The Furies of Rome (32 page)

‘Over us all, I pray. We’re certainly going to need him to in the coming days.’ He kissed her in return, full on the lips, and then followed the horses down onto the bank, praying that it was not to be their last.

Decurion Jorik issued a stream of quiet orders in the strangely harsh language of the Batavians that always made Vespasian think that they were trying to clear their throats mid-sentence. The troopers emptied their water-skins and then blew them up, tying the top in order to seal in the air so that they were left with a leather balloon which they then secured to their shield handles.

Vespasian had done the same and now stood next to his mount, one of the surplus from the fourth ship, the survivors of which had rejoined them as they disembarked. Another quiet order and then, holding on to one of their saddle horns with the right hand and the buoyed shield in the other, Vespasian, Titus, Sabinus and Magnus, with an excited Castor and Pollux in tow, walked their mounts into the water along with the rest of the half ala.

‘My bollocks have just disappeared,’ Magnus complained as the water submerged the area in question.

Vespasian gritted his teeth and forced himself onward; as he got deeper he placed his shield on the surface, with the improvised buoyancy bag underneath, and lay on it still holding onto his mount. As the beast started to swim it pulled him along on his little raft and so, in the dark of the night, the half ala crossed the Tamesis in almost total silence.

However, the silence could not be maintained when they got to the northern bank as the horses emerged from the water and the troopers swung up onto their backs in a jangle of equipment and the metallic rings of drawing swords. The suddenness and intensity of the noise woke the sleeping Britons, who had, indeed, managed to track them. But newly waken men are easily confused and the sight of more than two hundred cavalry horses surging from the river, water exploding about their hoofs and flowing from their manes and tails, in a line as if they had galloped along the riverbed, was too much for the Britons’ dulled minds to comprehend; as the throat of the first man to his feet was sliced open, they still could not fully understand what they were facing.

Howling the war cries of their ancestors, now that silence was not an issue, the Batavian troopers set about the rousing warriors, giving them no time to arm themselves or to organise a defence, and with blade, point and hoof they brought death to those who would have killed them. Vespasian worked his mount and sword in unison, turning and slashing as panic quickly spread through the Britons and they began to flee rather than face these horsemen of the deep. And as they ran the horsemen followed, sending them to the afterlife bearing the shame of a wound to the back. So with the few surviving warriors scattered and the ponies sent bolting, the Batavian half ala headed north, without fear of pursuit, to join Governor Paulinus for his desperate stand against the masses of Boudicca.

For the remainder of the night they pressed on mainly at a walk, bearing, as far as they could judge, directly north on Sabinus’ suggestion as it had been this part of the province that he had been responsible for subduing with the XIIII Gemina in the first years of the invasion. However, navigation in the starless night had proved reasonably simple: all they had to do was to keep the orange glow in the sky to their east; Londinium still burnt. By the time the sun crested the eastern horizon, they had reached the road running west to Calleva and were a dozen or so miles north of the river and twenty west of Londinium. But even at that distance, as the light grew, so did the clarity of the pillar of smoke climbing to the sky from the ruins of the town, backlit by the dawn sun, glowing with the same hue as the flames that produced it.

The growing light also revealed another unusual sight: the country was alive with people, either in family units, hoping that their small size would render them less visible, or in larger groups bound together in the belief that safety would lie in numbers. All were heading for the Calleva road and then following it into the southwest, away from the storm that had roared out of the east, for rumour did not need to travel by word of mouth now that the smoke, rising for all to see from the stricken town, proclaimed the hatred that approached.

‘It would seem that the whole south of the island is on the move,’ Titus observed as he surveyed the countryside speckled with refugees, many driving their livestock before them.

Vespasian winced as he shifted his sore backside in the saddle. ‘Are you surprised after what you saw in Londinium and Camulodunum?’

‘But where are they going?’

‘They probably don’t know themselves; anywhere where Boudicca isn’t would be enough for me were I in their place.’

‘As for us,’ Sabinus said, taking no interest in the refugees, ‘if we carry on heading directly north we should hit the northwest road in about thirty miles, soon after it’s passed through Verulamium. Paulinus’ choice of ground must be somewhere where the road passes through hill-country just before Veronae. If we keep moving we should be there in two or three days.’

With no one other than Sabinus having any experience of this part of the province they accepted his assessment and, with tiredness eating away at them, pushed on, pleased to put themselves into Sabinus’ hands and not to have to make any decisions.

It was after they had been travelling up the northwest road for a couple of hours the following day, keeping just to the side of it due to the carts and wagons fleeing the rampaging Iceni, that there came a moan, like a communal sharing of grief, from the refugees as many of them halted and turned to face back down in the direction whence they had come.

