Hibernia (Veteran of Rome Book 2)

by William Kelso

  Corbulo raised his hand to his mouth as he felt his stomach move. For a moment he struggled to stop himself from throwing up. Then the moment passed. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh sea air and turned to look at Trebonius. The Legate of the Twentieth and commander of the battle group was staring patiently towards the west lost in his own thoughts. Reluctantly Corbulo let go of the mast and pushed his way across the crowded deck towards him. The Legate did not seem to notice Corbulo as he squeezed up beside him.

  "No sign of any Hibernian ships Sir. This is good," Corbulo said glancing out to sea. "But they must know that we are coming. You don't keep an invasion fleet of this size a secret for very long."

  Trebonius glanced sideways at Corbulo.

  "They know that we are coming," the Legate replied calmly, "but they don't know where we are going to land. That will keep them guessing."

  "Where are we going to land?" Corbulo said boldly.

  Trebonius pointed a finger directly towards the west. "We are heading for the trading post at Drumanagh. If this wind holds the captain has assured me that we will be there by nightfall. We are going to land there, fortify the place and secure it as our supply base. Then we will march inland to take Tara, defeat Elim and crown Tuathal Techtmar as High King of Hibernia. Tuathal will rule Hibernia as a client king of Rome and we shall remain at Tara to keep him in power. Those are my orders."

  Corbulo grunted and steadied himself as the galley pitched alarmingly.

  "Well that should probably stop the Hibernians raiding our shores," he said as he regained his footing. "I have been to Hibernia before Sir. Agricola always said that a single Legion and some auxiliaries could conquer and hold the whole island. So forgive my curiosity but why haven't they sent the whole Twentieth legion? Seems to me that we are a bit light on numbers Sir."

  Trebonius shook his head and there was a hint of irritation in his voice as he replied.

  "You do not need to concern yourself with that," he said sharply.

  Corbulo nodded and fell silent.

  "Yes, but about Tuathal Sir," Corbulo exclaimed, "I made it my business in Deva to find out a bit more about him and his men. It seems his father was not very popular amongst the Hibernian tribes Sir; that's why they got rid of him and as for the eight hundred followers he claims to have, most of them are foreign hired mercenaries, criminals and adventurers with no military training. They are nothing more than a rabble Sir. If I was you I wouldn't trust them."

  "Is there anything else that you would like to advise me on?" Trebonius said icily.

  "Well Sir," Corbulo said ignoring the tone in his commander’s voice, "I mean, if we do manage to reach Tara and make Tuathal High King, do you think the Hibernian tribes are going to just accept him?"

  "Well why not?" Trebonius retorted giving Corbulo a hard look.

  "I don't particularly like the Hibernians Sir," Corbulo replied, "but they are not stupid. Tuathal is a dick. The Hibernians are not going to accept him. No one would accept a cock like Tuathal, the man's nothing more than a violent, whoring bully."

  "Tuathal Techtmar has told me that he will be able to raise a force of five thousand loyal men if we can place him on the throne," Trebonius snapped. "He has the money, he has the name and the claim to the throne and he has us. We are going to succeed."

  Corbulo sighed and turned to look out to sea.

  "The man's a cock Sir," he said quietly, "Take my advice; don't count on any help from the Hibernians. We are invading their land. They are not going to forget that."

  Trebonius growled angrily and turned on Corbulo.

  "I think I have heard enough," he snapped, "You are not here to advise me. You are just a useless mouth who Agricola has dumped on me. Now go before I have you tossed overboard. I don't want to hear your voice again."

  Corbulo saluted and started to move away. The deck was crowded with soldiers and supplies and it took him a while before he found an empty spot. He was just about to sit down when amongst the officers and men he suddenly came face to face with a man and as he recognised him Corbulo turned pale.

  "You," the man cried out in shock.

  Corbulo staggered backwards into a soldier as, horrified, he stared at Classicus, the Procurator Augusti of the province of Britannia.

  Chapter Twenty - The Beach at Drumanagh

  "Land, Land," the hoarse excited cry woke Corbulo up. Quickly he rose and turned to look out across the sea. Onboard the packed galley the Roman officers and men were rising to their feet eager to catch a glimpse of their destination. Corbulo rubbed his eyes. Then to the west he suddenly saw it, the grey smudge of a coast on the horizon.

  "Not long now boys," a Centurion bellowed encouragingly. Corbulo turned to look across at the other ships. It was an hour after dawn and the neat ordered lines of galleys had become somewhat ragged. It was to be expected. The fleet had spent the short night at sea and during the hours of darkness the ships had lit signal torches to show their positions but it was inevitable that some of the galleys would have lost their way in the dark. The gentle southern breeze was propelling them straight towards the coast. Corbulo yawned and glanced up at the sky. The cloudy weather was still with them but the sea had been calm during the night.

  "What did I tell you," a Legionary beside him said turning to his mate, "Sacrificing those sacred chickens to Neptune has worked. No storms, no sea monsters. We’re nearly there, thank the gods."

