Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (24 page)

Cogidubnus stepped forward to address the crowd, which was still unnervingly quiet. He had partially
‘Romanized’ his name, as a means of showing his allegiance to the emperor who restored him to his throne. This strange merging of names was his way of showing unity between Atrebates and Rome. He spoke at length to the assembled elders and villagers; the crowd continuing to grow as he talked. Vespasian could not understand a word that was spoken, though the interpreter assured him that the new king of Atrebates was imploring his subjects to thank Rome for her generosity, and that they should be thankful for their salvation from a vicious tyrant.

“He’s laying it on thick,” Vespasian muttered. For all he knew, Cogidubnus could have been calling him every insult known to his people; but as long as they understood their lot and obeyed their new masters, he could have cared less.
After a few minutes, Verica stepped forward and shouted a loud acclamation that, in turn, was echoed by those in the square. This caused Vespasian to jump, for it was the first time the people had uttered more than a few stifled words amongst each other. The people then collectively knelt before their new king. Verica, being rather infirm and unable to kneel, gave a deep bow instead. The crowd soon dispersed and went about their business as if nothing of significance had just transpired.

“That’s it then?” Centurion Taurus,
who had accompanied Vespasian, asked.

“Your average peasant could give a vat of piss who rules them,” the legate explained. “Whether it’s Caratacus or Cogidubnus by way of Emperor Claudius, all they care about is being left relatively alone to live their lives as they see fit. If we left and Caratacus regained power, they would most likely swear the same fealty to him once more.”

The formalities complete, Vespasian decided to take a walk through the village. A small column of dismounted troopers accompanied him and Cogidubnus. The king appeared relieved, but also on edge.

“Something vexes you?” the legate asked.

“If I may speak freely,” Cogidubnus replied, “I am placed in a tenuous position. I may be king, but I am still a servant of Caesar.”

“You could remain in exile,” Vespasian retorted. “And know that Rome did not have to restore you to the throne. However, it is far more amicable for all that your people have their own ruler, and
that you remain a client king. Send the required tin and silver every spring and no Roman soldiers will step foot within your lands uninvited. You will serve as a buffer between us and the unconquered lands to the north and west. And I promise you, as not only the first king to agree to Roman rule, but also the one who brought us here in the first place, the emperor intends to be very generous with you and your people.”

“And for that I am grateful,” Cogidubnus replied. “Please pardon me if my expressions showed ingratitude. I was simply stating that this will take some getting used to; my people serving me, while I serve Caesar. You will also forgive me if I do not accompany your legions for the time being
. My people need their king.”

“That they do,” Vespasian concurred.
“You most likely will not see any Roman bureaucrats until at least next spring, what with the region still unstable and many kingdoms still extremely hostile to our presence.”

“And who will these bureaucrats be?” the king asked tentatively.

“Of course there will be those responsible for tax collection,” Vespasian replied. “However, there will also be plenty of builders and engineers. And the first thing I would recommend is having them install a proper sewage system. No king should live in shit and squalor.”

Cogidubnus smiled at this last remark. He admired this particular Roman, who was but a couple years older than he. And despite their vast differences in culture and experience, he truly viewed Vespasian as a friend. Having spent the better part of three years in and around Rome itself, Cogidubnus had seen for himself just what their civilization and advanced technology could bring to a nation.
And if Rome was willing to bring such prosperity to his people, then he was content to serve as a client king of Caesar.

________

Chapter Endnote
s:

1 – River Thames

2 – River Medway

Chapter XIV
: An Unholy Sacrifice

***

The trek north was slow
for the Twentieth Legion, stretched as they were in a long column that extended more than a mile back down the narrow dirt road. Vespasian had heard rumor that a massive army was being assembled to meet them, someplace to the north, near a great river. The Second Legion was approximately a day’s march to the southwest, and Artorius’ orders from Vespasian had been to take the Twentieth to the northeast, where Plautius and the rest of the army were expected to meet them. Sabinus and the Ninth Legion were to suspend building activities around Durovernum Cantiacorum and had joined up with the Fourteenth Legion and a large number of auxiliary regiments.

Artorius hoped they were on the right path, and that they would meet Plautius be
fore finding the main enemy force. He reckoned that as long as their journey kept taking them in a northeasterly direction,  they would find the rest of their army sooner or later. The sky was growing dark, and the master centurion instinctively wrapped his cloak around himself as he rode towards the head of the column.

