by James Mace
“And have you?” Artorius asked. “It must be difficult to forgive those who continue to conquer foreign lands, and who are as ruthless as ever in both battle and subjugation of other peoples.”
“Sometimes it is not possible to forgive,” Alaric surmised. “But if I can forgive even one person, then that is something.”
“You understand, I am still a soldier of Rome,” Artorius replied, comprehending his meaning. “I, too, heard the Nazarene’s message, but that does not stop me from doing my duty. And whether I like it or not, that duty often involves killing.”
“I cannot judge one way or the other what you or the legions do in this campaign,” Alaric said. “As my queen seeks friendship with Rome, then Alaric of the Brigantes must become a Roman ally. As for Alaric of the Marsi, while I can never forget or put entirely behind me our people’s violent history, I know that further hatred is not the answer. And so I forgive you, Centurion Artorius, soldier of Rome.”
Chapter XVII: Mighty Rivers Run
***
“Second Legion will cross here,” Vespasian said the next day, nodding towards the shallow crossing hidden in a thick grove of trees. The woods and undergrowth were so dense, it was little wonder no one ever bothered to check and see if this particular point of the river was shallow enough for man and horse to cross. An auxiliary infantryman was grinning broadly as he waded out into the center, which came just up to his chest.
“The current is still deceptively strong,” a centurion noted as the auxiliary soldier was pulled under, frantically surfacing a minute later, about fifty feet further downstream. “We should still use the pontoon boats to get across.”
The men of the Second and Fourteenth Legions had been felling trees and constructing small rafts to create a pontoon bridge over the past two days. Leadership had also been scouting the riverbank in order to find the most viable place for launching that allowed enough tree cover to keep their movement concealed, while also being passable enough for legionaries to execute the operation at night.
“We’ll have a couple of our ablest swimmers drag ropes across for the men to lash the pontoons to,” the legate directed. He turned to Artorius. “The Twentieth will head west, up the river. There the woods are dense enough that you can get the entire legion across without anyone noticing. Are you sure about your plan?”
“It’s the best we can do,” the master centurion replied with a shrug.
“In the very least you can provide a blocking force,” Vespasian noted, “as well as preventing additional enemy reinforcements from reaching this place.”
The legate had originally considered altering the plan and keeping the Twentieth Legion where it was. However, he dismissed this when he considered that having even two legions in such a confined space was going to prove cumbersome, let alone three. Artorius made note of this as well.
“At least this way the Twentieth Legion can act as a mobile force and still find a way to crawl up Togodumnus’ ass,” he remarked.
The Ninth Legion had departed before dawn and was uniting with Admiral Stoppello’s fleet along the coast at the enormous mouth of the river. They had roughly eighteen miles to cover. Even with the lack of viable roadways, they were still expected to reach the coast by late afternoon. The remaining auxiliary infantry cohorts were part of the right wing division as well, along with approximately half of Tribune Cursor’s cavalry corps. The Twentieth Legion would begin its move at dusk in order to mask its movement. Artorius and Geta then finalized the last few details of the battle plan with Vespasian, to whom Plautius had given overall control of the center and left wing.
As the sun set, Artorius took his place at the head of the legion. He had dispersed the equite tribunes throughout the column in order to coordinate the large mass of soldiers, should they become disoriented or scattered. With the only road consisting of a narrow fisherman’s path that was, perhaps, wide enough for two to three men to walk abreast, Artorius had directed the legion to form two additional columns that would parallel the path and cut directly through the large forests.
The master centurion mounted his horse with the ever-present Nathanial walking next to him, taking the reins whenever Artorius needed to dismount. Camillus walked next to him, carrying the eagle aloft. There was no fanfare of trumpets nor any shouted orders echoed down the columns. Artorius simply started along on his horse at a slow walk, legionaries eventually falling in step behind him. He kept a measured pace, as the columns to his left had a far more arduous trek through the woods in the dark.
Those at the head of each column carried torches, not just to provide light for the guides, but also so that they could orient off each other. Tribunes regularly passed messages along to Artorius, and several times they had to practically halt the entire legion as they clawed their way through some of the more impassible thickets of brush and undergrowth. It felt like it took an hour just to go the first mile. Fortunately for them, as the river wound its way south, the ground opened up. The legion was able to spread out and speed up its pace.
“The rest of the trek on this side of the river should go smoothly enough,” Artorius said to Camillus. “Troopers from Indus’ Horse said where the trees become thick again is where there is a narrow enough place for us to cross.”
“I only hope it is more passable on the other side,” the aquilifer noted. “We do little good if we’re confined to these damned forests the entire trek.”
Artorius said no more, knowing his friend shared the same concerns he did. Many confined areas prevented the legions from forming battle lines, and having no real idea as to the lay of the land was maddening. He surmised that if Togodumnus was electing to fight the Romans in this region, then the ground must be fairly open in order for him to accommodate his own massive army. Of course, that was all conjecture. For the moment, all he could do was follow the river until he found a place to cross, while hoping it would not take so long as to do the Vespasian’s assault force any good.
