by John Salter
Suddenly without warning an avalanche of night arrows began to land inside, hitting men sporadically at random. Those who weren’t struck, took cover under their shields once more, others cried out in agony as the barbed hot arrowheads punctured their bodies. Medics ran from cover to help them, seemingly unconcerned by the deadly barrage from above. Archers fired blindly into the night hoping to hit their attackers in the dark. He didn’t know how large a force the Britons had outside but if they managed to burn through the outer wall, the fight could turn into a free for all. With the flames lashing up around the towers now, the ballista were already useless and out of action. He ran to the lines of men that had already formed up from the well as they quickly passed buckets to each other to pass forward, dark black acrid smoke seemed to be everywhere as men coughed and choked.
“Form another line and another here.” He ordered pointing and quickly arranged the men so there were three lines handing buckets forward to throw onto the hot wood of the wall. It was impossible to tell what was happening outside now, the Britons could be formed up ready to run into the place as the wood burned through. For now he could do nothing but concentrate on dampening the wood as much as possible, it was already starting to steam and crack.
In the background he was aware of squares of soldiers forming up ready for any eventuality, if the Britons got through they would be met with heavy infantry. The fight to control the fire seemed to be never ending as the pig fat continued to burn, the smell was foul and the smoke blacker than the night sky but eventually it started to die down.
Varro saw that some men had stopped passing buckets and shouted for them to continue. It looked as if the wood on the inside of the fort had held but it now looked like charcoal, black and crisp, shining wet with the water, hissing and steaming in places. The main gate was a ruined husk and far too hot to open as it had before, the great metal hinges glowed red. It was decided to let it cool and settle before any attempt was made to go outside where they didn’t know what waited for them. Men sank to the floor exhausted holding ripped material from their tunics over their noses to try and stop the smoke from entering their lungs, faces black with soot looked about relieved that it was over for the time being. The injured were carried and dragged to the infirmary where they could receive better treatment.
As the sun began to rise and the dark sky started to lighten with the first few rays of daylight a few hours later, the forts occupants were still on a high state of alert and were ready for another attack. After the last of the night arrows had fallen the offensive against them seemed to have ended or at least paused but they couldn’t be certain from their position inside and so they waited. A few brave souls ventured to the front wall still smouldering from the flames but they couldn’t see beyond the palisade and its own smoke, so had quickly backed away.
“We’ll wait until daylight and we can see properly,” A centurion shouted, “nobody is to approach the wall again until I give the order. If you do I’ll shove my vine cane where you don’t want it” His previously white tunic was now blackened by smoke where he had been in the midst of the fire fight during the night. Varro saw Vespasian behind the centurion, he looked furious and barely able to contain himself. The Britons had caught them unawares, something that the Legate was not used to happening. He remembered back to Caratacus shouting from the edge of the woodland, the image raw in his mind. Clearly the wily Briton had regrouped and re-enforced his army and now had another tribe fighting under his banner. The enemy obviously had no regard for the conventions of war, attacking outside the campaigning season and when they were bottled up inside their walls. Caratacus was still a worthy and dangerous opponent Varro thought to himself, would this ever end?
“Centurion,” A familiar voice shouted, he turned and saw Vespasian wave him over. He ran towards him holding his armour still at the neck under his furs as it had a tendency to bounce when the wearer jogged or ran.
“Sir.” He said coming to a halt, he saluted.
“As soon as it’s light enough to get out there safely,” he said immediately discarding any pleasantries, Varro feeling his pulse quicken, “I want you out there on their trail, I want them found, I want to know where they are so we can destroy every last fucking one of them. Do you understand Centurion?”
“Yes sir.” He had never seen Vespasian so angry before.
