Retribution

Chapter Seven

Varro had watched in horror as the flames had grown higher in the distance at Restormel, bright red and orange licking upwards against the dark sky, the fires danced above the fort as it burnt. He and those around him knew there was little hope for the men in the small buildings inside, what they didn’t realise was that they would be next.

“Stay alert men, fire at will once you have a clear view of any targets, aim for the centre of their bodies or at massed groups, and make your shots count.” Cammius ordered looking around the walls. The command was specifically for the scorpion crews manning the large cross bows at each corner, underneath their covered towers. Other legionaries lined the walls wearing full armour and watched as dark silhouetted figures approached through the woods, but then stopped still under the cover of the trees, not entering the killing ground of the sterile area all around the fort. Roman archers sagittarius stood, every third man and lowered their bows their arrows still knocked and watched the ground outside.

“What are they waiting for?” A legionary asked nearby grasping his pilum, before anyone could answer the sound of chopping broke the eerie night.

“I would guess that they’re either fashioning some sort of ram or trying to build some siege equipment of some kind, maybe they’re learning eh? Whichever it is, it looks like they’ve changed their tactics from just running around and screaming like banshees, so it could be a long night.” Cammius said. “They must know we’ll slaughter them once they step out from under the trees, shame really.” He added almost lazily. “Don’t worry lads, we’ll have them lying dead and fertilising the plants before long, they won’t get in here.” The expressions on the men’s faces showed they weren’t convinced.

He turned to Varro his expression changing from one of mild humour to serious concern and asked quietly, “How long before you’re missed?”

Varro looked at him, his face full of anguish, “If we don’t return to the garrison by this time tomorrow night, and it looks like that might be a distinct possibility, the earliest we can expect to see some sort of relief is the night after probably. It’s a full day’s ride from Isca remember, but any search party would come here first.” He hesitated, “Well that’s where I’d head for anyway.”

“Bollocks, that’s what I was thinking.” Cammius said looking around at the soldiers looking to him for reassurance. “Don’t worry lads we can hold them off indefinitely here if need be and by the time someone comes looking to see what’s going on, we’ll have destroyed every last stinking one of them.”

The faces staring back at him said they didn’t share his belief. A lot of his men had known the auxiliaries at Restormel, they had been detached to the south at the same time and had met with them every day to share information and resources, jokes and laughter.

“I said it didn’t I?” Cammius remarked to Varro almost muttering. “I knew it. Those bloody stylus pushers haven’t got a clue. We should have had at least a full cohort down here, a squadron of cavalry and onagers.” He looked back to the flames, “The bastards wouldn’t have dared attack then.”

Varro replied, “We’re going to face them sooner or later I suppose but to be honest I’d have preferred it to be on open ground with a legion behind me, never mind a cohort. They had the element of surprise with Restormel, they don’t have that now and we’ve got better defences, better trained and equipped men.” He looked over the wall and down into the ditch. “We’ll slaughter them if they try and climb up here or anywhere else along the defences.” He turned again to Cammius. “Have you known them to attack like this before?”

“Not this lot no, there’s a first time for everything though I suppose.” He turned and faced inside the fort. “Vestius, Vestius.” He shouted. “Where are you man?” The legionary appeared from the shadows.

“Yes sir.” He shouted back.

“Go and cut some strips off that pig and bring them up here on plates.” He shouted. “May as well not go hungry while we wait eh Varro, it’ll perk the men up a bit and take their minds off things for a while.” He said to his fellow centurion who looked at him surprised at his calmness.

“What?” Cammius enquired. “You can fight hungry, or fight with a belly with some strength giving food inside you, I know which I prefer.” He looked about him, “Don’t eat if you don’t want to lads but I would if I were you. And it’ll make the hairies jealous eh, the dirty bastards?” He laughed to himself as he patrolled up and down the wall.

As the night wore on and the tension within the fort grew, the sound of chopping from the nearby woods was replaced by other sounds, sawing and banging. Cammius had ordered that water be drawn from the well in case of fire and twenty full buckets littered the small area below. He had also sent half his force to get some rest if they could whilst the other of half of the century manned the walls and waited. Just before dawn one of the sentries saw movement in the trees.

“Sir,” he shouted, “directly in front of my position.” The legionary pointed into the still dark woods. “Something’s coming this way.”

