Caratacus

Chapter Thirteen

Leaping out of the water was a large pack of enormous dogs with woad coloured Britons running behind them. Some were standing on the dry land launching arrows at the troops who were now scrambling to get to their feet. Where they had come from or how they had got so close, so quickly didn’t matter, just doing something about it did.

“Stand to. Stand to.” Shouted the Decurion as he stumbled to get to his own horse. Three feet from relative safety two arrows hit it either side of the saddle and it reared and bolted. He saw the Britons were closing on him and were now only about thirty feet away. Turning quickly he ran towards his men, some were already on their own mounts and were clearly panicking as some horses bolted and reared. One soldier he saw threw his pilum before getting on his horse.

“Run sir.” Shouted one of his soldiers as he turned his horse and held out a hand for the officer as he sprinted back the way they had come. Shrill war cries screamed from behind and he could almost feel the dog’s teeth sinking into his legs as the snarling got louder. A soldier loosed an arrow and it flew at pace passed the running Decurion closely missing him, seconds later he heard an animal yelp clearly it had hit one of the dogs but it wouldn’t help against an entire pack.

He slipped forward on the damp surface, stumbling nearly falling over but somehow managed to stay on his feet. The horse and rider were gathering speed as they began their retreat as he reached out inches from safety. Arrows flew over and all around him as spears began to land but by some miracle they all missed.

“Come on sir for fucks sake.” Shouted the soldier turning in his saddle and leaning forward leaving his arm outstretched. Valius jumped and grabbed for the arm and managed to cling on as the soldier swung him forward and up. He landed on the hard rump of the cantering horse as it sped up and bounced him up and down as he looped his arms around the cavalryman’s waist almost falling off.

“Ride. Fucking ride soldier.” He turned his head but before he could turn fully he saw the large dogs were already level with the horse, barking and snarling up at its legs, froth flying from their large sharp teeth. He wanted to reach for his sword but knew that to do so would be to risk falling. If that happened he would be ripped apart so he turned and clung on for dear life.

The horses eventually started to outpace the dogs when they got to a gallop but were soon caught up again when they reached another watery patch. As the soldiers urged their mounts through the waist high water as it splashed head high, the dogs leapt from the dry land.

Valius was suddenly aware of another attack from the front as his men began to turn and realised that they were cut off from the front and rear. Horses broke to the left and the right as dozens of animals panicked, eyes wide with fright. He knew that if they didn’t stay together they would be easy prey and picked off one at a time but also knew that man and horse were panicking as they tried to survive the onslaught.

“Dogs? Dogs?” Shouted one soldier clearly in shock as the half crazed animals bit up at the horse’s legs, growling and trying to gain purchase on their flesh.

“The bastards use them to hunt deer and bring them down.” Valius shouted as he scrambled for a javelin at the horses side. He turned as loud splashes caught his attention where it looked like the water was boiling. He saw three of the dogs had latched onto the rear legs of a horse and were trying to pull it down. The soldier on board realising the odds were against him jumped clear splashing into the water face first, arms and legs spread. Instantly the dogs turned their attention to the man releasing the horse, before the Batavian even got his head clear of the water, the dogs were on him. Valius saw the soldiers arms were pinned to his side as the three then another bit into the flesh of his legs. He screamed in agony and vaguely struggled for his sword but was dragged down as yet another large dog attacked.

“This way,” shouted the Decurion as his rider struggled to the right colliding into another horse. The confusion had allowed the Britons to get closer and they now launched numerous spears and arrows at the escaping men. Sharpened spikes penetrated the flesh of horse and man alike as the water began to turn red with blood.

Half naked warriors hurled themselves into the water as the majority of the panicked cavalry struggled to follow the Decurion. Those that had chosen to go to the left were quickly surrounded as other Britons appeared from the left side. Screams were literally drowned out as men were dragged from horses and plunged into the water by their attackers and pushed under and stabbed or drowned.

Helmets were ripped from heads and used as clubs to batter some of soldiers senseless before they were killed. Valius saw some surrendering holding their arms high weapon less. One of them he watched was run through by a long sword, the expression on his face of horrified shock. The Decurion urged the rider on, they had to escape this madness.

