Caratacus

Chapter Seventeen

The days had turned cold, very cold and frost covered the ground as Caratacus looked out over the land and down across the valley to the River Exe. He and those around him were wrapped in thick heavy skins with hoods over their heads against the inclement weather.

Vespasian had been busy and so had his men, where once stood hundreds of roundhouses, an enormous wooden fortress now broke the landscape in the middle of those that still existed. Large boats were moored in the ice of the water close by, frozen in place until the thaw of spring. His scouts had informed him that they were still bringing in supplies from the sea route to the south, the last part of the journey on the back of wagons.

The enemy were camped for the winter but the structure looked like something more than that, it had a distinct look of permanence to it and was the largest single structure Caratacus had ever seen. Building and construction was still taking place beyond its walls where stone buildings were beginning to take shape, he knew that wouldn’t be happening if they intended to abandon it when the spring came.

He could see the helmeted figures of sentries their bodies covered in fur on the walls where they obviously thought they were safe, they looked out surveying the scene below. Traditionally they didn’t commit to combat during the winter months it was a weakness that Caratacus hoped to use to his advantage. Encased behind the high walls they may have been relatively safe but they were also a huge stationary target. With his cousin from the Silures at his side, his numbers had swollen in recent months to over fifteen thousand. Ardwen had not hesitated when he had heard of the threat coming from the east. He had sworn to avenge his brothers and Togodumnus.

The Silures were not merely happy to be involved in the campaign, they were eager as they lived for war when the opportunity arose and more importantly, were good at it. A few weeks before a small group of Silures warriors had literally stumbled over an advance force of the enemy who had crossed onto their land. They too were few in number and were found recording measurements and information for maps and had become an easy target for their warriors who had wiped them out to a man. There was no doubt that Vespasian would guess his soldiers fate but he would never know for sure, vanishing in the hills of Silures territory wouldn’t do his legions moral any good and that could only be of benefit to the Britons.

As they looked upon the recently constructed fortress, smoke rose from various chimneys although hardly any movement could be seen from within. A few sentries were posted along its walls and in its towers that were positioned at every corner and above the entrances at the front and rear. Row upon row of tents, were lined up inside the fort as well as some ancillary wooden buildings. Towards the rear near the centre were the foundations of the stone buildings which had quickly taken shape. Ardwin and Caratacus decided to take a closer look, they had told the rest of the army to stay hidden and to move behind the rolling hills to the north where they wouldn’t be seen.

They believed that they could go unnoticed amongst the Britons of the area and would try to gather information about the movements, if any of the enemy within the fort. Although they were camped for the winter, patrols would still be sent out to reconnoitre the countryside and they would make for easy targets. Small numbers they maybe but the thought of men not returning from patrols would do enormous damage to the men camped inside.

Warm breath billowed from their horse’s mouths as they began their descent to lower ground careful not to slip as steam rose from their shining bodies. Hooves hit the crisp frosty grass as powdered frost puffed up into the air as they made their way closer to the settlement at the side of the fort.

“If we don’t stop them, everywhere will soon look like this.” Ardwin said. Caratacus looked over but couldn’t see his face properly as it was hidden inside his hood. From the outskirts the place looked like most others in Britannia except for the tall fort now dominating the roundhouses. It was an alien site to them and one that brought shivers to both warriors’ spines, it was an altogether different shiver than that of the cold.

“If we can take one of these fortresses, just one,” Caratacus said, “others will see that they are not invincible and can be beaten.”

“That’s all it would take,” Ardwen replied, “one decisive victory and maybe even the cowards who don’t fight will realise that we can win this war and remove the blight from the land.”

“We’re not all warriors cousin, that’s the problem.” Caratacus said as they continued to move slowly along. “Some don’t fight because they’re cowards but I know what you mean, I would rather be dust than live amongst them. Some of them have had the fight knocked out of them, some are terrified for their loved ones and a few just want to live in peace, to work the land and tend their crops. Life is a struggle with that alone.”

Ardwen didn’t reply but grunted in response as they got to a wide track worn by previous travellers. An old man with a mule and cart was slowly rumbling coming the other way over the bumpy ground.

