Caratacus

Chapter One

It was almost the middle of summer AD 43, when a vast fleet set sail from Gesoriacum in Gaul for the distant shores of Britannia. The Emperor Claudius had spent the last two years planning for this enterprise to finally conquer the land that had not once but twice repelled the great General Julius Caesar and his own legions. Claudius’s predecessor, the insane and unpredictable Caligula, had also embarked on an invasion but had been killed by his own Praetorian guard before his plans were allowed to come to fruition.

The Senate and the legions had been humiliated when instead of setting sail across the channel, Caligula had briefed his army on the shoreline of Gaul and ordered them to collect pebbles, shells and stones and to launch them as missiles into the sea. He then claimed victory over Britannia but before redeploying his forces elsewhere, instructed them to build a lighthouse from the pebbles on the beach. This was his monument to celebrate the victory over the Britons after which, his legions were dispersed around the Empire to the astonishment of the Senate.

The Praetorian Guard knew that if Rome’s fortunes were to grow and her full potential was to be realised, Caligula would have to die and a more astute and clear minded leader take his place. Now a little over two years after his death, the huge fleet of nearly one thousand vessels blanketed the water as they slowly made their way across the channel to the distant island. A land where it’s warriors were known to use chariots for war, make human sacrifice to their gods and fight almost naked in battle, men and women alike.

Despite the conflicts with Caesar previously, an uneasy peace had settled between the Empire and some regions of Britannia, trading eventually grew with tribes willing to exchange goods, materials and livestock. However, nearly a hundred years later after Caesar, Claudius saw that he had an ideal opportunity to gain favour with the masses of Rome, the Senate and the army and knew that a victory over Britannia would boost his popularity.

He had finally decided that it was time that the primitive barbarians known as Britons, were brought to heel under the boots of the Empire. Some tribes had already received promises of neutrality and peace; the agreement not to resist was rewarded with gold and further pledges of wealth and client Kingdoms in what would be the next Province.

Unhappy with the dominance of the most powerful tribal regions controlled by the Catuvellauni in the south and east of the country, a few lesser chieftains even pledged to fight alongside Roman forces, Briton against Briton. A few nobles also saw an opportunity to elevate themselves and swore their loyalty to the Emperor after defecting completely or after being exiled. Most notably Adminius, son of the King of the Catuvellauni, Cunobelinus and brother to Caratacus, changed his allegiance to Rome after being exiled by his own father.

Cunobelinus had ruled these lands all his life as had his father and grandfather before him. His ancestors had even fought Caesars great armies and helped send them home but as time went by treaties were drawn up and trading was established. The power hungry Adminius had broken treaties by raiding other lands and had argued that his father should ally himself fully with Rome against other Britons. His father had refused exiling him to Gaul naming Togodumnus, another son, his successor. Adminius completed his defection fully by seeking the assistance of the Emperor, with his aid he intended to return to his rightful land where he would cooperate with Rome’s wishes as a client King, after the death of his brother Togodumnus and all others who stood against him.

The vessels of the fleet now moved like a giant shadow covering the sea before them. Hundreds of dots from a distance seemed to merge into one enormous entity, appearing to change the colour of the blue water, black and white, the colours of the dark wood of their hulls and white of their sails. All was not well aboard the vessels however, as rumours had spread throughout the army that the campaign ahead was cursed and likely to be the most difficult the soldiers had ever encountered. They were told that death and destruction awaited them in the lands that lay across the water.

To the common soldier, the inhabitants who were to be their enemy were barbarians, said to infest the enormous island, living in tribal conditions in little more than mud huts and fighting against each other as they had for decades and centuries before. Since Roman explorers and envoys had first set foot on the land, it had always been a target on the Empire’s north western frontier. Britannia had lay waiting, unconquered and divided by warring chieftains for a ruler who would unify the tribes.

Near rebellion had spread like disease through the ranks of the men aboard the ships and a mutiny had narrowly been averted right up until the last few days before departure. The soldiers knowing that even the great Caesar had failed to capture the land were superstitious enough to believe that Britannia could not be conquered. Stories were rife in the legions that the inhabitants had used demons and magic to destroy Caesars army, many of whom were drowned at sea by serpents during vicious storms. It was after all an island at the edge of the known world, where all manner of strange creatures and magic were said to exist.

