Caratacus

Chapter Fourteen

Just before dawn Caratacus moved into position. He had managed to rest a little after returning to the main body of his army. A funeral pyre had been made for his brother and the warrior King’s body had burned for hours. Set on a series of crisscross logs almost the height of a grown man, the square ceremonial block had flamed for a long time as those who were gathered around it watched on. All elements of the tribe attended family, close friends and high ranking members of the Catuvellauni as well as warriors who all watched the solemn ceremony. Tears were shed by those closest to him but others had a determined angry expression on their faces as they watched the flames reach for the sky above. Sadly it wasn’t the only funeral that night but it was the largest, as many others burnt across the landscape.

In times of peace Togodumnus would have been buried and a mound made for celebrating his life and for reflection, remembrance and respect with his sword and other possessions to enable him to carry them into the afterlife. Mead and food, jewels, torcs and perhaps a great war horse for him to ride in eternity. Today however was different, there was no time for such things and Caratacus would not risk his brother’s body becoming a trophy for the enemy and so it was reduced by fire, a true warriors end. Caratacus had been nearest the pyre watching as his brother’s flesh was turned slowly turned to ash. He stood remembering him and their days together growing up, playing, laughing and hunting. Tears burned his eyes as much as the pyre threatened to burn his flesh until they fell and flowed freely down his face. It was the only sign of emotion evident as he saw the pyre burn until eventually the flames got smaller.

Sleep had evaded him after the sight of his brothers mortally wounded flesh and the vision returned again and again every time he closed his eyes and tried to rest. He had finally sat with his wife and children and discussed their fate, what would happen, where would they go, how could they stop the mighty machine of Rome, was it even possible? His younger brothers hadn’t hesitated about their decision, they had to fight and live or fight and die. He knew that honour demanded that as well, now he had to decide how to go about it. They were a proud people whose tribe had ruled for many decades. There had been conflicts with other regions but the Catuvellauni had never encroached into other tribal lands unless there was legitimate reason, they had never invaded other areas unless they had been provoked first. Even when such conflicts had arisen and they had crossed borders, they would always go back to their own lands afterward.

It was a major factor in deciding the fate of Adminius when he had crossed the border of others and why he had been punished so severely. They were not driven by conquering other people only ruling what they had and that most precious gift was now threatened as it had never been before. Not only was their entire way of life at stake from an enemy across the water but it was also threatened some who lived within their shores as well. Caratacus vowed to deal with them as he considered their treachery, they were worse than the invaders themselves.

His scouts had reported that the Romans had fortified their positions before dark the night before but as light brushed away the darkness he was surprised by how much. Palisades had been dug all around the encampment and trees cleared to construct a fortification that he barely thought possible given the time available, it was enormous, the landscape had been transformed completely from the day before. If he attacked now he knew it would be suicide so he would have to wait. Patience was something he had in abundance but he would have to employ it wisely. He considered withdrawing his forces completely to the capital but knew that the enemy would follow them there. He decided he would have to fight a tactical withdrawal and demonstrate that patience combined with an ability to fight, was probably as dangerous as head to head conflict.

He lay watching from a hillside, observing the men that had come to his land and taken his brother’s life and those of his people. He could see that guards watched from towers while other men patrolled the wooden walls, fires burned inside where row upon row of tents were laid out in straight symmetrical lines. Their army was so large that he could see another encampment over on the far side of the river and more fires burned for as far as he could see beyond that. He had known before that the task ahead of him was enormous but now that the Legion was laid out before him, he began to believe that it was near impossible.

These soldiers were clearly used to living this way, it was how they existed and worse he knew that other Legion’s had also landed. At that moment Caratacus was shaken to his roots and considered his position and that of his people. If he asked for a truce the lives of his people would be spared but the Romans would still want a heavy price for their nerve at resisting them. He knew that after the defeat of Alesia in Gaul, their leader Vercingetorex had surrendered and his people were enslaved, their chieftains became puppets and their lands robbed of their resources. Vercingetorex himself, who had managed before all others to unite the great Gallic tribes against Rome, had been imprisoned and then ritually strangled, it was not a fate that Caratacus wanted for himself or his people. He would willingly give himself to the Emperor if he knew his people would be free to live their lives but knew that wouldn’t happen. Many would be taken to Rome, others would be scattered around the Empire and used as slaves and the men would even be made to serve in their legions as auxiliaries. He also knew that both men and women were used as sex slaves in the Empire or made to fight to the death. He wondered how such a people who believed that they were so enlightened and so advanced, could be so cruel.

