Caratacus

Chapter Fifteen

Aulus Plautius watched from his vantage point on the raised platform, even from his position the roar of the enemy was like that of a huge beast as it yelled for the blood of his soldiers. He signalled to the senior centurion again and gave the order for cavalry on the wings to advance. The Cornicen sounded the charge which was repeated by other trumpeters strategically placed amongst the infantry and the cavalry bolted forward, their target the men and horses of the chariots.

He watched as the leading cavalrymen drew their large swords, dust obscured the view clearly, already thrown up by the barbarian’s chariots and the fastest riders disappeared into the murk in no time. Swords colliding and shouts drowned the screams of the enemy previously heard encouraging their warriors as a trumpet cut the air sounding the infantry to advance once more.

Plautius was confident of his Legions ability especially on open ground where the enemy had chosen to meet his men. Initially frustrated that the Britons had not come to within range of his ballista, he now smiled looking down as he saw Vespasian draw his sword and start shouting to this men. Plautius felt the blood rush through his veins as he watched them advance wishing he could take to the field.

The Britons weren’t the only ones to receive reinforcements overnight as the Second Augusta had now been joined by two other legions, the Fourteenth Gemina and Twentieth legions flanked either side of the Vespasian’s Second Augusta as they marched forward. The General felt the hairs rise on the back on his neck and he wondered what it must be like to face this enormous wall of shields, swords and javelins.

Caratacus looked on through the dust kicked up by the chariots and signalled for them to retreat back to his lines. Rumbling made the ground tremor as the first of them returned closely followed by the pursuing Roman cavalry. He gave a signal and slingers launched their shot as rounded stones flew high into the air. Some of the missiles were naturally rounded rock, others hardened baked clay made for war.

He saw one of the mounted soldiers hit squarely in the face, blood splattered from his crushed nose and he fell off the back of his horse and hit the ground hard tumbling. He was hit by another horse and then another before he lay still unconscious and no doubt badly wounded. He lost sight of him amongst others horses as other missiles started to land. Horses reared and tried to swerve and turn panicked by the accuracy of the stones as they hit their heads and bodies as well as their riders. Pelting them like rain some animals actually began to turn, those not hit realising the danger as the noise of the speeding stones flew passed them or thudded into the ground or hit those nearby.

Arrows now joined the avalanche launched by the slingers and more of the enemy fell. One man was pierced through a gap of his chain mail armour near his shoulder and fell backward but somehow managed to stay on his horse as it veered, kicked and turned its eyes wild in panic, nostrils flaring. Britons now ran forward and attacked the cavalrymen who had been knocked from their mounts, they were butchered and their weapons taken, a few soldiers ran back towards their own lines vanishing into the clouds of dust. The cavalry turned and retreated, battered and bruised to tumultuous cheers behind them.

For a short time a quiet descended over the battlefield but it didn’t last long. As the Roman infantry advanced through the dust the banging of swords on shields became the resounding noise that took over from all other sounds. The blare of trumpets somewhere in the distance was the only other thing that pierced the drumming as orders were given by the unseen ranks.

The enemy looked like something unearthly as they marched out of the settling dust. Caratacus could see Roman Eagles dispersed at regular intervals behind the rows and gave a signal for his chariots to charge again. Now he knew that they didn’t face just one Roman Legion but his forces were already committed and to retreat would mean certain destruction.

This time it was the turn of the Dobunni as they rode their chariots as they had been ordered and headed straight into the enemy lines, two thirds along their front on the left. The slingers pebbles rattled off shields as arrows dug into them. Horses smashed into the shield wall and chariots ran over legionaries as more joined them. The men aboard the small two wheeled chariots lashed out with spears at the now stationary startled men trying to deflect blows with their large shields, others leapt clear and individual fights broke out all around.

Caratacus ordered his infantry forward and the men and women ran howling like banshees as they sprinted to join the battle. The entire Roman line now paused as more trumpets sounded somewhere in the distance. The Britons hit the flat line but didn’t all push into it as they had done before, Caratacus had learned a bitter lesson the previous day. As they tried to hold their ground a column of charging warriors punched into the wall where the chariots had already created a large gap in the previously solid row of shields.