Caratacus withdrew his sword as the man collapsed. He would take no captives this day after seeing his brother die. Around him the enemy were cut down, those not surrounded by his warriors were torn to pieces by his hunting dogs. Soaking he saw that an element of soldiers were beginning to get away, he pointed in their direction and victimless warriors began to charge after them.

Sometime later disorientated and lost, the surviving auxiliaries had slowed their animals to a walk. They had trudged through the marshes for what seemed like an eternity and had eventually found dry land free of the bog. They rode on in silence, dirty, shocked and bloodied by the brutality and swiftness of the attack.

Valius had lost more than half the men that had gone into the watery marshland with him but he knew what was important now was survival, they would have time to mourn later. Horses had been cut down as well as men and no doubt some taken by the barbarians. The wrath he would face from the General would be nothing compared to facing the horror of the enemy in that watery grave. Images of the attack kept returning to his inner vision as his mind kept replaying men being brought down and attacked by the huge dogs. He wanted to stop and rest but didn’t dare in case they caught up with them. His surviving men didn’t complain, they all knew the risk and like him were prepared to keep going all night as long as they escaped with their lives.

Miles away to the south, the Roman Commander of the entire invasion, Aulus Plautius conferred with Vespasian. All major elements had now crossed the Medway and the vast Roman army was patiently waiting for further orders. Weapons were checked and re-supplied as were other stores, the casualty areas were reinforced and made more substantial. They planned to keep the ground they had taken.

Already trees were being felled in order to build a temporary crossing point across the river, a fortified bridge. For the time being the majority, were still having to cross some miles away from where the majority of combat troops were now gathered as only a few at a time could use the rafts. The crossing used during the battle was worn and eroded and too dangerous to use further. Inside the quickly assembled command tent the architects of the battle discussed their options. Vespasian poured a mug of wine and offered another to Plautius which he accepted.

“What would you recommend General?” asked the commander deferring to the experienced man under his command. Vespasian considered for a moment before answering, he examined the hastily drawn map in his hands. “We can either make camp here for the night or we can pursue them and cut them down sir.”

Vespasian looked around him at those listening before going further, “We’ve still got daylight for maybe another four or five hour’s sir. If we stop now it will give them chance to regroup, I think it’s better if we push on for as long as we can while we’ve still got light. However, the Batavian cohort should have returned by now and we’ve seen no sign of them.”

“Do you think the Britons have got the better of them?” The commander asked.

Vespasian shrugged, “Valius is a good man sir I hope not. His horses are quick and he’s experienced. If he did get into any difficulties I’m sure he could get out of them. However, without knowing what’s happened to him and his men, we can’t afford to send anymore forward for the time being. We don’t know what’s beyond the trees except marsh and we don’t know how far it extends.

I would suggest sending scouts ahead first. Centurion Varro and his men are available but if we send them on, I want them to be wary and return to our lines at the first sign of trouble. It will also give the rest of the men an opportunity to rest for a while and get some food.” Vespasian said changing his decision as he spoke, war was one thing, unpredictable.

Plautius didn’t hesitate, “Excellent, have the men take a well-earned break. If we’re no further forward with the reconnaissance by the time it starts to get dark, we’ll dig in properly and have the usual defences completed. I can’t see them coming back after the beating they took but you never know. How many men does Valius have in his cohort by the way, is it at full strength?”

“Yes sir four hundred. I’m concerned that we’ve had no sign of them it’s not like Valius at all, he can always be relied on, he’s one of my best commanders. I’ve known him for years and would have expected him to send a runner back by now if all was well. I’ll send the scouts forward and see what they can find.”

“Good,” Plautius replied, “I’ll be here if you need anything further.” Dismissed Vespasian and the other senior officers left the tent.

Varro had been summoned and given his orders and sometime later he found himself under the trees heading north into the marshes. He was accompanied by Decimus, Lucius and Marcus. Brenna and her brother had gone to try and drum up support for the Romans from local villages and settlements.

It wasn’t long before Varro and his men found signs of trouble. A Batavian horse was calmly feeding on the long grass about four hundred paces after the marshes edge, it looked up at them as they approached, then continued chewing quite happily at the long grass. Varro dismounted and walked towards it.

“Hello boy.” He said quietly, “Where’s your master then?” The horse jerked his head up shaking away flies but didn’t bolt as Varro stroked his head.

