Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (26 page)

The people cried out in terror as legionaries fell upon them, killing without mercy. As his flanking cohorts had scaled the slope quickest, Artorius halted the First Cohort and took in the scene of death that played out before him. He quickly noted the lack of men of fighting age amongst the throng.

“Sound the recall,” he told his cornicen, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow for a moment.

As the call sounded on his horn, legionaries in the fray immediately ceased killing. Artorius then made his way forward and quickly found Centurion Tyranus, whose Fifth Cohort had assaulted from the right flank.

“There’s nothing but old people, women, and children here!” the pilus prior said with a shake of his head.

“
Hey, we found their druid!” a legionary shouted triumphantly as they dragged a battered old man and threw him at the feet of the master centurion.

“How do you know he’s a druid?” Artorius asked.

The legionary sneered and dropped a basket containing the tops of several charred human skulls.

“We found these in his tent, sir,” the soldier replied.

“Bastard needs to be strung up by his balls,” another legionary scoffed.

“At ease!”
Tyranus barked. He then looked to his master centurion. “What would you have us do, sir?”

“Crucify that one,
along with any of their leaders,” he replied with a nod towards the druid. While moments before he had considered putting the rest to the sword, he was suddenly having doubts. He could not very well release them, and yet he was assailed by visions of his younger self, who would not have hesitated to slay the lot of them. Vespasian rode up on his horse, interrupting his thoughts.

“Why in bloody hades did you cease your attack?” the legate snapped. “I told you to wipe this place out!”

“Sir, we’ve captured their chief druid, who will be crucified,” Artorius explained. “Any warriors and other leaders will meet the same fate.” He paused for a moment, then spoke slowly as a plan formulated in his head, “The slave drivers will be wanting to ply their trade soon enough, and there are ample women and children we can sell to them at a hefty profit. If we then burn the oppida, and take or destroy their food stores, we still meet your overall intent.”

“Feeling a bit merciful, are we?” Vespasian asked as he dismounted his horse and removed his helmet.

“Not at all,” Artorius lied. “Most of the warriors from this settlement have run off to join our enemies. If we simply kill their families, they will be filled with the courage of despair, having nothing left to live for. If they learn that their wives and children are now Roman slaves, then so much greater is their torment.”

“An interesting assessment,” the legate replied, his pragmatic mind turning over everything Artorius had said to him. He then shrugged. “If we crucify every druid we find, that will avenge Sempronius sufficiently, while perhaps dissuading the practice altogether.
Very well, there appear to be several hundred useful slaves from this group. From what I hear, the slave traders arrived not long after the initial wave of the invasion force, so we’ll give them their first taste of business. Any who are too old or unable to travel will be put to the sword.”

“Yes, sir.” Artorius turned about to see a small number of warriors who’d been tasked with defending the oppida.

Several were badly injured, and all bore looks of both despair and utter hatred.

“The lads are gathering wood to make the crucifixes,” Tyranus reported. “There are sufficient poles from their smashed ramparts to do the job.”

They were soon joined by the other cohort commanders, as well as the First Cohort centurions.

“You heard the legate’s orders?” Artorius asked.

“We’ll start segregating the prisoners now,” the Sixth Cohort commander replied.

“One last thing,” Vespasian interrupted as he walked
back over to the men. He pointed to a very young warrior who did not look as badly injured as some of the others. “Spare that one. I want at least one witness to go back to Togodumnus and let him know what we’ve done, and what we will continue to do.”

“You wish us to release an enemy warrior so he can fight us again?” a centurion asked.

“Cut his hand off first,” Vespasian replied nonchalantly. “And keep two of the others alive as well. I want them interrogated thoroughly before we dispose of them.”

Chapter XV
I: The Gathering Storm

Near the River Medway

June
, 43 A.D.

***

The Roman invasion force was at last gathered in one location, ready to strike a decisive blow against their enemies. All four legions, plus auxiliaries were arrayed along the southern side of the river. Across the wide river their foe awaited them.

“Scouts have confirmed what you garnered from your prisoners,” Plautius said to Artorius. “The enemy has gathered all his strength on the far bank.”

The commander-in-chief had called a meeting of all of his senior officers to devise a battle plan with the intent of delivering a single decisive defeat on their enemies. Along with the legion commanders were Tribune Cursor and his senior regimental commanders,
was Admiral Stoppello, whose ships were anchored in the harbor a few miles east, where the river opened into the sea.

