Blood of Rome: Caratacus (The Blood of Rome Chronicles Book 1)

by John Salter

  “We’ll rest here tonight and move forward tomorrow at first light. Quintus you can take the other men to the rear and report our progress to the Legate. We’ll continue along the coast and meet up the day after tomorrow.”

  Quintus nodded in response as the men began preparing for the first night that would be spent under the stars in Britannia. Thick animal skins were untied from the rumps of the horses and unwrapped on the ground. Three were kept folded and placed in a triangular shape around the hole where the fire burned a foot below ground in case of prying eyes in an attempt to reduce the glow and flames of the fire.

  “We’ll post two guards at each edge of the rise,” Varro ordered pointing, “once we’ve eaten as soon as the lights gone we’ll put the fire out and get our heads down. It’ll be a long day tomorrow for all of us, we’ll take turns as usual until the sun comes up, Servius, Sextus you two are first.”

  He nodded to two of the men that would return to the legion with Quintus the following day. “We’ll do it in pairs, two hours about so everyone will get some sleep for most of the night, tomorrow will be a more exhausting day than today, that’s for sure.”

  He stretched his aching limbs, they had ridden more today than they had for a while and his sore backside was testament to every bumpy mile, a few more days in the saddle would cure that though. They sat around the small fire cooking the meat and ate Lucius’ kills. It was tasty and succulent and just what they needed after a day in the saddle, the meat was washed down with a mouthful of water they had taken from the stream earlier that day. It was warmer now but still relatively fresh.

  With the light virtually gone and the stars starting to appear, soil was kicked over the fire dousing the remaining flames. As everyone else bedded down, Servius and Sextus went out and took up their positions, both carried their javelins.

  Sometime later a voice cut through the peaceful night. “Sir, come and look at this.” Sextus said in a hushed whisper from a short distance away in the dark. Varro blinked himself awake and went towards him, his figure silhouetted on a starry background. He shook two others awake and instructed Veranius and Decimus to follow. The others carried on sleeping undisturbed.

  Varro didn’t have to ask what the problem was, he could see for himself. On the plains below fires could be seen flickering in the distance beyond the woods and forests, there were at least thirty fires burning some way off. Other fires could be seen separate from the main group but they were isolated, none could be seen in the direction they had come from.

  “Looks like you were right,” Decimus remarked, “tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”

  “That’s obviously a large village or a major settlement,” Veranius said pointing to the large cluster of flames. From this distance each fire was small, a dot nothing more but some were the size of a nail head, “It’s probably a day’s ride from here. We’ll be safe enough tonight,” he looked back to the area where they had eaten, “they couldn’t have seen us or the fire, Lucius dug the pit deep enough to conceal the flames and if they did, they’d probably think it was more of them or groups out hunting.” He pointed to the singular fires, “That’s probably what they are.”

  It was a decision only Varro could make he knew. He looked out and thought for a while, if they went back the way they had come, they wouldn’t achieve anything but it would put some space between them and whatever lay below and around those fires. He had made his decision.

  “We’ll stay here tonight. If you see anything and I mean anything moving towards us and getting close, wake us straight away, begin to saddle the horses and we’ll withdraw and head inland and around them dependant on the situation. We’re here to see what lies in the path of the column and we just achieved that to some degree.” He unfurled the map.

  “That large place isn’t marked here, I wasn’t expecting to see any inhabited settlements for a while.” He marked the map and returned to the others where he instructed Quintus to note the details on his identical copy of the map that he would take back to the legion. Maybe the maps author wasn’t aware of this location he thought, or it was relatively new.

  “We’ll scout ahead tomorrow and see exactly what’s out there before you head back so you won’t leave straight away. There’s no reason to return to the legion when you’re within a stones through of getting some real intelligence, understood?” Varro asked.

  “Yes sir.” He replied.

