by James Mace
“We cannot stand against the Romans alone!” a delegate emphasized. “If we do not unite, they will roll right over each of our kingdoms, one by one. Will you sit back and watch your kinsmen fall under their oppression as slaves?”
“Kinsmen you say,” Cartimandua replied before taking a sip of mead. “And tell me this, did you feel the same fraternal affection towards the Atrebates when you slaughtered and enslaved many of their people? Or how about King Verica’s great hall, which Caratacus had burned to the ground? And what of those nobles who your druids used as human sacrifices?”
“My lady,” the emissary replied, “now is not the time for us to squabble amongst ourselves. The Romans…”
“I know perfectly well what the Romans are capable of,” Cartimandua interrupted. She rose and walked slowly around the table. “And if I were to send warriors to your aid and your alliance is still defeated, what then becomes of my people? Will Caratacus help us defend Brigantes when the Romans raze our villages to the ground? He finds us an ally and friend when it best suits him, yet I would not trust him as far as one can spit.”
“We must be diplomatic…” Venutius started to say.
The queen slammed her hand onto the table, silencing him, while never taking her eyes off the Catuvellauni messengers. “Go now, and tell your king that Brigantes sides with neither Togodumnus nor Rome.”
The emissary rose from the table in disgust and started out of the hall. At the entrance, he turned and spat on the floor in contempt. In truth, they had had little luck garnering support from the larger tribes, including the Iceni, whose lands were directly south of Brigantes, along the coastline. Still, this did little to ease their contempt for Cartimandua, given that her husband wished to join the alliance and was prevented from sending warriors by her alone. The consort, infuriated with his wife, rose from the table and followed the men out.
________
Chapter Endnote:
1 – Canterbury, England
Chapter XIII: Ashes from the Oath
Kingdom of the Atrebates
May, 43 A.D.
***
Six weeks had passed since the invasion force landed. Plautius had tasked the Ninth Legion to finish the fort at Durovernum Cantiacorum while the Fourteenth Legion pressed forward a few miles further inland. All told, the new Roman province of Britannia extended no more than twenty miles from the coast. What he had acquired so far was little more than a foothold on the isle. What frustrated the commander-in-chief was not fierce local resistance, but rather the lack thereof.
“Where the hell are they?” Plautius grumbled as he stood with his arms folded across his chest. Below he could see an open plain of tall grass, with groves of trees scattered throughout.
Auxilia skirmishers were advancing towards a farm settlement in the center of the valley. On the low ridge, just behind where Plautius and his senior officers watched, legionary cohorts were arrayed in battle formation, ready to advance should the auxiliaries run into trouble. But as they had not been so much as shot at by a single archer since landing, the soldiers’ greatest enemy had become boredom.
“The lads are ready for a brawl,” Geta said. “The Second and Twentieth Legions have been engaged by sporadic bands of skirmishers, but that’s about it. Hell, no one even put up a fight when they marched into Atrebates! I think our force is too concentrated for the enemy to risk engaging us.”
“Which means the tribes are still divided,” Plautius observed. “Were they a unified coalition, they would doubtless strike one of our task forces while we’re still split up. The men may hate the incessant tedium, but if our adversaries are unable to mass against us, then dividing and conquering them will be all the more easy.”
“We will be rolling into summer soon,” Geta remarked. “Any native mobilizations will take a couple months to assemble, and since their campaign season is so short due to lack of logistics, then I suspect we will not have to wait them out for long.”
“And yet our intelligence gathering is fucking atrocious!” Plautius spat. “There may be dozens of tribes on this isle, but I’ll be damned if I can tell any of them apart.”
“Tribune Cursor has scattered reconnaissance patrols ten miles out, accompanied by Cantiaci guides. At least we can get an idea of the terrain our enemy may use, if and when they finally decide to face us.”
As the men spoke, an auxilia centurion rode up on his horse and saluted.