“What do we think they’re full strength is?” Sabinus asked Cursor, whose scouts were still riding up and down the river.

“All told, perhaps one-hundred thousand,” the cavalry commander answered, “possibly more. I still have several reconnaissance patrols to the southwest that haven’t reported back yet. They’re also trying to find us a viable ford because, as you can see, where we stand now is damn near impassible.”

“The terrain is wooded in places, but also relatively flat,” Centurion Taurus spoke up, having led one of the scouting missions personally. “They have little cavalry, but what they do have are chariots and lots of them. Some of the lighter ones are probably for carrying archers to harass us; but they also have a number of heavy bastards with large blades protruding from the wheel hubs.”

“No doubt their intent is to use these to break our shield walls,” Vespasian conjectured.

“Well
, if there are any fords that our scouts find,” Plautius added, “you can bet Togodumnus knows about them.”

“Possibly,” Cursor replied. “Remember, these are not his lands. Even our allies among the Cantiaci are uncertain as to whether the river can be crossed safely. Several of them are riding with my remaining patrols.”

“Whatever they find, we need to at least make a show of force here,” Vespasian said.

As the men conferred, a rider stopped just outside the tent. He spoke quickly with the guards at the entrance and was ushered in. He was a cavalryman from Indus’ Horse, and he looked soaked and out of breath.

“Forgive my intrusion, sir,” he said with a sharp salute to Plautius.

“Never mind that,” Plautius replied with an impatient wave. “What news do you bring?”

“We’re still trying to find a place for the legions to cross,” the trooper replied. “However, we did manage to get eyes on the remainder of the enemy force.”

“Well?”

“The Durotriges confederation has joined our enemy. Their warriors were still spread out on the march, but most of them will arrive this evening.”

“How many?” Geta asked.

“We apprised their numbers around forty-thousand, sir.”

The cavalryman’s report brought some stifled groans from the assembled leaders.

“Well, we wanted a decisive battle, and now they’re obliging us,” Vespasian chuckled.

“Are these numbers in addition to the hundred thousand Togodumnus already has assembled?” Geta persisted, ignoring his fellow legate’s attempt at humor. He shook his head when the trooper nodded. “Dam
n it all, they outnumber us three-to-one! And with no viable crossing for the river, plus heavy chariots arrayed against us, we’re looking at a fucking blood bath!”

“Perhaps,” Vespasian shrugged. Despite being slightly younger and less experienced than his peers, the commander of the Second Legion possessed such a level of tactical and strategic intuition that when he spoke, even Plautius listened. He continued, “If your scouts were able to swim across
the river unseen, then we can get at least a sizeable raiding party over to the other side without causing alarm.”

“And what are you proposing t
hey do against a hundred and forty thousand men?” Geta asked. His voice betrayed his doubts. However, he was still hopeful.

“Nothing,” Vespasian answered. “We don’t do shit to their warriors. What we do is eliminate their chariots. Their morale will take a serious blow, to say nothing of the knowledge that they will have to face our legions head-on, once we find out how to get them across.” He then turned to Stoppello. “Admiral, can any of your ships sail these waters?”

“It’s wide enough, though we don’t know for certain how deep the river is,” Stoppello replied. “However, I am reasonably confident that my smaller triremes can get as far as our camp. After that, we risk bottoming out in the shallower depths. What are you suggesting?”

“Fire support,” Vespasian answered, bringing a grin from Plautius.

“I like the way you think,” the commander-in-chief replied. He then directed the naval officer, “Stoppello, a dozen ships loaded for bear with catapults, ready to harry our foe with solid shot and fire.”

“I need two days to prepare,” the admiral stated.
“My triremes only have a single catapult, and to transfer additional siege engines from the bigger ships will take time.”

“Then two days is what you have,” Plautius said. “Meanwhile, we’ll keep searching for viable fording points and gather any additional information we can about our adversaries. That is all.”

The sky was glowing red in the west behind him as Artorius walked over to the riverbank. He was soon joined by Tribune Cursor, who stood with his arms folded across his chest.

“Think your lads can find us a
way across this?” the master centurion asked his friend.

“Even if they can, I doubt it will be practical for forty-thousand men to use all at once,” Cursor replied. “We could always pick up and move to the southwest, in hopes of finding a way around the river. However, I agree with Plautius that our best chance of smashing the barbarians is here. After all, there is nothing to say that they won’t change their minds about fighting us or simply shadow us the whole way around
, ambushing our men once we do find a crossing. No, we must find a way to beat them here.”

