Roman III - The Wrath of Boudicca

by Ashman, Kevin

  ‘Excellent news,’ said, Petillius. ‘Pass word to the Legion. We head east with immediate effect. Split into three columns and deploy all cavalry to the flanks. Order the engineers to ride forward and select a suitable place for tonight’s marching camp, no more than ten miles from here. We will go firm tonight and assess the situation tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, Sire,’ said Virrius and galloped down the lines to pass on the orders. Within ten minutes the Legion wheeled eastward and split into three, each marching half a mile apart for maximum defence. Petillius watched the manoeuvre with pride, impressed at the parade ground precision of his well-drilled command but unbeknownst to him, hidden within the treeline, others also watched the manoeuvres, people with a vested interest in learning everything they could about the Legion, the scouts of Boudicca.

  ----

  The following night, Taliesin sat back to back with another of the prisoners, their hands tied securely. Every minute since being captured a few days earlier he had watched for an opportunity to escape. During the march the prisoners were tied together by the neck with their hands tied behind their backs and now the Legion had encamped for the night, they were tied together against a stake that had been driven into the ground.

  Despite the lateness of the hour, the camp was alive with activity and the air buzzed with the sound of men talking while they sharpened their weapons. Word had come in from the scouts that they had spotted the barbarian army a few hours’ march away and the command had come to prepare to move before dawn. The smell of cooking wafted around the camp as many men took the opportunity to get a hot meal before they went into battle, sitting before their tents in groups and exchanging last messages with their comrades, to be passed to their families should they fall. Others took the opportunity to sleep, anxious to rebuild their strength after the arduous march.

  The prisoners watched the preparations, knowing that something was about to happen but unsure of what.

  ‘Do you think they have found Boudicca?’ asked Taliesin.

  ‘They must have,’ answered Finian, one of the older warriors. ‘The whole Legion seems to be preparing and they would only do that for a formidable opponent. There are no tribes capable of offering a threat to a Legion so it must be Boudicca’s army.’

  ‘Then she must be close,’ said Taliesin. ‘If we can just break these bonds we could find her and join her cause.’

  ‘Be quiet, boy,’ sighed Finian. ‘You waste your breath. Even if we could get through our ties, how do you propose escaping from a Legionary encampment? It’s impossible.’

  ‘We have to try,’ said Taliesin. ‘If nothing else at least we will die knowing we tried to free our country.’

  ‘Don’t be so eager to die,’ said Finian. ‘Fate will try to kill you often enough in the years ahead, don’t try to seek her arms so quickly.’

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ said Taliesin, ‘but would rather embed myself on the end of a sword than perish beneath the weight of chains.’

  ‘Trust the gods, Taliesin,’ said Finian, ‘if it is meant you are to kill Romans, then they will clear the path before you.’

  As the night continued, the prisoners witnessed the preparations of the Legion until eventually the cavalry rode out to secure the routes. Half an hour later, the infantry columns followed them through the gate as quietly as possible. Unlike on the daily march, they had removed the leather covers from their shields and left behind their Furcas, the cross shaped pole that carried their packs containing their personal equipment. Supply carts were left in the camp and the only waggons taken were those containing the Onagers, Ballistae and the mountain of ammunition needed for both. It was an army stripped down for battle and one that meant business. Once they had gone Taliesin started to struggle against his bonds once more.

  ‘Do you never give up, boy?’ asked Finian.

  ‘Never,’ said Taliesin. ‘There are only a few dozen guards and the civilians left behind. If this is not an opportune time then nothing will be. We have to try.’

  An hour later, Finian slept with his head resting on his chest when an urgent whisper dragged him from his much needed rest.

  ‘Finian,’ whispered the voice again with more urgency.

  ‘What now?’ he growled.

  ‘I’ve done it,’ said Taliesin. ‘My bonds are loose!’