“Good day to you,” Caratacus said as they got closer, “how are things?” He asked. The old man squinted up at them with the winter sun now high in the sky behind them, “Who are you?” He said without any pleasantries, clear and direct.

“We are of the Dobunni.” Caratacus replied lying. They had already decided to say, they were from the tribal lands to the north of where they were now and hoped it would avoid any suspicion.

“Are you?” The old man said challenging the response, “You don’t sound like you are!”

Ardwen pushed his hood back and looked at Caratacus concern on his face, he turned his attention back to the old man, a harsh stern look on his face. “How are things with the Romans old man?” He asked.

The man stopped, pulling gently on the reins of the mule and looked at them more closely, studying their swords. “You will have them taken from you if they see them,” he said nodding at their weapons, “they don’t like to see Britons carrying arms, the only thing with a blade we can use is for crops or butchery. Anyone with a long sword will be taken in and questioned.” He covered his eyes against the sun. “What business do you have here?”

“We have grain to trade and were thinking that the people here may want some in exchange for goods.” Caratacus said.

“So why do you have concern for the Romans?” The old man asked.

The two warriors halted their mounts properly and climbed down. “We expect them to move into our own lands when the spring comes, it’s only natural that we are curious as to how you find them.” Caratacus replied. The old man turned to look at the fort.

“Well?” Ardwen said, “We are fellow Britons old man are we not and I expect an answer when we ask a question of another about the men who have moved into our lands and taken what is rightfully ours.”

“Mm well we didn’t actually welcome them as you are probably aware.” He got down off the cart and walked forward and patted his mule on the rump. “They take our crops to feed their soldiers, grain mostly, they use our women and they try to persuade our young men to join their legions. Our leaders have been told they are to pay annual tributes to them, in exchange they say they will protect the people and show us things, how to build from stone and how to make life better. They say they will bring civilisation to us, whatever that means, things we are not aware of.”

“And how are the people taking to them?” Ardwen said.

“They are different from others who have been in charge before, that’s certain.” He said, “They keep order and control of what goes on, some say that things are better under them, some say they want them gone and some don’t care because life is hard enough. No man likes to be told how to live his life but it always happens, the difference here is that these men come from a different land and speak with a different tongue.”

“Do they stay behind their walls?” Caratacus asked.

“For the main they do but not always, once in a while they come out in groups of at least eight. Our leaders go inside sometimes to discuss matters but we normal folk don’t really get to hear about what they talk about unless it affects us. I suppose it will be different once the spring comes but that’s not for a while. I see mounted patrols go out quite often but where they ride to I couldn’t say. They’re always back by dark and don’t stay out overnight.”

Caratacus and Ardwen looked at each other and then back at the old man, Caratacus asked, “Where can we find your leader and what do you call him?”

“He is named Wilmarn and you will find him in the large roundhouse near to the forts entrance.” He pointed. “He took over after the Romans came as the old leader and his family were put to death after they resisted, you will see their heads on spikes as a warning to others.” He looked back to the fort again. “They’re along the bank of the river, their children as well.”

“Go safely old man,” Caratacus said, “we will look for this Wilmarn and see about trading.” They led their horses.

“Remember those swords,” the old man said pointing at their hilts, “I would cover them or hide them before you go any further, you can always collect them on the way home.”

They nodded in response and continued leading their horses. “It sounds like the locals have accepted them already.” Ardwen said.

“Accepted? I wouldn’t say that cousin, I don’t think they had much choice. We know they tried to fight as did my own people. It makes me wonder how my own fair, are some still resisting or have they settled to their enforced way of life. I wonder what the land looks like now, has it changed? There are so many things that run through my mind especially when I try to sleep at night.”

“We could always go and see,” Ardwen said, “it would probably take a few days ride to get there though and I’m sure there would be check points along the way.”

“Maybe in the weeks to come but we have work to do here first. Come on let’s see what’s happening. We’ll put our weapons here under the edge of this bush. I don’t want to risk them getting found.” Caratacus said as he halted his horse and lifted the leafy branches from which frost fell, Ardwen put his own sword next to his cousins and then climbed aboard his horse, together they continued down the track. It wasn’t long before the first of the roundhouses came fully into sight with smoke climbing high out of the thatched roof. They rode past fields with rows of crops, they had obviously been there long before the invaders came. Fish were set up drying on wooden rails waiting to be smoked, some children came out shouting hello at the strangers as they went by.

