‘Cassus, as usual you take your own path,’ said Suetonius.
Cassus dismounted and saluted his commander.
‘Hail, Suetonius,’ he said. ‘Your words confuse me.’
‘I said ten days yet the thirteenth has dawned,’ said Suetonius. ‘This could be seen as insubordination.’
‘It could,’ said Cassus, ‘and I offer no apology except that circumstances demanded I linger.’
‘Hopefully these circumstances were fruitful,’ said Suetonius.
‘They were,’ said Cassus.
‘Then come to my tent,’ said Suetonius, ‘and share the knowledge. I have organised some food to be prepared.’
The two men walked through the camp, talking the talk of soldiers. Finally they passed the two guards at the entrance to the large command tent. Inside, they removed their capes and handed them to the ever-present slaves.
‘Sit,’ said Suetonius and signalled the attending servant to pour two goblets of wine. Cassus sat in a wooden chair lined with sheepskin.
‘So,’ said Suetonius, taking his own seat. ‘Fill me in on the relevance of this journey, Cassus, for truth be told, I struggle to make a strategy with regards to this woman. Do I ride out and face her while she drinks the wine of Londinium or wait until her army is formed up on the plains and make use of our cavalry?’
‘I fear neither strategy will work here,’ said Cassus. ‘Her army is too big.’
‘You surprise me, Centurion,’ said Suetonius, ‘since when has my Primus Pilus proclaimed anything but victory?’
‘Since he saw a foe he knows cannot be beaten,’ said Cassus, ‘at least with normal tactics.’
‘Our histories are fat with defeats of greater armies,’ said Suetonius, ‘what makes you think these barbarians offer a greater threat than those whose bones litter the ancient battlefields?’
‘This army is greater than any I have ever seen,’ said Cassus, ‘and has no knowledge of structure or tactics.’
‘Surely that is a good thing,’ said the Legate.
‘You would think so,’ said Cassus, ‘but in open warfare their assault would be unpredictable and their lines could easily surround the entire Germina a hundred deep. If they followed expected formations then there would be a chance but their numbers preclude a battle of tactics.’
‘I struggle with this,’ said Suetonius. ‘I have a full-strength legion under command and we fear no one. Superior numbers are a consideration but nothing else. One of our men is worth ten of theirs in battle.’
‘I agree,’ said Cassus, ‘and I think there are ways to defeat Boudicca but there are other factors to be taken into consideration.’
‘Which are?’
‘First of all, our own numbers. Do we have the support of the Augusta or Valera Victrix?’
‘I have sent messengers to both,’ said Suetonius, ‘and have received word that the Victrix already march to our aid.’
‘And the Augusta?’
‘Prefect Postumus hasn’t replied yet and I admit to having concern. He is known to have ambition above his station and may see this as an opportunity to see me fall.’
‘Surely refusal to aid the governor is treason?’ said Cassus.
‘Perhaps,’ said Suetonius, ‘but that is a matter for another day. We know we can count on ourselves and the Victrix as well as some vexillations from around the colonies. In all, we have over ten thousand swords under my command.’
‘Still a number less than a tenth of the enemy,’ said Cassus, ‘but hope is not lost.’
‘Explain,’ said Suetonius.
‘Their strength is their numbers,’ said Cassus, ‘and at first glance it is impenetrable, yet I think I have seen a chink in their armour.’
‘Which is?’ asked Suetonius.
‘Their numbers,’ said Cassus.
Suetonius frowned.
‘You jest with me, Centurion. You just said their numbers were their strength.’
‘And they are,’ said Cassus, ‘except in one circumstance, one where they become an unbearable burden.’
Suetonius signalled for the servant to pour more wine.
‘At last your tone lifts my spirits, Cassus,’ said the Legatus, ‘and you find a willing listener. Share what you have for one way or another, this situation will be brought to a conclusion.’
For the next few hours Cassus shared what he had learned as well as his thoughts on a strategy for defeating Boudicca’s army and by the time dawn approached, Suetonius’s mind was set. At last they had a plan and though it was risky, if the gods were willing, they would have a chance of victory and for Suetonius, that was the best he could hope for.