“The village is cleared, sir,” he said. “Our guides confirmed they are Cantiaci farmers. They say the River Medway is not far from here, beyond that are the lands of the Catuvellauni.”
“Hmm,” Plautius though aloud. “Have they seen any signs of enemy warriors?”
“They say they haven’t, sir,” the centurion replied, shaking his head.
“Of course they haven’t,” Geta grumbled, not believing the report.
“Most of the locals will prove useless for intelligence,” Plautius surmised. “However, as long as they are docile and do not get in our way, that is fine. We’ll concentrate our forces here and see if, perhaps, our continued presence will not goad the Catuvellauni into facing us. And if it doesn’t, then we will cross the river and burn their lands until it does.”
“Venutius should give that little bitch a good whipping!” Caratacus growled upon hearing news from the emissaries who returned from Brigantes.
“Their people are split on whether or not to join us,” Togodumnus remarked. “At least half the warriors side with Venutius, yet they will not move as long as Cartimandua forbids it. That vile woman is nothing but a coward.”
“No,” Archantael said, joining the men. “She is no coward. She is an opportunist. But all is not lost, my friends. For we do still have ample allies. I bring word from the Corieltauvi.”
“They have never been our friends,” Togodumnus scoffed.
“True,” the druid replied, “but then neither have they been your enemies. Your rapport with each other has been one of indifference, yet now they come to face the common enemy. They send word that they come with warriors.”
“That fellow, Banning, is of the Corieltauvi,” Caratacus said. “Perhaps his brazen attempts to fight the Romans on the beaches proved useful after all.”
“And you do have the Durotriges, Dumnonian, and Belgae,” Archantael added, “all willing to serve you, noble Togodumnus, in battle against the Romans.”
“The Dumnonian are an ancient and noble house,” Togodumnus said. “And King Donan of the Durotriges has proven to be a faithful friend. How many total warriors do they bring?”
“At least sixty-thousand,” Archantael replied. “I called upon the gods to send us allies, and they have answered. But now they will demand a sacrifice for their favor.”
“And they shall have it,” Caratacus confirmed. He then turned to his brother. “The Roman forces to the south are still separated. One legion is in Atrebates; no doubt making a great show of restoring their king. No matter, I will reclaim those lands soon enough. The other is making its way north, supported by at least one regiment of cavalry. It is time our enemies shed tears of blood, and we will give the gods their sacrifice of human flesh.”
Togodumnus nodded in reply, then signaled for the druid to leave them. “Walk with me, brother.”
The meeting hall was shrouded in a grove of trees, yet extending down a small slope into the valley below, a great camp was emerging. The campaign season was upon them, and King Togodumnus had sent a decree that every available man and boy of fighting age was to rally to his call. That they would be fighting a foreign interloper, rather than native tribes that they shared at least some kinship with, had brought much enthusiasm and even more fighting men than even Togodumnus had reckoned.
“Your hit-and-run tactics against the Romans cause them some annoyance,” the king conjectured, “but it won’t stop them. And if we rely on those alone, we risk alienating the people who would brand us as cowards for refusing to stand and fight them decisively.”
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br /> “With all of our warriors and immediate allies,” Caratacus observed, “we have nearly ninety-thousand men under arms. From what our scouts have reported on the Roman strength, that alone gives us a two-to-one advantage. If Archantael is correct, and King Donan’s confederation brings an additional sixty-thousand, we will have enough to sweep the Romans back into the sea!”
“The army will be vast,” his brother concurred, “but we will not be able to keep so many men fed and in the field for more than a month or so. Our enemies are converging north, and I suspect they are headed for the great river1. It runs into the sea and would be of strategic value to them. The river to the south2 serves as the boundary between my kingdom and the Cantiaci who, like despicable cowards, have pledged allegiance to Rome.”
“I will send most of our warriors there,” Caratacus remarked. “The Romans are anxious for battle even more than we are. If we mass on the far side of the river, they will have no choice but to come to us where we will have the advantage.”
