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

by John Salter

  “Don’t look up and he’ll take no notice.” Caratacus said, and he was right. Out of the corner of his eye he saw than the legionary had begun to walk in the opposite direction towards one of the large towers at the corner of the structure. The main entrance was approachable over a wooden flat bridge over the ditch, it was around twenty paces wide. They passed more roundhouses on the opposite side of the track and then came to the river. At first there didn’t seem to be any activity aboard the vessels anchored to the bank, on the second ship however, a man appeared wearing a brightly coloured red tunic. He paid little interest to them and went about his business on the vessel. These were the ships they had seen from the outside of the settlement on the hillside. They were locked in the frozen water, also waiting for the spring to come.

  There was little movement anywhere else as most people were probably inside staying warm near their fires. The clanging of metal could be heard from a forge as they slowly rode along the track, thick black smoke rose from the chimney at the roof and strong fumes permeated the air. They left the walls of the fort behind and saw that the ice was thinner the further south they went. Continuing along the well-worn path other ships were resting at anchor, they moved and bobbed up and down with the flow of the water where the ice hadn’t reached them. Stores and supplies were being unloaded onto carts from one ship roped against the river’s edge and secured onto two trees, no doubt the unloaded cargo was bound for the fort and the soldiers within. They carried on along the track that now ran parallel with the river, it was much wider here. Eventually the track became just a foot path, they followed it veering away from the water’s edge towards dense woodland.

  When they were clear of hearing ears and watching eyes, they stopped and dismounted. “We’d better wait a while before we go back or someone will get suspicious, let’s head up into those woods.” Caratacus said pointing as they left the path completely. The woodland gave them another view of the area from higher ground giving them a different perspective. It was clear that there was only one real way in and one way out of the settlement area except for the abnormal traveller. They checked the woods which would have made an excellent place for a remote post for the Romans but were surprised to find there was none there.

  They decided to continue through the woods instead of returning the way they had come so as not to arouse any suspicion. They changed direction and skirted the woods coming back to where they had hidden their swords, satisfied that they had seen enough they galloped off to the north where the rest of the army waited.

  Varro didn’t enjoy the end of a campaigning season and he liked being stuck inside a fort in the middle of winter even less. Worse than the two, he hated being stuck on guard duty and that was where he found himself, in charge of all the sentries as the duty officer. He hadn’t seen Brenna or her brother Tevelgus for months and wondered if he would ever see either of them again. They had stayed with the army working alongside them where they could, assisting with Britons and trying to lessen conflicts where possible at Camulodunum.

  He passed a group of legionaries playing dice sat at a table. They were due to rotate with the current guards on his next signal at the second hour after midnight. One of the men asked if he would like to join them but he declined saying that he wasn’t very good at the game and was going to make one last check on the men on the wall. He collected his bear skin cloak from a hook on the wall and wrapped it around his shoulders. Leaving the warm building, heated by a large fire he shivered as he went outside into the still night, biting fresh icy air on his face. He climbed the wooden ladder up the wall and made his way to the nearest guard.

  “All quiet?” He asked, the sentry looking out into the dark night.

  “Yes sir. I haven’t seen anyone for hours but an owl has been keeping us company hooting from those trees over there.” He nodded out into the darkness to where Varro could just about see the outline of a large tree set amongst others beyond the local roundhouses, their canopies just standing out against the sky. Smoke drifted up into the clear night air from numerous fires kept burning throughout the night inside the Britons dwellings. He looked up and could easily make out various constellations that were familiar to him.

  “It’s freezing out here, much colder than home during the winter,” he said and stamped his feet banging them on the wooden surface, “the fire will soon warm you up inside though.” The sentry acknowledged his words with a shivering nod. “Not long, I’m just going to have a word with the artillery crew.” The sentry nodded as he walked around the guard straining his eyes to see the men under the cover of the tower.

  “Sir.” Acknowledging his arrival one of the two ballista crew said.

  “How’s it going?” He asked.

  “Well my balls are now frozen solid and I can no longer feel my hands but apart from that it’s as quiet as the grave sir.” The other man said from behind the first.

  Varro laughed, peering under the low roof he could just see the other man sat down huddled up, “I know the feeling believe me but it won’t be long and you’ll be back inside and in the warmth where you can get some food and a hot drink, the feeling will soon come back to you, I doubt the damage is permanent.”

  “I hope not sir or my woman will want to have a word with you I’m sure.”

  Varro smiled, “Everything quiet then?”

  “Apart from that fucking owl hooting away all night, it’s kept us awake.” He joked looking towards the tree line. “If it keeps going with that racket on our next shift I’ll send a bolt flying in his direction, see how he likes that.” He crouched and came out from under the roof. “This bastard of a country is freezing in winter, why couldn’t we have gone to Greece or somewhere warm, somewhere near the coast, Sicily maybe or even Macedon? The cold gets right into your bones I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. Can’t you ask the General to have a word and have us replaced with another Legion sir?”