Mysticism was rife throughout the Empire and in the streets of its pagan cities where soothsayers could be found in back streets plying their trade and divining the future. Animal entrails from sacrificed animals were studied to identify a person’s future fortunes as well as pledges to all manner of gods. Pagans were very superstitious and if any sign was deemed to be a bad omen, word of its existence would spread like fire and it would be avoided at all costs.

Long before the invasion, the Britons had been told of the large force gathering in Gaul and under the leadership of Togodumnus, had amassed a huge army of over one hundred thousand warriors to greet them on their shores. Chieftains and their war bands had been recruited from all over the south from all those regions willing to fight. They had waited for weeks whilst their families tended crops and cared for their livestock at home.

However, just as Spring had begun that year when the fleet was originally due to set sail, superstition took hold of the campaigning legions and despite all the efficient organisation and planning of General Aulus Plautius Silvanus, the overall commander, his men were now reluctant to take part in the war. Stories were repeated from one soldier to the next of the unimaginable horrors that awaited them and they refused to board the ships.

Plautius sent word to Rome of the delay and Claudius dispatched his own chief of staff, Narcissus to deal with the matter. He travelled to the port to resolve the problem with promises of riches for all those who took part in the campaign. Upon his arrival at the camp Plautius called an assembly where he and Narcissus stood on a raised dais, he began to address the assembled legions. However, before Narcissus could repeat the Emperor’s promise of wealth, he was shouted down and ridiculed as the men knew he was a former slave and now merely a freedman and therefore not a true Roman in their eyes.

Narcissus was jeered and began to quickly leave the platform to laughter and cheers from the gathered men who shouted insults, “Hooray for the Saturnalia”, referring to when slaves could actually wear the same clothes as their masters in late December every year. Narcissus reddened clearly embarrassed and humiliated by their words, turned to the General, rage building in his face. Plautius also angered by his men’s behaviour, furiously shouted for order and demanded quiet from those assembled.

“Will you follow me then? A true Roman and receive rewards?” He began. “The Emperor himself has promised every single man a bonus and land, for all those who take part in the forthcoming campaign.”

Those listening went quiet.

“Together we will conquer all those who stand before us,” he paused, “I guarantee success and fortune.” He waved his arms at the assembled equipment waiting to be loaded on the docks and at the ships in the harbour, “We will not be bested and defeated by druids and fools who live on butchered meat and milk like animals, we are Rome, we are soldiers of the Empire.”

Men began to cheer, at first single odd voices in the masses.

“Are we the legions of Rome, afraid of men who live lives in little more than mud huts, who rely on their women to fight for them and paint their skin to hide their sallow weak flesh?” He surveyed the men before him and saw that some individuals were excitedly talking to others and encouraging them. The General drew his gladius from its sheath and pointed it to the heavens.

“The gods are with us and Mars God of war himself looks down on you now, with him at our side victory is assured. Join me,” he looked up, “join us and your commanders and together we will conquer that barbarian place called Britannia. With four full legions, thousands of auxiliaries, cavalry and artillery we will smash all those who stand before us.”

He lowered his sword and then pointed it out into the channel and quickly the attitude of the men began to alter. They exchanged looks and stopped their sarcastic calls and started to shout the name of Plautius now agreeing to go to war. Thousands of voices chanted, “Plautius, Plautius.” He turned to Narcissus, who fumed and left the platform to cat calls from the men nearby, his journey not entirely wasted.

Subsequently that night the ships had begun their journey carrying their deadly cargo westward. The refusal to board the ships and the subsequent delay however, had taken many weeks all told and the usual campaigning season was already well underway. The Britons in the meantime had heard through traders of the legions refusal to take part in the invasion and had dispersed from the southern shores back to their settlements and families believing that like Caligula’s invasion of a few years before, this one wouldn’t happen either.

Although Britannia was to be the furthest point west these men had journeyed, their boots would be on the beaches of foreign soil the next day. Almost to a soldier they where captivated by their own thoughts wondering who amongst them would survive to see the sun rise again in the days ahead. The fleet slowly moved across the water, oars aiding sails, drums beat rhythmically like the mighty heartbeat of the gods, timing the strokes and propelling them to the land that would be the next Province of the most powerful country and Empire in the known world.

Druids were said to be all powerful, pagan religions ruled the lands where the tribes still performed human sacrifice to their gods. Warriors were known to cover their skin with a substance called woad, a plant extract, when they fought in battle, many had images tattooed onto their bodies. The hair was spiked outward in lime to make them look more ferocious, their body hair shaven except for their heads. Britannia was indeed a primitive and barbaric place where the soldiers expected to sustain heavy casualties and the loss of many of Rome’s sons.

