Roman - The Fall of Britannia (34 page)

Wave after wave
of barbarians had assaulted the advancing Roman lines despite
catastrophic losses. Even when cut down, they were a risk, and his
soldiers soon learned the meaning of the order ‘Kill them twice,’ a
command designed to remind the legions of the need to ensure any
fallen foe was definitely dead before advancing.

Plautius was
full of admiration for his foe. They knew no fear and fought to the
bitter end. If they had been better trained, then the battle could
well have had a different outcome, but such was the will of the
Gods. He now had to deal with the aftermath.

The surviving
members of two legions stood scattered around the battlefield,
exhausted by the relentless hand-to-hand conflict. Many sat in mud
the colour of blood, tending their wounds or simply staring across
the carnage, unable to grasp that they still lived. Many more lay
in the filth, crying out for help as their blood drained into the
foreign soil. Plautius noted grimly that few Britannic voices
called out, and wondered whether the reason was there were fewer
enemy survivors, or that they were made of sterner stuff. He
suspected the latter.

Horns started to
sound and rallying calls made, summoning the able-bodied back to
their units. Centurions and Optios rallied their charges, doing the
headcounts that Roman efficiency demanded. The day had seen the
blurring of the edges between the two legion’s heavy infantry, and
for the first time, Vespasian’s legionaries had fought shoulder to
shoulder with those of Geta’s, until each unit’s colours merged
into a uniform muddy brown.

Survivors
staggered toward their standards, and troops of cavalry galloped
from the legion arriving from the rear to chase down any enemy
survivors. Hundreds of trained slaves swarmed onto the battlefield
to tend to the wounded, or decant cool water from huge skins slung
over their soldiers, a benefit gratefully received by survivors and
dying alike. Auxiliary light infantry wandered through the enemy
fallen, despatching any wounded with their spears as they found
them, and medics erected tents at the edge of the carnage to
receive the injured and treat their wounds.

Plautius
despatched three Cohorts to the forward edge of the battlefield to
provide a defensive line, while the rest of the Gemina was tasked
with building a marching camp on a nearby hill. The General walked
amongst the wounded with his entourage, giving comforting words or
compliments on particular acts of bravery. Eventually he spied
Vespasian, having a knife wound to his side tended by a medic. He
was sipping on a flask of water.

‘
Vespasian!’ stated Plautius, ‘you are wounded.’

‘
Nothing more than a scratch, General,’ replied Vespasian,
grimacing as the bandages were pulled tight.

‘
The
front line is no place for a Legate,’ said Plautius.

Vespasian
laughed wryly.

‘
For
an age, there were no lines of any sort.’ he said. ‘They seemed to
be everywhere and we fought whoever was within reach of our
blades.’ He swigged from the flask again. ‘How is Geta?’ he asked
eventually, ‘Did he prevail?’

‘
Geta is fine and is busy making his men’s life hell,’ laughed
Plautius, ‘That man has the lives of a cat.’

‘
I
suppose I had better do the same,’ Vespasian winced and struggled
to his feet, ‘We still have a way to go to the heathen
city.’

‘
No
rush,’ said Plautius, ‘We will make a stronghold here and lick our
wounds.’

‘
But
we should press home the advantage,’ said Vespasian, ‘take their
city before they can regroup.’

‘
There will be no further assault,’ said Plautius. ‘The bulk
of their army is dead or soon will be. Our cavalry units are
chasing them down as they run and our Batavians scour the forests
seeking retribution for their dead comrades. We will consolidate
here and send deputations to the local tribes, demanding their
surrender. In the meantime, the Gemina will lay waste to the
surrounding area. By the time the Emperor arrives, the barbarians
will be begging for peace.’

‘
The
Emperor?’ queried Vespasian. ‘What do you mean?’

‘
Didn’t I tell you, Legatus?’ said the General. ‘Even as we
speak, Claudius travels through Gaul, fully expecting to claim
Britannia as a province of Rome.’

‘
Claudius is coming here?’ asked Vespasian in
amazement.

