Caratacus

Chapter Eleven

Through the swirling morning mist carried on an infrequent breeze, Varro slowly advanced with the cavalry cohort he had been attached to for the attack. Vespasian had deemed it necessary that all men and equipment available to him would be involved in what he believed would be the final and decisive battle against the Catuvellauni. His philosophy was that it was worth taking a greater risk to destroy Caratacus and Togodumnus and take casualties now rather than draw out the war and lose more men in the long term. Now all the Britons had to do was line-up and allow themselves to be slaughtered like never before.

When Varro and his small party including Brenna and her brother had originally ridden out in search of the enemy, they had originally lost contact with them despite being convinced that it wouldn’t happen with such a large body moving together. The people they sought though had managed to evade them by moving faster and not stopping and it had forced the pursuers to spend time trying to locate them. The Britons had also used some of their carts, horses and people as diversions and he was shocked to find only old men and women when he had eventually tracked some of them down. They had posed no threat but had caused him to waste valuable time and he was angry at his own naivety. He had told those he found to return to their homes or risk losing their lives. In the main they agreed but some shouted abuse and one had even asked Varro questions.

“Why are you here Roman?” A man shouted sat on one of the carts. Varro looked at him, he assumed was about sixty years of age. He had long unkempt hair and was sat next to a woman of similar age who he presumed was his wife. Brenna translated his words but the man looked only at Varro.

“Togodumnus and Caratacus have seized the crown from Adminius of the Catuvellauni, rightful heir to the throne and loyal client King to the Emperor. They have also invaded other Kingdoms and plans on rebelling against Rome and cutting trade.” Varro replied but even as he spoke his words were met with shaking heads.

“Adminius is the traitor and liar not Togodumnus or his brother. Your Emperor is either a fool or a liar and has been duped by Adminius and has allowed his greed to overtake his morals and mind. Tell me Roman what trade has ceased?” The old man stood on the plank seat of the cart as if to emphasise his point and make himself heard.

“Trade still flows from Britannia to Rome and from Rome to Britannia under Togodumnus. Adminius is the one who broke treaties and launched attacks on other regions. It is well known that it was he who was exiled by his father, a loyal King. It was he who called for rebellion here. Why else would the King have exiled him, his own son? It was he who was hungry for power and it is he who should be punished not an entire people.”

Varro calmed Staro who jerked around underneath him, sensing tension. “My argument is not with you or your people old man. I am a soldier and go where I am ordered and I’m ordered to track Togodumnus down and you have delayed me long enough. I do not concern myself with politics but with what I can see, now where has he gone, which direction?”

The old man raised his eyebrows as if surprised by the question. “Do you expect me to betray my King Roman?” He looked around at the gathered Britons.

“I cannot help you no matter what you say or do. We live here and have lived here all our lives and we know what has happened. We have seen the greed of Adminius not Togodumnus. You may see yourself as an honest man merely doing his duty but you have been used as have all your soldiers. I am sorry but my new leader is a brave and proud man who is serving and trying to protect his people as you would and I cannot assist you against him.” He sat down again as if to signify the end of the conversation.

Varro felt some respect for the old man and the others who were nodding in agreement to his words. He looked at Brenna and told her to translate once more.

“Take these people then and make your way to your homes where you will be safe.” He turned Staro and galloped away with the others following. They continued to look to the west and eventually turned north east after picking up no fresh signs of the enemy. What the old man had said began to gnaw away at him. He had always believed in the noble nature of soldiering but things were beginning to cast doubts on his chosen way of life. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to concentrate on the task in hand.

Moving along a wide fairly fast flowing river he had finally found the army he had been searching for. They had made camp on the far side of the water a mile or so before it ran into the sea. Vast amounts of tents were pitched for as far as the eye could see and plumes of smoke billowed up from hundreds of small fires. People were wandering around talking to different groups some were eating and many were preparing weapons, warriors he assumed as he looked beyond them. From his position hidden amongst a wooded glade he could just make out war chariots behind the enemy lines, he lost count after fifty. The chariots were near a forest like area and maybe marsh land beyond where large reeds could be seen.

