Brothers in Blood

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

By the time the Seventh Cohort had dragged the dismantled light ballistas up into the bastion, Lebauscus’s men had begun constructing protective screens along the rear wall. The legionaries used the enemy’s shields and smaller timbers taken from the front of the fortification. Hurriedly lashed together, they provided cover from missiles directed from the main fort. Then the auxiliaries, armed with slings, moved into position along the length of the palisade facing the gate.

Cato’s strategy of using the prisoners to discourage Venutius from shooting across into the bastion had worked for a while, but as soon as the first screens were set up, the enemy reluctantly accepted the risk to their captured comrades and unleashed their arrows. After an initial flurry, which claimed more native lives than Roman, the Brigantians contented themselves with occasional harassing shots to conserve their ammunition.

‘Over here!’ Cato called across to Centurion Acer, and indicated the makeshift embrasures opposite the fort’s gatehouse. ‘Set ’em up along the palisade.’

The sweating legionaries carried their burdens over the bloodstained grass and set them down behind the cover of the wooden wall. As more men came up with the baskets of three-foot-long bolts and rounded stones, their comrades set to work reassembling the weapons. The largest component was the heavy wooden frame containing the thick cords of twisted sinew that gave the ballistas their extraordinary power. These were heaved up on to the sturdy wooden stands and secured with wooden pegs and wedges, hammered home with mallets. Finally the missile beds and the throwing arms were slotted home and the loading handles fitted to the torsion ratchets.

‘They’re ready now, sir,’ Centurion Acer reported to Cato as he conferred with Lebauscus, Macro and Vellocatus. The latter, his arm in a sling, had climbed up to the bastion along with the Eighth Cohort.

‘Shall I give the order to start shooting?’ Acer asked.

‘Not yet,’ Cato decided. ‘When we strike, I want to hit ’em with our full strength. If we can shake them badly from the off then the battle is more than half won. One thing I have learned from fighting these Britons is that if you go at them with speed and ferocity, they have a tendency to lose their nerve. Shock them, gentlemen. That’s the trick of it.’

‘Nice words,’ said Lebauscus. ‘But they don’t win battles, sir. That’s down to men and cold steel.’

Cato nodded. ‘And the mind that directs them, Centurion.’

He paused and quickly considered the men at his disposal and the ground before them. It was vital that the officers were clear about their roles in the coming action and the need to co-ordinate their efforts if the attack was to succeed with minimal casualties. They could ill afford to lose any more men. Cato had already considered the consequences if they failed. The column would be obliged to retreat across the frontier as quickly as possible. As soon as Venutius and Caratacus had gathered sufficient men they would pursue the Romans and harry them all the way. The depleted column would need every man to hold the enemy off. He put aside thoughts of retreat and focused on the immediate task.

‘Centurion Horatius was right on one count, the only way we’re going to get into the fort is by battering down the gate. His method, however, was too direct.’

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ said Macro.

‘We still need that ram,’ Cato resumed. ‘The enemy will be determined to make us pay a high price to recover it. The ram is in full view of the earthworks either side of the gate and the party we send out to fetch it is going to be exposed to a barrage of arrows, spears, rocks and whatever else they have prepared for us. That said, they in turn are going to have to expose themselves when they target our men retrieving the ram. That’s where you come in, Acer. I want those ballistas worked hard. Keep the defenders’ heads down. You’ll command the auxiliary slingmen as well. When the command is given, hit the enemy as hard as you can. Anything to put them off their aim and give our lads the chance to fetch the ram without suffering too many losses.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Which brings us to the small job of retrieving the ram.’ Cato turned to Macro with a weary smile. ‘How many men are left in your First Century?’

Macro had accounted for his losses during the brief pause in action while the ballistas were set up. ‘Forty-eight still on their feet, sir. More than enough.’

‘Good. You’ll take them out of the breach and go round the front of the bastion. When you hear the signal, you make a dash for the ram, pick it up and carry it to the gate. Then smash the bastard in.’

Macro grinned. ‘With pleasure.’

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Lebauscus cut in. ‘But why send in Macro’s men? They’ve done their bit. Better to let my lads do it. They’re fresh and at full strength.’

Cato shook his head. ‘That’s why I’m saving them to deliver the main blow. The Eighth Cohort will be up here, ready to assault the fort through the bastion’s gate the moment the ram has done its work. Besides, you’re going to have a hard time talking Macro out of the job. Isn’t that right?’