On the extremities of the main battle the Roman cavalry charged again trying to outflank the Britons and come at them from the rear but were hampered by the sheer numbers and the tree line which abruptly halted their advance. Unable to attack from the back, the cavalry fell onto the sides of the Britons but were hit again by the slingers who targeted them with deadly accurate fire. Man and horse were hit with the projectiles again and again as the lethal missiles took their toll.

Caratacus shouted encouragement again seeing that his plan was working and concentrated his own force at driving through the enemy wall, pushing the wedge in their column ten wide forward and through them. Barely perceptive at first the entire enemy line started to give as their cavalry retreated once more. It was working and he called for others to join the attack as his warriors forced their way through the auxiliary forces. In seconds the entire Roman line was moving slowly backward not willingly but through the sheer brutality and weight of numbers of their attackers.

With the enemy now in slow retreat and his wedge forcing through, slicing into the once unified ranks of the front line, he pushed his people hard to cut off a huge portion of the auxiliaries. All along the retreating formations the Britons continued to attack but didn’t go beyond that invisible line. They held themselves not hurling their bodies onto the shields or trying to prise them free as they had before. They held off but continued striking shields with their long swords and axes at a distance that prevented the enemy’s short swords from finding their mark. Others massed behind them but at intervals giving them all space.

Roman javelins were launched from the rear ranks landing unseen into the crowds of their attackers who showed no sign of relenting. More Britons joined those forcing their way into the human path as the entire battle reversed moving back towards the fort. Trumpets sounded again and the lines of the invaders increased their backward retreat.

The legions were used to advancing in their squares. Behind the large shields they had the advantage as they stabbed out at attackers as they threw themselves on their formed lines. In retreat however, they weren’t so assured and some legionaries tripped walking backwards and others fell over them. It caused others to panic and turn as gaps began to appear.

Plautius had sounded the retreat as reports came in of the tactics being used by the Britons, his vision was still obscured by the dust. A look of sheer horror was etched over his face as he saw just how far they were being pushed back now. He had intended to call a halt as his men were re-enforced but with some soldiers stumbling and fright clearly spreading, he saw that his battle lines were in danger of failing altogether.

“Centurion.” He shouted at the man to his left.

“Sir.” The man turned saluting his General.

“Have the Ninth Hispana move out and flank right. Those bastards are trying to cut off the auxiliaries on that side. I want Geta fully aware of what he’s up against and get those fucking ballista racked up and ready to fire they’ll be within range in no time if this carries on.”

The Centurion saluted again and ran off to convey the orders. Plautius looked back to the fight now only approximately a hundred yards away, his concern growing more every second. The Centurion hurriedly instructed the ballista crews to ready their weapons and then climbed down the ladder to Geta who was held in reserve within the fort.

Prefect Gnaeus Hosidius Geta stood with his senior officers talking about their experiences of Briton. He didn’t think that his Legion would be called into action but as the trumpets sounded for him to prepare to move and he saw the Centurion running towards his position, he realised that something must have gone badly wrong outside. The Centurion puffing from his run ran straight to him saluted and told him the order from Plautius. After adding a brief description of the battle and what was happening outside, he drew his gladius and began to move forward.

Geta was a man of proven military experience who had campaigned all over the continent including the eastern lands. He was the longest serving Prefect in the army of Plautius and had completed six years more service than Vespasian had in the army. Plautius had always relied upon him when times were desperate as they now were. Marching ahead of his men, he signalled for them to form into columns to exit the fort and began to trot pulling his shield up, his men followed suit.

As he got clear of the gate all he could see was row upon row of retreating soldiers. He angled right as his trot became a run, running wide of the far right flank of the auxiliary’s lines. Instantly he saw that the Britons had managed to separate a large block of soldiers from the rest of the army and were systematically cutting them down.

He ran his men at an angle to the battle still in rows of three in their columns. Shouting he ordered them to stop and ready their javelins, row upon row of pila were readied. They were then quick marched to within throwing distance. The Britons were blood raged and too eager in their havoc to see the danger, too intent on cutting down the auxiliary soldiers who were desperately fighting for their lives.