“I’ve sent an ala of cavalry to screen our movement,” Sempronius explained as his second-in-command joined him. “The undergrowth is so damn thick that they can do little but scout ahead on the road.”

“About the only good thing to come from these cursed woods is, at least, they’ll offer some protection from the rains,” Artorius replied as the first drops of a pending deluge splashed off his helmet.

“It seems for every
two days of sunshine, we get at least one cloudy and one rainy,” the chief tribune snorted. He looked up at the ominous sky as they passed underneath a narrow opening in the tree canopy. “Most of the rains here pass quickly enough, but I think we’re in for a bad storm here.”

Within a minute of their conversation, the rains began to fall in earnest. Legionaries hunched beneath their packs, drawing their cloaks in close. While these offered some protection from the weather, there was nothing to stop the unpaved path from becoming a
virtual quagmire. Soldiers found themselves having to push the baggage carts and supply wagons, slowing their movement to a crawl. Artorius was grateful for the thick undergrowth of briars and sticker bushes on either side of the path, for it meant the chances of enemy warriors hiding in them were lessoned greatly. Their adversaries knew the lay of the land, but they were still subjected to the same torments brought on by inclement weather and inhospitable terrain. The dense clouds and thick mass of trees made it seem like night, and Artorius almost failed to notice the cavalryman who rode up to them.

“The path splits up ahead, sir, about a mile,” the man said to Sempronius. “The ground is more open there
, and we can spread out.”

“Excellent!” Sempronius replied over the echo of rain splashing off the tree canopy as well as his helmet. “If we are correct, that road will take us north to the rally point. Have your men scout ahead
. We’ll encamp near the crossroads and wait for the Second Legion to catch up with us.”

The trooper saluted and turned his mount around in the narrow space before riding at a slow trot back up the sodden path.

“You see, Artorius,” the chief tribune said, for the first time calling the master centurion by his name instead of his rank. “This day is not so bleak after all.”

Artorius cracked a quick smile as they instinctively pressed on. Behind them were two of the military tribunes, who were also mounted
. And behind them marched Camillus, who held the legion’s eagle high in defiance of the incessant rain. Artorius swore he could hear the man humming to himself, and even the vilest of weather could not cast a gloom over his perpetual good nature. With him were the other standard bearers of the legion, along with a selection of soldiers from the First Cohort who acted as their guard. The Fifth Cohort marched at the head of the column proper, just behind the eagle. Every day on the march, different cohorts took turns marching at the head; both as an honor of being closest to the eagle, while also accepting the greatest risk should they come under attack.

The winds whipped the rain into their faces for a moment, but then Artorius noticed in the west that the clouds had broken up. It was late afternoon, and the sun was just now visible, along with several patches of blue sky.
The rain ceased to fall, and the sound of the wind amongst the trees grew ever louder. Artorius threw back his cloak, which whipped up behind him in the wind for a moment.

The road forked up ahead, with their current path taking them even further into the woods. The branch to their right
curved around to the north, where the terrain appeared to be more open, at least on the right-hand side of the widening road.

“More thick woods on our left, it would seem,” Sempronius said as they turned onto the road and surveyed the rolling plains in the distance. “Can’t see where the damned cavalry have pushed out to.”

“Our only option appears to be to the right,” Artorius observed. “We can bring the legion out of a single column and spread the cohorts out while keeping the baggage carts on the main road.”

“Very well,” Sempronius nodded. “Pass the word back that the lead cohort will remain with the wagons, the rest will break off to the right and continue to advance in cohort columns. Now let’s just hope the terrain is at least somewhat hospitable and not a fucking bog out there!”

Unbeknownst to any of the Romans, the woods on their left only seemed to be thick and impassible like the ones they had just come through. In fact, they were little more than a façade, devoid of thick undergrowth. Just beyond them the ground was relatively flat and easily passible. It was here that Togodumnus waited. A thousand warriors hunkered in the woods, anxious to deal a critical blow to the invaders. Behind the woods, where the Romans could not see, were a dozen or more chariots. Though best suited in battle on flat terrain, for this mission their speed would be crucial. Togodumnus knew his force was too small to defeat even a fraction of the Roman Army that marched out of the woods, but then he did not need to defeat them in open battle; not yet. He saw a group of men riding at the head of the emerging column of legionaries. He grinned sinisterly as he pointed to the younger leader with an ornate helmet and crest that ran front-to-back.

“That one,” he said to one of his warriors, who nodded in reply.
He then looked back at Archantael and said quietly, “The gods will have their sacrifice.”

