Caratacus

Chapter Five

Caratacus had waited in the shadows under thick low branches of trees for the rider to come back and report on the advancing Roman column. He had met up with his younger brother Deganus that morning at their pre-arranged rallying point in case of any unusual occurrence. If either one of them hadn’t arrived the other would know that there was something seriously wrong. They had spent a few hours with the war council going over tactics and possible plans dependant on what the rider reported.

His impatience was beginning to get the better of him and he now wanted to engage the enemy as soon as possible. He had sent the scout out to determine the route and number of legionnaires heading in his direction. He knew that they had already established a working harbour and some were already preparing to move away from the shore. What he didn’t know was how many would leave and where would they go, would they all go together or would they split their force and how many would stay at the shore. He knew that if the majority marched into the interior of the country, it would leave those at the harbour vulnerable and he would attack them cutting the others off from any re-supply or re-enforcements.

One thing he was certain of was that he and the other tribes loyal to him and his brother were now gathering. Had it not been for misinformation from Gaul, the Romans would never have set foot on solid ground but there was nothing he could do about that now. He had over five thousand fighters already which at such short notice, he was happy with as it had only been two days since news of the invasion had reached him. With more of his own warriors and the rest of the tribes he would treble the amount of Britons to Romans and more. Time was against him now however and it would take days for his extra forces to reach him, whilst at the same time evading the Romans, the last thing he wanted was a relatively small war band to be taken. He knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t wait forever, and dependant on the report would decide how to strike an early blow against the invading army. They had to be stopped, which meant dealing them a deadly blow or one that would at least cripple them just enough to hamper their movement, once that was achieved, they would be wiped out. Amongst his five thousand warriors, he had over two hundred chariots, five hundred horsemen, the rest were made up of foot soldiers, seasoned campaigners on the whole. Once the others arrived his numbers would swell but they would be made up of farmers, men and women who were used to working the land not fighting on it. They would be fit nonetheless and most would be efficient with a bow, he would have little time to mould them into battle ready warriors.

“Sir, a rider approaches.” Just then his attention was caught by the sound of cantering hooves. He got to his feet and walked to greet the man who had been sent out to spy on the Roman’s progress.

“Sire,” he shouted, coming to an abrupt halt, mud being thrown up by the animal’s feet, Caratacus caught the horse’s reins, “What did you see, what of the Romans?”

The rider jumped off the horse and landed heavily on the ground almost stumbling over in his eagerness to report.

“They have divided their force into three columns one of them is now marching west, one north and the remainder north west. It looks like they mean to cover all areas of the country. Each army is about five to six thousand strong and has cavalry, light and heavy infantry and their auxiliaries. They have wagons full of equipment to the rear containing food, more weapons, spare horses, oxen, cattle even mules for pulling the carts. At the shore, above the cliffs it looks like they are beginning to build some kind of large palisade, there are thousands of them there still. Some of the ships that delivered them to us have already begun to return to Gaul but others are still at anchor and haven’t been unloaded. I would say that they have left a full legion guarding the shoreline.”

Caratacus thought briefly for a few moments and then announced to his plan to the war council. “We will attack on two fronts; firstly I will take four thousand men and ambush the column heading west. If the gods are with us and I’m careful, we will then track and attack the other columns. Deganus my brother, I want you to stay in this general area and harass their supply lines.” He looked at Caratacus with a bemused expression but didn’t respond.

“You will attack the base on the shore but I don’t want you to go head to head with them brother. You will be too few, so you are to use guile and the cunning of a wolf and only take them on when you are certain, absolutely certain of victory. These men from Rome won’t last long on our soil if their supplies are destroyed, they’ll starve and won’t have replacement weapons or food. Remember they are the ones far from home, I want you to concentrate on those fat swollen ships at anchor. If they were lost with their goods on board, it would be a major blow for them.

I don’t know when we’ll see each other again but we have no choice in this, we have to destroy or at least cripple their army.’ He paused thinking. ‘Togodumnus will arrive soon with thousands of warriors under his banner but we can’t wait until then to act. I will take all the chariots as you won’t need them but you’ll have enough horse.”