“Advance, release and rotate.” Ordered Geta as the men in his front row ran forward and hurled their deadly arsenal into the air. Before the first javelins even landed, the second flight were already airborne as the front ranks were passed by the second and then the third. Hundreds of javelins rose and fell and took lives in their deadly hail instantaneously and wounded others.

As the first of the Britons fell, Geta reformed his lines and advanced his men, shields up, swords thrust forward beyond the moving shield wall. Britons not killed or injured turned as they realised the danger and attacked them. Blood lust heightened by their success and then the injuries, they fought like possessed maniacs. Gone was the control their leader had asked of them as they threw themselves at the deadly solid wall.

Heartened by the re-enforcements the retreating columns paused and held firm finding a steely determination now apparent through the men of the legions. Trumpets sounded again ordering the advance as men gripped shields tighter and swords firmer.

Caratacus couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had been so close to achieving his aim of dividing and isolating a large part of the enemy force ahead of him. He had intended to destroy some of the men and take the rest, the majority he hoped, as hostages having isolated them totally. He’d hoped to force those segregated back to his lines and then seek a treaty with the Roman General but his plan was now in ruins. The Dubonni who made up the majority of the warriors attacking and isolating the Roman auxiliaries were now either dying where they stood or surrendering altogether, throwing their weapons to the ground and their arms in the air. He looked around and then started to fall back as the once retreating Romans now advanced again encouraged by the re-enforcements from the fort. He saw more Dubonni surrendering and couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him.

He turned and shouted at those nearby. “Fall back, fall back.” Then he began to scream as the warriors around him saw the danger and turned to run.

“Get back to the trees.” He shouted waving his arms as his pace quickened. A chariot raced towards him and then slowed down turning in a great arc as the driver shouted for him to get aboard. Warriors ran all around as some still fought on trying to cover the retreat trying to slow down the marching men. Those that continued to battle, their number dwindling all the time must have known they were doomed as more and more turned to run leaving those fighting isolated.

Caratacus held on tightly as the two white horses pulling the chariot accelerated away from the mayhem. Turning his head he saw that it was the Dubonni who were now isolated and cut off as the Romans had managed to create a reverse of his tactic and they were swallowed, totally surrounded. He ground his teeth together in frustration and then shouted at the sky in anger.

“Keep riding,” he said to the driver, “head for the Tamesa.” He referred to the next great river further north, the last natural defence before his capital of Camulodunum

He couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid nature of the Dobunni, merely moments before they had been on the verge of a great victory. Even with the enemy re-enforcements coming from the fort they could still have held them off and isolated the targeted men. Now however, it was impossible and so was any hope of any early end to this war.

They rode on through the forest where their speed was hampered by the trees but they were out of range of the enemy who were now occupied with thousands of Dobunni. He took one look back but couldn’t see beyond the foliage and could only imagine the end that the warriors who had covered their retreat had suffered.

The Dobunni would be rounded up and in all probability put to the sword or worse, sold as slaves. Caratacus vowed never to let such a fate happen to him again as he fingered the small dagger he always kept concealed inside his trousers. He and Togodumnus had agreed that should they be taken prisoner they wouldn’t allow themselves to be trophies of the Romans to be put on display. They would take their own lives and wouldn’t live under the boots of any enemy like sheep.

Eventually they got clear of the covering trees and moved along at a better rate on well-worn tracks. Warriors on foot couldn’t keep pace but they all knew where the rallying point was beyond the great river. All the people knew where and when to cross the river safely at low tide, the Romans wouldn’t, maybe that would help the retreat. That was of course providing no traitor had told them. The possibilities were small Caratacus thought as the territory had been their own for decades but then he remembered Adminius, another thorn in his skin.

Even the thought of his traitorous brother made him grip the hand guard of the chariot tighter as he saw his face in his mind’s eye. His brother had often warned that he believed the tribes only chance against the Romans was if they were all united. There were always conflicts and he knew that the possibility of one unified force was impossible.