The land would be dominated, decimated if necessary and brought to book. Client Kingdoms would be established and the mineral wealth distributed throughout the Empire. Emissaries had travelled to the rich green country the year before in the knowledge that some of the inhabitants had aided Gallic allies in Gaul. They had met with two of the brothers of Adminius who ruled one of the larger tribes in the southern part of the islands, Togodumnus and Caratacus but they had refused to become just another Province and clients of Claudius. They were known to have unified some of the tribes under their banner and were now refusing to pay tributes in the form of taxes and had denied all attempts at persuading them to join the Empire. The men of the Second Augusta led by their Legate, Titus Flavius Vespasian were now determined to show them the error of their ways, along with the men of three other legions.

The soldiers were packed into the war galleys and supply ships with equipment and animals and now couldn’t wait to get to dry land. The smell and noise, together with the constant rolling waves of the sea had already made many sick much to the amusement of some of the crew and marines. They had waited in Gaul for months whilst their forces gathered, their refusal to board the ships had hindered their progress further but now they now wanted nothing more than to get to what was said to be the largest island in the known world and onto firm ground.

Preparations were already underway for farmers, their families, builders and merchants to follow the first wave of vessels in order that the island could be made into the next Province. It was intended that in a short time the indigenous population would soon see the benefits of joining the other cultures and countries that now enjoyed the benefits of the eternal City. Philosophy, wealth and education would follow as it had in other lands that profited from an alliance with their Roman masters. A much different destiny awaited those that resisted and they like others before them in Gaul would be crushed under the eagle standards that now approached their lands.

Although Centurion Tiberius Albinus Varro was from Rhegium, located on the southeast coastal tip of his homeland, a large sprawling port, he didn’t like the sea or anything to do with it. He didn’t previously believe that the naval crews were worthy of military recognition. Not just because they were not as highly trained and less paid than he and his colleagues but because he considered that they were on a lower level, on the military scale when all was considered. They went to war at sea, whereas the men of the Second Augusta waged their battles on land, where wars were actually won and victories secured. He now however, admitted a grudging respect for these sailors and marines whose weather beaten faces creased in grimaces as they worked the sails and strained to propel them forward.

It was common knowledge that the men who manned the military vessels were ranked below their legionary counterparts and even below the auxiliaries that were drawn up from many conquered lands. The navy was considered by most to be an inferior force altogether, it was younger than the infantry and had only come into being because of Carthage and it’s seaborne threat.

However, Varro had now developed some admiration for the miles or manipularis marines, as they referred to themselves and not just as sailors. They were providing an invaluable service to the Empire as this journey and its preparation were proof of. The Emperor was spreading the eagle’s wings and men on foot alone could not achieve victory without the aid of their water borne comrades. His legion was at full strength and the five thousand infantry and nearly one thousand cavalry had trained and re-trained whilst waiting to board the ships for the short but uncomfortable journey across the channel. They were happy to be on the move at last and on their way after the dull routine of training and listening to superstition and rumours in their temporary garrison camp.

Varro was physically slightly shorter than most of the men in his company but only by an inch or two, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in breadth and pure physical strength. Naturally broader than most, he had built on that by training with large pots filled with water and logs cut from thick trees for years. He and his closest companions had pushed their bodies to the limit, training everyday to try and ensure that they were at their best when the time came to jump from the boats. His skin had a slight olive tint and his short wavy black hair was cut close to his head. A tight and neatly trimmed black beard made his features quite distinguished and almost uniquely Greek looking.

He and his men although mounted, were part of the Equites Legionis who were a form of cavalry attached to the legion but were actually regular legionaries taken from the ranks. Different legions had varying numbers of Equites Legionis from one hundred and twenty to one thousand troops, in addition to auxiliary cavalry. They generally worked independently as scouts or messengers and were employed in carrying out special duties on behalf of their Legate and were commanded by Centurions unlike the Decurion’s of the auxiliary units. Varro commanded the scouts of the Second Augusta and therefore liked to ride horses, what he didn’t like was boats.