  “Right let’s get some sleep,” he patted Quintus on the shoulder, “and hopefully we won’t speak again until daylight.” As Varro made one last check of the area, he went to see Servius who was unaware of their findings and explained the situation. He told both guards to make sure they positioned themselves in dead ground so they couldn’t be seen from a distance, silhouetting their bodies against the night sky before settling down to get some sleep in their makeshift camp.

  Being so close to potential enemy positions was not unusual for him or his men, it was one of the reasons they volunteered for such a duty but it still felt strange no matter how many times they’d done it before. In the past they had been so close to unknown groups that they had been able to hear them laughing and talking at night, in comparison, this was positively safe. The night passed without incident but it was the last good sleep they would all have for some considerable time.

  That same evening just as Varro and his men were settling down, a long way to the north, two riders reached the capitol of the Catuvellauni, Camulodunum. They galloped through the open gates and found Togodumnus and told him the news of the Roman landing.

  Chapter Three

  When they awoke just before sunrise the next day, a damp dew covered the ground all around them and now they were wet and cold, silver thin spider’s webs adorned everything from men and equipment alike and birds sang a chirpy dawn chorus all around their makeshift camp. The sun was just beginning to rise as the black of night retreated but it would be a while before it burned away the chill of the night completely. A mist covered the lowlands making it impossible to define any detail except for the tops of trees in the distance.

  “Jupiter’s balls it’s cold.” Quintus was heard exclaiming from the confines of his makeshift bed as he brushed down his damp clothing, he wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just remarking at his own displeasure and muttering to himself.

  “Germania was freezing, Gaul was cold and now we find ourselves on the dampest most remote island that Rome could find, at the furthest tip of the empire. Why couldn’t we have gone east where at least we could have browned our skin under the rays of the sun and baked our balls by the sea all day?” He continued to ramble on as others began to emerge from their own blankets and cloaks grinning.

  “Syria would have been nice, we wouldn’t have frozen our cocks off there but no, we had to come here to this giant forest and…..” He looked around and saw the mist below, “Oh wonderful, just look at that.” He said pointing, “There could be all manner of hairy bastards hiding down there waiting to greet us when we get down, hundreds of them, thousands even and we wouldn’t have the first fucking clue they were there.”

  “It will soon heat up Quintus,” Decimus said, “in no time at all you’ll be jumping into streams with naked local women, who will help warm your blood. Now stop your whining.”

  Quintus shivered at the prospect of cold water and threw aside his course blanket, kneeling he began to roll it up ready to move but it didn’t stop him from complaining.

  “Water, streams, you have to be pulling my incredibly long foreskin my friend. If I jumped into a stream right now I’d die and you would be responsible, miserable bloody place. I can’t wait to see the locals actually I bet they’re covered in natural fur to keep warm, it’s bound to be growing out of their skin.”

  Quintus’ ranting at least cheered the others up as they packed away their gear and stowed it on the horses and in no time at all they were ready to move off, breakfast would have to wait, a fact that gave Quintus more to moan about. They would
move from their resting place before eating, putting a few miles between them and the overnight camp. Varro informed them that he wanted to scout the area where they had seen the fires the night before. Once that was done they would split up with Quintus and his men to returning the column. The rest of the Second Augusta was probably already preparing to move but would be having a hearty breakfast before breaking camp. They made sure there was no evidence of last night’s fire and gave their mounts a little food, they could go without breakfast but their means of transportation could not. Already the mist was beginning to clear as Varro slowly led the way down off the high ground. Once more they began to see that small wooded areas littered the land, with a large covering of forest to the right, the sea and rolling coastline to their left.

  “We’ll make for that cluster of trees over there.” Varro said pointing, “Quintus take you’re men and follow the line of the sea, we’ll take the northern route and move along the tree line of the forest. If you make any enemy contact or suddenly come across any hairy arse Britons your unsure of and you find yourself outnumbered, you are to withdraw to here, where we’ll meet you and the same applies for us. We don’t know how these people will react, so be safe. Remember we’re here to watch, observe and report back, not to get involved in a fight.”

