Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (33 page)

Taurus nodded in reply, barking out a series of subsequent orders to his subordinate leaders. Cursor then galloped his horse back to where the Ninth Legion was making a slow, yet deliberate pursuit. He found both Sabinus and Plautius riding in front of the advancing legionaries, along with an ala of their indigenous cavalry.

“Sir, we are channeling the enemy towards the river,” Cursor reported. “I’ve ordered my men not to attack, except for any stragglers that break away from their main body. As long as they are lulled into thinking they have a means of escape, they’ll continue to run and not directly engage us.”

“Well done, Cursor,” Plautius said. He turned to his fellow legate. “Sabinus, the Ninth Legion will press on to the northwest until it reaches the river, then turning to continue the pursuit of the barbarians. Hopefully Vespasian, Geta, and Artorius will have driven off the remnants of their opposition by then.”

“Barring any unforeseen disaster, it would seem we have a total victory in the making,” Sabinus said with a smile.

“Well, let’s not congratulate ourselves until it is over,” Plautius replied. “Cursor, I’ll ride with you. Sabinus, carry on.”

They saw the glowing balls of fire sailing in high arcs, well before they caught sight of the fleeing barbarians or Stoppello’s ships in the river. Their enemies were caught in a hateful position; if they stayed close to the river they were subjected to the hell storm of flaming catapult shot and arrows from the warships, and if they wandered too close to the Roman cavalry, they were quickly dispatched with lance and spatha. They also knew that the Ninth Legion was close behind them in pursuit. Their only chance at life was forward, towards the bridge.

A flaming pot smashed ag
ainst a warrior’s head, exploding in a spray of liquid fire that doused those closest to him. Shrieks of pain and terror echoed with even more hapless souls stumbling too close to the bank, only to be subjected to a storm of burning arrows unleashed from the nearest Roman vessel. Several more fell dead or badly injured. Those who still lived knew not who they should hate more, the Romans who inflicted death upon them or Togodumnus and the Catuvellauni, who had dragged them into this conflict.

Artorius and his legionaries saw the remnants of the enemy force engaging Geta and Vespasian around the same time his cohorts on the extreme left spotted the Tamesis River
; those barbarians who had not already fled were being hemmed in on three sides. The master centurion then saw one of the tribunes riding over to him.

“Artorius, there is a large bridge about a mile from here,” the man said excitedly.
“The barbarians appear to be making a run for it, although they are still in somewhat good order and not yet broken, despite being pressured by the Second and Fourteenth Legions.”

“Once they spot us, they’ll break for sure,” Artorius conjectured. “Have the three cohorts on the left head straight for the bridge, I’ll lead the rest and hit these fuckers in the flank.”

The tribune nodded and rode off.

Artorius turned to his First Cohort centurions, who marched directly behind him. “Are your legs warmed up yet?”

“Just give the word,” Praxus said.

“Let us have at those bloody twats!” a nearby legionary spat.

Artorius drew his gladius and grinned sinisterly.
“Twentieth Legion!”
he shouted.
“At the double-time…march!

The cornicen sounded the
order with trumpet blasts, alerting all who had not been within earshot of the master centurion.

Unlike the previous day, where the legion had been fighting along a much shorter frontage, here his troops were spread out in a single line of cohorts.
There was also greater spacing between individual soldiers with overlapping files, in part to give the barbarians a false sense of just how many of them there were, and also to allow ease of movement during the advance.

“There they are!” a legionary next to him
soon shouted excitedly.

Artorius could just make out the mass of Catuvellauni warriors, who were battling it out with the Fourteenth Legion.

“Now they’ve spotted us,” the master centurion grinned. He then lashed out at their foe, “Feel free to break any time, you cowardly bastards!” He had it stuck in his head that their adversaries were practically beaten and would run in terror at the sight of another legion advancing on them.

They were approaching at an angle, to the left-rear of the Fourteenth Legion, and Artorius was surprised when he saw a large mass of warriors break away from the fray and start rushing towards them.

“Well, well,” he said calmly, “it seems they wish to play after all.
Javelins ready! First Cohort…compress files!”

As his men lifted their pila to throwing position, they shifted to their left and right, closing the gaps between individual soldiers. As the cohorts on either side of them conducted the same maneuver, it
created an even wider gap between each formation. And yet, the Roman Army was a highly-drilled and disciplined force, and with a short series of orders from the cohort commanders, all units started to converge on the center. They were almost in position as the Catuvellauni closed the distance and gave a unified war cry as they broke into a sprint.

“Front rank…throw!”
As had happened so many times throughout Artorius’ career, a salvo of heavy pila sailed through the air into the ranks of the barbarians.

