by Griff Hosker
Chapter 2
Inir was waiting with his warband close to the Afon Menai. He was a powerfully built young warrior and, unusually for an Ordovice quite tall. He stood out on a battlefield. It was said that he could shoot an arrow further than any man alive and no one had ever bested him in battle. Perhaps this was the reason King Gwynfor had detached him from the main army to ensure he did not outshine his king on the field of battle. Inir had ten thousand Ordovice with him and a few of the Deceangli who had not been either defeated or Romanised. His men were spread out in the gullies and sharply pointed valleys which littered this side of the mountains. The coastal plain was narrow; thirty men abreast could fill it in places. If the Romans could occupy that Inir knew they would be hard to shift, especially with their armour and testudo formation.
Idly chewing on a piece of wild garlic he pondered his latest instructions. He was not to attack until the Romans turned their back upon him. Those instructions made no sense; he was a puissant warrior and he had a military mind as sharp as any. He would know the best time to attack not some witch, no matter how strong in magic on an island forty miles from the enemy. He did not like the idea of taking orders from a woman anyway. A woman had two places where she was useful, in the bed and in at the fire to prepare food. He preferred the company of men, men whose conversations were about war and heroic deeds not the problems of mewling children or the cleanliness of the home. He was proud of his warband. The men who had followed him had chosen to follow him because of his deeds. One day he would rule the Ordovice and then he would make all the decisions.
Agricola stood with Marcus and the Batavian prefects as they gazed across the small bay to the promontory which stuck out into the sea. To their left the land drifted in low hills towards Mona, a faint smudge on the horizon. Rising behind the hills were the high mountains. The scouts had returned despondent for they reported that the only things which could move on those hills were goats or sheep. They had however reported a river which would halt their progress. There was a crossing place but it was a couple of miles inland.
“Gentlemen we are deep inside enemy territory. So far we have seen no sign of the enemy. Decurion what is the latest intelligence?”
“My scouts report that the plain narrows considerably towards Mona with the mountains almost blocking the path.”
Agricola nodded, “And still no sign of the fleet. The plain looks too narrow for the legion.”
Cominius could not hold in his reaction. “But we need legionaries if we are to take Mona!”
Agricola smiled, much as a father smiles indulgently at a child’s outburst. “Calm yourself prefect. I will leave one cohort at that place. What did your scout call it?”
“Caerhun.”
“How these people communicate with words like that I do not know! We will build a fort at Caerhun and the other will come with us to Mona. Still no sign of the fleet eh?” This was a rhetorical question for they all knew that the fleet had not arrived and that meant they were not as well supplied as they might have been. Marcus also realised that it gave them a headache. How would they cross the straits? “Let us push on. I would like to camp at this Caerhun tonight.”
Decius and his turma were eating well. Marco had gone hunting and returned with a mixed bag of game, rabbits, gulls and even a fox.”They must have no sense at all these foxes; it was still daylight when I saw him.”
“Well young Marco I know the Allfather forgot to give you brains but at least he gave you a keen eye and arm.”
Marcus wandered over. “Any problems today decurion?”
“I might have known! We start cooking and the senior officers just happen to come over.”
Marcus grinned. “Decurion you know I always do my rounds at this time. Just because I happen to come when you are cooking what I hope is a magnificent stew is happenstance.”
“And I know that you wouldn’t want your old friends to miss out.”
“Gaius! Can’t your men hunt?”
“Not as well as young Vindonnus over there.”
Later as they all mopped up their game gravy with the last remnants of the hard bread they carried they discussed the campaign so far. The three of them had served together for long enough to speak their minds. “We lost no more horses today?”
“No but this land is leg breaking country. I would hate to have to gallop. You only get twenty strides and you find a chasm opening up in front of you.”
“I know what you mean Decius. We are travelling barely faster than the infantry.”
“That suits our leader,” commented Marcus. “They will have good, close protection. What about the men?”
Decius gave an almighty belch. “Well it just shows that if you cut out the right pieces of bad flesh you can end up with a healed arm.” Gaius looked at him in confusion. “Get rid of the bad men and even though you have fewer men you are stronger.”
“Ah you mean Modius?”
“Not just Modius although he was the worst but Scipio Demetrius and his turma. They were all a bad lot.”
Scipio Demetrius had been the son of the former prefect. Over promoted at a young age he had been a corrupt and demoralising influence in the ala. He had had Gaius unjustly flogged and promoted his own cronies to positions of power. Fortunately when his turma was massacred in the northern forests the canker had been cut out. Modius had escaped to join the rebel Brigante.
“Julius has turned out to be a fine officer.”
“Yes young Gaius and that just shows that if you train ‘em right they turn out all right.”
Again Gaius looked confused and then he grinned with understanding. “Oh yes I forgot you trained him.”
Decius nodded, “And you, remember that I trained you.”
Gaius looked over at Marcus who had remained silent throughout. “But remember who trained all of us.”
It was an embarrassed Marcus who changed the subject. “Let young Julius take the van tomorrow.” They both looked in surprise at him. “I know but we have used all the experienced decurions and they all have to know what it is like. That is how we learned.”
