by Griff Hosker
“Hold your fire.” Alasica did not want his missile surprise to be wasted on the few hundred barbarians who suddenly stopped their pursuit when they saw the Romans before them. They were a mass of taunting painted barbarians who were waving the heads of the Romans they had just killed. He had fought such men in Batavia and Germania as had his legionaries. They would ignore such taunts but he was less sure about his inexperienced auxiliaries who could see the decapitated heads of their comrades. The longer they taunted the more likely that his auxiliaries would feel honour bound to charge. Alasica did not have to wait long for Venutius, mounted in a richly decorated war chariot suddenly appeared on the facing hillside ahead of his huge warband filling the skyline from east to west as far as the eye could see. He was armed and mailed with a driver next to him. He looked huge next to the diminutive driver and his armour gleamed in the morning light. The warriors around the king were his oath brothers; they were the best mounted warriors with finest armoured helms, shields and corselets. They would be fearless in the fighting and the Roman commander could see that whilst the majority of the warband were second rate there was a huge elite force of well armed and armoured warriors. They would have to be the target for his bolt throwers. He was taken aback by the numbers. He would have been taken aback even more had he known that a mounted warband of a thousand warriors was making its way around the unguarded left flank of the Roman army. All he could see was an unbroken line of enemies gradually edging forward. He looked at the forces arrayed against him spreading across the skyline. Although hard to estimate numbers when the formation was so loose it looked the equivalent of eight or ten legions; almost fifty thousand men. It would be a bloody day and would test the mettle of all his troops.
Ulpius and his men were exhausted. Even though they had rested for a couple of hours their night time ride skirting the camps of the Carvetii had sucked all the reserves of energy from the hungry troopers. When Esca had told them that there were at least two warbands to the north and east Ulpius and Marcus had had no choice but to begin a detour south and east to get around them. It was demoralising to move further away from hope and food and friends but with only two hundred men and a few Brigante scouts Ulpius could not hope to take on two warbands. As the early morning wore on they gradually found themselves climbing a saucer shaped hill. They had long left what passed for a path and were picking their way through scree and tumbled rocks. Suddenly Esca and his scouts ran back. “There is a warband,” before Ulpius could even begin to formulate a new plan Esca continued, “and Romans.”
Even though he was well outnumbered by the host of barbarians before him Caesius Alasica was unworried. His archers and bolt throwers would make the thousand paces before him a killing ground. The barbarians wore little armour and had few defensive tactics. Waiting until they were but five hundred paces away he gave the signal and the missiles flew, carving a path of death and destruction through the enemy lines. The bolts took out whole ranks of men whilst the arrows plunged like a deadly rain from the skies. Not only did the front ranks fall and falter but the whole of the warband shuddered to a halt as they met missiles, fallen men and the upslope. The bolts were so powerful that they went through three or four warriors. The arrows began to take an even bigger toll as they plunged down onto unprotected bodies, painted but without any armour. The barbed tips tore through necks, backs and shoulders to kill in huge numbers.
To the west the two cavalry forces were engaged in mortal combat. Although the Carvetii outnumbered the auxiliaries the superior horses, weapons and training meant it was an even match. Alasica cursed again as he realised that his shortage of cavalry might cost him the day. The cavalry were holding their own; with another ala he might have been able to turn them. He was pleased that they had at least restrained themselves from a headlong attack and their fight was now a revenge dedicated to their lost comrades.
Venutius signalled a third warband into action and these began to press towards the weaker left flank. Although the missiles were still causing devastation there were not enough to cover the whole of the front and their fire was slightly slower on the left added to that was the inevitable nature of missile fire the closer to your front ranks the less effective they would be. So it was that they inexorably began to draw closer to the front ranks of the Romans. With a sudden roar they leapt forward free from the torment of bolts and arrows. The legionaries released their pila and the front ranks fell only to have their places taken by the second rank who hacked and chopped with axes and swords, oblivious to both pain and wounds. It was as though they had regarded the arrows as fleas or insects and were now free from the torment.
The tribune from the left flank suddenly appeared at Alasica’s side. “Sir they are forcing us back we need support.”
“And I have no reserves. You will hold them Titus Quintus. You will hold them.”
