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

by James Mace

  For Vespasian, there was no long search to find the enemy. They were encamped barely half a mile from where his legion had dug in for the night. But unlike legionaries, they had simply slept where they had fallen down, posting only a few men to serve as lookouts.

  Geta and the Fourteenth Legion had slipped past the Second during the night, and as the glow of the predawn cast its light on the ground, a cornicen sounded his horn, ordering the legion to advance. Geta rode at the head of his legion, anxious for battle. Though a lesser commander may have resented having his entire legion placed in reserve on the previous day, Geta was an experienced enough legate to surmise that the issue would not be decided in a single day. And now, with a fresh legion facing an enemy who’d already suffered untold casualties, as well as massed desertions from many of their supposed allies, he was poised to strike the decisive blow for Rome.

  “Smash these bastards into oblivion and perhaps the emperor will grant me a triumph,” Geta said quietly to himself. He then gave the order to his cornicen, “Sound quick step!”

  Vespasian was shocked to see Geta ride at a full gallop ahead of his men as they charged the beleaguered ranks of the barbarian army. The enemy warriors seemed equally shocked at the Roman legate’s audacity, and yet their focus on him allowed the legionaries to close within just a few meters before unleashing their javelin volleys. Warriors closest to Geta were the focus of the legionaries closest to him, and these fell in bloody heaps. It looked for a moment as if the legate was risking being killed or captured, yet the cohorts that flanked him on either side drew their gladii and charged, driving hard into their foe. Battle was soon joined in full, and Vespasian could not help but wonder if Togodumnus was surprised at just how vigorous the Romans now attacked his army. No doubt he would soon realize he was facing two legions instead of one.

  Togodumnus was, in fact, valiantly trying to rally his warriors into holding their ground against this fresh Roman onslaught. He remained on foot this day, using his own example to inspire his warriors. It was Caratacus who rode up to a low rise and scanned the battlefield, realizing what had transpired in the night. No matter how brave his men were, they were still battered from the previous day’s fighting, their numbers dwindled by casualties and the loss of their supposed allies. Only the Silures, who had been unable to bring their full might to the field, remained, along with King Donan of the Durotriges. Donan’s force had also suffered a reversal, as an entire army of late arrivals was assailed by a Roman legion to the southwest and destroyed. Caratacus knew this same legion now threatened his right flank, and he’d heard no word from his men who were supposed to be engaging the legion that had landed by ship near the mouth of the river.

  A timely-executed charge by Tribune Cursor and two regiments of cavalry broke whatever resistance the barbarians on the right had left to offer. The tribune having rejoined his cavalry soon after leading the night raid to disable the enemy chariots. Most of these men were not Catuvellauni, and they felt no desire to die anymore for Togodumnus and his cause, which was quickly becoming lost. The majority started to run north, towards the much larger Tamesis River, just over a mile away.

  “Hold up!” Cursor ordered, reining his horse in. He turned to Centurion Taurus. “We’ll screen them and keep them pressed against the river. Admiral Stoppello has a little surprise in store for these bastards.”

  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 against 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 gladius 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 an 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.

  Night had fallen by the time all of the senior leaders within the army arrived at Plautius’ principia tent. Their combined efforts, the iron discipline of their men, supplemented by the murderous fire support of Stoppello’s warships, had led to a decisive victory for the invasion force.

  “The enemy is on the run,” Sabinus stated as he signaled for servants to distribute wine chalices to all the men present. He then raised his cup. “Roma victrix!”

  “Roma victrix!” the men shouted in unison before taking a long pull off their wine.

  And while Artorius had been disappointed at not taking part in the main thrust of the battles, his men had performed well, preventing the Durotriges from reinforcing Togodumnus, as well as cutting off several avenues of escape and taking a number of prisoners.

  “Any word on total losses for both days of fighting?” Plautius asked.

  “Yes,” Vespasian said, reviewing a wax pad where he’d scrawled numerous notes throughout the evening while compiling different reports. “First off, it would seem that Togodumnus did not have such a cohesive alliance after all. Most of his army never even engaged us and simply ran once the fighting started. I’ll be candid, sir, whatever the discipline and valor of my men, I doubt they would have held had our enemies been able to mass their numbers effectively.”

  “As it is, I would hazard to say that any large-scale fighting is almost over,” Geta added. “That’s not to say the barbarians are fini
shed, but rather they will now mistrust each other even more and will stick to smaller hit-and-run tactics, like they did before.”

  “Well, that being said,” Vespasian continued, “preliminary counts look like we can reasonably assume that over five thousand enemy warriors were killed these past two days. We’ve taken nearly twice that number in prisoners, many of whom are wounded. I would hazard it to guess there are at least a similar number of enemy wounded that managed to escape.”

  “And better yet,” Sabinus said. “Rumor has it that Togodumnus himself was killed during the battle, near the bridge that leads across the great river. We extended our camp to this point and have men standing guard over the body. We’ll take you up there in the morning so we can verify, Plautius.”

  “Bring some of the prisoners to make certain it’s him,” Plautius directed. “And if Togodumnus is, in fact, slain, then so much more becomes our victory. Our foes now appear to be scattered and leaderless.”

  “If I may speak up, sir,” Artorius said. He was normally quiet during such meetings of the senior leadership, but as he had been acting legion commander for most of the campaign, he knew he had earned the right to speak his mind. “There will always be someone to step up and replace the fallen leaders. In this case, Togodumnus has a brother, Caratacus, who from what I’ve been able to gather is an even more effective and charismatic leader than Togodumnus was.”

  “Duly noted,” Plautius acknowledged. He then turned back to Vespasian. “What about our casualties?”