Vespasian looked behind as Titus halted the half ala. It was unmistakeable: although not yet as large as the one that had risen from Londinium, it was a column of smoke, grey and growing fatter from the combustion feeding it below.

‘Verulamium,’ Sabinus muttered.

Vespasian wondered how many people had elected to stay with their property rather than follow the example of the thousands on the road. ‘How far is that from Londinium?’

‘About twenty miles.’

Vespasian did a rough mental calculation. ‘She must have pulled her army out from Londinium yesterday at dawn to have got there by now. She’s moving as fast as she possibly can with that huge host.’

‘She has to,’ Titus said, turning away from the macabre sight. ‘How else can she feed them?’

Vespasian nodded thoughtfully, pleased with his son’s logic. ‘That may be our best weapon against her.’

With a hand signal, Titus restarted the column and they carried on their journey northwest in search of the army of Suetonius Paulinus.

‘And you say that the road is still clogged with refugees?’ Governor Paulinus asked, pacing to and fro in front of a map set on a board, hanging from one of the posts supporting the massive leather tent that was the XIIII Gemina’s campaign praetorium.

‘Not clogged, but busy,’ Vespasian replied. ‘Most of them were continuing up to Veronae and beyond.’

‘Only about a fifth left it following your trail,’ Sabinus said.

‘That should be enough,’ Paulinus stated, stopping to consult the map yet again, and then looked over to Cogidubnus, seated on a campaign chair gnawing a chicken leg. ‘Do you think she’ll know yet that I didn’t retreat to Veronae but left the road early?’

‘She has her spies,’ the King replied through a mouthful.

‘I suppose it doesn’t matter if she does or doesn’t, just as long as there’s a goodly number of refugees that she can follow to lead her here.’ He turned abruptly and addressed Titus. ‘You said just now in your report that you saw the smoke from Verulamium at the beginning of the third hour of yesterday?’

‘That’s correct, sir.’

Paulinus contemplated the information for a few moments. ‘It’s forty miles from there to here, so assuming that she lets her men have their fun for the remainder of the day and overnight, she would have pulled out this morning. A disorganised rabble like that won’t build camps, they’ll just sleep where they drop, so if she marches eight hours a day and spends four foraging, she’ll—’

‘With respect, sir, she won’t,’ Vespasian interjected.

Paulinus looked about to shout but then controlled himself. ‘What won’t she do?’

‘She won’t march eight hours a day; she’ll do twelve and won’t stop to forage.’

‘What makes you think that, senator?’

‘I saw the size of her army at Camulodunum, sir; a conservative estimate would have put it at sixty thousand with at least the same again of families. It was the whole Iceni nation on the move, not just the warriors. Now, thanks to Paelignus, the Trinovantes have joined them; I saw her army again as we sailed past Londinium and it can now only be described as monstrously huge, almost double the original size. She can’t feed them and the countryside can’t support them; they have to rely on what they bring with them. They burnt Camulodunum and Londinium before they had time to loot them properly for food and I imagine that they did the same with Verulamium; and what with the whole countryside fleeing before her taking all their supplies and livestock with them, well? What’s the point in stopping for four hours a day to collect what isn’t there?’

Paulinus stroked his chin; his eyes widened. ‘You’re right, Vespasian: she has to get this over as quickly as possible so that she can disband. She has to force-march, to catch us quick before her warriors start to get too hungry.’

‘Exactly, sir; so instead she’ll opt for making them tired. She’ll march before dawn and carry on until at least sunset.’

A smile crept onto Paulinus’ face. ‘Minerva’s crusted minge, you’re right. She’ll be here tomorrow evening and her men will be exhausted; I’ll make sure that mine aren’t.’

The XIIII Gemina and the two cohorts of the XX legion plus their auxiliaries amounted to a little over ten thousand men, giving a frontage of just over half a mile if deployed eight deep, and Vespasian could understand exactly why Paulinus had chosen this ground: it was a sloping valley between two very steep hills that, at the opening, were a mile and a half apart but then the gap gradually closed, as the ground rose, until they converged. Just before their junction, Paulinus had built his fortified camp on the eaves of a thick forest that sealed the valley and would preclude any rear assault, just as it would prevent any retreat; it also provided shelter for the thousands of refugees that had sought the protection of the army, for Paulinus would not allow them in the camp. All in all the valley was a place where ten thousand men could stand a chance of defeating many times their number as they were funnelled uphill towards them, or die in the attempt.