Varro felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, not because of the coming fight but because of the legionaries words, ‘something’s coming this way.’ He knew it was Britons but the words hadn’t helped the already nervous soldiers manning the defences. He strained his eyes looking into the woods, leaning forward in an effort to try and work out what it was that was coming towards them.

“I’ve got movement to the north as well sir!” Shouted another soldier, he was on the opposite side of the fort.

“Here too!” Reported another, “Directly in front of my position!” Shouted a legionary to the left.

“What the fuck is going on?” They’re coming from all around us.” Cammius said turning to Varro.

“Well at least we’ll see what they’ve been up to soon enough then.” Varro said.

Cammius turned inward and shouted. “Stand to. Stand to.” One of the men struck the triangular alarm bell and the sound of running boots reverberated around the lower level of the fort as men ran putting on their helmets, it was quickly followed by the noise of them climbing up the ladders. Within seconds they were all in place puffing for breath, looking out over the walls. The sound now coming from the woods was that of plants and small trees snapping. Large dark shapes moved towards them until they got to the edge of the tree line but they were still obscured in the poor light.

“I still can’t make out what the fuckers are up to, can you?” Cammius asked.

Again Varro strained his eyes, “I think they’ve made covers, wooden shields.” Varro said.

“Standby!” Cammius shouted as archers knocked their arrows and the scorpion crews prepared to unleash volleys of bolts into the attackers, those with pilums stood ready with their arms back, left feet slightly forward and then everything stopped. Soldiers looked out into the gloom but nothing moved. Varro squinted into the dark but could only make out large black clumps in the foliage, and then it started. From somewhere outside a horn blew, and from all directions, the Britons advanced on the fort under the cover of layers of wood hammered and roped together.

“The fuckers must have used the kit from Restormel.” Cammius said. He turned to the defenders and shouted, “If you can’t get a clear view go for the feet and legs.”

Immediately arrows began to thump into the wooden shields held above and in front of the attackers and as soon as they were within javelin range, pilums began banging and thumping into the wood, sinking deep, but none of the Britons fell.

“Fire arrows.” Cammius shouted as his archers began to light their arrows from the braziers on the wall. Within seconds the lit sleek missiles joined the others that were being fired, but still the Britons advanced eerily silent.

“Keep it up lads, the bastards will start to drop soon enough.” Cammius ordered. He grabbed a light javelin from a stack leaning against a corner and hurled it at the nearest flat shield. The covers the attackers were carrying were now all like large hedgehogs as they got closer, large spikes quivering with the movement of the men below.

“The ditch will slow them down.” Varro shouted. Before the wall, the Britons would have to negotiate an eight foot ditch that was six feet wide all around the perimeter of the fort. The only place there wasn’t a ditch was just in front of the gate where two hedgehogs now approached. Elsewhere the hedgehogs were closing the distance to the ditch.

“The caltrops will sort some of them out.” Cammius said but his face turned to horror when the attackers detached outer layers from their shields and slid them into the ditch, some on fire. Now they had fresh shields, the caltrops were covered and the ditches virtually ineffective except for their depth. Slowly the Britons entered the ditches under cover and got to within feet of the walls. Men leant over the defences and hurled javelins downward sighing with effort, they sunk deep into the wood but still had no discernible effect. Suddenly men to the left and right of Cammius and Varro began to fall, struck by arrows fired from the treeline.

“Cover!” Cammius ordered as soldiers brought up their shields or dropped down behind the spiked wood that made up the top of the walls. Varro crouched down next to Cammius as arrows continued to smash into the defences, shards of wood and splinters beginning to fly through the air where some of the missiles hit the top.

“We can’t stay under cover.” He shouted to Cammius over the sound of the raining arrows. “We have to see what they’re doing and where.”

“And just what do you suggest at the moment? If we put our heads up they’ll take them off.” He replied to Varro hunched down.

“And if we stay down here, they’ll be over the wall in no time.” Varro said just as a loud banging started that shook the forts timbered front.

“They must have a battering ram of some sort and are going for the gates.” Varro said. “I’ll take my men and cover it.” He said to Cammius, stooping and making his way to the ladder. “To me.” He shouted as the figures of his men scuttled to the ladders nearest them.

“Cornelius where the fuck are you?” Shouted Cammius.

“Here sir.” An uncomfortable voice replied from somewhere on the length of wall adjacent to his own position.

“Take ten men and help Centurion Varro man the gate. We can’t let those blue nosed bastards inside. If we do we’re done for.”

“Sir.” Cornelius replied and then began shouting men’s names as he descended a ladder.