Working hard to stay out of sight, he and his small party watched the Britons from the safety of the far side of the river amongst uneven ground. It looked to Varro as if Togodumnus had decided to stand and make a fight and had chosen his ground well as he looked out over the huge encampment. He almost admired the chieftain for choosing this place as it was eminently defendable and hard to attack, there was no doubt that this enemy, was tactically astute. Crossing the river to attack them would prove difficult but he knew it would be imperative if they were to succeed.

Together with those in his group, the scouting party discussed the prospect of a battle occurring here. Brenna and her brother had volunteered to stay hidden and watch and wait for the slow moving Roman column to advance after Varro would report his findings to the General and his staff. Knowing that crossing the river was a major factor in what was to come, he had decided to travel further along the river and headed west to try and find a suitable place to cross. Although he estimated that the depth of the water was about shoulder height and therefore crossable, it wouldn’t be so easy with enemy spears and arrows piercing soldiers flesh as they struggled with the water current as well.

He rode on for about an hour and eventually found an old rickety foot bridge that was just wide enough for two men to cross at a time. It had been made from felled trees a long time before and bound together with vines but would be sufficient for a few cohorts to use to get to the other side of the twisting water. Varro had seen how the river had weaved its way through the countryside turning this way and that, almost turning back on itself at some points like a great snake. After finding no shallow areas suitable for a large crossing of men and equipment, he returned to the legion and reported his findings.

Vespasian had listened to his report with interest often stopping him to ask questions or to clear up certain points as he studied the parchment map in detail. A plan of attack would be drawn up and developed with his officers and soon the Legion would march into battle.

And so it was that he now found himself riding on its left flank advancing towards the great barbarian army on the far side of the river. The Legion had woken well before dawn and eaten breakfast consisting of dried hard biscuits and watered wine. It was still dark as he had checked his horse and had to use the flames from a torch burning nearby to make sure his saddle was secure and his javelins easily accessible.

He now felt his heart began to pound and race in his chest in anticipation of the battle to come. He knew that the plan had involved his cohort being the tip of the spear of the attack but that was all, he knew no further specific details. The General had briefed Tribunes and senior Centurions who in turn briefed everyone through their own respective Centurions. There was no requirement for every single soldier to know specific details as they would receive their orders at the time.

Slowly the horse’s in front of his own came to a halt and an eerie silence descended. The noise of the flowing water and the occasional snort of a horse were the only things that broke it. They were to wait for the signal to advance into the water and to then cross the river as quickly as possible for a full frontal assault. He sat back in his saddle and felt the mists cool moisture on his arms and legs and thought about the fight to come as his stomach twisted and lurched in anticipation.

The plan that he was aware of was for the cavalry attack to withdraw as soon as their infantry reinforcements reached their position and engaged the army of Britons but before that a diversionary attack was to take place at the rear of the enemy lines. If that attack proved successful it would mean that the Britons would be virtually surrounded and cut off, unable to escape.

As far off cries of pain sounded from somewhere over on the other side of the river, he knew the assault had begun. Cohorts of Batavian cavalry had already set foot on the far side of the river a few hours before still under the cover of night. Some were to use the footbridge found by Varro and had made the way slowly to the other side and had gone to ground at the rear of the enemy, others had literally swam across the river with full kit three miles to the west.

The plan had been to attack and trap the Britons in the first instance by either killing, or disabling their horses at the rear and so knocking out their ability to use their chariots. The shrieks of pain from man and horse accounted for the guttural noises as the attack was pressed home but the incensed Catuvellauni were fighting like demons as they quickly realised that the Romans had already crossed the river and were now attacking from the rear.

The Batavians had quickly come to the conclusion that it was impossible to put all the horses out of action as they thrashed about kicking out at them and running wildly panicking as they saw what was happening to those around them. Soldiers tried in vain to hamstring as many of the animals as they could but were quickly attacked as they went about their grisly business.