‘
He
is, and will take the surrender of Caratacus personally. All we
have to do now is find him. Anyway, enough politics, we have
funeral pyres to build and wounded to tend. Get yourself sorted out
and see to your men. The area is defended well, but it will take a
few days to build the camp. Get them fed, watered, and ensure they
are well rested. Who knows what these heathen may throw at us
next?’

‘
Yes
Sir!’ said Vespasian and saluted as the General returned to his
tour of the battlefield.

----

A hundred miles
away, Legate Nasica was holding his own briefing in his command
tent.

‘
What was the name of this deserter?’ he asked.

‘
Prydain Maecilius Sire’, answered Optio Remus, ‘from the
province of Picenum.’

‘
What was his unit?’

‘
Second Century,’ said Remus, ‘but he was seconded to the
scouts.’

‘
One
of your own, then?’ said Nasica in slight surprise.

‘
Yes, Sire and I take full responsibility for his treachery. I
should have beaten it out of him when I had the chance.’

‘
You
knew he was a problem?’

‘
He
is a son of a slave with ideas of grandeur,’ answered Remus. ‘I
should have posted him to the auxiliaries back in Gaul.’

‘
Ah
yes, I recall you have a particularly strong view of freedmen in
the legions.’

‘
No
place for them here Sire,’ said Remus. ‘There’s plenty of room in
the auxiliaries.’

‘
Hmm, interesting,’ said Nasica, ‘the point is, Optio, what
are we going to do about it? He is only one man, yet it would seem
he is a bit of a hero within the Cohort. Something to do with
capturing a Germanic flag back in Gaul.’

‘
He
did, Sire, the second Century’s standard.’

‘
Shame!’ said Nasica. ‘Still, hero or not, we can’t allow
desertion.’

‘
No
Sire!’ agreed Remus. ‘We have to set an example. Give me a Century
of men and I will bring him back here alive. Let the legion witness
what befalls traitors on campaign.’

Nasica stared at
Remus, flipping a Claudian coin repeatedly as he thought. Finally,
he slammed the coin down on the table and looked up, his decision
made.

‘
We
are in dangerous territory’ he said, ‘and the task is too big for a
single Century.’ He turned to one of the officers present. ‘Tribune
Mateus,’ he said. ‘you have been itching to lead an operation. Do
you think you can handle this?’

‘
Yes, Sire!’ said Mateus instantly, his chest expanding at the
chance of glory at last.

‘
Good,’ said Nasica. ‘The legion is staying here while we
await news from Medway. Take a Cohort and campaign westwards. Find
this traitor and bring him back. In addition, you will make
intensive enquiries as to the source of their gold.’

‘
Sire,’ interrupted Remus, ‘this man has brought shame on my
Century. I request permission to accompany Tribune Mateus and bring
him back.’

‘
Granted,’ said Nasica and turned to the Tribune. ‘Optio Remus
is a veteran of many campaigns, seek his advice first and heed it
well.’

‘
What about the other Centurions, Sire?’ asked Mateus. ‘It
would not bode well for an Optio to be seen as outranking
them.’

Nasica thought
for a while.

‘
You
are right, Mateus,’ he said, ‘and despite Optio Remus’s
credentials, it would nurture unrest amongst the men, but there is
a solution. As you know Centurion Scipio was killed in the raiding
party on the enemy village.’

‘
Yes
Sire.’

‘
The
scouts need an experienced leader to command them, so I have been
thinking about redeploying Centurion Severus to the
Scouts.’

Mateus nodded,
it made sense, as the scouts were a very individual unit and needed
strong and talented leadership.

‘
That leaves a vacancy for a Centurion in the second Century,’
continued Nasica, and turned to Remus. ‘How about it, Optio?’ he
said. ‘You have turned down the post of Centurion many times in the
past; and it’s about time you carried the vine stick. What do you
say; do you think you can command a Century?’

Remus looked
back at the Legatus and considered carefully.