The Roman leader had apparently listened to his brother’s tale with compassion or stupidity, a man who wanted an alliance with the greatest known Empire in the world but was cast out by his own people, his own family. Claudius had pledged that with the help of Adminius his legions would conquer his backward people and return him to his rightful place, the throne of Camulodunum. Caratacus pictured his former brother wearing the clothes of the invader, their robes and spat physically at the thought. He would pay for his treachery he swore again and decided to instruct others to kill him should his own life be taken.

Those who had survived the counter attack crossed the shallows of the Tamesa at low tide, the great river in their territory was even larger than the Medway. Reports reached Caratacus all the time that the Romans had followed and were close on their trail. He knew they wouldn’t be able to cross the water however, because by the time they reached it, the tide would be high and the river too fast and deep or so he hoped. He had made that mistake on the Medway but the Tamesa was broader, deeper and faster moving, it would stop even them surely.

He considered what he would do if fortunes were reversed in the event that the Romans found themselves stuck on the other side of the river. Part of his territory was already occupied and he was now heading for the lands of his recently departed dead brother. Would the Romans be content to sit there or would they wait for more re-enforcements, would they need them or would they circumnavigate the waters and attack from the rear as they had before?

He had already sent scouts out to the other tribes both west and north to warn them of the invasion. It wasn’t a fight that threatened just his territory after all but others as well and to stop them, they all had to fight together. He considered again those who had always preferred and had wanted to be a part of the Empire, they would surely side with Claudius now. He thought out his choices and knew that if he surrendered, he would no doubt die as other tribal Chieftains had done, strangled in front of cheering crowds in Rome. As he was bounced along in the chariot he thought through all the options available to him but there was only one real one, to resist. Now more than any time since his brother’s death he wished that Togodumnus was still alive. He doubted his ability to carry the fight against Rome himself but at that moment he realised that he had no other choice and for the first time in a long time, he felt alone.

Varro cantered his horse forward and into the fort. The battle had been hard won and the Britons had pushed the legions back, a feat rarely seen. He respected their leader Caratacus for his tactics and knew that had he succeeded in isolating and taking thousands of troops, Plautius would have been put in an unenviable position. Had he made a treaty with the Briton and bargained for the soldiers’ lives he would have won the respect of all his army. However, in bargaining with such a foe he would have been replaced, returned to Rome in disgrace and punished most severely.

As it turned out Geta had saved the day and the fortunes of Plautius who now it was rumoured, was about to decorate Geta for his bravery and that of his men. Varro had eventually been involved in the battle that day but only in the last attempt to outflank the enemy. He returned now to discover what his orders were as the fleeing Britons were pursued. It was said their capital was within a day’s ride now with only one major obstacle in their way, another larger river.

Trotting through the gate after helping escort prisoners to a stockade he saw that Plautius was indeed already decorating his officers, centurions and legionaries after the battle. He turned aside and saw Varro approach.

“Ah Centurion Varro how good it is to see you young fellow. I trust you played your part in the today’s victory?” He asked smiling up at the centurion.

“Sir, yes sir.” Varro answered. “We attacked with the cavalry and took down many of their chariots, men and horse.” He pulled up and got down off Staro.

“Splendid work my boy, splendid work. I suggest you go and find Legate Vespasian and see what he’s got in store for you. We need to pursue the barbarians that didn’t fall to our swords and give them a damn good beating as well. If things keep going at this rate, we’ll have conquered their entire island within the year.” He laughed walking off in the direction of his command tent. Varro led his horse to one of the equestrian enclosures and handed him over to a legionary.

“Make sure he’s fed and watered will you? We’ll be out again soon enough I’m sure.” He said already walking away.

“Yes sir.” The soldier acknowledged as Varro followed Plautius to the command tent. Inside, it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dimness compared to the bright sunshine outside. The temperature was hot and stuffy, not helped by the large standing burners liberally placed to allow sufficient light. He saw that Vespasian and the other senior officers including Geta were heavily engaged in their plans for the follow up campaign.