Macro laughed and wagged a finger at the other centurion. ‘Try and stop me, my friend.’

Lebauscus smiled. ‘It’s your funeral, Macro. Just trying to help.’

‘You’ll have the chance to play your part after Macro has succeeded,’ said Cato. ‘When the gate is down, you’ll go in fast and hard. Kill any that resist, but spare any that abandon their weapons. You need to make that point clear to your men. I don’t want to kill any Brigantians we don’t have to. As far as we’re concerned, those who have sided with Venutius and Caratacus have been misled and made a mistake. So we let them live and be grateful for it.’

Lebauscus looked doubtful. ‘That’ll be hard on the men, sir. You know what they’re like when their blood’s up.’

‘I do. And that’s why you need to rein them in, Centurion. When this is over, the Brigantes are going to be our allies again. I’d rather we didn’t give them any more pain than we have to. We do not want to leave behind a legacy of bitterness or resentment. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir. But what about captives?’

‘There won’t be any. Anyone we capture will be handed over to Queen Cartimandua to decide their fate.’

‘No captives?’ Lebauscus could not hide his disappointment. ‘The men aren’t going to like that. I’ve already overheard some of them talking about their share of the loot.’

‘I don’t care what they do and don’t like,’ Cato replied tersely. ‘Those are my orders. There will be no captives taken to sell as slaves, and no looting. Any man caught looting or raping will be subjected to the harshest discipline. You will explain that to them as well, and you will be responsible for their actions, Centurion Lebauscus. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cato looked round. ‘Is everyone clear about what they have to do?’

The others nodded and Lebauscus asked, ‘What about you, sir?’

‘I’ll be going in with your cohort. Me and Vellocatus.’

Lebauscus raised an eyebrow. ‘With respect, sir. Both of you are wounded. You’d be more of a hindrance than a help.’

‘I thank you for your concern,’ Cato replied acidly. ‘We’ll need Vellocatus to call on them to surrender. I’ll be there because I am in command.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

Cato paused but there were no further questions. ‘Very well, then. The signal for Macro to go for the ram and for Acer to start shooting will be one blast of the horn, repeated at intervals until we’re under way. Then two blasts for the main attack to begin, and Acer to cease shooting. To your units, gentlemen. Macro, get your men round the back of the bastion. Keep out of sight and be ready to act the moment you hear the signal.’

The officers saluted and strode off to join their men and Cato turned to Vellocatus. ‘Time for one last appeal to reason. Ready?’

Vellocatus nodded. ‘Do you really think Venutius will surrender?’

Cato stared at him. ‘You’re Venutius’s shield-bearer. You know him far better than I do. What do you think?’

‘He’ll fight,’ the Brigantian replied at once. ‘He’s been a warrior all his life. All he knows is fighting.’

‘That’s what I feared you would say. But we have to give him a chance. In any case, he’ll probably be taking his cue from Caratacus.’ Cato smiled ruefully. ‘You can imagine what that means.’

‘Then why even make them the offer?’

Cato exhaled wearily. ‘If there’s a chance to end this before another man has to die, then I have to take it.’

He led the way to the auxiliaries crouching behind the palisade and peered cautiously between the hastily erected screens. The fort’s gatehouse was no more than forty paces away. The track below the bastion’s gate was a short distance below, and then open ground to the ditch and the raised drawbridge. Many of the enemy were in clear view, some of them archers. There was no reason for them to take cover. Not yet, Cato reflected grimly. He turned to Vellocatus.

‘You’re up. Tell them the Roman commander wants to speak to Venutius.’

‘Just Venutius?’

Cato nodded. ‘If it helps to undermine Caratacus’s standing over there then it’s worth a try.’

Vellocatus smiled. ‘You understand my people too well.’

The Brigantian cupped a hand to his mouth and drew a deep breath before he shouted across to his compatriots. There was no immediate response, so he repeated his call and this time there was a brief pause and then angry shouts and jeering whistles. Vellocatus turned to Cato who shook his head.

‘No need to translate. I got the gist of it.’

The voices from the fort swiftly fell silent, save one, and Vellocatus risked a quick glance over the palisade. ‘It’s Caratacus.’

‘Damn. .’ Cato frowned. It seemed that the Catuvellaunian king had already assumed command of the rebels. ‘Say that I want to speak to Venutius.’