“Amazing how normal everything looks isn’t it?” Caratacus asked.

Ardwen smiled, “They are living day by day as the old man said. I think we should stay clear of this Wilmarn.”

“I was thinking the same thing, it’s probably better to keep a low profile and just have a look around, maybe talk to a few of the locals and see what there is to see and if there’s anything that would prove an effective target.” Caratacus said.

They rode their horses around the bend fully and Ardwen said nodding, “How about that?” The fort came into view, its external walls constructed of long straight tall tree trunks cut from the local forest. The builders had filled in the gaps between the logs with some hardened substance that prevented them from seeing inside. A deep trench had been dug near the track below the wall they now followed. Inside it, were branches and sticks that looked to be covering something below but they couldn’t see what. Sharpened spiked timbers stuck out at low angles from the wall, they would make climbing difficult, virtually impossible especially if they were under fire. The wood glistened even with the frost as if it had been coated with some dark substance, Caratacus couldn’t make out if it was something oily, slippery or both. They saw that they were being watched from above as they walked slowly past and tried to act normally. One of the soldiers looked out at them his breath apparent in the cold air.

“Don’t look up and he’ll take no notice.” Caratacus said, and he was right. Out of the corner of his eye he saw than the legionary had begun to walk in the opposite direction towards one of the large towers at the corner of the structure. The main entrance was approachable over a wooden flat bridge over the ditch, it was around twenty paces wide. They passed more roundhouses on the opposite side of the track and then came to the river. At first there didn’t seem to be any activity aboard the vessels anchored to the bank, on the second ship however, a man appeared wearing a brightly coloured red tunic. He paid little interest to them and went about his business on the vessel. These were the ships they had seen from the outside of the settlement on the hillside. They were locked in the frozen water, also waiting for the spring to come.

There was little movement anywhere else as most people were probably inside staying warm near their fires. The clanging of metal could be heard from a forge as they slowly rode along the track, thick black smoke rose from the chimney at the roof and strong fumes permeated the air. They left the walls of the fort behind and saw that the ice was thinner the further south they went. Continuing along the well-worn path other ships were resting at anchor, they moved and bobbed up and down with the flow of the water where the ice hadn’t reached them. Stores and supplies were being unloaded onto carts from one ship roped against the river’s edge and secured onto two trees, no doubt the unloaded cargo was bound for the fort and the soldiers within. They carried on along the track that now ran parallel with the river, it was much wider here. Eventually the track became just a foot path, they followed it veering away from the water’s edge towards dense woodland.

When they were clear of hearing ears and watching eyes, they stopped and dismounted. “We’d better wait a while before we go back or someone will get suspicious, let’s head up into those woods.” Caratacus said pointing as they left the path completely. The woodland gave them another view of the area from higher ground giving them a different perspective. It was clear that there was only one real way in and one way out of the settlement area except for the abnormal traveller. They checked the woods which would have made an excellent place for a remote post for the Romans but were surprised to find there was none there.

They decided to continue through the woods instead of returning the way they had come so as not to arouse any suspicion. They changed direction and skirted the woods coming back to where they had hidden their swords, satisfied that they had seen enough they galloped off to the north where the rest of the army waited.

Varro didn’t enjoy the end of a campaigning season and he liked being stuck inside a fort in the middle of winter even less. Worse than the two, he hated being stuck on guard duty and that was where he found himself, in charge of all the sentries as the duty officer. He hadn’t seen Brenna or her brother Tevelgus for months and wondered if he would ever see either of them again. They had stayed with the army working alongside them where they could, assisting with Britons and trying to lessen conflicts where possible at Camulodunum.

He passed a group of legionaries playing dice sat at a table. They were due to rotate with the current guards on his next signal at the second hour after midnight. One of the men asked if he would like to join them but he declined saying that he wasn’t very good at the game and was going to make one last check on the men on the wall. He collected his bear skin cloak from a hook on the wall and wrapped it around his shoulders. Leaving the warm building, heated by a large fire he shivered as he went outside into the still night, biting fresh icy air on his face. He climbed the wooden ladder up the wall and made his way to the nearest guard.