As he lay there looking out on the enemy before him, he knew he had no choice. In his mind’s eye he saw his father, his brothers, his children and his people. He had a duty to protect them and their way of life and knew that he wouldn’t be doing that if he walked forward and gave himself up. With the death of Togodumnus, he was King and with that came responsibility. He would fight and live as a free man or fight and die for his land and his people. His future decided, he thought through his battle plan.

The fight the day before had taught him many valuable lessons, lessons that he had paid for with the blood of his people, today would be different. If his tactics worked, they would smash the enemy but he believed that there may be a possibility that even if they didn’t, they may be able to force the Romans into a truce and to leave their lands.

Varro was shaken awake by Decimus on the mound where they had tried to rest the night before. He had watched through clenched teeth as another group of his countrymen had been wiped out some distance away. He knew that it could have been him and the men around him and also knew that they could have tried to save those who were butchered but he had decided against it for good reasons. The attack had happened without warning, seemingly coming from nowhere and with speed, so even if they had tried to go to the aid of the other isolated group, they wouldn’t have got there in time and would have died as well, outnumbered as they were. He had made the correct decision but that didn’t give him any conciliation as he thought about the men who had found themselves in the same position as himself and his own men.

Almost whispering he instructed Decimus to wake the others and to prepare to move. He stood up stiff and cold from the nights chill and looked to where they had tethered their horses who at least had eaten well on the long grass. He surveyed their surroundings looking for any sign of the enemy but nothing moved. Before leaving the mound they ate their meagre rations sharing what they could with the two auxiliaries.

The direction they travelled in took them towards the hillock where the brief fight had taken place the night before. He knew there was very little chance that any of them had survived but he felt that he had to go and check, maybe one of them had managed to hide or had been left injured. He called Decimus forward as they approached leaving the others where they were, telling them to keep their eyes open for any movement nearby.

It was slightly higher than where they had camped at their own resting place but narrower at the brow. As soon as they got to the top they saw the corpses of the auxiliaries, they had been decapitated their heads left on crude sticks in the ground. Varro looked at the expressions of the men who had given their lives. One head had a large slash wound either from an axe or sword that split his skull from the top of the forehead to the bridge of his nose. Another caught the moment of battle and death, his features contorted in agony his mouth still screaming but silently now.

He considered burning what was left of the men, they didn’t deserve this end but knew to do so would risk attracting unwanted attention and being found. Burying them would mean losing time and while they were stationery they would be vulnerable. The Britons had stripped the bodies of their weapons, water and food and taken the horses. There was nothing he could do for them now, as hard as the decision was, they would be left, their own priority now was to get back to the Second.

They trotted down the hill and headed in a southerly direction, all the time scanning the countryside around them, expecting to see the enemy. He hoped that they would be concentrating on the main army and not looking for stragglers as the new day got under way. They passed more Britons in family groups in time all of whom stared at them but not saying a word or lifting a weapon in anger. Varro assumed they were farmers or just people from the local area, he couldn’t determine that they were part of the war band and so ignored them.

By midday just as he was beginning to think they would never find the army, they ran into Quintus and his men from the other scouting party. They exchanged information and Quintus gave them the route back to the Legion through a valley, they found they were not too far away.

Varro was relieved to see the sight of the encampment as they approached the pickets on sentry duty. It was a welcome sight seeing familiar structures even if they were newly constructed and hadn’t been there the day before. He kicked his horse eager to get behind the barricade and the relative safety of the new fort and its palisades. He instructed Valius to report to the Adjutant and to give him his report as he sought out the command tent in order to report his own findings.

Arriving at the large tent Varro had his identity verified by the guards and was allowed access. Senior officers and various commanders were on the verge of leaving, when Vespasian saw him he called Varro over to give his report.

“The Batavian’s were routed sir, destroyed virtually to a man, we managed to bring back two survivors.” Vespasian stared at him shocked but not surprised by his words. Nothing had been seen of the cohort from the day before.

