Caratacus

Chapter Two

Lucius another of Varro’s men, caught up with him on his own horse a brown mare as they cantered above the stony beach now down below. The grass underfoot instead of pebbles meant they could talk instead of having to shout at each other over the clatter of their mounts hooves.

“How far will we travel today sir?” He asked.

Varro raised an eyebrow, “We’ll keep moving while we still have good light.” He said looking up at the sky. “I would say that we’ve only lost a few hours of the day so we should be able to follow the coast for sometime before we have to make camp.”

He looked at the sun, the sky was still clear and blue and a warm breeze passed over his muscled arms and legs as he guided Staro with his hips. Roman cavalry had learned decades before to determine the direction of travel of a horse by purely using their legs and hips if required. They would use their thighs to grip onto a large four pronged wooden pommel on the saddle that was covered in leather. It enabled the riders to have free hands primarily so they could wield their swords in battle or throw javelins. Now however, it also enabled them to drink from water skins as Lucius did. His sword was stored under his leg on the saddle on the horse’s right flank so that he could get to it quickly if required.

They were now a few hundred feet above sea level and slowed their animals to walking pace as they took in their surroundings, the area before them was covered in trees and rolling woodland, it was so dense they couldn’t see through or beyond it. Instinctively Varro and his men viewed the obstacles with suspicion and caution as they knew enclosed areas meant that there was always a possibility of ambush. A few small tracks lay at the base of some of the trees running parallel to them which meant that either people or animals used them regularly to travel in the area.

Varro halted his men, who waited a few steps behind him, Veranius and Decimus trotted forward, the three men listened taking in their surroundings. Everything seemed natural, birds sang in the trees and bushes moved normally with the slight breeze as hares nibbled on grass a few hundred feet away, near to the safety of the undergrowth of the trees.

“I’ll go in with Decimus and have a look?” Volunteered Veranius, steadying his horse and pointing to the track, his mount seemed nervous about the trees ahead. Decimus gave him a scolding look, as the horse whinnied and dragged its right hoof across the dirt under him.

“Animals sense things that we can’t see my friend. You’re horse doesn’t seem very happy.” Varro said as he looked to the tree tops. “All manner of things can lurk and conceal themselves in such places, be careful and do not go too far. Stay in sight of each other and out of javelin range of the trees, the rest of us will follow.”

Veranius and Decimus acknowledged the order that seemed more like a warning with a nod as they pushed their horses forward. Veranius was a trusted friend of Varro as well as the other members of the small reconnaissance troop albeit a subordinate. They had formed friendships over years of campaigning together and were considered to be a very tight close knit unit within the legion and vital to its overall success.

As the two began to move forward, Decimus said quietly to Veranius, “Thank you so much for volunteering me my friend.” He peered into the undergrowth. “Remind me to return the compliment one day.”

Veranius smiled and replied, “Your horse was getting impatient and doesn’t like the trees so we’ll show him he’s safe.”

“This fool spooks at sticks and twigs,” Decimus said looking down at the horses ears. “Never mind the trees but knowing our luck this time there will be something there. He threw me once on a windy day when a leaf blew across his path and swirled about in the air near his face.” Decimus replied.

Veranius laughed. He was the only member of the party that was shorter in height than Varro but he too had trained continually and had developed arms that were now the size of small tree trunks and were literally wider than his head at the bicep. He had three passions, fighting, wine and food, the latter normally provided for by utilising his hunting skills.

He had grown up near Venusia on his father’s farm in the south of their country. His family had a military background and it had seemed a natural step to join the army, His father had retired from the legions as a centurion in the infantry and had returned to Venusia, where he too had grown up, to start a family after twenty five years service which was the maximum permitted time. With the spoils of war and his military pension earned by his father, Veranius had a relatively comfortable upbringing.

With most of his modest military pay saved over the years and a generous wagon full of plunder, Veranius’ father had bought the small farm where he grew grapes on the vine that were sold at local markets. In the second year of civilian life he had met his wife and soon-after Veranius was born, another soldier of the empire.

Decimus was the youngest member of the group of scouts and was a joker, tall and rangy, he went out of his way to find female companionship whenever he could. He had looked forward to introducing himself to the females of Britannia and had boasted, ‘They will tell their children and their children’s children, that they are descended from the great Decimus, ruler and Emperor of Rome.’ He had often said usually followed by roars of laughter, from his friends. He was convinced that his charm alone would prevent any conflict once the women had let him entertain them. He was from the north east fishing village of Aquileia, situated on the coast of the Adriatic Sea. He had been with the legion eight years and had transferred from the infantry a year before joining the reconnaissance troop.