  Quintus acknowledged the order and indicated for his men to follow his lead. Gone was the moaning man, returned was the professional soldier. Slowly they turned their horses to follow his lead and began to descend the hillock.

  “Optio,” Varro said to Veranius, “Lets see who’s out there shall we?”

  He began to move further down the hill, their party some yards behind the first, at the base of the mound, he turned left and Quintus and his men went right. The sun was slowly beginning to warm them now and Varro felt a little better than he had when he had woken just before first light. It was always an unusual feeling being so far forward, without the comfortable feeling of the quick response and safety of the rest of the legion nearby.

  Initially Varro had found it hard to adapt to the duties of the unit, never quite knowing who or what lay ahead or behind. He had spent many a restless night often preferring to volunteer for guard duty rather than sleeping or trying to sleep before he got use to it. In time, he had been promoted to Optio and now he commanded his own unit and while he slept soundly, others volunteered to stay awake on guard.

  He had come to realise that whatever was written in the stars or was bound to be in his destiny he couldn’t change it. It was futile to fret and worry over what he could not affect or ultimately change, so he would continue to use his skill and initiative and hopefully stay alive being careful to avoid overwhelming odds. If it was his time to leave this life then that was how it was meant to be.

  He was more than aware of the responsibility regarding his men and their lives, he would be loyal to the death with them and he expected the same in return, nothing more nothing less. Politics and scheming by high ranking officers was all too apparent in the army and he wouldn’t abide it with his soldiers, if an individual had something to say he would listen and respect their opinions and views. It didn’t of course mean he would take any notice of it however and the men respected that. He wouldn’t stand for any political wrangling or men prepared to step on others to advance their own careers.

  They had once had a Senators son in their ranks whose ambition was clearly more dangerous than the enemy, because of his eagerness to please the Legate and the legions tribunes. His father had insisted he join the ranks of the army as a legionary and not a thin stripe tribune, as punishment for his arrogance and bad nature. Varro had made sure he was removed from the unit within a week after he tried to volunteer them for a mission that could have killed them all, they never saw him again. He didn’t always act on his men’s advice or words but he did listen, he always listened. He knew he wasn’t infallible and had more respect for his fellow soldiers than other officers or men wearing Senatorial robes. If they had something of value to say and it was better than his initial course of action, he was humble enough to change his mind. Too many in the army were ignorant and arrogant as they tried to advance themselves and he had seen them all too often pay the price for that with their lives. He lived for the day not some future that may never come.

  The sun was now visible and the mist had all but evaporated except for a few clumps here and there. As he led his men out towards the line of trees that marked the edge of the forest, he scanned ahead expecting to see horses and men emerge quicker than they could react and pin them down, it wasn’t long before his suspicions were confirmed. Somewhere in the distance, the corner of his eye caught movement to the right. He saw fleeting movement, slight and slow but movement nevertheless. At a distance of about five hundred yards he saw a human figure move back into the cover of the thick trees. As soon as his eyes were on him or her, they’d vanished but not before Varro saw the spear that they carried, confirming it was a person.

  Outwardly he gave no indication that he had seen the man or woman but he adjusted the path of Staro slightly away from the trees and to at least two range lengths of a spears throw from the cover of them. He moved his right hand to his back and held it at the base of his spine clenching his fist, Veranius saw it and without a word, all the men were aware of the danger somewhere ahead on the right.

  “How far? Veranius asked quietly.

  “About five hundred paces, a lone man I think armed with a javelin, all I saw was a figure but he’s carrying a spear for certain and as soon as I saw him he slid back into the trees.” He looked to the right where an entire army could be hidden and they wouldn’t know it. Quintus was out of sight now, having gone around the other side of the hill where they had spent the night. It would be sometime before they met up at the trees Varro had indicated was to be their rendezvous point.