“But there were four hundred men that went into the marsh. Are you telling me that we lost nearly all of them?” Another officer a Prefect asked Varro. Vespasian turned and introduced Varro to his brother Sabinus. “It was he who masterminded the idea of crossing the river yesterday, Vespasian said.

“Yes sir,” Varro reported, “we found the bodies of many auxiliaries in the marshland and then in the forest beyond. We eventually caught up with Valius their commander and one soldier but by that time we were far behind their lines. They were the only men we found alive.” He decided to leave out the information about the other group that were killed during the night.

A voice from the rear said, “We’ve had some men coming in throughout the night and still some this morning but their number is less than thirty. Over twenty of those are wounded and not fit for duty.” It was the force commander Aulus Plautius, everyone stiffened coming to attention when they realised he had slipped into the briefing.

“Relax gentlemen.” He said as they came to attention, he walked directly to the table where various maps were laid out.

“It seems our friendly Britons underestimated the Catuvellauni resistance and their ability to fight.” He looked at the faces around him. “We were assured that Togodumnus and Caratacus were backward thugs who relied merely on brute strength to dominate other tribes, it seems we were ill informed.” He turned to Sabinus, “Bring Adminius to me would you Prefect?”

Sabinus acknowledged the order, “Sir.”

“Now that we have established ourselves here on this side of the river,” the commander continued studying the map, “we will push forward today, even if we have to circumnavigate this marsh and the forest beyond. If necessary we’ll encircle the Catuvellauni and starve them out and then destroy them. Centurion,” he turned to Varro, “from the foray into their territory would you show us on the map what we’re facing if you would please.”

Varro stepped forward surprised that he had even remembered his name and began to explain the details and formation of the ground they would have to cover. A few moments later whilst they were discussing the details of the proposed advancement, Sabinus returned with a man wearing a toga. He looked like a civilian dignitary but Varro was surprised to hear his accent when he was introduced.

“Gentlemen,” Plautius said, “I would like to introduce you to Adminius exiled brother of Togodumnus and Caratacus, the two men who are leading the fight against us.” The man coloured as if embarrassed by his introduction and the fact that his brothers were fighting against Plautius and his army. He was taller than all the Romans gathered in the tent. He held himself proudly and spoke fluent Latin although heavily accented. He could have been Roman except for the large gold torc around his neck showing that he was in fact a Briton of high status.

“How can I be of service sir?” He asked, his eyes confidently fixed on Plautius. The commander looked around at his officers, “We were just discussing our options and it would seem that your brothers have wiped out an entire cohort of my Batavian auxiliaries.”

Adminius looked as if he had been struck by the words, his confident manner evaporated.

“I don’t know what to say general, for many years I had told them of the benefits of allying themselves with Rome. As you know I was exiled for my thoughts and beliefs that they and my father believed were treasonous. They cast me out because I had the vision to believe that living with the Empire and not fighting against it would benefit all our peoples. They would never listen and I lost everything I had but it was nothing to what I have gained.” He looked at the men around him almost sneering pathetically.

“Do you think that you would be able to talk to your brothers again under a flag of truce?” Vespasian asked, the other officers gathered around the table exchanged looks of surprise.

Vespasian continued. “They may have won a small victory in the marshes but that is all. The casualty figures they sustained from yesterday must far outweigh our own and we have re-enforcements landing as we speak. We estimate that they lost over a thousand yesterday and those numbers will only rise when you take into account injuries. They cannot hope to defeat us so surely they can be made to see that?”

Adminius looked at Vespasian, “These conversations I had many times with them and my father when he was alive. They saw the advantages of living in harmony with Rome, trade and a better way of life but they rejected it and now it has come to this. If you wish me to try and talk to them again I will. I now serve the Emperor and will in any capacity he chooses. It is I and not them who should be the rightful heir to the Catuvellauni throne, they have shown they are not worthy of leading the people. The Emperor knows that I will serve him once they are defeated.” He looked around at the assembled officers. “I will however attempt to persuade them once more if that is your wish. Perhaps they will see the error of their decisions now that they have lost so many souls.”