What it was not, however, was a field for cavalry because Paulinus’ strategy was based on infantry standing shoulder to shoulder and killing the man in front of them again and again until there were none left. To that end he had, during the time remaining to him before Boudicca’s arrival, ordered the ground for a couple of hundred paces in front of where the Romans would stand to be strewn with stones and tree branches to disable the Britannic chariotry and their small number of cavalry. This had been done on a cohort by cohort rotation basis so that at any one time most of the army was resting or eating.

‘There’s no way that I’m going to fight mounted,’ Magnus said after Titus had told him, Vespasian, Sabinus and Cogidubnus the news that his Batavians and the rest of the cavalry were to act as reinforcements for the infantry line, having come from Paulinus’ briefing the following afternoon.

‘I didn’t think you’d be fighting at all,’ Vespasian said, ‘considering your age, that is.’

‘Now don’t you start mocking me again, sir; there’s plenty of fight and fuck left in me yet.’

‘You’re seventy; you should be dead.’

‘Well, perhaps tomorrow I’ll get the chance to put that right. Anyway, I wasn’t thinking of getting nice and snug in the front rank; I’ll leave that pleasure to the younger, keener lads. I thought that somewhere near the rear would suit me fine; you know, do some pushing on the back of the man in front of me, a bit of finishing off the wounded as we go forward, give Castor and Pollux a chance for some nice breakfast and all that sort of thing. Nothing too strenuous to start off with as I’m sure there’ll be plenty to go round and I’d rather have my share when they’re a bit less fresh, if you take my meaning?’

‘I’m sure you’ll get as many of them as you can manage,’ Sabinus said, pointing to the mouth of the valley.

Cogidubnus gave a low whistle. ‘More in fact than you might want, my friend.’

Vespasian, Magnus and Titus looked up to where Sabinus had indicated: there, in the distance, a black shadow was materialising, extending across the complete mile and a half width of the valley’s opening.

Boudicca had, indeed, travelled fast and had, as she saw it, cornered Paulinus with her speed. She led the Iceni and Trinovantes nations onto the ground of Paulinus’ choosing with thoughts only of victory, never of defeat.

CHAPTER XVII

FOR THE LAST
two hours of daylight the Romans watched the Britons arrive and, even as the sun fell, there was no sign of an end to the black shadow creeping up towards them.

Immediately the sighting had been reported to Paulinus the
cornu
, the horn used for signalling on the field of battle, had sounded and the entire army had formed up across the valley. But Boudicca was not in a position to attack straightaway upon arrival as her army was so spread out; she halted her chariot a half mile from the Roman line and there her army began to build their cooking fires and erect what small amount of tentage they had. As night fell, Paulinus withdrew to his camp and the valley lit up with thousands of points of firelight as if it were a giant mirror reflecting the firmament above.

An hour before dawn the soldiers of Rome, having slept well and breakfasted on hot food, marched out of their camp and reformed the line. As the light grew, the Britannic warriors saw Paulinus’ army waiting for them, a short thin line compared to their horde’s massive bulk, and they laughed as they smeared their war-patterns over chests and legs and spiked their hair with lime. Those who had to go without breakfast, and there were many due to lack of supplies, did not complain or even mind as they knew that the whole business would be over within the hour as all they had to do was run up the hill and sweep the thin line of wood, flesh and metal away; and none in that immense host doubted their ability to do that.

‘I’m starting to think that Caenis might have been right,’ Vespasian said as the sun’s rays revealed the size of the task they faced; his throat had just dried. ‘Perhaps I should have gone back with her to Germania Inferior as this is not my fight.’

Titus, astride his horse next to him, reached over and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘And let me face my first set-piece battle without the benefit of paternal advice, Father?’

‘That was roughly the argument that I used with her.’

‘Well, I wish you hadn’t,’ Magnus grumbled, ‘even Germania Magna, let alone Germania Inferior, sounds better than here at the moment.’ He had relented about fighting mounted on account that it may well be less tiring on his knees; Castor and Pollux sat next to his horse, watching the confusing human spectacle with some interest.

‘We’ll be fine,’ Sabinus assured them with uncharacteristic optimism, ‘at least we’re in the reserve line.’

Magnus looked left and then right to the only other three small units positioned behind the main line to plug any gaps. ‘What there is of it.’ Paulinus had used his three cavalry units as reserves and the Batavians were one of them; the legionary cavalry and an ala of Gallic cavalry that had been divided into two units were the others. Each had a little over two hundred paces of frontage to cover, or three and a half tightly formed cohorts; the Batavians were to the right of the centre behind the first three cohorts of the XIIII Gemina. ‘Just over two hundred men to act as a relief for almost two thousand including the
é
lite cohort.’ Magnus hawked and spat to illustrate just what he thought of the situation.

