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

by John Salter

  In the space of a blink of an eye he imagined all kinds of images, their naked bodies stripped of clothing and armour, barbarians celebrating as they disfigured their torsos, their horses killed and eaten, the men at Isca Dumnoniorum never knowing what had happened to them, lost on the frontier. They could be poisoned by an arrow and left to die a long and painful death. Dark thoughts and images filled his mind as he clung onto Staro as he snorted with effort galloping for his and his masters life, it seemed to go on for an eternity. He was pulled from the nightmare by shouts from somewhere to the rear, a familiar voice.

  “Varro slow down, stop, we’re clear.” It was Tevelgus. He risked turning and saw the big Briton behind him and slowed down and for the first time. He saw that he was followed by only three, Brenna and Decimus were there also, there was quiet from the banks either side.

  “Where are the others?” He asked stopping his horse looking up at the sharp mountain slopes either side of them expecting to see more arrows being launched, his chest lurched with the effort of the frantic ride.

  “They were hit in the first wave.” Brenna said, “There was nothing we could do for them.” Automatically they all checked themselves and their mounts to see if they had been injured, they hadn’t. Panting Varro jumped off his horse.

  “I didn’t see them. They must have been hiding in the trees waiting to ambush us, there was no sign, nothing at all.” He looked around again certain of more missiles. “We can’t just leave them we’ve got to go back.” He said.

  Tevelgus got off his own horse and walked towards the centurion, “You saw that hail of arrows, if we went back we would end up just like them, they’re dead and if they weren’t straight away, they will be by now.”

  “What if any of them were just injured, how would you feel if you knew your friends had left you to die?” He answered.

  The big Briton stared at Varro almost willing him to argue it seemed and then his eyes widened and Varro heard a thump, he fell forward onto the Roman, an arrow sticking into the back of his head. Varro staggered with his weight, took a step back and let him fall face down. Brenna cried out her brother’s name.

  “Mount up.” He shouted grabbing his saddle and swinging his leg back up and onto his horse who, had already started to move forward on his own. Hooves hitting the ground masked the sound of any other flying arrows as they tried to escape again.

  From both sides, the Britons scrambled and ran down the steep slopes jeering and screaming towards the men of the Second Augusta who were desperately retreating from the edge of the clearing. Spears were hurled at random from the high ground so thick was the target area below. Legionaries already lay dead or wounded their blood a sharp contrast to the white of their tunics. Despite the deadly avalanche of weapons, the legionaries were already regrouping and forming testudos leaving the dead and injured where they lay as men screamed out for help.

  Orders were shouted from centurions and optios inside the formations as they tried to keep order and discipline. One group of such soldiers that were slower than the rest and containing only about thirty men were the first to be attacked. The Britons swarmed the shield wall and they were stopped in their tracks. Barbarians who had jumped down from other areas not even near them, ran and joined the attack. Spears, axes, clubs, swords and arrows stabbed at their defences, hacking and piercing at the shielded formation.

  As other testudos retreated, men who were relatively safe for the time being, watched through gaps in their own shields when movement allowed, as they began to fall one at a time. Shields were ripped from grasping arms as the holders were wounded, spears were hurled over the top of the attacking warriors, axes span through the air landing indiscriminately somewhere in the middle, a hand was hacked off a flailing Roman arm as its shield was ripped from its grasp. It was a blood bath, where no mercy was shown.

  As the last two men were simultaneously chopped down, Vespasian opened his eyes. He and the optio were in the centre of the clearing under the cart in front of which the two mules lay dead, hit by umpteen arrows. The Legate saw that the soldier had used his neck scarf as a tourniquet to stop the blood flow.

  “Report.” He ordered turning and looking out to the scenes of battle around them.

  “They’ve just butchered a testudo sir, at least twenty, maybe thirty men hacked and stabbed to death.” He pointed to where he had witnessed the atrocity occur. The Britons were crowding over the slain men picking up helmets, swords and shields.

  Vespasian turned in the opposite direction and saw squares of centuries formed up about sixty paces away. “Quickly whilst they’re distracted, we’ve got to get to that testudo over there.” He pointed.

  The optio gave him a concerned look until he added, “We can either try and get to them and get some cover or wait here until they,” he pointed a thumb in the other direction, “come over here and drag us out kicking and screaming and butcher us where we lay. It’s up to you but I can’t run without your help.” The optio turned and quickly crawled out from under the cart on the opposite side from the main body of Britons. He knew in seconds they would be bearing down on other men so he moved as fast as he could. Grimacing in pain Vespasian shimmied along on his backside. Once clear of the cart, he was pulled up by the soldier who draped his arm over his shoulder and immediately began half running and dragging the Legate towards the waiting formation.

  Suddenly they were aware of shouting behind them, as the optio himself shouted at the wall of shields, silently standing in front of them. Neither of them turned not daring to waste any time but hurried forward, now about forty paces from safety. The noise behind them grew as arrows were launched again but this time they were Roman, they flew over their heads and to the side of them landing unseen. Shouts of pain merged with shouts of anger as some at least found their mark.