Varro dismounted from his horse and took off his helmet, sweat matted his short hair. He removed his water skin from Staro’s side and drank, pouring water over his head when he was finished. He checked his saddle, stroking the animal’s flanks as he made sure the cloth underneath the wood and leather was flat so as not to cause blistering. Hours in the saddle could cause all manner of problems for the horse where the hard wood of the saddle rubbed against the skin through the leather. It could cause a calloused area on the flesh to well up which would affect the animal, it was not something a rider wanted if they were trying to escape a horde of barbarian sword wielding madmen. Experience had shown him that if his horse was injured or wounded, then effectively so was he and he couldn’t afford that in a hostile land.

“Check you horses.” He ordered as the remaining soldiers jumped from their mounts. Regular cavalry units wore heavy armour a tactic that had come into being after the Roman army had come into contact with a Sarmation tribe called the Roxolina. The Roxolina had used the cataphracti armour, when going into battle, the legions had been so impressed with their equipment, armour and horsemanship that they had created their own. It demonstrated a respect for people and cultures outside the Empire and had proven invaluable in preserving soldiers and horses lives and of course helped in winning battles and ultimately wars.

Varro and his men had virtually the same equipment as the men in the ranks of the legions but didn’t have the same heavy solid body armour because their task was to cover large areas of land in as short a space of time as possible and the armour of the heavy infantry would have slowed them and their horses down. Instead they had chainmail linked armour that covered their torsos and their horses had a hardened leather equivalent of the regular cavalry that covered vulnerable areas against sword or spear thrusts. It wouldn’t stop a direct assault but many a horse’s life had been saved by the thick leather armour.

He made sure the bridle constructed of an iron curb that made up the bit in the mouth wasn’t causing any problems. The curbs had been designed to get an instant response for Cavalry and had a bar in the mouth and one under the animals chin. He ran his hand along the nose band over the horse’s muzzle and under its chin. Staro showed no sign of it being uncomfortable, his large brown eyes watching Varro, everything seemed to be in order.

The horse’s kit had been checked before departing Gaul but there had been no time to properly check the equipment immediately after they had got off the ship as more troops had piled ashore behind them and it had been tactically astute to move off the beach as soon as possible. This was their first opportunity to make sure everything was in working order in what looked to be a safe area. They were in a clearing and out of range of any weapons that could be lurking in the nearby woodland or so they hoped.

As the sound of bird song in the trees grew louder, Veranius and Decimus approached a shaded area of grass before the woodland. They could see only large tree trunks, branches and leaves before them rustling in a slight breeze. Veranius had led them to the track on the left side of the clearing. He had decided that if an ambush party were waiting for them, they didn’t want to be riding towards its centre where they could be quickly encircled and trapped.

His hands moved over the chainmail covering his chest, he pulled on the links at his sides to make it more comfortable. When the linked vests were first put on, they felt very heavy but the cavalry soon got used to them, when they were in the correct position, they hardly knew they were wearing them. He looked around, his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword as the cool of the shade engulfed him.

Decimus followed at a distance behind. In the event of attack, both horses would need at least two lengths to turn and gallop to safety. It would be pointless just the two of them trying to fight if they got into trouble with another group after finding themselves outnumbered. Their task was to ensure the way was clear and report back in the event of trouble, not to take on enemy forces, in that event they would return to the clearing at speed.

Decimus adjusted his helmet so he could see up into the tree tops. The unit had been issued with standard cavalry helmets with only the eyes, nose and mouth visible. Decimus turned his head fully, watching for anything that might be a threat.

The woodland seemed vast and full of small wildlife, all of which could be heard but not seen. Along the worn paths they wound their way through the trees like small streams disappearing and re-appearing in the walls of leaves and branches. He checked the two small throwing spears tied to his horse, they were only about four feet in length so they could be carried at the side of the animal and not wound others because they were too long, especially if they were riding in formation. All the men that served under Varro were proficient throwers of the pilum and could accurately hit a target some distance away.

The air was full of differing scents from the plentiful plant life around them, it seemed almost serene. They knew that the land they were now on was split into different tribal areas just like Gaul had been. Over twenty main tribes were known to inhabit this vast island and they were now in the area known to be dominated by the tribe known as the Cantiaci, one of the tribes heavily influenced by Caratacus of the Catuvellauni and his brother who were both vehement opponents of Rome. The Catuvellauni were a large tribe, said to be the second largest in all Britannia. Varro and his men were not there to confront them if they found them but were to scout for their presence along the coastal routes as the main force came ashore.