‘My men have the right wing,’ Cogidubnus, who had ridden over to wish them luck, said. ‘That’s not going to be fun with the Iceni trying to get around our flank.’

Sabinus looked over to the right-hand hill. ‘The hill’s too steep.’

‘Do you think that will stop them trying? You just think yourself lucky, Magnus, that you’re not going to be used until later, if at all.’

Magnus did not look convinced. ‘My point is that if we are used it will be in a very nasty situation where a breakthrough has occurred through a legionary cohort; and I can tell you that if something punches a gap in the first cohort it’ll take a lot more than a couple of hundred cavalry to stop it.’

Vespasian had to concede that Magnus had a point and looked nervously at the seemingly limitless body of men that now approached with menacing intent. Deep they were and their limit could only be judged by the multitude of wagons in the distance, halfway down the valley, stretching from one hill to the other, where their families waited to watch their menfolk avenge the insult to the women of the Iceni.

In the centre of the horde stood Boudicca in her chariot; her daughters, brandishing their long knives, walked next to it with Myrddin and a dozen more of the filthy, matted creatures. There were no other chariots in evidence; scouting parties in the night had evidently found the obstacles deterring them. At two hundred paces out, Boudicca punched her spear, two handed, above her head and they stopped in a shambolic manner and raised a roar to the heavens.

In silence the Romans watched, each man busy with his own thoughts, envisaging just how he was going to get through this day, as Boudicca’s chariot turned ninety degrees and started to travel along the front of the haphazard Britannic line. The roar stopped and she began to address her people in her harsh and loud masculine voice that carried far over the field.

‘What’s she saying?’ Vespasian asked Cogidubnus.

‘She’s talking in their uncouth dialect, but from what I can make out she’s saying that it is normal for Britons to fight under the command of a woman but she’s not seeking vengeance for her kingdom or possessions taken from her as a woman descended from great ancestors. No, she seeks it as one of the people, for her liberty lost, for the unjust flogging she received and for the rape of her daughters. If the Romans, in their cupidity, cannot even let our bodies go undefiled, then
why should they be expected to display moderation as their rule goes on, when they have behaved towards us in this fashion at the very outset?
’ Cogidubnus stopped translating as he cocked an ear.

‘Well?’ Vespasian asked.

Cogidubnus put his hand up signalling that he was listening.

Eventually the Queen finished and from beneath her cloak she produced a hare; she set it on the ground and it immediately ran towards the Roman line. There began a series of mighty roars; the omen was good.

‘That was very eloquent, what she said,’ Cogidubnus remarked.

‘Tell us.’

‘It was a good speech and would have got them roused; it was something like this in translation:
“But, to speak the plain truth, it is we who have made ourselves responsible for all that has befallen us, in that we allowed Rome to set foot on this island in the first place and didn’t expel them at once as we did their famous Julius Caesar, and in that we did not deal with them while they were still far away as we dealt with Gaius Caligula and made even the attempt to sail here a formidable challenge. As a consequence, although we inhabit so large an island, or rather a continent, one might say, that’s encircled by the sea, and although we possess a world of our own and are separated by the ocean from all the rest of mankind so that we believe we dwell on a different earth and under a different sky, we have, notwithstanding all this, been despised and trampled underfoot by men who know nothing else than how to secure gain. They have brought with them laws that take precedence over our customs, the tax-farmers who bleed us dry and then the odious bankers who pretend to offer wealth with one hand but give poverty with the other in order to enrich themselves without a care for the consequences. However, even at this late day, though we have not done so before, let us, my countrymen and friends and kinsmen – for I consider you all kinsmen, seeing that we inhabit a single island and are called by one common name – let us, I say, do our duty while we still remember what freedom is, that we may leave to our children not only its name but also its reality. For, if we utterly forget the happy state in which we were born and bred, what will they do, reared in bondage to our eternal shame?” Good stuff I’d say; it’s just a pity that it’s so misguided.’

‘I’d say she’d made a few reasonable points,’ Magnus said, tugging hard on Castor and Pollux’s leads as they reacted enthusiastically to the
clamour
coming from the Britons. ‘From what I can make out this whole thing has been caused by Seneca’s, the Cloelius Brothers’ and the other Londinium bankers’ greed. Not that greed is a bad thing, mind you, it’s just when you fuck off a whole nation rather than a few rivals it ain’t so clever.’

Vespasian, despite all the atrocities he had witnessed, was forced to agree. ‘But don’t forget Decianus as well as the bankers.’