He was ushered to a side room where other centurions and a few optio’s awaited their orders. Dirt covered most of the faces, arms and legs of those around him as they recounted their personal stories of the battle. He presumed that he was as filthy as them as none of them had time to wash as the General always insisted on debriefing his troops immediately.

Some laughed out loud as others were more serious as they told of narrow escapes or friends and comrades injured or killed and close escapes. The cavalry were in the minority of those waiting, the majority made up of the legions centurions who were well and truly in the middle of the fight. Auxiliaries were mocked at their near destruction but were able to give as good as they got in the well humoured banter. It was always at times like this that Varro thought the General and his staff should be present. He was certain that fewer men would die the next time and they would learn more than they did from the side lines watching as men were butchered, if only they spoke to those on the ground.

“Quiet.” A Tribune shouted at the men as he appeared from around a corner. “The General is ready for you now gentlemen.” He added smirking suddenly changing his demeanour at the standing officers. They entered the large briefing room where maps were laid on two tables.

“Good, good come in men.” Plautius said moving to the rear of the table. Only a few senior officers, Tribunes and Prefects were still present in case their input was required, others had already left and were preparing to carry out their orders.

“Right gentlemen,” he began, “come forward please, step forward so you can see.” He waved them closer as Varro and the others did as they were instructed. He looked down at the table and saw what lay beyond the fort and the trees beyond. He could see the large river which it was estimated was an hours ride north on the map, it was named Tamesa the name given to it by the locals. The General turned and introduced a man dressed in a white toga. He recognised him immediately his Latin was the same as Brenna’s and spoken with an unusual accent.

“This gentleman,” the General said pausing and indicating with an outstretched arm, “is Prince Adminius soon to be King Adminius of the Catuvellauni. He was cruelly exiled by his own people as I’m sure some of you will already know.”

The assembled officers looked at the man as he spoke, “Welcome to my country Centurions. I welcome you on behalf of those who do truly welcome you not the traitors that you have fought today.” He raised an eyebrow as if waiting for some kind of response from the men standing at the other side of the table, he got none.

“A few years ago,” he continued, “my father, then King of the Catuvellauni decided that it was better to distance his people from the great Empire of Rome.” Varro decided quickly his first assumptions were correct about this man and that he was a sycophant and no doubt a traitor and liar to his own kind, he continued.

“Although trading continued as it had for many decades he, my father decided that he would not under any circumstances become a client King to the Emperor. At the time of course that was Emperor Caligula.” The men bristled and he blushed slightly realising he had mentioned the lunatic who had ruled before Claudius but went on quickly. “My vision was to bring my land into the Empire and to work with it not against it.”

A centurion standing behind Varro broke in, “Excuse me Prince.” He said.

“By all means Centurion.”

The soldier continued, “Do you speak on behalf of all Britannia? I thought there were many tribal regions?” Someone coughed as if indicating the point was well made.

“My tribe is one of the largest in all Britannia and the most powerful and we have the greatest influence over lesser regions. With the Catuvellauni at your side, I can assure you that Britannia will be one of your greatest allies.” He smiled pausing, expecting applause maybe. He continued. “With us at your side the rest of Britannia will quickly fall in line and then we can all work together with common aims and goals.

“If what you say is correct Prince,” the centurion continued, “then we have a real fight on our hands because it seems that your Catuvellauni are not exactly welcoming.”

Quiet laughter broke an awkward silence as Adminius looked at the General clearly expecting him to come to his defence and offer support, he didn’t.

“The warriors that met you in battle today have been misled. Since my father’s death my own brothers, Togodumnus and Caratacus have ruled. Togodumnus to the north of the Tamesa,” he pointed at the river on the map, “and Caratacus to south. They were always jealous of my vision that saw Albion,” he stopped, “sorry Britannia as a part of the Empire.” He reddened slightly after referring to the island with the Britons name for it.

“Since I met the Emperor in Rome, they have clearly persuaded my people that their view was the right one to follow.” He looked at the faces watching him. “They were wrong and those who follow them are wrong and they will pay for their insolence and betrayal.” His face flushed again clearly angry at being embarrassed by the assembled soldiers.