He grabbed his brother’s arm and they hugged. “May the gods protect you brother.” He turned, called for his horse, mounted it and rode away.

Sometime later with the light beginning to fade, Caratacus watched from high above on a ridgeline as the wagons making up the rear of the westerly column, limped along what was left of the path, worn away by those who had gone before them. Although it was the middle of the campaigning season for the Romans and early summer, the ground had been churned and worn by the leading troops and great ruts now scarred the land. Their boots, horses and wagons had proven too much for a track that had never witnessed so much travel on its surface previously.

A small group of five wagons had become isolated by the ruined ground and now struggled to keep up with the rest of the army. They had tried and failed to use the path so had finally given up when the wheels kept getting stuck. Men were now pushing the wagons that were pulled by thickset mules along the side of the ravaged route.

“This will be a taste of what is to come.” Caratacus said looking into the valley below them. “Once the other wagons have gone beyond that curve,” he pointed, “these five will be all alone. No doubt the leading group will be looking for somewhere suitable to camp for the night before dark, so we have to move quickly. If we skirt the tree line and wait a few hundred feet this side of that natural bend up there, we should be safe to attack them without the others being aware of it.”

His tribal chieftains nodded in agreement. “Once they have been taken care of we’ll see about the rest of the column who won’t have the protection of any natural defences and we’ll destroy them.”

It took little time for Caratacus and his war party to get into position and they didn’t have long to wait before the enemy began to get close. From the safety of a thick tree line, the Britons watched eagerly for their prey to arrive. Here he had female warriors with the men, their hair limed and their skin blue. He had seen them fight before and knew what they lacked in strength they made up in ferocity, although a few he saw were well muscled and larger than the men.

“Wait, wait, wait…..NOW.” Caratacus ordered as spears flew towards the struggling Romans and their animals. His plan was to try and incapacitate them before destroying each and every one of them. As warriors ran into full view of the startled soldiers, the first animal was speared through the back and screamed out in agony and began to bolt forward, its wagon bucking and twisting in its plight behind it.

One trooper was hit at the base of his throat, just above his armour, his eyes wide with shock as realisation hit him, Britons swarmed all around them. A female shrieking like a banshee swung her long sword as she grew level with him. She was rewarded with a sickening wet clunk as her weapon cut through the jaw of the man biting into the cheek guards either side of his helmet. As far as she was concerned, he had come to take her children, kill her husband and to rape her and so deserved such a death. He died almost instantly but couldn’t fall flat because of the spear, so the woman now splashed with fresh blood, twisted him to one side and used her foot to pry her blade free.

Separate attacks were taking place all around as the small wagon train was assaulted and men were butchered. They were outnumbered and at a tactical disadvantage and didn’t have the numbers to form up in their traditional battle lines. Caratacus now in the thick of the fight, saw one legionnaire ripping free a horn from the rear of a covered wagon, intent on warning the others of the ambush.

Caratacus ran, sprinting towards him, running past others, his large sword in his right hand as he tugged on his knife on his belt and pulled it free of its sheath. Screaming as loud as he could, he caught the attention of the soldier, who whirled around in panic, hatred in his eyes as he leapt towards him. Caratacus was so quick that the soldier only had time to jerk backwards slightly as his attacker landed his sword and knife together finding their marks as they were embedded into his chest and forced inward and upward under his armour. The eyes were dead before the knife reached its hilt as the sword had done its work and the man fell backward, silent. In a very short time, the Britons were rifling through the contents of the five wagons, the enemy slain and scattered on the ground all around them.

“Sire.” One of his warriors shouted and pointed at the contents of the wagon he was searching.

“What have you found?” Caratacus asked. Looking under the sheeting he saw what looked like giant bows in pieces, pulleys and wooden frames.

“What are these?” He tried picking one of the bows up but it was attached at one side to a frame and wouldn’t move. He ran over to the other wagons and found the same equipment in all but one that contained large arrows.

“I don’t know what these are but they were intended to be used against us in some way I’m sure, take them north,” he said to one of his men a dark smile across his face. “Once we’ve found out how to use them we’ll turn them on their former owners.”