In his mind the young commander began to work out how to extricate his men from this trap without being routed. A collective shout from the left ended that train of thought. Earl Woolgar’s warband had worked around the left flank of the Romans and suddenly launched an attack on the unprotected edge of the defensive line. Even as he watched he saw the western most cohort begin to fall in lines as they were assaulted from two sides. The First Spear was a good leader but his men were being attacked on two fronts. “Gaius Aurelius take two cohorts from the right and support the left. Antoninus begin to pull back our forces on the right but slowly use the cavalry to screen our withdrawal.” Was this to be the early end of what had promised to be a glittering career? Alasica knew that defeat would mean the slaughter of his men and the loss of the eagle something which had never happened on these islands before. It could mean the beginning of the end of Roman rule in Britannia for defeat would leave the whole of the north unprotected. It would also mean the death of every Roman north of Lindum for with only a skeleton force at Eboracum this warband could sweep Rome’s influence from the north of Britannia. “Today gentlemen we all fight or we will leave our bones to be scattered, whitening on these desolate hills.” Drawing his sword he urged his horse towards the left flank which was in imminent danger of collapse.
Ulpius, Marcus and Esca sat on their horses just below the skyline. They had a perfect view of the battle and they could see the effect of the charge of Woolgar’ warband. The unthinkable was going to happen, Romans were going to lose. No matter how disciplined they were they were outnumbered and outflanked. They would die. A whole Roman army would be destroyed it would be like Crassus in Parthia, the republic at Cannae or the most recent slaughter in the Teutoburger Forest. Their only chance was for the Pannonians to destroy the warband. Ulpius looked at his hungry, tired and battle weary warriors. The warband outnumbered them five to one even if they saved their comrades they would all die. He looked at Marcus. “There is but one chance the arrow formation, the wedge. “ Marcus nodded. “Prepare the men” He turned to his troopers. “I know you are tired, I know that were outnumbered but before us we see friends who will be slaughtered unless we intervene. You know me I don’t lie and I don’t bullshit.” His men laughed a tired laugh. “We are going to die but we are warriors and we will die together. Are you with me?” The roar from his weakened men raised Ulpius heart. His men would not let him down. He turned to the Brigante,” Esca we ride to our death take your men back to the fort and protect the princess. You can do no more here.”
“No Roman we can do something here. The enemies before us have killed our Queen and our brothers; we win or die with here you.” Clasping hands in a warrior’s handshake they roared their defiance. The troopers were now riding hard towards Ulpius with Marcus and Decius leading three men and then four so that a wedge fanned out. Ulpius drew his sword and kissed it. “For Cartimandua and Rome. Charge!”
The noise of the battle hid the sound of the thundering hooves crashing down the hillside and the first that Earl Woolgar and his band knew of their doom was when the arrows and javelins of the auxiliaries sliced through the rear ra
nks of the Carvetii. The shock was a palpable ripple which ran through the enemy ranks. The most frightening event for a warrior in a battle is to be attacked from the place you think you are safe. With enemies to their front and enemies to their rear panic spread through the ranks of the warband. The sword of Cartimandua carved a bloody path of death, the blade almost singing as it sliced through the unprotected ranks of Earl Woolgar’s men; Decius and Marcus widened that path. The backs of the bodies before them were like the practice targets they had used back in Eboracum. Their only problem was ensuring that the blades did not become entangled or trapped in the dying bodies. As in all battles and wars the bravest and the most fearless are at the front so the opposite is also true, those at the rear are not as brave and not as fearless. Some of the Carvetii decided that they could avoid the swords and hooves of the Roman horses by breaking back towards their own lines. The pressure on the Roman line dropped and the legionaries were able to get a second wind. First Spear recognised the weakening. “Dress your ranks we are not finished yet!”
The Roman commander had no idea who had launched the attack on the Carvetii but he suspected and hoped that it was his lost vexillation. The battle was at a crucial stage and the pendulum was swinging in the Roman’s favour. All along the Carvetii line warriors were slowing wondering what was happening on their right flank. Alasica’s voice sounded above the din of war. “Sound the advance. “ The buccina sounded loudly in the cacophony of noise that was the battlefield. “Romans forward!”