  Corbulo glanced around him but there was no sign of the Procurator on the crowded deck. He picked thoughtfully at one of his teeth. The shock of seeing Classicus onboard had worn off once he'd realised the official was not about to try and arrest him. No something else had brought Britannia's finance minister out here, where he had no business to be, and Corbulo had guessed what it was. The Procurator had the same task as himself, to find Quintus and the letter that Agricola had written to the Governor. How the man had managed to deduce this was a mystery. Someone must have talked or else the Procurator was one hell of a clever arsehole.

  ***

  The small peninsula poked out into the sea like a solitary tooth. It was surrounded by water on three sides and Corbulo could see the waves crashing onto the dull grey rocks beneath the cliffs. It looked a dreary, unwelcoming place. He stood at the prow of the galley with its figurine of Neptune as the galley plunged and rose through the waves. From the corner of his eye he noticed the ship's captain suddenly point to the sea cliffs that surrounded the peninsula.

  "That's the trading post at Drumanagh right there," the captain shouted triumphantly as he turned to the small cluster of Roman officers at his side, "I promised to land you there and so you shall."

  Corbulo peered at the coast. Just to the north of the headland he could make out a long crescent shaped beach. They seemed to be heading straight for it. He glanced across the sea at the fleet. The others too seemed to be converging on the beach and for a moment Corbulo was struck by the scene of dozens of ships, their grey ornamented prows pitching and rising as they eagerly bore down on the enemy beach. Then suddenly he heard Trebonius's deep voice.

  "Get the men ready," the Legate said turning to his officers as he placed his helmet on his head. "Once we are ashore I want the Sixth to form a defensive line across the landward length of the peninsula and I want three part mounted pickets a mile inland, one to the north, west and south. Understood?"

  The officers around the Legate nodded eagerly.

  Corbulo turned as he heard a Centurion bellow an order. The Legionaries on the crowded deck were all standing up now and craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the approaching beach. The tension on the men's faces was clearly visible. Corbulo scratched his cheek as he stared at the beach that was not far away now. There was no sign of the enemy, no blaring Carnyx's, nothing at all apart from the screeching sea gulls circling in the sky. The landing it seemed was going to be unopposed.

  With a deep scraping judder and groan the galley came sliding up onto the beach.

  "Ove
rboard men," the vexillatio standard bearer of the Twentieth, clad in his wolf skin head and clutching the Vexillum standard, roared as he leapt down into the surf. He was followed moments later by the Legionaries as they jumped down into the shallow water and started to wade ashore. Corbulo slung his legs over the side of the galley and landed in knee-deep seawater. All along the beach the ships of the fleet were coming in to land. Corbulo staggered ashore. Along the length of the beach the Legionaries were storming onto the sand but their speed and progress was slowed by the heavy burden of equipment that they were carrying. Above the tumult he could hear the shouts of the Centurions and their Optio's as the officers tried to instil some order into the troops streaming ashore. Corbulo grunted as he saw that the standard bearer was already half way towards the peninsula. A ragged line of Legionaries were trying to keep up with him. Behind him Corbulo heard a man land in the surf. He turned and saw that it was Trebonius. The Legate had his eyes fixed on the headland.

  "Well what are you waiting for," Trebonius roared at the troops as they struggled ashore, "Get your arses up onto that peninsula, move it, damn you!"

  Corbulo started after the standard bearer. The headland was no more than a hundred yards away but the soft sand was slowing him down. Behind him he heard a trumpet blast. Then another. As he drew closer to the peninsula he could see a small cluster of huts and round houses. Smoke was billowing up from one of the huts. Then as he reached the foot of the cliffs he heard a woman's scream. The first of the Legionaries were already in amongst the buildings of the small trading post. Corbulo stumbled up the grassy slope and paused to catch his breath. Inland and a hundred paces away he could see figures fleeing towards a wood. The figures were sprinting as fast as they could. Corbulo turned and started towards the small settlement that occupied the centre of the peninsula. When he reached it the Legionaries were going from house to house, kicking their way into the huts and evicting anyone they found. A small group of women, men and children were cowering on the ground guarded by a couple of soldiers.

  "So where is the enemy?" the standard bearer cried raising his standard in the air.

  ***

  The rhythmic thud of a thousand pickaxes reverberated across the peninsula. It was late in the afternoon and it was raining. Corbulo stood sheltering in the entrance to one of the white tents watching the Legionaries at work. The men had already completed two V shaped defensive ditches, which stretched across the whole width of the peninsula, a distance of some two hundred yards and they were now starting on a third. In between the ditches were two earthen ramparts, the first of which had been fortified with the thousands of wooden stakes, which the soldiers had brought with them. The stakes had been pushed into the ramparts at an angle so that their sharpened ends were pointing at the main land. A line of Legionaries from the Sixth Cohort were guarding the first rampart. The men were kneeling down on one knee with their red rectangular shields leaning against their bodies and their pilum’s lying on the ground beside them, whilst behind them, on the second rampart, Trebonius had positioned his two hundred Hamian archers. The Syrians looked a little bewildered and uncomfortable in the rain.