Three other large tribes were known to inhabit the southern shores of the island and they were sure they would come into contact with all of them at some point, hopefully one tribe at a time. The Atrebates and the Durotriges were known to live in the centre of the southern shoreline and the Dumnonii dominated the south west. Numbers amongst the tribes were invariably inconsistent and depended on who you spoke to and where the intelligence had come from but it was known that each tribe could call many thousands of warriors to their banner. The majority of these people however, were not professional fighters but farmers who answered the call to arms when required from their chieftains.

After a short time Veranius and Decimus reached a clearing where they could once again feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

“Go back and get the others, tell Varro the area is clear.” Veranius instructed Decimus. He didn’t reply but just nodded and turning trotted off back down the track. Veranius searched the trees around the clearing and moved forward, he didn’t see or sense any movement. A little further into the ground that was clear of trees he found a small brook where clear water ran. He led his horse to it and the animal drank, ears twitching. Veranius got off and removed his helmet and scooped water up into his cupped hands. It was cool to the touch and refreshing when he splashed it over his face and rubbed his neck.

“That's nice hey boy?” He said to the horse that turned and looked at him and then returned to the water for another drink.

“This place isn’t so bad is it? It’s even warm and sunny, those fools back in Rome said it was freezing here and animal skins and fur had to be worn to keep out the cold.” He sat on a large rock, “Maybe it was winter when they came eh?”

He took out his dagger, a weapon nearly a foot long and known as a pugio or pugiones dependant on which region of the empire the soldier came from. The bone handle was smooth and comfortable in his hand with its T-shaped pommel at the base. The blade was made of cold sharp iron and slightly stretched in a triangular shaped wedge. Almost day dreaming in the warm sunlight, he suddenly had a vivid image of the last time he had used it in combat. Under normal circumstances it would have been his sword that was used but in a battle against a Germanic tribe he had dropped his spatha as his legions flank was outnumbered and overrun, their shield wall shattered. Colliding against the side of another horseman he had found it impossible to keep a grip of his spatha’s hilt and it was knocked from his hand.

The ferocity and speed of the savages had been so shocking that they had almost overwhelmed the three lines of well trained and disciplined soldiers. They immediately began to collapse with the weight of the huge fur clad tribesmen lashing and screaming at them with axes and huge swords. He remembered back to a loud drumming sound that intruded upon the madness, it came from somewhere behind them but was drowned out by the wild cries of their attackers and clashing weapons.

The next recollection Veranius had was of landing on his back with his horse falling beside him, a violent impact, the air was instantly knocked out of his lungs and he struggled to breath, gasping for air. The small cavalry detachment had been behind the thin ranks of infantry awaiting the trumpet call to outflank the barbarians on their right side when the attack had caught them by surprise. The Germanic tribe seemed to fall out of the trees and mist from nowhere and were upon them before they could react.

His horse was quickest to it’s feet and fled galloping to the rear of the Roman lines vanishing into other advancing columns without it’s mount. He had stood shaking his head trying to make the stars dancing before his eyes vanish as metal clashed against metal near him, ringing in his ears. Instinctively he had drawn his dagger from his right side and almost fell backwards as infantry retreated all around him taking him along with the weight and strength of their numbers.

Something had struck him against his armoured shoulder with such power he buckled at an angle, his knees bending automatically, almost taking him back to the muddy surface. He turned to see a huge hairy face grimacing next to his own. It was so close he could smell the acrid stench of the animal like being wielding the sword that had hit his chainmail. Insane, crazed eyes stared, battle madness displayed on them as the near toothless male struggled to get the large sword up again for another strike.

An overwhelming weight hit Veranius from the left from something unseen before he hit the ground again he realised it was another horse shrieking as it was impaled through the chest by one of the attackers. He was as powerless as the horse in that moment. As the animal shrieked louder and kicked its legs trying to get to its feet, its rider was dispatched by an axe blow that struck the unfortunate soldier on the neck above the folds of his armoured vest. His head was almost cut from his body, dead eyes stared out unseeing. Blood jetted from the wound and hit Veranius in the face and mouth, warm and wet, tasting foul. In that instant the fluid was down his throat and in his eyes, he choked for breath, scraping with fingers for better vision with both hands, his sword he realised had landed somewhere at his feet, unseen as he panicked to clear his eyes.