  The optio pushed Vespasian’s arm higher to get a better grip and was aware of movement in the Roman line now thirty paces distant. His head was suddenly jarred violently forward, a loud single bang on his helmet signalling that he had been struck with something but he didn’t dare look to see what it was. Struggling with the Legate on his shoulder he looked forward and watched as the legionaries launched a wave of javelins into the air towards them. He ducked instinctively as they flew over his head and fell into their intended targets.

  He could almost feel the breath of the enemy now and believed that he would die heroically trying to save his Legate. Would his wife hear of his valour? Would they build a shrine in his name? Would anyone survive this catastrophe? Every second he expected to feel a spear puncture his armour and pierce his flesh underneath, snapping his spine. Another volley of pila was launched from the line of shields but it didn’t make him feel any more secure. At least he thought his comrades were doing their duty in trying to protect them as they lurched forward. Twenty paces away from some respite, some of the men in the front line of the formation opened their ranks and waited behind their shields peering out. Another wave of Roman arrows sped towards the heathens behind them as he felt the burning hot sensation of an enemy arrow stab into his heel.

  “Arrrggggghhh you bastards.” He yelled, his face contorted in pain as he fell forward the weight of the Legate on top of him and then everything blacked out.

  Caratacus thrust his sword at the armoured demon standing in front of him surrounded by his comrades but it bounced off. The soldier leered at him and stabbed out with his gladius from the side of his shield but his reach was too short. Warriors jostled for position sensing victory over this relatively small and isolated group as men barged passed each other, vying for spoils and death. Spears landed in amongst the Romans, some were deflected off shields or armour but a few found soft flesh to penetrate and pierce.

  Screams and squeals of pain, some almost childlike, filled his ears as he cut and thrust with his weapon. An arrow flew past his head so close that he felt the draught of its passing at great speed as it smashed its way into a helmeted forehead just below the rim. The eyes were
dead and rolling backward into the head long before the body fell and Caratacus wanted more, much more. They were winning this battle within a battle he realised as more spears were thrown from above and shattered men and bone.

  From his peripheral vision he saw Ardwen hacking at a soldiers leg like a maniac chopping at a tree whilst another warrior attacked the upper body. The first slice embedded itself deep into the man’s shin before it was wrenched free and another great scything arc removed the leg from below the knee completely. The metallic smell of blood and iron filled his nose. He held his ground briefly trying to assess the situation and saw great rows of soldiers formed up beyond this skirmish, behind their shields. One man was hobbling towards their lines with another draped over his shoulder.

  He backed away a few feet from the fighting and gave a hand signal for the archers on the slope to concentrate their fire at the neat rows of silent men waiting to fight. Within seconds the men behind those at the front, hauled up their rectangular shields to form an almost solid roof as arrows struck them. One arrow shaft passed through a small gap and hit one legionary in the face, he dropped from sight instantly. Caratacus signalled Ardwen to break off his attack and follow him, leaving their warriors to wipe out the men before them.

  “What is it cousin, why have you pulled me away from our much deserved victory just as we are about to rout them?” Ardwen asked of Caratacus as they ran together.

  Caratacus led him to the cover of the trees at the side of the clearing and pointed saying, “Watch what happens cousin, this is one of the things I have learned from fighting these men.” They both crouched down behind thick tree trunks and bushes and watched. The warriors made short work of the remaining men that had been unfortunate enough to find themselves isolated and caught out in the open. More spears and arrows penetrated their bodies from above and even their armour occasionally, those who weren’t hit from the slopes were struck by swords or axes. It was butchery, man against man, crude, vile and naked aggression and the Britons were winning. The last of the Romans fell with another by his side dispatched just before him but the indiscipline of their men showed as they hurriedly bent down to loot the bodies of weapons and armour.

  “See here,” Caratacus said, “if those men over there weren’t occupied and distracted with those two scurrying back to them, our people would be wiped out where they stood.”

  Quickly the warriors began to turn their attention to the rows of shields and ran towards them. Caratacus and Ardwen watched a few of them as they tried in vain to spear the two men who were closing the gap to safety. The next second, a flight of javelins were hurled skyward from behind the front row of waiting soldiers. They arced into the grey sky and fell, wiping out lives, in an instant they were joined by arrows that jarred their warriors backward, spinning some as they fell. The Roman spears and arrows took a deadly toll on the previously victorious Britons and their advance began to falter.

  Ardwen looked on in horror as their men and women were taken from the world, bodies punctured even before they could reach the Roman lines. They both saw the two men who had been retreating dragged to safety through an area of shields that closed behind them. A trumpet sounded from somewhere in the midst of armour and the entire row of Romans began to move backward as if one giant metallic and wooden beast. Caratacus and Ardwen shouted at their archers to keep firing, they weren’t to be given a seconds respite as they retreated.

  Caratacus turned and scrambled up the slope behind him quickly followed by Ardwen pulling himself up on trees and branches. He glanced back and saw that the Romans were retreating to the track that they had followed, at the far edge of the bowl like clearing.