  “I think you overestimate my influence soldier and his for what it’s worth.” He replied.

  His companion said, “I wish you’d stop complaining about the fucking cold, it just reminds me how bad it is.” He said to his companion. “Obviously it’s fucking cold but on the wall we can’t do anything about it can we. If we had a fire those hairy bastards would be able to see us from miles away and you’d look a right cock with an arrow sticking out of your face, wouldn’t you?”

  All three men laughed as they rubbed their hands together and moved from one foot to the other in an attempt to stay warm. Varro looked over the wall at the white frosty ground below.

  “One good thing about this weather is that any Briton worth his salt is wrapped around his woman, next to a fire if he’s got any sense.” Their commander said as he continued to peer over the palisade. Movement suddenly caught his eye, frowning and looking over to the left he saw a fire blaze into life aboard one of the vessels moored along the river bank.

  “Sir.” One the guards said.

  “I see it.” He replied quickly, he knew that the sentries aboard the vessels rarely had fires aboard the ships and then only under strictly controlled conditions inside the iron braziers.

  “Sound the alarm.” Varro ordered without hesitating as one of the men he had been passing the time with just a moment before, began rattling a large metal triangle.

  Varro turned to the remaining guard, “Let’s get that ballistae cranked up and ready to fire just in case.” As he spoke these words, the ship next in line, sparked to life with flames of its own on board. There was no question now that someone must have deliberately set the fires. As he watched both blazes trebled almost instantly in size, pushing flames into the air, something must have been used to accelerate the fire. A horn sounded from inside the fort sounding the alarm, in moments it would be brought to life.

  As the area beyond lit up Varro saw dark figures moving about on the decks of the boats, they clearly weren’t Roman. He ducked under the low roof of the tower as the sentry struggled to wind the ballista
back. “Here let me help you.” He said. “Your hands are probably frozen.”

  “What about our men on-board sir?” The legionary asked.

  “I would guess that it’s a little late for them now soldier, they’re probably lying dead with their throats cut.” He looked towards the growing flames and felt pain as his eyes hurt in the glare. The woolly figures on the ships looked as if they were now jumping onto the ice off the far ship of those in the frozen water.

  “Ready?” He asked the soldier.

  He stopped turning the handle and the man nodded.

  “Fire.” He ordered standing back. There was a crack as the bolt was launched into the cold night air and went streaking across the track and landed somewhere on the deck of the nearest boat or just beyond, its flight lost in the flames. It was hard to see where it actually embedded itself at that distance especially with the fire.

  “Prepare to fire again.” He ordered as the sentry collected another missile and loaded another bolt turning the handle again, the ratchets clicked with a metallic clunk as they struck each other. Varro heard activity from below and inside the fort as men raced to their designated positions. Vespasian had them trained and drilled for eventualities such as this and the men knew instinctively where their individual stations were in the event of an attack.

  Shadows skittered across the ice beyond the boats as one man fell shouting some obscenity as he skidded and slid over the frozen water. He was dragged upright by another and continued to slip and slide whilst trying to get to the far bank.

  “Concentrate your fire on them and the ice.” Varro ordered pointing to the escaping Britons. The next bolt flew straight and embedded itself into the ice in between some of the running men, shattered chunks flew up around them as they turned. Another fire started on the ship third along the row farther along the riverside.

  “Jupiter’s fucking cunt.” The soldier behind the bolt thrower shouted straining his eyes towards the fourth ship and sure enough within seconds it was the next to be set on fire. Archers began to take up their positions on the wall, some of whom were still throwing on uniform and bits of armour and helmets as they struggled with their bows. He heard men asking what was going on, why had they been woken, looking out over the wall they soon found out. Stringing their bows they discarded their armour dropping it onto the wooden floor for the time being and concentrated on sending arrows towards the men who were lit up by the fires they had started.

  Varro heard a commotion down below and saw a column of men forming up just inside the main gate. They were quickly checking the strapping on each other’s segmented armour. A shout from somewhere ordered the doors open as the men in the column turned to face front, shields up, javelins ready.

  “At the double.” The voice shouted again and Varro saw an Optio leading the men out from the side of their ranks as they began to jog forward. The doors creaked open and multiple hobnail boots hit the wooden bridge over the trench. The junior officer wheeled the men left and towards the ships now totally ablaze. Unable to do anything except launch the occasional arrow, carefully now because of their own men on the ground. Those on the wall had a bird’s eye view of the column below as they approached the first ship some distance from the safety of the fort. As they began to slow down another column left the gate with a Centurion jogging at their side and the original was ordered to halt. They did so and some of the troops instinctively crouched, behind their shields as the Optio surveyed the scene before him. It was obvious that nothing was to be gained by trying to fight the fire. The vessels were roaring with flames now as timbers burnt and cracked, the mast aboard the first ship already looked like it was about to fall as it lurched to one side.