“Then I guess a few of us will be getting wet,” Artorius chuckled.
He thought for a few moments before speaking again. “You know, we don’t all have to cross together.”

“What are you thinking?” the tribune asked, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I agree, make a show of force here,” Artorius began. “But if Stoppello is going to be using his ships for fire support, then why not use them to land at least some of our troops to the east?”

“A capital idea,” Vespasian said behind them.

“General, sir,” Artorius said as he and Cursor turned and saluted the legate.

“I came down here to think a little bit, too,” Vespasian said. “But do go on. What else are you proposing, master centurion?”

“Leave two legions here,” Artorius replied. “Have them bear the brunt of the assault, while another launches its attack by ship from the east.”

“And the fourth legion?”

“They can go with the cavalry, find a way across the river, and then envelope the enemy’s western flank.”

“An interesting concept,” Vespasian remarked. “Alright, I’ll mention it to Plautius. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure he knows who to give credit or place blame on.” He winked at his last remark as he made his way back towards the principia.

“You know,” Cursor said, “the reality may be that there simply aren’t any viable crossing points close enough for men carrying heavy weapons and armor.”

“Well
, not with that attitude…sir,” Artorius replied with a short chuckle.

“Artorius!”
The shouted call from Vespasian alerted them, and they turned to see Vespasian standing just outside the large tent, signaling for the master centurion to join him.

“Plautius must think you’re on to something,” Cursor remarked.

The young warrior had struggled to find his way to Togodumnus’ camp, delirious from loss of blood and the shock at having his hand severed with the stump subsequently cauterized with a red hot piece of iron. A small group of Durotriges fighters had found him lingering outside their camp fire soon after they finished their march into the two rivers. Their intent was to join up with Togodumnus in the morning, and these men immediately took the badly injured young man to King Donan. Rains had started to fall, and they beat down on the hut of animal skins the king’s men had erected for him. A fire burned in the center, and the young man was helped into a small wicker chair and given a hide blanket to wrap himself in. One of the camp women brought him some ale.

“Bring him food
, as well,” Donan ordered.

“T…the Romans did this,” the young man said, his voice trembling badly. “I
must f…find King Togodumnus.”

“It’s alright lad, we’re friends of your king,” Donan replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We are join
ing up with him to expel from our lands those bastards who did this to you.”

As he ate, the man told about the horrors inflicted upon them by the invaders, including the horrific machines they used that could spit both fire and stone. His ramblings sounded delusional, which was of little surprise given that he had a bad fever
, and his skin burned to the touch. What Donan did understand was that the Romans were without mercy, taking into slavery all who they did not kill outright. They had also committed a terrible sacrilege by crucifying the village druid. Even in their bloodiest conflicts with hated enemies, no warrior within Britannia was allowed to harm a druid; their sacred persons being inviolable.

“If even half of what he says is true,” a war chief said after the lad had fallen asleep from exhaustion, “then we are facing a different sort of enemy. What demonic monsters are these Romans?”

“Not monsters,” Donan said, shaking his head. “They are still men, though clearly men with neither soul nor honor.”

“We still have bands of warriors
making their journey who are strung out between here and Dunium. I only hope the warriors we do have is sufficient.”

“
As do I,” Donan agreed. “Togodumnus has assembled quite the mighty host, yet I fear that many of these bands of warriors are, at best, unreliable and, at worst, traitorous.”

The Ninth and Twentieth Legions
would soon be breaking down their camps and making ready to march to their assault points. The Second and Fourteenth would remain in place, as they would be attacking their enemy head on across the river. Auxiliary regiments were scattered throughout the lands, already taken by the Romans with only a few infantry cohorts available. Several squadrons of cavalry were dispersed between each battle group to serve as both messengers and mounted support. However, Cursor was sending the majority of his corps to the west. Even if they could not find a suitable bridge or ford, his men could still readily swim their horses across the river. He had also placed these men under the command of Centurion Taurus, as he had elected to personally lead the pending nighttime raid against the enemy chariots.

As evening fell upon the enormous camp, with the sun glowing red in the west, Admiral Stoppello arrived, along with several of his ships’ captains. Accompanying them was a company of what appeared to be Syrian archers. Magnus’ face broke into the broadest grin Artorius had ever seen as the Norseman raced over to the advancing group. It was only then that Artorius spotted Achillia, who Magnus took into his arms and kissed passionately. Though the sight made him miss Diana, Artorius was happy for his friend as he watched Magnus lead Achillia away towards his tent.