The defending enemy counter attacked with a fury and a frenzy that even they, the veterans found hard to comprehend, as the first of the horses were wounded screaming out in agony, the Britons launched an assault. Running at the Romans the Catuvellauni threw themselves at the men killing and wounding their animals. The woad covered warriors attacked them like madmen swarming all around them in moments hurling spears and firing arrows into their ranks.

Individual fights broke out everywhere as the Romans not already engaged, attempted to hold off the attacking barbarians whilst others concentrated on the animals. The men of the Second Augusta started to fall in numbers as they were hacked and stabbed to death. Horses bolted, running wildly in the ensuing mayhem that descended all around and Roman and Briton alike were stampeded and knocked to the ground.

As Varro and his horse entered the water he exchanged nervous glances with those around him. The noise and cries from men and animals coming from the other side were chilling and almost unbearable. Their own mounts were already skittish, spooked by the ungodly sounds of battle. One trooper was thrown from his horse further down the line as his animal bucked, hurling him into the cold water.

Varro gasped as the water rose up his legs as man and horse got deeper into the river, he could now see the other side on the opposite shore through the mist. Whispering quietly to Staro he leaned forward and rubbed his neck trying to calm his mount as he strained to see more detail on the other side. He still couldn’t see any of the enemy, just their roughly made tents and numerous campfires. The Centurion in charge of the cohort ordered them to advance further, they urged their animals forward wading deeper, moving faster through the deep cold water.

At the rear of the Britons line they were now taking control of the fight as more warriors enveloped the isolated Romans. Unable to wound any more horses and totally surrounded they fought for their lives, none were shown any mercy. Even those who tried to surrender, throwing their swords down and raising their arms were hacked to death by the incensed defenders who were crazed after what they had done to their animals. Fingers, hands, arms and heads were severed as blood clouds sprayed forming and spurting from veins in the continued attack as the Romans numbers were whittled down.

As they were cut to ribbons, the other cohorts appeared out of the mist galloping from their own river crossing. The bridge had collapsed under the weight of the animals so they had swam across, still steaming as the cold water met their warm bodies but they were too late to save their comrades. Instantly they turned to charge toward to a group of horses but the Britons got to them first and formed a human barrier. Spears were hurled through the air at the cavalry as faster flying arrows joined them in the air finding their targets.

The newly arrived troops and their horses were quickly hemmed together from all sides. Those who found themselves outermost struggled to fight such was the crush of bodies in front and behind and stood little chance. The men at the rear were unable to help, crammed in like eels in a barrel and could only watch in panic as those in front of them met a brutal death as they themselves could only wait their turn. Men fell from horses quickly as the long swords took their toll, the attackers able to stand off and swing wildly at such rich targets. For a rare moment the men fighting for the empire found that they didn’t have the advantage. The Britons made short work of the heavily outnumbered and packed together cavalry. As the last of them was slaughtered the victorious Britons surveyed the damage done to their horses.

A pile of dead were left lying in a heap where they had died, bodies virtually piled up on top of each other. Severed arms and legs twisted at odd angles stuck out from the corpse pile, the stench of blood and shit was vile. Although the defence of the horses had been quick to respond to the attack, many now lay dead, others lay on the ground legs twitching, their cries of pain unworldly. Some tried in vain to get to their feet as the Britons approached them. Those who were deemed mortally wounded were dispatched with spears and swords. Others were still running around in pain large open wounds to their necks and flanks, still spilling blood.

As Varro and his own horse levelled out on the flat of the river side he heard sharp crisp snapping sounds and realised that they were under attack from bowmen. He looked to his left quickly after he heard a loud shriek and saw that a soldier had been hit in the throat. His hands grasped at the arrow embedded in his neck but his eyes began to glaze over almost immediately. Varro watched the legionary fall backwards over the rump of the horse, his body hit the water head first and was engulfed.

Instantly he was aware of the sounds around him, seemingly magnified as he tried to push Staro into a charge as water splashed around them. Another legionary was hit in the face by an arrow as it inverted his nose on impact. Varro heard yet another cry of pain from somewhere behind, it was bedlam. He leaned forward onto Staro’s mane trying to present a smaller target as arrows whined past him from both sides and overhead. His head banged against his mounts neck and he got a face full of wet hair as Staro moved faster through the water raising his head.