Venutius could not believe his eyes. A few minutes earlier the battle had been won. He had seen the Roman left crumbling and the right withdrawing. Suddenly the appearance of a handful of cavalry had caused his men to retreat. Some of his allies had decided that discretion was the better part of valour and were retreating at full tilt north and east. He still had his own warband. If he could attack the Roman left open the field the impetus could swing the battle in his favour again; perhaps his allies would be shamed into returning. He could still win this battle. Even with some of his allies deserting him he still outnumbered the Romans and he had seen them falter, one more push would do it. Shouting to his driver to whip his ponies he cried, “Charge!” and the whole host began to charge forwards. His oathsworn brothers urged their mounts forward pleased to be released from the punishment which had been the bolt throwers. Those warriors on foot formed a solid, unbroken line of iron. They longed to sink their blades into Roman bodies. Their collective scream was a terrifying sound and they all raced forward to present a deadly line of blades. They knew they had longer blades than the Romans who had spent most of their deadly pila. If they could close these combat hardened veterans would save the honour of their king and defeat once and for all these Romans.
On the right flank Earl Woolgar recognised the Romans as the ones who had beaten him twice. He saw the leader, a huge one-eyed wild warrior wielding a Brigante sword. He would defeat the Romans by killing their leader and in doing so he would regain the honour he had lost in his last battle; he had seen the weakening of his king’s allies. This was his moment of glory. This would give him the revenge for his lost warriors. Either he or the Roman would stay on this field. He urged his horse towards the undefended right side of the decurion princeps. Ulpius was focussed on the enemies to the front. He could see the wavering lines begin to stiffen as the legionary centurions and aquifers steadied the ranks and began to start to edge forward. He heard the buccina announce the charge and could see the huge figure of the First Spear begin to lead the legion forward. This was their moment and, unlikely as it had seemed a short while earlier, they might just survive.
Marcus, in the place of honour on the unguarded right of his leader, saw the Carvetii chieftain hurtling towards his friend. He recognised him from their battle in the lakes and saw that he fought with a sword and a short axe; he knew he was a cunning and ferocious warrior who had despatched Orrick himself a mighty warrior. Ulpius would be dead before he knew he was being attacked. He did not hesitate; his own horse was a powerful Roman mount whilst his adversary’s pony was far smaller though nimbler. Marcus’ horse crashed into Woolgar and his mount throwing him to the ground. As he passed the Carvetii war chief he back slashed with his sword and felt it grate against bone. By now the wedge had lost cohesion and, seeing no more enemies to threaten Ulpius he wheeled his horse around to face his enemy again. He had, indeed, wounded Earl Woolgar but the grizzled old warrior was like a wounded bear. Behind him Aetre stood ready to protect his liege lord. Marcus rode hard at Woolgar keeping his sword between him and his enemy; as the decurion passed he felt the axe crash against his shield and he struck at the unprotected head of the war chief. Aetre appeared from nowhere and his sword stopped the blow connecting. In the follow through his blade caught the flank of Marcus’ mount which reared and threw him. As he hit the ground he was winded and dazed but still held both sword and shield which saved his life for Lord Woolgar saw his chance and sliced down at the recumbent Roman with his mighty sword. Aetre saw his chance as Marcus lifted his blade to defend himself from the war chief’s strike. In doing so he left his right side unguarded. The young warrior plunged his sword towards the decurion’s armpit.
“No you don’t you sneaky little fucker.” Decius’ spear took Aetre full in the throat. “Now if you’ll finish off this bastard, sir, we can get back in the war and beat these fucking barbarians once and for all.” Grinning he wheeled his horse back into the fray. With a shout of anger Marcus leapt up hitting the boss of his shield into the face of the war chief who half fell backwards; as he did so he exposed his right side when his weakened arm dropped his sword to the ground. Marcus did not hesitate but sliced under his arm and through his neck. Withdrawing his sword he decapitated the head of Earl Woolgar and raised it with a roar of victory. The warband saw it and were dismayed; Woolgar and Aetre were now dead, the blood kin of Woolgar were all slaughtered, killed either in the pass or defending their lord on this lonely, desolate hillside and the rest, warriors summoned for the war ran, eager to be away from the wall of death which had appeared from the mists. They would return to their homes, plant crops, raise families and forget the disaster to which Earl Woolgar had brought them. If he did but know it Maeve would soon be heralded as Earl Maeve and Woolgar’s lands would be his.