  Down the remainder of the peninsula, swamping the small cluster of huts and round houses of the trading post, stood row upon row of white tents. The mooring lines of the tents had been fastened by long metal spikes, which had been driven into the grass and in between them were supply dumps, barrels, sacks and amphorae of all shapes and sizes. Most of the Batavian’s and Hibernians were resting after their labours and at the far end of the peninsula, a few hundred yards from Corbulo, he could see the makeshift horse enclosure where the battle group's four hundred and fifty horses were being kept. Out in the crescent shaped bay the Roman ships had dropped their anchors and now rode the gentle swell. A long line of slaves was coming up from the beach loaded with supplies.

  Corbulo was just about to leave the shelter of the tent when he heard a sudden trumpet blast. The dull rhythmic thud of the pickaxes seemed to miss a beat as the Legionaries straightened up and hesitated. Then Corbulo heard the trumpet blast again and this time he recognised the signal. The Legionaries too seemed to have recognised it for a murmur broke out and some of the men dropped their pickaxes and ran towards where they had left their weapons and shields. Down the whole peninsula men stumbled out of their tents, cursing and shouting as they hastened to fix their armour and grab their weapons. Corbulo looked around him and saw Trebonius surrounded by his staff officers hastening towards the ramparts. Quickly he ran over to join him. The rain was coming down in grey remorseless sheets but Corbulo hardly felt it. The trumpet blast had been signalling the approach of the enemy. Trebonius was standing on top of the first rampart beside a Scorpion bolt thrower when Corbulo clambered up the earthen bank to join him. The Legate was issuing orders to his officers in a calm and clear voice.

  “Have the First Cohort line up behind the Hamian’s but they are to stay out of sight until I order them up onto the rampart. The Batavians and Hibernians are to remain in the reserve.” Trebonius turned quickly to another Centurion. “Bring the slaves inside the camp and tell the ships to remain out at sea. I also want those pickets brought back.”

  “I think they got the message Sir, look,” a young Tribune exclaimed as he pointed inland. Across the open fields beyond the first ditch Corbulo suddenly caught sight of a small group of men racing towards the fort. Amongst them he recognised a Cornicen, a trumpeter. The man was lugging his cylindrical trumpet and he was lagging behind his comrades.

  “Sir, look over there,” one of the Centurions said nudging the Legate. Three Roman Legionary cavalrymen came thundering towards the fort from the north. The slaves plodding along from the beach seemed to mistake them for the enemy for instantly the neat ordered column dissolved into chaos as the slaves panicked. The horsemen did not care. The leader catching sight of the group of officers up on the rampart urged his horse towards them. He halted beside the ditch as clumps of earth flew from his horse's hooves.

  “Sir,” the rider cried, “there is a large group of Hibernians coming this way. Most seem to be infantry but a few are mounted and they have war dogs.”

  “What are their numbers?” Trebonius shouted.

  The cavalryman shook his head. “Hard to tell Sir but they are making a lot of noise. Maybe a few thousand, that’s a guess Sir.”

  “Get your men inside the fort,” Trebonius replied as he turned to stare at the distant wood. The cavalryman saluted and cried out to his two companions to follow him as he galloped on towards the fortified gateway. The Roman infantrymen were still racing across the fields towards the fort when Corbulo saw the first of the Hibernian cavalry appear from amongst the trees. The Hibernians were riding small shaggy looking horses and they looked un-armoured and were clutching spears and small round shields. They caught sight of the fleeing Romans and with a wild joyful cry set off in pursuit. The Roman’s were running for their lives now. From the ramparts the Legionaries suddenly started to shout and holler urging their comrades on. In the fields one of the soldiers dropped his shield. Corbulo stared at the flight. It was going to be close. The Hibernians were charging and closing the gap fast.

  “Come on, come on,” Corbulo heard the Legate mutter. All eyes were now on the running men as the Hibernians closed with them.

  “Soldier, when you have the range, open up,” Trebonius said calmly turning to the crew of the Scorpion. The bolt thrower mounted on its tripod was already loaded with an iron tipped yard long bolt. In the fields another Roman dropped his shield as he raced towards the ditch. The soldiers on top of the ramparts were yelling and shouting at their comrades. With a sudden twanging noise the soldier manning the Scorpion released his bolt. The aim was good and in the meadows one of the Hibernian riders was punched from his horse with such velocity that it sent him hurtling backwards several yards. From the ramparts a great cheer rose up. The first of the fleeing men reached the ditch and flung themselves into it. The Hibernians seeing the ramparts
suddenly shied away and from the earth embankment another great roar rose up. The roar was quickly overtaken by a cataphony of excited shouts. The Cornicen, lugging his trumpet was still racing towards the fort. The soldier had lost his shield and helmet and seemed to be doing his best but just as he was about to reach the safety of the ditch a Hibernian launched his spear and struck him in his back. From the ramparts the Legionaries fell silent as they watched the Cornicen collapse face down into the grass, just yards from the ditch.

  The Hibernian riders had retreated to a safe distance when the remaining slaves came scrambling over the rampart and to safety.