“All quiet?” He asked, the sentry looking out into the dark night.

“Yes sir. I haven’t seen anyone for hours but an owl has been keeping us company hooting from those trees over there.” He nodded out into the darkness to where Varro could just about see the outline of a large tree set amongst others beyond the local roundhouses, their canopies just standing out against the sky. Smoke drifted up into the clear night air from numerous fires kept burning throughout the night inside the Britons dwellings. He looked up and could easily make out various constellations that were familiar to him.

“It’s freezing out here, much colder than home during the winter,” he said and stamped his feet banging them on the wooden surface, “the fire will soon warm you up inside though.” The sentry acknowledged his words with a shivering nod. “Not long, I’m just going to have a word with the artillery crew.” The sentry nodded as he walked around the guard straining his eyes to see the men under the cover of the tower.

“Sir.” Acknowledging his arrival one of the two ballista crew said.

“How’s it going?” He asked.

“Well my balls are now frozen solid and I can no longer feel my hands but apart from that it’s as quiet as the grave sir.” The other man said from behind the first.

Varro laughed, peering under the low roof he could just see the other man sat down huddled up, “I know the feeling believe me but it won’t be long and you’ll be back inside and in the warmth where you can get some food and a hot drink, the feeling will soon come back to you, I doubt the damage is permanent.”

“I hope not sir or my woman will want to have a word with you I’m sure.”

Varro smiled, “Everything quiet then?”

“Apart from that fucking owl hooting away all night, it’s kept us awake.” He joked looking towards the tree line. “If it keeps going with that racket on our next shift I’ll send a bolt flying in his direction, see how he likes that.” He crouched and came out from under the roof. “This bastard of a country is freezing in winter, why couldn’t we have gone to Greece or somewhere warm, somewhere near the coast, Sicily maybe or even Macedon? The cold gets right into your bones I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. Can’t you ask the General to have a word and have us replaced with another Legion sir?”

“I think you overestimate my influence soldier and his for what it’s worth.” He replied.

His companion said, “I wish you’d stop complaining about the fucking cold, it just reminds me how bad it is.” He said to his companion. “Obviously it’s fucking cold but on the wall we can’t do anything about it can we. If we had a fire those hairy bastards would be able to see us from miles away and you’d look a right cock with an arrow sticking out of your face, wouldn’t you?”

All three men laughed as they rubbed their hands together and moved from one foot to the other in an attempt to stay warm. Varro looked over the wall at the white frosty ground below.

“One good thing about this weather is that any Briton worth his salt is wrapped around his woman, next to a fire if he’s got any sense.” Their commander said as he continued to peer over the palisade. Movement suddenly caught his eye, frowning and looking over to the left he saw a fire blaze into life aboard one of the vessels moored along the river bank.

“Sir.” One the guards said.

“I see it.” He replied quickly, he knew that the sentries aboard the vessels rarely had fires aboard the ships and then only under strictly controlled conditions inside the iron braziers.

“Sound the alarm.” Varro ordered without hesitating as one of the men he had been passing the time with just a moment before, began rattling a large metal triangle.

Varro turned to the remaining guard, “Let’s get that ballistae cranked up and ready to fire just in case.” As he spoke these words, the ship next in line, sparked to life with flames of its own on board. There was no question now that someone must have deliberately set the fires. As he watched both blazes trebled almost instantly in size, pushing flames into the air, something must have been used to accelerate the fire. A horn sounded from inside the fort sounding the alarm, in moments it would be brought to life.

As the area beyond lit up Varro saw dark figures moving about on the decks of the boats, they clearly weren’t Roman. He ducked under the low roof of the tower as the sentry struggled to wind the ballista back. “Here let me help you.” He said. “Your hands are probably frozen.”

“What about our men on-board sir?” The legionary asked.

“I would guess that it’s a little late for them now soldier, they’re probably lying dead with their throats cut.” He looked towards the growing flames and felt pain as his eyes hurt in the glare. The woolly figures on the ships looked as if they were now jumping onto the ice off the far ship of those in the frozen water.