He was aware of cries of agony as iron and bronze weapons clashed all around him and those that didn’t, sliced and cut into human or animal flesh. The horses made dreadful sounds, worse than the men as barbarians thrust their weapons into their bodies, seeking out arteries, bone or major organs to terrify the riders and bring them down. The soldiers on foot were furiously thrusting and stabbing their short swords into and through the fur covered attackers that were intent on killing or mortally wounding them. They peered from behind or over their shields as they put into practise their well rehearsed training and tactics of stab, thrust and withdraw. He heard feet scrambling for purchase on the muddy surface as the retreating soldiers were pushed back by the horde attacking them.

He knew if he didn’t get back to his feet quickly he wouldn’t leave this field alive, his remains would be ripped apart if the Germanic tribe won the day and his severed head would end up on a spear or stake. He also knew that would only happen if he was fortunate enough to die straight away. Captured troops were made the play things for the women of the Germanic tribes, who would torture them sometimes for days on end. This was usually done by women who had lost their men, brothers or sons to the invading force. Their limbs would be broken with wooden logs, their fingers cut off and fed to packs of dogs or pigs and their organs cut out while their host took its last breath in this life. It was a vile way to die and no way for a soldier to meet his end.

He leapt up frantically searching for the large barbarian whose rank breath had almost made him retch. He had blurred vision through one eye, his right smeared with blood from the axed soldier, his left eye useless entirely. Figures blurred around him, the noise of battle overwhelming, the smell of blood, the metallic aroma disgusting and repugnant. He whirled blinking unsure who or what was around or near him. Dabbing at his right eye furiously, from nowhere animal fur brushed against his face, moving violently. He thrust the blade into what he thought must be the midriff of the tribal barbarian who had to be by his side. He heard a gasp as he ripped the blade up holding the handle now with two hands. Planting his feet for purchase on the ground, he gulped in air as he pulled the blade up with all his strength slicing through skin and muscle.

As his eyes began to clear, he heard a grinding sound, as the blade so easily cutting through flesh suddenly stopped, grating as it caught against something solid maybe bone or cartilage. Warm liquid gushed out onto his hands and wrists, making them sticky and hard to manoeuvre. He felt the weight of his opponent fall against him as he pulled on the dagger trying to free the weapon from the other living bone, its metal had cut into.

As he struggled to clear the large dagger and get it free, something hit the fur clad enemy pushing him rapidly backwards. It was the booted sandal of another soldier, as he kicked him away the dagger was instantly free. In that moment, Veranius thrust it forward again, slicing the sharp blade into the right side of his enemies face near the eye. The tribesman was still fighting struggling and gurgling against his impending death. He adjusted the blade and forced it into the barbarian’s eye, it popped a dull but satisfying sound to Veranius as he fought for his very existence. Pushing forward with all his weight he saw through blurred vision as his blade caused irreparable damage as it was forced fully into the eye socket.

Time had slowed as he saw the impact on the dark terrified remaining wide eye, as the tip of his weapon pierced the other organ as the being it belonged to tried to close it’s eyes in a final and futile attempt to save its sight and possibly its life. It was forced back into the head and suddenly popped again, exploding blood in a sudden gush. The knife instantly sank deeper and the man fell to the floor, silent and dead that instant.

He struggled to keep a grip of the handle of his dagger with two hands that were now slippery with sticky warm blood and he moved back, the momentum helping to free the weapon as he gagged almost emptying the contents of his stomach. As quickly as time had seemed to slow, it returned to its frantic manic pace as men fought to slash, stab and hack at each other all around him.

Veranius tried to wipe the blood from his left hand whilst stabbing out at more hordes of barbarians with the dagger in his right. He knew he had to get clear of this chaos if he were to survive. There was no sense in dying for no reason in this land of primitives in a battle that would probably be forgotten tomorrow. Other soldiers were now retreating to other lines to the rear, some fell, stumbling as they tried to get to the neat rows of soldiers that were formed up some distance away, waiting to join the battle.

Through shaking vision, he saw the straight columns and lines slowly walking towards his position as he began to get clear of the combat. An eagle standard glistened with the sun reflecting off its surface as the mist began to clear and trumpets sounded the signal for the advancing troops to quicken their pace. Swords began to strike shields as they got closer and the sound grew.