Twenty five men, five to each cart began to prepare to take the wagons away as Caratacus gathered the rest to move forward. He had deliberately left the corpses of the enemy where they had fallen. If he had more time, he would have had them disembowelled or had their heads removed to put fear into others but that could wait, he knew they had to move quickly. As the first of the carts began to be towed away, Caratacus kicked his horse and led his warriors up into the trees. The sight of the destruction below them as they looked down onto the former column was something that none of them had ever seen before and it encouraged them and gave them heart for what was to come.

In the time that it had taken them to destroy the former custodians of the five carts, the other soldiers in the column were a few miles west and had already found somewhere to camp for the night. They had begun to set their tents up and were now busy building palisades and all round defensive positions. Soldiers were digging trenches to create six foot deep ditches, the earth they had removed was used to create walls of solid mud. In effect they would soon have a twelve foot wall around their base. They had chopped down nearby trees and were now embedding them into the earthen banks, sharpened at one end and then hammered home deep into the earth. They were then sharpened into spikes at the other once they were in place using axes.

From their position high above, the Britons watched fascinated by the energy, order and efficiency of their enemy.

“Maybe they are intending to make a permanent settlement here.” One of the men offered, then added. “But why would they start building straight away? It seems odd for an army that’s been on its feet marching all day.” The warrior wasn’t talking to any of the others specifically and no-one was answering, they were too transfixed on the scene below. As the construction continued Caratacus noted that there were sentries already posted some two hundred paces from the building going on below them. He also saw men on horses presumably scouting the area for hostile forces. He decided it was better to withdraw and make plans for the next attack.

Varro awoke the next morning with the smell of smoke in his nostrils. As he slowly became aware of his surroundings he realised he was inside a roundhouse, Brenna’s to be precise. He had no recollection of how he had got there, his last memory of the night before was being with her at the lakeside. He turned and found her lying there next to him, partially covered in a large animal fur. Her smooth tanned flesh looked very appealing and he was tempted to peel the furry warm skin back and explore her body, he felt himself getting warmer as his eyes moved over her.

“Morning.” A sleepy voice said and he realised that she was waking, laying there looking at him, eyes barely open. Without hesitation she leaned up and kissed him gently on the mouth, he responded and kissed her back. Her hands sought out his body and he pushed the animal skin aside and was rewarded by the sight of her beautiful body, she smiled before her tongue moved over his as they began to meld together.

“Centurion.” A voice shouted from somewhere outside. Varro recognised it as Veranius as he darted away from Brenna and struggled to his feet.

“I’ll be with you shortly, Varro shouted, ‘go and catch some fresh fish in the lake for breakfast.” He heard something of a reply, a grumble and muttering maybe but didn’t decipher what was said exactly and didn’t really care as Brenna pushed him down and onto his back and mounted him, sliding him inside her.

Sometime later Varro found all his men fishing at the lake. He walked past them as they made remarks about his tardiness and made jokes about where he had been. He didn’t need to answer and within seconds Brenna appeared at the side of the lake, removed her fur blanket, touched his hand and walked naked into the water. The men stared open mouthed as Varro smiled.

“You lucky fucker.” Veranius said as the rest of the men laughed.

Some miles away, Caratacus and three men observed the Roman column preparing to move from their overnight position. It was clear now that they weren’t building a fort at all and that last nights fortified position was just that, a fortified position for just one night. It demonstrated to the Britons just what these foreigners were prepared to do to defend themselves even after a long days march over great distances. The Britons in contrast would in all likelihood only have put lookouts around the perimeter of their own camp.

“These men will take a little more cunning to crack than our normal enemies I believe. They are most vulnerable when they are on the move and strongest when they have built their defences for the night.” He said to those watching with him and the enemy. The sentries were going into their camp and he wondered how they could march all day, guard all night and then march all day again. The answer became evident as he saw the men climbing aboard carts, where they were presumably going to rest or even sleep as their comrades drove the wagons forward.