  “Well we are here to see what’s here, I suppose.” He turned in his saddle smiling at Veranius who had a look of mild unease etched over his face as he then checked the location of his pilums.

  “Come on lets flush out this fowl.” Varro said as he gently nudged Staro with his heels and the horse moved forward slowly into a canter, ears sharp and straight as if sensing something wasn’t quite right, his head nodding up and down. When they were level with the point where the man had vanished, Varro brought them to a halt, to anyone watching they made it look as if they had just stopped and were getting off their horses for a stretch but inside their senses were straining.

  “Marcus,” Varro said, as the soldier came forward, “you’re our fastest runner aren’t you?” He smiled knowing that Marcus would react as expected.

  “Yes sir, no-one has beaten me in the legion yet,” he beamed proudly. Marcus was one of the most competitive men Varro had ever known. It didn’t matter if he was growing seeds or looking after the legions dogs, he had to be better, grow more or make the dogs more obedient, run faster and be stronger. He was a good man who was as straight and honest as the flight of an arrow and could be relied upon no matter what the situation. Here he was far from Rome, the only one amongst them actually from the capitol, he had spent three years in the army and was an expert rider and knew how to treat most ailments and injuries that the animals picked up; an altogether invaluable member of the squad.

  “I want you to walk casually towards those trees but don’t make it obvious that you’re looking to see what’s there, make it look like you’re going to take a piss or something.” Varro turned, “Lucius,” he said looking at the other soldier, “I want you to hold the reins of his horse in case he has to run back and be ready to ride.”

  “Understood.” He acknowledged taking the reins from Marcus who began to walk forwards and started to adjust his tunic. He had taken no more than ten feet when violent loud movement disturbed the bushes at the base of a tree. The tip of a wooden spear tipped with iron appeared and was hurled towards the advancing Marcus, the throwers arm disappeared back into the bushes as quickly as it had appeared. Marcus didn’t
panic but quickly moved to the left avoiding the lance as it flew harmlessly past him at arm’s length and landed, embedding itself into the ground its end vibrating as its deadly sharpened spike skewered the soil.

  He crouched and began to move slowly backwards watching the foliage. He had left his oval shield on his horse hanging from one of the pommels, believing that to have taken it with him would have meant arousing suspicion, a decision he was now beginning to regret. He turned to check where the others were and the expression on Varro’s face told him to get back quickly. As he turned to run he was aware of more movement behind him as men emerged from the trees.

  In seconds he was leaping up and vaulting into his saddle, snatching the reigns from Lucius and turning his horse ready to move, he was aware the others hadn’t started to gallop away, he turned the horse and saw why. Twelve men dressed in strange primitive clothing that was draped around their legs as well as their upper bodies were standing staring at the Romans. They carried small round shields and some were holding long swords as well as spears.

  Some of them had limed hair that looked dirty and stiff and stood on end, a few wore it tied up at the back and most had straggly unkempt beards, blue streaks marked their faces, they were obviously tribal warriors, the first Britons they had seen. As the two opposing sides stared at each other with fascination, fear and a growing anticipation of what was to come, a silence seemed to descend over the area and the air became still.

  These were the Britons, the inhabitants of this strange land, their faces looked rough and weather beaten even more so than the sailors that had brought Varro and his men here on their ships from Gaul. Some held their swords in their right hands, whilst others had them in the left, Varro presumed that this meant that they didn’t form disciplined lines in battle as they themselves did but instead probably fought as individuals and not as a cohesive group. They had been told that tribes would traditionally send their best warriors to fight in single combat to decide disputes. This was something the Romans could use to their advantage because they wouldn’t make such an effective force together. Some of the swords looked to be made of bronze and Varro knew they wouldn’t be as strong as the iron that made their own weapons, three or more had newer iron weapons. Nevertheless, the bronze swords could still cut a man in half as some of the Gaul’s swords had. They each carried two spears attached to their backs by unseen fixtures except for one, the man that had tried to kill Marcus or had tried to scare him at least.