“Ready?” He asked the soldier.

He stopped turning the handle and the man nodded.

“Fire.” He ordered standing back. There was a crack as the bolt was launched into the cold night air and went streaking across the track and landed somewhere on the deck of the nearest boat or just beyond, its flight lost in the flames. It was hard to see where it actually embedded itself at that distance especially with the fire.

“Prepare to fire again.” He ordered as the sentry collected another missile and loaded another bolt turning the handle again, the ratchets clicked with a metallic clunk as they struck each other. Varro heard activity from below and inside the fort as men raced to their designated positions. Vespasian had them trained and drilled for eventualities such as this and the men knew instinctively where their individual stations were in the event of an attack.

Shadows skittered across the ice beyond the boats as one man fell shouting some obscenity as he skidded and slid over the frozen water. He was dragged upright by another and continued to slip and slide whilst trying to get to the far bank.

“Concentrate your fire on them and the ice.” Varro ordered pointing to the escaping Britons. The next bolt flew straight and embedded itself into the ice in between some of the running men, shattered chunks flew up around them as they turned. Another fire started on the ship third along the row farther along the riverside.

“Jupiter’s fucking cunt.” The soldier behind the bolt thrower shouted straining his eyes towards the fourth ship and sure enough within seconds it was the next to be set on fire. Archers began to take up their positions on the wall, some of whom were still throwing on uniform and bits of armour and helmets as they struggled with their bows. He heard men asking what was going on, why had they been woken, looking out over the wall they soon found out. Stringing their bows they discarded their armour dropping it onto the wooden floor for the time being and concentrated on sending arrows towards the men who were lit up by the fires they had started.

Varro heard a commotion down below and saw a column of men forming up just inside the main gate. They were quickly checking the strapping on each other’s segmented armour. A shout from somewhere ordered the doors open as the men in the column turned to face front, shields up, javelins ready.

“At the double.” The voice shouted again and Varro saw an Optio leading the men out from the side of their ranks as they began to jog forward. The doors creaked open and multiple hobnail boots hit the wooden bridge over the trench. The junior officer wheeled the men left and towards the ships now totally ablaze. Unable to do anything except launch the occasional arrow, carefully now because of their own men on the ground. Those on the wall had a bird’s eye view of the column below as they approached the first ship some distance from the safety of the fort. As they began to slow down another column left the gate with a Centurion jogging at their side and the original was ordered to halt. They did so and some of the troops instinctively crouched, behind their shields as the Optio surveyed the scene before him. It was obvious that nothing was to be gained by trying to fight the fire. The vessels were roaring with flames now as timbers burnt and cracked, the mast aboard the first ship already looked like it was about to fall as it lurched to one side.

Varro was aware that locals were coming out of their homes to the right further along the track away from the chaos, to see what all the commotion was, some pointed excitedly as they realised the ships were ablaze. As he turned back, movement caught his eye somewhere to the rear of the crouching soldiers in the shadows, he realised that it was another armed group of Britons emerging from the trees off to the left and behind them. A soldier tried to shout a warning further along the wall. From this distance and with the roaring fire it was impossible for them to hear and he looked on in horror as spears were launched towards the backs of the formed up column. A moment later the first of the soldiers fell forward into the back of the man in front of him, a spear piercing his armour somewhere in the middle of his back.

The Optio turning saw the danger but he was too late and was quickly engulfed by flailing Britons as they hacked him down around the legs with their swords. The enemy were upon the rest of the men so quickly that they didn’t have time to react and form up properly into a defensive square. Within the blink of an eye the legionaries were overwhelmed by the fur covered Britons, those who were still standing began to run towards the other column as it approached at a run forming a testudo.

Varro watched as the two groups collided and then realised more Britons were emerging from the trees to the left. The second column had managed to form it’s protective shell just after the survivors from the first were absorbed into their ranks and began to retreat slowly. The screaming Britons hurled themselves onto their shields as bowmen on the walls didn’t wait for the order to open fire, they launched arrows at the sides of the defensive rectangle as it struggled to get back to the main gate.

From behind the battle below Varro heard a loud cracking sound followed by hissing and realised that the first boat to be set alight was now sinking, flames being exhausted by the freezing water as steam rose upward and outward. Warriors on the far bank of the river cheered as it sank lower and then stopped at an unnatural angle.