He looked out over the side of the vessel to the white cliffs in the distance, his hands steadying his movement on the rail of the boat as it moved up and down in the swell of the water. They were only a short distance from their destination now as he felt the vessel roll slightly once more. He thought about the days ahead and of how many men, with whom he shared meals, laughed and trained, would be dead or injured during the weeks and months to come.

“Can’t wait to get amongst the blue faced scum hey Varro?” His friend and second in command of their small reconnaissance group, Optio Gaius Veranius asked as he looked towards the approaching shore just as a fresh spray of salt water lashed their faces and arms. He and Veranius had lived and worked together for the last two years, since Veranius had joined the Second and they had campaigned through Gaul with the others in their company. Together they made up the section of eight their contubernium or tent party. They were primarily used as scouts and would travel in forward positions ahead of the marching columns on horseback and even sometimes on foot depending on the situation, reporting back to the Legate, who commanded the Legion.

It wasn’t unusual for them to be literally days ahead of the main column, in fact it was routine, so each man had to be reliable, disciplined and be able to look after himself in all manner of circumstances. It was a task that most didn’t envy especially when moving into unknown territory, the majority of soldiers preferred the comfortable tight knit lines of the marching columns and squares, inside main battle formations. Scouting had proven hazardous as casualties had demonstrated previously but Varro and his men wouldn’t be anywhere else. They were the tip of the spear of the greatest force in the army and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I can’t wait to get off this floating stinking death trap that’s all my friend.” He looked at Veranius, “I don’t like salt water or anything associated with it. It rots everything and you can’t drink it or even bathe in it without drying your skin like ox hide.” He looked down at the water. “They say that if people actually drink the stuff, it causes them to go insane, to attack and kill others, why would anyone choose to live with that when you can have dry land and fresh water?” He replied looking at the ships personnel working around the boat.

“We’ll be ashore soon enough, with solid ground under our feet. I hope it’s not all white like those cliffs eh,” Varanius said nodding towards the land growing larger with each rowing stroke, “what do you think it is rock, chalk?”

Varro raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know but it looks in keeping with the stories we’ve been told doesn’t it? I hope those druids aren’t waiting for us or the ballista will be in action before we’ve even landed.” He nodded towards the medium sized torsion catapults located at the front and sides of the ship. Larger machines were onboard other vessels but they would be unloaded and towed by the troops with mules not like their own swifter, more agile animals.

“At least the gods have been kind and given us a calm sea and the sun.” He looked up to the clear blue sky seeing small white birds circling above them. The first few ships of the fleet were approaching the beaches and the nearest boats were already rowing aground with legionaries jumping ashore. There was no resistance on the shoreline or from the cliffs above. The pebble filled coastlines below the white cliffs were empty for as far as the eye could see in both directions. The sound of the sea was soon drowned out by hob nailed boots splashing and landing in the shallow water and on the stony surface.

“I would have set up defences on the cliff top, it’s a natural fortification up there just look at it.” Varro said pointing to the huge cliffs whilst removing his sword and checking it again for what must have been the fifth time that day. The slightly longer cavalry sword known as a spatha had become a part of him since he had joined the legion almost ten years before. He had carried it since it had replaced the wooden training sword he had been given during his first weeks in the army and was as familiar to him now as any of his limbs, probably more so. It had saved his life and taken others on the bloody days when his unit had seen action and he couldn’t now live without it.

The tough brown leather of his bracers against the skin of his wrists had now worn in but occasionally still creaked slightly as he moved his hands. Goose grease had been applied to them so they were pliable enough for comfortable movement, unlike they had been when they were first cut by the military merchant who had sold them to him. The thick leather bands were added protection not only against the elements but also provided a thick natural barrier against attack. The leather helped support the wrist especially when training or using the spatha when the strain on the wrist could become incredible. Not all soldiers wore them but to Varro they were an essential part of his kit, like a second skin.

As the first of the legionaries walked cautiously along and up the beach, fanning out in all directions, their officers red cloaks flowing in the wind, the ship containing Varro and his men crunched into the stones and onto the shore. Decimus Longinus, another of his squad leapt from the vessel and looked around.

“I claim this land and all its females on behalf of the Roman Empire.” He laughed as others around him merely smirked because they were more concerned about who maybe watching from the cliffs above.

“Come on let’s get up to the green areas, there.” Pointing Varro indicated to a patch where the cliff swept down to the beach in a prominent valley shaped configuration, a small stream trickling water down through the ravine and spilling its contents into the sea. The plan was to secure the landing area on foot and once it was established, their mounts would be brought from the other ships that were rapidly approaching the beach.

