Roman - The Fall of Britannia (28 page)

High up above
the valley, Nasica turned his attention from the warrior tribe and
toward the entrance to the flood plain, eventually rewarded with
the sight of two hundred chariots riding slowly into view. Each was
manned by two heavily armed warriors and pulled by a pair of the
strong, but small horses that were native to these
lands.

‘
There they are, Mateus,’ said Nasica, ‘like flies into a
web.’

----

Cassus swallowed
dryly. There was no way their thin lines could repel an assault
from such an army. Even at this distance, he could see the variety
of their weapons, ranging from swords and spears to clubs, maces
and huge hammers. There were even some weapons that he had never
seen before that looked well capable of smashing the Roman shields
with ease.

A solitary
warrior stood to the front of the tribe, his stature and regalia
easily marking him out as the leader. Around him stood the
half-naked Shamen, their bodies heavily tattooed with Celtic
designs etched into their skin with blue wode. Druids of the tribe,
each invoking the support of their Gods walked up and down the
lines of chariots, blessing the horses with bowls of human blood,
their white cloaks blowing in the breeze.

One man,
standing silently alongside the chief, wore a black cloak from neck
to ankles, a sharp contrast to the long white hair that fell down
past his shoulders. As if his appearance wasn’t distinctive enough,
he wore a belt of human skulls around his waist and held a two
metre staff in his hand, topped with a human head, still wearing a
Roman helmet. Though it was accepted that some tribes would take
and display the heads of captured enemies, this one was different.
It had a crest atop the helmet but instead of lying front to back
as was usual in some units, its dyed red horsehair crest swept side
to side, an honour reserved for only one rank in the Roman army,
Centurions. It was the head of Scipio!

----

Nasica watched
as the enemy tribe moved further into the valley and leaned over to
a messenger standing at his side to give an instruction. The
messenger nodded and ran down the hill to the line of Scorpios
hidden in the undergrowth, passing the instruction to the Decurion
in charge, who in turn approached one of the Scorpio operators.
When everything was ready, the Decurion stared up at Nasica,
waiting for the signal.

The General
waited until the warriors had totally entered the plain and when he
was happy they were committed, raised his Gladius above his head,
before dropping it sharply to give the signal. The Decurion turned
to the Scorpio operator.

‘
Aim
well, soldier,’ he said, ‘this is your chance of glory. Make this
shot and when this is over, I will personally ensure every man of
your unit gets an amphora of wine.’

‘
Yes, Sir,’ said the legionary, and leaned into the
post-mounted crossbow, aiming carefully at his target over a
hundred yards away.

Cassus stared at
the army of warriors now stationary and eerily silent to his front.
The priest dressed in black walked forward from the enemy ranks and
held up the head of Scipio, cursing the Romans and imploring the
Gods for support in the impending battle. He held his arms out
wide, chanting his mantras to the heavens, watched by the
barbarians, who were totally entranced by his magic.

Cassus too was
entranced by the mystical figure, until his mantra was suddenly
interrupted by the thud of iron as it smashed through bone. Even
from this distance, the sound was sickening and for a second,
Cassus didn’t understand what had happened until the barbarian
priest fell slowly forward, his neck skewered by an iron bolt shot
from the nearby Scorpio. As the Druid’s body hit the floor,
Scipio’s head fell from the staff and rolled forward in the dust,
coming to rest facing the barbarians as if in a final gesture of
defiance.

High above,
Nasica smiled in satisfaction, and ordered his trumpeter to give
the signal. A deep tone resounded around the valley, being copied
by other strategically placed trumpeters until the valley was
echoing with the sound.

The barbarians
looked around in fear, unaware what the sounds were, or where they
were coming from. Their leaders quickly regained order, and
realising there was no turning back, led over five thousand
warriors into battle with only a thousand Legionaries.

At the last
moment, Nasica gave the order everyone had been waiting for and a
waiting Ballista launched a flaming projectile high above the
battlefield, signalling the battle to commence. Instantly, bushes
on the slopes of the flanking hills fell aside and five hundred
archers sprung up, darkening the sky as they fired thousands of
arrows into the massed ranks of barbarian warriors. Despite their
casualties, the barbarians raced forward, still screaming their war
cries, keen to engage the invaders in close quarter
battle.

‘
Ready,’ shouted the Primus Pilus as the enemy closed in,
‘Now!’

All three ranks
of the Roman lines dropped to one knee presenting their stabbing
Pila forward in defence. The manoeuvre was completely unexpected by
the attackers and revealed thousands more infantry behind the first
three lines, each jumping to their feet from the prone position
they had been in for the last two hours.

Again, hundreds
of missiles filled the air as the spear throwers hurled their Pila
into the front ranks of the charging tribe, slowing the advance of
those behind, as charging men tripped over the dying bodies of
their comrades. As the charge faltered, The Primus Pilus raised his
Gladius and commanded the Cohort to their feet.

‘
First Cohort
,’ he roared, ‘Advance!’

The previously
kneeling heavy infantry rose to their feet and advanced on the
barbarian army, each screaming their own challenge as they closed
the hundred paces between them.

The front rank
smashed into the confused enemy, punching the bronze bosses of
their shields into snarling faces before following up the assault
with the devastating thrusts of their Gladii. Forced into close
order, the long swords, axes and maces of the barbarians were of
little use and even when one did manage to cut deep into a
legionary shield, they had no time to withdraw it before a Gladius
was thrust deep into their torso from around the edge of an
expertly wielded Scutum. The Romans were disciplined and ruthless,
as systematically they forced the attacking lines
backwards.