“Keep it up lads. These fuckers are not, I repeat not going to take this fort. Do you hear me?” Cammius shouted.

“Sir.” A chorus of voices acknowledged his order as others continued to hurl javelins, their archers now firing into the trees to try and keep the enemy bowmen at bay.

“Now get up and take some lives.” He ordered the others.

Varro skidded to a halt just before the two gates as another thump hit the other side, they bowed inwards dust flying up and he caught sight of the attackers through the gaps in the wood.

“Get some of those pilums over there on the double.” He shouted pointing to another stack of javelins that had been propped up against a corner of the barracks. A soldier passed him one and he waited for the next strike on the gate. With a tremendous bang the gates bowed inward again. He thrust the javelin through the gap and heard a scream of pain as the wood came together again trapping the pilum. There was only about a ten foot space on the inside of the entrance to the fort and five soldiers now waited there for the next strike against the gate.

Repeatedly the Britons rammed the entrance again and again, they were stabbed with pilums through the gaps when the wood bowed threatening to break.

“Sir we can’t hold them like this forever.” Grattius said.

Varro desperately looked round the interior of the fort. “Take two men and get the wagon from the stable. I saw it when we first arrived and anything else you think is useful, we’ll barricade the gate.” He said to Grattius.

“Breech!” A voice shouted from up above on the wooden ramparts. “Breech!” The voice repeated.

Varro glanced up and saw that fights were breaking out above all over the walls as the Britons leapt inside. Somehow they had managed to get into the fort.

“Stay here.” He told the men with him. “And make sure this gate is secure.”

Those with him looked up at the fighting. “Don’t look at that lot, concentrate on what you have to do here or we’re all fucked.” He turned and ran to the nearest ladder, climbing up he saw Cammius directing the battle.

“How did they get in?” Varro shouted from behind him.

“It looks like they’ve stuck javelins into the walls and climbed up them, not bad for a load of barbarians eh, clever bastards aren’t they?” Cammius looked round the walls once more. “Shields,” He bellowed, “use your shields, get behind them and push the fuckers back over the walls.”

Warriors continued to climb over the sharpened wooden stakes that made up the top of the fort’s defences. The legionaries now had no alternative but to fight behind their shields in one’s and two’s. Varro saw one soldier thrust forward striking an attacker with his shield boss; the rounded metal struck the man squarely in the middle of his face. Quickly the soldier pulled back the shield and punched it forward viciously catching him again. Varro saw the damage the boss had done to the man’s face when the shield was withdrawn and readied to strike again; his face was a crushed bloody mess. The second shield punch rendered him senseless and he fell to the ground and then off the platform and into the interior of the fort, where he was stabbed with a gladius by one of the legionaries below.

Other soldiers were now crouched behind their own shields with their legs braced punching them forward and thrusting with their swords like pistons. The centurion saw one who got his timing wrong as the tip of a long sword blade cut deep into his face just above the nose, blood gushed from the wound and the legionary fell back screaming in agony and shock. For an instant Varro saw his own death. Was he really to be slaughtered in a minor skirmish at a place no-one would remember in the future? The image of his hacked and stripped body propelled him into action. He picked up a scutum and charged forward at the nearest Briton punching out and then thrusting with his spatha. Battle rage took over as he thrashed, ducked and killed mercilessly.

He was suddenly calm as the rage continued and then took over. He was aware of his body moving, his sword cutting, stabbing and slashing, his shield being propelled half an arm’s length out and returned in an instant to cover his width, this was battle. As he moved the horse hair plume on his helmet waved and bobbed as he relished the moment, in, out, parry, slice. He was faintly aware of screams around him, of cries of pain and shouts of anguish, it was close as if somewhere on another level, he continued his work, he felt more alive than he had for a long time.

Another Briton hurdled over the wall and landed setting his eyes on him, he carried a double bladed war axe, he snarled and advanced. Varro pursed his lips vaguely aware that this new opponent was muscular and athletic looking, a real test. He set his feet, legs slightly apart, left foot facing his foe first, shield close, body crouched, sword ready. The Briton launched himself into the air slamming down with his axe. It hammered into the shield splitting the metal skirting. Varro had a chance to stab him but as he thrust forwards the warrior twisted ripping the blade free and the point of his Spatha hit air.