  Varro was aware that locals were coming out of their homes to the right further along the track away from the chaos, to see what all the commotion was, some pointed excitedly as they realised the ships were ablaze. As he turned back, movement caught his eye somewhere to the rear of the crouching soldiers in the shadows, he realised that it was another armed group of Britons emerging from the trees off to the left and behind them. A soldier tried to shout a warning further along the wall. From this distance and with the roaring fire it was impossible for them to hear and he looked on in horror as spears were launched towards the backs of the formed up column. A moment later the first of the soldiers fell forward into the back of the man in front of him, a spear piercing his armour somewhere in the middle of his back.

  The Optio turning saw the danger but he was too late and was quickly engulfed by flailing Britons as they hacked him down around the legs with their swords. The enemy were upon the rest of the men so quickly that they didn’t have time to react and form up properly into a defensive square. Within the blink of an eye the legionaries were overwhelmed by the fur covered Britons, those who were still standing began to run towards the other column as it approached at a run forming a testudo.

  Varro watched as the two groups collided and then realised more Britons were emerging from the trees to the left. The second column had managed to form it’s protective shell just after the survivors from the first were absorbed into their ranks and began to retreat slowly. The screaming Britons hurled themselves onto their shields as bowmen on the walls didn’t wait for the order to open fire, they launched arrows at the sides of the defensive rectangle as it struggled to get back to the main gate.

  From behind the battle below Varro heard a loud cracking sound followed by hissing and realised that the first boat to be set alight was now sinking, flames being exhausted by the freezing water as steam rose upward and outward. Warriors on the far bank of the river cheered as it sank lower and then stopped at an unnatural angle.

  As the retreating column got to within fifty paces of the entrance, the attacking Britons broke off the assault, whether it was the result of an order or a pre-determined plan or even the fact that the archers were homing in on them now, Varro wasn’t sure. The running fur clad figures looked like some large strange creatures as they lurched and scurried back towards the woods, their shadows highlighted by the remaining fires. As they began to vanish into the undergrowth of the trees one of them stopped and then another, the others continued running and disappeared completely. Varro watched as the larger of the two cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.

  “Romans,” A voice shouted in heavily accented Latin, “I am Caratacus, King of the Catuvellauni.” Everyone on the walls stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the two men standing beside the wood. Mutters of the name that had just been shouted at them were repeated along the line of the wall. Some had thought that Caratacus had probably died months before at the battle of the River Medway. He had not been heard of since except for rumours claiming that he had gone west.

  He continued, bellowing above the sound of the flames. “You have invaded our lands, slaughtered our women and children but still we are here to defy you.” Cheering erupted from the dark trees and from across the other side of the river as hordes of barbarians appeared waving weapons. Another voice shouted above them demanding quiet.

  “Romans,” the voice paused, slightly higher in pitch than the first as the other man still visible to those on the wall waved his sword above his head, “I am Ardwen of the Silures, we are one with our brothers the Catuvellauni. Know this, we will not rest until we kill you all or push you back into the sea. These are our lands, the lands of our fathers, the home of Albion and we will not give them up and we will not pay your taxes or tributes. Go home, leave our land and we will leave you alone, refuse and face more of this.”

  He lowered his sword and suddenly fire arrows were launched from the far side of the river roaring and rising like a fiery curtain. They rose high into the night sky and through the smoke of the burning vessels, the soldiers on the walls scrambled for their shields as they began to descend. They started thudding into the wood of the fort and embedding themselves into shields, armour and men. A few landed inside the dugout palisade and instantly set pig fat aflame tha
t had been laid in the event of an enemy attack. The ditch burst into a life of flames as some soldiers jumped from the wall and into the interior of the fort as the roaring fire licked up around its exterior wall enveloping some who weren’t quick enough to jump.

  Varro dodged back into the cover of the tower but not before he felt the heat of the flames threatening to set him alight, almost instantly he could smell singed fur and wondered briefly if it was his own or the guard he had been talking to just moments before. He fell over the ballista in his panic and stumbled along the other wall out of reach of the fire as it took hold of the forts frontal defences. He had time to check his cloak but didn’t see anything on fire.

  He struggled to his feet and ran along the wall with the sentry close behind. He heard someone already shouting for water to fight the flames as he got to a ladder and virtually fell down its length to the relative safety of the ground below. It was only when he got to his feet that he felt the pain of a large wooden finger length splinter embedded into his right palm, he swore in frustration ripping it free. Soldiers were already throwing buckets of water against the walls at the forts entrance and along the walls length, trying to cool the wood as he threw the splinter to the ground.