‘
In
my time I have served under many Centurions,’ he said, ‘some were
brave men and inspired leaders; others seemed more interested in
the privileges the rank carries. Most of the second type are now
dead. However, I concur that my rank could be an issue on this
expedition, so I will accept until the task is done. Then I request
that I am returned to the role of Optio.’

‘
Good!’ said Nasica and threw him a vine stick, the badge of a
Centurion’s authority before turning to the Tribune.

‘
You
have until the next full moon,’ he said. ‘Your task is twofold. I
want the location of the gold mines and the traitor Maecilius. Make
sure you return with at least one. Dismissed!’

‘
Yes, Sire!’ answered Mateus and saluted in unison with the
newly promoted Remus before ducking out of the tent. When they were
outside, Mateus turned to the new Centurion.

‘
We
will take the third Cohort,’ he said. ‘How long before you can have
them ready?’

‘
First light,’ answered Remus, but I would rather take my own
cohort.’

‘
Agreed,’ said the Tribune,’ but leave the Ravens behind, they
are too closely linked to the deserter.’

‘
Sire, there is one Decurion who I recommend we take. He grew
up alongside the traitor and knows the way he thinks.’

‘
See
to it’ said the Tribune, ‘we leave at dawn.’ He turned and walked
away, leaving the Centurion staring after him, pondering the hand
the Gods had dealt him. There was no doubt that Tribune Mateus was
a donkey’s arse, however his weakness could work to Remus’s
advantage. Remus was not interested in gold or any other material
goods. As far as he was concerned, he would focus on one thing and
one thing only, the capture and subsequent killing of the
slave-boy, Prydain Maecilius.

----

Chapter 29

Gwenno and
Willow walked up the track, flanked by six warriors. Despite
Gwenno’s new found enthusiasm, the Druids had learnt their lesson
and still guarded her closely. They were making their way up to a
low stone building overlooking the vale of the Henge that was to be
their new home until the ceremony the following morning.

The procession
stopped as they neared the hut and Gwenno stared at the reception
committee that awaited her. All around the perimeter stood a throng
of Druid acolytes dressed in robes of vibrant colours. In the
centre stood Lapwing, his own midnight black cloak stark contrast
to the long white hair that blew gently in the breeze. In his hand
was an unpolished staff of plain Oak, the symbol of his clan since
their ancestors had walked these lands during the time of the ice,
many thousands of years ago.

He waited until
Gwenno approached before turning around and leading her into the
hut. Gwenno expected the inside to be dark, but was surprised to
see the circular room brightly lit with hundreds of candles,
warming the entire room with their combined heat. The room was
sparsely furnished with only a bed and a single chair, and opposite
the doorway hung a pair of heavy drapes, each flanked by a Druid
guard. Lapwing called Gwenno forward and manoeuvred himself to
stand behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders as they both
faced the curtains.

‘
Be
not afraid, Gwenno of the Blaidd,’ said Lapwing, ‘you carry the
pleadings of our tribes to the hearts of the Gods. Your purity
enhances the songs of our people and the journey you take tomorrow
is both glorious and breath-taking. Only a few are ever selected
and you are one of those few, Gwenno, you are the chosen one.
Behold your path, Gwenno of the Blaidd, behold the
gateway.’

The two guards
drew back the curtains revealing an opening in the wall and Gwenno
walked forward to stare at the vista before her. A paved pathway
fell away from the hut and through a small valley toward a ring of
enormous standing stones. Gwenno stared around the wooded valley
with mixed emotions. Rows upon rows of oak trees flanked the sides
of the valley, interspersed with waterfalls tumbling down the
slopes to feed the tranquil moat surrounding the Henge, and a
carved wooden bridge spanned the water leading to the centrepiece
of the whole scene, the altar.

Despite the
surrounding beauty, Gwenno was transfixed by this final stone and
could see the farthest end blackened from the spilt blood of those
who had travelled before her. This was to be the last place from
which she would be aware of this world, the place where she would
be laid on her back and see the sky for the last time. For a few
seconds, she wanted to scream, to lash out and run from this place,
but remembering Willow’s instructions, managed to keep her emotions
in check.