His enemy grinned showing brown teeth, his eyes white. The centurion backed up giving himself space but he bumped into a legionary fighting another intruder facing the other way. He crouched lower not daring to turn as the Briton ran at him again. He feinted as if to leap into the air but then ducked low and swiped the weapon at Varro’s feet. He dropped the shield until he heard it strike the ground but the blow of the axe was so great it knocked the scutum inward, causing Varro to lunge forward. The warrior punched up with an elbow, it struck the side of his face guard, making him unsteady on his feet, dizzy, his ears ringing but he smiled. That incensed the Briton who brought his axe up for another enormous blow and then he froze and jerked forward, once, twice, a third time and then fell face down. Varro saw three arrows embedded into his back, he looked over and saw an archer wave quickly and then draw another missile ready to launch it elsewhere. He’d been lucky, battle rage or not.

The mayhem seemed to go on for an eternity, in reality it was probably only mere minutes, but the defenders slowly began to win the fight for control. Dumnoc’s warriors were thinning out on the walkways and those that remained were surrounded by the Romans and killed or pushed back over the walls.

“That’s it lads,” shouted Cammius in the thick of the fighting, “now contain the bastards and make sure they don’t get up again.”

As the soldiers began hurling javelins and firing arrows at those still trying to climb the defences, the Britons launched another volley of arrows of their own from the woods, but this time the Romans ignored them seemingly impervious. They weren’t however and many were wounded taking sharp iron barbs into their exposed flesh. Projectiles deflected off armour and flew at every angle as the desperate resistance continued. Varro was suddenly aware of white hot pain in his left shoulder, looking down he saw an arrow had struck him and forced its way through his chainmail. Automatically he grabbed the shaft and pulled it free shrieking in agony as he did so. He threw the arrow over the side of the wall and looked down at the gate on the interior. The wagon was now upside down and pilums had been thrust into the ground behind it to stop it from moving, soldiers stood around crouched and watching the entrance for the next attack.

“Concentrate on the gates.” Cammius ordered. Legionaries ran to the position above and rained javelins down. The large shield the Britons had fashioned to cover their heads was now falling apart and pilums were penetrating the wood easily. A horn blew from the woods and those around the perimeter started to retreat. A hail of missiles followed them wounding a few who fell away from their huddles crying in pain, they were instantly targeted and fell silent. One group under their makeshift shield abandoned it as it started to fall apart and ran. The men of Statio Deventia cheered as the enemy fell back into the undergrowth of the trees to no doubt regroup and lick their wounds.

“Excellent, excellent lads well done, told you we’d stop the bastards.” Cammius shouted, turning he saw wounded and dead all around him. “Right let’s make one of the barracks into an infirmary. Get these men down out of harm’s way and get them treated and if any of them,” He pointed to a prone Briton, “are still wriggling, give them some iron and hurl them over the side.” He looked down into the interior at the gate. “Get those defences re-enforced with anything you can find, they’ll be back at some point, I’d wager a thousand denarii on it and make sure a raging bull couldn’t breach it.”

Later as the sun rose high up into the sky, clouds began to appear and the next few hours were taken up removing the dead, who for the time being were placed at the rear of the fort. The wounded were carefully helped off the ramparts and taken to the infirmary. Those who could walk went by themselves or with each other if they needed help. The cost of the attack was high, eleven dead, five more were likely to die and nearly thirty wounded, some of whom were capable of fighting on, others who would require specialist treatment something the medics couldn’t give them. They were kept comfortable, injured limbs and torsos were bandaged and those that were suspected of being broken or fractured were put into splints.

Varro climbed down and removed his helmet. Wincing he tried to remove his chainmail but found it impossible with his wounded shoulder.

“Let me help sir!” Shouted a legionary running over to help him get his chainmail off as Varro almost fell over grimacing in pain.

Varro bent forward and the soldier pulled his armour over his head, it slammed to the dusty ground. He pushed his blood stained tunic off his shoulder and saw that he’d been lucky. The arrow had penetrated his skin but not too deeply, a small neat hole at the entry point was covered in blood and it hurt like hell.

“Better get that seen to sir, you don’t want it getting infected. Looks like it’s just a flesh wound though, you should be okay in a few days.” He pointed to the infirmary. “Get it bandaged and padded when the medics have finished with the badly injured.” He removed Varro’s neck scarf and rolled it into a ball. “Hold this on it for the time being, get the blood stopped eh?”

Grattius came running over, “Bastards got you did they sir?”

Varro smiled in gratitude at the legionary who had helped him. “Thank you.” He turned to Grattius, “Is anyone else injured, our men I mean?” He asked.

