the Selgovae were managing it, so he made the best of it, slowly dragging himself to the top. He dropped his spear over the parapet, using both hands to heave himself over, half expecting the warrior who had tied the rope to start an argument with him. But the man had gone to join the other tribesmen who had climbed the Wall and were now charging into the watchtower. Turning, Brude began to untie the rope. “Get off!” he yelled down at the next warrior. He hauled the rope up, jerking it out of the hands of the warrior below. Hurriedly, he reeled it in, hauling it over the parapet. As quickly as he could, he unpicked the crude knot, coiled the rope around his shoulder, retrieved his spear, then ran along the walkway to where his tribesmen were.

  He had no idea how long he had taken but it could not have been long. By the time he reached the point on the Wall above where the men of Broch Tava were gathered, the first men using the human climbing frame had just reached the parapet. Further along, some enterprising men had tied their cloaks together into a very crude rope. Somehow, they had managed to throw it up, looping it over a crenellation so that both ends fell to the ground. One brave man was clambering up the makeshift rope, fervently praying that none of the knots would unravel.

  Brude fastened his own rope firmly round the nearest crenellation. He dropped the loose end over the Wall. Peering down, he saw his father catch it, pull to test it, then begin to climb. Only then did Brude turn to look around at his new surroundings.

  The sun was up now, revealing the land stretched out beyond the Wall, much the same as the land on the north side except for the road that ran, straight and true, parallel to the itself. Beyond the road was another wall, of turf this time, near the height of two men. Beyond that was a ditch, then another turf wall.

  A sudden yell of triumph reached his ears. He span to see the Selgovae surging through the gateway. Some of their men had obviously fought their way down inside the tower and opened the gates. In moments, they were through the small tower, fanning out across the open space, charging over the narrow roadway that spanned the walled ditch, then heading south and east in search of plunder. To the west, the Damnonii, fewer of them, were running to join the Selgovae, pushing and jostling to get across the ditch before heading south, clearly intent on climbing the hills beyond the Wall.

  Brude felt embarrassed that only the Boresti were still trying to cross the Wall. He waved the first men towards the watchtower. “There’s a way down in there,” he told them. Grinning gleefully, they set off at a run. Just then, his father reached the top of the rope. Brude laid down his spear to help him climb over the parapet. He go
t a hug and a slap on the back. “Well done, lad!” his father said.

  Now the warriors below were running for the open gateway as an easier route through the Wall rather than over it. Colm climbed Brude’s rope, grinning like a madman as he clambered over to stand on the walkway. Clapping him on the back, Brude’s father said, “Come on the two of you, we’ll get left behind if we stay here. Let’s go down.”

  Brude silently thought that the Boresti had already been left behind but he followed as they hurried to the watchtower, able to walk three abreast on the top of the Wall. Brude was amazed at the incredible feat of construction. He could scarcely conceive of how much effort and skill it must have taken to build such an astonishing fortification, but he seemed to be in a minority; everyone else was in too much of a hurry to pay much attention to the Roman engineering.

  They went through the open door, into the gloom of the watchtower where they immediately came across two bodies. One was a warrior of the Selgovae, lying crumpled at the foot of the stairs which led to the upper level of the tower. The other was a Roman soldier who lay on his back, a jagged wound on his neck, staring up at them with blank, unseeing eyes. Brude tried to ignore the corpses but he was struck by the armour the Roman wore, protecting his upper body. He paused to take a closer look, touching the metal plates which inter-linked, each one attached separately on to the leather shirt beneath. Brude’s father thumped him on the shoulder, telling him to leave the corpse. “It’s been well plundered by now,” he said, thinking Brude was trying to find some coins or jewellery. To Brude, the armour was worth more than any gold or gems and he was considering trying to strip it from the body so that he could keep it for himself. Such a prize would be almost priceless. He reckoned the Roman must have been a wealthy man. His father, though, did not allow him the time. More warriors were flooding in to the tower and heading for the south side so Brude reluctantly left the fallen Roman and ran down the wide wooden steps.

  Bursting out into the sunlight he came across another fallen Roman who was also wearing the segmented armour plates. Brude had a sudden, sobering thought that it was unlikely two wealthy Romans would be on guard duty in a remote watchtower. Which meant that this armour was probably common among the Roman soldiers. He had heard tales of how the Romans had conquered the Pritani generations ago and that their soldiers all wore suits of metal but he had thought those were exaggerated tales. Now, he was not so sure. The Pritani usually fought without armour, a shield being their only protection apart from their skill. Only the very wealthy sometimes wore breastplates but most warriors felt it was a point of honour not to wear protective armour. Brude knew the warrior code but to his mind, the Romans were more likely to win if their men could withstand the spears and swords of the Pritani. It was an unsettling thought.

  Colm dragged him out of his reverie by thumping him on the back. “We did it!” he shouted happily. “We’re here!” He danced a little jig in celebration.

  Nechtan arrived, on foot because his horse had gone lame on the night march. Briskly, he ordered them to gather at the road. Brude’s father called for the men of Broch Tava to follow him and, after some confusion while they sorted themselves out, they set off in high spirits, down the gentle slope to the road. Only Brude was subdued. To him, the assault on the Wall had been a shambles. Now that they were on the other side, they seemed to have no clear plan as to what they wanted to do next because it took Nechtan some time to gather the men where he wanted them. Then, instead of crossing the wide ditch, he led them along the road, heading to the west. Brude heard him say to his father and the other village leaders, “The Selgovae have gone east and the Damnonii have gone south, so we’ll go this way. Then we won’t have to share any spoils we take.”