He heard a trumpet echo as the troops closed in on the battle and changed their stance slightly as they walked. The front rank he saw, were preparing to throw their first pilums. These spears were much heavier weapons than those used by the Cavalry and wooden pegs secured the spear head so they would break off on impact, stopping the spear from being thrown back. The metal head would break free of the body and pierce even shields as well as flesh and bone. The killing head of the weapon could be up to twelve inches long and so would kill or cripple anything it came into contact with. Veranius had seen the damage these spears could do to the body and ducked lower as he ran thinking of the irony of being killed by his own side.

The first of the retreating soldiers met the advancing column and were allowed to melt into their straight lines as small gaps were made for their injured, retreating and stunned comrades. A quick glance to the rear showed that his reason to run was justified. Those that had survived the initial onslaught but had tried to stand their ground were now being cut down and the fortunate amongst them, hacked to death. Some were dragged screaming from the battlefield to a more uncertain and no doubt worse fate. Some screamed, the men even hardened campaigners, would take the sound to their graves in the years and decades to come. He looked to his fellow soldiers just as the front row of the advancing lines released their javelins with a great sigh of effort. They rose high, silently climbing into the misty Germanic skies above.

Large ballista bolts were launched from somewhere behind the column, the speed of them was almost supernatural as they flew only a matter of feet above his head, hissing through the air. In one instant he heard the bolts being fired and then within the blink of an eye they were over his head and within a second they were embedded into lines of the enemy, four or five men deep, impaled on the enormous spiked heads of the bolts. He ducked instinctively and stumbled falling to the ground and tumbled forward into the mud with his momentum. He briefly caught sight of a few ballista units mounted on the rear of horse drawn wagons behind the marching death machine of soldiers as their crews worked furiously to load more of their deadly accurate life taking machines.

Veranius almost immediately felt slightly stupid and foolish for ducking and falling deliberately because he knew the weapons were deadly accurate, up to three hundred yards away and these were half that distance. He didn’t dare to look behind him again because every second counted now, knowing what was to come however, he almost pitied the enemy. They were going to realise that victory didn’t mean brute strength and ignorance and they were about to be annihilated to a man.

Panting he reached the column as they parted to let him through their lines, he smiled briefly and was happy to see the fresh uniforms of troops not yet covered in gore and blood from battle. One of the men shouted an acknowledgement as they went to their knees as the second row launched their own pila. He struggled through to the rear line and collapsed on the muddy surface beyond, turning almost straight away to watch the carnage that was about to unfold.

A loud shrill trumpet blast sounded from a cornicularis trumpeter, who blew for all he was worth from somewhere in the distance ordering the centuries into a testudo tortoise formation. He saw the men behind the front row bring their shields up instinctively covering their heads and those in front of them, this after days, weeks and months of drilling with their left arms holding their shields up sometimes for hours at a time. The testudo was primarily used as a defensive formation but in situations like this, a legion would use it to get into fighting range comparatively safely. Those at the front turned their bodies slightly to the left with their large rectangular shields still facing the enemy, eyes peering through the gap between the scutums and helmets. The enemy were now advancing rapidly, running towards them screaming like maniacs. In the same motion the soldiers grasped the hilts of their short swords on their right sides. A loud rasp that sent a shiver even through him, indicated they had removed their gladius swords, the blade of which would protrude from their collective shields, to stab at the advancing, screaming hordes.

An almighty clash of men, metal, swords, axes, shields and screams ripped through the air like thunder, consuming all other noise as the opposing forces came together. The Romans dug their sandaled hobnailed boots into the earth barely pausing as they began to cut the enemy down as if they were one giant animal, its teeth wounding and killing. It was now that the angled stance of the soldiers paid off as their right boots bit into the earth behind them and they leaned forward against their shields pushing forwards with their left legs slightly angled to gain purchase against the weight of the enemy whilst all the time stabbing at them beyond the wall of shields. After a short time they rotated, the front row coming to the rear, some bloodied and injured, as the second row met the barbarians as they became the front line and so it continued, second after second, minute after minute with fresh men moving to the front rank until what was left of the enemy, who realising it was hopeless, fled the battlefield and began to retreat.

Cavalry arched galloping around the legionnaires on the flanks and pursued the running men, cutting them down with their swords. Those lying injured in the mud were killed where they lay by the infantry as they broke the testudo and despatched those who had attacked their countrymen, for them there was and could be no mercy. Horse’s charged, knocking men over, whilst their riders slashed at them with their long swords. It turned into a massacre.