It was after dark, and Caratacus sat outside his small tent up on a rise of ground overlooking the valley below, which was dotted with thousands of campfires. The coming fog was already obscuring the wood line along the river, and he feared that his brother was mistaken to think the Romans would not attempt to cross over at night. The woods on the far side shielded most of their camp from view, even from Caratacus’ high vantage point. The best they could tell was that Romans still occupied the camp and had not moved. Still, between the thick forests and the river as obstacles, detailed reconnaissance was virtually impossible for either side. Two enormous armies faced each other, separated by only a short expanse of water, and yet blind to each other’s actual strength and disposition.
He took some comfort from the vast number of fires that burned in the valley, around each huddled a group of warriors who would be ready to give their enemy the decisive battle both sides so desperately wanted. And yet, even the numbers of fighting men made him uneasy.
“Can’t sleep, brother?” Togodumnus asked as he knelt down to join him, wrapped in a blanket of animal skins. “I confess that slumber is deprived of me this night, too.”
“I worry about the stability of our alliance,” Caratacus replied, deciding to forego his concerns about the Romans making a night crossing.
Togodumnus had already scoffed at the notion, and further stated that even if the Romans did manage to pull off such an impossibility, that just meant they had less time to wait before smashing them into oblivion.
“They are anxious, and the longer Rome delays, the more of them that may decide to abandon the campaign and go home. And there are those who refuse to follow the orders of any but their own war chiefs, many of whom are damn near hostile towards us.”
“I admit I have little faith in many of our so-called friends,” Togodumnus replied. “The Silures are the only ones I know we can rely upon, and yet they are few in number. The Durotriges mean well, but many of them are still miles from here. King Donan assures me they are coming wi
th all possible speed, and more of them do arrive every day. As for the rest…well, they did come to this place with the intent of fighting the Romans, and for now that is enough. Once our chariots smash into their compressed ranks, the legions will be scattered and our warriors can finish them off. Those who have refused to ally with us, the Brigantes and Iceni to name a few, will be diminished in power and influence in our lands. Even our most reluctant allies will renew their calls for friendship, seeing the power of our warriors unleashed.”
“Venutius of the Brigantes wishes to join us,” Caratacus noted. “It’s his bitch of a wife who is queen and simply waiting to see who wins before choosing sides. I have considered taking a band of warriors and helping Venutius wrest control of Brigantes from Cartimandua, once and for all.”
“A bold move,” Togodumnus concurred. “And one that certainly has merit. However, that, my brother, is for another day. Once the invaders are defeated, we will be in a much greater position to dictate the ruling of these lands.” He gave Caratacus a friendly smack on the shoulder as he stood and returned to his tent. Caratacus simply sat and watched the valley below. Off to his left he could see the camps of various tribes who had committed warriors to the cause; and though he could not see the sea in the distance, he knew their alliance’s force stretched all the way to the mouth of the river. In that he took some solace, hoping that by the morrow their sheer force of numbers would break the Romans, should they finally decide to attack. Togodumnus had accepted risk in keeping his armies massed together under the assumption the legions would come to them. However, he did base this on the knowledge that if the Romans simply wished to wait them out, then they never would have left the security of the lands they had already conquered. They would have dug in and waited, rather than coming to them. No, the invaders were looking for a battle, and now they simply had to wait for them to make the first move.
Caratacus also thought back to Archantael’s sacrificing of the young Roman officer. Whether he believed in the power of the druids or not, his warriors did, and the chief druid had promised them victory ‘at the land between the two rivers’. There was nothing else for it, and as his eyes finally started to grow heavy, the Catuvellauni war chief and one-time usurper of Atrebates allowed sleep to come.
“This looks like the place,” Artorius said as he held a torch over the water. “The water is too deep to wade across, but at least the current is calmer here, and it is a shorter distance to the far bank.”
“With all due respect, old friend, I’d like to know what in Odin’s name you think you’re doing?” Magnus asked as Artorius stripped out of his armor and tunic.
Lying near the Norseman were several great coils of rope that his men had spent the better part of the previous afternoon tying together.
“If I may flatter myself, I am one of the ablest swimmers in the entire legion,” Artorius replied. “And I cannot ask one of my men to do something I am not willing to do myself. Just be sure you stay with it and make sure the ropes don’t get hung up on anything on this side of the bank. I daresay, even with the calmer current I’ll be a ways downstream by the time I get across.”
Refusing to hear any more words of protest from his centurion, Artorius tied two lengths of cord around his waist. These were smaller and would be easier to carry across than dragging the heavy ropes. They, in turn, were tied to the thick coils they would use as a makeshift bridge. His feet sunk halfway up his calves into the thick, boggy mud; each step a chore as the muck sucked to his legs. The ground abruptly fell off as he stepped into the actual river, falling face-first with a hard splash. He lurched to the surface, thankful that, in the pitch black of night, none of his men had witnessed his clumsiness.
“You alright?” Magnus asked, hearing his friend’s fall.
“Nothing wounded by my pride,” Artorius replied with a grim chuckle as he continued to wade forward. After a few meters, the water came up over his chest, and he leapt forward, swimming with long, deliberate strokes, while trying not to concern himself too much over the current that was deceptively fast. He felt the ropes pulling on his waist as several of his men kept them taught, lest they get swept away and hung up on trees and river undergrowth.
