Roman - The Fall of Britannia (31 page)

‘
Are
you ready?’ he shouted.

The crescendo of
screaming peaked at an unbelievable level.

‘
Spare no one,’ he roared. ‘Drive them back into the sea,’ and
Caratacus dropped his sword to point toward the enemy before
finally screaming the battle charge.

‘
Britannia!’

‘
Britannia!’ echoed the thousands of warriors and the whole
army descended on the two waiting legions like a swarm of
locusts.

----

Caratacus had
never seen anything like it. Before his men were within a hundred
yards, they were being decimated by exploding stones and balls of
flame. A hail of arrows and lead shot brought those who dodged the
missiles down before they had to run the gauntlet of the spear
throwers. His men fell in their hundreds, but despite this, their
sheer numbers and the impetus of their downhill charge, meant that
his warriors crashed into the Roman lines with lethal force. The
deep lines of opposing men surged back and fore like a swell on the
sea, the front lines unable to deploy their personal weapons with
much effect, due to the pressure from those in front and of those
behind. As natural lulls took place and the lines disengaged,
individual conflict broke out and though the skill and training of
the Romans meant they were far more efficient at killing, the
overall weight of numbers started to tell, and Vespasian’s legion
was forced to fall back.

Caratacus
suddenly spotted an opportunity to deal a devastating blow to his
enemy. A clan of his warriors had broken through the Roman lines,
and were closing in on the legion’s standard bearer. Vespasian, had
quickly reformed his defences to protect the eagle, but was under
severe pressure. Caratacus turned to his brother.

‘
Take the remaining chariots,’ he said. ‘Bring me their
eagle.’

Togodumnus
signalled the chariot leader and led them in a breakneck charge
toward the battle taking place around the legion’s
standard.

Across the
valley, Legatus Geta saw the danger. There was nothing more
devastating to any force than the loss of their eagle, and though
it was not his own, he would not stand back and watch a comrade
suffer the ultimate humiliation. He signalled for a Cohort to
follow him and charged across the valley to help his
comrade.

Vespasian and a
hundred of his men were fighting desperately to defend their eagle,
outnumbered four to one by screaming warriors, and it was with
relief he saw Geta’s Cohort smash into the flanks of the enemy.
Again, the battle swung as sword cleaved flesh and club smashed
skull. The screaming of man and beast echoed across the plain as
Caratacus deployed even more men, knowing that the whole battle
could revolve around this smaller conflict. Geta had lost his
helmet to a glancing blow from a sword and stood atop a crashed
chariot surrounded by his Cohort, exhorting his men to greater
efforts against the overwhelming numbers.

Caratacus looked
down at the battle, picking out the bright red hair of his brother
as his chariot closed in on Vespasian’s standard. Togodumnus was
within a few metres of his prize and Caratacus knew that the Romans
would falter with the fall of one of their leaders. The hill was
now swarming with his warriors and the two sides were
indistinguishable amongst the fray. Caratacus knew this was the
moment he would fulfil his destiny.

Suddenly, he
looked up at the sky, the light seemingly darker and for a second,
he frowned as he wondered what was happening. The air was thick
with death, as thousands of missiles soared across the valley.
Caratacus was shocked. Surely the enemy risked the death of their
own men with such a volley.

As if to answer
his unspoken question, a division of Roman horns bellowed a
distinctly different tone across the battlefield and hundreds of
legionaries dropped to their knees, each covering themselves with
their shields.

The effect was
devastating. Arrows, spears and lead shot fell on the ranks of
Roman and Celt alike, but being aware of the tactic, the attackers
had reacted instantly to the risk from their own forces and
protected themselves from the hail of death. During the battle,
Geta’s legion had advanced in support of their Legatus and the
supporting Cohorts had brought their weapons within range to
provide the devastating onslaught, and though some legionaries were
killed in the assault, their numbers were minimal whilst the
Catuvellauni on the other hand, fell in their thousands.
Caratacus’s attention turned to his brother. There was still hope.
If they could only seize a standard, they could hold it to
ransom.

