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

by John Salter

  Mersax had confirmed their worse fear, their lost sibling and former brother had returned to the land of his birth with an army, intent on conquest and a foe that was more powerful than any other they had ever faced. They had agreed that at any cost, including even their own lives, Adminius must pay with his life. He was also understood to be giving the Romans strategic information about not only their own tribe and warriors but of land and tribes elsewhere, rivers and terrain. Including no doubt rivers that included the one where they were now camped.

  He would also tell them of the people who would fight against them and that was an act that could not and would not go unpunished. The information he had to give was vital, vital to the success of the invaders and a possible death nail to them as defenders.

  Adminius wasn’t the only Briton to turn on his own people. Others who believed they had been badly treated by them were also known to be selling their souls to the enemy. The truth of the matter was that these people had broken laws and tribal rules and treaties that they had previously agreed to abide by but they had failed and they had been discovered and for that they had been exiled. A few had broken treaties, some had executed people under their protection for minor infractions and some had wanted to give their riches and resources to the men from the east in order that they would become clients of the Romans. Now they would begin to pay for their treachery and crimes with their lives.

  The brothers had pushed their people hard in order to get breathing space and to lose the scouts who they knew were following them. Nothing more than small skirmishes had taken place since the landing and they now believed they had a day to prepare for what was to come.

  Chapter Eleven

  Through the swirling morning mist carried on an infrequent breeze, Varro slowly advanced with the cavalry cohort he had been attached to for the attack. Vespasian had deemed it necessary that all men and equipment available to him would be involved in what he believed would be the final and decisive battle against the Catuvellauni. His philosophy was that it was worth taking a greater risk to destroy Caratacus and Togodumnus and take casualties now rather than draw out the war and lose more men in the long term. Now all the Britons had to do was line-up and allow themselves to be slaughtered like never before.

  When Varro and his small party including Brenna and her brother had originally ridden out in search of the enemy, they had originally lost contact with them despite being convinced that it wouldn’t happen with such a large body moving together. The people they sought though had managed to evade them by moving faster and not stopping and it had forced the pursuers to spend time trying to locate them. The Britons had also used some of their carts, horses and people as diversions and he was shocked to find only old men and women when he had eventually tracked some of them down. They had posed no threat but had caused him to waste valuable time and he was angry at his own naivety. He had told those he found to return to their homes or risk losing their lives. In the main they agreed but some shouted abuse and one had even asked Varro questions.

  “Why are you here Roman?” A man shouted sat on one of the carts. Varro looked at him, he assumed was about sixty years of age. He had long unkempt hair and was sat next to a woman of similar age who he presumed was his wife. Brenna translated his words but the man looked only at Varro.

  “Togodumnus and Caratacus have seized the crown from Adminius of the Catuvellauni, rightful heir to the throne and loyal client King to the Emperor. They have also invaded other Kingdoms and plans on rebelling against Rome and cutting trade.” Varro replied but even as he spoke his words were met with shaking heads.

  “Adminius is the traitor and liar not Togodumnus or his brother. Your Emperor is either a fool or a liar and has been duped by Adminius and has allowed his greed to overtake his morals and mind. Tell me Roman what trade has ceased?” The old man stood on the plank seat of the cart as if to emphasise his point and make himself heard.

  “Trade still flows from Britannia to Rome and from Rome to Britannia under Togodumnus. Adminius is the one who broke treaties and launched attacks on other regions. It is well known that it was he who was exiled by his father, a loyal King. It was he who called for rebellion here. Why else would the King have exiled him, his own son? It was he who was hungry for power and it is he who should be punished not an entire people.”

  Varro calmed Staro who jerked around underneath him, sensing tension. “My argument is not with you or your people old man. I am a soldier and go where I am ordered and I’m ordered to track Togodumnus down and you have delayed me long enough. I do not concern myself with politics but with what I can see, now where has he gone, which direction?”

  The old man raised his eyebrows as if surprised by the question. “Do you expect me to betray my King Roman?” He looked around at the gathered Britons.

  “I cannot help you no matter what you say or do. We live here and have lived here all our lives and we know what has happened. We have seen the greed of Adminius not Togodumnus. You may see yourself as an honest man merely doing his duty but you have been used as have all your soldiers. I am sorry but my new leader is a brave and proud man who is serving and trying to protect his people as you would and I cannot assist you against him.” He sat down again as if to signify the end of the conversation.

  Varro felt some respect for the old man and the others who were nodding in agreement to his words. He looked at Brenna and told her to translate once more.

  “Take these people then and make your way to your homes where you will be safe.” He turned Staro and galloped away with the others following. They continued to look to the west and eventually turned north east after picking up no fresh signs of the enemy. What the old man had said began to gnaw away at him. He had always believed in the noble nature of soldiering but things were beginning to cast doubts on his chosen way of life. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to concentrate on the task in hand.