He watched as the men dismantled the temporary camp below bit by bit, piece by piece. Even the sharpened wooden stakes were hacked from the earth and stored aboard a wagon presumably for use again that night. That meant that they wouldn’t need to fell more trees which also meant that their next camp would be built a lot quicker.

Caratacus had left the rest of his men some miles away, he and this small group would shadow the column watching for an opportunity to attack and their main force would be brought forward when an opportunity arose. The last thing he wanted to do now was lose a large amount of his warriors and for no good reason. He and his men shadowed the column until noon when they stopped for a rest. He saw that scouts were sent out immediately, riding on horseback to positions that gave good vantage points of the surrounding area.

“If their behaviour so far today and yesterday is anything to go by, they will have one large break again later before they stop for the night and build their walls to hide behind. We will hit them before their stakes are in position and can kill our warriors.” Caratacus said to those with him.

Some hours later, once again the weary Roman soldiers came to a halt. They had been marching since sunrise and would have to make the most of this second and last break before their final push moving west. As soon as they stopped some soldiers went to carts to get food, others removed their backpacks, dropped pilums and swords and some walked away from the main body of the column to relieve themselves.

The Britons had got into position in the valley long before the noise of the marching column was within earshot. They had waited at the most likely spot twice before as Caratacus had ordered but the Romans had continued marching but not on this occasion.

As they relaxed, joked, complained and took on food or water, the Britons struck. An Optio had just hitched up his under garments and was reliving himself some twenty feet from a cart and his men. He was day dreaming and listening to the urine splash off the weeds he was watering when his gaze was broken by something that didn’t make sense. A glint of iron caught his eye as he leaned down to see what it was, partially hidden by flowering thorns. He didn’t even have time to move, just to see that it was a sword as it was thrust upward between his legs. The pain was instant and crippling as the sharpened blade was forced upward into his stomach from below as a fierce blue face appeared grimacing beyond it. A brief cry of pain was all that he could muster as he slumped forward, the Briton ripping the blade from him, already moving forward to find another to kill.

As spears, stone shot and arrows were fired and hurled towards the Romans, they desperately sought out their weapons and tried to form defensive perimeters. Chariots raced towards them from both directions along the valley, one occupant steering the speeding vehicles the other throwing large spears into the panicking ranks of the defenders.

Caratacus watched some hundred paces away from the battle as his warriors tore into the enemy flanks from each side of the armour clad soldiers, he had caught them by surprise and totally unaware. They had been unable to organise themselves and most were cut down where they stood. He saw one spear arching downward and a soldier waiting for one of his warriors, seconds from fighting each other for their lives. His man was screaming flailing his sword above his head the Roman stood stock still, as if frozen with his short sword out.

The comparison of the two was stark, the Briton tall, lithe and sinewy, naked from the waist up, his body painted in blue woad, hair sticking out with lime and screaming like a devil; the Roman colourful with his red cloak and shining armour, helmet glistening in the sunlight, standing waiting.

The single act of combat in the midst of the madness was ended swiftly before it could commence. The spear launched seconds before, descended from nowhere and punched a hole through the soldier’s upper chest. The look of astonishment on his face was an image of battle and the reality of war, shock and horror. This invader would never see his home or family again, he would die here on Britannia’s green and fertile land.

The warrior slashed out with his sword as he drew level with the soldier, the weapon slicing into the meat of the man’s bare thigh, blood sprayed out. He saw the spear had pierced the armour and chest of his opponent who fell backwards. Blood spattered the shaft of the spear as the warriors hands fought to pull it free to be used again. It was a moment, a brief moment in a battle and was over virtually before it had begun.

The warriors decimated that part of the column Caratacus had chosen, towards the rear of their line. Any reinforcements were hindered by the valley and the twists and turns of the paths the Romans had used to move along but the Britons knew the terrain well and could slip in and out before becoming trapped using the maize of paths and track ways. A few of their cavalry reached the attackers but were driven back by archers and slingers high above on the valley walls.

