Legatus Legionis: Book Two in the Gaius Claudius Scaevola Trilogy (31 page)

The Roman advance had at last secured a landing position. Now, Gaius decided, it was time for him to cross. He joined some troops on the next raft, and noticed that the soldiers were somewhat more enthusiastic with their use of their poles. They were not going to let their commander see them lacking in enthusiasm for getting to the other side. As they reached the far bank, instead of jumping off and wading, they rammed the raft against a more solid weed bank. Gaius was about to jump off, but the most recently promoted
Optio
ordered the soldiers to help their commander off. Gaius was a little embarrassed to be carried over the marsh, but he thanked the soldiers and gave an acknowledging smile to the
Optio
, then, with shield at the ready to avoid arrows, he made his way to congratulate Lupus on having done a good job, following which he took formal command.

The Roman advance continued remorselessly until they reached a defensive ditch. Gaius immediately called a halt to the advance, the ditch now becoming a boundary between the two sides. Fortifications were set up, and Gaius ordered that the remaining fighting units of the legion be brought over as quickly as possible, and that wooden "bridges" be made for the ditches.

On the far side of the encampment, Geta occupied the obvious line of retreat, and Falco's men had marched forwards to a corresponding ditch on the opposite side of the camp. As Gaius noted to Timothy later, the Britons made a great mistake when they seemed content to defend their camp. Their best option would have been to launch a furious counterattack on the twentieth. With the legion split, and those on the west bank tired and beginning to build fortifications everything should have been thrown against it. If they could not defeat half a legion stuck in the mud and without room to manoeuvre, they might as well surrender.

But they did not. Seemingly they could not see that their defensive strategy could only prevail by buying them their opportunity to attack on their terms, and possibly the only real opportunity to make a significant impact on the Roman forces evaporated with the sun on the following morning.

Then, when lines were formed and the Britons would not attack, Gaius ordered the bridges brought to the ditch where they were stood on their ends, then pushed forward. At the same moment, those on the other side of the camp stormed across the ditches before them. Before any of the Britons could even form a plan, Romans poured across the ditches on their improvised bridges, and began wheeling ramps up to the walls.

The Britons were struck by indecision. The attack from the rear was the most dangerous, but the men of the twentieth on the river side would be easier to defeat, as they were forced to climb this rather steep hill. However, as these men of the twentieth formed their wedges to advance from the bridges, the Celts lost any chance to take the initiative, and they were forced to defend their walls. Again the heavy hand to hand fighting resumed, but this time the Romans advanced more quickly.

Then, from the remaining side, Geta's men, supported by the Batavians, had formed a flying wedge and had charged directly at that part of the camp holding the stores. He took this quickly, and immediately lit a fire, the smoke from which rolled towards the lines of Britons.

With their camp on fire, despair struck the Britons, and in a desperate move, they charged out between Geta's and Falco's men, and fled to the northwest. The Romans pursued, and Roman archers had great success firing into the unprotected backs, but those that survived the initial volleys were soon out of range, and the much more heavily armoured infantrymen could not easily keep up. The Britons then ran into yet another marsh, and again the Romans pursued unsuccessfully, partly because the cavalry was still on the wrong side of the river. The Britons knew the tracks, and seemed able to run on what firmer ground there was, while the Romans seemed destined to blunder into holes of mud. When they did, Celts would reappear from the reeds, and many Romans fell to spears while floundering waste-high in mud.

Guessing what was happening, Gaius ordered an immediate horn signal for the soldiers to return and consolidate.

The victory was complete, as far as it went. The land was now under Roman control up to the next river, the Thames. However, it appeared that the enemy, apparently under the command of Caratacus himself, had seen the inevitability of defeat. Since his force was largely the badly mauled remains of the raiding party that had been too small to defeat Vespasian's one legion previously, when he saw two legions he had sent most of his troops away the night previous to the battle. Those that had remained were to buy as much time as they could, then to flee into the marshes.

Gaius had to acknowledge that as an enemy Caratacus appeared to know what he was doing. His problem was, and would always be, he did not have sufficient strength to destroy the legions. He could not win while the enemy remained on the field, and this time the Roman army was not there for the summer, and it was not in the business of collecting shells. This time the Roman army intended to add Britain, or at least parts of it, to the empire.

Caratacus had three options; he could surrender, he could flee to whatever part of Britain Rome did not occupy, or he could fight Rome. If he chose to surrender, his future would be that of a slave. Gaius could understand his not wishing that. If he fled, his fellow Celts were as likely as not to sell him to the Romans, so that was not much of an option. If he fought, either he had to defeat four legions of professional soldiers or he had to make the Roman occupation so costly that Rome would leave. He simply did not have the resources to defeat Rome, and unfortunately for Caratacus, it was his lands that were the more economically well developed, and it was his lands that Rome had to conquer first, simply because they were the closest.

For Caratacus, defeat was inevitable. The only issue was what form it would take, and how many men would die before he admitted it. 

* * *

For once, Gaius had to admit, Plautius did not waste time. The legions immediately drove forward towards the River Thames. The Britons apparently considered this to be a particularly effective natural obstacle, but Plautius immediately commandeered every boat he could, then the armies marched upstream until the river was sufficiently narrow.

Again the Batavians swam across the river and fought to secure a small landing area. A bridge was made by tying boats together, and the Roman troops marched over, the twentieth leading the way. Gaius felt rather pleased with himself, for now he had his first real opportunity to test his split cohort approach, and the enemy was insufficiently well organized to take advantage of any mistakes.