  ----

  Just before dawn Petillius stood alongside his horse in the protection of a treeline. The ground opened up below him and out on the plain he could see the glowing embers of hundreds of camp fires, the evidence of an encamped army. Shadows moved amongst the flames as the warrior camp guards patrolled amongst them and Petillius smiled inwardly. There could not have been a better place for a battle, even if he had chosen it himself. Though Boudicca’s army was undoubtedly large, the openness of the plains were perfect for his cavalry to deploy behind the enemy and offered ample room for the manoeuvres of his Cohorts. Behind him, his Legion had advanced almost silently through the forest and were currently forming up within the treeline. Petillius made a mental note to sacrifice a bull to Mars for aiding him in such perfect preparations.

  Someone sidled up beside him.

  ‘Sire the Cavalry are in position on the far side,’ said Virrius. ‘Once the Legion advances their spears are waiting should the barbarians run.’

  ‘I don’t think they will run, Virrius, I think they are stubborn enough to think they can take us on face to face.’

  ‘Then they think wrong,’ said Virrius.

  ‘Are the flanking Cohorts ready?’ asked Petillius.

  ‘Awaiting your orders,’ said Virrius.

  ‘Then we are ready to go,’ said Petillius. ‘Return to your Cohort and await the signal. When it is sent, we will march the Legion out onto the plain and assume Legion Cuneus formation. If my suspicions are correct, they will waste no time in facing us across the field and if so, the day will be all but won before a Pilum is thrown.’

  ‘Then I will see you amongst the blood,’ said Virrius and disappeared into the darkness.

  ----

  Petillius gazed down upon the plain as the first fingers of light crept above the horizon. Down below he saw the first reflections from the armour of the Legionaries as they manoeuvred quietly into position. Though such a body of men weren’t silent, they were far enough away from the Celtic army to go unheard and they were in position long before any of the enemy were aware of their presence.

  The first Cohort formed the Vanguard of the wedge shaped formation while the second to fourth Cohorts flanked the formation to the rear. Another two Cohorts of auxiliary infantry formed a deep flat line behind the wedge while another two lay in reserve. The cavalry had been deployed to the far end of the plain using some low lying hills as cover and all the artillery were in the forest edge behind him, ready to scatter the enemy should they attack.

  Everything was in place and as the sun crept higher, the Legate turned to a man standing nervously at his side.

  ‘Let’s wake them up, soldier,’ he said, ‘give the signal.’

  The archer dipped the end of the arrow into a clay pot containing fire embers, waiting until the flames had caught well, before firing the arrow high into the purple dawning sky.

  As one, every cornicine in the Legion ripped the morning silence apart as they sounded the advance and every man paced forward in time to the war drums. The whole Legion marched in time toward the enemy camp and from his position on the hill, Petillius could see the barbarian encampment burst into panicky life.

  Men rose from their sleep around the fires or from within their animal skin tents to stare toward the noise. Immediately they recognised the threat and within minutes, hoards of armed warriors ran from the camp toward the oncoming Legion, donning their helmets as they ran and grabbing spears from the piles at the edges of the camp. The morning air echoed with the shouting of thousands of men as they lined up in loose formation to waive their weapons in defiance at the oncoming Romans.

  A few yards away fro
m Petillius, Virrius held up his hand and the drums stopped. Down on the plain the Legion’s vanguard came to a halt and the flanking Cohorts drew up alongside them to form a strong line abreast. The reserve Cohorts set up a deep support and every man stared across the plain toward the vocal enemy.

  ‘We are ready, Sire,’ said Virrius.

  ‘Then make it happen, Tribune,’ said Petillius. ‘The longer we wait, the sturdier their resolve will become. Strike while their senses are still dulled by last night’s ale.’

  A second flaming arrow split the dawn sky and again the war drums beat out their rhythm. This time every man in the Legion below drew his Gladius knowing full well that this time there would be no signal to halt. Their advance to battle had started.

  ----

  Boudicca lay amongst the damp Bracken, shivering from the attentions of the pre-dawn mist. In the distance she could hear the drums of the Romans and her heart raced as she realised they had taken the bait. All around her, thousands of her comrades shivered along with her, the bracken above them offering little protection against the morning dampness. Several times over the past few hours her hidden army had heard the hooves of passing cavalry, as they searched the area for hidden risks but the riders had stuck to the well-used paths and avoided the rougher ground to either side, a decision that had played right into Boudicca’s hands.