  Moving along a wide fairly fast flowing river he had finally found the army he had been searching for. They had made camp on the far side of the water a mile or so before it ran into the sea. Vast amounts of tents were pitched for as far as the eye could see and plumes of smoke billowed up from hundreds of small fires. People were wandering around talking to different groups some were eating and many were preparing weapons, warriors he assumed as he looked beyond them. From his position hidden amongst a wooded glade he could just make out war chariots behind the enemy lines, he lost count after fifty. The chariots were near a forest like area and maybe marsh land beyond where large reeds could be seen.

  Working hard to stay out of sight, he and his small party watched the Britons from the safety of the far side of the river amongst uneven ground. It looked to Varro as if Togodumnus had decided to stand and make a fight and had chosen his ground well as he looked out over the huge encampment. He almost admired the chieftain for choosing this place as it was eminently defendable and hard to attack, there was no doubt that this enemy, was tactically astute. Crossing the river to attack them would prove difficult but he knew it would be imperative if they were to succeed.

  Together with those in his group, the scouting party discussed the prospect of a battle occurring here. Brenna and her brother had volunteered to stay hidden and watch and wait for the slow moving Roman column to advance after Varro would report his findings to the General and his staff. Knowing that crossing the river was a major factor in what was to come, he had decided to travel further along the river and headed west to try and find a suitable place to cross. Although he estimated that the depth of the water was about shoulder height and therefore crossable, it wouldn’t be so easy with enemy spears and arrows piercing soldiers flesh as they struggled with the water current as well.

  He rode on for about an hour and eventually found an old rickety foot bridge that was just wide enough for two men to cross at a time. It had been made from felled trees a long time before and bound together with vines but would be sufficient for a few cohorts to use
to get to the other side of the twisting water. Varro had seen how the river had weaved its way through the countryside turning this way and that, almost turning back on itself at some points like a great snake. After finding no shallow areas suitable for a large crossing of men and equipment, he returned to the legion and reported his findings.

  Vespasian had listened to his report with interest often stopping him to ask questions or to clear up certain points as he studied the parchment map in detail. A plan of attack would be drawn up and developed with his officers and soon the Legion would march into battle.

  And so it was that he now found himself riding on its left flank advancing towards the great barbarian army on the far side of the river. The Legion had woken well before dawn and eaten breakfast consisting of dried hard biscuits and watered wine. It was still dark as he had checked his horse and had to use the flames from a torch burning nearby to make sure his saddle was secure and his javelins easily accessible.

  He now felt his heart began to pound and race in his chest in anticipation of the battle to come. He knew that the plan had involved his cohort being the tip of the spear of the attack but that was all, he knew no further specific details. The General had briefed Tribunes and senior Centurions who in turn briefed everyone through their own respective Centurions. There was no requirement for every single soldier to know specific details as they would receive their orders at the time.

  Slowly the horse’s in front of his own came to a halt and an eerie silence descended. The noise of the flowing water and the occasional snort of a horse were the only things that broke it. They were to wait for the signal to advance into the water and to then cross the river as quickly as possible for a full frontal assault. He sat back in his saddle and felt the mists cool moisture on his arms and legs and thought about the fight to come as his stomach twisted and lurched in anticipation.

  The plan that he was aware of was for the cavalry attack to withdraw as soon as their infantry reinforcements reached their position and engaged the army of Britons but before that a diversionary attack was to take place at the rear of the enemy lines. If that attack proved successful it would mean that the Britons would be virtually surrounded and cut off, unable to escape.

  As far off cries of pain sounded from somewhere over on the other side of the river, he knew the assault had begun. Cohorts of Batavian cavalry had already set foot on the far side of the river a few hours before still under the cover of night. Some were to use the footbridge found by Varro and had made the way slowly to the other side and had gone to ground at the rear of the enemy, others had literally swam across the river with full kit three miles to the west.

  The plan had been to attack and trap the Britons in the first instance by either killing, or disabling their horses at the rear and so knocking out their ability to use their chariots. The shrieks of pain from man and horse accounted for the guttural noises as the attack was pressed home but the incensed Catuvellauni were fighting like demons as they quickly realised that the Romans had already crossed the river and were now attacking from the rear.

  The Batavians had quickly come to the conclusion that it was impossible to put all the horses out of action as they thrashed about kicking out at them and running wildly panicking as they saw what was happening to those around them. Soldiers tried in vain to hamstring as many of the animals as they could but were quickly attacked as they went about their grisly business.

  The defending enemy counter attacked with a fury and a frenzy that even they, the veterans found hard to comprehend, as the first of the horses were wounded screaming out in agony, the Britons launched an assault. Running at the Romans the Catuvellauni threw themselves at the men killing and wounding their animals. The woad covered warriors attacked them like madmen swarming all around them in moments hurling spears and firing arrows into their ranks.