‘Procurators? Bankers? What the fuck’s the difference? It’s all about getting rich on other people’s wealth, which, as I say, is no bad thing until … well.’ He gestured to everything around. ‘Well, something like this happens and I happen to get caught up in it.’

Vespasian’s thoughts on the subject were cut off by Paulinus addressing his troops from horseback.

‘Soldiers of Rome!’ Paulinus declaimed in the high voice favoured for speeches to large audiences. ‘I know your valour for together we have recently subdued the Isle of Mona. You will not fear this horde, this rabble, made up, as it is, of more women, children and old men rather than fighting-fit warriors; and of those warriors many seem to be young men of a new generation who have never been tried before in battle.
You have heard what outrages these savages have committed against us; indeed, you have even witnessed some of them. Choose, then, whether you wish to suffer the same treatment yourselves, as our comrades have suffered, and to be driven out of Britannia entirely; or, by achieving victory here today, avenging those who have perished and, at the same time, display to all others who would take up arms against us an example of the inevitable severity with which we deal with rebellion.
 For my part, I
’m sure that victory will be ours; first, because the gods are our allies; and second, because courage is our heritage, since we Romans have triumphed over all mankind by our
valour
. And let us not forget we have defeated and subdued these very men who are now arrayed against us so they are not antagonists, but our slaves, whom we conquered even when they were free and independent. Now, one word of warning, soldiers of Rome: if the outcome should prove contrary to our hope – and I will not deny the possibility – it would be better for us to fall fighting bravely than to be captured and impaled, or to look upon our own entrails cut from our bodies, or to be spitted on red-hot skewers, or to perish, screaming in boiling water or any other manner of torments these savages enjoy inflicting on
civilised
men.
 Let us, t
herefore, either win or die on this ground. You all know your places at the sound of the first cornu signal. So, soldiers of Rome, are you ready for war?’

As the reply was roared back and the question re-asked, Vespasian was relieved that Cogidubnus’ men were right to the far side of the field and would probably not have been able to hear all that well Paulinus implying that they were Rome’s slaves.

Judging by the shadow that passed over the Britannic King’s face, Cogidubnus was not impressed by Paulinus’ rallying speech. ‘I’ll return to my cohorts, and see if they’re still in the mood for killing their fellow countrymen, as Boudicca put it.’

‘It was tactless of Paulinus,’ Vespasian affirmed.

‘Tactless? Of course it was tactless; it was pure Roman.’

Vespasian gripped Cogidubnus’ forearm. ‘May your gods hold their hands over you, my friend.’

Cogidubnus touched the four-spoked wheel of Taranis that hung on a chain about his neck. ‘My gods will be busy today; they have to answer prayers from both sides.’

And then the carnyxes blared.

Discordant barks filled the air, issuing from the animal heads of the tall, upright horns that sprouted from the Britannic host; bronze wild boar, ram, bull or wolf figures mounted on poles, the standards of individual war bands, were shaken above the heads of their followers, as well as wheels of Taranis, coiled serpents and leaping hares. Boudicca made one more length of the Britannic front, holding out her spear so that it rattled along the tips of the weapons or their shafts held up to her for her blessing in a metallic and wooden clatter that gave percussion to the carnyxes’ cacophony.

By the time she had returned to her place in the centre, the hundred thousand plus horde of warriors was at fighting pitch, urging each other on to great deeds and stories of valour. Behind them, their families, in similar numbers, roared on their menfolk, eager to see the field running with Roman blood. With one last flourish of her spear above her head, Boudicca brought it down and pointed it at the heart of the Roman line; her warriors took their first steps forward, gradually accelerating, jumping the obstacles, until they were at a run.

And then the cornu rumbled.

Suddenly the cohorts all along the line sprang into action.

‘What the fuck are they up to?’ Magnus exclaimed.

Vespasian, Sabinus and Titus were equally nonplussed.

Files of legionaries from the outsides of each cohort raced to its middle, gradually building it up, evenly, so that protrusions of men appeared, lessening until at the tip there was the primus pilus of the cohort, acting as the biting point of the wedge. The Roman line had transformed itself into a series of sharp teeth in the time it had taken the warriors to cover half the separating distance.

Each primus pilus, resplendent with transverse horsehair plumes across their helms, raised their sword in the air and looked along the line to their superior at the apex of the first cohort. Down came the legion’s senior centurion’s sword arm; his brother officers followed. In unison, ten thousand shields were struck by pila – just once; sudden. The resulting crack thundered down the valley as if Jupiter himself had cast a mighty bolt along the length of the field. Warriors deep within the crush who could not see its source looked up to the sky as the shock of the noise made them falter in their step. The carnyxes wavered for a couple of beats and almost, for an instant, there was silence.