  “We’ve got to get the slingers involved when they get to that narrow break in the rock.” He shouted back at Ardwen who was already red faced from the effort of hauling himself up. Caratacus slipped on the surface and fell face down and started to slide back down the steep slope towards Ardwen, gravel and loose rock followed his fall.

  He swore shouting at himself as he continued to slide trying to grasp branches and roots until he crashed into Ardwen. The two stopped still for a second, looked at each other and then barrelled back down the slope to where they had started.

  Varro kept riding until he was certain they were out of sight of the attacking Britons. Eventually he slowed down and turned to see that they had followed the path into another mountainous valley some distance from where the trap was sprung. He guided them down to a small stream where he led his horse to water, Brenna and Decimus followed.

  “Gods fucking teeth, this is a fucking disaster.” He said crouching down and scooping water onto his face. “Did you hear the battle beyond where we attacked? The main column must have been ambushed as well, if they were cut off in that clearing, every one of them could be dead.”

  Decimus walked into the water and washed his own face, the water was ice cold, “What now then? We can either ride for help or try and get back to them and find out what happened.”

  Varro looked over to Brenna who was still on her horse, the animal was drinking from the stream but she was sat staring at the ground.

  “Brenna.” She didn’t reply. “Brenna.” He said again, as glazed eyes looked up to acknowledge his words. In the melee he had forgotten about her loss.

  “My brother is dead.” She didn’t move, just sat staring at him. He wiped his face with the red cloth around his neck and walked over to her.

  “Come, have some water.” He said.

  “Will the water bring my brother back?” Tears rolled freely from her eyes down her face and fell onto her dirty skin. He reached up and wiped the tears from her face.

  “Come we have to decide what to do, or his death and those of our friends will have been for nothing.” She allowed herself to be helped down and Varro put his arms around her and held her closely.

  “The Twentieth are supposed to be to the north of here fighting the Ordovices,” Decimus said, “maybe we could ride for help.” Varro frowned and shook his head slightly telling Decimus that this was not the time. He leaned back and looked at Brenna her head was down facing the ground. Every now and again the sound of battle was carried to them on the wind through the valley, swords clashing, screaming or trumpet sound.

  “It sounds like they’re still fighting, may the gods protect them.” Varro said. “There could be thousands of the bastards in these mountains and we walk in without the support of another legion.” Brenna pushed herself away from him.

  “It would be as quick to ride back to Isca as to ride north but the Silures are blocking the path so we may never get through, where did your Twentieth legion approach the north from, do you know?” She asked.

  Varro walked to the edge of the stream and marked a map in the soil with his sword, “They advanced from the east moving into the northern territories. It’s not just the Ordovices they face though as they would have had to march through the lands of the Cornova first who may have resisted as well.” He looked up at his two remaining companions. “That’s not all,” he marked the ground again, “here to the north towards Mona is the land of the Deceangli and there is no guarantee that they haven’t joined any fight to the south.”

  Decimus walked from the stream shaking water from his hands, “At least the Twentieth will be at full strength, they hadn’t established any fort and were marching daily or so I heard, they’ll be better equipped and manned in comparison to the Second.”

  “That’s true,” Varro said knowing the Second had left men behind to guard Isca, he looked at Brenna again, “you would stand a better chance of getting through to them than us through these lands, no-one would have reason to stop you.”

  She looked back at him, “And why would your Twentieth listen to me? If they’re involved in fighting and see another Briton approach them, I may not even get close enough to speak to them.”

  Varro looked over to Decimus, “Go with her my friend, leave your armour and anything of Rome here, we’ve got to go for help or those
men in the mountains we came with will be destroyed.”

  Decimus’ face showed he clearly wasn’t happy with the decision but started to take off his chainmail. “Very well Varro, I will go with Brenna but what will you do? Isn’t it better that we all stay together, surely three are better than two are they not?”

  “Yes they are but against the odds we are likely to face, I don’t think it would make that much difference. We can’t just abandon the Legate and the men of the Second, even if it is only to witness their corpses. Besides if anyone sees you two, they will probably think you are man and wife and won’t pay any attention.” He helped Decimus remove his chainmail as he was struggling to get it over his head.

  “Isn’t that all the more reason for you to go with Brenna surely?” Decimus said.

  Varro looked from one to the other, “You are both dear to me but for different reasons but so are the men fighting for their lives in the mountains back there. I am better suited to staying alone and you are better suited to going, both of you. I wouldn’t rest if I were the one to go anyway.” He looked over to Staro still drinking at the stream.

  “Take my horse, you can ride two and rest one, I can move just as quickly on foot over this terrain.” He said pointing up at the almost sheer face of the mountain. “I’ll just take my dried meat sack and some water, anything else will just wear me down.” He walked to his horse as Staro raised his head, giving him a rub on his ear he whispered something to him and said to the two still watching, “Fill your water skins with fresh water at the stream, you’ll need it.”