by John Salter
From somewhere he was aware of trumpets sounding, giving orders to cohorts and centuries to pursue the attack as the chaos of battle grew. Staro began to gallop forward now clear of the water, he managed to gain a slight lead on the horses around him. Varro saw a clear gap to his left and steered towards it and then further to the left. He knew presenting himself and his horse’s side to the enemy was a huge risk but he also knew that if he didn’t do something quickly they would find themselves running straight onto swords or spears. From the corner of his eye he saw that more men and horses were getting hit by arrows. He saw one horse rearing upward with a number of arrows in its head and more landing as its undefended chest was bared. He kicked out at Staro mentally pleading for more speed.
‘Come on boy we don’t want to die here like this, not here, not today, come on faster.’ He shouted. In a split second the thought was already gone from his head as from somewhere Staro found more speed. Varro clung on as he accelerated forward. From the side he was aware that he had made the right decision as the two opposing sides drew closer.
He saw that the enemy were now running flat out, sprinting towards their attackers, hurling spears, others held axes or swords aloft as they screamed and shook them in the air. They looked terrifying, their eyes and teeth prominent through their woad covered skin. Varro ripped a javelin free and hurled it forward and to the right. He didn’t aim it at anyone in particular so dense was the crush of Britons massed and surging forward.
In seconds the two sides would clash and Varro worked like never before to push his horse further to the left. He didn’t intend to end his life stupidly running into a sword or spiked on a spear. Briefly he was aware that some of the warriors were women amongst the men attacking them, for a second he saw breasts covered in blue bouncing as the women ran. He dismissed the thought concentrating on pushing Staro further.
‘Faster boy come on.’ He urged.
In the next moment he was aware of the two sides coming together behind him, clashing weapons and intensified screaming. Roman legionnaires who still had javelins worked them to find soft flesh, those without, stabbed out and slashed with their long swords as the Britons wielded their axes, swords and spears. The impact of the clash of both sides was almost ear splitting and Varro grimaced at the pain he felt in his ears but for now all that mattered was that he had escaped death.
He turned Staro quickly and saw that more Britons were running forward joining the fray. Weapons were brought up and down as they tried to find targets the sound of metal clashing together sharply. He reached for his second javelin whilst nudging Staro into a canter with his legs. Twenty paces from the battling sides he picked out a bare breasted women, he launched his weapon. Just before it struck home she was impaled by a Roman sword just below the right collarbone. His javelins point disappeared into the side of her head just in front of her ear and she fell lost amongst the struggling bodies.
He looked to the right and saw that the first of the infantry were struggling out of the water, dripping and struggling to form up. A trumpet sounded from somewhere ordering the cavalry cohort to hold their ground but it made no difference to the men fighting to stay alive. If they turned they would die, so they knew their only hope was to try and stay alive until reinforcements arrived. Varro saw that he wasn’t the only one to have galloped to the left as he was now joined by three others their mounts snorting heavily, eyes wide.
“Let’s hit them from the side.” He shouted as he launched Staro towards the melee, the others followed. The Britons didn’t see them coming so intent were they in their frenzy. They were struck by the charging war horses who ploughed into them knocking them sideways and backwards onto the floor. Varro quickly turned Staro and retreated from the fight. Another soldier wasn’t so quick and was dragged from his mount and stabbed repeatedly never to rise again.
Varro charged out and away with the other two survivors but saw that the Britons were now clearly aware of him. A few peeled away from the large group and raced towards him. He didn’t realise it at the time but this would save his life. He nodded at the two others to retreat and they followed him galloping further away from the battle as spears were launched towards them but fell short.
The pursuing Britons realising they wouldn’t catch the horsemen and so turned and ran back towards the battle. Another trumpet sounded over the fighting and the cavalry engaged with the Britons turned and attempted to retreat. Some were dragged to the ground others were hit by spears but most managed to break free. Varro saw the reason why, the infantry were now formed up properly and were marching forward in tight lines.
The Britons didn’t hesitate as they saw what they were now confronted with and started running at the neat columns of Roman soldiers. Helmets almost hidden behind the tops of large shields they advanced at the loosely running barbarians as another noise resounded over the screams and shouts, the sound of Roman short swords hitting their shields.
Varro and the other horseman began to canter back towards the water their horses breathing hard, breath billowing from flared nostrils as ballista bolts were launched for the first time from the other side of the river. They screamed over the legionaries helmets by the barest of margins and with astonishing speed slammed into the front, second and even third ranks of the running Britons.
Bolts literally spun some of the advancing Britons over backwards such was their speed and ferocity as they cut through the bodies and took their lives, other bolts merely passed through soft flesh their victims unaware until organs failed and they dropped to the ground dead. Varro saw three victims pinned together as the first then the second were slammed backwards into the third as they all then fell to the floor at the same time skewered together. Twenty feet from the front line of the Roman wall, javelins were launched by those soldiers holding them, who before they landed were already holding swords ready behind their guards. More of the enemy were taken from the battle as pila were embedded into bodies.