“Came through without a scratch sir, the lot of us, ‘cept for you of course, lucky eh?” Grattius replied.

“Good, that’s good.” He raised his arm testing the pain and movement.

“Better to rest it for a bit eh? Take it easy sir?” Grattius said. He looked over to the temporary infirmary where a line of walking wounded was already beginning to form.” Get yourself in there sir.” He walked over to the line. “Right you bastards there’s a wounded centurion here, make way.”

“It’s alright Grattius.” Varro said. “I’ll take my place in the queue. Go and check the men and see if Cammius needs any help will you.”

“If you’re sure sir, I could stay here with you if you like?” He replied.

“No go and find Cammius,” Varro said, “I’ll be fine. He needs you more than me at the moment, do whatever he asks.”

“Burial detail.” Varro heard an optio shout at the rear of the fort near the corpses of the fallen legionaries.

“Sir.” Grattius acknowledged and ran back to the nearest ladder. Varro slumped against the wall more through sudden exhaustion than the pain of his wound and waited to be treated.

As the morning turned to afternoon, more clouds gathered over the small fort and rain began to fall, light at first but as the hours wore on it got heavier. Sporadic arrows were launched from the woods, keeping the sentries heads low and reminding the defenders of the situation, the enemy was still there.

“At least they won’t be able to torch the walls eh, not with this lot falling?” Cammius said to Varro looking up at the sky. “So if you’re correct, if we can survive tonight, we should expect to see a relief force sometime tomorrow night?”

“I should think so.” Varro replied. “Its standard procedure if a patrol hasn’t been heard from, they’ll come I’m sure.”

“Good, good, how’s the shoulder?” Cammius asked.

Varro looked down at the padded wound. “It’s not too bad, arms a bit stiff.” He stretched his left shoulder up. “I’ll be okay. At least it wasn’t my right one so I can still hold a sword.”

“No shield though eh, so that means if the bastards get in again, you’re no good to me.” Cammius said looking at his shoulder, where a small amount of blood had seeped through the white bandage. “Hopefully we’ll be able to hold them off anyway without your help. They must have taken just as many casualties as us if not more.” He looked at his cup on the table. “More I’d say because there must be about twenty of them lying dead outside as well.” He looked at Varro, “It all depends on how many of them there are out there I suppose and how strong a desire they have to take this place. We’ve done better than those poor sods at Restormel that’s for sure.” He took a glug of water from his cup. “Ugh water, still at least its fresh, got to keep a clear head though. Good job we’ve got the well or we’d be in trouble. So what do you think our friends out there will try next?” He asked Varro.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “maybe they’ll realise that it’s a nut they can’t crack and just disappear. One thing’s certain though, as soon as I’m out of here I’ll be doing my best to track them down.”

“Maybe it would be better if they attacked again.” Cammius said. “They can throw themselves at the walls all they like and we’ll keep stopping them, we’ll kill more of them than they do of us and they’ll give in eventually.”

“Yes but if they have hundreds out there it won’t matter to them because they’ll keep whittling us down until there’s no-one left to fight.” Varro replied.

“Mm good point, do they view life so recklessly?” Cammius asked.

“It’s not about life so much as honour. They see us as occupiers who are repressing their people and taking their land, they’ll do anything they can to stop that.” Varro said.

Cammius frowned. “I know a little about them through a few I know.” Varro went on but not willing to say who it was he knew or why. “They believe we betrayed them after years of peace between the Empire and Britannia, years of trade and relative prosperity. They see us as thieves, liars and betrayers and those out there will either get what they want or die trying.”

“Really?” Cammius replied. “Well I don’t know about any of that, but what I do know is that they’ve chosen the wrong soldier to fuck with this time and I’ll do everything I can and so will my men to ensure they don’t take this fort.”

“And so will I, and my men obviously. I’m just telling you what I’ve been told. I’m sure we would do the same if they were on our soil.” Varro took some water.

“Yes I suppose you’re right,” Cammius replied, “but we’re just soldiers and it doesn’t pay to get too close to the enemy or our so called allies for that matter. Too much thinking will get you killed, that’s why I try and avoid it.” He laughed. “Bollocks to it, a little wine won’t hurt hey?” He said reaching for the amphora nearby.