As the retreating column got to within fifty paces of the entrance, the attacking Britons broke off the assault, whether it was the result of an order or a pre-determined plan or even the fact that the archers were homing in on them now, Varro wasn’t sure. The running fur clad figures looked like some large strange creatures as they lurched and scurried back towards the woods, their shadows highlighted by the remaining fires. As they began to vanish into the undergrowth of the trees one of them stopped and then another, the others continued running and disappeared completely. Varro watched as the larger of the two cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.

“Romans,” A voice shouted in heavily accented Latin, “I am Caratacus, King of the Catuvellauni.” Everyone on the walls stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the two men standing beside the wood. Mutters of the name that had just been shouted at them were repeated along the line of the wall. Some had thought that Caratacus had probably died months before at the battle of the River Medway. He had not been heard of since except for rumours claiming that he had gone west.

He continued, bellowing above the sound of the flames. “You have invaded our lands, slaughtered our women and children but still we are here to defy you.” Cheering erupted from the dark trees and from across the other side of the river as hordes of barbarians appeared waving weapons. Another voice shouted above them demanding quiet.

“Romans,” the voice paused, slightly higher in pitch than the first as the other man still visible to those on the wall waved his sword above his head, “I am Ardwen of the Silures, we are one with our brothers the Catuvellauni. Know this, we will not rest until we kill you all or push you back into the sea. These are our lands, the lands of our fathers, the home of Albion and we will not give them up and we will not pay your taxes or tributes. Go home, leave our land and we will leave you alone, refuse and face more of this.”

He lowered his sword and suddenly fire arrows were launched from the far side of the river roaring and rising like a fiery curtain. They rose high into the night sky and through the smoke of the burning vessels, the soldiers on the walls scrambled for their shields as they began to descend. They started thudding into the wood of the fort and embedding themselves into shields, armour and men. A few landed inside the dugout palisade and instantly set pig fat aflame that had been laid in the event of an enemy attack. The ditch burst into a life of flames as some soldiers jumped from the wall and into the interior of the fort as the roaring fire licked up around its exterior wall enveloping some who weren’t quick enough to jump.

Varro dodged back into the cover of the tower but not before he felt the heat of the flames threatening to set him alight, almost instantly he could smell singed fur and wondered briefly if it was his own or the guard he had been talking to just moments before. He fell over the ballista in his panic and stumbled along the other wall out of reach of the fire as it took hold of the forts frontal defences. He had time to check his cloak but didn’t see anything on fire.

He struggled to his feet and ran along the wall with the sentry close behind. He heard someone already shouting for water to fight the flames as he got to a ladder and virtually fell down its length to the relative safety of the ground below. It was only when he got to his feet that he felt the pain of a large wooden finger length splinter embedded into his right palm, he swore in frustration ripping it free. Soldiers were already throwing buckets of water against the walls at the forts entrance and along the walls length, trying to cool the wood as he threw the splinter to the ground.

Suddenly without warning an avalanche of night arrows began to land inside, hitting men sporadically at random. Those who weren’t struck, took cover under their shields once more, others cried out in agony as the barbed hot arrowheads punctured their bodies. Medics ran from cover to help them, seemingly unconcerned by the deadly barrage from above. Archers fired blindly into the night hoping to hit their attackers in the dark. He didn’t know how large a force the Britons had outside but if they managed to burn through the outer wall, the fight could turn into a free for all. With the flames lashing up around the towers now, the ballista were already useless and out of action. He ran to the lines of men that had already formed up from the well as they quickly passed buckets to each other to pass forward, dark black acrid smoke seemed to be everywhere as men coughed and choked.

“Form another line and another here.” He ordered pointing and quickly arranged the men so there were three lines handing buckets forward to throw onto the hot wood of the wall. It was impossible to tell what was happening outside now, the Britons could be formed up ready to run into the place as the wood burned through. For now he could do nothing but concentrate on dampening the wood as much as possible, it was already starting to steam and crack.