  Brude snorted a breath of dissatisfaction with this plan. Nobody heard except Colm who nudged him and asked what was wrong.

  “The Selgovae know what they are doing. Look at how they crossed the Wall before us. If they’re heading east they must have a reason. And we should stay off the road. We are trapped here between the Wall and the ditch.”

  “Who cares?” Colm said dismissively. “There aren’t any Romans about anyway.”

  “Didn’t you see that fire signal?” Brude asked him, keeping his voice low. “Look, you can see another watchtower away along there. The guards were signalling to somebody.”

  “Well if there are any Romans, we’ll soon see them off,” Colm said confidently. “If you’re afraid you can always stay here,” he added mockingly.

  “I’m not afraid,” Brude snapped back, “I just think going this way is a bad idea. We should at least send some scouts ahead”

  “Nechtan knows what he’s doing,” Colm asserted.

  Brude wasn’t so sure.

  They set off at last. Brude had to concede that walking along the road meant that they made much better time than going across country. It ran dead straight, taking them up a long, gentle rise, always around five hundred paces from the Wall to their right. They soon reached the next watchtower where, seeing several figures on its summit watching them, Gartnait of Peart led some of his men to try to attack it. They soon hurried back. The solid oak door had been barred and the Romans were throwing javelins and dropping rocks from the top of the tower. With no way of breaking down the door, the men of Peart were forced to make an ignominious retreat. Worse still, Gartnait himself was injured, a dropped rock having smashed through his shield, breaking his arm, then falling onto his foot and crushing his toes. He bore the pain stoically but could not continue the march. Nechtan sent him back to where they had crossed the Wall with instructions to guard the tower to make sure that they all had a way back. Gartnait was not happy, but Nechtan promised him an equal share of whatever plunder they took so he hobbled off, supported and half carried by four of his men.

  The rest of the Boresti went on, cresting the small rise only to see that the road dipped slightly before rising again a few hundred paces away. They had barely started on the gentle downward slope when the leading men came to an abrupt stop, causing the straggling column to bunch up, cursing, as men stopped suddenly. The warriors quickly dispersed to either side of the paved road, peering ahead to see a group of horsemen on the road, just where it reached the top of the next rise. The horsemen reined in, stopping to watch the assembled Boresti. More appeared until Brude counted twenty of them, all on large horses, much bigger than the small horse Nechtan had ridden on the long march.

  Nechtan waved his sword in the air, bellowing an incoherent war cry which was soon taken up by the whole tribe. They stepped purposefully forwards, shields held in front of them, spears at the ready. The horsemen did not wait to meet them but turned and rode off quickly, vanishing almost immediately over the crest of the low hill. The Boresti laughed and cheered, boasting of what they would have done to the horsemen if they had caught them. Even Brude was caught up in the excitement. The Romans had not bothered trying to fight although he could scarcely blame them; twenty against over a hundred and fifty was hardly a fair contest, even if the twenty were on horseback.

  Nechtan led them on again but this time they marched in a line rather than a column, the men of Broch Tava on the right flank near the Wall, tramping over the tough, tussocky grass, while Nechtan was near the left, on the road. All of them were watching ahead keenly for more signs of the Romans. Nechtan, much to Brude’s satisfaction, at last sent a handful of men running ahead as scouts. These warriors jogged along the road, down into the small depression then climbed the far slope. They came to a sudden halt when they reached the crest, thenly turned and ran back, moving much more quickly and urgently. Nechtan called a halt, waiting for the men to return. Standing on the grass some thirty paces from the road, Brude could not hear what they said but he did not need to for Colm nudged his arm and pointed to the road ahead. “Look! More of them,” he said excitedly.

  The Boresti watched silently as a column of marching Romans came into view at the top of the rise. Marching two abreast, each man carr
ied a large rectangular shield that covered practically his whole body and each had a long javelin over his right shoulder. Brude saw that they were indeed all wearing the incredibly tough yet flexible segmented armour. Their legs were bare but the sound of their marching feet tramping on the cobbles of the roadway could be heard even from a distance of two hundred paces. At a shouted command, the column halted with every man stamping his foot at the same time. Another shout and they all turned in unison to face the Wall. Then they began marching, but this time the men on the road nearest to the Boresti stayed practically still, marking time while the whole column swung around them, wheeling on to the grass between the road and the Wall to form two ranks of men facing the tribesmen.

  Brude tried to count how many men were in each row but lost count and had to start again. Like many of the tribesmen he was almost mesmerised by the smooth efficiency of their manoeuvring. The Romans acted as though the Boresti were of no account. Now they moved their arms, revealing that they were each carrying two javelins, not one as Brude had thought. Each man now held one javelin in his left hand, which also supported the huge red and yellow shield, while the one in his right hand was clearly ready for use. They stopped, standing still watching the tribesmen.

  Then the horsemen reappeared, this time on the other side of the ditch. They rode past at a swift canter, soon disappearing behind the high turf wall, which hid the ditch from view. Brude wondered what Nechtan would do. The Roman infantrymen were blocking the road ahead while the horsemen were obviously aiming to get round behind the Boresti. They could cross the ditch at the watchtower where Gartnait had been hurt, then come up behind the tribesmen. It was as Brude had feared. The Boresti were trapped between the Wall and the ditch.

  There were really only two choices; attack or retreat. To Brude, there was only one choice. To go back now would be a disgrace.