----

Togodumnus had
left his chariot and along with the last of his warriors, had
managed to get within a few paces of the legion’s eagle, when a red
cloaked Roman ran across to block his way.

‘
Over my dead body, heathen,’ hissed Vespasian in Latin and he
launched into a straight sword battle with the brother of the King.
Togodumnus had the advantage with the larger sword and forced
Vespasian backwards, the Roman’s shorter sword deflecting the
larger one frantically and without time to respond with a strike of
his own. Seeing an opportunity, Vespasian ducked a blow aimed at
his head and ran into Togodumnus, tackling him to the floor, but
though he had the momentum, the larger warrior got the better of
the Roman and rolled on top of him, grabbing him around the throat
to cut off his airway.

Vespasian’s
strength was fading and he knew he was losing the fight, but as his
consciousness started to ebb, the clamp around his airway suddenly
eased and the look of hatred on his opponent’s face was replaced
with one of painful surprise, as Vespasian slowly pushed his Pugio
deep between the Celt’s ribs and into his lungs. Togodumnus
released his opponent and got to his feet before staggering a few
yards and falling to his knees. He held the wound closed with his
blood-stained hands as he struggled to draw breath. Vespasian stood
up and grabbed the legion’s standard from the Aquilifer. He turned
to Togodumnus.

‘
Is
this what you want barbarian?’ he asked as the mortally wounded
warrior looked up at him.

‘
Well here it is,’ he snarled and thrust the iron tipped staff
bearing the golden eagle deep into his opponents chest, forcing his
body to arch backwards and pinning him to the ground.

All around him
Geta’s reinforcing cavalry were pouring into the fray, followed up
by Cohorts of infantry slaughtering everything in their path.
Caratacus knew the battle was lost, for though there were still
thousands of his warriors fighting the Romans, the momentum had
finally turned his enemy’s way and the fresh troops were wiping out
his exhausted men with impunity.

Caratacus looked
once more at his dead brother impaled by the legion’s standard. His
limp body was bent backwards at the knees and his head hung
unnaturally back, his flaming red hair dangling to the floor,
exposing his throat to the sky.

Vespasian picked
up his Gladius and looked up at Caratacus astride his war horse on
the rise.

‘
Caratacus!’
he screamed, ‘thus lays the fate of
Britannia!’

He turned back
to Togodumnus and with a single stroke, cleaved his head from his
shoulders.

A nearby soldier
picked up the rolling head and thrust it onto the end of his spear
before planting the shaft deep into the ground.

Caratacus turned
his horse away from the grisly scene and rode hard back into the
forest, welcoming the slap of the thin branches across his face as
he tried to wipe out the picture of his brother’s head, impaled
atop a staff alongside the golden eagle of the Romans.

----

Chapter 24

Prydain reached
the scout’s camp and gave the watchword before entering the
perimeter. The scouts did not camp within the stockade of the
legion, but had formed their own bivouac near the river. It was
patrolled by those unlucky to be on guard duty whilst their
comrades celebrated the life and death of their leader.

He made his way
to his tent and gathered some dried food and extra water skins,
placing them into a pair of saddlebags. Taking an extra cape from
someone else’s bed space he made his way to the paddock and was
relieved to recognise the scout on guard.

‘
Hail, Seppus!’ said Prydain brazenly without breaking his
stride.

‘
Where are you going this time of night?’ asked Seppus, as
Prydain started to saddle his own horse.

‘
I’m
wanted up at the fort,’ Prydain lied. ‘Something about an early
morning patrol with my old unit.’

‘
Bad
luck!’ said Seppus. ‘I hear there’s quite a party going on down
there.’

‘
Yeah!’ said Prydain, concentrating on his task. ‘Never mind,
perhaps next time.’

‘
Why
two horses?’ continued Seppus, looking at the extra
tack.

Prydain thought
quickly.