The General expecting more of a history lesson that neither he, nor his men had time for, broke in before Adminius could say anymore. “I sincerely hope that those less powerful and less influential; share your vision Prince Adminius.” He stared at the prince. “I can assure you that if the Catevallauni continue to resist, I will be forced to destroy them. Thank you for your time.” The General said dismissing the Briton. He stared at the commander of the army in shock but bowed nonetheless and left the room.

“Gentlemen.” The General said turning to his centurions. “Right men come closer,” he said as if the Prince had not even been introduced to them as he began to outline his plans for the continuing campaign. Over the next hour Plautius told the centurions that the captured Dubonni were to be kept inside a newly constructed fort on the coast. It was to be manned by the Ninth Hispana who would also secure their landing area fully and build better harbours for their ships. Once hostilities had ended the tribesmen would be allowed to return to their lands, unarmed obviously. This brought a few raised eyebrows nevertheless but the General went onto explain that they didn’t intend to enslave or kill the entire population of the enormous island.

They all knew that taking the Britons weapons would be insult enough and would no doubt create its own problems but that was an issue for another day. By that time Plautius mused, a Roman governor would be appointed and the law of the land would prevail over the law of the sword. He reiterated his desire that he intended to pursue the Catuvellauni and destroy those who continued to resist them. Any who surrendered would be treated the same as the Dubonni and would eventually be released.

The capital at Camulodunum would be taken as soon as practically possible with the Emperor Claudius leading the advance. This surprise raised more eyebrows especially when he said that the Emperor had even intended to bring with him a team of elephants and ride, ‘Hannibal like’ in person into the enemy stronghold, thereby ensuring the complete and utter capitulation of any who thought of carrying a sword against the men of Rome again.

After the briefing the men were given various duties and assignments, some more rigorous than others as those assigned to work in the fort complained about later. The men fortunate enough to be told they were to pursue the Britons with all haste, laughed at those to be left behind and quickly went to their duties.

Varro went to find his men and found them at one of the forts stable enclosures tending to the horses. Decimus, Lucius and Marcus were all relieved when told they were to ride in advance of the main body of cavalry and would be leaving as soon as they were prepared. None had sustained any injuries in the battle nor had the horses, not even a scratch, which he considered was a miracle considering the ferocious attack by the enemy and thanked Mithras, the god of the legions.

After a light meal they tacked up their animals, re-armed with javelins, food and water supplies and were ready to ride. Soon after they trotted towards the northern gate. Soldiers shouted their good luck and good fortune seeing that they were fully armed and leaving the safety of the fort. Some shouted good humoured abuse about having all the women and leaving some for them as well as their gold.

The four men smiled in response and waved as their horses kicked up dust flashing their tails as they increased their speed. As they got to within fifty yards of the gate, the great wooden doors were pulled and then pushed open allowing them to continue. More shouts of encouragement greeted them from above as they trotted below the guards manning the towers. Varro waved in acknowledgement and kicked Staro into a canter as they left the fort behind.

***

As the last of his people crossed the river, Caratacus saw that the tide had already swollen the quick flowing water. A handful of carts had to be helped across as the level grew higher and the speed of the water increased. Most of the Catuvellauni were already safely over and had or were still setting up their tents well away from the water’s edge. He prayed that it was enough to form a big enough barrier between them and the Romans to keep them at bay. He didn’t have long to wait to find out.

After the Romans had crossed the river further downstream over the Medway, he had ordered some of his men to patrol the rivers length inland in the event that they did the same again. If they did this again at least he would be prepared this time and would send re-enforcements to engage them. As he was talking to some of his senior leaders a warrior ran towards them carrying just a spear shouting a warning.

“Romans” he cried, “The Romans are here already.”

Caratacus looked passed and beyond the young man and sure enough he saw four men of the legions looking at them sat on horses. He knew that the battle of the Medway and the surrounding area had to have taken a toll on their men, not as many lives as their own but surely enough to make them think again about mounting another attack so soon. He gestured for his horse to be brought forward as other men got their mounts. Together they rode towards the river’s edge.