The tension had dropped somewhat around the fort, since the savage fight to repel the attackers. It was always the same during a battle and the men settled into a routine of checking weapons and stocking up on others where they would be needed most. With the rain still falling, the chance of fire damage was all but gone for the time being, but the buckets remained in place just in case, Cammius was taking every precaution he could. Sounds could be heard from the forest as the Britons made their own preparations for another assault as sentries watched from the walls avoiding the occasional arrow fired in their direction.

“I doubt they’ll come again whilst it’s light, once its dark maybe, if they’ve got any sense anyway. They’ll know they haven’t all that much time before someone comes looking for my patrol and then they’ll be gone.” Varro said.

“The best result would be for them to try again tonight, lose a lot of their people and then for the survivors to get caught by some of our cavalry before they can slip away. They’d be cut to pieces.” Cammius replied.

“Their leader doesn’t seem naive, certainly not from the way that first attack went anyway, I even saw some of them wearing helmets and mail that they’d taken from Restormel.” Varro said.

“Yes I saw that as well, quite disturbing, good job they don’t know how to form testudos isn’t it? They’d have had more success with one of them than lurking under that wood they nailed together.” He grinned, “I don’t suppose anyone survived at Restormel. What do you think the chances are?” Cammius asked.

“I’d have thought that if any did survive the initial assault, they wouldn’t have lived for much longer afterwards, better to have died straight away than be taken alive.” Varro replied finishing his wine. He stood up, “That’s enough for me I want a clear head, I’m going to check on my men.”

The rest of the day passed fairly quietly, only one legionary was slightly injured through an arrow shot into the fort, it struck his shield and glanced off opening the flesh at the top of his nose. The rain continued to fall, and the ground in the interior of the fort started to turn to mud where there weren’t any wooden walkways, as men walked to their posts, everything was either wet or damp. As the sun started to fall, Cammius doubled the guard on the walls whilst others tried to sleep. Fires could be seen through the trees, more fires than they expected to see, clearly, the enemy still had large numbers willing to fight. The Roman defenders knew an attack was imminent but the question was, when it would come. A few hours after dark had enveloped the entire region, the sentries began to see movement in the trees, shadowy figures dragging equipment towards the edge of the tree line. Cammius and Varro had gone to have a look expecting an attack to start but it didn’t come and so they waited, hour after hour and still the rain fell.

“I’d have got fed up by now and gone home. You have to admire them I suppose.” Cammius remarked standing next to his fellow centurion. “They must be as wet as us? Surely they know they won’t penetrate our walls again?”

Varro didn’t know if his words were a question or a statement, and he certainly didn’t know if it was correct, he didn’t reply, just continued to stare out into the wilds. The scorpion crews waited like everyone else, piles of javelins were propped in corners or lay end up in the iron rings designed to hold them for such an eventuality. Archers walked along the walls glistening with water, carrying their bows, whilst legionaries stood holding their pilums, watching the woods.

“I did think about asking you and your men to make a run for it this morning. At least if you’d got through we’d know that support was on its way to deal with these barbarian bastards.” Cammius said.

“I was waiting for you to ask and as the commander here, you could have ordered us to make the attempt. The trouble with that would be the gates would have been open for us to get out on horseback, and you’d have been weak until you managed to secure them properly again. Even if we’d managed to get away from here, we could have been ambushed further away and you wouldn’t have known a thing about it.” Varro said.

“How many of them do you think are out there, hundreds, thousands?” Cammius asked.

Varro turned to look at him, rain falling from his helmet, “Have you considered that this may be an uprising and as we sit here Isca is under siege as well?”

Cammius grinned sarcastically, “You can’t be serious, a full rebellion all over the country, is that what you mean?”

Varro shook his head to get rid of some of the water on his red plume and rain splattered over Cammius. “Sorry.” He said. “Yes a full scale rebellion, we don’t know what we’re dealing with. I thought you had considered the idea of us breaking out and had discounted it for that same reason.”

Cammius wiped his face, “I hadn’t thought about it, Mars help us if you’re right though.” He lent forward watching the rain running off his plume, “All the more reason to hold fast then eh?” He stood up. “You haven’t mentioned this to any of the men have you?”

“No, it’s the last thing they need running through their heads. What I have told them is that by this time tomorrow night a full cohort will be here and will be cutting them,” he nodded outside, “to ribbons.” Rain fell from his helmet again.

With thick cloud cover and rain still pouring, the Britons attacked again. They had constructed larger wooden shields and walked slowly towards the forts walls. Scorpion bolts, arrows and javelins thundered into their covers, once more having little or no effect.