If Venutius had been angry before he was, by now, furious with red hot rage. The one eyed Roman who had stolen the queen from him and defeated his warriors had now turned the battle. His surprise attack had been itself surprised and defeated. He cursed Woolgar as the remnants of his warband fled unhindered eastwards. Realising that the Roman was now alone and isolated, he raced his chariot towards his enemy. Soon the sword of Cartimandua, which he saw the Roman wielded, would be his and with it the allegiance of any wavering Brigante who would see it as a sign from the Allfather that Venutius was the rightful king of the Brigante. The king had one last gamble which could win him all. Ulpius was busy despatching two wounded enemies and did not see the chariot making like an arrow towards him. While he was still some distance away his driver was thrown from the chariot having been struck by two arrows. The king of the Carvetii threw his shield to the floor and grabbed the reins. Venutius was barely thirty paces away when he hurled his spear. Although the spear missed the Roman it took Raven in the neck and Ulpius faithful beast reared on to its hind legs mortally struck. The misfortunate turned to disaster when the dying beast fell on Ulpius’ leg leaving him helplessly trapped beneath the steed. Realising he would have to dismount to finish off the Roman and retrieve the sword Venutius halted the chariot. Ulpius struggled to extract his trapped leg. The Carvetii blade arced down towards the decurion princeps’ head as it did so Raven’s death throe released some of the pressure and Ulpius dragged his leg out. The blade missed his head but sliced down his left arm.
“Roman you fight well, let us see if you die well.” Venutius was a powerful warrior; he had been a war chief before he had married the Queen and become king. He knew how to fight and Ulpi
us was a wounded, weary warrior but in his heart he had a fire and a need for revenge. He resolved to take Venutius with him to the after life. They both hacked at each other furiously, swords beating on shields and glancing off helms and armour. After a dozen thrusts at each other they paused to gather their breath. Ulpius was weak both from the fall and the wound in his arm which was weakening his defence. In contrast Venutius was uninjured and filled with a passionate anger giving him extra strength. The end would not be long in coming and Venutius could not miss the opportunity to gloat. “It is a shame the witch did not poison you as well as the bitch Cartimandua for then I would have won the battle and I would have the sword.” Venutius spat the words at Ulpius hoping to make him lose his temper and forget his Roman training.
The decurion princeps did become angry but his training had been over twenty years and it was as though his body took over from the seething mind of the Roman auxiliary. With a roar Ulpius raced forward, his sudden charge catching his opponent unawares. He felt his blade strike the unprotected thigh of Venutius. The thick blood began to gush from the fatal wound. “You should know Carvetii that whoever carries this sword cannot be defeated.” The now dying Venutius tried ineffectively to break down Ulpius’ defence but his lifeblood was spilling across the hillside for it was a fatal wound. Realising that he himself was wounded and seeing the weakening of the king’s blows Ulpius ended the fight with a might stroke which all but severed the king in two. As he raised his sword to scream “Cartimandua” the arrow from Venutius’ war chief Brennus struck him in his side. The barbed tip entered below his right arm, tore through his body and emerged near his left hip. It was a death wound and Ulpius sank to his knees on that muddy, bloody battlefield.
As he lay there amidst the carnage and slaughter he did not know that the death of Venutius marked the end of the battle and that the war bands, largely leaderless, were fleeing. He barely heard the cheer from the Roman ranks as they celebrated their victory. The sound of the buccina ordering a pursuit was a dim, far away echo as though in a tunnel. He began to slip away to the comfortable world of sleep, eternal sleep and peace. His only thoughts were for his men; he hoped that many would have survived and he prayed that Marcus would live. The sky was going dark and he gripped the sword hilt even tighter. “Allfather your son is coming home. I hope that I have gained enough honour to be admitted.” He closed his eyes prepared for death and hopeful of being reunited with Cartimandua.