Months later, now in the present and in the large tranquil clearing he looked at the dagger again. It had saved his life on that occasion, the image of its blade deep inside the barbarian’s skull vivid and visceral. He examined it admiring its lines turning it over and examining it’s shape of ruthless efficiency. It was truly a weapon capable of causing great injury and one he was glad to have. Thinking about that day, it was a vile and disgusting experience but he reminded himself, one that would have been reversed, had he been the one killed and not the other way round, as it was it was the barbarian whose remains had surely rotted where he had died.

The memories of previous battles didn’t disturb his sleep anymore as they had in his first few months of service but once in a while something would remind him of the shear barbarity of his chosen profession and the brutality that went with it. He was brought out of his contemplative state by the sound of his approaching comrades riding clear of the tall trees.

“Veranius, stop playing with that dagger,” Shouted a grinning Varro as he brought Staro to a halt, “anyone would think it was your manhood the way you were gazing and fondling it.” He smirked.

A chorus of laughter started from the others as they came to a halt and Lucius said, “Don’t worry you’d never see that boy sized peanut from there anyway, so it couldn’t have been his cock.”

More laughter rippled through the group, as Veranius just grinned in response. Trying to change the subject he said, “Nice country this my friends and its nowhere near as barren and hostile as we were led to believe” he began, “I think I’ll build a villa here, right here in this very wood when I retire and find a girl to keep me warm at night. It’s much more pleasant than Germania don’t you think?”

Varro jumped from his horse feigning a smile. He walked Staro to the small stream making sure he had a drink.

“I think that you had better wait and see how the locals greet us before you think of setting up home with one of them don’t you think?” The other men dismounted and watered their animals, Lucius walked into the stream, knee deep.

“This would be an ideal spot to camp for the night but for one small detail, the enemy could surround us and we wouldn’t even know they were coming, we’d be trapped with no escape.”

“We’ll take a few moments and then move on.” Varro replied. “Lucius and Marcus, you two will go forward this time. We need to try and get free of these trees or at least find high ground somewhere within it if we can’t. Have a drink and fill your water sacks before we go. We don’t know when we’ll find another stream like this.”

Lucius had been in the army for six years, two of those had been spent with Varro. He had more than his fair share of scars, more even than the others but no-one ever seemed to know why. He came from Ravenna one of the largest military ports on the north east coast of their homeland. Unlike most of the others under the command of Centurion Varro, Lucius was tall and skinny despite days, weeks and months of physical training. His large Roman nose meant that he sometimes had the nickname Caesar, usually when others in the group had drank too much wine and became braver as the alcohol loosened their tongues. He was a good man to have around and a demon in a fight.

He actually hated the seafaring men of the empire more than his commander after his woman Rica, had run away with one of them. Rumours circulated throughout the legion that he had sought them out in a nearby port and killed them both the night before joining the army the next day. He wouldn’t talk about his life prior to joining the legion except to say where he was from accompanied normally by a loud snorting, followed by him spitting huge mouthfuls of phlegm onto the floor no matter where they were. The rest of them had learned not to ask too much about his past. He was however, a joker who never missed the chance to verbally rip the bowels out of his friends and fellow soldiers and he liked to drink his share of wine.

Marcus and Lucius were close friends and were constantly bickering with each other. A daily joke was that they should make things formal and become man and wife but then the two argued about who was going to be who, bride or groom. They drank the clear cold crystal water heartily and checked their mounts before moving off.

“So what’s the plan sir?” Decimus asked watching the others in their group who were all checking their equipment a few feet away. Legionary Quintus was ensuring that everything was in order. Although he was a legionary, he was one rank above the others as he commanded the other half of the men when Varro and his group were parted whilst one was scouting ahead and the other returned to the main body of the legion to report on their progress.

Quintus had been in the army for ten years and was a veteran of many campaigns, he had been offered further promotion many times but had turned it down preferring to ‘keep his boots in the mud’ as he could often be heard saying. He was an Optio, one rank below Centurion and had quickly risen to the rank but he knew with further promotions, came the possibility of a command post and he didn’t suit managing others or writing commands on scrolls or wax tablets all day long.

Varro replied, “We are going to stay as close to the coast as we can for the time being and keep heading west until the land naturally takes us north, a few days ride from here. The map we got hold of shows that the coast is cut away with paths going north and then branching off in different directions. The General has orders for the Second to try and identify any settlements that are willing to help and engage those that aren’t. Whatever the outcome of the next few days, we’re to liaise with the other legions before he decides who is going in which direction but from what I could gather from the briefing, we’ll continue along the southern coast.”