The triumphant Britons began to withdraw, hacking and stabbing at their prone opponents who weren’t fortunate to die instantly. Running up the incline towards their leader and their waiting horses, the victorious warriors raised their weapons in salute. Caratacus signalled for his men to withdraw taking one final look at the stricken column. He knew this small encounter wouldn’t stop the advance but it had given the invaders a bloody and broken nose and it would sow a seed of doubt in the minds of others.

The dead and injured were spread across the valley floor below, one Briton was running from each making sure no life blood still coursed through the veins of the men littered helplessly on the ground. When he found one that he suspected still lived, he slashed his dagger across the throat and then ran to the next. Caratacus had ordered this done as he knew that if they didn’t they would be healed and returned to face them another day. His grim task done, the Briton ran up the hill towards his leader.

“How many did you count?” Caratacus asked.

The man answered, “Thirty three Sire.” as he ran past and mounted his horse. Caratacus looked along the ridge and saw at least ten other lone Britons racing up the slope. If they had all done as well he thought, they had slaughtered over three hundred men, it was a good start.

Legate Titus Flavius Vespasian, Commander of the Second Legion Augusta, walked amongst the dead from the third cohort. He had known they would have been vulnerable bringing up the rear but he had never expected this kind of slaughter, especially by tribal rabble. He knelt down to examine a young soldier’s dead face, he couldn’t have been more than twenty years of age but his life had been taken from him by a single puncture wound to the neck. The pierced entry hole blackened with arterial blood was already beginning to thicken and harden.

“I will avenge you young man, I swear by the gods I will avenge you.” He stood, “Centurion,” a man ran forward, “General?”

“I want these men buried before we move forward and I want scouts sent out to find the war band that did this and I want them nailed to trees in retribution for their actions today.”

“Yes General.” The centurion began to rattle out orders to waiting soldiers who quickly hurried off to carry out their tasks. A cavalry cohort approached summoned by the General.

“General Vespasian sir, I’m told you have quarry for us to hunt.” Vespasian looked up to see an Optio on a brown horse, several riders behind the first to arrive.

“Take a good look around. I want the barbarian bastards that did this tracked down as quickly as possible. You are not to engage them but report back to me on their movement, number and position. I want this horde taken alive if possible, just so that we can make an example of them.” He looked at his slaughtered men gripping the handle of his gladius at his side. “Ride out and find these scum and you will witness their deaths.”

“With pleasure General.” He saluted and turned his horse and then galloped away, the other riders following.

The Emperor Claudius himself had appointed Vespasian to command the Second Augusta in Britannia personally knowing his record. Vespasian knew that this would be a bloody campaign and his men would take casualties but he had hoped he would be able to determine when and where those engagements would take place.

“Macro, he shouted.” The man was a Centurion of the class that could be trusted to perform any and all tasks. Vespasian had used him previously on difficult missions in Gaul and he had always been successful.

“Yes sir?” Macro slammed to attention near his superior, Cato his trusty brother in arms close behind him.

“I have a special task for you two gentlemen if you’re willing?” He raised an eyebrow under his helmet. Vespasian was determined to use every means at his disposal to rid himself of these barbarian rebels and Macro and Cato were just the type of men he needed.

Some distance away, Varro and his men were preparing to say goodbye to the Britons who had welcomed them overnight. He especially was surprised that he was saddened to be leaving Brenna after their brief night together.

“Will I see you again Roman?” She asked smiling and watching him putting his spatha under his saddle and checking his equipment.

“If the gods will it lady then yes we will see each other again. I have a duty to perform for my Emperor, if it were not for that I would be willing to see your face when I awoke every morning.” He smiled as she helped strap the leather to his wrists as he faced her. He kissed her gently on the lips and then mounted his horse.

“We will lay together again I’m sure of it if you are willing.” He smiled and gently kicked Staro’s flanks as the horse took off at a canter, the other men following.

Gaius drew level with him, “Well Centurion Varro, you certainly got more than you bargained for there didn’t you?”

His commander smirked briefly, “Could you have resisted my friend?” He asked.

“Probably not, I just hope she’s not full of the pox and that your old man drops off in a couple of days’ time.” He laughed. “I’d hate to present you to the General all scabby with your balls blistered and ruined.”