“Are you alright then, no cuts?” He looked at the horse’s flanks but could see no sign of injury or tell-tale signs of battle but looking closer in the long mane he found blood. He looked around, it was quiet, the marsh unwelcoming lay ahead.

“We’ll leave him here for now, we don’t want him tied to our own mounts in case we need to move fast, come on lets go.” He climbed aboard his own horse and walked slowly towards the muddy marsh.

“Okay let’s not stay too close, twenty paces at least between each horse.” He ordered as the others began to drop back. He guided his horse into the water and felt it wet and cold on his feet and legs, ‘fucking country’ he thought to himself.

It wasn’t long before they found the first ambush site. Pushing further into the marsh they started to find bodies. Corpses floated in shallow red water, bits of equipment also, here and there was the body of a dead horse. Varro dismounted slowly and examined the men, crouching over bodies. Together with sword and arrow wounds and the occasional puncture from a spear, he found that some of them had flesh missing. Bite marks were clearly visible on the exposed skin.

“What in the god’s names happened here?” Decimus asked standing at the side of his commander, he felt chills running through his skin.

“I haven’t got the first fucking idea, maybe dogs perhaps they used dogs to hunt them down. We know they are famous for them and before the invasion they traded their hunting dogs with the Empire. Some are waist high and used to hunt deer and even larger prey, they could even be used to bring a horse down.” Varro replied. “They’re heads are like this.” he held his hands out nearly a foot wide showing Decimus who frowned.”

“Jupiter’s fucking cunt, well I don’t want to come across any of them.” Was all Decimus said jumping back on his horse as if being a few feet higher would be safer. Varro stood slowly, his nerves on edge even more now than he’d expected, he imagined seeing some of the large beasts advancing towards him.

“Come on.” He said ordering his scouting party forward. He and his men preferred to be miles ahead of the main army or even days ahead but when battle had been joined this kind of reconnaissance was what they were used for and it was deadly.

Some miles ahead and to the north Valius and the remainder of his cohort ambled through the thick forest. They had eventually managed to get clear of the marshland but had yet to find the Second Augusta. He looked up at the sky again trying to get his bearings through the canopy of trees.

If he was correct he they were now heading in the right direction. He had led the survivors clear of the deadly bog and north initially. It wasn’t so much of a tactical decision he thought to himself but one of survival and it had been the only route out of the ambush area. They had maintained their course until he was convinced as best as he could be that they weren’t being followed.

Although the ground was dry now it was still slow going through the thick trees and exhausting. Since the attack he and his men had expected another ambush at any time and in the forest it could come from any direction. He scanned forward and to the side constantly on the alert for some movement or noise, he almost wished for it to cut the suspense.

The only sound was that from their horse’s movement, there was no breeze which he was thankful for as they walked slowly forward. In open ground they could have covered miles already and probably would have been back behind friendly lines but here it was impossible, he cursed every step.

Images of the ambush were still raw in his mind, the men he had lost to the dogs especially. It was unbelievable yet it had happened, men and horses torn apart. The Britons were truly barbarians and reluctantly he admitted a worthy enemy as he acknowledged that they were using everything at their disposal to fight a superior force. Just as he realised that he had stopped sweating from his exertions earlier, but was now cold through damp, he heard a cry and the sound of breaking branches. He whipped his horse around and saw that Britons were jumping out of trees onto his men behind him, spears and swords in hand. Shouts of alarm also broke the silence as soldiers were jerked from horses and fell violently to the ground. How had he missed them in the branches of the trees?

“Advance, advance.” He ordered as he turned again and kicked his horse forward. He knew that if he had tried to help those to the rear, he would have been cut down as well. He turned his head as two half naked bodies jumped onto each man and horse.

He shuddered as he urged his mount through the thick trees realising that this patrol was turning into a nightmare. Images of his family flashed through his mind and he briefly wondered if he would ever see their faces again.

‘Faster,’ he mentally coaxed his horse almost pleading for clear ground ahead but seeing none. Movement in front him, up in the trees almost made him pull up and his blood ran cold, he saw more warriors preparing to jump. Pulling his sword free of its scabbard he charged through the trunks of the trees, his horse veering this way and that. Another rider shot passed him to his right kicking up soil and mud in its panic to get clear, the rider didn’t even turn to acknowledge his commander. Just as he got about twenty paces ahead a body dropped from above and landed on the horse’s neck, the rider stabbed out with his spatha, striking the attacker somewhere on the upper body and he fell away to the ground.