Whilst some centuries were forming up, other legionaries were already making their way to the natural sweeping dip with sunlight glinting from the polished iron equipment they carried. To the untrained eye it would look like the soldiers were meandering around and exploring at their leisure but each had his own task within his unit and that unit in turn was attached to another. They were trying to ensure that the Britons weren’t primed to ambush them on the beach and would hold their positions once they reached certain vantage points that allowed them to see the coastline and observe inland as well, the problem in the meantime was getting to them.

“We’ll be up there as soon as the horses are unloaded.” Varro turned to see the animals were already starting to be taken ashore from the first ship. They had received their orders the previous night on-board their vessels, the reconnaissance unit were to follow the shoreline moving east. They would rotate in two teams as they had done so successfully on previous occasions. Whilst half would return to report back to the columns of the following legions and replenish supplies, the others would continue to track ahead and scout the area looking for hostile or friendly forces.

The same system would happen in other legions as they went forward in different directions as the land became their own. In time the rear party would catch up with the forward element and resume their tracking distances, which would expand as the campaign went on. Dependant on the terrain and the situation, the reconnaissance troops would more than likely have to fend for themselves living off the land at times or if possible, the local tribe’s hospitality.

Certain chieftains had already agreed to co-operate with the invading force and had received payment in gold and even weapons so the troops knew it wasn’t going to be an entirely bloody campaign. Barbarians however, had a habit of reneging on treaties especially after they had already had the bargaining tool given to them. Previous meetings with spies and local intelligence, had reported that only weeks before, thousands of tribesmen had covered the cliff tops and surrounding lands but they had grown weary of waiting, had began fighting amongst themselves and had gone home once they had heard the Romans were refusing to board their vessels.

With the horses quickly unloaded, some were already mounted and Varro ordered his men to find their own as they continued to observe the cliffs. He found his own horse Staro amongst those coming ashore as he stood out amongst the mainly brown animals because he was dark black in colour.

“Slow down boy.” Varro whispered, holding onto him by his saddle and reins as his horse snorted, stamping his feet as if to make sure the surface was solid after the rolling journey from Gaul.

“It’s alright my friend,” he stroked the horse’s mane and neck as he leaned forward and spoke, “today we begin a new adventure in another land far from home. I think you will like it here on this huge rock at the edge of the earth.”

Climbing onto his mount the horse reared up on his back legs and lashed out with a foreleg, whinnying as if in agreement before settling down and cantering forward a little along the beach. Men from the ship brought water for the animals to drink in large wooden buckets as others anchored vessels to the shoreline.

“Thank you,” he said to a marine carrying a large bucket, “my horse and his friends will need a little water inside them before the journey ahead.” He looked at Staro twitching his ears, “Only enough to wet your lips though boy, I don’t want you getting ill.”

The marine from the ship looked along the beach and up at the high white rocks now towering above them, turning back to the horse and rider he said. “They all had some water a while ago on-board so they’ll be fine Centurion.” He looked back to the cliffs that dominated the shore, “I’m glad I joined the marines but I’d like to see what this land has to offer. It’s said to be so different from anything else we’ve seen before. I wish you and your men good fortune, may the gods watch over you.”

Varro smiled, “Thank you for the good wishes.” He said looking up again at the strange white cliff, “We may need them I fear.” Although Varro wasn’t a zealously religious man, he sometimes prayed to the gods by thought preferring his own private tribute rather than the public displays demonstrated by others.

His mount reared up again sensing that it was time to move off, neighing loudly, “You see, even Staro is ready to conquer this land.” He patted the animal’s neck as he landed and then he and the others raced forward and up the beach scattering pebbles in their wake. The water carrier watched them go and said a silent prayer as the sound of the waves again dominated the diminishing noise of the hooves as the horses and men on them, moved away from the relative safety of the beach and into unknown territory. Already other ships were grounding themselves ashore as the crews began to secure them to the beach, where they would wait for high tide before their return voyage to Gaul.

Some distance away, lying in the wispy long grass above the cliffs, five men watched from cover as the large vessels unloaded soldiers and horses onto the beach, more warriors waited behind the bank unseen. Togodumnus had known that the men who had invaded Gaul would soon reach out and be tempted by their lands especially after they had refused to pay the tributes demanded of them, so he had sent men to watch the shores after the others went home. The Catuvellauni were the rulers of this land, not these intruders and they would kill any man or beast that stepped foot on their soil, just like those that had already taken their tokens of corruption and cowardice.