He took out a rough map drawn on animal hide sometime before by an exiled prince. It showed the southern coastal part of the island, if this place could be called an island because of its size. There were two smaller land masses, one off the south coast and one to the west just off the land fall, beyond that was another island it was marked as ‘Mona.’ There was a red mark against the name.

“What’s the significance of this Mona?” Decimus asked pointing as he and Veranius flattened the parchment and studied the map.

“It’s thought to be crawling with druids, the spiritual leaders of these Britons. This is where Adminius tells us they have their main settlement where they train others in their spiritual beliefs. They are believed to have been the main reason some of the tribes stopped forming an alliance with Rome. It’s said they worship ancient forces and commit cruel ritualistic acts and anyone that goes against them is automatically under the threat of death and eternal misery from their druidic gods. Personally I think it’s a load of old bollocks just like some of our own priests. If we end up going there and there’s a distinct possibility it will be us,” he pointed to Mona, “the other legions will move inland to the central core of the country, one of them anyway and the other up the east coast. Fortifications will be established and those that want to join the empire will receive our help and assistance. Those Britons that do not, will be crushed and destroyed or that’s the plan anyway. One other legion will stay in the south and establish forts and harbours for supplies and reinforcements.” Varro paused, thinking.

“Why the hesitation?” Veranius asked, “We will destroy all those who oppose us surely?”

Varro said, “You know it’s never as easy as that and there’ll be a lot of fighting and dying to do first. Many of those soldiers unloading equipment on the beach right now will never see their families or homes again, it’s a fact. It’s not something I come to terms with as easily as some my friend.”

“Come on Varro, don’t be so dour, there’ll be spoils a plenty here, come on lets get moving.” Veranius was right he thought. There was no point in thinking about what might happen but only what they could make happen.

“Your right, okay come on.” Standing he ordered, “Mount up, lets get a move on, we won’t expand the empire sitting here with you fiddling with yourself.” He looked at Veranius smiling, they trotted into the trees following legionaries Lucius and Marcus laughing again as Veranius muttered something about his blade and where he’d like to put it.

In time, just as the light was beginning to fade, the two leading riders emerged from the trees into a clear area but beyond it was another vast woodland or forest, which it was, they couldn’t be certain of from their position.

“Trees! Who would have guessed it?” Lucius remarked, “More like a fucking forest this time though just look at that.” He brushed twigs and leaves from his shoulders and legs.

“It must have been like that when you bedded that hairy fucking bitch in Gaul Marcus. Only it probably took you longer to run your sword through her, I would have thought you’d have enjoyed the ride.” Decimus said, chuckling quietly.

“Gaul’ish women maybe hairy but they keep you warm on a winter’s night.” He retorted. “You should have tried them instead of swilling wine every night and looking for small boys.”

“Ha-ha. You’re funny aren’t you? Wine may kill you eventually but it can’t cut your throat like those harlots.” Decimus replied.

The legion had eventually banned the men from ‘associating’ with the local women after a few didn’t report for duty the next day. Their bodies, with throats cut were found floating in the local river for days afterwards. The legions Legate, Vespasian had instructed that any soldier caught breaking the rule would be flogged and for each Roman soldier killed, five local women would die. Their severed heads would be impaled on spikes as a warning to others outside the fort. It didn’t stop the drunken troops however, and no legion could confine its men to barracks forever but it did stop the murders of his men.

Discipline was hard but couldn’t be brought down like an iron fist and passes had still been given to the men to visit taverns after a hard days training, building, marching or riding. Ordinarily there was no time for such activities when the legion was on the march in the middle of a campaigning season. By the time they stopped, they had to construct defences every single night as they didn’t know who to trust in any given area, so socialising with the locals would always come another day. Waiting for the fleet and for the legions in Gaul to gather had been different and it was unavoidable that the men would mix with the women of the local neighbourhood.

“We’ll meet up by that small hill.” Marcus pointed to a distant rise beyond the forest. He estimated it had to be at least two hundred feet above ground level. “It should make a good place to camp and we’ll be able to see anything that moves from up there.”

When Varro and the others arrived the daylight was already fading fast. A small fire was burning in a hole in the ground and Lucius was skinning a hare he had snared, three others lay dead nearby. Varro surveyed the area around the hill, he could see for miles. Each man usually carried three days rations but if they could hunt and find fresh food, it was better for them, the salted dried meat from their rations would have to wait.

“We’ll rest here tonight and move forward tomorrow at first light. Quintus you can take the other men to the rear and report our progress to the Legate. We’ll continue along the coast and meet up the day after tomorrow.”