The Romans didn’t move they just sat watching the group of Britons on horseback now numbering fifteen. They were too far away to be hit by a spear but an arrow could easily reach them. One of the Britons pulled his bow from over his shoulder but Caratacus signalled him to stop.

“Let’s just see what our friends are doing shall we?” He said. “There’s been enough blood shed for one day or so I would hope.”

“Is the Tamesa big enough to hold them?” One of his warriors asked. He turned to look at him an expression of puzzlement on his face.

“I really don’t know Cunilis. If you had asked me the same question of the Medway I would have answered yes but these men are good at getting around obstacles as well as fighting. They showed that and got to our war chariots and horses by crossing the river further south so I’m afraid I have little doubt they could do it again here given time.” The young man looked nervous, so he tried to calm him.

“If I were their General however, I would question whether I wanted to face so many brave warriors again so quickly.” He smiled trying to encourage Cunilis.

“Their great General lost a lot of men today and yesterday and if I were he, I would either try and make peace with the men on the other side of yet another river or at least have a rest and fill my belly.” He looked out to the Romans again. “After all, how many men does anyone want to see die in a day?”

He wasn’t sure if Cunilis felt any better or not but it made him quite certain that the enemy wouldn’t try and cross the river immediately. Like his people, the Romans had to be tired and in need of rest and food. He looked at the sky and realised that they were only half way through the day. The soldiers of the legions had a river that was wider, faster and deeper to cross, he was sure he had time. He was wrong.

Varro and his men watched quietly from the safety of the far shoreline as the Britons made their camp. He couldn’t believe that they were content to stop directly on the other side of the Tamesa especially after the battle at the Medway. He watched as a group of Britons rode towards them and stopped and stared, gauging them. They didn’t try to re-cross the water as he thought was their original intention but stood talking animatedly to each other.

He watched the water current and realised it was much quicker than that of the Medway and it was wider and no doubt deeper. He followed its current with his eyes and decided that it was still crossable even with the high tide but only by those trained for such a task. Did the Britons think they were safe where they camped he wondered but it was a question only they could answer.

As other mounted troops reached them, Varro spoke to an Optio and told him to send a runner back to Plautius and inform him of the situation. With the countryside clear of the enemy all the way up to the Tamesa, the General had no obstacles to hinder their advance. It was merely a question of when they crossed the river, not if.

Within hours Caratacus looked out at a totally different scene across the great stretch of water. Where previously there had been grass, scrub land and the occasional tree, there was now a vast army arrayed waiting to attack. He couldn’t believe the Romans were willing to enter into another conflict so quickly but they were here.

He watched as they drew up the flat small boats in a line that they had used so effectively to cross the Medway. Rows of soldiers covered their approach from the front carrying their large square shields as cover. Cavalry carrying oval shields waited behind them at a safe distance, out of arrow shot. The Romans had already set up their artillery pieces, some on carts and some standing alone but none had fired yet, he knew they must be in range at the river’s edge.

From his position on a slight rise about thirty paces from the water, he considered his options and realised there were few open to him. The men across the river were readying themselves for action and there was little he could do about it.

“Bring the archers and slingers forward.” He ordered. “And have the spear men advance beyond the tents. As soon as those dogs are in the river, I want the water to run red with their blood. If they reach our side I want the warriors to attack them straight away and push them back. If we let them get across there will be nothing to stop them reaching Camulodunum.”

As his orders were carried out he looked up at the sky praying for divine intervention. His people were tired and exhausted and now had to somehow summon the strength to fight again. He watched as the boats were carried to the far shore hidden behind a wall of shields. Men peered out from the rectangular defences clearly expecting incoming arrows.

A trumpet sounded and very soon after things started to happen very quickly. As soon as the boats were pushed into the water, some of their occupants unshielded because of their efforts, Caratacus gave the signal for his archers to open fire. The Romans now struggled with the fast current and the arrows as the airborne dots grew larger and began to fall. Seconds later they were landing and injuring men and taking the lives of those on-board the small craft.