“I don’t want you to be seen, I don’t want them to know we’re coming. I want you to take your men and find out everything there is to know about these Silures is that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
“I want to know who these fucking Silures are as well as this Ardwen. I want to know where their tribal grounds are and how many of them there are, I’m going to hit them so fucking hard their dead ancestors will feel it.” He turned to the senior Centurion standing by his side. “I thought we had got rid of that barbarian Caratacus back at the Medway, hasn’t he learned his lesson already? Now he turns up with another tribe and sets fire to my fort and kills my men.” He turned back to Varro. “Find out who this other cunny is, he’s probably fucking Caratacus in celebration as we speak.” He turned to survey the damaged wall at the front of the fort. “You will take Quintus’ section of men as well and those Britons, Brenna and her brother. They’re due to arrive in the morning,” this came as a surprise, “you will command. Find them for me Varro.” The Legate turned and walked off quickly to survey more of the damage.
Varro didn’t reply but saluted and turned to go to the stables to begin to ready his horses and men, he looked up at the sky and shuddered. He wasn’t aware that Brenna and her brother were due to arrive that day, they were in for good welcome on the frontier.
Already miles away to the north, Caratacus and Ardwen led their men back towards the rolling valleys of the Silures. Snow had begun to fall and people huddled inside their furs trying to stay warm against the days chill. Snow capped the mountains in the distance of Ardwen's land where they knew they would be relatively secure. The attack upon the fort of Vespasian had gone exactly according to plan and at a cost of only five dead but the Roman cost must have vastly outnumbered their own. In addition to their dead and injured the fort was badly damaged and a number of vessels sunk or put beyond repair, it had been a very successful night’s work.
Caratacus could have led a full assault on the installation but with it burning and the ditches of the palisade on fire, they would have been sitting ducks for the Roman archers inside. The great Vespasian Legion had suffered a bloody nose during the attack and he would no doubt be seeking revenge but it would come at a cost.
After the battles of the Medway and the Tamesa, Caratacus had learned that he didn’t have to face the beast head on every time, he could sneak up behind it and plunge a lance into its side, that was what he had decided to do. He would use every natural advantage he could, cover, hills, trees, rivers, deceit and surprise and he would show no mercy to the enemy that would show him and his people none. He didn’t know if it would be enough to drive them from his shores but it would make them falter and the soldiers hesitant. The problem with wounding a dangerous animal however, was that it was even more deadly after it was hurt, so as they had planned, they would now melt into the hillsides and disappear into the winter of the lands of the Silures.
“I really don’t see how you were having so many problems with these Romans cousin.” Ardwen remarked from his saddle smiling broadly.
Caratacus gave a cautious smile in return knowing that Ardwen wasn’t being serious but was trying to make light of the situation, “How so cousin?” He asked regardless.
“You seem to have encountered all kinds of problems with them, letting them land from the sea, cross rivers, set up their armies behind their shields, make camps and forts and even drive you from your own lands.” He pushed the hood back over his head so he could see his cousin, “I would say that during the summer months you should relax with your woman and children, go hunting, fishing, travelling maybe, cultivate some crops. Whe
n the Romans march we can rest and when they withdraw into their forts for the winter, we can attack. In the summer you could spend your time recruiting more warriors for your army,” he paused, “our army. Then as the nights get shorter and the leaves start to fall from the trees, prepare to fight and then when winter comes and the enemy is safely tucked up warm inside their forts, you can destroy them, simple really.” He smiled again.
Caratacus laughed, “If only it were that simple my friend. You will see when the spring comes and they creep out of their shells, it’s not as easy as you presume, they’ll be spreading like disease all over. You would have fought them as I did, had they crossed your lands first.”
Now Ardwen laughed, “Ah but cousin your ground is flat like a twelve year old girls breasts, it is suited to them and the way they fight.” Caratacus screwed up his face at Ardwen’s words but he continued, “They take their time and they set their army out like loaded dice, then they wait for the local barbarians that’s us by the way” he remarked, “to come along and courageously but bravely throw ourselves upon their blades.”