In the event, nothing was proved. The Britons elected not to defend the multiple village attacks, but rather to fall back to camp north of what would later be Londinium. As Gaius remarked later, that was another one of the rare opportunities lost for the Celts to shine. A river crossing was always dangerous because there was always a period when there were insufficient troops across to guarantee victory against a determined attack, but too many across to be able to afford the losses. The Celts had the home advantage; they knew the land and could count on a good supply of information on what the Romans were up to. If they refused to make some sort of peace treaty, their best chance was to take full toll of the inevitable times when Roman forces were split and at natural disadvantage. As it was, the two legions camped and consolidated their position across the river a little upstream from the Celts, who presented little opposition.

Once all repairs to equipment were complete and the legions rested, Plautius called his commanders together. They would attack the following morning, according to the following deployments . . .

* * *

At first light, with fog still on the ground, the
Gemina Martia
began its advance on the Celtic camp while the twentieth wheeled to the north to cut off reinforcements or escape routes. To cover a broader front, Gaius split his legion into its three cohort groups. This decision had unexpected consequences.

It was unclear to Gaius what actually happened, as the main action occurred elsewhere, and the remains of the fog prevented a clear view. What appeared to happen was that the Britons elected to try a flanking counterattack on the advancing twentieth, making use of the fog. Scouts for the initial deployment found the central cohort group without being detected, and the British chief, believing that he had located the legion, began a flanking manoeuvre by advancing to his right. In doing so, he unsuspectingly ran across the face of Gaius' left flanking division.

Falco immediately decided to launch an attack into the British flank to exploit the clear advantage of surprise. The surprise was complete, and the Celts only realized that the separate Roman unit was there when lances began striking very surprised Celts. The Celtic leader immediately turned and led a charge to give his infantry time to organize themselves. Just as his charge was approaching the Roman infantry, however, Roman cavalry from Matius' central cohort group appeared, and launched a counter charge into his other flank. In the resultant confusion, the Celtic leader was unhorsed, and was inevitably killed. With the counter charge a total failure, and without a leader, the Britons lost all order and men peeled off to flee northwards. Within minutes of the Celtic counter charge commencing, a general rout of the Britons ensued.

It was discovered shortly later that the body of the British leader was that of Togodumnus, brother to Caratacus. Dismayed by this loss, the Britons abandoned their position and fled to Camulodunum.

Caratacus' response was that of simple anger. He ordered raid after raid on Roman positions, supplies, anything, and swore that the Britons would avenge his brother's death. Plautius' response was one of caution. He sent for more reinforcements, and for the
Princeps
.

"What the hell's wrong with the man?" the
Legatus
of the fourteenth swore, as he took another swig of wine. "He's got no balls!"

"He wants to advance," Gaius offered.

"You do that by marching forward."

"You advance by giving the
Princeps
what he wants," Gaius countered.

"There is that sort of advancement," the Legate nodded.

"We've got a new province. My guess is that Plautius is hoping Claudius will come, win, and leave him as governor."

"That could happen," the Legate nodded, then added with a grin that did not entirely hide the undertones, "I can see we'll have to watch out for you."

Chapter 25

After weeks during which the weather had seemed ideal for campaigning, it finally began to close in. A wind sprang up, and heavy oppressive dark grey clouds appeared at the same time that the boats carrying the
Hispana
arrived. The wind had begun to take effect, the triremes were rocking and looking anything but seaworthy, but they had to sit there, waiting for their turn to beach. Cargoes and men had to be unloaded quickly, to make room for the others. The two Legates were watching from a rise, prepared to quietly applaud good moves, but in practice laughing as small disasters that they had predicted came to occur. They had been through this, and there was nothing that cheered them up more than seeing someone else in deep confusion. It was a good thing the other legions were there because the Celts could make a meal of this landing.

"Actually," Gaius muttered, "if I were a Celtic commander, I would have backed myself to repel any of the other landings."

"True," the Legate of the fourteenth shrugged, "but that needn't stop us from having their Legate on."

"Most certainly not," Gaius grinned, then added, "And this is where it gets better. Judging by its size, if not its sea-worthiness, there is the imperial ship."

"And here comes the rain," the Legate of the fourteenth remarked. "All those pansy Praetorians are going to get their nice clean uniforms covered in British mud."

Two triremes beached, and Praetorians leaped enthusiastically overboard. They ordered their bodies forward but their feet were firmly stuck in the mud. Howls of laughter greeted them as they struggled back to their feet.

"I suppose, in principle at least," the Legate of the fourteenth said, without conviction, "we should order our men to stop making fun of the Praetorians." He thought for a moment, then growled, "Bugger that principle."

Soon the mud-covered Praetorians stopped helping to land goods and noticed the rain was now coming down in a fashion that suggested it intended to stay. Now, belatedly, they realized they had to put up the Imperial tent.

"A little more forethought, and perhaps a glance at the skies, and they would have done this first, while the ground was still dry," Gaius noted.

"All I can say is I hope they fight better than they put up tents," the Legate of the fourteenth grunted, as the wind caught a flap on their first effort, and almost broke completely free. It was held mainly by a muddy Praetorian jumping on it.

"I think he's in luck," Gaius noted. "That's the back part of the tent, and Caesar's hardly likely to go around there in the rain."

"Even the
Princeps
has to piss!"

"Hopefully not just upwind of his tent, though," Gaius shrugged.

"Hopefully not," the Legate of the fourteenth noted. "Oh dear, look at this!" He pointed to a new trireme just arriving and trying to unload. It was rocking dramatically, and men were trying to do something, although exactly what was unclear.

"I bet that's a bloody elephant!" the Legate of the fourteenth grumbled.

"No takers," Gaius replied. "In fact, I'll tell you what. I'm prepared to bet that there'll be thunder before the elephants are unloaded," he added as he looked up at the increasingly ominous skies.