The Catuvellauni, having faced the Romans before, immediately halted their charge and dropped down behind their shields.
Though their shields were little more than small oblong wicker or painted boards, they still offered some protection and yet, while casualties were not as drastic as before, what the pilum storm did do was deprive many of their enemy of the use of their shields. Javelin points slammed through wicker and board, the pliable shafts bending and wrenching the shields from their owners’ hands. And as the pilum had a tendency to bend, it also made them impossible to throw back.

“Gladius…draw!”
Artorius shouted, blood pumping through his veins.

“Rah!”
his legionaries shouted. A sharp snap sounded as their weapons flew from their scabbards.

Artorius took a last deep breath before giving his next order.
“Charge!”

While legionaries were normally unnervingly silent just prior to closing with their enemy, his men gave a battle cry loud enough to be heard in Elysium. The barbarians towards the front of the horde suddenly found themselves virtually defenseless, deprived as many of them were of their shields. The Romans smashed into them with brazen fury, Artorius tilting his shield and slamming the bottom edge into the unsuspecting face of an enemy warrior. The man dropped his club, screaming in pain as the heavy shield smashed his nose and knocked out several of his teeth. The master centurion lunged forward and slammed his g
ladius through the man’s throat.

Rage consumed Artorius as he and his men brawled with the host of Catuvellauni warriors. The ghastly murder of Sempronius, as well as the death of Camillus
, fueled his anger. Axes and clubs hammered his shield, sending numbing shocks up his arm and shoulder. And yet he continued to fight, smashing away with the boss and edge of his shield, while stabbing with the gladius in fury. The line continued to advance, his men matching his wrath. It was then he realized they’d been fighting for almost ten minutes at a blistering pace, and he needed to withdraw his front rank.

“Set for passage-of-lines!”

Despite the initial shock of facing a fresh legion of Roman soldiers, Togodumnus was confident his army could prevail. Though many of their so-called ‘allies’ had abandoned the field without a fight, the king was glad to be rid of them. Warriors had told him that Banning and his men had fled with scarcely landing a blow. Once the issue with the Romans had been decided, he would deal with them one by one. The Silures had remained loyal, few as there were at the moment. Once they could be certain as to the safety of their own lands, hordes of warriors from the mountains would spill forth onto the enemy occupied territories. The Durotriges had also kept their vow and continued to fight alongside the Catuvellauni, despite having one of their reinforcing armies scattered by an errant Roman legion.

“The Romans continue to drive us back, brother,” Caratacus said.

The two kings now sat astride their great horses, watching the battle unfold. Even with the additional legion that had come up from the southwest, the battle was still a virtual stalemate, which suited Togodumnus.

“We outnumber them still,” he replied. “And once they think they’ve driven us to the bridge, we will withdraw across and dare them to come at us.”

“Over there!” Caratacus said with alarm, point to the east with his sword.

To their dismay they could see the fleeing mass of what had
once been the left wing of their army.

“Their cowardice will become infectious,” Togodumnus growled.
He then ordered his brother, “Stay here and rally our men, I will head for the bridge and turn those bastards around myself!”

As he reached the edge of the River Tamesis, the Catuvellauni king first caught sight of not just the Roman cavalry that pursued his broken force, but also several warships that sailed parallel to the fleeing mass, firing their catapults and volleys of arrows into their ranks. Seething with rage, Togodumnus turned his horse about and rode the short distance to the bridge, placing himself in the way of any who would attempt to flee without his permission.

“Lost!” a warrior shouted. “The battle is lost!”

Others called out similar lamentations, which only served to fuel the king’s anger.

“Turn back, you fucking cowards!”
he screamed at them. “Your king stands, and you will stand with him!”

His words shamed a number of warriors into ceasing in their flight. Unfortunately, this only made them a
n easier target for the nearest warship, whose catapult unleashed a fireball that burst amongst them, dousing several in searing flames. As the warriors screamed in pain, the king’s horse reared up at the sight, throwing him off before sprinting away.

As the king staggered to his feet, the same vessel began to turn so as to place its broadside towards the bridge. Scores of archers lined the rails, loosing volleys into those who attempted to make their way across. Togodumnus thought
, at first, that if he could rally these warriors, they could, in fact, attack the nearest warship. They were mostly decent swimmers and could certainly overwhelm the slow-moving ship, should they be able to board.

Before the king could attempt his plan, a flaming arrow slammed into the side of his neck. He gasped, his mouth agape as he clutched at the arrow, the burning shaft scorching his hand. His warriors, recovering from the shock of the fireball, stood in horror as a further pair of arrows buried themselves in his chest and side, driving him to his knees. As his eyes clouded over, Togodumnus knew that his demise would bring about the death of both the alliance, as well as the Catuvellauni kingdom.

Caratacus, who had not seen his brother fall, was still rallying his men near the Romans’ battle line. Though unable to fully stem the tide of fleeing men, the force of his personality and
extreme courage was able to maintain some semblance of order as his men withdrew either along the main bridge or along the southern bank, heading west. The battle may have been lost, but the man who did not know he was now king of his people was determined to fight on.