‘
They have a lame mount,’ he said. ‘They need to borrow a
horse.’

‘
Here, let me help you,’ said Seppus and started to saddle the
second animal.

‘
Thanks!’ said Prydain and mounted his horse before taking the
bridle of the second animal and riding casually out of the paddock.
The guard watched him disappear into the darkness and returned to
his post, completely unaware of the plan Prydain was
unfolding.

When Prydain was
certain he was out of sight, he turned back toward the burnt out
village and had almost crossed the plain without any drama, when a
figure approached out of the darkness, obviously the worse for wear
with wine.

‘
Prydain!’ called Cassus drunkenly, ‘there you are. You should
have come with me, these barbarian women are something special.’ He
drunk from his flask and grabbed Prydain’s arm. ‘Come on, get off
your horse, I’ve got one over here, you can have her, I’m
done!’

Prydain
dismounted and after tying the horses to a tree, allowed himself to
be led into the undergrowth. Within seconds, they came across a
naked woman curled up on the bracken, her face swollen and mouth
bleeding from the beating she had obviously received.

‘
Go
on,’ said Cassus. ‘She’s worth it, trust me.’

The woman looked
up in despair, fully expecting another beating at the hands of
these monsters, before being raped again. Prydain hid his disgust
well, not for the girl, but for Cassus.

‘
No!’ said, Prydain coldly, ‘I like my women willing.’ He
turned to his friend. ‘Let her go Cassus, you’ve had your fun, now
take her back to her people. She faces a life of slavery anyway; at
least allow her some dignity now.’

Cassus’s
shoulders slumped before he finally answered.

‘
You
just don’t understand do you?’ he snarled. ‘She is my prize, my
reward and I will take her back when I am good and ready. In the
name of the Gods, Prydain, what is the matter with you?’

‘
Believe me,’ said Prydain, ‘the problem is with you, Cassus.
Have some compassion and let her go.’

‘
No!’

‘
Then you leave me no option.’

Before Cassus
could react, Prydain punched him as hard as he could on the jaw,
knocking him to the floor. Cassus was stunned and tried to get
up.

‘
Sorry, friend,’ said Prydain, ‘but I have had enough of this
madness.’ He drew his Gladius and using the hilt, knocked Cassus
out cold. The woman looked up in fear, struggling to understand the
implications before Prydain indicated she should get
dressed.

‘
Come on,’ he said beckoning her, ‘come with me.’

She donned her
clothes nervously and followed him toward the nearby remains of her
former home. When they reached the hiding place, he pulled back the
cape beneath to reveal the sleeping children.

‘
I
know you don’t understand me,’ he said to the woman, ‘but somehow I
need you to help.’ He picked up the little boy and indicated she
should do the same with the girl. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we don’t
have much time,’ and led her back to where he had left the
horses.

Prydain knew
that when Cassus recovered, he would raise the alarm and a search
would be instigated. The legion wouldn’t stand for deserters and
would move heaven and earth to find him.

Within minutes,
both Prydain and the barbarian woman were astride a horse with a
frightened child wrapped under a cape, and riding as hard as they
dared away from the legion. By midmorning, they had forded the
river and Prydain led the way into unknown territory, knowing only
that he couldn’t go east due to the continued saturation of the
coast by Rome and her allies. Nightfall found them encamped deep in
the centre of a forest and at last, Prydain felt safe enough to
light a fire. He dug out some dried fruit and Buccellatum from his
pouches and shared it out among the group.

When they had
all eaten, they stared at each other in silence. Prydain was
starting to wonder whether he had done the right thing. Here he
was, in a strange land, with a woman and two children who no doubt
hated him with a vengeance. He was exhausted and knew that he had
to rest, but was also aware that the woman was more than capable of
killing him while he slept. He could tie her up, but the children
would probably release her and there was no way he would tie them
up as well. They all sat around the fire and despite his best
efforts, the warmth finally got to him and he fell into the
dreamless sleep of the exhausted.