“I know Marcus but we don’t know these people. They aren’t going to fight like the Brigante. Look at this country. They can’t use horses and I have heard they fight with witches at their side.”
Marcus’ face hardened. “Camp gossip. The women might fight but we had that at Stagh-herts didn’t we? And they died just as easily. As for the witches, we have met a witch before, and their power seems to be in poison; men’s minds and food! Julius will be fine and I have a feeling that we will be in action sooner rather than later. They have allowed us to get far closer to Mona than I thought they would.” He gestured at the plain. “This would have been a perfect place to hold us up and ambush us. I can’t think why they didn’t”
High in the foothills overlooking the camp Inir was thinking the same thoughts. The Roman invasion force was like a flea on a dog. His scouts had reported they were building a fort. Perhaps this was the total sum of their invasion! He would wait until the following day to decide what to do but he had made his mind up, witch or no witch, he was going to attack the Romans before they got to Mona and if the king did not like that, then there could be a new king ruling the west of Britannia before the turn of the year.
Julius Agricola rode his mount next to that of Marcus as they headed North West towards the coast. Marcus turned to view the vexillation which followed them. The four hundred and fifty legionaries seemed a pitifully small force. The Batavians and the Gallorum auxiliaries added fifteen hundred and Marcus could only muster five hundred and twenty three troopers.
“You are thinking Decurion that, perhaps, we have too few men?”
“I was thinking sir that we could have done with a few more legionaries.”
“I disagree. On a battlefield which is unencumbered by rocks, rivers defiles and trees then yes, the legion is invincible. However look around you. Do you see such a battlefield?”
“No sir but th
e terrain suits neither my horses nor my men.”
“Your horses, I agree but your men no. They can fight on foot.” There was a silence as Marcus pondered this. “Do you see a problem Decurion?”
“No. it is just that Prefect Demetrius wouldn’t have dreamed of taking his men from their horses. Had I known I would have had the men training for that different style of warfare. Luckily Sergeant Macro has had the men sparring on foot.”
“The advantage we have over the tribes is that not only do we have the superior weapons and armour but they have the discipline. They don’t need to fight as the legions do, in fact, that would be too difficult.”
They were interrupted by a trooper from Julius’ turma. “Yes trooper.”
“Decurion Demetrius’ compliments and we have arrived at the straits.”
“And?”
“And, that is all sir.” The trooper looked confused.
Marcus smiled and said, “It is his first duty as vanguard and I think he is trying to make sure he does not make mistakes.”
“Return to the Decurion and ask him to wait for us at the coast.” The trooper galloped off glad to be away from the senior officers. “We will make camp there and then we can launch our attack in the next few days.”
“Will the fleet be there?”
“It doesn’t matter. I have a few ideas.” Enigmatically he ended the conversation leaving Marcus to wonder what he had in mind. The idea of fighting on foot was an intriguing one but it would necessitate training, how Decius would love that!
As the column snaked its way down the foothills towards the coast Inir mustered his men. “The Romans have divided their forces. We outnumber them five to one. We will attack.” His men were gathered in their warbands and they began to filter down the hillside using all the cover that was available.
Agricola and Marcus were met by an eager Julius. “You can see sir, there is Mona.” He pointed across the short stretch of water to the island lurking in the afternoon mist. Although the day was bright and warm the island had attracted a veil of fog which shrouded the shoreline and all that they could see was a low rise of hills emerging from the mist. The troopers looked with trepidation at the sinister sacred isle of Mona. As soon as the weary foots soldiers slogged up they were instructed to begin to erect their camp.
Marcus ordered Quintus and Levius to throw out a picket line to the north. “Gaelwyn!” The grumpy Brigante scout reluctantly arrived at Marcus’ side knowing that, unlike the others he would still have work to do.”
“Yes sir.”
“Head down the coast and see if we have any surprises.” The wiry warrior trotted his horse along the beach and Marcus noted with some admiration how he used every morsel of cover he could find.
Inir’s men were less than half a mile from the picket line when they were halted by Inir. He signalled for them to squat down. The sun was lowering in the sky and the mountains behind them cast a shadow. Although a young leader Inir was a wise one and he wanted every advantage he could have. Unlike the tribes to the north the Ordovices used dull colours which camouflaged them well against the rocks and sparse vegetation. Inir gestured for the men on the extreme right and left to outflank the picket line which was struggling to keep formation on the rocky hillside. The troopers could smell the food which was being prepared and, whilst they were pleased they did not have to erect the camp, they also resented the fact that they would eat later than their comrades. It was slowly falling to night and they would have a two mile ride to reach the camp. Quintus and Levius were also a little unhappy. Levius had only just been promoted and had taken over the turma of Modius. They were already a truculent troop and Levius had found it hard to garner any trust. Quintus’ troop was much more experienced but they too were eager to return to camp.