  Chilled fingers flexed around their weapons to get the blood flowing yet resisted the urge to leap out on the passing patrols. There was a greater prize to be had.

  Down in the valley the wall of shields advanced toward the barbarian encampment. Above their heads flew volleys of arrows released by the Legions archers as well as balls of fire from the Onagers. The defenders charged forward to take on the Romans just as Petillius had hoped and within seconds, hundreds of half-naked barbarians crashed against the wall of shields in a manic attempt to reach the soldiers behind. At first the lines faltered under the weight of numbers but this was what the Romans did best, head on conflict with lesser trained opponents and though the odd attacker managed to get through, they were quickly dealt with by the second ranks. As soon as the initial surge had faltered, the Legion went on the offensive and slowly paced forward, each time thrusting their swords between the shields, invariably encountering barbarian flesh. It was a slaughter but despite their losses, the barbarian army continued the futile assault until finally they broke off and retreated a hundred paces.

  ‘Sound the pursuit,’ shouted Virrius, and the signal rang out across the fields to chase the enemy down. The front Cohorts broke ranks and ran forward to finish off the enemy off. A retreating army was doomed in the face of any Roman assault, for they would pursue them mercilessly until the lack of light meant they could go on no more.

  ‘Signal the cavalry to close in,’ shouted Virrius and a soldier with a heliograph sent the signal miles across the plain to close the gap. Down below the battle had broken up into chaos and individual fights littered the battlefield as far as the eye could see.

  The heavily armoured Legionaries not only had the better training and weapons but also outnumbered the enemy by at least two to one. It was only a matter of time before Boudicca’s army were wiped out to a man.

  ‘There’s the cavalry,’ said Virrius pointing to the approaching riders spread across the plain. ‘This is going to be easy.’

  ‘Too easy,’ said Petillius.

  Virrius turned to stare at Petillius, surprised at the concern on the Legate’s face.

  ‘Something is wrong,’ said Petillius. ‘Those men had no chance of breaching our lines yet they attacked them as if we were nothing.’

  ‘That is their mentality,’ said Virrius. ‘They don’t know when they are beaten.’

  ‘If this Boudicca is half as good as they say she is, why would she assault a Legion head on?’

  ‘Ignorance,’ sneered Virrius. ‘After all, she is but a woman. What would they know about tactics?’

  ‘No,’ said Petillius,’ this is too easy, besides, that army was only a couple of thousand strong. Where are the ten thousand she is reputed to lead?’

  Virrius turned to watch the scattered battle below.

  ‘She knew she would have no chance against formed ranks,’ continued Petillius, ‘but in an open fight, the odds would be more equal, especially with more warriors.’

  ‘By the gods,’ said Virrius looking again at the spread out nature of his men. You think she deliberately sacrificed those men to get us to break ranks.’

  ‘I do,’ said, Petillius, ‘she has led us into a trap and one which I fear is about to be sprung.’

  Virrius turned to the signaller at his side.

  ‘Sound the retreat,’ he screamed, ‘get them out of there.’

  As the man raised his cornicine to his mouth, an arrow pierced his throat and he looked up in confusion before falling to his knees, clutching wildly at his wound.

  Virrius drew his Gladius and spun around to identify the threat.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ he screamed and all around him the officers milled about, unable to answer. Suddenly a volley of arrows flew from the forest and men fell all around the Legatus. Within seconds, every signaller lay dead or dying across the hillside, carefully targeted by the hidden archers.

  ‘The trees,’ shouted a soldier, ‘they are in the trees.’ Before Virrius could give any orders, hundreds of men ran from the thick undergrowth of the forest edge. Others dropped from branches while still more seemed to rise from the very ground itself, discarding the mud and leaves that had hidden them from enemy eyes.

  ‘Where are the rear guards?’ shouted an officer.