Within minutes,
Cassus found himself in the front rank, stepping over wounded
comrades to join the fray and found himself caught up in the blood
lust again, killing anything in a controlled frenzy of drilled
manoeuvres. He worked alongside the men next to him, each covering
the other and knowing instinctively how their comrades would act.
The skills had been drilled into them over and over again, and
though almost every soldier hated the daily drills during
peacetime, the repetitive training became priceless when their
lives became dependant on the ruthless efficiency of the killing
machine that was the Roman army.

----

‘
Chariots, lord,’ said Tribune Mateus, though Nasica had
already seen them racing down the flood plain to attack the flanks
of the Roman position. Another signal was relayed across the valley
and five hundred auxiliary cavalry raced out of cover to confront
the chariots.

The initial
exchange went far better for the Celts than the Romans as spinning
blades on the wheels cut mercilessly through the legs of the
horses, causing man and beast to fall in a screaming mess of
flesh.

Two distinct
battles were now taking place on the plains. The infantry battle
where man faced man in a conflict of arms and the other where the
chariot riders had now dismounted and were despatching horses and
men with axe and blade.

‘
Sire, the first wave is lost,’ said the Tribune.

For the first
time, Nasica’s face showed concern, not so much for the men, but
horses were hard to come by.

‘
Tell the Scorpios to wipe them out,’ he said, ‘and send in
the third and fourth Cohorts to the flanks.’

The necessary
orders were relayed and the temporary Century of Scorpio operators
ran along the forest edge to get within range of the cavalry
battle, each carrying their heavy weapons over their
shoulders.

The charioteers
were almost rabid in their battle fever and hacked at every living
thing until there was none left to kill. They remounted their
chariots, elated at the initial success and turned their attentions
to the infantry battle, but before they could move forward, a hail
of crossbow bolts slammed into riders and horses alike.

The remaining
chariots spun to race headlong toward the line of Scorpio operators
lining the edge of the woods. One more volley hit the chariots,
though this time it was not as devastating, as nerves affected many
operators’ aims.

‘
Retreat!’ shouted the Tribune and every operator shouldered
their Scorpio to run up the wooded hill as fast as their heavy
weapons allowed.

Seeing their
flight, the euphoric warriors dismounted from their chariots and
raced after them, sensing an easy victory over the unit that had
decimated their ranks. Only twenty paces lay between the labouring
Roman’s and the pursuing warriors when the odds swung massively in
the legion’s favour.

From behind what
seemed like every tree sprung an auxiliary light infantryman, each
armed with a curved sword and round shield and the whole Cohort
swarmed down through the forest to meet the stalled charioteers in
close conflict, outnumbering their enemy two to one. Though the
charioteers were fearless, they had already fought one battle and
had climbed up the steep hill during the pursuit, tiring themselves
in the process. The light infantry, by comparison, were fresh,
dominated the high ground and had the momentum of the downhill
charge to aid the impact of their assault. There was no contest and
warriors fell like hay before the scythe at the ferocity of the
auxiliary assault. The few warriors who managed to regain their
chariots only managed to get a few hundred yards back to the plain
before the cavalry ran them down and the last of the charioteers
fell beneath Roman blades.

----

Back on the
plain, Cassus gasped for breath as he recovered from his exertions.
He was covered with blood and whilst most of it was Britannic,
there was some of his own running down his face, the result of a
glancing blow from a barbarian club. He was lucky. A full blow
would have crushed his skull like an egg.

A comrade tended
to his wound as he drank deeply from his flask. The first three
ranks had been withdrawn as the rear troops had come through their
lines to provide fresh impetus in the battle, and at last, the
superior numbers and discipline of the legion started to take its
toll on the enemy.

Bodies lay
everywhere and the natural barrier of dead and dying human flesh
piled high across the battlefield, meant that there were lulls in
the conflict as either side scrambled over the corpses to fight
their opponent. Eventually the signal sounded across the valley,
and the surrounding Cohorts stopped the attack on the few hundred
survivors that were left in the centre of the plain. Many were
women and children, and they formed a screaming protective circle
around their leader who lay wounded in the centre of the throng.
Though the killing had stopped, stabbing Pilae were held against
the outer circle to hold back the barbarians and gradually the
furore died down as the tribe realised they were beaten.
Translators recruited from local tribes instructed the survivors to
sit down and eventually two hundred men, women, and children sat on
the floor in despair as they awaited their fate.

Nasica rode
slowly out of the woods on his charger, dressed in full military
regalia accompanied by the other officers of the legion. The ranks
of the surrounding auxiliaries opened to let the group through and
they stopped their horses, fifty metres from the
prisoners.

‘
Casualties?’ asked Nasica simply.

‘
Still counting, Sire,’ said the Tribune, ‘but we estimate
sixty auxiliary cavalry and a dozen legionaries dead, including
Centurion Scipio from the Scouts. About twice as many
wounded.’

Nasica grimaced.
The casualties were higher than he had anticipated and stained the
victory.

‘
The
blades on the chariots took us by surprise,’ said the Tribune.
‘They will not do so again.’

‘
How
many charioteers survived?’

‘
None, Sire,’ replied the Tribune, ‘though their chief lies
wounded amongst this lot!’

‘
Instruct the legion to build a camp,’ continued Nasica. ‘We
will stay here until our wounded are ready to march. I will send
instructions as to the prisoner’s fate shortly.’ He turned and rode
back to the formed-up lines of the legion.

The engineers
quickly identified a suitable location for the fort where the
ground was dry enough for strength but soft enough to be able to
work. The fresher Cohorts started to dig the ditches, using the
soil to build a high bank on the inner edge and topped with the
sharpened stakes that every legionary carried.