* * *
While Suetonius and Cassus shared wine in their stronghold, another Legate was preparing to run the gauntlet of an unknown enemy with little more than a century of men. Petillius looked around at the column of horses and the runners alongside them. The sun was still just below the horizon but the clouds above were reflecting just enough light for them to see where they were going.
‘Aquilifer,’ he said, ‘raise the Eagle.’
The standard bearer complied and every head turned to stare at their emblem.
‘Look well, men,’ said Petillius, ‘for though today we are few, a hundred thousand spirits ride beside us. Every man who has ever looked up at this Aquila rides alongside you today and though their sword arms are denied us, their spirits strengthen our resolve. Today, the Eagle of the Ninth will stand alongside that of the Gemina or we will die in the attempt. Legio Nona Hispana, despite our numbers we are still a legion and I expect every man to do his duty. Today I ask that you forget your own mortality and take this legion’s name into the annals of history.’ He turned to the two men still left at the gate. ‘It is time,’ he said. ‘Open the gates.’ The two wooden gates creaked open, and Petillius peered into the gloom outside the fort.
‘We will take it easy at first,’ he said, ‘and perhaps we will get past their lookouts without discovery. Decurion, lead the way.’
The scout commander flicked his heels and his horse walked forward, through the gates, closely followed by the others. For over a mile the column walked through the forest without opposition and Petillius allowed himself a faint hope that they would be successful without blood being spilt. Finally they broke free of the trees and followed a small valley toward the distant hills.
Out in the open, the lack of trees meant it was considerably lighter and as the sun broke over the horizon, the scout leading the way reined in his horse.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Petillius.
‘An enemy camp before us,’ said the scout. ‘It wasn’t there a few days ago.’
‘Which way lies our path?’ asked the Legate.
‘There is only one way,’ said the scout, and pointed toward the barbarian camp. ‘Straight through.’
Petillius took a deep breath and paused before answering. Finally he drew his Gladius.
‘Then so be it,’ he said. ‘The camp still stirs from sleep and we have surprise on our side.’ He turned to the rider behind him. ‘Pass the word back,’ he said. ‘Draw Gladii and stiffen sinew, there is blood to be spilt.’
The sounds of swords being drawn whispered down the line and battle-hardened men said silent prayers to their gods.
‘No time to waste,’ said the Legate. ‘Take us through them, Decurion, before their drunken eyes see the gleam of our Eagle.’ The scout drew his own sword and urged his horse forward, followed by the rest of the column. Those without mounts clung on tightly, their feet hardly touching the floor as they were carried along and as they reached the edge of the enemy lines, the first calls of alarm echoed around the camp.
The tents stretched as far as Petillius could see but the columns pace meant they were deep amongst them before any serious threat emerged. By now, the shouts echoed around the camp and people were emerging from their tents, unsure what was happening.
‘Romans,’ screamed a woman in her own language, �
��we are under attack!’
‘Ignore her,’ shouted Petillius, ‘keep going.’
To their front men scrabbled for weapons and ran to intercept the column, but most were simply barged aside before they presented any real threat. Those men running beside the horses gasped for breath as they swung their swords toward any barbarian managing to get close and by the time the enemy realised what was happening, the column were more than halfway through. A scream rang out and Petillius swung his horse to one side and peered back down the galloping column. A horse lay in the dust with a spear sticking out of his side. The rider lay motionless beside the animal, his neck obviously broken from the fall, and another man struggled to his feet, his face covered in blood. For a second Petillius considered riding back to get him but as he watched, a spinning axe embedded itself into the man’s back and he fell to his knees.
Other riders pulled up with the intention of helping their comrade but Petillius’s voice rang through the morning air.
‘Leave them,’ he screamed, ‘there is nothing we can do. Keep going.’ The riders realised the Legate was right and kicked their horses once more to continue the headlong advance, leaving their comrade behind to be enveloped in a crowd of screaming warriors. More men fell to spears as they ran but still the desperate column galloped on.