Varro studied the man as he spoke and wondered how he could betray his own blood in such a manner but then he also considered his alternatives. Was it better to live as a free man and fight, or to live a life of servitude as a puppet to another man or even to another tribe? Was Adminius really a traitor to his people if his own leadership could afford them a better way of life? It was a difficult question and only one he himself could answer. He had clearly lived in conflict with his family and their way of life all of his own and had paid dearly for that by being exiled. Varro was glad he wasn’t the man that stood before him. He wondered if the Emperor had actually promised him power if his brothers failed, the problem was more complicated than at first it seemed. Once thing was certain, Adminius was a man who would follow where others led whatever the cost as long as it was to his own benefit.

“My brothers are warriors and proud and they will not yield, they would rather die than live under the yoke of another. They would see it as shame to live that way but maybe after yesterday they have seen the error of their ways although I doubt it.”

Plautius considered his words. “If I can save the lives of my men I will Adminius. I am not a bloodthirsty barbarian who wishes to wipe out all those who stand before me if there is a real alternative for peace and to save lives on both sides. My mandate is clear in this matter, it is to help you return to what you and others are entitled too however that occurs and by any means. If ultimately that means the destruction of some of your people then so be it.”

“I want to avoid that as you do but my brothers are different individuals when it comes to politics. I will do whatever it takes and will speak to them if there’s even a small chance it will help and to save the lives of my people.” Varro was impressed by the reply given by Adminius but felt that he would rather see his brothers dead and out of the way.

“Very well then, we shall attempt to talk your brothers out of their foolish stance and to see if we can garner peace even at this late hour. Be clear about this though Adminius,” the commander paused fixing his gaze on the Briton, “if your brothers chose to fight, we will wipe them out, all of them.” Just as the General finished his sentence an alarm sounded from somewhere outside, it was quickly followed by another and then a third. Trumpeters sounded the general alarm the Britons were attacking in force.

From the safety of the forts defences beyond the palisades, Plautius surveyed the scene before him whilst inside men ran to their positions to join with their cohorts and maniples as the cavalry mounted their horses and infantry formed up. The guards on the walls had been re-enforced and the artillery teams looked alert stood at their ballista as they watched the terrain. Outside the area had been cleared for many hundreds of feet all around the position. To the north beyond the cleared ground, stood beneath the trees a wall of blue warriors, their hair white with lime. There were thousands of them. As senior officers organised their troops, forming up in pre-arranged columns Plautius gazed out at the wall of blue.

“I don’t know sir. Maybe they’re waiting for reinforcements from the rear, who knows with these people maybe they’re just trying to goad us into reacting.” A senior Tribune remarked as he stared at the silent mass before him. He turned to the inside of the fort and shouted down to the Cornicen, the man holding the large curling trumpet was waiting for orders. He was standing in front of the Legion that was forming up with a Centurion at his side who was bellowing orders. Dust was thrown up from the feet of the men as they ran and quickly got into position.

“Cornicen, as soon as the century and cavalry are formed up, sound the advance.” The Centurion ordered as he ran forward waving his vine stick at men to hurry them along.

Plautius turned and shouted to the senior centurion waiting for the columns to be filled. “Centurion, I want you and the Legion formed up outside at the centre flanked by the auxiliary infantry with the cavalry on the flanks. As soon as you are in position I will join you, understood?”

“Yes sir.” Shouted the centurion still urging his men to get formed up, saluting he turned to them and gave the order to his subordinate centurions to move and form up outside, his order was repeated by the Cornicen blowing into the large trumpet, his cheeks reddening from the effort. The men of the legion turned to the right and moved off whilst the centurions screamed orders.

The large doors to the fort at the front and rear were opened at the same time. The cavalry exited from the rear whilst the infantry hurriedly left through the front gate at the double in clear view of the Britons. Twenty paces behind the legionaries were the auxiliary infantry jogging to keep up, their equipment rattling as they moved as men fastened buckles and made sure equipment was secure. They had further to travel than the regulars and positioned themselves either side of them. As soon as they were in position the cavalry took up their place on the outer flanks bringing with them a cloud of dust. Plautius watched on with pride as Vespasian broke his concentration. “With your permission sir, I will join the men?”