  Individual fights broke out everywhere as the Romans not already engaged, attempted to hold off the attacking barbarians whilst others concentrated on the animals. The men of the Second Augusta started to fall in numbers as they were hacked and stabbed to death. Horses bolted, running wildly in the ensuing mayhem that descended all around and Roman and Briton alike were stampeded and knocked to the ground.

  As Varro and his horse entered the water he exchanged nervous glances with those around him. The noise and cries from men and animals coming from the other side were chilling and almost unbearable. Their own mounts were already skittish, spooked by the ungodly sounds of battle. One trooper was thrown from his horse further down the line as his animal bucked, hurling him into the cold water.

  Varro gasped as the water rose up his legs as man and horse got deeper into the river, he could now see the other side on the opposite shore through the mist. Whispering quietly to Staro he leaned forward and rubbed his neck trying to calm his mount as he strained to see more detail on the other side. He still couldn’t see any of the enemy, just their roughly made tents and numerous campfires. The Centurion in charge of the cohort ordered them to advance further, they urged their animals forward wading deeper, moving faster through the deep cold water.

  At the rear of the Britons line they were now taking control of the fight as more warriors enveloped the isolated Romans. Unable to wound any more horses and totally surrounded they fought for their lives, none were shown any mercy. Even those who tried to surrender, throwing their swords down and raising their arms were hacked to death by the incensed defenders who were crazed after what they had done to their animals. Fingers, hands, arms and heads were severed as blood clouds sprayed forming and spurting from veins in the continued attack as the Romans numbers were whittled down.

  As they were cut to ribbons, the other cohorts appeared out of the mist galloping from their own river crossing. The bridge had collapsed under the weight of the animals so they had swam across, still steaming as the cold water met their warm bodies but they were too late to save their comrades. Instantly they turned to charge toward to a group of horses but the Britons got to them first and formed a human barrier. Spears were hurled through the air at the cavalry as faster flying arrows joined them in the air finding their targets.

  The newly arrived troops and their horses were quickly hemmed together from all sides. Those who found themselves outermost struggled to fight such was the crush of bodies in front and behind and stood little chance. The men at the rear were unable to help, crammed in like eels in a barrel and could only watch in panic as those in front of them met a brutal death as they themselves could only wait their turn. Men fell from horses quickly as the long swords took their toll, the attackers able to stand off and swing wildly at such rich targets. For a rare moment the men fighting for the empire found that they didn’t have the advantage. The Britons made short work of the heavily outnumbered and packed together cavalry. As the last of them was slaughtered the victorious Britons surveyed the damage done to their horses.

  A pile of dead were left lying in a heap where they had died, bodies virtually piled up on top of each other. Severed arms and legs twisted at odd angles stuck out from the corpse pile, the stench of blood and shit was vile. Although the defence of the horses had been quick to respond to the attack, many now lay dead, others lay on the ground legs twitching, their cries of pain unworldly. Some tried in vain to get to their feet as the Britons approached them. Those who were deemed mortally wounded were dispatched with spears and swords. Others were still running around in pain large open wounds to their necks and flanks, still spilling blood.

  As Varro and his own horse levelled out on the flat of the river side he heard sharp crisp snapping sounds and realised that they were under attack from bowmen. He looked to his left quickly after he heard a loud shriek and saw that a soldier had been hit in the throat. His hands grasped at the arrow embedded in his neck but his eyes began to glaze over almost immediately. Varro watched the legionary fall backwards over the rump of the horse, his body hit the water head first and was engulfed.

  Instantly he was aware of the
sounds around him, seemingly magnified as he tried to push Staro into a charge as water splashed around them. Another legionary was hit in the face by an arrow as it inverted his nose on impact. Varro heard yet another cry of pain from somewhere behind, it was bedlam. He leaned forward onto Staro’s mane trying to present a smaller target as arrows whined past him from both sides and overhead. His head banged against his mounts neck and he got a face full of wet hair as Staro moved faster through the water raising his head.

  After what seemed like an age, horse and rider began to emerge from the water on the other side. A brief thought inside his head told Varro that their position meant nothing because if anything the danger had now trebled as he saw woad covered Britons streaming forward screaming war cries. As they got to within about fifty paces they hefted their spears launching them into the air as they were joined by more arrows already on their own deadly flight. Varro swallowed briefly and thought that it would be a miracle if he survived this onslaught.

  Riding clear of the water with the enemy bearing down on him, he pushed Staro up the slight embankment screaming encouragement to his horse. Those around him did the same but every second their flight was broken by cries of pain as arrows or spears found targets. Some horses hit by the deadly missiles were jumping in panic to the side, hitting other animals and dislodging their riders who splashed into the cold water, where men gasped for breath. The Britons were taking a heavy toll of both men and horses now as the two sides got closer. He turned to the rear quickly to make sure he wasn’t alone and saw one dismounted soldier trying to wade through the water back to the other side, his horse already there but kicking wildly with a spear in its flank. Beyond the soldier he could see infantry walking into the water, their straight lines walking briskly, shields held high, they too were already starting to receive arrows.