Though the camp was awakening, the early hour and the total surprise meant that the column was virtually unchallenged and though they lost another ten men in the charge, they finally burst clear of the tents and onto the plains beyond.
‘Keep going,’ shouted Petillius, ‘we need to make as much ground as we can before they follow.’ Exhausted men clung desperately to the saddles and the horses frothed at the mouth as they galloped as fast as they dared across the plain. For an hour they pushed both animals and humans to the limit until finally the Legate gave the order to halt at a stream. Everyone fell to their knees in relief and drank deeply as Tribune Dellus approached the Legate.
‘Dellus, you made it through,’ said Petillius.
‘I did, my lord, but how, I will never know.’
‘What of our men?’
‘Eleven lost and three wounded my lord. An outcome we could only dream of.’
‘The gods were smiling on us,’ said Petillius, ‘but we are not clear yet. Those barbarians won’t be far behind us.’
‘We can’t go on much further, my lord, the horses are about to drop through exhaustion, as are the men.’
‘We have to,’ said Petillius, ‘if that hoard catches us there will only be one outcome.’
‘We will do our best, my lord,’ said Dellus.
‘Riders approach,’ shouted a voice, making every man jump to their feet in fear.
‘Shit,’ cursed Petillius, ‘surely they can’t have caught us up already?’ He reached for his Gladius and ran up to the man who had sounded the alarm.
‘To our front, my lord,’ said the soldier.
Petillius heart sank. In the distance he could see a dust cloud, raised by the hooves of many horses.
‘We are surrounded,’ he said quietly. ‘It looks like our journey ends here.’ The remainder of the legion walked up beside him, a hundred exhausted, bloody men, bedraggled and pathetic remnants of a once great legion.
‘Look to your gods, men,’ said Petillius, ‘for today we dine with our ancestors.’
‘I think not my lord,’ said the Scout Decurion, the only man still astride his horse, ‘for if I am not mistaken, they carry the Boar standard before them, the emblem of the Valeria Victrix.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Petillius, ‘it can’t be a Victrix patrol, they are in the south.’
‘Suetonius sent word for support,’ shouted the scout in excitement. ‘It looks like the request was heeded, my lord. It’s not a Victrix patrol, it’s the entire fucking legion.’
For a second the news didn’t sink in, but as the vanguard of the oncoming legion became more discernible, the remaining men of Petillius’s unit started to laugh and cheer, waving their swords in the air at the oncoming relief.
‘Silence,’ shouted Petillius. ‘Sheath swords and form up, double ranks. Aquilifer, stand forward and present the Eagle. We may be few but we are still the Ninth Hispana and we will welcome the Victrix as such. I thought this day was done but I was wrong – it has only just begun.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Verulamium
Once more, terrifying screams echoed through smoke-filled streets and mutilated bodies lay in rivers of blood as Boudicca’s army slaughtered men, women and children in the name of freedom. This time, the slaughter wasn’t taking place in the town of Londinium but the city of Verulamium and due to its high population of ex-Roman legionaries, the initial defence had been strong and bloody. However, the final outcome was never in doubt and eventually the never-ending ranks of Britannic warriors swarmed through the streets in a frenzy of violence, hacking every living thing in their path. In amongst them was Boudicca, flanked by Rianna and Heanua, and all three women were just as committed to the slaughter as the rest of the Britannic army. No quarter was shown to the enemy and bodies lay everywhere, dead and dying from the brutal onslaught of the barbarian hoard and by the time the night was over, thirty thousand corpses lay in the streets.
Once again, the rampaging warriors took out their frustrations on those unlucky few spared the massacre, and the screams of tortured souls filled the night air as they suffered unspeakable atrocities at the hands of the barbarians.
Boudicca stood at the back of a crowd, watching silently as they strung up their prisoners on wooden frames, before torturing them with burning brands on their naked flesh. Heanua ran up beside her, breathless from the exhilaration of the battle.