After what seemed like an age, horse and rider began to emerge from the water on the other side. A brief thought inside his head told Varro that their position meant nothing because if anything the danger had now trebled as he saw woad covered Britons streaming forward screaming war cries. As they got to within about fifty paces they hefted their spears launching them into the air as they were joined by more arrows already on their own deadly flight. Varro swallowed briefly and thought that it would be a miracle if he survived this onslaught.

Riding clear of the water with the enemy bearing down on him, he pushed Staro up the slight embankment screaming encouragement to his horse. Those around him did the same but every second their flight was broken by cries of pain as arrows or spears found targets. Some horses hit by the deadly missiles were jumping in panic to the side, hitting other animals and dislodging their riders who splashed into the cold water, where men gasped for breath. The Britons were taking a heavy toll of both men and horses now as the two sides got closer. He turned to the rear quickly to make sure he wasn’t alone and saw one dismounted soldier trying to wade through the water back to the other side, his horse already there but kicking wildly with a spear in its flank. Beyond the soldier he could see infantry walking into the water, their straight lines walking briskly, shields held high, they too were already starting to receive arrows.

From somewhere he was aware of trumpets sounding, giving orders to cohorts and centuries to pursue the attack as the chaos of battle grew. Staro began to gallop forward now clear of the water, he managed to gain a slight lead on the horses around him. Varro saw a clear gap to his left and steered towards it and then further to the left. He knew presenting himself and his horse’s side to the enemy was a huge risk but he also knew that if he didn’t do something quickly they would find themselves running straight onto swords or spears. From the corner of his eye he saw that more men and horses were getting hit by arrows. He saw one horse rearing upward with a number of arrows in its head and more landing as its undefended chest was bared. He kicked out at Staro mentally pleading for more speed.

‘Come on boy we don’t want to die here like this, not here, not today, come on faster.’ He shouted. In a split second the thought was already gone from his head as from somewhere Staro found more speed. Varro clung on as he accelerated forward. From the side he was aware that he had made the right decision as the two opposing sides drew closer.

He saw that the enemy were now running flat out, sprinting towards their attackers, hurling spears, others held axes or swords aloft as they screamed and shook them in the air. They looked terrifying, their eyes and teeth prominent through their woad covered skin. Varro ripped a javelin free and hurled it forward and to the right. He didn’t aim it at anyone in particular so dense was the crush of Britons massed and surging forward.

In seconds the two sides would clash and Varro worked like never before to push his horse further to the left. He didn’t intend to end his life stupidly running into a sword or spiked on a spear. Briefly he was aware that some of the warriors were women amongst the men attacking them, for a second he saw breasts covered in blue bouncing as the women ran. He dismissed the thought concentrating on pushing Staro further.

‘Faster boy come on.’ He urged.

In the next moment he was aware of the two sides coming together behind him, clashing weapons and intensified screaming. Roman legionnaires who still had javelins worked them to find soft flesh, those without, stabbed out and slashed with their long swords as the Britons wielded their axes, swords and spears. The impact of the clash of both sides was almost ear splitting and Varro grimaced at the pain he felt in his ears but for now all that mattered was that he had escaped death.

He turned Staro quickly and saw that more Britons were running forward joining the fray. Weapons were brought up and down as they tried to find targets the sound of metal clashing together sharply. He reached for his second javelin whilst nudging Staro into a canter with his legs. Twenty paces from the battling sides he picked out a bare breasted women, he launched his weapon. Just before it struck home she was impaled by a Roman sword just below the right collarbone. His javelins point disappeared into the side of her head just in front of her ear and she fell lost amongst the struggling bodies.

He looked to the right and saw that the first of the infantry were struggling out of the water, dripping and struggling to form up. A trumpet sounded from somewhere ordering the cavalry cohort to hold their ground but it made no difference to the men fighting to stay alive. If they turned they would die, so they knew their only hope was to try and stay alive until reinforcements arrived. Varro saw that he wasn’t the only one to have galloped to the left as he was now joined by three others their mounts snorting heavily, eyes wide.