“And last night was how you would have fought them bearing in mind that it was my idea.” Caratacus countered, it was now his turn to smile again.
“Well yes and no really. You see my hills and valleys are like a mature woman’s breasts and you can do more with them you see. We can let our friends the Romans enter our valleys where they won’t be able to play soldiers like they’re used to doing and then once they’re in,” he slammed a fist into his palm and closed the hand around it, “we annihilate them.” He smiled looking up at the last remnants of the night sky and the snow that was still falling, “Thirsty work all this slaughtering isn’t it?” He grabbed his water skin from the side of his horse and took and few cold gulps. “Ah beautiful that spring water and nice and chilled thanks to all this snow and ice, not as nice as the mead we’ll be celebrating with tonight though eh cousin?”
Caratacus looked at him, “You actually enjoying fighting don’t you cousin, bashing heads in and killing men?”
Ardwen looked at Caratacus the smile now gone, “When someone or something threatens my family and my way of life, of course I do and do you know why?”
Caratacus looked at him, “No, why?”
“Because if I am bashing his brains out and killing him, then he isn’t doing the same to me or mine. I love it I do Caratacus and I freely admit it and you should learn to love it as well. Forget what happened before, we are where we are my friend and we have to make the most of it, look at it another way, it’s got to be better than planting crops eh?” He laughed again and Caratacus laughed with him.
“There’s something else I think you should consider.” Ardwen added.
“What’s that?” He asked.
“You should seriously consider using your own name not the one given to you by your parents when all was well with Rome. The people would respond better to being led by Caradoc of Albion the Celt not Caratacus the Romanised Briton. You know it means the Ram, it would be a fine symbol on your banner.” Ardwen said.
“It would be strange to suddenly change my name, it is all I’ve ever known but I know what you mean, I will consider it although I don’t think my wife would be very happy.”
Chapter E ighteen
It was just after midday and the sun was high in the sky when Ardwen and Caratacus led the army over the river that naturally separated the lands of the Dobunni and the Silures. Caratacus turned and looked back one final time but there was nothing to see except their own warriors snaking through the cold countryside. He had continually expected to hear shouts from the rear as the Romans sought revenge and attacked their ragged column stretching for as far as the eye could see but it didn’t happen.
Despite their success of the night before, the men and women were now looking weary as they tramped along and splashed through the cold water. The hills of Ardwen’s land were now in sight in the distance, the snow-capped mountains unseen hidden by grey cloud. It almost felt like coming home to Caratacus he suddenly realised as the walk of his horse rhythmically helped him relax more as much as the symbolic crossing of the river. He began to feel something that he hadn’t for what seemed like an age, safe and comfortable.
They followed the path of a small stream that ran down from the valley and into the great river and slowly started their journey upwards on an incline that was almost imperceptible at first. Shale and stone littered the ground over the grass and moss where it had broken off the slate and rock sides of the valley they were about to enter. It looked very different from their journey a few days before when the snow had yet to fall but that didn’t matter now, they were nearly ‘home.’ As they got further up the valley, the hillsides rose higher, the path got steeper and it began to snow.
“Don’t worry my friend you’ll soon be nice and warm with your wife, sat round a fire and telling tales of a great victory.” Ardwen said.
“It cannot come soon enough, my feet have lost all feeling and are like blocks of ice, my hands are useless, if we were attacked now I wouldn’t be able to defend myself. I’d have to roll you towards them.” Caratacus laughed in response his face hidden by the hood drawn over his head to keep out the chill.
“Mott will soon warm your bones I’m sure.” He heard Ardwen say as the wind began to blow. He didn’t reply lost in his own thoughts as he realised that his entire legs were as cold as his feet, he tried to feel his thighs but there was virtually no sensation in his fingers tips. He considered getting off his horse and walking but didn’t think his legs would carry him properly and imagined crumpling to the ground.