Vellocatus called out and there was a beat before Cato heard his enemy’s voice reply, in Latin, ‘I’m speaking to the Roman commander! Not his treacherous lapdog. You have my word that no one will try to stick an arrow in you. I expect the same in return. Stand up, where I can see you and talk.’

Cato thought quickly. It was too late to try and undermine Caratacus. If he refused to speak to him, Caratacus would tell his supporters that the Roman commander was afraid. And if they spoke in Latin, there would be only a handful of natives who understood enough to follow the exchange. ‘I want you to keep translating. Keep it loud, so that as many of them can hear as possible.’

Vellocatus nodded.

Cato took a deep breath and eased himself up on to his feet and warily moved into the open, exposing the top of his body above the palisade. He indicated to Vellocatus to stand but keep behind the screen. The young nobleman shook his head, and moved close to Cato’s side as he whispered fiercely, ‘I’ll not show any fear to those traitors.’

‘Good for you,’ Cato replied quietly. ‘But you get down at the first sign of trouble. You’ll be needed later on.’

‘Is that my old adversary, Prefect Cato, under that helmet?’ Caratacus called out.

‘Say that I want to speak to Venutius.’

Caratacus listened to the reply and shook his head. ‘I speak for the patriots of the Brigantes. Venutius has honoured me with the command of his men. And I will speak with Prefect Cato and not his lackey.’

Cato raised his voice. ‘I demand that the rebels in the fort release Queen Cartimandua and all other hostages, and surrender. I give you my word that all who surrender will not be enslaved or otherwise mistreated. I further guarantee that I will insist that there will be no reprisals by our ally, the queen. My only demand will be the delivery of the fugitive, Caratacus, into our hands.’ He turned and nodded to Vellocatus who began to translate his words, until he was interrupted by Caratacus shouting over the top of him.

‘And these are my terms, Roman. Abandon your attack and leave Isurium and I will guarantee that you will be given free passage as far as the frontier. I, and my new host of warriors, will spare your lives if you leave Isurium before the day is out. If you are still here at dawn then I swear by our war god, Camulos, that you will all die and your heads will decorate the huts of the warriors of Brigantia. What say you?’

Cato glanced at Vellocatus. ‘Tell them what I said again.’

Vellocatus began, but was swiftly drowned out once more. This time Caratacus ended by turning to his men and shouting an order.

‘Get down!’ Vellocatus grabbed Cato’s good arm and pulled him into cover and the first arrow hammered into the screen a moment later. Several more followed, one bursting through the surface of a native shield and showering them with splinters. Cato reached up with his good hand and carefully brushed them from his shoulders. ‘That would seem to conclude our attempt to negotiate a peaceful resolution. Time for something more emphatic, I think. Come!’

Staying in a crouch, Cato led the way along the palisade to the end nearest the ram. Then, taking a native shield to protect himself, he dashed over the open ground and peered over the palisade. Macro and his men were in position on the grass slope below, waiting for the signal to begin the attack. Cato turned back and looked across the bastion. Lebauscus had ordered his cohort to kneel and shelter behind their shields. Acer’s men were crouched beside their light ballistas and the auxiliaries had the first shots carefully placed into the leather pouches of their slings. All was ready, Cato decided. It was time to put his plan to the test.

The colour party of the Eighth Cohort clustered around the standard. Amongst them Cato could see the shining bronze curve of the horn carried by the soldier responsible for transmitting the commands to the six centuries led by Lebauscus. Cato gestured to Vellocatus to stay close to him and trotted over. One of his men alerted Lebauscus to the approach of his superior and he turned and saluted as Cato reached him.

‘It’s time.’

Lebauscus nodded.

Cato could see Acer watching, fist clenching over and over as he waited for the order to unleash the Roman barrage. Cato turned to the legionary holding the horn.

‘Give the signal.’

The legionary raised the mouthpiece and spat to clear his mouth. Pursing his lips, he drew a deep breath and blew. The horn blared loudly, one long sustained note. He stopped, paused to take another breath and count to five before repeating the note. Before the second blast carried across the bastion, the whirring of slings and the crack of the light ballistas shattered the comparative quiet of the lull in the fighting that had followed the capture of the bastion. From over the palisade came a chorus of shouts as Macro and the remaining men of the First Century bolted from cover and raced towards the ram lying a short distance up the last stretch of track leading up to the fort’s gate.