“And while you bring our fighters to the land between the rivers, I will take a thousand men and attain the gods their sacrifice.” Togodumnus then paused. There was something else he had been meaning to tell his brother for some time. “Keep rallying our allies. I may be king, but you are the great warrior who can unify the tribes of this isle. You have a weapon that is even greater than your axe, and that is your voice. Men, even kings, listen to you. It was you who brought the Silures to our cause, and I believe it is because of you that King Donan also comes. I see greatness in you. You were only denied the right to rule our people because of our dates of birth.”
“Brother, I have always served you loyally,” Caratacus emphasized. “I am in your debt for using your own men to secure me a kingdom amongst the Atrebates. And by defeating the Romans and sending what’s left of them back to the continent cowering like whipped dogs, I will make good on my obligations.”
Togodumnus then dismissed his brother and went to find the chief druid. He found him in his hut, sharpening one of many long knives that he used whenever he needed to perform a sacrifice to the gods. The crude shelves were lined with clay jars filled with pungent herbs and other foul-smelling components. Togodumnus was happy not to know their origin.
“You will accompany me,” he said. “Together we will find our sacrifice for the gods.”
The Atrebates were at first fearful of the armored soldiers who rode into the settlement that served as their capitol before the conquest by the Catuvellauni. While wealthy leaders amongst their people may have a sword and basic mail armor, every single soldier who marched with the Romans carried a sword and wore armor. Though these men were all cavalry, it was the empire’s infantry that was even more fearsome. In addition to banded plate armor that seemed impenetrable, every man also carried a large curved rectangular shield, painted in patterns of red and gold with a brass metal boss in the center. That they fought side by side, forming their shields into a wall, meant that most of their enemies never got close enough to test their armor against whatever weapons they may bear.
As villagers and elders gathered in the town square, whose market had been cleared in anticipation, they saw three men riding at the head of the column of Roman soldiers. In the center was their general, who wore a polished breastplate, shaped like a muscular human chest. His highly ornate helmet had a large crest that ran front-to-back, and he wore a dark red cloak over his left shoulder. To his right rode Verica, the last free king of Atrebates, and on his left, Verica’s great-nephew.
“Our king has returned!” an elder said in rapt anticipation, eliciting cheers from the assembled peoples.
Vespasian dismounted and strolled towards the center of the large square. While his legion encamped about twenty miles to the east, he had taken a regiment of cavalry, along with a single cohort of legionaries, to pay visit to the kingdom of Atrebates, which flanked the western edge of their advance. Troopers fanned out on either side of him, creating a large empty space. The smell was terrible, and the legate reckoned this place was where livestock were slaughtered and sold. It stunk of excrement and rotting flesh, making his stomach turn.
“A little Romanizing will change that,” he said quietly to himself. Even in the most civilized of imperial cities, where the smell from meat butchering and produce markets was pungent, at least there were proper means of disposal, to say nothing for the sewage systems that would flush away human waste. Vespasian figured that the building of a proper sewage system alone would decrease disease and increase life expectancy exponentially.
A raised platform used for the town crier, as well as for showing slaves during market, stood off to one side. Soldiers cleared the space around this, and Vespasian wordlessly mounted, accompanied by Verica, Cogidubnus, and a local guide who would act as an interpreter for the Romans.
“People of Atrebates!” Vespasian began. He spoke slowly, pausing frequently to let the interpreter translate and to gauge the people’s reactions. “You have been liberated from the usurper, Caratacus, by the divine power of Emperor Claudius Caesar of Rome. Your former ruler has graciously abdicated in favor of his great-nephew, who now leads you. Atrebates is now a client state of the Roman Empire, and I present to you your king, Tiberius Claudius Cogidubnus!”