In the background he was aware of squares of soldiers forming up ready for any eventuality, if the Britons got through they would be met with heavy infantry. The fight to control the fire seemed to be never ending as the pig fat continued to burn, the smell was foul and the smoke blacker than the night sky but eventually it started to die down.

Varro saw that some men had stopped passing buckets and shouted for them to continue. It looked as if the wood on the inside of the fort had held but it now looked like charcoal, black and crisp, shining wet with the water, hissing and steaming in places. The main gate was a ruined husk and far too hot to open as it had before, the great metal hinges glowed red. It was decided to let it cool and settle before any attempt was made to go outside where they didn’t know what waited for them. Men sank to the floor exhausted holding ripped material from their tunics over their noses to try and stop the smoke from entering their lungs, faces black with soot looked about relieved that it was over for the time being. The injured were carried and dragged to the infirmary where they could receive better treatment.

As the sun began to rise and the dark sky started to lighten with the first few rays of daylight a few hours later, the forts occupants were still on a high state of alert and were ready for another attack. After the last of the night arrows had fallen the offensive against them seemed to have ended or at least paused but they couldn’t be certain from their position inside and so they waited. A few brave souls ventured to the front wall still smouldering from the flames but they couldn’t see beyond the palisade and its own smoke, so had quickly backed away.

“We’ll wait until daylight and we can see properly,” A centurion shouted, “nobody is to approach the wall again until I give the order. If you do I’ll shove my vine cane where you don’t want it” His previously white tunic was now blackened by smoke where he had been in the midst of the fire fight during the night. Varro saw Vespasian behind the centurion, he looked furious and barely able to contain himself. The Britons had caught them unawares, something that the Legate was not used to happening. He remembered back to Caratacus shouting from the edge of the woodland, the image raw in his mind. Clearly the wily Briton had regrouped and re-enforced his army and now had another tribe fighting under his banner. The enemy obviously had no regard for the conventions of war, attacking outside the campaigning season and when they were bottled up inside their walls. Caratacus was still a worthy and dangerous opponent Varro thought to himself, would this ever end?

“Centurion,” A familiar voice shouted, he turned and saw Vespasian wave him over. He ran towards him holding his armour still at the neck under his furs as it had a tendency to bounce when the wearer jogged or ran.

“Sir.” He said coming to a halt, he saluted.

“As soon as it’s light enough to get out there safely,” he said immediately discarding any pleasantries, Varro feeling his pulse quicken, “I want you out there on their trail, I want them found, I want to know where they are so we can destroy every last fucking one of them. Do you understand Centurion?”

“Yes sir.” He had never seen Vespasian so angry before.

“I don’t want you to be seen, I don’t want them to know we’re coming. I want you to take your men and find out everything there is to know about these Silures is that clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“I want to know who these fucking Silures are as well as this Ardwen. I want to know where their tribal grounds are and how many of them there are, I’m going to hit them so fucking hard their dead ancestors will feel it.” He turned to the senior Centurion standing by his side. “I thought we had got rid of that barbarian Caratacus back at the Medway, hasn’t he learned his lesson already? Now he turns up with another tribe and sets fire to my fort and kills my men.” He turned back to Varro. “Find out who this other cunny is, he’s probably fucking Caratacus in celebration as we speak.” He turned to survey the damaged wall at the front of the fort. “You will take Quintus’ section of men as well and those Britons, Brenna and her brother. They’re due to arrive in the morning,” this came as a surprise, “you will command. Find them for me Varro.” The Legate turned and walked off quickly to survey more of the damage.

Varro didn’t reply but saluted and turned to go to the stables to begin to ready his horses and men, he looked up at the sky and shuddered. He wasn’t aware that Brenna and her brother were due to arrive that day, they were in for good welcome on the frontier.

Already miles away to the north, Caratacus and Ardwen led their men back towards the rolling valleys of the Silures. Snow had begun to fall and people huddled inside their furs trying to stay warm against the days chill. Snow capped the mountains in the distance of Ardwen's land where they knew they would be relatively secure. The attack upon the fort of Vespasian had gone exactly according to plan and at a cost of only five dead but the Roman cost must have vastly outnumbered their own. In addition to their dead and injured the fort was badly damaged and a number of vessels sunk or put beyond repair, it had been a very successful night’s work.