Plautius turned and looked at his officer, “Good luck,” he reached out and grasped Vespasian’s arm, “you shouldn’t need it because our men are more than a match for that rabble but I don’t want too many casualties.” He turned to survey the scene below but then turned again and added. “Just think Titus in the years to come people will still know of this day decades, maybe even centuries into the future, just like we talk of Caesar today, on the edge of the Empire defeating all those who stood before us. Remember this day of all days and take care of my Legion.” He said smiling.

Vespasian smiled, “Don’t worry sir I’ll look after the men, you can count on it. You can also count on them.” Without another word he turned and almost ran to the ladder that would take him to ground level. Adminius joined Plautius on the wall.

“It looks as if your brothers have signalled their response without your intervention young Adminius and now they will pay for their stupidity.” Plautius said staring at the warriors under the trees.

Adminius looked out at the two vast armies now facing each other as the dust settled from the cavalry. From this position it was impossible to tell if his brothers were there but he knew they would be somewhere in the midst of the Catuvellauni. He said, “I pity their naivety sir and their stupidity, they could have maintained their lands and power but they chose a long time ago for this day to happen.”

“Naive and stupid they maybe Adminius but brave as well, they are fighting for what they believe in, their land, their families and their pride. Could you say such a thing?” The General gave him a look of disgust that shocked the former prince.

“I made my decision also a long time ago General and that choice was for the benefit of my people to ally them with Rome not to deny that and fight, in order to get wiped out. My brothers will see the error of their ways by paying with their lives and so will thousands of my people, my subjects.” He turned and began to walk away.

“Pride comes in many guises Adminius and so does bravery.” The Briton stopped and turned but Plautius continued. “If I were out there as I used to be and I was given a choice of who I was to stand beside, your brothers or you hiding behind these walls, my choice would be simple. You see Adminius some of us were born soldiers, it’s not something we choose it’s actually in our blood. It doesn’t matter what the odds are, it doesn’t matter if we wear fine uniforms or nearly nothing at all as your brothers do. We are all brothers, brothers of battle undivided, it is enough to stand and fight, it is a bond that you will never know. Now get out of my sight.”

Adminius blushed hurt and embarrassed by the commander’s words but he knew he was right but it didn’t matter, he headed towards the ladder. His words had convinced even the Emperor of his loyalty and Claudius himself had thanked him but this underling presumed that he could talk to him as he would a peasant, a coward. Adminius swore to himself that he would make Plautius pay for his contempt.

Plautius returned his gaze to the front and saw that the Britons had begun to slowly advance. He felt his stomach knot not at the coming battle but at the contempt he felt for Adminius. Clearing his head he asked one of the centurions from his command group how many Britons they faced.

“It’s hard to calculate sir because of their extended line and many of them are still hidden under the trees. They’re front is far longer than our own and I can’t see any of their chariots. I would estimate that we can see at least ten thousand now.”

Plautius didn’t answer but could see the Britons line did extend well beyond the width of his own formations and it was an unbroken line unlike the disciplined ranks of his squares. Trumpets sounded from below ordering his men forward and virtually as one the vast columns moved toward the Britons, the cavalry maintaining their position waiting for orders and to see what the enemy did.

Loud jeers rose above the noise of the marching boots from the blue and white line of the slowly advancing Britons as more emerged from the tree’s thickening their line and swelling their number. The sight of them made a shiver quiver down the spine of Plautius. Most of them he could see carried spears or swords, some swung axes above their freshly limed stark white hair that stuck out from their blue painted heads and torso’s. Had Plautius been a Briton he thought, he had no doubt that today he would have been among their number, not hiding below as Adminius was now.

Varro watched from the wall of the fort further along from the Generals position. Rumours were spreading through the troops that the Britons had received reinforcements during the night, chariots included. Without their own army dominating the ground to the south it was impossible to tell if these rumours were true or just wild stories. Nevertheless as he watched he now saw chariots appear on the flanks of the enemy. Although a lot of the chariots had been put out of action the day before and their horses hamstrung or butchered some had probably lived but they couldn’t have accounted for the mass that emerged to face them now, these must be re-enforcements.

“Over one hundred chariots on each flank and counting sir.” He heard an observer shout to the General. Varro swallowed hard, the rumours were true then, they had swelled their numbers considerably.