Valius grinned in satisfaction as his horse raced past the stricken wounded Briton clutching at a hole in his chest. Looking forward he saw others emerge from behind trees with bows fifty paces ahead. He started to steer his horse at awkward angles through the trees trying to make them both a more difficult target as arrows were launched. Within seconds he was amongst the bow carriers and at first tried to hack out at them with his weapon but they merely jerked out of the way and moved aside. He clenched the hilt of his sword and just tried to concentrate on riding as he quickly realised it was virtually impossible to hit any of them.

Shouts and war cries reached his ears from behind but he didn’t dare risk turning. He wasn’t aware of how long it took or when it actually occurred but he suddenly realised it was quieter. He looked up into the branches of the advancing trees but saw no threat from above or any archers below. He slowed his horse and was joined by the rider who had raced past him.

“Where are the others sir?” asked the auxiliary. Valius frowned slightly bemused but realised that he couldn’t hear anything behind him. He turned expecting to see some of his men but there were none. They were alone.

Varro slowed his horse when Decimus pointed over to the right of their position as they walked through the dense forest.

“I saw something move over there, about two hundred paces.” He said still pointing. They stopped and listened, watching with the others behind them. At first there was nothing, everything was still and then Varro saw the head of a horse appear from behind a tree and then the rider.

“It’s an auxiliary alright but where are the others?” Decimus asked as they sat staring at the man as another appeared behind him but no more.

“They can’t be the only survivors.” It wasn’t a question just a statement. Varro and Decimus exchanged a look and then trotted forward. The advance alerted the two riders, the look of relief on their faces immediate.

“Thank the gods,” Valius said, “We thought we were the only ones left.” His expression suddenly changed as he saw the men’s uniforms and equipment and realised they were regulars and not auxiliaries. He also saw that there were only a handful of them.

“Centurion Varro.” Varro said introducing himself. “Where are the rest of your men Decurion?”

“We were ambushed with fucking huge dogs in the marsh sir and then the bastards jumped out of the trees, we got away there was nothing more to be done except escape or die.”

Valius replied. “Where are the rest of your men?” He asked.

Varro tried to gauge the man but couldn’t judge whether he was a coward or had just been very unfortunate. “You rode out with four hundred men, are they all dead?” Deliberately he ignored the man’s own question.

Valius stared at him, “Dead, lost or captured.” There was a brief silence only broken by the next words from Varro, “Follow me, we’ve got to try and get back to our lines and it will be dark soon. I don’t want to be out all night.” He clicked at Staro and he moved off, Valius and his soldier falling in behind.

“They used dogs against us.” The Decurion said again but Varro didn’t hear him.

“And what would you do?” Decimus asked, “If a superior army invaded your lands and killed your people?” He saw the defiant expression written over the Decurion’s face. “What happened, happened and we can’t change it but dogs for fucks sake your right and you’re lucky to be alive my friend.” Valius didn’t answer and they trotted on.

About an hour later they found themselves getting clear of the forest, Varro couldn’t even estimate how far they were away from the Legion now. In trying to find the cohort they had changed direction many times and that had not helped their overall sense of direction. Although they had seen some local inhabitants, they weren’t hostile and had just stared at the strangely dressed men as they rode by. They found a large river and paused to let the horses drink and fill their water sacks.

“Is this the Medway?” Decimus asked no-one in particular.

“I don’t know.” Varro answered. “Our maps showed another large river north of the Medway so it could be that one, either way if we keep heading south we should avoid the enemy and eventually find Vespasian and the army.” He stretched his back stiff from riding.

“We’re starting to lose light.” Valius observed looking at the sky.

“Come on let’s get moving.” Varro said climbing back onto his horse.

They trotted on again and saw more locals, some walking in family groups with their animals, others at a distance clearly wary of the Romans. Varro believed they were scouts as they stayed away from them keeping their distance but as they didn’t follow, they were ignored. Most if not all the Britons were probably trying to get clear of the hostilities and wanted no part in the conflict. He knew that there were a lot of tribes that were loyal to Rome so not all they saw would be hostile.