The first of the Britons began to reach the disciplined ranks, some threw themselves at the wall of shields, others tried to leap over them. Crashing into the large square as swords stabbed out to meet them, the warriors were easy targets. Those at the front were now caught between those following, where they met their end.
Varro halted short of the river as he and the two with him were joined by other mounted soldiers. He heard a trumpet sounding a cavalry flanking charge from the other side of the river, it seemed that Vespasian watching from somewhere unseen now intended to outflank the Britons and destroy them. He turned his attention back to the battle and the square was doing what it did best, unleashing a murderous hell on their attackers. Unbeknown to the Britons who bravely threw themselves against the shields, it was only a matter of time before they died.
From behind the relative safety of their shields the men were stabbing at the enemy, short sharp thrusts were cutting the Britons down. At a Centurions shouted command, those at the front were replaced by the next row as the human death machine rotated its sword and shield cogs to maintain their deadly momentum. Soldiers could only remain on the front line for a few minutes at a time before they exhausted themselves. Slamming a shield boss into a determined enemy and then forcing them back or just holding the line was exhausting work. Stabbing through small gaps at a frenzied enemy and trying to avoid thrusts from spears and swords was equally tiring. It was something that the legions trained many hours and days to achieve and now their work was coming to fruition.
As more Britons ran to join the attack those at the front found themselves trapped by those behind them, there was nowhere to go and they died by the dozen, entire rows were cut down but still they came from the rear. Over the sound of mayhem, Varro heard splashing and saw that the ordered cavalry were making their way into the now almost boiling bloody and muddy water at the gallop. The wall of shields was now beginning to slowly advance over the dead in front of them and the Britons at the head of their battle line hesitated, those at the rear began to turn
and retreat. Soldiers at the front were stepping onto their victims, steadily they moved over broken and bloody slippery mess trying to maintain their discipline and balance. The rear of spears could be seen stabbing downward as they moved.
In seconds the cavalry were across the river, what seemed to take an age previously now passed in the blink of an eye, the almost insurmountable dangerous water was nothing more than a slight obstacle to be overcome as the unsuspecting Britons were about to be surrounded. As the cavalry got level with Varro and his group they cantered forward and joined them in their attack on the right flank. As horses struck the fighting Britons another noise seemed to envelope the atmosphere. Varro struggling to control Staro and turned his head to see what was causing it. Starting as a low rumbling, the ground now shook as it got louder.
The Britons to a man and woman turned and were running, retreating the way they had come but the noise overriding the chaos sounded like an earthquake, he didn’t know what it was but saw that the front line of troops had stopped and was standing still, no longer advancing. A line of dead were lying in front of them. Horses were turned towards the growing sound as riders turned their mounts.
Just as the last of the running Britons vanished into the mist covering the marsh, the first of the horses appeared galloping forward tethered to another followed by the men on the chariots they pulled. They emerged from the mist like avenging gods as a collective gasp ran through the men they faced.
“Flanking counter attack now!” Shouted an equestrian officer as he pulled his mount and galloped away shouting again, “Flanking Counter.” Varro knew the order and quickly followed as horses moved away from their current position as if one to avoid the advancing chariots.
Togodumnus rode in the leading chariot whirling a long sword around his head and shouting encouragement and screaming at the men bouncing along in other chariots all around and behind him. Caratacus was one of them, the King his brother in his own chariot but he was convinced he could protect him. As the mobile Britons continued to advance building up speed, those on the sides of their great formation edged away to try and outflank the enemy infantry. The sound of the charging horses and chariots was nothing like anything that had gone before even the infantry now hitting their shields again were drowned out as the Britons bore down on them. Varro saw that the retreating Britons on foot had now turned and were following the chariots into battle.
“Charge. Forward!” Screamed the officer trying to encourage his own men leading their charge merely paces from the flanking chariots, seconds before the impact of the two sides. As the clash occurred some were lucky and ran through gaps in their opponents lines and lashed out with swords or spears. Others clashed head on with the enemy, tearing men from their horses, chariots were catapulted forward, tumbling into the dense mass of bodies and armour, weapons flew like missiles after being knocked from hands, horses ran into each other head on, the noise from the chaos was horrendous.
Varro was just behind this mass of madness and so survived unhurt as he pushed forward into the melee. Men on chariots hurled spears at the Roman horses, swords clashed and men and animals alike died, were mortally wounded or sustained injuries that would affect them for evermore. As the centre line of racing chariots including Togodumnus neared the Roman infantry of the Second Augusta the men were ordered to stand fast. The ground shook as the chariots got closer and closer. Centurion and legionary alike braced themselves for the shock of the impact about to hit them. They had already expended their own javelins but more had been passed forward from the rear and the men behind those at the front passed the weapons forward as quickly as possible. A centurion within the ranks had ordered that they hold them out towards the advancing horses like a giant porcupine. These pila now appeared, thrust through the shield wall by the men standing behind the front rank as they all waited for the crash.