Caratacus peeled off from the chariots and drove slowly along the front line of his warriors demonstrating that he was willing to face this threat with his people. In his right hand he held his sword and encouraged the warriors he had assembled by waving it in the air and pointing at the Roman lines facing them. He had seen that as he had predicted, they had concentrated their heavy infantry in the middle with cavalry on the flanks. The wall of helmets and shields from the regular infantry shone in the morning sunlight as they silently advanced. He had seen them first-hand the day before with a red stripe running through the middle from top to bottom and depicting two animals either side of the shield boss at the centre. A flying horse, Pegasus and a leaping Stag painted in bright white against a background of gold. Soon he would have them dripping in blood.

As he had considered his options for battle earlier that day whilst eating warm mutton, envoys from the Dobunni tribe had arrived with encouraging news. Their King had heard of the invasion and had marched his own army to fight and swell the ranks of his own bringing with them chariots. He now had now swollen his command with over thirty thousand more men and women with the help of his westerly neighbours. Although they were not as skilled in battle as the Catuvellauni, the Dobunni were a welcome addition to the force that now faced the Roman threat.

Caratacus surveyed the scene before him again and knew that if he advanced too far they would be within range of the mighty machines that hurled huge arrows and bolts across the battlefield. He could see that the enemy had placed a number of them on the walls. He would have to avoid getting too close and was intent on drawing the soldiers out and beyond their range. He could hear trumpets sounding from across the bare land where they had laid waste to everything in order to create a killing field clear of obstructions. He would use that to his own advantage now as it gave the chariots room to manoeuvre and harass the wall of shields and the men behind them.

He ordered his chariot driver to move forward of his battle line fifty paces to where he could be seen clearly, the chariot rumbled forward and stopped as instructed. He looked at the Roman shields once more and marvelled at their form but knew that he must do his best to destroy them. The ground was virtually clear of dust now as was the sky and the sun shone warming his exposed upper body, only small wispy clouds drifted across the sky above. On another day it would have been pleasant but not today. Today was a day that he knew could well determine the life, death or enslavement of him and his entire people.

The abuse the warriors shouted at their foe changed when they saw him and began to chant his name as he stood facing them. He calculated that the first of the advancing disciplined rows were now well beyond the effective range of their own machines and bolt throwers, the chances of success had just grown but only marginally. He waited for them to take another fifty paces and heard then saw that the soldiers were now banging their swords against the sides of their shields. He gave the signal for the chariots on the right to advance and they rumbled forward slowly at first building momentum.

As the chariots built up speed, the warriors cheered watching as they began to race forward arching in at an angle towards the middle of the approaching shield wall. A trumpet sounded from somewhere to their rear and the soldiers stopped as one bringing their shields up. The chariots now at full speed bounced along their drivers skilfully avoiding the tree stumps left in the ground. Each carried at least two others warriors, some three who were armed with spears. As they got to within range they hurled their weapons skyward to great cheers of approval of their kinsmen watching as the first volley of battle was launched.

The Roman front lines threw their javelins in return but most missed the fast moving chariots or were out of range as they raced past the ranks landing harmlessly. The Romans packed in their tight lines began to take casualties as the men covered up the best they could behind their large four foot shields, looking out from beneath their helmets. Caratacus had known the chariots would prove difficult targets and he was right.

As the first wave of chariots had nearly cleared the enemy front line he waved for the left side to advance sweeping his sword forward. These chariots gained speed quickly keen to show what they could achieve and by the time they were within range of the front line of shields their passengers, armed with bows unleashed their arrows, not at the front row of legionaries but at those behind. Caratacus could see from his elevated position that helmets fell backward as men died or were injured by the success of the arrows finding flesh and bone through narrow gaps as victims unexpectedly received missiles. Another trumpet sounded and all the squares moved covering themselves from above with their large shields except those at the front. The enemy were now wrapped in shields to the front, side and above and were stationary as the chariots stormed by firing arrows into them.

As the first wave of chariots returned to their own line and slowed, more spears were passed to those on board, they gratefully accepted them grinning manically, shouting in their joy at killing the men who had come to take their land. The warriors on foot cheered again knowing that the great machine that had come to kill them was at last vulnerable and bleeding.