  ‘They must have been taken by surprise,’ shouted Petillius, ‘form a line and deal with this threat. Guards get a rider down to the reserves; I want at least a Cohort up here immediately. Virrius, get a message to the Primus Pilus, he is to retreat from contact and reform the Legion. This bitch has lured us into a trap.’

  ‘Yes, Sire,’ shouted Virrius and ran over to the horses. Within seconds he was galloping down the slope toward the battle.

  ----

  Boudicca watched as her people were slaughtered below and although every one of them had volunteered to become the bait, it hurt to see so many of them fall. It was obvious they couldn’t last much longer yet still she waited. It was important the Roman cavalry were fully deployed before she showed her strength.

  ‘They come,’ whispered a voice beside her and she peered between the bracken to see the cavalry racing to join the battle.

  ‘Wait,’ said Boudicca sensing the frustration in her comrade’s voice. ‘Just a little longer.’ The cavalry spread out into line abreast as they neared the encampment and lances were withdrawn from their leather holders to be levelled toward the enemy. The pace increased and within seconds they were galloping full pelt into the battle, a tidal wave of irresistible force ready to annihilate any who stood before them.

  The panicking barbarians faltered in their retreat, not knowing which way to turn to avoid the relentless Roman advance. People ran everywhere and the cavalry’s headlong charge became caught up in the confusion as hundreds of warriors ran amongst them, using their skinning knives against the tendons of the animals. The flow of combatants had stopped in all directions and man stood against man, in a battle to the death with no quarter given. The overall skill and better armament of the Romans meant the Barbarians were no match for them but despite their losses, every moment had been carefully choreographed for this exact scenario. Most of the Roman infantry and all of the cavalry were engaged in unstructured battle and though it looked as if they would be victorious, this was the moment Boudicca had been waiting for.

  Casting away the bracken she stood tall on the side of the hill and held her broadsword high.

  ‘Sacred Andraste,’ she screamed, ‘in the name of our forefathers, lead us this day to victory.’ All around, warrior after warrior followed her lead and stood up from their cold hiding places to race down the slopes toward the b
attle. Thousands of men and women each armed to the teeth with sword, knife or club, emerged from the enveloping bracken as if by magic and within seconds the slopes were alive with over ten thousand warriors; racing to aid their fellow Britons.

  Virrius galloped toward the Primus Pilus deep in the heart of the battle. It was essential the head Centurion understood the gravity of the situation for if his blood lust blinded him to the danger, then the men would assume it was known and keep fighting alongside him.

  Virrius glanced up and gasped in despair as he saw the hordes of Barbarians racing down to close the trap. He reined his horse in, realising he was too late to reach the furthest ranks.

  ‘You men,’ he screamed, spinning his horse around, ‘fall back and form a line.’ Confused Legionaries, used to being on the front foot looked at each other in panic as the officer rode frantically amongst them, barking his orders to all within earshot.

  ‘It is a trap,’ he shouted, ‘fall back and reform.’

  Realisation sunk in and the junior officers amongst them echoed his orders to organise their men but despite their newfound urgency, it was too late. The main brunt of Boudicca’s army was amongst them.

  The battle turned instantly as the barbarians ran amok, their war cries adding to the mayhem. Bodies were hewn apart as the Britons took out their rage on the Romans. The sea of half-naked, painted warriors seemed never ending and Virrius realised the day was lost.

  ‘Retreat,’ he screamed from his horse, ‘back to the forest lines,’ but though the remaining men tried to make headway toward the sheltering forest, they were hounded at every step and Legionaries fell in their droves.

  Up on the hill Petillius stared in horror as his Legion was torn apart at the hands of Boudicca.

  ‘Sire, our men are routed,’ shouted an officer. ‘We need to help them.’

  ‘No,’ snapped Petillius, ‘it is too late. The witch has drawn us in like a lamb to the slaughter. If we commit what men are left, it will just feed their swords with more Roman blood. My honour demands I die amongst my men but comes second to a greater need, the retention of the Aquila.’ He looked up at the golden Eagle standard high on its pole. The Eagle had been cast in bronze and coated with gold but the value was not in the precious metal but the iconography it represented. The Legions of Rome.