He saw their cavalry advance to the water’s edge and the men dismount. They urged their horses forward clinging to the sides as they attempted to cross the river. Some riders bravely remained mounted and leaned back as their animals entered the water and began swimming. Caratacus was shocked as he watched the unbelievable sight before him, he had no idea that men and horses could swim together as if they were one, especially in such a dangerous current. Suddenly the large artillery pieces came to life and huge bolts were fired over the water indiscriminately punching into flesh as did their own arrows.

He waited for the horsemen and the boats to come within slinger range and then gave the signal to open fire. Men and horses were now hit by both arrows and stones as the noise of battle grew louder. Unable to buck and run the horses were easy and large fairly immobile targets for both slingers and archers and they whinnied and snorted as their flesh was bruised and pierced. As he watched he didn’t know if his counter attack would be enough to stop them. He called his spearmen forward as the enemy got to within range and they now joined the fight hurling their javelins down at multiple targets. Men fell from horses and boats and the dead and injured were caught in the water current, taken away from the bedlam downstream. Screams rang out across the river of death as the water ran red with blood but the tide of men, horses and boats kept coming.

He was aware of his warriors on foot running past him as the first wave of the Romans reached their side of the river. They threw themselves at them hacking and slicing as missiles now from both sides hit where they landed indiscriminately all around. His warriors fought with ferocity and bravery as always and didn’t give any ground but the enemy were getting into their stride and were beginning to methodically stab out from behind their shields as men leapt from their rafts. More men and horses entered the water from the other side and in time the sheer weight of numbers on the front line of the Britons began to tell. His people were now being pushed back and less Roman dead were being taken by the waters flow.

Looking at the devastating scene just below him he knew something would give and it wasn’t long before his warriors started to retreat as the enemy got a foothold on their side of the riverbank. He looked on helplessly almost frozen as time seemed to slow and stop. A young man’s body broke away from the battle and floated downstream and Caratacus recognised Cunilis, the same man he had tried to encourage earlier was now dead.

“Retreat.” He shouted and gave the signal with his arm. He didn’t look back as he left the mound and walked to his horse. He briefly saw the shock on the faces of some of his warrior’s men and women alike as he admitted defeat so quickly. He knew he could either watch them fight and die or retreat and survive, he chose the latter.

“To Camulodunum, retreat.” He bayed once more and didn’t look back.

Varro was surrounded by men cheering and banging their swords against their shields as the Britons began their retreat. He didn’t feel like a celebration was in order looking at all the devastation around him. Most of the men were now stationary but a few still fought those few stragglers who had decided to stand and fight or who hadn’t realised the battle was over in the midst of the mayhem. The remaining Britons were routed and finished off quickly as they were vastly outnumbered. A trumpet sounded as the men of the legions walked ashore and gathered on the far bank and then pushed further onto firmer ground. The main force of the Britons were still retreating, they had clearly had enough and weren’t going to fight as they had at the Medway.

Orders were quickly sent out around the different cohorts. They were not to pursue the enemy but were to stand firm and secure the area which meant digging defences. As the river water cleared of blood, dead bodies were dragged ashore and lined up separately a line of Britons and a line of their own. It was apparent that there were far more dead Britons than Romans, probably a ratio of four to one and their line stretched along the riverbank some way.

Riders were sent east to try and recover other dead that had been taken by the current. Despite the retreat of the Britons, heavy infantry were now formed up and began to advance behind the cover of their shields. They were ordered to move to a distant spot designated by woodland and stop approximately a hundred paces short. This would enable the rest of the army to get across the Tamesa safely without fear of a counter attack. Engineers were already putting together a bridge that would allow more troops to cross.

Defensive palisades would be dug and a base of operations established, this would ensure that they kept what they had gained. Varro saw Plautius cross the river on a small boat with Vespasian close behind on another with his senior officers their red cloaks billowing in the breeze. As some men took the opportunity to dress wounds others drank from water sacks and the more seriously injured were carried to an area where surgeons and doctors already waited.

He saw one legionary being carried by four others with a spear through the trunk of his body. The tip of the weapon had somehow found its way through his segmented armour. He was screaming in agony with each jarring step, the invasion for him was over.