Varro didn’t reply but laughed and was merely content to move them in the direction of Quintus and his men for their scheduled rendezvous.

As they began to move east back towards the general area the column was heading along, Varro couldn’t help but think about the image of Brenna’s body and their lovemaking the previous night. She had been more than willing and assertive in their play and although he had experienced that before, there was something else, something different with this woman he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He shook his thoughts free as he concentrated on the mission to find Quintus. The day was warm and the sky bright blue with small wispy clouds overhead. They had all been warned of the inhospitable weather patterns over Britannia but so far all they had experienced was warm sunny weather which suited them and their horses. Out here free from the rest of the legion, it was different but things would change if they were called back to the ranks and ordered to form battle lines but as things were, they were happy to be away from the Second Augusta’s marching columns and dust.

He imagined that Vespasian was slowly moving westward in their direction and a fast ride overnight would see them back with the column. The countryside they found themselves in was not too dissimilar from that of Gaul. Rich green rolling hills with trees seemed to cover the land almost everywhere. Shallow slow running rivers and streams cut the land in places and with little difficulty they could be crossed quite easily on horseback.

They slowed to walking pace as they approached a small group of roundhouses. They were not as well made as the others they had encountered at Brenna’s settlement and there was no fencing around them. A couple of goats were tied up and a few dogs were walking around loose, it wasn’t as organised or anywhere near as large as Brenna’s village.

As the dogs noticed them and began to bark, a female stooped inside her roundhouse and then appeared at the door. The look on her face was of total surprise as she surveyed the five strange men on horseback. She shouted something unintelligible with a Cantiaci dialect and kept repeating it, more women appeared at their doors peering around the edges of the door frames.

“How about this lot Centurion, would you put your sword into them, as you did last night?” Asked Veranius chuckling to himself.

Varro looked at the women, “I’m no eunuch as you know my friend but I do have some standards and I think that these crones are a few levels below my last encounter.” He could see rotten brown teeth in their mouths and dry cracked skin on their faces and necks.

“I reckon you’d know about it the next day if you quenched your desires on them lot eh?” Veranius made a sound of disgust as one of the women snorted up a mouth full of phlegm and spat it towards them.

“Filthy fuckin cunt.” He said pulling his spatha upward out of his scabbard, the sheaving metallic sound enough to make the women scurry back inside their houses.

“Ha-ha, I think they like you Veranius,” Varro said, “maybe when we come back through this way you could spend the night with that beauty eh? But for now stay alert, I don’t want to lose anyone or for someone to get injured by those horrible looking witches.” He moved on, “You wouldn’t think they were part of the same tribal group as Brenna’s would you? They look like rabble in comparison.”

Varro clicked at Staro, “Come on let’s get away from here.” He ordered and they galloped away from the women who had been joined by others outside and were shouting abuse at the strange looking riders. They got onto a path that looked familiar and disappeared from view of the village and entered a shaded wooded area. Suspicious of possible attack they hurried through the tree covered ground and soon came out into the bright sunshine.

Ahead of them about three hundred paces in front, they saw the uniquely recognisable helmets of Roman cavalry riding in their direction. Quintus and his men smiled as they approached waving to the other part of their small detachment of reconnaissance riders.

“Greeting Centurion Varro,” he said, “how has it been out here in the barbarian wasteland where they eat their children and feed the remains to the dogs?”

“Hardly my friend.” Varro answered. “Although we did come across some rather unfriendly crones a few miles back, blistered sputum spewing whores by the look of them and as pox riddled as any slut of Rome by the looks of things. Although Gaius here said he’d give them a run for their money.”

“With all due respect sir, fuck you Centurion.” Gaius protested and laughed.

“Come lets go and water the horses at that ford over there and we can catch up.” Quintus suggested. They all followed him on his brown mare as Staro nudged her as he drew level and shook his head.

“Ah, I see Staro still has a liking for Sevella eh boy?” Quintus said patting the other soldier’s horse’s mane.

“When this is all over, we’ll give you a chance to sire your own sons eh old boy?” Varro said as they got to the water where the horses dipped their heads and drank thirstily as their riders dismounted.