Caratacus could have led a full assault on the installation but with it burning and the ditches of the palisade on fire, they would have been sitting ducks for the Roman archers inside. The great Vespasian Legion had suffered a bloody nose during the attack and he would no doubt be seeking revenge but it would come at a cost.

After the battles of the Medway and the Tamesa, Caratacus had learned that he didn’t have to face the beast head on every time, he could sneak up behind it and plunge a lance into its side, that was what he had decided to do. He would use every natural advantage he could, cover, hills, trees, rivers, deceit and surprise and he would show no mercy to the enemy that would show him and his people none. He didn’t know if it would be enough to drive them from his shores but it would make them falter and the soldiers hesitant. The problem with wounding a dangerous animal however, was that it was even more deadly after it was hurt, so as they had planned, they would now melt into the hillsides and disappear into the winter of the lands of the Silures.

“I really don’t see how you were having so many problems with these Romans cousin.” Ardwen remarked from his saddle smiling broadly.

Caratacus gave a cautious smile in return knowing that Ardwen wasn’t being serious but was trying to make light of the situation, “How so cousin?” He asked regardless.

“You seem to have encountered all kinds of problems with them, letting them land from the sea, cross rivers, set up their armies behind their shields, make camps and forts and even drive you from your own lands.” He pushed the hood back over his head so he could see his cousin, “I would say that during the summer months you should relax with your woman and children, go hunting, fishing, travelling maybe, cultivate some crops. When the Romans march we can rest and when they withdraw into their forts for the winter, we can attack. In the summer you could spend your time recruiting more warriors for your army,” he paused, “our army. Then as the nights get shorter and the leaves start to fall from the trees, prepare to fight and then when winter comes and the enemy is safely tucked up warm inside their forts, you can destroy them, simple really.” He smiled again.

Caratacus laughed, “If only it were that simple my friend. You will see when the spring comes and they creep out of their shells, it’s not as easy as you presume, they’ll be spreading like disease all over. You would have fought them as I did, had they crossed your lands first.”

Now Ardwen laughed, “Ah but cousin your ground is flat like a twelve year old girls breasts, it is suited to them and the way they fight.” Caratacus screwed up his face at Ardwen’s words but he continued, “They take their time and they set their army out like loaded dice, then they wait for the local barbarians that’s us by the way” he remarked, “to come along and courageously but bravely throw ourselves upon their blades.”

“And last night was how you would have fought them bearing in mind that it was my idea.” Caratacus countered, it was now his turn to smile again.

“Well yes and no really. You see my hills and valleys are like a mature woman’s breasts and you can do more with them you see. We can let our friends the Romans enter our valleys where they won’t be able to play soldiers like they’re used to doing and then once they’re in,” he slammed a fist into his palm and closed the hand around it, “we annihilate them.” He smiled looking up at the last remnants of the night sky and the snow that was still falling, “Thirsty work all this slaughtering isn’t it?” He grabbed his water skin from the side of his horse and took and few cold gulps. “Ah beautiful that spring water and nice and chilled thanks to all this snow and ice, not as nice as the mead we’ll be celebrating with tonight though eh cousin?”

Caratacus looked at him, “You actually enjoying fighting don’t you cousin, bashing heads in and killing men?”

Ardwen looked at Caratacus the smile now gone, “When someone or something threatens my family and my way of life, of course I do and do you know why?”

Caratacus looked at him, “No, why?”

“Because if I am bashing his brains out and killing him, then he isn’t doing the same to me or mine. I love it I do Caratacus and I freely admit it and you should learn to love it as well. Forget what happened before, we are where we are my friend and we have to make the most of it, look at it another way, it’s got to be better than planting crops eh?” He laughed again and Caratacus laughed with him.

“There’s something else I think you should consider.” Ardwen added.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“You should seriously consider using your own name not the one given to you by your parents when all was well with Rome. The people would respond better to being led by Caradoc of Albion the Celt not Caratacus the Romanised Briton. You know it means the Ram, it would be a fine symbol on your banner.” Ardwen said.

“It would be strange to suddenly change my name, it is all I’ve ever known but I know what you mean, I will consider it although I don’t think my wife would be very happy.”