“Let’s hit them from the side.” He shouted as he launched Staro towards the melee, the others followed. The Britons didn’t see them coming so intent were they in their frenzy. They were struck by the charging war horses who ploughed into them knocking them sideways and backwards onto the floor. Varro quickly turned Staro and retreated from the fight. Another soldier wasn’t so quick and was dragged from his mount and stabbed repeatedly never to rise again.

Varro charged out and away with the other two survivors but saw that the Britons were now clearly aware of him. A few peeled away from the large group and raced towards him. He didn’t realise it at the time but this would save his life. He nodded at the two others to retreat and they followed him galloping further away from the battle as spears were launched towards them but fell short.

The pursuing Britons realising they wouldn’t catch the horsemen and so turned and ran back towards the battle. Another trumpet sounded over the fighting and the cavalry engaged with the Britons turned and attempted to retreat. Some were dragged to the ground others were hit by spears but most managed to break free. Varro saw the reason why, the infantry were now formed up properly and were marching forward in tight lines.

The Britons didn’t hesitate as they saw what they were now confronted with and started running at the neat columns of Roman soldiers. Helmets almost hidden behind the tops of large shields they advanced at the loosely running barbarians as another noise resounded over the screams and shouts, the sound of Roman short swords hitting their shields.

Varro and the other horseman began to canter back towards the water their horses breathing hard, breath billowing from flared nostrils as ballista bolts were launched for the first time from the other side of the river. They screamed over the legionaries helmets by the barest of margins and with astonishing speed slammed into the front, second and even third ranks of the running Britons.

Bolts literally spun some of the advancing Britons over backwards such was their speed and ferocity as they cut through the bodies and took their lives, other bolts merely passed through soft flesh their victims unaware until organs failed and they dropped to the ground dead. Varro saw three victims pinned together as the first then the second were slammed backwards into the third as they all then fell to the floor at the same time skewered together. Twenty feet from the front line of the Roman wall, javelins were launched by those soldiers holding them, who before they landed were already holding swords ready behind their guards. More of the enemy were taken from the battle as pila were embedded into bodies.

The first of the Britons began to reach the disciplined ranks, some threw themselves at the wall of shields, others tried to leap over them. Crashing into the large square as swords stabbed out to meet them, the warriors were easy targets. Those at the front were now caught between those following, where they met their end.

Varro halted short of the river as he and the two with him were joined by other mounted soldiers. He heard a trumpet sounding a cavalry flanking charge from the other side of the river, it seemed that Vespasian watching from somewhere unseen now intended to outflank the Britons and destroy them. He turned his attention back to the battle and the square was doing what it did best, unleashing a murderous hell on their attackers. Unbeknown to the Britons who bravely threw themselves against the shields, it was only a matter of time before they died.

From behind the relative safety of their shields the men were stabbing at the enemy, short sharp thrusts were cutting the Britons down. At a Centurions shouted command, those at the front were replaced by the next row as the human death machine rotated its sword and shield cogs to maintain their deadly momentum. Soldiers could only remain on the front line for a few minutes at a time before they exhausted themselves. Slamming a shield boss into a determined enemy and then forcing them back or just holding the line was exhausting work. Stabbing through small gaps at a frenzied enemy and trying to avoid thrusts from spears and swords was equally tiring. It was something that the legions trained many hours and days to achieve and now their work was coming to fruition.

As more Britons ran to join the attack those at the front found themselves trapped by those behind them, there was nowhere to go and they died by the dozen, entire rows were cut down but still they came from the rear. Over the sound of mayhem, Varro heard splashing and saw that the ordered cavalry were making their way into the now almost boiling bloody and muddy water at the gallop. The wall of shields was now beginning to slowly advance over the dead in front of them and the Britons at the head of their battle line hesitated, those at the rear began to turn and retreat. Soldiers at the front were stepping onto their victims, steadily they moved over broken and bloody slippery mess trying to maintain their discipline and balance. The rear of spears could be seen stabbing downward as they moved.