“The column was attacked Varro. Some bastard barbarian war leader called Caratacus apparently. He and his brother Togodumnus have vowed to push us back into the sea or so the story goes.”

“How bad was the attack, how serious?” Marcus asked.

“Bad enough, they ambushed the rear of the legion in a valley. It was well planned and orchestrated. They killed nearly four hundred men, three hundred and seventy eight to be precise. Vespasian has gone through the fucking roof and sent out riders searching for those responsible.”

“Nearly four hundred!” Varro said. “Gods hell, that’s a lot of the legions strength, how the fucking hell did that happen? They’re bastard primitive scum with sling shot against spear, chariot against ballista!

“I’m afraid it’s true my friend, we saw the records from the Tribunes clerk, it’s not good.” Quintus said.

“Just how many warriors do the blue nose bastards have? Does anyone have any idea? It must be quite a lot and more than we were told existed before we crossed the water if they’ve killed that many trained soldiers.” Marcus said.

“A well planned and co-ordinated ambush could result in odds of one loss to eight dead enemy warriors by military estimates, they reckon.” Varro put in. “We were told we can expect to meet as many as one hundred and seventy thousand Britons. If that many had descended on the column in a well-planned attack, there wouldn’t be a man left and General Vespasian’s skull would be displayed on a spear by Caratacus’ roundhouse.

An attack of this nature could have been carried out by as few as five hundred of them or as many as two thousand. We know that most of the war chiefs have gone north so the whole hundred odd thousand aren’t engaging us at the moment.”

“Vespasian needs to draw them out into the open all of them and engage them, all at once. We could destroy the Britons resistance in one foul sweep.” Quintus said as he knelt down and started to light a fire. “We’ll have some food with you, before you return to the General, we brought fresh pork with us.” He said gesturing for Sextus to get some out of his bag.

As the soldiers sat together around the fire and ate, they could have been anywhere, Gaul or even Italia. At that moment they could relax somewhat due to the terrain they now found themselves in. They could see to the horizon in most directions, the only blot to disturb the view was that of the wooded area but it was too far away to hide any approaching attacking force that could endanger them. So they sat in peace and took their time relishing the crispy pork Quintus had brought with him.

The first evidence that the light was about to fade was signalled by a cool breeze and a sense of lateness brought on by an owl calling out from somewhere beyond in the forest to their south as the Legion came to a halt. They were in a huge clearing, forests to their north and south but some distance away. It looked like a huge swathe had been cleared with the route west open for passing travellers.

Vespasian knew that if they didn’t start their preparations to fortify their position soon, they would run out of natural light so he had decided to bring them to a halt and had given the order for the men to start the last task of the day, an all-round defensive position.

After the attack during the morning he had ordered two cohorts of cavalry to patrol along their lines on opposite sides of the column and travelling in opposite directions at all times. One century of heavy infantry now walked with and guarded the rear flank at all times to try and ensure a repeat of the mornings attack didn’t occur again.

As the men released their heavy back packs and put their equipment down, the wagons containing the sharpened timber spikes were brought to them at intervals of fifty paces and unloaded. The sound of digging commenced as men bit into the previously un-dug surface with their shovels and the preparations began to complete their temporary home once more.

Some distance away, keen eyes watched the invaders digging their earth. They had seen the precautions the Romans had taken and knew they couldn’t risk attacking the column with two cohorts of cavalry ready to come to the defence of any area they believed right to take advantage of and so they waited.

“A wolf can stalk their prey for days until the right moment presents itself.” Caratacus said. “Patience is always rewarded in time as we will be when we destroy these men that hide themselves in metal and iron.” His accomplices nodded in agreement as they backed away from the trees and bushes they had used to help conceal themselves with.

After dark had fallen and the defences were in place, fires lit up small groups of Roman soldiers sat around fires. Sentries were silhouetted as they moved along the perimeter. Lines of brown tents were visible, set up in neat rows and safely behind their fortified position. Wolf mouths lay in the dug trenches, the small spikes embedded as a horrible surprise for any wood-be attacker, they could maim or entangle anyone or anything before a pilum was hurled at the unfortunate individual or animal to put them out of their misery. Animals caught by the devices would usually find themselves being slaughtered and then cooked the next day.