The first they knew of the presence of an enemy was when a flurry of arrows descended from the dark. Levius just did not react as his men were plucked from their saddles; Quintus’ experience stood him in good stead and he yelled at the nearest trooper,” Get to the camp, tell them we are under attack. Troopers form ranks!” Levius’ men obeyed the commanding voice as a war axe flew threw the air and hit the unfortunate decurion in the chest. It was a chaotic scene as thousands of tribesmen poured down from the hillsides intent on slaughtering as many Romans as possible. Quintus saw the impossibility of their situation. They could not manoeuvre, they were well outnumbered and the enemy had the dark and surprise on their side. He had no other recourse than to shout, “Retreat!”
As they made their way down the hazardous slope the arrows and missiles continued to thin their ranks. The tribesmen were moving as fast as the cavalry and Quintus could see that the retreat had merely delayed the inevitable. They would die. He determined to die as a warrior and he kept turning his horse to face the enemy behind, slashing down with his spatha and killing many tribesmen. As soon as he had despatched one he continued down the hill. The rest of his turma, those that lived, attempted to do the same. Those in Levius’ turma just fled making them easy targets for the spears, stones and arrows hurled at them. Quintus’ men’s retreat made their pursuers wary. He wondered whether to make a stand and was debating whether or to order his men to turn when he heard the welcome call of the buccina. The Decurion Princeps was on his way to help. Almost as the last note faded away, a solid line of cavalry appeared. Those in the centre had bows and they launched a volley at Quintus’ pursuers. The unprotected tribesmen fell like leaves and the last few troopers were able to disengage and find shelter behind their comrades.
Marcus had no time for pleasantries. “One more volley and then fall back.” As Quintus, bleeding heavily from his arm and legs, emerged through the cavalry he saw a solid hedgehog of auxilia and legionaries.
When the cavalry filtered through Cominius Sura dropped his arm and a hail of arrows stopped the attack in its tracks. The tribesmen were spread out and the arrows did not kill as many men as the Batavian would have liked but it was enough for Inir who signalled a retreat and his men disappeared into the murk. He had done what he had intended. He had defeated the vaunted Romans and killed many of their men. As his warriors climbed back up the hill Inir could see over seventy slain Romans. Tomorrow they would attack again and this time they would slaughter the rest.
“Thank you sir.”
“Don’t talk Quintus. The surgeon is on his way.”
“They surprised us sir. How many ….?”
“How many survived?” Quintus nodded. “There are seven of you.”
“I am sorry sir.”
“Don’t be a fool. There were thousands of them. Even the general knows our horses are useless in this country. Rest now and we’ll talk in the morning.”
As Quintus was led away the general arrived. “So Decurion Princeps we have our war eh?”
“Bit of a disaster sir.”
“How many men did you lose?”
“Seventy one so far and a couple of the survivors don’t look as though they will last the night.”
“I don’t think they will attack again tonight but I will keep the Batavians out there until the camps are built.”
Marcus watched as the general rode off. He was amazed by how calm he was. Perhaps the high casualties were acceptable but this was the biggest single loss that Marcus had experienced and he was angry. Decius came up along with Gaius. “A whole turma gone eh? That hasn’t happened, well not since Drusus.”
“It is my fault Decius. I should have trained the decurions better. Levius was too inexperienced and his turma was not the best one we had, Modius saw to that.”
“We haven’t had enough time to train them sir. We didn’t have the time.”
“We will have to train on the job; Gaius get Macro will you? And Agrippa.”
Gaius trotted off and Decius looked curiously at Marcus. “What is going on in that head of yours?”
“Something that the general said to me. About adapting to our enemies and our terrain and I think these two might be able to help.�
� Agrippa and Macro arrived together both wondering why and macro wondering what he had done wrong. “You have heard about the loss of our men?” They both nodded. The general almost anticipated this. It looks like we will have to change our style of fighting. We need to fight on foot.” The look of shock on Decius’ face could have been comical were the situation not so serious. “As Quintus and Levius discovered the horses get in the way. Cavalry work best in open country; the prefect, for all his faults, knew that. This is not open country. When we go into battle tomorrow we will fight on foot. I want the two of you to get around the men tonight and show them how to do it.” He held up his hand to silence the protests forming. “When we had the tournament I saw that they could fight with a sword. You two are the best weapon trainers I have ever seen. You can do it. We will fight in the same formation as on horse, javelins at the front with a row of the best archers behind. Oh and tell the decurions, they fight on foot as well.”
The two men walked away bemused and a little apprehensive. Decius was almost boiling over. “Us fight on foot? But it’s never been done!”
Just then Cominius, who had been nearby walked over. “Actually Decius it has. We have some units which are mixed cavalry and infantry. It works quite well although they are trained specifically for that task. I have seen your men fight. They have the skills in arms. In fact it might be easier. They won’t have to control a horse.”
“Yes sir but some of them will struggle to walk and wield a sword!” He walked off shaking his head as Marcus and the prefect laughed.
“He will do it. He might complain but he wants this ala to be the best one ever. My only worry is that we fight tomorrow and looking at the numbers we will be well outnumbered.”
“I am not worried Marcus. Our general is a calm man and a thinker. We will beat them, of that I am sure. I am just not certain if that will be tomorrow or another day.”