Though it was only a couple hundred meters across, Artorius was exhausted from the exertion by the time he reached the far bank. With the ropes extended and dragging in the river, they felt like they weighed a ton, and he found he could only crawl on his hands and knees up the sandy embankment. He, at last, pulled himself upright, holding onto the branches of a leaning tree. He unbound the first cord from his waist and started pulling on it rapidly, his men on the other side keeping tension as the main rope itself started to uncoil. They managed to keep it just above the waterline, and within a minute Artorius had the first thick rope in hand. He wrapped it several times around the nearest tree that looked stable enough to support the weight of crossing legionaries without uprooting itself.
On the Roman side of the river, Magnus waited impatiently, only allowing himself to breathe a sigh of relief when he saw the second coil being pulled across. This one would be tied off at a higher level, allowing legionaries a handhold as they crossed over.
“Secure the bottom rope and make sure it’s tight,” he said quietly. He then turned to Optio Parthicus. “Get your men ready to cross. Only go two to three at a time. Too much weight on those ropes and you’ll sink right into the current; never mind the possibility of uprooting whatever Artorius has the ropes secured to.”
“Understood,” Parthicus replied. He whispered instructions to his first squad of legionaries, who all strapped their shields and javelins to their backs. “Have Master Centurion Artorius’ kit ready and let him know he can come back for it as soon as the first squad is over.”
Artorius shivered in the cold as he huddled behind the large tree he’d secured the ropes to. It was a strange feeling, being on the enemy side of the river, devoid of his weapons and completely naked. And yet, despite the discomfort of the cold, he found it exhilarating, as if he were thumbing his nose to the fates and daring them to try and strike him down, exposed as he was. The tree and the ropes groaned quietly, and he sensed the added tension as the first legionaries began to make their way across. Encumbered with their weapons and heavy armor, no doubt, they were taking great care with their footing and handholds, lest they fall into the river and never rise again. Artorius stared hard into the blackness ahead of him, yet with the thick undergrowth it was difficult to see anything. He could also feel a fog rolling in, which gave him an even greater chill.
After what seemed like an agonizingly long wait, alone on the enemy side of the river, he heard the telltale splash of the first legionary, who had misjudged where the dry ground was and landed in ankle deep water next to the embankment.
“Bloody piss!” the soldier swore quietly as he pulled himself onto the dry slope, his sandals squishing.
“Over here, soldier,” Artorius whispered.
The legionary gave a grin of relief when he saw his master centurion.
“It’s going to be slow going, sir,” the soldier replied as he unbuckled his shield and javelins. “We gave each other about ten meters before spacing, and we’re still damn near up to our ankles in the river by the time we’re halfway across.”
Artorius gave a nod of understanding. “Once your squad is across, push up through the trees about twenty meters.”
“Yes, sir.”
A short while later a second legionary stepped onto the bank, the master centurion pointing him over to where his friend was positioned. A quick calculation and Artorius knew they could only get, perhaps, three hundred men over every hour.
“This won’t do,” he grumbled as soon as the first squad had finished crossing. He grabbed onto the rope and started to make his way back. A stiff breeze caught him about halfway across, though thankfully the wind was actually warm. He looked up at the half moon, which glowed brightly despite being socked in with clouds and permeating mist. Despite h
ow tight they had made the lines and the thickness of the ropes, being stretched out over a long expanse made them sag substantially. Even without his weapons and armor, and being the only man crossing, Artorius could feel the splash of water on his bare feet as he reached the center of the river.
Upon reaching the Roman side, he saw Magnus and Praxus talking with their senior logistician. As soon as the master centurion stepped off their makeshift rope bridge, the next squad of legionaries began their trek across.
“It’ll take us an entire day to get everyone over at this rate,” Artorius grunted.
“We have enough rope to make one more rope bridge,” the logistics officer said.
“We’ve already tasked men with getting these over to the other side,” Praxus added.
“Very good,” Artorius replied. “Still, with the sun rising as early as it does here, we’ve got maybe seven hours to get as many men over as possible, to say nothing of finding our way back towards the enemy camp.”
“At least we’re not the main effort,” Magnus noted. “And what of the supply trains? We had hoped to find a bridge or passable ford with no such luck. We can’t very well send them back.”
“Nor is it wise for us to be cut off alone in enemy territory with no hope for resupply of rations and medical supplies,” Praxus added. “We’ve played that game before.”
His last remark was in reference to the infamous Battle of Braduhenna, and they were determined to not allow themselves to be placed in such a precarious position again.
“There’s nothing for it,” Artorius sighed. “Detach two cohorts with the logistics trains and have them find a way around. There has to be a bridge or fording somewhere along this river. With our luck, it’s probably a few hundred meters further on, or we just missed the damn thing. Once they find it, they can follow the river back and link up with the legion then. Meantime, we’ll simply have to press forward with the assets we have. Vespasian is counting on a single, decisive engagement tomorrow, and we have to be there in order to block our enemies’ routes of escape, as well as prevent reinforcements from reaching them.”