‘Mother,’ she cried, ‘look what we found in that burning villa.’
Boudicca glanced down at the golden necklaces hanging around her daughter’s neck.
‘Very pretty,’ she said and looked back toward the tortured men. Heanua followed her gaze and fell quiet as she witnessed the horrifying acts being inflicted on the screaming prisoners.
‘What are they doing?’ she asked.
‘You can see what they are doing, Heanua,’ said Boudicca quietly, ‘and you should look well for this is the true face of warfare. The victors wear the baubles while the losers die screaming.’
‘A fate well deserved,’ snarled Heanua.
‘Really?’ asked Boudicca. ‘What did they do to deserve such a fate?’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Heanua. ‘Today we fought alongside each other and I lost count of the men slain at your hands. Why do you now doubt our cause?’
‘There is no doubt, Heanua, our cause is true.’
‘Then why worry about those who die at our people’s hands?’
‘To kill or indeed die in the heat of battle is an honour,’ said Boudicca, ‘but no man deserves to be tortured so.’
‘The Romans crucify our people,’ said Heanua, ‘is that not as vile a death?’
‘It is,’ said Boudicca, ‘but since when do we measure ourselves by them? Our people have always settled argument by trial of arms but any death is swift and with honour. A death such as that before us is an abomination before the gods.’
‘They are still the enemy,’ said Heanua, ‘and deserve to die.’
‘Those who bleed before us are just symptoms of the disease,’ said Boudicca, ‘the infection is yet untouched.’
‘Boudicca,’ called a voice and the queen turned to see Rianna running toward her, accompanied by a younger man.
‘Rianna,’ said Boudicca, ‘I trust your sword arm is weary?’
‘It is,’ said Rianna, ‘but there is no time for celebration – this man has news.’
‘Speak,’ said Boudicca.
‘My Queen,’ said the man, ‘I have ridden with a message from Maccus. The legion of Suetonius has left its fort and is marching across country as we speak.’
‘To here?’ asked Boudicca.
‘No, they march
north,’ said the young warrior.
‘Why would they march north?’ asked Boudicca. ‘They have no strongholds in that direction.’
‘We know not,’ said the man, ‘only that their fort burns behind them.’
Rianna turned to stare at Boudicca.
‘If they have burned their fort, it means they have no stronghold to bolt to. Perhaps they return from whence they came and seek refuge in the hills of the Khymru.’
‘Possibly,’ said Boudicca, ‘but to reach them they have to pass through the lands of the Trinovantes, lands that are ideal for open battle. This is the opportunity we have waited for, Rianna. Suetonius has made a grave error. If we move quickly, we can catch him before he reaches the Khymru and send his cursed legion the way of the Ninth. Send word to the warlords. Withdraw their men back to the river. We march with the dawn.’
* * *
Suetonius rode at the head of his legion. They had left the temporary fort the previous day and had marched just ten miles in over twenty-four hours. The pace was frustratingly slow but if his plan was to succeed, it was essential that Boudicca took the bait and pursued him north. The Primus Pilus rode alongside him and together they talked over the details of the plan.
‘Are the men ready, Cassus?’ asked Suetonius.
‘As ready as they will ever be,’ said Cassus, ‘though I fear their strength will be of little use in open battle.’
‘Let’s hope that isn’t necessary,’ said Suetonius. Before he could continue, Cassus indicated a group of riders galloping toward them in a cloud of dust.
‘A patrol approaches,’ he said, ‘and it looks in a hurry.’
Suetonius gave the order for the column to halt and ten of their own cavalry rode out to meet the oncoming party. A few minutes later both groups rode in toward the legion and one rider detached to approach the general.
‘Hail, Suetonius,’ he said. ‘I bring message from the Valeria Victrix. Our legion marches parallel to yours a day’s ride away.’
‘Excellent news,’ said Suetonius. ‘Are you at full strength?’
‘No, we are three thousand strong though we are joined by the survivors of the Ninth Hispana. A unit not exceeding a hundred men.’
The Wrath of Boudicca Page 23