In seconds the cavalry were across the river, what seemed to take an age previously now passed in the blink of an eye, the almost insurmountable dangerous water was nothing more than a slight obstacle to be overcome as the unsuspecting Britons were about to be surrounded. As the cavalry got level with Varro and his group they cantered forward and joined them in their attack on the right flank. As horses struck the fighting Britons another noise seemed to envelope the atmosphere. Varro struggling to control Staro and turned his head to see what was causing it. Starting as a low rumbling, the ground now shook as it got louder.

The Britons to a man and woman turned and were running, retreating the way they had come but the noise overriding the chaos sounded like an earthquake, he didn’t know what it was but saw that the front line of troops had stopped and was standing still, no longer advancing. A line of dead were lying in front of them. Horses were turned towards the growing sound as riders turned their mounts.

Just as the last of the running Britons vanished into the mist covering the marsh, the first of the horses appeared galloping forward tethered to another followed by the men on the chariots they pulled. They emerged from the mist like avenging gods as a collective gasp ran through the men they faced.

“Flanking counter attack now!” Shouted an equestrian officer as he pulled his mount and galloped away shouting again, “Flanking Counter.” Varro knew the order and quickly followed as horses moved away from their current position as if one to avoid the advancing chariots.

Togodumnus rode in the leading chariot whirling a long sword around his head and shouting encouragement and screaming at the men bouncing along in other chariots all around and behind him. Caratacus was one of them, the King his brother in his own chariot but he was convinced he could protect him. As the mobile Britons continued to advance building up speed, those on the sides of their great formation edged away to try and outflank the enemy infantry. The sound of the charging horses and chariots was nothing like anything that had gone before even the infantry now hitting their shields again were drowned out as the Britons bore down on them. Varro saw that the retreating Britons on foot had now turned and were following the chariots into battle.

“Charge. Forward!” Screamed the officer trying to encourage his own men leading their charge merely paces from the flanking chariots, seconds before the impact of the two sides. As the clash occurred some were lucky and ran through gaps in their opponents lines and lashed out with swords or spears. Others clashed head on with the enemy, tearing men from their horses, chariots were catapulted forward, tumbling into the dense mass of bodies and armour, weapons flew like missiles after being knocked from hands, horses ran into each other head on, the noise from the chaos was horrendous.

Varro was just behind this mass of madness and so survived unhurt as he pushed forward into the melee. Men on chariots hurled spears at the Roman horses, swords clashed and men and animals alike died, were mortally wounded or sustained injuries that would affect them for evermore. As the centre line of racing chariots including Togodumnus neared the Roman infantry of the Second Augusta the men were ordered to stand fast. The ground shook as the chariots got closer and closer. Centurion and legionary alike braced themselves for the shock of the impact about to hit them. They had already expended their own javelins but more had been passed forward from the rear and the men behind those at the front passed the weapons forward as quickly as possible. A centurion within the ranks had ordered that they hold them out towards the advancing horses like a giant porcupine. These pila now appeared, thrust through the shield wall by the men standing behind the front rank as they all waited for the crash.

Two independent battles broke out on the flanks as the Roman cavalry tried to stop the other chariots from getting to the sides and rear of their infantry, a few got through and raced off at angles speeding off elsewhere on the battlefield. Seconds from crashing the central chariots, helmets ducked behind shields. Spears were hurled from the charioteers and landed at random amongst the rows of legionaries.

Just before the crunching impact of animal and shield, horses saw the levelled spears and halted immediately digging their front hooves into the ground, their screaming occupants were hurled upwards over and into the square. Of the horses that didn’t stop some ran straight onto the spears, those that somehow avoided them smashed into the Roman shields causing chaos, piling into and over men. Some of the passengers aboard the chariots jumped clear and ran to the areas where holes had been punched into the shield wall and attacked.

“Hold the line” Screamed voices as some soldiers knocked to the floor by the charging horses struggled to their feet while others were still on the ground unconscious or too injured to move. Others had lost their shields and some their swords. The rampaging Britons took advantage of those dazed by the onslaught and instantly hacked them apart. Around them other infantry tried to tighten their part of the shield wall and advanced as best as they could in the mayhem closing in on the attackers.