He could understand any people defending their own land but the Catuvellauni were virtually alone, or so they had been assured. Even they had traded freely for many decades and only up until recently had that changed. With the death of their former King Cunobelinus, everything had changed. Togodumnus now ruled one of the largest of the indigenous tribes and wanted equal standing with Rome. As friction had built, trade had slowed and then stopped as the ambitions of the Catuvellauni grew.

Togodumnus ruled the lands north of the two great rivers and Caratacus the lands to the south. Adminius who had always wanted peace with Rome had been banished for what the two older brothers perceived as weakness and it was they who now led the resistance against Rome. With an estimated eighty thousand warriors to call upon they were a real threat and although they had a numerical superiority they lacked military knowledge, weaponry and tactics.

The tribes were used to taking part in small conflicts not large scale battles where opposing armies lined up in formations, their Generals trained in the art of war pitied their wits and knowledge against each from a military education. Like so many barbarian tribes before, irrespective of the odds, facts or past, he knew they would keep coming.

With the light failing Varro decided that they had to find somewhere to stop for the night. He knew that if they kept moving there was more chance of them walking into an ambush and in unfamiliar surroundings the chance of them surviving such an encounter was limited. He made sure that they hadn’t been seen for a while and began to look for somewhere suitable for the night. He decided to try and find high ground and to observe the surroundings for a while, making sure they weren’t being followed. As darkness began to fall he looked for any signs of life, movement or fires, if there were none they would settle down as best they could and try and get some rest. It was a method he had used before and had always worked well. He knew that they were probably a long way behind enemy lines now and would need every ounce of energy if they were to get to a safe area and the Legion.

From a distance on the horizon Caratacus watched the six Roman soldiers slowly walking through his land on horseback. He believed that they were the sole survivors of the enemy advance that he and his warriors had all but destroyed in the marshes and forests earlier that day. They had probably escaped in the chaos of the ambush and had got lost, but now they would be destroyed. One of his hunting parties had alerted him to their location after picking up their scent with dogs.

As he lay watching them from his concealed position on the ground he smiled thanking the gods that he had used the hounds. The big dogs were always an advantage when they were hunting boar and deer and had proved an excellent addition to his warriors against the Romans. Being ripped apart by huge animals was not a fate that he would wish on any man but times had changed and he had to use every advantage available to him.

He pushed himself backwards down the grass bank to where the rest of his war party waited. They had tracked down other small groups who had evaded the ambushes earlier and destroyed them all, he wondered if this were the last of them. The Romans had gained a foothold over the river but they had now been halted and had lost hundreds of men themselves. Caratacus was content with his days’ work but was under no illusion about the days further ahead. He had never faced such a well organised and well-disciplined force before and now knew that facing them as they had, would not work again. He had lost many warriors that day and couldn’t afford to let that continue. At the moment however that was irrelevant, what was important was removing the six Romans within his reach.

He quickly gave his orders and moved out as his men and women split up and went in different directions. He had fifty warriors with him and sent half that number away to skirt around the far side of the small rise that the Romans had paused on. If he could get half his force to the far side or somewhere near the enemy wouldn’t escape.

Some hours later night had fallen and darkness covered the land, it was a cloudy moonless sky and there was little light to see by but the Romans were still in the same position. As Caratacus edged slowly forward he strained his eyes and ears trying to find some evidence of the men he had observed some hours earlier. If they were still there, they were being very quiet, had no fire and had gone to ground, maybe they were sleeping.

The sound of an owl broke the silence of the night it was followed by shuffling from somewhere above. It had to be one of the six men he was hunting. Caratacus knew then that it wasn’t an owl hooting but one of his men from the other party signalling that they were in position at the far side of the hillock.

He knew the ground flattened out on the top of the mound and so wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t seen the horses of the men they sought, they were probably tethered near them over the rise. Before he had time to do anything else, the sound of swords clashing against each other broke the still night. He and his group rose and charged forward screaming their battle cries. Reaching the top of the mound he saw that all six Romans were already surrounded by the other party and were desperately fighting for their lives. He saw one of his men struck down, cleaved through the skull by one of the long cavalry swords, another was run through and fell to the ground. The advantage of extra numbers however took its toll and the enemy began to fall and in seconds there were none left alive.

Caratacus surveyed the scene before him, six dead to his two, they were good odds. He knew that this result would have to be multiplied by many times if they were to succeed in pushing the invaders back. The Britons collected the weapons of the dead men and their horses and rode off shouting in celebration.