Artorius started to think the rains might be passing
for good, as the sky was now showing larger pockets of blue. He was admiring the terrain that opened up on their right, allowing himself to appreciate the beauty of this green land, when a sling stone swished past his head and smashed into the helm of Chief Tribune Sempronius. A storm of rocks hammered into the young officer, sending him sprawling from his horse, face-first into the saturated ground with a splash. Sporadic arrows flew from the trees, one skipping off the master centurion’s plate armor, causing him to instinctively fall off the far side of his horse.

“Bugger fuck!” he shouted as h
e landed hard on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him for a moment. As he leapt to his feet, he saw one of the tribunes take an arrow through the neck. He fell to the ground, clasping at the shaft that had broken in half, gouts of dark crimson flowing out as he succumbed.

“Fifth Cohort…up!”
Artorius shouted as he unstrapped his shield from his panicking horse. A loud war cry echoed from the far tree line and hundreds of warriors soon descended upon him. Realizing he was for the moment by himself, the master centurion started to quickly back away, throwing off his cumbersome cloak and drawing his sword. Camillus was quickly by his side, planting the eagle into the mud, unslinging his buckler, while drawing his own weapon.

“Can’t very well let you die all by yourself!” the aquilifer said with a macabre chuckle.

Behind them, legionaries were dropping their packs and trying to remove their soaked cloaks as they raced to their master centurion. The lead century, coincidentally led by Centurion Metellus, managed to stay on the road. Those falling in behind them were compelled to form their battle lines on the short slope of slippery grass behind Metellus, many of them sliding and falling as they went. All still had their leather rain covers on their shields, and they looked like a disorganized wreck. In reality, they had moved with great speed and discipline, and as their foe sprinted up to the road, Metellus’ order opened the battle properly for the Romans.

“Front rank…throw!”

With a shout of rage, the legionaries unleashed a storm of javelins that cut into their enemy with a vengeance. A number of warriors fell dead or stricken by the fearsome weapons. Despite this, they advanced so quickly that there was no time for subsequent waves, and those centuries that were still forming up behind Metellus were forced to drop their javelins and draw their gladii.

As
Artorius’ and Sempronius’ horses panicked and bolted back down the column, the master centurion and Camillus found themselves at the center of the fray, with warriors driving hard into them with a crash. As commander of the Fifth Cohort, Centurion Tyranus quickly assessed the danger his men were in, and he pushed out further to the right with three centuries, in order to prevent them from being flanked. Back along the road, word quickly passed that they legion was engaged. Rather than letting panic overtake them, the centurions maintained order and discipline, with the Fourth Cohort forming its battle lines at a right angle from the Fifth. Given the direction their enemy had attacked from, they surmised that the woods were not very thick, and by forming up as they did they were able to press the flank of the Catuvellauni. The Third Cohort was behind them, and they started to make their way between the forks in the road, attempting to get behind the grove of trees from which the Britons had emerged. It was slow going, with many legionaries becoming temporarily stuck in the mire that lay hidden beneath the tall grasses.

With Sempronius down and possibly killed, Artorius knew he needed to coordinate the overall battle, yet he could not move; pressed as he was with enemy combatants to his front and the Fifth Cohort behind him. All he could do was stand and fight. For the time being he was little more than a legionary on the line.

He tilted his shield and slammed it into the kneecap of a warrior to his front, bringing the man down in a howl of pain. Artorius went to lunge forward and finish him, only to lose his footing in the slick ground and slip down to his knees. His anger boiling over, he scrambled forward, swinging his gladius in a hard slash, catching the injured warrior on the inside of his leg. He knew he’d struck an artery, because the wound immediately starting gushing dark red. A spear came down on his back, deflecting off the plates of his armor as he crawled backwards and awkwardly got to his feet.

The rain-soaked ground allowed neither side an advantage, though it appeared to be helping the Britons most, as they were at least able to hold their ground. On dry terrain, even the bravest of warriors stood little to know chance against the legionary shield wall. As it was, the Romans could not maintain
sound enough footing to press the advantage. Yet as the Fourth Cohort unleashed its javelins and started to assault the Catuvellauni right flank, war horns sounded and the rampaging horde started to rapidly withdraw. To his right, Artorius spotted their cavalry returning up the road, yet in the sopping earth their horses could only move at a slow trot. The lightly-equipped Britons were able to run from the battle without fear of any kind of organized pursuit.