The men had been sent to watch the sea and they now looked on intently as the Romans scurried around and slowly spread across the beach below. They saw that some but not all wore dark red cloaks and had long spears, the blades glinted in the morning sunlight. Strange helmets were worn on their heads probably for protection, or identification, large ornate colourful plumes decorated a few of the helmets, whilst others were simply plain bronze or silver. They had clearly come ready for war but they would have their teeth and bones shattered by the warriors of Britannia until they were turned and pushed back into the sea or were destroyed where they stood.

The Britons had lived by the cliff for some days after being sent by Caratacus and his brother from the north. Patiently they had waited after all the others had left weeks before, when word had arrived that the invaders had lost their appetite for battle. They had never seen so many vessels on the water and watched with interest and trepidation as their cargo was brought ashore. Some of the equipment was already packed onto mules as they left the ships, walking unsteadily down large wooden ramps; other kit was carried by men, whilst some of their goods were towed on wagons and carts. Supplies, weapons, men, horses, mules, oxen, empty wagons, carts and other equipment they didn’t even recognise began to grow and spread over the stones between the water and the base of the cliff below. The Britons had never seen anything like it although stories were still told of the last time these men had come and were pushed back into the sea.

Men with armour, shields and spears were marching in columns as they were overtaken by riders on horses as they began to move away from the sea and take a hold of this part of the shoreline. Had the Britons waited in force for a few more weeks, these men would have never got ashore and would have been met by thousands of warriors but as it was, only five pairs of eyes had watched as the ships had emerged on the horizon.

“It is as Caratacus warned,” One of the men said in a hushed voice, although no Roman could have heard him from this distance, “two of you ride back,” he nodded at the volunteered pair, “get home as soon as you can. Tell them they are here,” he paused, a look of resignation on his face, “it begins.”

Two of the warriors pushed themselves back away from the edge of the cliff, getting to their feet they turned and ran to their mounts tethered some distance away. They climbed onto their horses, smaller than those of the invading Romans and galloped away, kicking soil and grass into the air. Togun the leader of the remaining men returned his gaze to the figures below. He could see the shock in his friend’s faces as their eyes moved from figure to figure in the distance, like insects on the beach below, countless hundreds already staining the earth.

“They are many but a lot of them will not return to their own land, they can bring all the stars and we will bring the sun to wipe them out, we will meet them with force. Even now Caratacus and his brother are forming more alliances with other tribes. Our chariots will cut these invaders down and drive them back into the sea, have faith in them.” The expressions and eyes he saw staring back at him clearly doubted his words.

“We should have waited with the other warriors and greeted them as they jumped ashore Togun. We could have repelled them and made an end of this madness before it had even begun.” One of the men said.

“Crops would have spoilt and families gone hungry, they were right to go home when they did, they’d waited long enough. We are far too few at this time to do anything but we can watch and count their numbers. We were assured by our friends in Gaul that the Romans had mutinied and were not going to cross the sea but return to their own lands instead. They were wrong and the Roman curse is here to steal our food and rape our women.” He looked angry, “It is at least a full day’s ride at pace to get word of this back to Caratacus. By then, when they have reached our own territories more will join and will begin to move south. Togodumnus and Caratacus will find a place of their own choosing to fight these demons and force them back, you’ll see. Then they will witness their men cover the ground, dead in their thousands.”

He looked at the ships and men still flooding ashore and although believed his words, he wondered how exactly the sons of their former King would deal with this immense army. The enemy had equipment that they had not seen before and they carried a lot of hard metal and strange machines such as large bows attached to wooden frames and soldiers wearing full armour. Each man he thought must weigh nearly twice his own weight, weighed down as they were with weapons and tools carried on their backs. Most of the Britons were limited to a spear or maybe a sword or dagger and if they were fortunate, a small shield. Those of a higher class such as noblemen had large ornate rectangular shields but they were not available to every fighter. They were warriors however, who had lived with conflict with other tribes all their lives. Now he knew they must come together and fight a common enemy if they were to meet this threat head on and defeat them as their forefathers had before them. He and his remaining men would stay close to the Romans and try to discover how many there were and in which direction they were intending to travel. From this high position, he knew that what he saw below was certainly more dangerous than anything he had ever before encountered.