Two independent battles broke out on the flanks as the Roman cavalry tried to stop the other chariots from getting to the sides and rear of their infantry, a few got through and raced off at angles speeding off elsewhere on the battlefield. Seconds from crashing the central chariots, helmets ducked behind shields. Spears were hurled from the charioteers and landed at random amongst the rows of legionaries.
Just before the crunching impact of animal and shield, horses saw the levelled spears and halted immediately digging their front hooves into the ground, their screaming occupants were hurled upwards over and into the square. Of the horses that didn’t stop some ran straight onto the spears, those that somehow avoided them smashed into the Roman shields causing chaos, piling into and over men. Some of the passengers aboard the chariots jumped clear and ran to the areas where holes had been punched into the shield wall and attacked.
“Hold the line” Screamed voices as some soldiers knocked to the floor by the charging horses struggled to their feet while others were still on the ground unconscious or too injured to move. Others had lost their shields and some their swords. The rampaging Britons took advantage of those dazed by the onslaught and instantly hacked them apart. Around them other infantry tried to tighten their part of the shield wall and advanced as best as they could in the mayhem closing in on the attackers.
Chapter Twelve
Caratacus saw the danger instantly, even though his men and women were hacking down the Romans around him. He saw that the small victories would be short lived as their enemies reinforcements advanced. In the chaos all around he also saw that beyond the thrashing and clash of iron, more Romans were landing on his side of the river using rafts made of wood. There was little that he could do about it because the warriors were already struggling to cope with those already there. He looked to the side of the battleground and saw enemy horsemen rapidly outflanking those converged in the main fight, he had to do something or he and his people would be destroyed.
He looked around desperately looking for Togodumnus and briefly recognised his brother in the middle of one fight that was merely one part of many surrounded by other Britons fighting for their very lives. Large swords and axes were whipping up and down and from left to right as weapons clashed against the enemy shields and armour, men screamed and sprays of blood discoloured the air for the brief seconds they were airborne. The combined smell of blood and excrement from released bowels was vile, that mixed with the noise, made this place hell. He didn’t know what was worse, the sight of the battle, the sound or the stench of blood and shit. Behind the Roman lines in the distance he saw a shining gold eagle held high like a nemesis advancing towards him.
“Retreat brother, retreat!” He shouted as loud as he was able but his voice was already hoarse and was swallowed up, drowned out by the noise all around him. He realised that in no time at all Togodumnus would be surrounded again but on this occasion by the enemy. The advancing armour and men hidden behind their shields were like huge waves now and nothing it seemed could stop them.
“Retreat, retreat.” He shouted again.
The enemy wall of shields steadily advanced, spears were thrust out at his warriors and they began to take more injuries. All along the line the same thing was happening, there were small pockets where the chariots had punctured holes but they were being sealed again by the invaders like some natural vacuum. Britons who engaged the Romans at arms lengths were stabbed with short swords, those behind them were stabbed at with javelins from the men in the enemies second or third rows, as others received hurled javelins and those on the flanks were now engaged by the cavalry as they were slowly enveloped.
Caratacus ran forward still shouting trying to warn the men and women desperately fighting, only those directly in front of him heard the warning and began to back away. He realised he wasn’t going to get to Togodumnus in time and for a brief moment decided to run forward, he would die here with his brother or somehow get him free. He saw a female warrior her lithe beautiful form staggering towards him, deep puncture wounds bled from her stomach and breasts, her face white with shock except for the woad colouring her fea
tures.
He grabbed hold of an arm and dragged her behind him and pushed the image from his head because he had to find his brother. As soon as the thought rushed through his mind another told him that he had to stay alive, retreat, stay alive and keep fighting if Togodumnus was killed. He paused watching as his brother and King was engulfed by stabbing blades, he staggered backwards overcome with shock and grief, his body shook. One of his men grabbed his arm and pulled him backwards away from the fight. He tried to resist planting his feet but another set of strong hands pulled him clear shouting at him not to resist and onto a stationary chariot, he stopped struggling.
“Ride, ride, get Caratacus clear.” The man was bleeding from a head wound but Caratacus saw the determination in his clear eyes and stopped resisting altogether. From the height of the chariot he saw that his brother, King of the Catuvellauni was still fighting, swinging his sword at the moving shield wall now all around him he and his small band who were surrounded entirely. He could see the sword rise and come down onto the top of a shield and stop, it was stuck, he saw as his brother tried to prise it free. It was the last time he would see him as the chariot was quickly turned and the driver struggled to retreat through the still advancing men and women.