Some of the soldiers relaxed in their tents talking or playing dice or betting on the outcome as old rivalries were re-ignited, others decided to get some sleep as early as possible because they knew that come the morning they would be expected to march between twenty five and thirty miles once again.

The first of the Britons reached the pit and straining his eyes in the half light, saw some of the sharpened spikes below. He turned and whispered to the man coming up behind him, giving him instructions to take back to their leader. The man wheeled quietly around on his stomach hardly making a noise and went back in the direction it had taken so long to cover.

Sometime later, much later and with the stars sparkling like diamonds in the night sky, he returned but was not alone. Other warriors struggled with thin branches and logs cut from trees far away, they had dragged them forward as other men struggled to get them across the pits. One man stood on a particularly small spike that he hadn’t seen in the dim light and the iron pierced his foot. He almost screamed out in agony but stopped himself as he pulled his foot free of the sharp metal. He scrambled back up the bank and crawled towards the trees and safety, there would be no Roman heads for him this night.

The sleeping soldiers had no warning of the attack nor did the sentries except for the fizz of fire arrows as they pierced tents and set fire to others. Some landed harmlessly on the grass and burnt out straight away. In the same instant from nowhere, Britons appeared inside the perimeter moving with stealth, silently moving towards the enemy. High on aggression and incensed with fury, the warriors crashed into the tents some jumping onto them and preventing the occupants from escaping, hacking and slashing their large swords two handed into the struggling heads and limbs trying to get free of the material inside.

As a trumpet further down the line signalled the alert, it was already too late for many of the men of the Second Augusta. Most didn’t even get free of their tents, some half asleep, half dressed and some even fell half naked outside wherever they could and were hacked to death with no mercy.

“Alarm, alarm! To arms!” Shouted a sentry some hundred yards away, now running towards the burning tents, “What the fucks going on? How did those blue bastards get inside?” He cried out to no-one in particular as he ran and was joined by others as men leapt from their own tents as he passed.

The Britons were already pulling back and were now running towards the cover of the trees as some were still struggling free of the pit. The advancing Romans were too far away to reach them however and the fastest hurled their pilums at the retreating Britons, the first of which were now already entering the tree line. The furthest pilum landed feet behind the last Briton.

The Romans that got to the attacked position first, found garrotted sentries and dead and dying soldiers. Logs and branches covered the pits where they had made their escape. The Britons had somehow out thought them and had got through the defences without the alarm being sounded. Enraged a Centurion ran through the large almost vertical spikes before the pit and over the logs, waving for the following men to continue with him, they did.

Some distance away, Vespasian watched from his area of the perimeter and suddenly ordered the trumpeter to sound the retreat suspecting what was about to happen. He screamed for his men to withdraw whilst officers gathered around staring at him in disbelief as he ran forward but it was too late.

As the legionaries got to within twenty paces of the retreating Britons, the trees seemed to come to life with movement, branches swaying. The leading soldiers realised too late that they had fought their last battle as chariots raced out of the wood towards them. They carried at least three lime covered warriors at either side of the vehicles and within no time, encircled them. All but one Briton jumped off every chariot and then immediately ran at the isolated soldiers who were already weary from the chase.

Vespasian watched helplessly as at least twenty more Roman lives were lost to the blades of the frenzied madmen and women that were hacking at them. Screams disturbed the night as flaming shadows danced over the horrifying scene beyond, reflected off the trees and faces of the Britons.

Finally the screams ended but some soldiers, at least four were dragged up, put onto chariots and driven off. Vespasian looked on and realised that they must still live. He stared straining to see properly and observed one Briton standing alone, staring back at him. He was fully clothed and was wearing an enormous double plumed helmet, Caratacus! As another native approached him, Caratacus raised a large sword and pointed it at the Roman General, he stood for several moments, then turned and walked slowly into the cover of the trees and vanished from sight.