Cogidubnus stepped forward to address the crowd, which was still unnervingly quiet. He had partially ‘Romanized’ his name, as a means of showing his allegiance to the emperor who restored him to his throne. This strange merging of names was his way of showing unity between Atrebates and Rome. He spoke at length to the assembled elders and villagers; the crowd continuing to grow as he talked. Vespasian could not understand a word that was spoken, though the interpreter assured him that the new king of Atrebates was imploring his subjects to thank Rome for her generosity, and that they should be thankful for their salvation from a vicious tyrant.
“He’s laying it on thick,” Vespasian muttered. For all he knew, Cogidubnus could have been calling him every insult known to his people; but as long as they understood their lot and obeyed their new masters, he could have cared less. After a few minutes, Verica stepped forward and shouted a loud acclamation that, in turn, was echoed by those in the square. This caused Vespasian to jump, for it was the first time the people had uttered more than a few stifled words amongst each other. The people then collectively knelt before their new king. Verica, being rather infirm and unable to kneel, gave a deep bow instead. The crowd soon dispersed and went about their business as if nothing of significance had just transpired.
“That’s it then?” Centurion Taurus, who had accompanied Vespasian, asked.
“Your average peasant could give a vat of piss who rules them,” the legate explained. “Whether it’s Caratacus or Cogidubnus by way of Emperor Claudius, all they care about is being left relatively alone to live their lives as they see fit. If we left and Caratacus regained power, they would most likely swear the same fealty to him once more.”
The formalities complete, Vespasian decided to take a walk through the village. A small column of dismounted troopers accompanied him and Cogidubnus. The king appeared relieved, but also on edge.
“Something vexes you?” the legate asked.
“If I may speak freely,” Cogidubnus replied, “I am placed in a tenuous position. I may be king, but I am still a servant of Caesar.”
“You could remain in exile,” Vespasian retorted. “And know that Rome did not have to restore you to the throne. However, it is far more amicable for all that your people have their own ruler, and that you remain a client king. Send the required tin and silver every spring and no Roman soldiers will step foot within your lands uninvited. You will serve as a buffer between us and the unconquered lands to the north and west. And I promise you, as not only the first king to agree to Roman rule, but also the one who brought us here in the first place, the emperor intends to be very generous with you and your people.”
“And for that I am grateful,” Cogidubnus replied. “Please pardon
me if my expressions showed ingratitude. I was simply stating that this will take some getting used to; my people serving me, while I serve Caesar. You will also forgive me if I do not accompany your legions for the time being. My people need their king.”
“That they do,” Vespasian concurred. “You most likely will not see any Roman bureaucrats until at least next spring, what with the region still unstable and many kingdoms still extremely hostile to our presence.”
“And who will these bureaucrats be?” the king asked tentatively.
“Of course there will be those responsible for tax collection,” Vespasian replied. “However, there will also be plenty of builders and engineers. And the first thing I would recommend is having them install a proper sewage system. No king should live in shit and squalor.”
Cogidubnus smiled at this last remark. He admired this particular Roman, who was but a couple years older than he. And despite their vast differences in culture and experience, he truly viewed Vespasian as a friend. Having spent the better part of three years in and around Rome itself, Cogidubnus had seen for himself just what their civilization and advanced technology could bring to a nation. And if Rome was willing to bring such prosperity to his people, then he was content to serve as a client king of Caesar.
________
Chapter Endnotes:
1 – River Thames
2 – River Medway
Chapter XIV: An Unholy Sacrifice
***
The trek north was slow for the Twentieth Legion, stretched as they were in a long column that extended more than a mile back down the narrow dirt road. Vespasian had heard rumor that a massive army was being assembled to meet them, someplace to the north, near a great river. The Second Legion was approximately a day’s march to the southwest, and Artorius’ orders from Vespasian had been to take the Twentieth to the northeast, where Plautius and the rest of the army were expected to meet them. Sabinus and the Ninth Legion were to suspend building activities around Durovernum Cantiacorum and had joined up with the Fourteenth Legion and a large number of auxiliary regiments.