He tried to take his mind off the extreme weather and its effects as he thought about the coming year, it would be crucial and his decisions could determine survival or death not just for him but for many, many thousands. His imagination showed him every possible outcome from slaughter to victory and even to living in peace with the Romans although that was a last resort, it was probably possible. If it ultimately meant the survival of the people who were now under his charge, he would consider it.
He thought of his brother and his brutal death, and wondered was he looking down on them now as they filed along and up the valley. The image of Togodumnus and his wounds entered his mind’s eye and once again, it helped to confirm that he was doing the right thing. In reality it was the only thing the forces of Rome had given him and for the time being there was no other choice.
He was dragged from his thoughts by the sound of hooves approaching. Looking up he saw a band of Silures warriors riding down the valley towards them.
“Sadgem.” Ardwen shouted as the men got closer.
“Greetings to you Ardwen, Caratacus.” The man said as he reined in his horse and pushed the hood off his head. He had brown shoulder length hair and dark brown eyes, his face was chiselled with taught skin over his prominent cheek bones. He looked around and up at the falling snow “Did all go well?” He asked breathing hard.
“Better than expected.” Ardwen shouted in reply. “We fired the fort and many boats.” He guided his horse to Sadgem and stopped pulling to the side out of the path of the army. “What news of home?” He asked as he waved for the warriors to continue. They had only been away for four days but four days trying to avoid settlements and the local inhabitants was hard work. They shared a border with the Dobunni and some had said they would fight Rome but they couldn’t take the chance that someone would betray them for a bag of gold.
“Peaceful and calm,” he looked to the grey white snow filling the sky again as his horse snorted and moved closer to Ardwen's, “most are content to stay near a fire and keep out of this damned weather. What of losses, how many dead, injured?” He asked.
“Five died during the fight but two more on the journey, there will be more from the wounded I’m sure but the enemy must have sustained more than three times that number on their vessels alone. They were caught like fish in a pound and couldn’t escape, we gave them a better death tha
n they deserved.
We slipped aboard their ships and found their guards sleeping, they didn’t even realise their throats were cut until it was too late. Once we torched the forts walls any re-enforcements were stuck inside and couldn’t help. We rained night arrows into the fort itself and soon it was ablaze and warming our skin in the cold night air. Something we could do with now, its freezing.”
“Everyone will be glad to see you return, the families of those who have lost loved ones will be cared for and a feast of celebration has been arranged for tonight. I’ll get fresh horses onto the carts of the wounded and get them back as quickly as possible.” Sadgem said. “The rest of us will go south and make sure your trail is clear. I know the Romans don’t like to venture out when the snows come but they may on this occasion if they mourn so many dead. I’ll take twenty men with me, if we see them coming north we’ll not engage them but return as quickly as we can.”
Ardwen smiled, “Very well thank you my friend,” he said, “I don’t have to tell you that we cannot have them following you and your men home if you are sighted.”
Sadgem nodded, “I understand, they will not follow us here but if I have too I’ll go east and lose them in Dobunni territory. The Romans won’t know these lands and so we have the advantage.” He turned his horse and kicked it into a gallop and led his men away, snow flying up into the air.
“I don’t envy his journey.” Caratacus said.
“It’s safer than ours was and Sadgems a good man, I trust him completely and wouldn’t want anyone else covering our rear. I’m sure the Romans already know where we are roughly anyway, they have enough quislings around them. Come on let’s get home and into the warmth.”
A long way to the south a group of riders left the fire damaged fort and nudged their mounts into a trot. They were wearing the clothing of the Celts and were undistinguishable from those who lived nearby, who were watching them leave along the track standing outside their homes. A row of legionaries stood in line to stop the Britons from approaching the smouldering fort and the ships that lay in the water at odd angles after their bows had burnt through. All that could be seen of one vessel was the top of its mast, now sticking out of the water at a severe angle where it lay in the middle of the river. The heat of the fire had helped to melt the rivers ice of the night before but it was now reforming around the dead and damaged ships.