Quintus nodded in response as the men began preparing for the first night that would be spent under the stars in Britannia. Thick animal skins were untied from the rumps of the horses and unwrapped on the ground. Three were kept folded and placed in a triangular shape around the hole where the fire burned a foot below ground in case of prying eyes in an attempt to reduce the glow and flames of the fire.

“We’ll post two guards at each edge of the rise,” Varro ordered pointing, “once we’ve eaten as soon as the lights gone we’ll put the fire out and get our heads down. It’ll be a long day tomorrow for all of us, we’ll take turns as usual until the sun comes up, Servius, Sextus you two are first.”

He nodded to two of the men that would return to the legion with Quintus the following day. “We’ll do it in pairs, two hours about so everyone will get some sleep for most of the night, tomorrow will be a more exhausting day than today, that’s for sure.”

He stretched his aching limbs, they had ridden more today than they had for a while and his sore backside was testament to every bumpy mile, a few more days in the saddle would cure that though. They sat around the small fire cooking the meat and ate Lucius’ kills. It was tasty and succulent and just what they needed after a day in the saddle, the meat was washed down with a mouthful of water they had taken from the stream earlier that day. It was warmer now but still relatively fresh.

With the light virtually gone and the stars starting to appear, soil was kicked over the fire dousing the remaining flames. As everyone else bedded down, Servius and Sextus went out and took up their positions, both carried their javelins.

Sometime later a voice cut through the peaceful night. “Sir, come and look at this.” Sextus said in a hushed whisper from a short distance away in the dark. Varro blinked himself awake and went towards him, his figure silhouetted on a starry background. He shook two others awake and instructed Veranius and Decimus to follow. The others carried on sleeping undisturbed.

Varro didn’t have to ask what the problem was, he could see for himself. On the plains below fires could be seen flickering in the distance beyond the woods and forests, there were at least thirty fires burning some way off. Other fires could be seen separate from the main group but they were isolated, none could be seen in the direction they had come from.

“Looks like you were right,” Decimus remarked, “tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”

“That’s obviously a large village or a major settlement,” Veranius said pointing to the large cluster of flames. From this distance each fire was small, a dot nothing more but some were the size of a nail head, “It’s probably a day’s ride from here. We’ll be safe enough tonight,” he looked back to the area where they had eaten, “they couldn’t have seen us or the fire, Lucius dug the pit deep enough to conceal the flames and if they did, they’d probably think it was more of them or groups out hunting.” He pointed to the singular fires, “That’s probably what they are.”

It was a decision only Varro could make he knew. He looked out and thought for a while, if they went back the way they had come, they wouldn’t achieve anything but it would put some space between them and whatever lay below and around those fires. He had made his decision.

“We’ll stay here tonight. If you see anything and I mean anything moving towards us and getting close, wake us straight away, begin to saddle the horses and we’ll withdraw and head inland and around them dependant on the situation. We’re here to see what lies in the path of the column and we just achieved that to some degree.” He unfurled the map.

“That large place isn’t marked here, I wasn’t expecting to see any inhabited settlements for a while.” He marked the map and returned to the others where he instructed Quintus to note the details on his identical copy of the map that he would take back to the legion. Maybe the maps author wasn’t aware of this location he thought, or it was relatively new.

“We’ll scout ahead tomorrow and see exactly what’s out there before you head back so you won’t leave straight away. There’s no reason to return to the legion when you’re within a stones through of getting some real intelligence, understood?” Varro asked.

“Yes sir.” He replied.

“Right let’s get some sleep,” he patted Quintus on the shoulder, “and hopefully we won’t speak again until daylight.” As Varro made one last check of the area, he went to see Servius who was unaware of their findings and explained the situation. He told both guards to make sure they positioned themselves in dead ground so they couldn’t be seen from a distance, silhouetting their bodies against the night sky before settling down to get some sleep in their makeshift camp.

Being so close to potential enemy positions was not unusual for him or his men, it was one of the reasons they volunteered for such a duty but it still felt strange no matter how many times they’d done it before. In the past they had been so close to unknown groups that they had been able to hear them laughing and talking at night, in comparison, this was positively safe. The night passed without incident but it was the last good sleep they would all have for some considerable time.

That same evening just as Varro and his men were settling down, a long way to the north, two riders reached the capitol of the Catuvellauni, Camulodunum. They galloped through the open gates and found Togodumnus and told him the news of the Roman landing.